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Summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, fluff, embarrassment (bleeding through), robby and olivia being menace's, drinking
word count: 7.1k
a/n: a slightly longer chapter for you <33 this might be one of my favourite chapters! i hope you enjoy it just as much! and as always, since this is an ongoing process, your ideas and thoughts for future scenes are more than welcome! big kisses to everyone who has sent in ideas <33
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist
The Pitt | Masterlist
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You wake up before the alarm goes off.
For a moment, you lie there, blinking up at the dark ceiling, trying to figure out why your body dragged you out of sleep. Then you feel it as you shift—that awful, unmistakable sticky warmth beneath you. The sensation only gets worse as you shift again, growing cold now where air hits it.
Fuck.
You push yourself upright slowly, trying not to move too much, but the damage is already done. You don't even have to look to know what you'll see.
You glance over at Jack, who is, thankfully, still asleep beside you. He has one arm tucked under his pillow, the other nestled on your hip. It slowly falls to the bed as you get up. He makes a sound at the loss of your warmth, but his breathing stays slow and even.
You slowly stand, mind racing as you stare at the bed. Maybe it's not that bad—but the second you lift the blanket, the dark stain laughs you right in the face. It's not huge, but it's still very noticeable.
It's fucking embarrassing. Your throat tightens. "God, I'm so stupid," you mutter under your breath, voice shaky. "I should've set an alarm… Should've—Fuck!" You should've known better. Should've never fallen asleep on his chest yesterday, only to be awoken gently, so you could brush your teeth. And in that soft space, with eyes blearily blinking, you'd forgotten that the second day always hit you with a vengeance.
And here's the evidence of your stupidity.
Panic buzzes through your body as you start pulling at the sheets. You need to get them off before Jack wakes up. You pull at the corner in an anxious haze, not once stopping to consider how you'll succeed with him still sleeping on them.
You just know you need to throw them in the wash before he sees how disgusting you are.
The mattress shifts, and Jack inhales sharply. His eyes blink open, and before you can even react, he's pushing himself up. He takes a glance at your panic-stricken face and immediately jumps into action, hand reaching for his prosthetic. He grabs it with practised ease, movements quick even while half-awake.
"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice still tinged rough with sleep. He stands up, crossing the space between you.
You step back, hands still tugging at the sheets. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to," you blurt immediately, tugging harder. "I should've known better—" The fitted corner flies free.
"Hey—hey, slow down," Jack says, reaching out to try and grab the bedding from your hands. You jerk away instinctively, avoiding his gaze. The sheets slide across the mattress, and for a split second, the stain is completely visible. There's no question whether Jack saw. You know he did.
"I'll clean it," you rush out, voice cracking in humiliation. "Or buy new sheets. I know it's disgusting—I'll just get you new ones." You keep pulling at it like if you move fast enough, the moment will disappear, and you can forget it ever happened.
Jack doesn't say anything, he just… stops. He watches you for a second, brows knitting together. He approaches you slowly, trying to make sure you won't move away again.
"I don't care about the sheets, sweetheart," he says gently. "I care about you crying over it."
Jack steps closer, his hands catch the edge of the sheet, trying to ease it out of your hands. You grip it tighter, and he lets it fall again. His hands reach for your wrists instead, fingers wrapping around them softly.
"Hey," he murmurs, head tilting towards yours.
You finally stop and look up at him. Your face is crumpled, eyes glassy, embarrassment written all over you.
Jack locks his gaze with yours. "Sweetheart," he says quietly, thumbs brushing lightly over your wrists. "I'm not mad. I couldn't care less about it, in fact. You're not disgusting. This shit happens."
You mull over his words, lip caught in between your teeth. "I'm sorry," you whisper anyway. "I'll get the stain out, I swear!"
Jack exhales softly. "I'll take care of it."
You immediately shake your head. "No—"
"You," he interrupts, nodding towards the bathroom, "are going to take a long, hot shower." He moves his hands from your wrists, carefully extracting the sheets from your grip. "We'll throw your clothes in another load after."
Your hands keep hovering in the air. "But what about the stain?" you protest, though more weakly now than you did at first.
Jack pauses and looks back at you like this might be the most ridiculous concern in the world. "Did you forget I'm an ER doctor?" He lifts the bundle of sheets lightly. "I know how to get blood out of fabric."
Your shoulders finally sag. He's not mad. He doesn't think you're disgusting.
Had you been thinking rationally, you might have told yourself this. That Jack isn't like the men you'd known before.
Jack nods toward the bathroom again, his voice softening. "Go on," he says. "I've got this."
The shower helps, the hot water loosening the tight knot that's been sitting in your chest since you woke up. Steam fills the bathroom, fogging the mirror and curling around your shoulders while you stand under the spray longer than you probably need to.
When you step out, wrapped in a towel, you can hear Jack moving around quietly. Cabinets opening, dishes clinking against the counter, and the low hum of the coffee machine. Your chest tightens again, embarrassment creeping back in as you get dressed.
By the time you make your way into the kitchen, hair still damp and sweater sleeves pulled halfway over your hands, Jack's already sitting at the table with a cup. He looks up immediately at the sound of your footsteps.
There's a plate in front of your usual chair and a steaming mug beside it. He nudges the plate a little closer as you sit.
"Eat," he says simply, no hint of teasing in his voice about earlier. "It's full of iron." His gaze flicks to your face like he wants to say something else, then he thinks better of it.
Your fingers curl around the warm mug automatically. "Thank you," you mutter, staring down at the plate. You still don't understand why he's being so nice to you when you'd just ruined his morning.
The shame is still there, pulsing hot and stubborn under your skin. "I'm—"
Jack points at you immediately with the fork he’s holding. "Don’t say it."
You blink, brows furrowing.
He continues, "You have nothing to be sorry about."
Your mouth opens, anyway. "I—"
"Ah," he chides softly, eyebrows lifting in warning.
You make a small, frustrated hmph in the back of your throat, but shut your mouth. He watches for another second like he's making sure you'll behave, then takes a slurp of his coffee.
The silence that follows isn't awkward like you thought it would be—it's comfortable, the slight crinkle of the newspaper as he turns a page, the clink of a fork against a plate, and the soft slurp of coffee. It's normal.
You're halfway through the plate of food, shame almost dwindled to nothing, when there's a knock at the door.
Jack glances up, like he's been expecting it. "I'll get it."
You hear the door open, muffled voices in the hallway, then the rustle of cardboard. When he comes back into the kitchen, he's carrying two packages, one larger than the other.
"What's that?"
Jack sets them down on the table with a small thump. "Well," he says casually, gesturing toward them, "why don't you open them and see for yourself?"
You eye the boxes suspiciously before reaching for the smaller one first. You stick your knife in, slicing the tape open. Inside is a soft grey heating pad, neatly folded in plastic.
You blink at it, warmth swelling in your chest. "Jack… You shouldn't have."
Jack just shrugs like it was nothing.
You don’t even think about it before you stand up and wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. He stiffens for a second, like the contact surprises him, then his arms come up around you automatically, tightening just a little more than necessary. You press your face into his shoulder, murmuring softly, "Thank you."
The hug lingers longer than it probably needs to, but you're not particularly eager to be the first one to pull away. Jack doesn't seem to mind, his chin resting on the top of your head, as his arms squeeze you tightly. Eventually, you loosen your arms and step back, clearing your throat a little; his hands fall away a bit slower.
"Okay," you say, glancing at the second package, trying to appear calm. "What’s in the other one?"
Jack picks it up, turning it over in his hands. "No idea. That one’s not from me." He sets it down and picks up his mug again.
You rip the tape open again. Inside are several metal pieces and a small bag of bolts. It takes you about three seconds to realise what they are.
Your face lights up. "It's the bed legs!" You pull one of the metal pieces out and hold it up triumphantly. "Finally."
Jack’s fingers stiffen around the mug, his smile fading. He leans his hip against the table instead, crossing his arms loosely. His eyes flick from the metal leg in your hand and then back to you.
"That eager to get away from me already?" he asks lightly. He lifts his coffee and takes a sip like the comment means nothing, gaze settling somewhere near your shoulder instead of your face.
You blink at him, confused, "What, no? That's not—" then realisation hits you, and you grimace. "Oh, shit. I forgot to tell you."
Jack raises an eyebrow.
"Um," you start, words spilling out a little too quickly, "so… Olivia’s coming to town, and I told her she could stay here, but then I realised we don’t actually have a guest bed—" You lift the metal leg slightly, as if it explains everything. "—which we do now. Or… we will. Once this is a bed and not just… parts of a bed."
You glance up at him, hopeful and a little nervous, searching his face. "So, this is good because now she has somewhere to sleep... Right?" You pause. "I mean, if it’s weird, I can tell her to get a hotel. That's totally fine. I just— I already told her she could stay here, so..."
Jack blinks once, then twice, his shoulders relaxing as he processes your spiel. His mouth lifts slightly at the corner. "No, it's fine. She can stay here," he says.
You relax instantly. "Good!" you grin. "Hey," you add, quieter, bumping your shoulder lightly into his arm. "I’m not trying to escape you… Well, maybe besides your snoring."
Jack snorts softly. "I still don't snore. You're such a liar." He leans forward, grabbing your mugs to make more coffee, hip bumping gently into yours as he moves past.
You pull the rest of the pieces out of the box, grinning even wider. "You’ll help me build it, right?"
The days leading up to Olivia's arrival made Jack increasingly nervous. So nervous that Robby caught on and had been teasing him ever since.
Jack doesn't really care. She's your best friend, the most important person in your life, and he has exactly one shot to get on her good side. To show her he's serious about this—that he understands the damage this secret could do to your life if it ever comes out. That he's in this until the bitter end.
He also can't quite kill the small, stubborn hope that she might convince you to start looking at him the way he already looks at you.
Olivia arrives on a Tuesday afternoon after a full day at the conference. She settles in easily, kicking her shoes off, claiming the guest room like she's lived there for months, and is now curled up on the couch beside you like the two of you never spent a day apart.
Introductions had gone smoothly, though he could tell you were nervous for some reason, even if he should be the one sweating over it, not you. But Olivia seemed to like him, and your shoulders had dropped again, especially when she had grinned appreciatively at him when he offered to make dinner as you caught up.
Olivia's conference runs for the next two days, and because you haven't been able to swap shifts with anyone, dinner is the only time the three of you have that overlaps. To your (and Jack's) relief, she's staying until the weekend, in which your days will line up.
Jack knows how much this visit means to you, and he'd checked the schedule to try and figure out something for you, thinking he might be able to move a shift or two around—until two residents called in sick, and there was no one left to spare.
Now, he stands in the kitchen, stirring a pan and trying not to be obvious about staring at you. You’re both laughing at something on your phone—shoulders bumping, heads leaning together, your voices bright and overlapping in that effortless way people only have with old friends.
Olivia is a lot like you. Same easy smile. Same animated way of talking with her hands. Same carefree energy that fills a room without trying. As much as he believes you to be trouble, he can tell she is, too. If not as much, then just in a way that encourages you.
But where you’re open like a book, Olivia feels… sharper.
Jack prides himself on reading people. It’s part of the job. Years in the ER teach you to catch the smallest cues—tension in a jaw, the shift of someone’s breathing, the flicker of pain someone’s trying to hide.
With you, it’s second nature. With Olivia? He’s getting nothing. Or worse, he's getting the uncomfortable sense that she’s the one reading him.
He feels it now as he cooks. Standing at the stove, stirring the pasta sauce, he glances toward the couch again, out of habit—just to check on you. The sound of your laughter pulls a smile onto his face before he even realises it.
But Olivia… Olivia isn't laughing. She's watching him, sharp eyes over the corner of her phone. The kind of look people give when they’ve already figured something out. The moment he notices, she smiles like nothing's happened and turns back to you.
Dinner passes quickly—just casual small talk and getting to know each other. It goes better than he'd hoped for.
As the clock ticks closer to seven, he begins to clear the table. You leave to change, something he'd done earlier, and now he's left alone with Olivia. She grabs the plates and starts rinsing them, ignoring his gesture for her to leave them to him.
"It’s a noble thing you’re doing," she says casually, but Jack feels her gaze on him. "For her," she adds.
He shrugs as he gathers the glasses.
Olivia tilts her head. "No, really," she continues. "Not everyone would agree to something like this."
"Something like what?" He tries to buy himself time, to keep his face from revealing more than it already has.
Olivia gestures lightly as she places a plate into the dishwasher. "This whole arrangement. Pretending to be married. Opening up your house. Letting someone move in just because." Her voice stays light, but Jack knows what she's fishing for. "Most people would’ve run the other direction."
"It was the right thing to do," he says simply, because it's the truth.
Olivia studies him for a moment longer than comfortable, then one eyebrow lifts slightly. "That’s it?"
"That’s it."
She hums softly, like she’s filing the answer away for later, then she washes her hands. "You look at her a lot, you know."
Jack freezes for half a second before recovering. "Do I?"
"Mm." She dries her hands with a dish towel. "You did it like… five times while cooking."
Jack huffs quietly, leaning against the counter. "Habit. Making sure she doesn’t get into trouble. Or something worse."
Olivia grins, her smile is warm now—more playful than investigative. "I’ve known her since middle school. It can’t get worse than when she once microwaved ramen without water."
Jack’s eyebrows lift, the corner of his mouth curling. "That explains a lot."
Olivia laughs softly. "Right?" She sets the towel down, studying him again, but this time it feels less like scrutiny and more like curiosity. "You’re good for her," she says after a moment.
Jack blinks at that. He hadn't expected that.
Olivia shrugs lightly. "She trusts you."
Jack shifts slightly, glancing toward the hallway where you disappeared down minutes ago. "I hope so."
"Oh, she does," Olivia says easily. "Otherwise she wouldn’t be here." She taps the counter behind her thoughtfully. "Still though… fake marriage. That's a big commitment."
Jack sighs quietly. "It's just temporary." He hates being reminded of it.
"Sure." Olivia’s mouth curves slightly.
Footsteps echo down the hallway. Olivia hears it too, straightening. As she passes Jack, she pauses just long enough to pat his shoulder. Leaning down slightly, she murmurs under her breath, "I know what you’re hiding."
Jack stiffens.
She straightens again, smiling brightly. "But don’t worry," she adds lightly. "I’m fun, not cruel. I'll keep it to myself." She glances into his eyes, shrugging. "…For now."
Your voice calls out from the hallway as you appear in the doorway again in scrubs. "Did I miss anything fun?" You glance from Olivia to Jack, trying to ascertain the atmosphere.
Olivia turns toward you immediately, grin widening. "Just telling your husband he passed my friend inspection." She hooks an arm around your shoulders as you walk into the room. You roll your eyes immediately, finding Jack's eyes and sending him a small smile.
His eyes flick briefly to Olivia, but she’s smiling at you like nothing happened. Like she hadn’t just read his deepest secret within a few hours of meeting him.
The for now feels like a ticking bomb he isn't sure how to disable.
Jack takes your things to the locker once you arrive, leaving you at the hub to get ready for the night. You're scanning the board when a shadow falls over you.
Robby smirks as he leans against the counter. "Hey," he says.
"Hi," you reply, eyes narrowing at him. He's looking way too pleased with himself, and you can practically smell the mischief on him.
"So…" he begins. "Didn't peg you for the scandalous type." He grins at you, watching gleefully as you try to school your features into something resembling neutral.
You don't say anything, just stare at him.
"I mean, living together? Sleeping in the same bed? Careful or this—" he leans in, voice lowering to a whisper, "fake marriage might turn into a real one." His grin widens as he watches you struggle to keep a straight face. "Do you have enough condoms, or do you need me to pick some up?"
"Robby," you warn, cheeks flushing. Your hand swats his shoulder, trying to make him stop, but Robby just chuckles loudly.
"Hey, brother," Jack greets as he steps up beside you. He glances from you to Robby, noting his smirk and your stiff jaw and sighs, "Be nice."
"Or what?" Robby counters.
"Or I'll tell that nurse your text last week was meant for someone else," Jack says in response.
Robby freezes. "…Low blow."
"Effective, though."
"…Fine. You two are no fun," Robby says, jerking his chin toward you. "I'll leave your girl alone." He steps back, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder. "See you later, love birds."
"Bye, Robert," you call after him.
He flips you off without turning around.
Jack nudges your shoulder. You glance at him, and the look you share is quick but familiar—checking in, making sure you’re good, before the night swallows you both whole.
Friday doesn't come fast enough. You've trudged through night shifts, waiting for the day that yours and Olivia's schedules finally align. And with Jack out of the house—he'd offered himself—wine night is finally on.
The TV plays some movie you've seen before as you giggle away on the couch, neither of you paying much attention to it. There's a half-empty pizza box sitting on the coffee table, and in your hands are two wine glasses. One bottle is already gone, and the second one is nearly empty.
Conversation flows easily as you jump between topics, the way you can only do with someone who already knows your entire life history.
"No, wait," you say, grinning as you lean forward, wine glass dangling from your fingers. "What about that guy who opened with 'hey beautiful, you look like you have fertile hips'—that has to be the worst one."
Olivia groans loudly, dragging her hands over her face. "Ugh. I forgot about that one..."
You collapse backwards into the couch, laughing. "Oh, or maybe that one you still went on three dates with… uh—what's his name—Matt? Miles?"
"Martin," she supplies. "And he seemed normal!"
"You told me he brought his mother to the restaurant."
She sits up straight. "I didn’t know she was going to be there! And she was nice."
You're nearly wheezing with laughter now.
"Anyway," she says after a moment, wiping under her eye. "Enough about my romantic disasters. I want updates."
"On what?" you say, leaning back.
She gestures broadly around the house, like it's obvious. "This."
You frown. "This what?"
She stares at you like you're dumb. "Jack? The man you're married to? Living here? Sleeping in the same bed? The kiss? I mean, have you kissed him again?"
You immediately shake your head. "No." You take another sip like that, somehow proves your point. "There’s nothing to say. Nothing's happened."
Olivia slowly lowers her wine glass. "…Girl."
You groan. "No, seriously," you say, shaking your head. "He doesn’t see me like that."
"Girl."
"I’m serious!"
"You cannot be serious."
"I am."
She stares at you for a full five seconds before setting her wine glass down dramatically. "You are living in a completely different reality than the rest of us."
You point at yourself. "Me?"
"Yes, you!" She leans forward now. "I can’t count how many times I caught him staring at you these last few days."
You blink. "What?"
"Kitchen, hallway, living room—it doesn't matter where. There was also that time when you were taking off your sweatshirt and he just—" she mimics someone freezing mid-motion "—completely forgot what he was doing."
You shake your head, rolling your eyes. "He did not."
"He absolutely did."
You laugh nervously and take another sip. "He’s just… Jack."
Olivia stares, then bursts out laughing again. "He's just Jack? Wow, that defence's gonna hold up well in court."
"He is!" you repeat, "and we're not in court, so who cares?"
"Girl, you two flirt constantly."
"We do not."
"You absolutely do." She starts counting on her fingers. "The shoulder touches. The little jokes. The way you smile at each other.
Your stomach twists slightly. "Liv, you’re reading into it."
"Am I?"
"Yes!"
"You two are more married than half the couples I work with," she states.
You snort, "Please."
"I’m serious." Olivia scoots closer across the couch, grabbing your hand. Her voice softens just slightly, "I’m not shitting you."
You swallow, bringing the glass up for a sip.
She continues, "That man is so in love with you."
Your heart jumps painfully in your chest, and you choke on the wine. You pull your hand back slowly. "But what if he isn’t?" you say quietly. The room feels a little smaller, walls closing in. "What if I’m just… seeing things because I want to?"
Olivia doesn’t interrupt this time.
"What if I’m just setting myself up for heartbreak?" you add.
She studies you for a moment, then she tilts her head. "Aren’t you already doing that?"
"…What?"
"You’re already in love with him," she says.
You open your mouth. Close it again. You can't argue with that.
She shrugs gently. "So either way, you’re risking it."
The truth of it sits heavily between you. You stare down into your wine glass. She leans back again after a moment, stretching her legs across the couch. "Look," she says casually. "You don’t have to confess your undying love tomorrow."
You swallow, the warmth of the wine doing nothing to calm the sudden flutter in your chest.
"Just… flirt more," she offers.
You make a face. "You just said I already flirt."
"Barely," she grins. "Just lean into it a little more. See what happens."
"And if it goes badly?"
She lifts her glass. "Then we open another bottle of wine, and I help you plan your dramatic move to Spain."
You laugh despite yourself.
"It can’t hurt," she adds with a small shrug.
Your stomach flips. "…Yeah," you murmur. "Maybe not."
You’re still thinking about what Olivia said as you pretend to watch the last of the movie. Unfortunately, your brain keeps replaying the words that man is so in love with you, like it’s trying to decide whether to believe them or not. You swirl the wine in your glass, watching the deep red circle the bowl.
Olivia, meanwhile, has clearly moved on from the emotional portion of the evening. She stretches across the couch, phone in hand. Every few seconds, she snorts.
"What now?" you ask.
She turns the screen toward you. "Look at this man." You squint at the profile. Looking for someone chill who doesn’t take things too seriously and will laugh at my dark humour.
You shrug. "That’s not that bad."
She scrolls down. "His first prompt answer is ‘my most controversial opinion: women shouldn’t vote.’"
You nearly choke on your wine. "Oh my god. I take it back."
"I’m telling you," she says, tossing the phone onto her stomach. "Dating apps are the worst. You should be glad you're off the market."
You laugh, shaking your head, ignoring the latter part of her sentence. Because you're not—not truly. "Well, at least you’re getting anecdotes out of it."
Olivia sighs dramatically and reaches for her purse on the coffee table, rummaging through it for her lip balm. "Oh—wait."
You glance over. "What?"
"I forgot." She pulls a small envelope out from under the pile and waves it. "I won these in a raffle earlier." She opens the envelope and pulls out four glossy tickets. "It’s for that game on Saturday. Baseball or whatever."
"Really?"
"Yep." She fans them out like playing cards.
You think for a second. "I think Jack was talking about watching it."
Olivia’s face lights up immediately. "Well," she says, grinning as she taps the stack of tickets against her palm, "we have just one problem then."
You tilt your head. "What?"
She holds up four fingers. "I have four tickets."
Jack’s key clicks in the lock, and the sound of laughter hits him before he even steps inside. He pauses in the hallway, leaning slightly against the doorframe, just listening for a moment.
Once he moves, he sees you draped across the couch with Olivia, blankets tangled around your legs, empty glasses and bottles on the table. You’re mid-giggle at something Olivia said, your head thrown back, and Jack can’t help the small, involuntary smile tugging at his lips.
He clears his throat softly. You glance up, still smiling, but your gaze is lazy, soft, and somehow magnetic even in your tipsy state. He wants you to look that happy to see him every time he comes home.
"Jack," you sit up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, and Jack feels that familiar pull in his chest. He wants to step closer, to be part of this warmth, but he doesn’t. He just watches.
"Looks like you girls have had a good night," he says, nodding at the table.
"The best," you reply, smiling. "Come sit," you pat the cushion next to you, and Jack obliges quicker than he should. He can see Olivia grinning out of the corner of his eye. Sinking into the couch, your thigh brushes his as you lean back against the cushion. You don’t move your leg away. Neither does he.
"How was your night? 'Robby treat you well?" you ask.
"Plenty of beers and burgers. I can't complain."
"Good," you say, leaning onto his shoulder without thinking. Your cheek presses against him as you tell him about your evening—how you'd ended up watching some terrible horror movie. You try to tell him the plot, but you and Olivia are barely comprehensible through your giggles. Jack doesn't really care about the story; he’s too busy memorising the weight of your head on his shoulder, content with watching you being happy. It's what you deserve after these past weeks of trials—hell, after being doomed to stay in this marriage.
Your giggles eventually die down, and Olivia yawns loudly. "I’m going to bed," she announces, sliding off the couch and glancing at you, something incomprehensible glinting in her eyes. You seem to understand it, though, as you sit up straight again.
"Bedtime?" Jack asks, glancing over at you. He reaches over to brush a strand of hair off your shoulder before he seems to realise he did it.
You sigh, eyes closing briefly. "Yeah, I should probably go to bed, too. Can I use the bathroom first?"
Jack nods and watches as you disappear off into the hallway, listening for the bedroom door opening. The sound of running water reaches him shortly after, the faint clatter of bottles and brushes, and he leans back, trying not to overthink the way his heart is drumming. He follows you into the bedroom a moment later.
He's on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, though nothing's really exciting on it, as he waits for you. You emerge a few minutes later, wrapped in a soft, oversized t-shirt, bare legs peeking out. You saunter back toward him, but instead of getting into bed with him like usual, you head for the door again.
"I'm gonna sleep with Liv," you murmur. "Feel free to do your best Patrick impression."
"Patrick?"
"Starfish," you say like it's obvious, giggling.
Jack swallows, forcing a smile and nod. "Oh… yeah," he says, voice steady, though a flicker of disappointment flits across his features for a brief second. He tells himself it’s fine—he’s fine.
He always knew this part wouldn’t last forever. He just wasn't expecting it to hurt like this. He stays on the bed, staring at the door as if it might open again.
Seconds later, the door does creak open again, and there you are, sheepish and hesitant this time, eyes darting toward him. "Okay…" you say quietly, voice small. "…Olivia won’t let me in."
Jack can’t help the smile that curls at the corner of his lips. Relief and amusement swirl together. He watches you step in, shrugging helplessly, and internally, he blesses Olivia for intervening.
He gets up, leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom, arms crossed loosely, letting himself enjoy the moment. "Didn't take you long to come crawling back."
"Careful. I can still sleep on the couch," you counter, smiling at him, and you both know it's an empty threat. Especially, as you slide into bed, on your side, ducking under the covers.
"Uh-huh," Jack grins back.
Robby ends up being the lucky recipient of the fourth ticket. He’s practically vibrating with excitement when the four of you arrive at the stadium, weaving through the thick crowd of fans in jerseys and caps.
"Man, I can’t believe you actually won these," he says for what must be the fifth time, looking around like the place might vanish if he blinks too long. Olivia beams at him.
You climb the stairs toward your section, the roar of the stadium swelling louder with every step. The sun is warm, the sky perfectly clear, and the air smells like popcorn, hot dogs, and grass. Jack keeps glancing back over his shoulder as you climb, slowing just enough each time to make sure you’re still right behind him. Eventually, you press your fingers lightly against the back of his shirt so he’ll stop worrying and just keep walking.
When you reach your row, Robby slides in first, squeezing past the seats with practised ease. Jack follows, pausing long enough to hold the seat backs out of your way as you slip in behind him. Olivia brings up the rear, grinning at you when Jack looks back once more to make sure you made it through.
She’s decked out head to toe in baseball gear—team cap, oversized jersey, even eye black smudged under her eyes. She has absolutely no idea what’s going on, but she's more than happy to play the part.
You, on the other hand, are wearing one of Jack’s old baseball shirts. It’s a little big on you, the sleeves falling just past your elbows, the faded team logo soft from years of washing. Jack had dug it out that morning. "For luck," he said.
It smells faintly like his laundry detergent. It makes you feel things you really shouldn't.
Jack settles back in his seat beside you. A moment later, his arm lifts casually and rests along the back of your seat. Not quite around you. But close enough that if you leaned back even a little—
Olivia notices immediately. She glances from his arm to your face, then sends you a slow, knowing smile. You pointedly ignore her.
Jack leans slightly closer instead, voice lowering near your ear so he doesn’t have to shout over the crowd. "Okay," he says quietly. "So basically—" He gestures toward the field. "That guy’s the starting pitcher. If he does well tonight, it probably decides the series."
You nod like you understand. "What’s the series?"
Jack chuckles softly. "Long story." He starts explaining anyway, pointing out players, rules, and little moments happening on the field. His voice is calm and patient, the kind of tone someone uses when they’re excited to share something they love with someone they lo—
You find yourself listening more to him than the game. Heart fluttering when he reaches over to tuck the edge of your jacket closer around you when the wind picks up.
At the end of an inning, as Jack tells you, you get up. "I’m gonna go to the bathroom," you say.
Jack straightens beside you immediately. "I’ll come with you," he says, already pushing himself to his feet. "I could use something to drink anyway."
He leans forward, glancing past you toward Olivia and Robby. "You guys want anything?"
They don’t even hesitate. "A beer, please," they say in perfect chorus.
Jack chuckles, "Of course."
You step into the crowded concourse, the noise swelling again as people stream past. Someone brushes past you, and Jack’s hand briefly finds the small of your back, guiding you out of the way.
"How much money do you think it’d cost to bat once?" you ask as you walk.
"More than it’s worth," Jack says, falling into step beside you. "You actually have to hit the ball."
You lean toward him, nudging his shoulder. "Hey! You don’t know if I’m good."
He just levels you with a look, brow raised, "I had to explain the rules. That’s enough to know you’ll probably… miss."
You huff, "That proves nothing."
His hand lingers on your back for a second longer than necessary before he lets it fall away.
"Okay... Just so you know," you say quietly after a moment, tugging the edge of your jacket closer around you. "I still have absolutely no idea what’s happening in that game."
Jack grins. "I figured." A group of fans pushes past, and he shifts slightly closer again so they don’t bump into you.
"You did not," you say.
He laughs, "You clapped when someone stretched."
"It was a... a good stretch," you grin back.
Olivia and Robby are quiet for a moment after you and Jack head off, the crowd singing loudly around them. Then Olivia leans forward slightly in her seat, elbows on her knees, as she tilts her head toward Robby. "Do you see what I see?"
Robby doesn’t look confused, and a slow grin spreads across his face. "Two lovesick fools?"
Olivia points at him approvingly. "Good." She settles back into her seat again, crossing one leg over the other. "I’m doing my part," she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You better be doing yours."
Robby snorts softly. "Oh, trust me, I am trying." He drags a hand through his hair. "It’s not easy."
Olivia glances sideways at him. "Tell me about it."
"We’re in the same boat then," Robby says. "You’d think two supposedly intelligent adults could figure this out."
Olivia gestures dramatically toward the empty seats beside them. "It’s so obvious."
"Love really makes you blind," he says with a small shrug.
"What makes who blind?"
Both of them jump slightly. You and Jack are suddenly standing beside the row again, squeezing past people to get back to your seat.
Olivia’s expression resets instantly. "Oh!" She waves a hand vaguely. "Robby was just telling me a work story."
Robby nods immediately, jumping in. "Yeah—uh, just a case we had the other day."
You settle halfway down, pausing to look at him past Jack. "What kind of case?"
Robby grimaces dramatically. "Someone thought rinsing their eyes with… cleaning solution… was a good idea."
Your face contorts in horror. "Oh—yikes."
"Yeah," Robby says quickly. "Not recommended."
Jack hands the beers over to them. "Two for the peanut gallery."
"Bless you," Robby says, taking the out that Jack probably doesn't know he's given him.
Olivia takes hers with a grin. "Your service is appreciated."
Jack places a drink in your cup holder before setting his own drink down. Without really thinking about it, his arm drapes back along the seat behind you again.
Olivia watches the motion with quiet satisfaction, then she takes a slow sip of her beer and turns back toward the field. Robby grins into his cup. The game resumes, and the two of them share a very small, very smug look over your heads.
You enjoy baseball much more than you'd imagined, though you probably have Jack to thank for that. His commentary plays a huge part in your enjoyment, though you're not sure you could explain anything about the game after—you're more focused on the way his breath brushes against your ear, how his gravelly voice somehow turns gruffer as the game goes on, and how it all pools in a low heat in your belly.
"Kiss cam’s coming up," Olivia whispers suddenly, leaning toward your other ear while Jack and Robby are deep in some very serious baseball discussion beside you.
"And why," you murmur back, not looking away from the field, "are you telling me this?"
Olivia’s grin is audible in her voice. "Just so you’re prepared."
You snort quietly. "There are thousands of people here. We’re not gonna get picked."
The giant screen above the stadium lights up as the music changes. The camera sweeps across the crowd as cheers ripple through the stands.
An older couple appears on the screen first—grey-haired and giggling as they lean in for a quick peck. The crowd applauds. Next, a younger pair who dramatically overdo it, laughing halfway through their kiss while the stadium roars. Then a pair of teenagers who look mortified as the camera lands on them. The boy kisses the girl’s cheek, and she hides her face while the crowd awws.
You’re smiling as you watch. The camera keeps moving and suddenly—it stops.
Your face appears on the massive screen. Right next to Jack’s. For a full second, you just stare. Your brain refuses to process what you’re seeing. The stadium erupts in cheers, egging you on.
"Oh my god," Olivia breathes beside you.
You’re still staring up at the screen in disbelief when Olivia nudges your shoulder sharply. Instinct kicks in. You turn toward Jack. He’s already looking at you.
For a split second, neither of you moves. The noise of the stadium fades behind the awareness of how close you’re sitting—his knee pressed lightly against yours, the familiar warmth of his shoulder against your arm, how he's close enough that you can feel his breath when he exhales. Your pulse thunders in your ears.
What if someone from the hospital is here? What if someone sees? You have to do it.
His eyes flick briefly to the giant screen and back to you. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s about to laugh. He gives you a quick shrug.
So you lean in, intending for the kiss to be swift and chaste. Just enough to satisfy the camera and keep your covers. But the moment you get close, Jack’s hand comes up. His fingers slide gently along your jaw, cradling the side of your face, and your plan evaporates into thin air.
The kiss lands soft, warmer than you expected, and suddenly you’re leaning into it instead of pulling away, a quiet sigh escaping you before you can stop it. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer without thinking.
Jack’s lips are warm, tasting faintly of beer, slightly chapped from the sun and the dry stadium air, but still soft. He shifts closer, the heat of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd feels miles away. All you can feel is him.
For a full second, it feels like you’re the only two people in the stadium, then the cheers hit. Loud. Whistles, shouting, the crowd going wild around you.
You blink, remembering where you are, and pull back quickly. Your chest rises in a quick, shaky breath you hope he doesn’t notice, face flushing as embarrassment creeps up your neck.
"Whooo!" Olivia leaps up, nearly tipping her cup, arms flailing in celebration. "Way to go!"
Robby is absolutely no help either. He lets out a long, piercing whistle from the other side.
"Fuck off," your voice comes out softer than you meant to, still a little breathless, shoving Olivia lightly. Jack huffs out a quiet laugh beside you.
You glance at him. He’s already looking at you again, a little flushed, his hand still half-raised like he forgot to put it down. Neither of you says anything, but for a moment it looks like he’s about to.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he lets out a slightly crooked smile, rolling his eyes at their antics. You can't help but grin back. And for the first time since Olivia said it, the thought slips into your head uninvited—maybe she’s right.
Veterinarian at the next follow up: "Dog is looking really good! But I'm concerned - with this kind of progress, it looks like Dog is getting HOURS of massage every day. If you work yourself into a repetitive motion injury, you won't be able to keep up with Dog's home physical therapy, and, you know, you'll be hurt, too."
Human: "I give Dog a massage for about 30 minutes a day. The rest is all Cat."
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