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Mar 9

my name on your lips | john carter

Summary: When Howard Davis, a friend of Carter's father, stops by the hospital and asks if Carter is dating anyone, you're surprised that Carter says your name... because you're not dating. A tense dinner with Davis leads to Carter's confession.

Pairing: John Carter x fem!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings/tags: inspired by s1 ep23. med student!reader, she and carter are in the same year. mentions of carter's upbringing, wealth, family, etc. davis is a HO! classism, sexism, babygirlism (carter). friends to lovers.

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“I’m totally making him pay me back for pizza last week. He said he didn’t have twenty bucks!”

Malik is at the nurses’ station, complaining to Lydia, who’s shaking her head.

“Who?” you ask, not looking up from your chart.

Malik scoffs. “Carter. Dude’s loaded.”

You look up in surprise. “Since when?”

“Since birth! His dad’s worth, like, two hundred mil. Can you believe he told me he’s broke?”

“That’s how the rich are,” Lydia says wisely. “My second ex-husband was a lawyer and he never wanted to pay for anything. I just know he’s looking up at us right now.”

You’re used to the nurses’ gossip; sometimes it’s unfounded, so you’ve learned to check your sources with Carol and Jerry to know what’s true. You take your chart to the front desk and return it to the stack. You lean on the desk, drumming your fingers.

“Hey, Jerry.”

He nods. “Hey. Woman with a head lac in Curtain Two. Shattered a vase and cut herself.”

“Okay. Do you know where Benton is?”

Jerry snorts. “Sure. He’s tending to His Highness, Howard Davis.”

“Who?”

“We have a medical wing named after him.” He rubs two fingers together. “Y’know?”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah, and get this: Carter went to school with his son. Davis called him Johnny.”

“Johnny?” You grin. Carter is so not a Johnny.

“Yup.” Jerry pops the ‘p.’ “Swift came in and had me call Chicago’s greats just ‘cause Davis had a little cut on his hand.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve got our priorities in order,” you say, laughing.

“Sure. Wish I had a medical wing to donate.”

The phone rings. You take that as your cue to go tend to the woman behind the curtain. She’s deeply apologetic, even though you assure her that this is what you’re here for. You need to up your procedure count anyway. You’re pretty sure Benton will give Carter the surgery internship next year, but Mark Greene had told you that he’d be thrilled to have you back in the ER. It’s not your first choice, considering you want to be a chief of surgery one day, but you switched hospitals halfway through your rotation this year. You’re lucky to be offered anything at Cook County in the first place.

Besides, you like it here. You like the doctors, the staff… you like Carter too, even if he can be a little bit of a pain during times like these, when you have to compete for opportunities. But he’s been nothing but nice to you since you arrived, and he’s shown you all the ropes he could.

And he’s rich? Jesus. You wonder why he’s even here. Surely, he could do anything, right?

“Okay, Mrs. Maldonado,” you say, finishing the woman’s stitches. “You’re all set. If you feel dizzy or nauseous, return immediately, okay?”

She thanks you and apologizes one last time before going to be discharged. You return that chart to the desk, then head for the stairs, on the hunt for Benton. He’d hinted at a chance for you to scrub into a hernia repair, and you want to make sure he hasn’t forgotten.

But Benton comes out of the elevator before you can go upstairs, flanked by Carter and who you assume to be Davis. His hand is wrapped, and he’s talking animatedly about horses. Benton looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Hi, Dr. Benton,” you say quietly. “Can I still scrub into the hernioplasty?”

“Yeah, fine. One sec.” He turns to Davis, who has stopped talking, and is now studying you. You smile, and he smiles back, but it’s not warm.

“Mr. Davis, it was a pleasure,” Benton says. “I hope your hand heals fast.”

“You did excellent work,” Davis says, patting Benton’s shoulder. “It was good to see Johnny again.” He gestures to you. “And you must be the girl who got Johnny’s heart!”

Your eyebrows lift. “I’m sorry?”

Carter is slicing his throat with his hand behind Davis, shaking his head urgently. Play along! he mouths. Your gaze flicks from him to Davis.

“Uh…”

“Oh, don’t be shy. Johnny told me all about you. Dating another medical student, well, I guess that figures. I told him he should catch up with Katrina, my daughter, but he can’t with you keeping him honest. Tell me, where did you go to school?”

“I went to Illinois State for my undergrad,” you say.

Davis looks you over. “Uh-huh. I see. And you two are in the same program?”

“That’s right, sir,” Carter says. “That’s how we met.”

You open your mouth to correct him, but Benton, by all the graces of God, interrupts.

“I’m really so sorry, Mr. Davis, but I need my students back. They’re scrubbing into a surgery. You understand, I hope.” Benton doesn’t sound sorry at all. You love it.

“Oh, sure, sure.” Davis waves his uninjured hand. “Of course, Dr. Benton. Keep up the great work, you and John. Johnny, I’ll see you and this young lady for dinner tonight, yes? Seven sharp.”

“We can’t, unfortunately, as I mentioned before, sir. We’re on-call till midnight,” Carter says, rubbing his hands like he's washing them. A nervous habit. You've noticed that Carter's hands get cracked and red on colder days like these; you've been meaning to give him a pocket lotion, identical to the one you keep in your coat. “We’re not able to get off early.”

“For one night! I think the hospital can survive. Benton, can you let these kids go for a few hours?”

Benton smiles flatly. “Of course, Mr. Davis. We can survive.”

“Fantastic! Johnny, I’ll send the car. You know how that goes.” He nods at you, a little stilted. “And you. Don’t worry about wearing your scrubs. I’m sure it’d be too much trouble for you to change. Johnny’s always dressed up, aren’t you, John?”

Carter rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh—habit from my dad, I guess.”

Davis laughs like that’s the best thing he’s heard in a decade. “You’re right about that! Well, I’ll see you soon. Take care.”

He pats Carter’s shoulder and leaves. Carter shoves his hands deep in his pockets, avoiding both your and Benton’s gaze.

“Didn’t know I’d stolen your heart, Johnny,” you say, hands on your hips.

“Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about him,” Benton says. “Carter here liked riding horses before he came to slum it with us, didn’t you?”

Carter sighs. “Dr. Benton, can we have a minute?”

Benton rolls his eyes. “Both of you finish your charting, and then I’ll see you for the hernia.” He points to you. “Got it?”

You nod. “Got it.”

“Great. We should be finished by the time the car arrives, Mr. Carter.”

Carter winces as Benton walks away. You tilt your head.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

“Uh-huh. Since when are you loaded and dating me? All in one afternoon? Should I expect a ring tomorrow?”

“I’m not loaded, my parents are.”

“Yeah, that’s what rich kids say to attempt modesty. You raced horses?” you ask.

“I didn't race, it was dressage. With an Icelandic pony. Look—”

“A pony? I thought ponies couldn’t be ridden.”

“Some are bred to be ridden. Can I just explain?”

“Wait, I have another question. Is caviar really worth the hype? ‘Cause it looks like those decorative beads that they sell at Pier One, and I’ve always thought it was really weird how obsessed some people are with eating animal embryos and babies.”

Carter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Um, I haven’t had it in a long time, but from what I remember, it was only okay. Can we talk now?”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, herding you into an empty on-call room. He turns on the light and closes the door. You sit on the bed and watch Carter pace a few times before speaking.

“Okay, so, I went to school with Mr. Davis’ son, Greg, as you might have heard. And Davis started talking about Katrina, his daughter, who’s a year younger than Greg and I.”

“Greg and me,” you say.

Carter stops pacing. “What?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘Greg and me’ ‘cause it wouldn’t make sense if you said ‘Katrina is a year younger than I.’ Well, I guess you could say that, but it sounds really weird, like strangely archaic and formal—”

“Seriously? Now?”

You shrug. “Okay, whatever. I guess I expected more from—where’d you graduate? Vanderbilt?”

“Brown. If this is you trying to soothe my nerves, it’s not working.” Carter's a little unkempt, which isn't unusual after a full shift, but you're only three hours in. His stethoscope is slung unevenly around his neck. You reach up to pull one end down so it's even. He blinks at you.

“You’re right,” you say solemnly. “This requires drastic measures. I’ll tell Alfred to fetch the smelling salts immediately, Mr. Wayne.”

That gets a laugh out of him, and you smile, happy he’s a little less tense. Tense Carter is never fun to witness. He sits next to you on the bed. You pat his back, encouraging him to keep explaining.

“Davis was asking me about my life and… y’know, women in my life. He started talking about Katrina, and how she’s ‘managing a bank, but she’s still unmarried! Ain’t that a damn shame!”’

You grimace. “What century is this guy from?”

Carter scoffs. “Not ours or the last. He’s really old-fashioned. He told me that Katrina’s visiting him in Chicago for work and he’d love for us to catch up, and I… I panicked.” He groans, running his hands through his hair and tugging the ends. “I’m sorry. Your name was the first I thought of. I said we’ve been together for a year.”

“Why don’t you just go out to dinner once with Katrina and then tell her you don’t feel a spark, or whatever?”

Carter blows out a slow breath. “No, that wouldn’t work. She’s… God forgive me, honestly, I don’t like saying this about people, but she’s crazy. She set this girl’s hair on fire in her junior year because the girl slept with Katrina’s boyfriend. Katrina was drunk, but…”

“Yeesh,” you say. “I take it there was no disciplinary action?”

“The dean tried, but Davis just threw money at him, and it all went away. Katrina was back in school a few weeks later. Even Greg would warn his friends not to get involved with her. She was out of control for years, and I can’t imagine she’s much different now.” He looks at you, eyes big and pitiful. “I’m really sorry. Maybe we can say we have to be quarantined for tuberculosis or something.”

You hum. “We could. Or we can just go to dinner for a few hours and then Jerry can page us back to the hospital. That way, Davis won’t hound you to meet him again.”

Carter’s eyebrows lift. “You’re taking this really well, considering I just threw this at you.”

“Oh, well, you had a fantastic reason. Johnny Carter is never caught unawares!”

He shakes his head. “I always hated when he called me that. I never felt like a Johnny.”

You bump his shoulder with yours. “Yeah, sorry. I think it’s either John or Carter. Do you have a middle name?”

“Truman.”

“Yikes.”

He snorts. “My dad’s John Truman Carter Jr. So…”

You smile slowly. “Oh, Carter. You cannot tell anyone else that. They will literally never let you live down John Truman Carter the Third.”

He flops back onto the bed horizontally. “Tell me about it. I thought I could graduate without anyone finding out about my family. I don’t want anyone to treat me differently just ‘cause he has money. I’m still the same guy you all know.”

You lie down next to him, propping your head on your hand. One of his suspender straps has slipped down his shoulder, so you pull it back up. You smooth his tie.

“You’re still Carter to me,” you say. “But the suspenders make a lot more sense.”

He smiles and looks down at his shirt. You’ve never noticed how long his lashes are; this close, you can see that they cast shadows on his cheeks.

“My dad made me wear them for most of my life. Never thought twice about it, honestly.”

“I think they’re dashing. Do they get the ladies hot? Do said ladies snap them against your skin?”

“Oh my God,” he says, cheeks pinking. “No comment.”

“That’s absolutely a yes!”

“New subject. Are you sure you want to do this? I can find a way to get you out of this. You shouldn't have to suffer just because of my stupid mouth.”

Carter’s mouth isn't stupid at all, though you don't say so. He's got a perfect mouth, actually. It's pink and when he smiles, his mouth turns upside-down, which you didn't expect the first time you met him. When he shows his teeth, it's even better. Carter has the cutest grin. You look at his mouth now, how it's pulled into a frown. You want to trace his lips until he smiles again.

“I don't mind,” you say. “He's a super important guy, right? Donated a lot to the hospital? We should keep him happy.”

Carter scowls. “This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. I thought the days of meeting my dad's friends and listening to their ridiculous, out-of-touch problems were over. I chose my own path, and I still can't escape them.”

He presses his palms to his eyes. You take a moment to look at the shape of him: his long legs bent over the edge of the bed, his striped white shirt tucked into his pants, the lean lines of his torso. His chest rises and falls quickly.

You savor moments like these, despite his freakout. Carter's the only one who makes you feel like a person at work. He sat with you last month when you lost a little boy in emergency surgery and held your hand while you cried. He's brought you countless bagels and coffees and vending machine chips. Sometimes you just sit together, when you have a second to spare.

“Carter.” You touch his chest. It's warm. He runs so warm, and it surprises you every time. “It'll be fine. You're still on your own path. One dinner won't derail your independence.”

It's beginning to click now, why Carter takes mistakes so personally, like he's failed himself over and over. Why he was desperate to move out, why he never speaks about his family, and why he never has any plans for the holidays. He's mentioned his brother's cancer once to you, nothing else.

He lifts his hands. “I know. It's just, Davis can be a little much. You shouldn't have to deal with it.”

“I can be couth. Address the one percent.”

“I didn't mean it like that. You're amazing. He can be brash. There's a reason Greg moved across the country to be away from him.”

“I think I'll be okay,” you say. “Don't worry, Carter. You will owe me, though.”

Carter nods like he was expecting that. “Of course. Anything you want.”

“I have to think about it.” You hop off the bed and extend a hand. “C'mon, Kentucky Derby. We need to get back to saving the world.”

Carter takes your hand and stands. “That doesn't even make sense. I didn’t race.”

“Well, I don't know any famous dressage competitions. That's outside of my tax bracket.”

The hernia repair goes well. Benton lets you go with minimal grumbling, maybe because he realizes that Swift will be on his ass if Davis complains. You change out of your scrubs, Davis’ comment still ringing in your ears. You dress professionally when the occasion calls for it, and you always have a set of work clothes in your locker. Mostly, you wear scrubs or t-shirts you don’t mind getting blood on.

Benton has never commented on it, nor has Mark, so you stuck to it, prioritizing comfort and hygiene over anything else. It’s a hospital, not Fashion Week.

There’s a knock on the door. “Hey, almost ready? I think the car’s outside.” Carter.

But as you change and look yourself over in the bathroom, you’re wishing you had the means to make more of an effort. Your hair is styled efficiently, out of your face, protecting it until the next wash. Your face is plain, skin free of jewelry. It’s too much of a work hazard with grabby or drunk patients, and you sweat frequently, running around the way you do.

You lean in to inspect your skin, the hair on your face, natural discoloration around your features. The change of clothes helps; you’re in a nice pink blouse and dark pants. The last time you wore this was for a meeting with Morgenstern about a scholarship opportunity.

“Is this okay?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

“Yep, ready!” You smooth your shirt down and grab your stuff, opening the door.

Carter’s got his coat on, in his usual digs, but there’s no reason for him to worry about appearances. Now that you know about his family, it’s easy to imagine him in a room full of elites, wearing a sports jacket and drinking expensive scotch or champagne. Hate it or not, you’re sure Carter’s really good at mingling with people like that. He was one of them. Is.

“You look nice.” He smiles, but it’s a little confused. “You didn’t have to change, though.”

“No one wants me in my stinky scrubs,” you say breezily, turning to put on your coat so you don’t have to look at Carter.

He sighs, and when you look at him, he’s frowning. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Carter, don’t be a silly goose. You said the car’s waiting, right? Let’s go.”

He reluctantly follows you out, through the hospital, and into the cold February air. You tuck your scarf tighter around your neck. Carter takes your hand and points at a black towncar.

“I think that’s it.”

Carter touches your wrist gently, and you look at him.

The seats are soft and leathery. You’re almost afraid to sit, worried you’ll ruin it. Carter chats with the driver, and if he’s nervous about dinner, it doesn’t show. You watch the city blur past, content to let Carter take the lead. At work, you’re clever and ambitious, and you and Carter have even gone toe-to-toe a couple times.

The medical field is already difficult enough; going into surgery as a woman is about twelve times harder. Benton respects you… you think he does, anyway. He’s tough on everyone, which comforts you. But you know most surgical residents aren’t like him. There’s a certain demographic that enters this field.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m fine, Carter.”

He laughs a little. “Probably shouldn’t call me Carter at dinner. None of my girlfriends called me Carter.”

At least now you have no conflicts. You’ve accepted how you feel, you just bury it.

It’s just pretend, just for tonight, but Carter calling you his girlfriend sends a jolt of electricity through you. You’ve seen and even met a few women he’s dated, or, more accurately, had flings with. He’s affectionate, clingy when he thinks he has privacy.

For a while, you hated how your body reacted to the sight of him with women. Carter is technically your competitor, and liking him is only a distraction. Now you’re friends, but it was frustrating at the beginning, trying not to like him. Carter’s sweet, which made it worse.

“John, then.” It’s unusual coming out of your mouth, but it’s nice. “I guess you should call me by my first name too.”

He nods. “For sure. I told Jerry to page us at eight.”

“Only an hour?” You grin. “No faith in me?”

“No faith in me,” he says. “I’d rather do a hundred rectal temp checks.”

“Oh my God, it can’t be that bad!” you say, laughing.

“No, it won’t. I haven’t done this in years. I’m just intolerant, I guess.”

The car pulls up to the establishment: Gibson’s, an upscale American bar and grill. Carter gets out and comes around to your door so you don’t have to slide across the street. He opens the door and takes your hand, helping you out.

“Such a gentleman,” you say.

“Sometimes,” he says, a little bashful. His cheeks are flushed with cold. “Remember, we’ve been dating a year. We met at school.”

“Got it.”

Carter links your arm with his. You walk in together. Carter gives his name and helps you out of your coat to give it to the coat check attendant. You rush to unwrap your scarf, and Carter pats your shoulder, a silent message. Relax. You slow down. You deserve to be here too. You were invited, after all.

You’re brought to the table, where Davis is already seated. He waves, calling Carter over. Carter pulls your chair out for you, then pushes you in. He takes his seat next to you.

“I’m so pleased you could make it,” Davis says, like you had a choice. “Nice having a break from the hospital, eh?”

“We like our work, but it’s nice to have a break,” Carter says diplomatically. “What’s good here?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I already put an order in for three ribeyes.” He points at you. “It’ll knock your socks off.”

“Mr. Davis, we appreciate that, but she doesn’t eat red meat,” Carter says.

Davis squints at you. “Since when? Some fad diet?”

“No, it’s just a personal choice. We see a lot of heart problems in the ER, so I’ve been cutting back. But it’s okay, I can—”

Carter interrupts your excuse. “Mr. Davis, surely you understand. She’d really prefer to eat something else.”

Davis sighs like he killed the cow himself. “Sure, fine. A little beef does you some good, you know. John here loves steak! Should’ve found yourself a steak-lover, Johnny.”

Carter just presses his lips together. You awkwardly fold your hands in your lap as Davis waves over a waiter to give you a menu. You order quickly, not wanting to prolong the tension.

“So, tell me, what do your parents do?” Davis asks.

“My mother is a teacher, my dad was a mechanic. He retired.”

“Hm. They must be glad you’re becoming a doctor.”

“Yes, they’re very proud,” you say.

“Costly, though. You must be drowning in debt.”

You stutter, surprised at his bluntness. “Oh, um, I was fortunate enough to get some merit scholarships, and other aid, but yes, it’s expensive. I have loans, but who doesn’t, right?”

Davis is silent. Right. No one at this table shoulders loans. You glance at Carter, who looks exhausted already.

“Katrina’s on the board for PNC Bank,” Davis says. “No decent guys at work, though. You’d think that the higher you go, the better the options, but no luck.”

“I’m sure she’ll find someone,” Carter says.

“Has she tried those matchmaking services?” you ask. “I had a friend who got married through one of those, and she’s happy.”

Davis raises an eyebrow. “My daughter can find a good fellow on her own.”

“It was only a suggestion,” Carter says. “The Maynors did the same thing with their daughter.”

Davis hisses through his teeth. “Yeah, I remember. That’s because Alexis Maynor had nothing going for her. No looks, no charm, not even a viable career. I suppose if you’re that desperate, you have to rely on those kinds of things.”

Jesus. If this is how Davis is, you’d hate to meet either of his children.

“So, a teacher. What does your mother teach?” Davis asks.

“She teaches high school biology.”

He raises a brow. “And she didn’t want to become a doctor herself?”

“I think she liked teaching more. She likes the kids and the schedule.”

“Ah, well. Not everyone can do. Some must teach.”

You tuck your tongue into your cheek, trying not to snap. “Respectfully, Mr. Davis, all of history’s greats would never have become great without a good teacher.”

“And yet we never hear about them,” Davis says, chuckling.

The waiter arrives then with your food—truly wonderful timing. You wish you had a clock to know how much longer you have to put up with this. Hopefully not long. You can weather through it; he’s not much worse than the smarmy classmates and older doctors you’ve dealt with.

“So Johnny, when are you getting married?”

Carter’s cutting his steak with laser focus. He glances at you, then clears his throat. “We haven’t really discussed it, sir.”

Davis guffaws. “Johnny, I didn’t mean you two. Oh, I’m sure you’re a splendid girl,” he says to you. “But Johnny, you need a family woman. Someone who’ll take care of you at home.”

“I take care of myself just fine,” Carter says, the muscles in his jaw jumping. “And we’re very happy together.”

“Two doctors? Your schedules will never work. You’ll fall apart within a year. Not to mention, Jack and Eleanor wouldn’t approve.” He waves a hand at you. “Surely, you can find someone more your speed, huh?”

Your eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“Someone who shares your background! You can’t have much in common, besides the hospital. What are you specializing in, anyway? Pediatrics? Gynecology?"

You can’t believe it. Davis saw you right next to Carter and Benton. He saw Benton speak to you, address you as his student. And he… what? Assumed you were lost?

You take a slow breath. In, out. “No, actually, I’m studying surgery. I want to be a chief of surgery.”

“A female chief of surgery, wow. Someone’s got big dreams. Johnny, this is what I mean—you don’t want a girl who’s competing with you for the same spot.”

Your and Carter’s pagers beep then, and you’d laugh at the timing if Davis wasn’t turning an interesting shade of red. Carter turns the alert off.

“You know what?” Carter throws his napkin onto his plate and stands. Several people’s heads turn.

“Mr. Davis, you’ve been unbelievably rude tonight. Just because you’re a friend of my father’s doesn’t mean you have any right to judge what I do or who I love. This woman here is fantastic. Her. Right here.”

Carter thrusts a hand at you. You lower your eyes briefly, not wanting to see Davis’ irate expression. But then you look at Carter, and his intensity steals the air from your lungs.

“I’m in love with her! I’d be proud to call her my wife someday. She’s a great doctor, and if she became chief, it would be well-deserved. I am more than my family. I barely see my parents these days, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give a shit about what they think. This is my path. My life. She’s in it, in a big way, and you aren’t.”

“That’s the hospital. We have to go.” He pulls out his wallet and tosses a few bills onto the table. “For our share. And by the way? Katrina’s a bully, and so are you. That’s why she can’t get married.”

Carter helps you out of your chair, then rests an arm around your back as you go to the coat check. Soon enough, the restaurant resumes its usual bustle, letting you leave in peace. Carter’s quiet the whole time. You follow him outside where he tries to flag down a cab in vain.

“Carter,” you say softly.

He checks his watch and grumbles, failing to wave another cab. “What, do they have somewhere to be?” he mutters.

“John.”

Carter looks at you, mouth twitching at the name. “Yeah?”

You sigh. “You should go back. Apologize. He’ll complain to Swift. What if you get kicked out?”

“He wouldn’t go that far,” Carter says. “My dad’s a jerk, but if he ever found out Davis was the reason I got dropped from the program, he’d go after him.”

“Still, it wasn’t—I’m not worth all that trouble. You can still smooth things over. Say you had a hard day, say we fought or something.”

Carter blinks at you. “Not worth—what are you talking about? Of course you’re worth it. He was totally out of line. That shit he said about your mom? God, who the hell does he think he is?”

“It was out of line, Carter, but you and I are just friends. We were pretending, remember? It’s not like any of that stuff about you loving me is true.”

Carter glances at the road, the pavement, anywhere but your eyes. Your heart thumps in your chest.

“Carter?” Your voice is weak. “Is it?”

“There’s a reason I said your name,” he says, and bites the inside of his cheek. “It was… wishful thinking.”

You take a careful step forward. It’s freezing. You want to be wrapped in Carter’s warmth.

“You’re in love with me?”

He nods, staring at his shoes. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say, not daring to breathe in case you fill your lungs and it all melts away. “I just thought of a way you can pay me back for tonight.”

The look Carter gives you tells you that he knows what you’ll say, but he needs to hear it anyway. “How?”

“Kiss me.”

He takes your face in his hands tenderly, thumbs rubbing your cheeks. He kisses you, his mouth warm and firm. Not stupid. His bangs tickle your forehead. You close your eyes and push his bangs back, raking your fingers through his hair. He makes a pleased sound and pulls you closer. You’ll never be cold again.

Carter pulls back just enough to rest his forehead on yours, nose bumping your cheek. “You are worth it.”

You kiss him again.

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