Bags ⋆˚࿔
pairings: frank langdon x f!reader
synopsis: for years, you and frank have hidden behind the safety of friendship only. letting stolen glances and almost confessions take the place of the truth.
warnings: hurt/w comfort, pretty angsty if you’re asking me, slow burn, arguing, usage of cuss words.
a/n: i love angst.. anyways, this was inspired by bags - clairo if you haven’t noticed from the synopsis and title yet, please repost and like, thank you and lovelotss!
wc: 2.7k
there were a hundred reasons why you shouldn’t have fallen for frank.
the first was that everyone else already had.
patients adored him. nurses laughed a little harder when he walked by. med students followed him around like ducklings.
even on the worst shifts, when the er smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee and exhaustion, frank somehow managed to make everyone breathe easier.
you were no different, and that was the problem, you only learned him in small pieces.
you learned that he would always rub the bridge of his nose right before opening difficult charts.
how he’d steal a few pieces of your chips without asking, only to replace them with a granola bar from the vending machine.
how he’d absentmindedly reach for your wrist whenever the department became too crowded, holding you with just enough pressure to guide you through the sea of gurneys before letting go like he’d never touched you at all.
it meant nothing, and you told yourself that every single time, because you always knew frank was like that with everyone.
“you’re staring.” someone said and you blinked.
jack didn’t even bother looking up from his computer.
“i’m reading.” “you’ve been reading the same sentence for three minutes.”
“…” “he’s talking to the new resident.” jack muttered.
even with your mind screaming at you not to look, you did anyway.
frank stood across the station, smiling at someone who was laughing so hard she nearly dropped her clipboard.
he leaned against the counter with his head tilted, eyes soft, and he looked happy. something unpleasant settled in your chest.
“stop doing that,” jack muttered as he finished up his chart.
“doing what?”
“breaking your own heart.” he finally said as he stood up, ready to take another case.
you swallowed, you heart aching as you felt a lump forming in your throat.
people assumed the two of you were together, they always had and it made sense. you spent every shift together, you knew each other’s coffee orders, you’d memorized each other’s handwriting.
he texted you when he’d get home after pulling doubles.
you’d remind him to eat, and maybe it looked like love from the outside, maybe that’s why no one ever asked, maybe that’s why neither of you ever said anything.
⋆˚꩜｡
“movie tonight?”
frank asked the question so casually that your heart betrayed you all over again. “sure.” you said, “my place?” he asked as he wrote on his chart, “okay.” you agreed.
“you pick.” he said with a smile “that’s dangerous.” you replied back
“i trust you.” he muttered, and you almost laughed, because trusting someone and loving someone were apparently two completely different things.
halfway through the movie, frank fell asleep, his head rested against your shoulder, his breathing slowed.
the apartment was quiet except for the television neither of you had been watching. and yet, you stared straight ahead.
if you moved, he’d wake up, if you stayed still you’d remember this forever. so you stayed, your shoulder went numb but you didn’t care.
you wondered if this counted as loving someone, getting hurt by things they never intended.
“why don’t you ever date anyone?”
samira asked during a lull in the shift.
you shrugged. “i dunno, i guess im too busy.”you said and she looked unconvinced.
“that’s a lie.” she scoffed, “it’s not?” you retorted. “is it langdon?”
you laughed too quickly. “what?” “is it him?”
across the department, frank looked up and your eyes met for exactly one second.
he smiled, the same smile he gave everyone. and yet, you smiled back anyway. “no.”
samira sighed. “you’re an awful liar.” she chuckled. “shut up, what about abbot, huh?” you said playfully as you accentuated jack’s last name.
her eyes widened, “oh my god- don’t say it out loud!” she shouted, whispering and you simple laughed as she slapped her hand on your arm playfully.
⋆˚꩜｡
there was a party after one particularly brutal week.
everyone drank, laughed, and pretended they weren’t carrying the weight of every patient they couldn’t save.
frank found you standing on the balcony, scrolling on your phone. “too loud?” he said, startling you a bit. “a little.” he nodded and stood beside you.
shoulders almost touching. close enough to feel warm, not close enough to be held.
“you okay?” “yeah.” another lie, he looked at you for a long time. long enough that you thought— “good.” then he looked away.
there were always moments that almost became something, the ways his fingers lingering around yours after handing over a chart.
late-night drives home where the silence felt too comfortable to ruin, the way he’d say your name like it meant more than everyone else’s.
and you called yourself pathetic for it, but you collected those moments, held them carefully, turned them over in your mind whenever you couldn’t sleep.
they were all you had.
you heard about her from robby “langdon’s seeing someone.” you smiled before your brain had time to react.
“is he?” ”yeah.” “…that’s nice.” “i think so.” the rest of the conversation disappeared into static.
that night, frank texted you.
coffee tomorrow? you stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
you typed. deleted. typed again.
can’t. family stuff.
a lie. another one. he replied almost immediately.
okay. next time.
there wasn’t a next time, since you kept finding excuses. different shifts. busy weekends. headaches. anything.
because loving him had always hurt, but watching him love someone else would’ve destroyed you.
weeks later, he caught you leaving after your shift.
“did i do something?” your hand froze on the locker. “…what?”
“you’ve been avoiding me.” you chuckled awkwardly and said,“i haven’t.” “you have.” he sounded…hurt. you hated that.
“frank—” you started, “just tell me.” you looked at him. really looked, tired eyes, messy hair, concern written all over his face.
you wanted to tell him everything, that you loved him, that every almost had become unbearable, that you were tired of wondering if maybe he’d reached for your hand because he wanted to or because it was convenient.
instead you smiled, small— the kind that didn’t crack.
“you didn’t do anything.” you paused, not knowing what else to say “i’m just tired.”
he nodded slowly, like he knew you were lying, like he was too kind to make you admit it. “get some rest.” “i will.”
he waited. maybe expecting you to say something else, but you didn’t. he walked away first.
months later, life looked exactly the same, except now there was a distance neither of you knew how to cross.
sometimes you’d catch him looking at you. sometimes he’d catch you first.
neither of you smiled anymore. just looked away. there were still moments though, always moments. they simply belonged to no one now. and maybe that was the cruelest part.
not that you loved him, not that he might never love you back.
but that somewhere between silence and timing and fear, there had been something waiting to happen. and the two of you had let it become another thing neither of you would ever say out loud.
it wasn’t intentional at first, distance never is. it started with little things. you’d switch shifts with no hesitation if someone asked. you took your breaks five minutes later than usual.
leave through the ambulance entrance instead of the staff exit. none of it was obvious and none of it should’ve mattered.
except somehow frank always noticed, “you already ate?” he’d ask. “yeah.”you hadn’t.
“heading home?” “just remembered i have somewhere to be.” you didn’t.
he’d nod every time, accepting every excuse with a smile that grew smaller each week. it would’ve been easier if he’d gotten angry.
instead, he shrugged it off. that was always the problem.
“you two fight?” robby asked while stocking the trauma room. you glanced up. “what?” “you and langdon.” “no.”
“then why’s he walking around looking like someone kicked his dog?” you laughed despite how you felt. “that’s dramatic.”
“i’m serious.” robby lowered his voice.“he asked me if i’d said something to you.” “…” “i told him no.”
you swallowed. “good.” “you wanna tell me what’s going on?” “nothing.”
robby sighed. “everyone in this ED is terrible at feelings.”
three weeks passed before the universe trapped you together. power outage.
half the hospital running on backup generators, the elevators shut down, patients everywhere, everyone scrambling.
you were reorganizing medications when frank appeared beside you, holding two flashlights.
“here.” he handed you one, your fingers brushed yet he pulled away too quickly.
“…thanks.” you expected him to leave, but he didn’t. for a few seconds, the only sound was the humming generator somewhere below your feet.
“i miss you.” the words were so quiet you almost thought you’d imagined them.
you looked at him. he wasn’t smiling. his eyes stayed on the floor.
“we see each other every day,” you managed. “that’s not what i mean.”
your chest tightened. “frank…” “did i do something?” again. the same question.
only this time there wasn’t anywhere to hide. you wanted to answer. instead a trauma alert echoed through the hall.
every doctor around you started moving. frank looked toward the doors. then back at you. “later?”
your mouth was already saying yes before your brain could stop it. “…later.”
later never came. a six-car collision flooded the emergency department. two surgeries. one code blue. a family that needed someone to tell them their son wasn’t coming home.
by the time the shift ended, the sun was rising. frank had already left.
samira found you crying in the supply closet. not sobbing. just reorganizing stuff in the storage room.
she didn’t ask why, she simply sat beside you after a minute she offered you half a granola bar, you took it.
“he loves you.” your head snapped up.
“…don’t.” “i’m serious.” “don’t do that.”
“i’ve watched him look for you every single shift.” “he doesn’t—” “he does.”
your laugh sounded more like a broken breath. “if he loved me…” you couldn’t finish that sentence, because if he loved you… he would’ve said something, wouldn’t he?
sam looked at you for a long time “maybe he’s just as scared.” that night you couldn’t sleep. instead, you opened your phone.
your conversation with frank stretched back years. pictures of terrible vending machine dinners. memes sent at three in the morning. complaints about impossible attendings. birthday messages. inside jokes no one else would understand. thousands of words.
none of the ones you actually wanted. your thumb hovered over the keyboard.
i miss you too. you typed it. read it. deleted it. and locked your phone.
frank stood outside your apartment for almost ten minutes.
he’d bought your favorite takeout after remembering you hadn’t eaten lunch. it was getting cold. he almost knocked. almost. instead he left the bag outside your door with a sticky note.
eat something. no name. he didn’t need one.
you knew his handwriting better than your own. you opened the door just as he stepped into the elevator. for one impossible second, your eyes met across the hallway.
you wanted to call his name. you wanted to tell him to stay. the elevator doors slid shut before you made a sound. by the time you found your voice… he was already gone.
the next day was painful, body aching, hands hurting, and the hospital lights were making your head spin.
the patient was twenty-two, gunshot wound, BP dropping, and everyone moved on instinct.
“i need another unit of o-neg!” “coming!” “where’s anesthesia?” “two minutes out!”
frank’s voice cut through the room “compressions.” you hesitated. “we still have a pulse.” “barely.” “frank—”
“compressions.” “you’re going to lose what pressure he has left.” he looked at you. “do it.” “no.”
the room went still. not completely. monitors still screamed. people still moved. but everyone heard it.
you had never said no to frank. not like that. he stepped closer.
“i’m running this trauma.” “and i’m telling you that’s the wrong call.”
his jaw tightened. “do your job, Dr.” something inside you snapped. “i am doing my job!”
silence. the kind that only exists for a heartbeat before chaos returns.
jack stepped between the two of you “enough. langdon, reassess. now.” frank didn’t move.
his eyes never left yours. for the first time since you’d met him… they were angry. real anger.
“fine.” he turned away. “prepare for thoracotomy.” the room came back to life. everyone moved again. no one looked at either of you.
the patient survived. barely. the adrenaline faded. the exhaustion settled in. you washed your hands three times before realizing there wasn’t any blood left on them.
the sink shut off. someone cleared their throat behind you. frank.
“what the hell was that?” you kept staring at your hands. “i disagreed.”
“you challenged me in front of everyone.” “because you were wrong.”
“you don’t get to undermine me—” “i don’t get to undermine you?” you laughed. it sounded ugly.
“that’s funny.” “what’s that supposed to mean?” “nothing.”
“don’t.”
his voice cracked. “don’t do that.” “do what?” “say ‘nothing’ when it obviously isn’t.” you finally looked at him.
months. months of swallowed words. months of pretending. months of walking past each other like strangers. they all rushed up your throat at once.
“why do you care?” he blinked. “…what?” he asked, “why do you care if i’m avoiding you?” you blurted out, “because we’re friends.” friends. there it was. the word that had haunted you for years.
you smiled. small. tired. “right.” he frowned. “don’t.” “don’t what?” you muttered, “look at me like that.” he said persistently, “like what?” “like you’ve already decided i’m leaving.”
you laughed again. “you already did.”“what are you talking about?” “you chose someone else.”
confusion flashed across his face. “…who?” you stared at him. “the resident.”
he was surprised, “…what resident? “the one everyone said you were dating.” he was quiet for exactly two seconds.
then— “…audrey?” you didn’t answer. frank let out one disbelieving breath.
“what?- no. no no. i don’t like her—”
“thats no what i see.”
“hey, no i swear. shes not— shes married.”
“…what?” “she’s married.”
your mouth opened. closed. opened again.
“robby told me—” “robby assumed.” “…”
“he assumed.” the room suddenly felt too small.
too warm. too bright. “i…” you couldn’t breathe. months. you’d wasted months.
frank rubbed a hand over his face. “i kept asking myself what i’d done.” your eyes filled before you could stop them.
“i thought…” “i know.” “no, you don’t.” his voice broke. “i do.” you shook your head. “no, frank. you don’t.”
“then tell me.” the tears came anyway. “ i loved you.” the words echoed through the walls.
“i loved you so much that I couldn’t stand watching you love somebody else.” frank stared.
“you idiot.” you laughed through the tears. “yeah, okay i deserved that.”
“what? no, no. i was- so do i” he stepped closer. “…frank.” “i’ve loved you since your second week here.”
your breath caught.
“you kept stealing my chips.” “i was flirting.” “i thought you were hungry.” “i was terrified.” he laughed once. a wet, shaky laugh.
“i kept waiting for you to notice.” “i thought the movies meant something.”
“they did.” “I thought you fell asleep on my shoulder because you were tired.” “i stayed awake for almost an hour.” you blinked.
“are you kidding me? my shoulders went numb.” “my neck did too.” despite everything, a laugh escaped you.
frank laughed too. it lasted all of three seconds before the weight of what had happened settled over both of you.
“we lost so much time,” you whispered. his smile disappeared. “i know.” another silence. this one heavier.
filled with every shift you’d spent apart. every unanswered text. every almost.
“i don’t want to keep wondering anymore,” you said quietly. “i don’t either.” “you’ll have to tell me when you’re scared.”
“i will.” “you’ll have to let me argue with you in trauma.” he snorted. “you were right.” frank muttered.
“i know.” you said proudly, “i’m never admitting that again.” you smiled for the first time in months. “i’ll take today.”
frank looked at you like he was memorizing your face. slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand.
“you know,” he murmured fiddling with your hand gently, “for two people who spend every day telling strangers the truth…”
“…we were pretty terrible at telling each other.” his thumb brushed across your knuckles. “yeah.”
outside the room, another trauma pager blared. the ED was calling them back. people were still getting hurt. lives still needed saving.
the world, stubborn as it was, refused to pause. frank squeezed your hand once before letting go. “after shift?” you smiled. “no almosts this time.”
he smiled back. “no almosts.” and for the first time since the two of you met— neither of you walked away first.
