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DON'T YOU WORRY - CH.1

Chapter One: Such Little Moments Created, It's Strangely Right

Summary: After Pittfest, you, a night-shift nurse nicknamed Firefly, become known in the ER for always showing up when things fall apart, even while quietly falling apart yourself. Jack Abbot, a grieving veteran who keeps his distance from everyone, starts to notice you during long shifts, rooftop talks, and the kind of cases that follow you home. What begins as small moments of care slowly turns into something deeper, forcing you both to face the past, the burden of the job, and the question of whether they’re ready to do more than just survive.

Pairing: Jack Abbot x FilipinaNurseFem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Friends-to-Lovers, Coworkers-to-Lovers, GrumpyxSunshine, Slow(ish) Burn, Yearning, Angst, Fluff, Delayed Hurt-to-Comfort, Crush, Reader has a nickname (Firefly), Burns, Scars, Reader has no parents, Medical Inaccuracies, Blood, Injuries, PTSD, Flashbacks, Anxiety, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Grief, Rooftop Conversations, Awkward, Embarrassment, Shy!Reader, Bubbly!Reader, Odd!Reader, Grumpy!Abbot, Widow!Abbot, Insecurities, Reader has hair to be pulled away from face, Jokes of unaliving (it’s unserious promise), Mentions of PittFest, Asthma, Mentions of Nightmares, Stuck in the Elevator, Death Anniversary, Asthma, Post Season 1, then it goes into Season 2 of the Pitt,

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: First Jack Abbot fic… kinda nervous…

Side note: Gif in the moodboard from Pinterest. I’m not a doctor or a nurse. I’m dyslexic, and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Songs: Magnets by NIKI and Tingin by Cup of Joe with Janine

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PTMC, EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT — NIGHT

When you first started working night shift in the ED, Jack Abbot thought you were a little weird.

Not rude or incompetent.

Not even annoying.

Just… weird.

You stared at him.

A lot.

Not in an obvious way — never long enough for anyone else to notice. Never long enough for it to be called out. You only ever looked when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

But Jack noticed everything.

He always had.

Years in the military trained that into him, long before the emergency department ever did. He tracked movement without meaning to. Reflections in glass. Footsteps behind him. The way people watched when they thought no one could see them.

You never looked at his eyes directly.

It was always his hands while he charted. His shoulders when he walked past or the side of his face when he was listening to a report.

And every single time — right when he started to turn — you looked away.

Like you felt it.

Like you always knew the exact second he was about to catch you.

At first, he thought it was a coincidence.

Then it kept happening.

And then it kept happening enough that he started noticing you noticing him.

Which was how you ended up stuck in his head more than you should’ve been.

ELEVATOR — DAY

Just before shift change, you were coming back down from the fifth floor after dropping off an admission. Transport had been backed up again, so you’d walked the patient up yourself, gave report to the floor nurse, signed the handoff sheet, and slipped out before anyone could ask you to grab one more set of vitals or start one more IV.

Shift change in ten minutes. Your feet are aching, and your brain is fried.

The elevator doors slid open with a dull metallic groan.

Jack Abbot stood inside.

Silver-gray curls pushed back like he’d been running his hand through his hair too many times, scrubs wrinkled, trauma badge still clipped crooked at his pocket. His eyes looked tired in that way you’d started to recognize — the kind that usually meant a bad case, or a loss, or both.

You’d learned from Robby a few weeks ago that Jack went to the roof after those.

Didn’t talk or sit in the lounge. Just… went up there.

You stepped in without saying anything, hitting the button for the ground floor. The doors closed, and for a moment the only sound was the hum of the elevator cables and the faint ringing still stuck in your ears from the monitors downstairs.

The car started moving.

Then jerked hard enough to make the lights flicker.

It stopped with a heavy thud, the kind that made your knees lock for a second while the cables settled.

You looked up at the panel. There was no movement or chime.

Just the low mechanical hum of the building.

Jack pressed the open button once. Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

His jaw tightened. “Did nobody tell Gloria maintenance was having issues?”

You leaned your shoulder back against the wall, already sighing. “I’m sure someone did. But unless somebody codes in here, it’s not exactly top priority.”

You slid down to the floor in the corner like you’d already accepted your fate, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of you.

Jack stared at you.

“…You’re sitting.”

“Yep.”

“You’re not concerned?”

You tipped your head back against the wall, eyes half-closed. “On-site maintenance usually gets here in twenty, thirty minutes. If they can’t fix it, they call the fire department. Takes longer during shift change.”

He watched you another second. “You been stuck in here before?”

“Couple times.”

A beat.

“You’re not scared?”

You thought about it for a second, then shrugged.

“No.”

Another shrug.

“Too tired to be scared.”

That seemed to make more sense to him.

He stood there a moment longer, then exhaled quietly and lowered himself down across from you, one hand braced on the rail, shifting his weight carefully before sitting.

You pretended not to notice the way he moved first.

He adjusted the hem of his scrub pants, then reached down to the prosthetic on his right leg, fingers finding the release with practiced ease.

A soft click.

He slid the prosthetic off slowly, setting it beside him against the wall, then rolled the liner down slightly, rubbing the muscle above the knee with the heel of his hand like it had been bothering him for a while.

The motion was automatic. Unthinking— something he’d done a thousand times.

You didn’t react.

Didn’t stare, but didn’t look away either.

Just sat there, tracing the edge of the floor tile with the toe of your shoe like nothing about it was unusual.

He noticed that.

Of course he did.

“…You like nights?” he asked.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts. “Hm?”

“You getting moved to night shift after Pittfest.”

You shrugged, “It’s fine. Dana said Lena needed help.”

“You don’t regret it yet?”

You huffed a tired laugh, head still resting against the wall. “It’s not exactly boring.”

He nodded once. “How’s this shift been?”

You tipped your head back farther, staring at the ceiling.

“Could be worse. Nobody coded on me personally, nobody threw up on my shoes, elevator only trapped me once. I call that a win.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Silence settled again.

He watched you while you stared at the floor, tracing a scuff mark with the tip of your shoe like it suddenly needed your full attention.

You didn’t look at him once.

He noticed that too.

Robby had told him more than once he had a staring problem.

He knew when people avoided his eyes.

What he didn’t understand was how you always managed to look at him when he wasn’t looking… and never when he was.

He crossed his arms loosely, studying you the way he did when he was trying to figure something out. “…Why do you stare at me?”

Your head snapped up too fast.

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

You immediately looked at the elevator panel instead, like the floor numbers suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.

“I don’t stare.”

“Don’t lie.”

You groaned under your breath and dragged a hand down your face, already feeling your ears getting hot. “I don’t wanna tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s stupid.”

“Tell me anyway.”

You shook your head hard, tugging at the long sleeve under your scrub top, pulling the cuff over your hand like you suddenly needed something to hide in. “No. No, I’m not saying it. You’re gonna make it weird.”

“I’m already in a broken elevator with you. It’s weird.”

You let out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You’re gonna freak out.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’m freaking out right now,” you muttered. “Like, internally. If these doors open I might just walk straight into traffic.”

That almost got a smile out of him.

Almost.

“Firefly.”

You covered your face with both hands.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Why do you stare at me?”

You stayed quiet, fingers hooked in the cuff of your sleeve, twisting the fabric tighter and tighter.

“…Where I grew up,” you said finally, voice muffled behind your hands, “we didn’t have a lot of people that looked like you.”

He frowned. “What, a disabled white old man?”

Your head snapped up, horrified. “Oh my God— no, that’s not— see, this is why I didn’t wanna say anything. I’m done. I’m not explaining anymore.”

He huffed out a breath, something close to a laugh slipping through before he caught it.

“C’mon.”

“No.”

“Firefly.”

You dropped your hands, glaring at the wall instead of him.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You tugged your sleeve down over your palm again, fidgeting like you didn’t know what to do with your hands.

“…It’s your freckles, okay?”

Silence.

You risked a glance at him, then immediately looked away again.

“They remind me of the sky back home,” you muttered. “When I was a kid… my mom and I used to sit by the beach at night. No streetlights, no buildings… nothing. You could see everything. Stars, satellites… all of it.”

Your fingers kept worrying at the fabric of your sleeve. “When I look at them it just… reminds me of that.”

A pause.

You swallowed, then made the mistake of continuing.

“And your eyes,” you said quieter. “I know now that they're hazel. But they change color all the time in the light. Green, blue, brown… I never saw that before either. Where I grew up most people had dark eyes, dark hair… so when I see that it’s just… I don’t know. It feels like looking at something you don’t see a lot.”

You shook your head quickly, already regretting every word.

“This sounds weird. I told you it was weird. I should not be talking right now.”

He didn’t say anything.

That somehow made it worse.

You let out a frustrated breath, rubbing your face again.

“You’re just—” you stopped, groaned, then forced it out anyway, quieter. “You’re beautiful to look at, okay? That’s all. It’s not— I’m not— it’s not a thing, I just notice stuff.”

You stared at the floor like it personally betrayed you. “I swear to God when this elevator opens I’m walking into traffic.”

Silence.

Long enough that you finally looked up.

Just… still.

Like you’d said something nobody ever said to him like that before, and he didn’t know where to put it.

His fingers moved absently over the dark silver band on his left hand, turning it once, then again, the way he did when his mind was somewhere else. When he spoke, his voice came out lower than before.

“You really mean that.”

You blinked.

“…Yeah.”

“You’re not messing with me.”

You shook your head, small, honest.

“I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Another pause.

You looked at him sideways, then shrugged like it didn’t matter, like you hadn’t just made your own heart start racing.

“Anyway,” you muttered, tugging the cuff of your long sleeve down over your hand again, “this is why I don’t talk.”

Your voice came out rushed, embarrassed, like you were trying to bury the whole thing before it could sit between you.

You dragged both palms up over your face and pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes.

God. Why did you say that?

The elevator felt too warm all of a sudden, the air stale, the space too small.

“I’m sorry,” you added quickly, words muffled behind your hands. “If that made you uncomfortable or weird or— I don’t know. I talk too much sometimes.”

You dropped your hands and stared hard at the scuffed metal floor.

“I can ask Dana or Lena to move me back to day shift,” you went on, voice quieter now, fingers twisting the sleeve of your undershirt again. “It’s not a big deal. I just— I didn’t mean to make things awkward or anything.”

You swallowed, already imagining how humiliating it would be if the doors opened right now and you had to walk back into the ER after saying that.

“Seriously, I can just— I’ll say I need the hours or something. Or that nights don’t work for me. It’s fine.”

Silence.

Long enough that your stomach started to twist.

You risked a glance up.

Jack hadn’t moved.

He has his back leaning against the opposite wall, prosthetic resting beside him, one knee bent slightly, the other, his RBKA stretched out. His forearms rested loosely over his left knee, hands clasped together, shoulders slouched in that tired way he got near the end of shift.

He was watching you. Not in the sharp, clinical way he watched trauma rooms. Something quieter— almost puzzled.

“You think that made me uncomfortable?” he asked.

His voice was rough around the edges, like he hadn’t used it much since the last case.

You shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “People usually get weird when you say stuff like that.”

He frowned slightly. “Stuff like what?”

You gestured vaguely toward him without actually looking at his face. “Compliments. Observations. Whatever that was.”

“You said I remind you of the night sky.”

Your ears burned instantly. “I knew I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”

“You also called me beautiful.”

You groaned softly and covered your face again. “Please stop repeating it.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The elevator creaked faintly somewhere above you, cables shifting, but it didn’t move.

Jack exhaled through his nose, looking down at his hands, then back at you.

“Why do they call you Firefly?” he asked.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Firefly,” he repeated. “Lena. Shen. Robby. Everybody calls you that.”

You lowered your hands slowly.

“Oh.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, embarrassed again but for a different reason, “It’s… dumb.”

“Why?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I think Lena or Shen started it.”

He waited.

You sighed, giving in.

“She said I move around the department like one,” you muttered. “Like I’m always running between rooms, showing up when something’s going wrong, then disappearing again.”

You glanced at him briefly, then away. “And apparently, I hum when I chart. Or sing. Or talk to myself. So she said I glow when it’s dark.”

A faint breath left him, almost a laugh. “It fits.”

You squinted at him. “That was not supposed to be a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

You huffed quietly. “Rude.”

A small pause.

He looked at you again, more directly this time. “What are you doing after shift?”

You blinked, a little thrown by the question.

“After shift?”

“Yeah.”

You shrugged, eyes dropping back to the floor.

“Same thing I always do after nights. Walk through the park. Clear my head.”

He nodded once, like he’d expected that answer.

“You always walk.”

“Helps me sleep.”

A small pause.

Then—

“Probably stop by the bakery on the corner,” you added, almost as an afterthought. “Before I go home.”

His eyes lifted slightly. “Why?”

Your fingers stilled in the cuff of your sleeve as you hesitated, “It’s just something I do.”

He didn’t push right away. Just waited.

You exhaled slowly, “Today’s the day my mom died.”

He didn’t interrupt— silence filled the elevator again, heavier this time.

“It was a hit and run,” you went on, voice softer now, like the words were coming from somewhere far away. “I was ten. She was walking home from work. They never found the driver.”

Your fingers twisted the sleeve tighter around your hand, the fabric bunched in your fist like you needed something to hold onto while you talked.

“I buy a little cake every year,” you said quietly. “Nothing big. Just… something small. Go home, light candles, call my Tita— my aunt, so she can yell at me for not visiting more, then we blow them out over the phone.”

A faint, self-conscious shrug. “That’s it.”

You kept your eyes on the floor. “Habit, I guess.”

Jack didn’t move.

His gaze dropped to the paneled floor between his legs, jaw tightening slightly, the muscle there shifting like he was biting down on something he didn’t want to say out loud.

When he finally spoke, his voice came out lower than before. Rougher.

“…Today’s the day my wife died.”

Your head lifted immediately.

“What?”

He didn’t look at you.

Just kept staring at the floor, hands clasped loosely in front of him, thumbs rubbing together like he needed something to do with them.

“Car accident,” he said. “Couple years after I got back. After the leg.”

Your chest tightened so fast it almost knocked the air out of you.

For a moment, you just stared at him, like your brain needed a second to catch up.

“…Same day?” you asked softly.

He nodded once.

Didn’t say anything else.

The elevator hummed faintly around you, cables shifting somewhere above, the sound echoing in the small space. It suddenly felt too quiet. Too close. Like the walls had moved in a few inches without either of you noticing.

You looked down again, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s… messed up timing.”

A breath left him, not quite a laugh.

“Yeah.”

You leaned your head back against the wall, staring up at the flickering fluorescent light, blinking hard like you were trying to keep your eyes from burning.

“…Guess we both picked a good day to get stuck in an elevator,” you murmured.

This time the corner of his mouth actually moved. Not a smile, just enough to show it could have been one.

Neither of you spoke for a little bit.

Then, quieter—

“You go every year?” he asked.

You nodded, still looking at the ceiling.

“Yeah.”

“With the cake?”

“Yeah.”

Another small pause.

He shifted slightly against the wall, adjusting his balance, his prosthetic resting beside him where he’d set it down earlier.

“My wife liked carrot cake,” he said, almost like the words slipped out before he decided to say them. “Didn’t matter where it came from. Store, gas station, didn’t care. As long as it had that stupid frosting.”

You turned your head a little, glancing at him. “Cream cheese frosting?”

He nodded once.

“…Yeah.”

A tiny huff left you.

“My mom liked ube cake,” you said. “Bright purple one. Way too sweet. She used to say if it didn’t give you a headache it wasn’t worth eating.”

That nearly got another smile out of him. Silence settled again, but it didn’t feel as sharp this time. Just tired.

Just two people sitting on the floor of a broken elevator with nowhere else to go. You picked at the seam of your sleeve again, voice softer when you spoke. “You still go to the roof on days like this?”

His eyes flicked toward you, surprised you knew. “Sometimes.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

A beat.

He watched you for a second.

“You ever miss her less?” you asked, not looking at him.

The question hung there, heavier than anything else you’d said.

He took a breath before answering. “No.”

Another second.

“…Just different.”

You nodded slowly, like that made sense — because it did.

You leaned your head back against the elevator wall, eyes half-closing for a second, the bright lights above you buzzing faintly. Your fingers were still wrapped in the cuff of your sleeve, thumb rubbing the fabric over and over like your hands needed something to do while the rest of you sat still.

You let out a quiet breath.

“My Tita (Aunt) used to say…” you started, voice softer now, almost thoughtful, like you were repeating something you hadn’t said out loud in a long time. “That even the worst kind of hurt doesn’t stay the same forever. It doesn’t disappear… it just changes shape so you can keep living with it.”

A small pause.

You swallowed, eyes still on the ceiling.

“And the love doesn’t go away either. It just… stops being loud all the time.”

The words settled into the cramped elevator like the stale air.

Jack didn’t answer right away.

You didn’t expect him to.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hand shift slightly on the floor, fingers flexing once before he let them rest again — a little closer to yours than they’d been before.

Not touching.

Just there.

Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to close the distance.

You didn’t move either.

Just let your hand rest where it was, sleeve still pulled halfway over your palm, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him without actually feeling him.

After a moment, you spoke again, quieter.

“…I think the person who stays behind is the one who has to change the most.”

He glanced at you then.

You kept your eyes on the wall.

“You cry sometimes,” you went on softly. “You laugh sometimes. You keep going to work, you keep paying bills, you keep doing normal stuff… and one day you realize you survived something you didn’t think you would.”

A faint breath left you. “That’s the only way I know how to explain it.”

Silence again. Then, Jack’s voice came low, almost careful, “You talk like you’ve been through a lot.”

You let out a small huff, not quite a laugh.

“We work in the ER,” you muttered.

He didn’t buy that.

You could feel that he didn’t.

Another second passed before he spoke again.

“…Firefly.”

You turned your head a little.

“Yeah?”

He hesitated, eyes dropping to the floor again, then back up. “You don’t seem like somebody who only learned that from work.”

Your fingers tightened in your sleeve, fabric twisting in your fist again, but your voice stayed light when you answered.

“I didn’t.” Then you shrugged, like it didn’t matter, “Life’s just… messy sometimes.”

You took a slow breath, letting your head rest back against the wall again, eyes drifting to the flickering light above. You could feel him thinking — the way he went quiet when something actually got past his guard.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before. Careful.

“It’s been good having you around. On nights.”

You blinked, caught off guard enough that you actually looked at him.

“What?”

He didn’t look at you right away. His gaze stayed on the floor, hands loosely clasped in front of him like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“You show up,” he said simply. “Shift feels… different when you’re here.”

Your throat tightened for no reason you could explain.

You opened your mouth to say something —

The elevator jolted hard enough to make both of you look up.

A loud clunk echoed somewhere above the car, followed by the grinding sound of the system kicking back on. The overhead light flickered twice before steadying.

The speaker crackled.

“Elevator two, maintenance reset the line. You should be moving now.”

The car lurched, then started descending again with a slow, uneven hum.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Jack nodded once, like that was that, and reached for his prosthetic where it rested against the wall beside him.

He rolled the liner back up first, smoothing the fabric carefully over his residual limb, making sure there were no folds. The motion was practiced, automatic, but still deliberate — the kind of routine that came from doing the same thing every day whether you felt like it or not.

He guided the socket into place, adjusting the angle slightly before sliding it up fully. His jaw tightened for a second as he shifted forward, locking the suspension with a quiet click.

You stayed where you were, eyes on the floor, giving him space like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Because it was.

He braced one hand against the wall and pushed himself up, slow and steady, testing his balance before letting go.

You stood without thinking, turning toward him automatically.

Your hand went out before your brain caught up.

He paused when he saw it.

Just for a second.

Then he took it.

His grip was firm, warm, his weight heavier for a moment as he straightened the rest of the way, the prosthetic adjusting on the floor with a soft scrape.

Once he was steady, he let go like it didn’t mean anything.

The elevator slowed.

Stopped.

The doors slid open.

Robby was standing right outside, arms crossed, expression already halfway to suspicious like he’d been waiting longer than he liked.

His eyes went from you… to Jack… to the prosthetic… then back to both of your faces.

One eyebrow lifted. “You two alive in there?”

You stepped out immediately, rubbing the back of your neck like you needed fresh air.

“Barely,” you muttered. “Elevator tried to take us out before shift change.”

Robby snorted.

Behind you, Jack stepped out more carefully, adjusting the hem of his pant leg without thinking, his expression already back to neutral.

Robby glanced at him.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

Jack’s voice was flat again. Professional. Like the last twenty minutes never happened.

They slipped into handoff talk automatically, low voices, clipped sentences, both of them already halfway back in work mode.

You didn’t stay.

The second you saw Perlah and Princess at the desk, you made a beeline for them like your life depended on it.

Perlah was half-leaning over the computer, finishing a note, while Princess was digging through the drawer where people kept hiding snacks they didn’t want to share.

You dropped into the chair beside them with a tired thud.

“Please tell me may kape pa,” you said, rubbing your face. (Please tell me there’s still coffee.)

Princess looked up immediately, eyes narrowing when she saw your expression.

“Ano nangyari sa’yo? Mukha kang galing giyera.” (What happened to you? You look like you came back from a war.)

You let your forehead fall against the desk with a soft thunk.

“Elevator.” (Elevator.)

Perlah froze mid-typing and slowly turned her head.

“Na-stuck ka na naman??” (You got stuck again??)

You groaned into the desk.

“Wag mo na itanong. Ayoko na pag-usapan.” (Don’t ask. I don’t want to talk about it.)

Princess snorted, sliding a paper cup toward you.

“Buti buhay ka pa. Akala ko di ka na babalik.” (Good thing you’re still alive. I thought you weren’t coming back.)

You lifted your head just enough to grab the cup, blinking at it like it was the only thing keeping you conscious. “Kung walang kape, dun na lang ako namatay sa elevator.” (If there was no coffee, I would’ve just died in the elevator.)

Perlah laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Kasama mo si Abbot no?” (You were with Abbot, right?)

You froze for half a second.

Too fast to be obvious.

“…Oo.” (…Yeah.)

Princess’s eyebrows shot up immediately. “Ayy, kaya pala.” (Ohhh, that explains it.)

You frowned, already defensive. “Anong kaya pala?” (What do you mean that explains it?)

She smirked, leaning back in her chair.

“Wala. Mukha ka lang mas stressed kaysa usual.” (Nothing. You just look more stressed than usual.)

You pulled the sleeve of your undershirt over your hand again, hiding the way your fingers fidgeted. “Na-stuck lang kami. Yun lang.” (We just got stuck. That’s it.)

Perlah hummed, not looking convinced.

“Uh-huh.”

Princess leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Hindi ka ba kinabahan?” (You didn’t get nervous?)

You took a sip of coffee, stalling. “Hindi. Pagod lang.” (No. Just tired.)

Perlah snorted softly. “Pagod ka o kinilig ka?” (Tired, or flustered?)

You nearly choked. “Hoy!” (Hey!)

Princess laughed. “Grabe, tingnan mo nga mukha mo.” (Wow, look at your face.)

You covered your face with your sleeve, groaning. “Tumahimik kayo. Ayoko na.” (Be quiet. I’m done.)

Across Central, Jack glanced up from the board for half a second. Just long enough to see you laughing with them, sleeve half over your hand, coffee in the other, like nothing heavy had ever existed inside that elevator.

His gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have.

Then he looked back at the board.

PTMC ENTRANCE — DAY

The automatic doors slid open with a tired mechanical sigh, letting in the cold morning air that always felt too clean compared to the ER.

You stepped out onto the sidewalk and stopped there for a second, rolling your shoulders like you were trying to shake the whole shift off your back. One hand came up to the back of your neck, fingers pressing into the sore muscle there, working out the stiffness while you stared across the street toward the park.

Morning light was just starting to settle over the trees. Too quiet. Too normal. Like the world outside the ER had no idea what kind of night you just crawled out of.

Your eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, like you were still deciding if you had enough energy left to walk.

“You headed to the bakery?” Jack asked from behind you.

“Jesus—!”

You jerked hard enough that your foot came off the curb before your brain caught up, stepping straight into the street just as a pickup truck rolled past the entrance.

The horn blasted loud enough to make your chest jump.

You froze mid-step, caught between the sidewalk and the road, brain still stuck in that slow, post-shift haze where everything feels a second behind.

A hand closed around your arm and pulled you back before you even realized what was happening.

Your shoulder bumped into Jack’s chest as he yanked you toward the curb, his grip firm around your sleeve, steadying you until both your feet were back on the sidewalk.

The truck kept going, the driver throwing an irritated look out the window as he passed.

Your heart slammed hard enough to make your vision swim. You blinked up at Jack, still a little dizzy.

“…Okay,” you breathed. “That would’ve been very bad.”

He didn’t let go right away.

His hand stayed around your arm, fingers tight just above your elbow, like he didn’t trust you not to step back into traffic the second he loosened his grip.

“You trying to get yourself killed before your next shift?” he said, voice low, sharper than usual.

You let out a shaky laugh, still catching your breath. “What can I say… I’m a woman of my word.”

His expression didn’t change. “Not funny.”

You winced a little. “Sorry.”

He studied your face for another second, like he was making sure you were actually okay, then finally let go, though his hand lingered a fraction longer than it needed to before dropping to his side.

“You gotta look before you step off the curb,” he muttered.

“Yes, Dad.”

That got the smallest look from him.

You rubbed the back of your neck again, exhaling slowly, then reached up and unclipped the claw clip from your hair. The second the tension released, you winced, fingers dragging through your scalp.

“Ow… okay, yeah. I’m done. I’m officially done for the day.”

You worked your fingers into the sore spots at the base of your scalp, pressing until the ache dulled, then let your hand fall. Your gaze drifted back toward the park across the street, soft and green and quiet in a way the ER never was.

Your sleeve had ridden up slightly when you reached for your neck.

Just enough.

A thin, uneven scar curled along the inside of your forearm—faint now, older, but still there if you knew where to look. Another just above it, softer, almost hidden in your skin.

You noticed it a second too late.

Your fingers moved automatically, tugging the fabric back down, smoothing it over your wrist as if it had never slipped at all. Like it had always been there.

Behind you, the ambulance bay doors opened again. Voices. A stretcher rattling. Someone crying. The ER never stopped. And for a moment, standing there on the edge of it—half in the quiet, half still inside the noise—you pulled your sleeve down a little tighter.

Then you looked back toward the park.

Jack stepped up beside you without really announcing it, hands in his pockets, gaze following yours across the street.

“You go every year?” he asked.

You glanced at him.

“…Yeah.”

A small pause.

“The bakery,” he added, quieter. “For your mom.”

You nodded, looking back at the trees. “Yeah. Just a little cake. Candles. Call my Tita. Same thing every time.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment.

The wind picked up slightly, cool against your face, carrying the faint smell of rain and exhaust and hospital disinfectant all mixed together.

“You want a ride?” he asked.

You blinked, surprised.

“What?”

“I’m headed that way anyway,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Could drop you off.”

You hesitated, then shook your head gently.

“No… it’s okay. I’ll walk.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“I know.”

He looked at you, waiting for the rest of the explanation.

You shrugged.

“It helps,” you said quietly. “If I go straight home, I just sit there thinking too much.”

That seemed to make sense to him.

He nodded once.

A beat passed.

You started down the steps toward the crosswalk, slower this time, very deliberately looking both ways before you moved.

“…Hey,” you muttered.

He glanced at you.

“Thanks.”

“For what.”

You gave him a small, tired smile. “For not letting me get hit by a truck.”

His mouth twitched slightly, barely there. “Try not to make it a habit.”

“No promises.”

You stepped off the curb again, careful this time, heading toward the park. Halfway across the street, you heard his voice behind you.

“Firefly.”

You turned.

He was still standing by the entrance, hands in his pockets, morning light hitting the side of his face.

“Text me when you get home,” he said.

You blinked, confused.

“What?”

He frowned slightly, like he didn’t understand why that was confusing.

“Text me when you get home.”

You shifted your weight, suddenly awkward, “I… don’t have your number.”

A beat.

He held his hand out. “Give me your phone.”

You stared at his hand for a second, then pulled your phone out of your pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to him without another word.

He typed quickly, saved the contact, then handed it back. “Now you do.”

You looked down at the screen, then back up at him.

“…Okay.”

He nodded toward the park, “Go.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes, sir.”

You turned and kept walking, crossing the street toward the trees, shoulders finally starting to relax now that the shift was behind you.

Behind you, Jack stayed where he was for a moment longer than he needed to.

Watching until you made it to the other side.

ALLEGHENY COMMONS PARK — DAY

The sky had been gray all morning, the kind of heavy, low clouds that made everything feel quieter than it really was. The kind of sky that pressed down on your shoulders even when you told yourself it didn’t.

You didn’t notice the wind picking up until the first drop hit the back of your hand.

Then another.

You stopped on the path, looking up through the trees just as the rain started coming down for real — not a drizzle, not a warning. Just sudden, steady rain like the sky had finally decided it was done holding everything in.

You let out a long sigh.

“Of course.”

You pulled your jacket a little tighter around yourself, even though it wouldn’t help much. You never carried an umbrella after night shifts. Half the time you forgot. The other half you just didn’t care.

You didn’t run.

You never ran after a shift.

Everything felt slow anyway, like your body was still stuck in the ER while the rest of the world kept moving without you.

The park emptied fast. A couple walking their dog hurried past, laughing while they tried to pull their hood up at the same time. Somewhere behind you, a car splashed through a puddle, the sound echoing through the wet morning air.

You kept walking.

Rain soaked into your sleeves, darkening the fabric inch by inch. Your hair stuck to your face, the cold drops sliding down the back of your neck. Your shoes were already damp from the grass along the path.

You didn’t mind.

You never really minded the rain.

Not since you were a kid.

For a moment, the smell of wet pavement and dirt pulled something loose in your chest. A memory you didn’t ask for, didn’t want, but knew too well.

Flashing lights.

Voices talking too loud.

Someone holding your shoulders while you tried to look past them, like if you could just see what everyone else was seeing it wouldn’t be real.

You blinked hard, forcing yourself back to the present.

Ten years old— a hit and run. Wrong place, wrong time.

After that, it had just been you and your Tita. No dad or extra money. There was no space to fall apart.

You learned fast that crying didn’t fix anything. Neither did asking for help.

You just kept going.

You always did.

The rain got heavier as you reached the corner near the park entrance, drops hitting the pavement hard enough to splash up around your shoes. You stepped under the small awning of the bakery without really thinking about it, mostly just to get the water out of your eyes.

The bell over the door jingled faintly when someone inside moved, but you stayed outside for a second, catching your breath.

Then you saw it.

In the display window, sitting on the metal rack near the front, was a small cake. Plain white frosting, a little uneven around the edges like it wasn’t meant for a big order. Just something simple someone might pick up on the way home.

The kind you always bought.

You stared at it longer than you meant to.

Rain dripped from your hair onto your sleeve, but you didn’t move.

“Yeah,” you muttered to yourself. “Okay.”

You pushed the door open.

The warmth inside hit you right away, fogging your glasses slightly, the smell of sugar and coffee wrapping around you like something softer than the morning had been.

The woman behind the counter looked up, recognition flickering for a second.

“Long shift again?”

You nodded, pushing damp hair back from your face.

“Yeah.”

Your eyes drifted back to the case.

You pointed at the cake.

“That one… please.”

She grabbed the box without asking anything else, like she already knew you didn’t feel like talking.

“Candles too?” she asked gently.

You hesitated for half a second, then nodded.

“Yeah. Just… a few.”

She rang it up while you dug your wallet out of your pocket, hands still a little cold from the rain.

When she handed you the box, you held it carefully, like it weighed more than it should.

“Take care,” she said.

You gave a small nod.

“You too.”

When you stepped back outside, the rain had slowed a little, but the air still smelled like wet pavement and morning traffic and something heavy you couldn’t quite name.

You tucked the cake box closer to your chest and started walking again.

Same path.

Same day.

Same thing you did every year.

By the time you got to your apartment building, your scrubs were damp at the edges, hair half-soaked, box tucked carefully under your arm like it mattered more than anything else you were carrying.

You climbed the stairs slowly.

Unlocked the door and went inside.

YOUR APARTMENT — DAY

Your apartment was quiet in that hollow, almost unreal way it always felt after a night shift. Too bright. Too still. Like the world outside was moving at the wrong speed compared to you.

You nudged the door shut with your foot, locking it out of habit before dropping your keys into the bowl by the counter. Your shoes came off next, kicked gently against the wall instead of lined up the way you always told yourself you would. You slid your feet into your house slippers, the soft fabric warm against skin that still felt cold from the rain.

For a second you just stood there, shoulders slumped, staring at nothing.

Then you remembered.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, thumb moving automatically.

You: I’m home.

The typing bubble popped up almost right away.

Of course he was still awake.

Jack Abbot: Good.

Jack Abbot: Go sleep.

A small breath left your nose, almost a laugh.

You didn’t answer right away. Just set the phone on the counter and headed for the bathroom, peeling off your damp jacket on the way.

The shower water came out hotter than you expected, steam filling the small room fast. You stood under it longer than you meant to, head tipped forward, eyes closed, letting the heat loosen the tightness in your shoulders, your neck, the ache sitting behind your ribs that never really went away after a shift.

For a minute, you didn’t think about anything.

Just water, you breathing— complete silence.

When you finally stepped out, the mirror was fogged over completely. You wiped a small circle clear with your palm, glanced at yourself once, then looked away.

You pulled on an old shirt and sweats, towel-dried your hair enough that it wouldn’t drip everywhere, then walked back into the kitchen.

The cake box sat exactly where you left it.

You opened it slowly, careful with the lid like the frosting might break if you moved too fast.

Same small cake with plain white icing.

Same as every year.

You set it on the table, then moved around the kitchen on autopilot, cracking eggs into a pan, slicing bread, making coffee you knew you barely had the energy to drink. The routine helped. It always did.

Something normal.

Something you could control.

When the food was done, you carried the plate to the table, then went back for the drawer.

Candles.

You stuck them into the cake one by one, pressing them gently into the frosting until they stood straight.

Then you reached for the picture frame on the shelf near the window.

You wiped the dust from the glass with the edge of your sleeve before setting it on the table beside the cake.

Your mom, smiling at the camera like whoever took the photo had just said something stupid.

You sat down slowly.

For a moment you just looked at the picture, hands resting on your thighs, shoulders heavy with the kind of tired that sleep didn’t fix.

“…Hi, Ma,” you murmured.

Your throat tightened, but you swallowed it down before it could turn into anything else.

You grabbed the lighter, flicked it once, then again until the flame caught.

One by one, the candles lit.

Small, steady flames.

You stared at them for a long second, then reached for your phone.

The call connected after two rings.

“Tita?”

“Ay, ikaw na? Nakauwi ka na?” (You? You’re home already?)

You smiled a little, even though she couldn’t see it.

“Oo. Kakauwi lang.” (Yeah. Just got home.)

“Kumain ka na ba? Mukha kang pagod kahapon sa video call.” (Did you eat? You looked tired yesterday on the video call.)

You glanced at the plate in front of you. “Oo, kumakain na.” (Yeah, I’m eating now.)

A pause on the line, then her voice softened.

“…Today, ah.”

You looked at the candles. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

“You okay?”

You forced a small laugh, the kind you always used when the real answer was too long. “Oo naman. Buhay pa.” (Of course. Still alive.)

You didn’t tell her about the nights you didn’t sleep. Or the days your chest felt too tight for no reason. Or the way your brain sometimes went somewhere dark when you were too tired to stop it.

You never told her those things.

She already worried enough.

“Okay,” she said gently. “Blow the candles. I’m here.”

You adjusted the phone so she could see the table, the cake, the picture.

You took a breath, eyes on the small flames.

“Ready?”

“Sige.” (Go ahead.)

You closed your eyes for half a second.

Then blew the candles out.

Smoke curled into the air, thin and gray.

Neither of you spoke for a little bit, then your Tita sighed softly, “Your mom would be proud of you.”

Your throat tightened again.

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “I know.”

You talked a little longer, about nothing important. Work, the weather, and whether you were eating enough. The same conversation you always had when she could tell you were holding something in but didn’t want to push.

When the call ended, the apartment felt quiet again.

Too quiet.

You sat there a minute longer, staring at the melted wax on the cake, then finally stood up and started cleaning.

Plate in the sink, the cake back in the box, lighter in the drawer, and picture back on the shelf. The routine is engraved in your bones.

When everything was put away, you walked to the window and pulled the blackout curtains closed, shutting out the gray morning light until the room went dim and soft and almost safe.

You stood there for a second, hand still on the curtain.

Then you turned off the kitchen light, went to the bedroom, and lay down without bothering to check your phone again.

Outside, the city kept moving. But, inside, the room went dark enough that you could finally sleep.

End Notes:

I’ve actually had this chapter finished for a while now… I just wasn’t sure if anything I wrote made sense lol.

All my inspiration for this fic came from kdramas and books I’ve read :D

For Firefly… I leaned into more of my whimsy, chaotic, rambly and sunshine side. But, to those who know me by now… you know that sadness doesn’t ever go away. You just learned to live with it.

This fic for the girlies who did what they had to do to survive.

We are in a bit of uncharted territory for now… I hope I write Jack well enough to do him justice. And I hope those who aren’t Filipino or POC give this fic a chance since I’m not fully describing a lot of features and such. Just you, but you can speak Tagalog and sing, lol.

Taglist: @eviispunk @fyrieofmedusa @rei-scorpio @battyvonkreep @pinkillie @cheris-posts @goldenmoonbeam @sourmooonlight @clementinebutnottheorange @tojis-little-brat @miss1sarcasmo @xiaovberry @blackwidownat2814 @kysosa @ofmusesandsecrets @sillybillybozo37 @sunflower911 @darlingimafangirl

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