The longest day
SUMMARY: When you unexpectedly cover an emergency shift at the veterinary clinic and disappear from your phone for the entire day, Cole’s concern quickly turns into panic. By the time he finds you, the fear has already taken its toll on both of you.
WC: 4.6k
WARNINGS: Angst, anxiety, fear of a loved one being hurt, missed calls and unanswered texts, brief argument, emotional confrontation, mentions of an injured animal and emergency veterinary surgery, exhaustion, crying, and a happy ending.
Requested: Cole Sillinger + you stop answering texts for an entire day because of an emergency
Cole knew something was wrong before there was any real reason to believe it.
It started with a message that went unanswered.That alone should not have been enough to worry him.
You were allowed to sleep in. You were allowed to put your phone on silent, take a long shower, spend the morning reading or cleaning or doing absolutely nothing. It was your first free day in almost two weeks, and Cole had watched you drag yourself through the apartment the night before with exhaustion written into every movement.
You had barely made it through dinner.
He had found you sitting at the kitchen counter with your cheek resting against your folded arms, still wearing your scrubs, too tired to even remove your shoes.
Cole had laughed softly and touched the back of your neck “Bed, Doctor.”
“I’m awake,” you had mumbled.
“You’re drooling on the counter.”
“I am not.”
“You definitely are.”
You had lifted your head only enough to glare at him, a faint crease pressed into your cheek “Carry me.”
“You’re demanding for someone who’s allegedly awake.”
“Cole.”
He had carried you anyway. He remembered how your arms had curled lazily around his neck, your forehead resting against his shoulder while he took you down the hall. You had been asleep before he even placed you beneath the blankets.
That was why, when he sent his first text before morning skate and received nothing, he smiled instead of worrying.
Cole: Morning, pretty girl. Enjoy your day off.
A minute later, he added:
Cole: And no bringing home any abandoned animals while I’m gone.
He tucked his phone into his bag and headed toward the ice, expecting to find some sarcastic reply when he returned. Maybe a picture of the stray kitten you had been trying to convince him you were not emotionally attached to.
Maybe a threat to replace him with a golden retriever. Maybe nothing more than a sleepy heart but when practice ended, both messages were still unread. Cole sat in front of his stall, towel draped around his neck, and stared at the screen.
He knew you were probably asleep.
It was not unusual for you to sleep through half the morning after a hard week. Your job took more from you than you liked admitting. You carried every patient home with you in some way—the ones you saved and the ones you couldn’t.
Some nights, you talked about them.
Other nights, you were quiet, climbing into bed and pressing yourself against Cole as though you needed proof that something in the world was still warm and alive. He typed another message.
Cole: Still sleeping?
Then, after a few minutes:
Cole: This is becoming disrespectful.
He waited.
Nothing.
His teammates moved around him, laughing and talking while they changed, but Cole barely heard them. He opened your conversation again, checking the timestamp beneath his messages as though it might have changed. Still unread.
“Everything okay?”
Cole glanced up “Yeah.” It came out automatically, the answer was easy, even if it did not feel entirely true “She’s just not answering.”
“Maybe she’s busy.”
“It’s her day off.”
The words left him too quickly. The teammate across from him lifted an eyebrow but said nothing else, Cole locked his phone and tossed it beside him. He felt ridiculous.
You were an adult. You did not owe him constant updates. You did not have to answer every message the second it arrived.
He knew that.
He trusted you, but you always answered eventually. Even when you were working, even when you had patients lined up and barely enough time to eat, you found a way to send something.
Busy. Love you.
Emergency surgery. Call later.
Still alive. Miss you.
Sometimes the messages were rushed and full of typos, but they came, your silence was not normal. Cole showered and dressed, trying not to keep checking his phone. He failed, by the time he walked toward the parking lot, he had sent two more messages.
Cole: Call me when you wake up.
Cole: Seriously. Just checking that you’re okay.
He called while standing beside his car, the phone rang until it went to voicemail. His stomach tightened “Hey,” he said after the beep, forcing his voice to remain casual. “It’s me. I know you’re probably sleeping, but call me when you see this, okay?”
He ended the call and stared at your name, there was still no movement in the conversation. No read receipt, no typing bubble.
Nothing.
Cole opened the location app, your phone had last updated hours earlier. At the clinic. For several seconds, he simply stared at the screen.
You were not supposed to be at the clinic. He refreshed the page, the location did not change.mHe refreshed it again, still the clinic. A cold feeling slowly moved through his chest.
Maybe you had stopped there that morning, maybe you had forgotten something, maybe one of your colleagues had asked you to look at a patient. There were ordinary explanations. Easy ones. Cole tried to hold onto them, but anxiety was faster.
He imagined your car on the side of the road. He imagined you walking through the clinic parking lot alone. He imagined someone calling you for help and something happening before you could reach your phone.
He imagined far too many things.
Cole called again, no answer. This time, he did not leave a voicemail, he sat in his car with both hands on the steering wheel, trying to steady his breathing.
You were fine, you had to be fine, there was no reason to think otherwise. But fear did not care about reason. Fear took every memory he had of you being exhausted and twisted it into something uglier.
You falling asleep sitting upright at the kitchen table, you rubbing your eyes while driving home after a late shift.You once calling him from a gas station because you had realized you could not remember the last ten minutes of the drive.
He had been furious that night, not truly angry with you, but terrified. You had promised you would call him whenever you were too tired to drive.
What if you had not called this time? What if you had thought you could make it?
His phone suddenly felt too heavy in his hand, Cole called your closest friend.
She answered on the third ring “Hey, have you talked to YN today?”
“No. Why?”
He tried not to let the concern in her voice make his own worse “She’s not answering.”
“Maybe she’s sleeping.”
“Her phone says she’s at work.”
There was a pause “I thought she was off.”
“She is.”
“Did you call the clinic?”
“Not yet.”
“Cole…”
“I’m calling now.” He ended the call before she could say anything else, the clinic phone rang several times. With every ring, his pulse climbed.
Finally, someone answered “Good afternoon, Northside Veterinary Clinic. Can you hold?”
“Wait—”
The call clicked over before he could finish, music filled the car. Cole closed his eyes, he waited thirty seconds. Then a minute. Then nearly three. By the time the receptionist returned, his knee was bouncing hard enough to shake the entire car “Thank you for holding. How can I help you?”
“Hi. I’m trying to reach YN.”
“Is this regarding a patient?”
“No. I’m her boyfriend.” the words sounded too small for what you were to him “I’ve been trying to call her all day.”
“Oh.” The receptionist sounded distracted. “She’s with a patient right now.”
Relief hit him so suddenly it almost hurt, Cole bent forward, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel “She’s there?”
“Yes. We called her in this morning. One of the doctors had an emergency, and we were already overwhelmed.”
Cole let out a breath that did not feel like enough “She’s okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” The question came out sharper than he intended, the receptionist softened slightly “She’s okay, Cole. She’s just very busy.”
He swallowed “She didn’t tell me she was going in.”
“I’m not sure she had time. We called her early, and she arrived almost immediately.”
A dog barked loudly in the background, someone called the receptionist’s name “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll tell her you called.”
“Please do.”
“I will.”
The call ended.
Cole remained hunched over the steering wheel, you were alive, you were safe, you were working. He should have felt better He did feel better but beneath the relief was something rawer.
For hours, he had been imagining the worst day of his life while you had been moving through yours without thinking to tell him.
The thought was unfair, he knew it was unfair. You had not chosen to frighten him. You had not deliberately ignored him. You had gone to help because that was who you were.
Still, his hands shook slightly when he started the car.
He drove to the clinic, the parking lot was nearly full, Cole parked farther away than usual and crossed the distance quickly, barely noticing the cold air or the people moving around him.
The waiting room was crowded when he entered.
A family sat in the corner beside a golden retriever wrapped in a blanket. A woman stood near the front desk holding a carrier against her chest, whispering through the metal door to the frightened cat inside.
A little boy was crying while his father tried to comfort him.
The noise, the smell and the tension in the room hit Cole all at once, he walked toward reception. The woman who had answered his call recognized him “She’s still with a patient.”
“What kind of patient?”
The receptionist hesitated “A dog was hit by a car.”
Cole’s stomach dropped again “She’s in surgery?”
“Yes.”
“How long has she been in there?”
“Almost two hours.”
He looked toward the double doors behind the desk “Can I see her?”
“Not right now.”
“I just need to know she’s okay.”
“She is.”
“You said that on the phone.”
“And it’s still true.”
Cole looked away, jaw tightening. He knew he was being difficult. He knew the receptionist had work to do. None of this was her fault. But all he could see was the blank screen on his phone, all he could hear was the voicemail he had left “Can you tell her I’m here?”
“I will.”
“I’ll wait.”
The receptionist gave him a sympathetic look “It might be a while.”
“I’ll wait.”
Cole found an empty chair against the wall, it was too small and uncomfortable, but he barely noticed. He checked his phone again.
Eight texts. Four calls. One voicemail and No answer.
He opened the message thread and read through everything he had sent, the early messages were playful, the later ones were not.
Cole: Please answer.
Cole: I’m getting worried.
Cole: Just tell me you’re safe.
The last one had been sent only ten minutes before he called the clinic, he stared at it until the words blurred. He thought about all the times you had told him not to worry.
You always said it lightly.
You would come home after sixteen hours with bruises on your arms from struggling animals and exhaustion hollowing out your face, then smile at him as though nothing was wrong.
“I’m fine.”
You used the phrase too often that Cole had begun to hate it. You said it when a patient died. You said it when a dog bit through your glove. You said it when you had not eaten since breakfast. You said it when you cried quietly in the shower because you thought he could not hear you.
You were always fine until you weren’t.
And sometimes, Cole feared he would not realize the difference until it was too late. The thought sat heavily inside him. Minutes passed, then more. The clinic doors opened and closed repeatedly, but you never appeared.
Every time someone in scrubs came into the waiting room, Cole looked up. Every time it was not you, disappointment settled deeper. Nearly an hour passed before the double doors finally opened and you stepped through.
Cole stood immediately.
You were wearing pale-blue scrubs beneath a surgical gown. Your hair was hidden under a cap, and a faint smear of something marked your cheek.
You looked exhausted, not normal tired, not end-of-shift tired. You looked like you had been holding yourself together through force alone.
You were speaking to another employee when your eyes shifted toward the waiting room. They landed on Cole, you stopped “Cole?”
The surprise in your voice only made something inside him twist harder.
He did not answer. He crossed the waiting room in a few long steps and pulled you against him.
You stumbled into his chest “Cole—”
His arms tightened around you, too tight, probably, he did not care. For a moment, he could not speak. He buried his face against the side of your head and breathed you in, even though you smelled like antiseptic, sweat and the clinic.
You were warm, you were standing, you were real. Your hands slowly came up around his back “Are you okay?” you asked.
The question nearly broke something in him, Cole pulled away just enough to look at you “Am I okay?”
You blinked, he exhaustion on your face shifted into confusion “What happened?”
He stared at you “You didn’t answer me.”
“Oh.” Your eyes moved briefly toward the desk “I’m sorry. I got called in and—”
“All day.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” his voice remained low, but the edge in it made you go still “I called you four times.”
“I haven’t checked my phone.”
“I know that.” The hurt in his voice was impossible to miss. You glanced around at the crowded waiting room “Cole, can we not do this here?”
“Where else was I supposed to find you?”
Your expression tightened “That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not.” he let out a quiet, humorless laugh “None of today felt very fair.”
You stared at him, the guilt in your chest began turning defensive.
You had been working since early morning. You had barely eaten. You had spent hours trying to keep an animal alive while its owners cried outside the operating room. You did not have energy left for an argument “I was busy.”
“I figured that out.”
“There was an emergency.”
“I know.”
“You know because you called my workplace.”
“Yes, because you disappeared.”
“I did not disappear.”
“You stopped answering for nine hours, your location froze at a place you weren’t supposed to be, and no one knew where you were.”
“I was at work.”
“But I didn’t know that.” His voice broke slightly on the last word, that was what stopped you. The anger left your face, Cole looked away quickly, jaw flexing as he tried to regain control.
For the first time, you noticed how pale he looked, how tense his shoulders were, how tightly he was gripping his phone.
“I thought something happened to you,” he said. The words were quiet, much quieter than everything else. You swallowed “Cole…”
“I thought you crashed your car.” Your chest tightened “I thought maybe you were hurt somewhere and nobody knew to call me. I thought…” He paused, pressing his lips together. “I don’t even know what I thought.”
You reached for him, but he stepped back half a pace, the movement hurt more than it should have “I’m sorry.”
“You always say that after.”
You frowned “After what?”
“After you scare me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I know.” he dragged a hand through his hair “But you do this. You work until you can barely stand, you forget to eat, you drive when you’re exhausted, and then you tell me you’re fine.”
“I am not doing this on purpose.”
“I know you’re not.”
“Then stop making it sound like I don’t care about you.”
“I’m not saying that.”
“It feels like you are.”
Cole looked at you, hurt flashing across his face “I know you care about me.”
“Then why are you acting like I chose not to answer?”
“Because at some point today, you remembered you had a phone.”
You opened your mouth, nothing came out. You had remembered briefly. Sometime after the first emergency, you had thought about checking your messages. Then another patient arrived. Then the dog was rushed in. Then surgery began.
You had kept telling yourself you would check after the next thing. the next thing had never ended.
Your silence was enough of an answer, Cole’s eyes dropped “That’s what I thought.”
“Cole, I was trying to save a dog.”
“I know.”
“His family was in the waiting room crying. He was bleeding internally. I was not standing around ignoring you.”
“I know that.”
“Then what do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me you’re alive!” The words came out louder than either of you expected, the waiting room went quiet. Cole immediately looked around, embarrassed.
You stared at him, his eyes were bright now, not angry, just terrified “I just needed one message,” he said, voice lowering again. “One. You could’ve sent me a period, and I would’ve known you had your phone.”
Your throat tightened, he looked down at the floor “I spent half the day imagining someone else answering your phone.”
The anger inside you disappeared entirely, tou reached for him again. This time, he let you take his hand “I’m sorry.”
The words came out softer, more honest. Cole’s fingers curled around yours, but he still did not look at you “I should have texted you before I left,” you continued. “I should have told you they called me in.”
“You didn’t have time.”
“I had enough time to put on clothes.”
His jaw tightened.
You stepped closer “I was half asleep. They said they needed me immediately, and I panicked. Then when I got here, everything was already chaos.”
Cole remained silent.
“I left my phone in my locker. I thought about checking it, but every time I had a second, somebody needed something.” You squeezed his hand. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He finally looked at you “Yes.” His eyes moved over your face as though checking for injuries that were not there “I know you weren’t doing it to hurt me.”
You lifted your free hand toward his cheek, he leaned into your palm despite himself “I’m safe.”
His eyes closed briefly “I know that now.”
The words carried the entire day inside them, you moved closer and rested your forehead against his chest. For several seconds, Cole did not react, then his arms wrapped around you again.
This embrace felt different, less desperate and more exhausted. He pressed his face into your hair “I hate this,” he whispered.
“What?”
“The way my brain goes straight to the worst thing.”
Your arms tightened around him “You love me.”
“That’s not an excuse for becoming insane.”
“You’re not insane.”
“I called your friend, the clinic and almost your building manager.” Despite the heaviness in your chest, a weak laugh escaped you, Cole did not laugh “I was going to drive to every place you usually go.”
Your smile faded “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to keep apologizing.”
“What do you want?”
He pulled back enough to see you “I want you to let me know when your plans change. Especially when you’re called into an emergency.”
“I can do that.”
“Even if it’s one word.”
“I can do that.”
“And if you’re too busy, ask someone else to send it.”
You nodded “I will.”
Cole searched your expression “You promise?”
“I promise.”
His shoulders lowered slightly, you touched the faint line between his eyebrows “You scared me too, you know.”
He frowned “How?”
“When I came out and saw you sitting here, you looked like somebody had died.”
His face shifted “For a few hours, I thought somebody had.” Your eyes burned “Cole…” He looked away again “I know it sounds dramatic.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“No.” You guided his face back toward yours. “It doesn’t.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the clinic sounds slowly returned around you, a phone rang, a dog barked somewhere behind the doors, someone began speaking quietly at reception again.
You leaned up and kissed him, Cole did not respond immediately, then one hand moved to the back of your neck and he kissed you back with an intensity that made your chest ache.
It was not romantic, not really.
It was frightened and relieved and almost angry. It felt like he was proving to himself that you were there. When he pulled away, his forehead remained pressed to yours “Don’t do that again.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“I can handle you being busy. I can handle emergencies.” His thumb moved along your neck. “I can’t handle not knowing whether you’re safe.”
“I understand.”
He studied you for another moment “How much longer?”
You glanced toward the treatment area “The dog is stable, but I need to monitor him. Maybe another hour. Possibly two.”
Cole looked toward the tiny chair where he had been waiting “I’m staying.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“Cole, you just finished practice.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’re exhausted too.”
“I’m not the one who operated on a dog for two hours.”
You sighed “You’ll be uncomfortable.”
“I’ve been uncomfortable all day.”
The words were not meant cruelly, but they still landed heavily, Cole noticed your expression, his face softened “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I’m angry, but I’m not trying to punish you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
You nodded “I do.”
He brushed his thumb beneath your eye “You look tired.”
“I am.”
“Did you eat?” Your silence made his mouth flatten “Of course you didn’t.”
“I had half a protein bar.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
Cole closed his eyes “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That apology is losing value.” You gave him a small, tired smile, he did not return it immediately, but his expression softened “I’ll get you food.”
“I can’t eat right now.”
“You can eat something.”
“I’ll feel sick.”
“Soup?”
You hesitated “Maybe.”
“Fine. Soup.”
He kissed your forehead “Go finish.”
You looked at him carefully “Are we okay?” Cole’s face tightened, the question hurt him, he cupped your cheek “We’re okay.”
“You’re still upset.”
“I am.” Your eyes dropped “But I love you while I’m upset,” he added. “Those things can exist at the same time.”
You looked back at him “I love you too.”
“I know.”
“And I really am sorry.”
“I know that too.”
You leaned into his hand “I’ll check my phone.”
“You better.”
“And answer all eight messages.”
“Especially the important ones.”
“Which one was important?”
“The one where I said the mattress was stealing you from me.”
A faint laugh escaped you, Cole finally smiled, but it was small and tired, you squeezed his hand before stepping away “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be right here.” You disappeared through the double doors, Cole returned to the chair and sat down. A few minutes later, his phone vibrated.
You: I’m safe.
Another message followed.
You: I love you.
Then:
You: I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t important enough to tell.
Cole stared at that one for a long time, his chest tightened again, but differently. He typed carefully.
Cole: That isn’t what I think.
Then:
Cole: I know you love me. I was just scared.
Three dots appeared, disappeared and appeared again.
You: I was scared when I saw how scared you were.
Cole swallowed.
Cole: Come home with me when you’re done.
Your answer arrived quickly.
You: Always.
It was almost three hours later when you finally emerged, the waiting room had emptied considerably. Cole was still there. He had changed chairs twice, bought you soup from a nearby place and spent the last hour fighting sleep with his arms folded across his chest.
The second he saw you, he stood, your shoulders sagged with relief “Hi.”
“Hi.”
There was still some distance between you, not physical distance. Something smaller and harder to name. The remains of the argument, Cole picked up the food bag “Ready?”
You nodded, the drive home was quiet, not hostile.
Just tired.
Cole kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting near the center console. You looked at it several times before finally placing your hand over his. His fingers turned beneath yours and linked with them immediately.
Neither of you spoke.
When you reached the apartment, Cole unlocked the door and let you enter first. You stood in the kitchen while he reheated the soup “I can do that,” you said.
“I know.”
“You’re still mad.”
“A little.” you nodded, he glanced over his shoulder “I’m also relieved.”
“I know.”
“And tired.”
“I know.”
Cole placed the bowl in front of you “Eat.” You sat down, he remained standing on the other side of the counter. For several minutes, the only sound was the quiet scrape of your spoon.
Halfway through the bowl, your eyes filled with tears, Cole noticed immediately “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head “Nothing.”
He gave you a look, you laughed weakly through the tears “Bad answer.”
“Very.” You put the spoon down “I hate that I scared you.” Cole walked around the counter “I know.”
“I hate that you spent all day thinking I was hurt.”
He stood between your knees, hands resting on your thighs “I know.”
“And I hate that part of me was angry when you showed up.”
His expression softened “You were exhausted.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“It makes it understandable.”
You looked down “I thought you were angry because I was working.”
“No.”
“Or because I didn’t answer quickly enough.”
“It wasn’t about answering quickly.”
His hands moved up to your waist “It was about not hearing from you at all.”
You nodded “I know that now.”
Cole bent slightly so his face was level with yours “I never want you to think I don’t respect your job.”
“I don’t.”
“You save lives.”
“Animal lives.”
“They still count.”
Your mouth trembled “The dog made it.”
Cole’s face softened further “Yeah?”
You nodded “He’s not out of danger yet, but he made it through surgery.” a tired smile appeared on your face “His family was crying when I told them.”
Cole brushed a tear from your cheek “That’s why you went in.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you forgot everything else.”
“I didn’t forget you.”
“I know.”
“I need you to know that.”
“I do.”
You reached for the front of his shirt “I love you.”
Cole leaned down and kissed your forehead “I love you too.” You rested your face against his chest, after a moment, he wrapped his arms around you “I’m sorry I raised my voice.”
“I’m sorry I disappeared.”
“You didn’t disappear.”
You pulled back slightly “You said I did.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
Cole nodded, he pressed his lips to your temple “Next emergency, send me one word.”
“Safe.”
“Safe,” he agreed.
“Even if I have to ask someone else to send it.”
“Good.”
“And if I forget?”
“I’ll come find you.”
You gave him a watery smile “You did today.”
“Yeah.” His arms tightened “And I always will.”
