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Always remember what you are doing and where your place is always keep that border line your circle will define you keep that in your mind. So maintain your level invest in people who really values you and really feel for you.
There is something deeply peaceful about finding a quiet pocket of time right in the middle of a chaotic week. It’s like discovering an unread chapter in your favorite book.
Lately, I’ve been trying to focus less on the "hustle" and more on the rhythm. Finding that sweet spot where momentum meets mindfulness. Whether it’s a killer rally on the tennis court, a solid business win, or just a perfectly brewed cup of coffee peace isn’t a place you go, it’s a state you bring with you.
How are you resetting your battery mid-week? Let me know in the replies.
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It’s laughable to pretend that cultural fragility emerged spontaneously from any given generational cohort when the historical record shows the entire human race has been hypersensitive and dangerously reactionary since it first learned to bang rocks together. The current climate—replete with so-called “woke” social justice zealots, quack-MAGA conspiracy drones, and every other variant of cognitively stunted ideologue—exists not because humanity suddenly became frail, but because an expanding global population and relentless hyper-connectivity have transformed what were once pitifully small, laughable fringes into colossal, self-perpetuating mobs. You have only yourselves to blame for letting technological conveniences and endless content streams embolden the previously voiceless hordes, and for refusing to accept accountability for your own intellectual deficits.
The convenient excuse that some era—take your pick, the South Park-watching ’90s kids or the Family Guy-obsessed early millennials—must have toughened people up is a flaccid, nostalgia-driven delusion. The reality is that everyone has always been a delicate flower when poked in the right spot. The only difference now is the speed and scale at which these hysterical meltdowns are broadcast, archived, weaponized, and looped into infinite cultural feedback. The result: Both left-wing and right-wing “snowflakes” spend their days lobbing digital Molotov cocktails at each other, making sure the inferno of stupidity never burns out.
And if you’re determined to pin this on specific birth cohorts, then let’s not mince words: all generations share the blame. Generation Z and Generation A? A legion of perpetually offended infants who mistake hashtag activism for real achievement. Millennials? Overly sensitive edgelords and spoiled brats, produced by Gen Xers who were too busy sulking in their own post-boomer bitterness to teach resilience, and enabled by the indulgent older generations who pretended that showering them with worthless praise and passing them smartphones would somehow offset the Boomer-made crises scalding the planet. Boomers themselves, still clinging to life thanks to modern medicine and an utter refusal to exit the stage gracefully, persist in hoarding resources, vomit forth their antiquated value systems, and do their utmost to ensure that every ensuing generation is saddled with debt, polluted air, and an economic landscape as barren as their moral imagination.
None of these generational tribes is innocent. The global human population, expanded and interlinked like never before, continues to ignore science, deride empirical evidence, trash the environment, and generally behave like a lemming colony sprinting toward the nearest cliff. Meanwhile, reproductive habits remain locked in some medieval pattern of “breed first, think never,” further straining resources and exacerbating divisions. In short, everyone shoulders a portion of the blame—no generation or ideology gets to hide behind a tired historical reference or a cherished TV show. It’s time to own up to this grotesque collective failure instead of flinging blame and shrieking in self-righteous indignation.
The historical record shows the entire human race has been hypersensitive and dangerously reactionary since it first learned to bang rocks together. Louder for the people in the back. Stop pretending our current circus is a new generational flaw. Hyper connectivity didn't create the circus, it just gave every single clown a megaphone and a global stage.
Summary: Jack Abbot spends the entire shift pretending he’s fine. You spend the entire shift proving he isn’t. He’s spent years convincing himself he doesn’t need anyone. Unfortunately for him, your hands don’t seem interested in listening. Somewhere between a stubborn attending, one very abused prosthetic, and an unexpected text message… things get complicated.
Warnings: Jack Abbot refusing to admit he’s human, one overworked prosthetic, blood/injury, medically accurate-ish wound care, grief (mentioned), attending stubbornness reaching critical levels, Bear weaponizing the word “sit,” forced vulnerability, hand touching (again… yes, it still matters), emotional constipation, mutual denial continuing as scheduled, and Jack Abbot making the catastrophic decision to text first.
Author’s Note: Guys… the slow burn is, in fact, burning a little hotter now. Where are we taking this? Fuck if i know. 😭 All i know is you and Jack are gonna make it as difficult as humanly possible. He has the excuse of being widowed… what’s your excuse, babe? LMAO.
Anywayyyy i’m ridiculously excited for chapter 4. I have little worms in my brain telling me it’s gonna be GOODDDDDD.
also this is my first time switching POVs so be nice - trying something new.
————————————
“No.”
Jack’s voice roared across the emergency department.
“No. Absolutely not.”
The resident froze. “I—I thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
Silence swallowed the nurses’ station.
Jack stepped closer, chart still clutched in one hand.
“You don’t order potassium without looking at the patient’s renal function.”
The resident’s face drained of color. “I—”
“You could’ve killed him.” Another beat.
“If you don’t know…” His jaw clenched. “ …you ask.”
No one moved. No one spoke.
The resident swallowed hard before quietly taking the chart back.
“…Yes, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack didn’t answer. He turned sharply and walked away. Only the sound of his boots echoed through the department.
The silence lingered for another few seconds.
Then—
“What the hell was that?” Mateo muttered beside you. You watched Jack disappear around the corner.
Your brows furrowed. “…I don’t know.”
And somehow… that answer bothered you more than it should’ve.
“He’s been like that all night.” Lena sighed, setting a chart down on the nurses’ station.
“All week.” She rubbed at her temple. “…He’s been pulling doubles.”
Your eyebrows knit together. “Doubles?”
“I don’t think he’s gone home between shifts.”
You blinked. “…Seriously?”
Lena nodded.
Dana looked up from the charge desk. “Well…”
“…You know why.” She exchanged a look with Lena.
“…It’s this week.” Lena’s shoulders fell.
“Yeah.” Neither woman said another word.
You looked between them. “…What?”
They didn’t answer. The conversation died there.
You looked back toward the hallway Jack had disappeared down only minutes earlier.
Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know why he’d been sleeping at the hospital.
You didn’t know why everyone suddenly went quiet whenever the subject came up.
But you knew one thing. Something was wrong. And whatever it was…
It was finally starting to catch up to him.
⸻
Jack :
He shouldn’t have yelled.
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d raised his voice at a resident.
Corrected them? Every shift.
Embarrassed them? Never.
The resident had flinched.
That bothered him more than the medication order ever would.
He shoved through the ambulance bay doors and headed toward the vending machines tucked into the quiet hallway.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
His prosthetic ached. He ignored it.
The vending machine hummed softly to itself.
Coffee.
Anything to keep him moving.
He shoved a hand into his pocket looking for the crumbled $5 bill.
“…Come on.” Nothing.
He frowned before digging deeper. Instead, his hand found the phone. He pulled it free from his pocket.
The screen illuminated the hallway. Six unread messages. Mostly Robby. One from Dana.
Dana: You alright over there?
Robby: Hey. I know what today is.
Robby: Wanna grab a drink after shift?
Robby: My treat.
Robby: Jack… you shouldn’t be working today.
Robby: Go home. Enough doubles.
His thumb hovered over the screen. Then drifted upward.
1:27 A.M.
June 20
His jaw tightened. …Already.
He stared at the date for a long time. Long enough for the screen to dim. Long enough that he almost put the phone away.
Instead he unlocked it again.
Opened the photos. His thumb stopped over the same picture it always did.
Her hair blew across her face.
Sand clung to her ankles. The lake stretched endlessly behind her, sunlight glinting off the water.
She’d been laughing.
God. He missed that laugh.
A sharp ache flared through the end of his leg as the socket shifted against raw skin.
He ignored it.
He’d gotten very good at ignoring things.
He locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. The vending machine continued humming beside him.
Coffee could wait. Food could wait.
Going home…
That could wait too.
He pushed away from the wall and headed back toward the emergency department. Better to keep moving.
The silence couldn’t catch him if he never stopped long enough to hear it.
———
Bear :
Another trauma.
Another save.
Another patient disappearing through the double doors toward the OR. The team dispersed, peeling off bloody gloves and isolation gowns.
Someone cracked a joke.
Someone laughed.
The emergency department settled back into its familiar rhythm.
You tugged your gloves free with a tired sigh, tossing them into the overflowing biohazard bin.
“Nice work, everyone,” Dr. Shen called as he scribbled something onto the trauma board.
A chorus of exhausted agreement followed.
Except… Jack said nothing.
You looked up. Normally, he’d already be correcting a resident. Or you.
Teaching.
Congratulating someone.
Pointing out something they’d missed.
Tonight… He simply stood there. Quiet.
His gaze stayed fixed on the floor for a second longer than it should have.
Then he rubbed absentmindedly at his thigh.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough for you.
His weight shifted.
Right leg-
Left- Right again-
A tiny hitch.
Almost invisible. You frowned.
“Bear?” Mateo bumped your shoulder.
“You coming?”
“Hm?”
He followed your line of sight.
“What’s got you staring now?”
You looked back toward Jack.
“…Nothing.” Lie.
Something was off. He wasn’t limping. Not exactly.
He was thinking about every step before he took it. Like walking had become something he had to remember how to do.
Jack finally started toward the nurses’ station.
One step.
Another.
His shoulders stayed perfectly straight.
His face gave nothing away. Only the slight hesitation before each stride betrayed him.
No one else seemed to notice.
You couldn’t stop watching. “…That’s not good.”
You watched him disappear into another patient room. Your feet almost moved.
Almost.
Should you say something?
No.
Absolutely not.
He was your attending. Not your patient.
If something was wrong, Dr. Shen would’ve noticed.
Ellis would’ve noticed.
Robby certainly would’ve noticed.
And if they had…
Who were you to question it?
You looked back down at the chart in your hands. Maybe you were imagining it.
Maybe he was just tired.
He’d been working doubles all week. Anyone would be exhausted.
Still…
Your eyes kept drifting toward the hallway.
Waiting for him to come back into view.
Waiting to prove you wrong.
Or prove you right.
———
Another thirty minutes passed.
Charts were signed. Labs results ushered in.
Someone complained about the coffee. Someone else argued with radiology. The emergency department settled back into its endless cycle of organized chaos.
You almost convinced yourself you’d imagined it. Almost.
Room twelve opened.
Jack stepped into the hallway, finishing instructions to one of the residents behind him.
“…Repeat the CBC in four hours. If his pressure drops before then, I want to know.”
“Yes, Dr. Abbot.”
He turned.
One step-
Then another.
His right foot caught. Barely.
Just enough for his balance to shift.
His hand shot out, catching the edge of the nurses’ station before the rest of him followed.
Silence.
It lasted maybe half a second.
But everyone saw. Jack recovered almost instantly.
Stood a little straighter. Like standing taller could erase what everyone had just seen.
Like nothing had happened.
“I’m fine.” No one had asked.
Ellis was already moving. “Abbot—”
“I’m fine.”
Shen looked up from his chart. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
He pushed away from the counter.
Took another step. Then another.
Trying to prove the point. Trying to pretend the last ten seconds hadn’t happened.
Your stomach dropped.
Because he wasn’t fooling anyone. Least of all you.
One step. Another. Then—
His prosthetic shifted.
His knee buckled.
The room collectively inhaled.
Jack caught himself on one hand before he hit the floor completely, his other knee striking the tile with a dull thud.
Silence.
No monitors. No keyboards. Nothing.
Everyone had seen.
“Jack.” Shen was already moving.
Ellis reached him at the same time. “You alright?”
Jack shoved himself upright before either of them could touch him.
“I’m fine.” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended.
Dana was already halfway across the department.
“Get a wheelchair.”
“I don’t need a damn wheelchair.”
“You just hit the floor.”
“I slipped.”
“You fell-“
“I caught myself.” A beat.
“You still ended up on the floor.”
“For the love of God…” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.
He planted one hand on the nurses’ station and started to stand. His prosthetic shifted again. Pain shot through the end of his leg.
His face didn’t change.
But you saw it.
Enough.
You crossed the department before you could talk yourself out of it.
“So did you…” Ellis looked up.
Jack’s eyes found yours. “Bear.”
You stopped directly in front of him.
Your voice stayed calm.
“Sit.”
He blinked. “…I’m fine.”
“No.”
“Bear—”
“Sit.”
Not louder. Just firmer.
The department watched.
Mateo actually stopped charting.
Dana looked between the two of you.
Even Shen stayed quiet.
Jack stared at you. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like this. Especially not you.
“I’m not doing this out here.”
“You already are.” A beat.
“You can either sit down yourself…” You nodded toward the wheelchair Dana had parked beside him. “…or your colleagues are going to make you.”
His jaw flexed.
“You’ve got about three seconds before Dr. Shen decides for you.”
Shen shrugged. “…She’s not wrong.”
A few quiet laughs rippled through the department.
Jack shot Shen a look. Traitor.
You didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. You simply sat.
Waiting.
Jack exhaled slowly through his nose. “…Fine.”
He lowered himself into the chair.
The entire emergency department seemed to freeze.
Mateo looked at Lena. “…Did…”
Lena blinked.
“…He just listened to Bear?”
“No kidding,” Dana muttered under her breath.
You ignored all of them. Your attention never left Jack. You crouched in front of him.
“You done trying to prove a point?”
His eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t proving anything.”
“You walked ten feet after nearly falling.”
“I walked.”
“You limped.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You’ve been compensating for the last hour.”
That finally got his attention. His expression shifted.
Just enough. You’d noticed. Of course you had.
You stood again, looking toward the small crowd gathering around him.
“Okay.” You clapped your hands once. “Show’s over.”
Everyone looked at you.
“If this were any other patient, we’d all be asked to leave.”
You glanced toward Shen. “He’s got three attendings, a charge nurse, and half the department staring at him.”
A beat. “I’d be irritated too.”
Shen smiled first.
Dana nodded. “Let’s give him some room.”
One by one, the crowd drifted away.
Mateo lingered just long enough to raise an eyebrow at you before disappearing with the others.
Within moments, the emergency department started moving again. Like nothing had happened. Only you and Jack remained.
The silence settled between you.
He looked up. Really looked.
No chart in his hand. No patient. No excuse.
His eyes narrowed slightly. Trying to place you.
When had you stopped being the new nurse who challenged him… and started acting like you had any say over him?
You held his stare, refusing to speak.
His jaw tightened. “…You done?” he muttered.
You crossed your arms. “No.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “So stubborn.”
“Takes one to know one.”
No smile this time. Not even close.
He looked away first—but it wasn’t surrender.
It was restraint.
You noticed. Interesting.
“Break room.” you nod.
He let out a sharp breath. “…No.”
You didn’t move. “No?”
“I’m not doing this with you hovering over me.”
You tilted your head. “You dragged me in there.”
His eyes snapped back to yours. “That was different.”
“How?”
His jaw flexed. “It just was.”
You stepped closer, voice steady. “My turn.”
For the first time…
Jack didn’t look caught. He looked lost.
Silently battling out his natural instinct to push.
Push away.
You waited.
“So…” You nodded down the hall. “…Break room.”
He rubbed his face, slower this time.
“…You’re really not letting this go.”
“Absolutely not.”
Silence again. Tighter.
He glanced toward the break room.
Then back at you.
A flicker of something sharp in his eyes.
“I don’t need help getting there.”
“I didn’t say you did.” You didn’t move out of his way. Not yet.
His gaze hardened. “…Move.”
You held it for a beat longer. Then stepped aside.
“You’ve never had trouble walking in before.”
His eyes met yours again. There it was.
Not softness. Not surrender. Something edged. Guarded.
Then he pushed forward. Controlled.
You fell in beside him anyway.
Close enough to be noticed. Not close enough to touch. The break room door clicked shut behind you.
Jack rolled the wheelchair to the table himself.
Deliberately. Every push measured.
He stopped beside one of the plastic chairs.
For a long moment he simply sat there, jaw tight, staring at the floor.
You crossed to the cabinet.
First-aid kit. Saline. Gauze. Tape.
He watched you over his shoulder.
Didn’t complain. Didn’t tell you to stop.
That alone was unsettling.
You set everything on the table between you.
“…Leg.”
His eyes lifted. “…Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” A beat.
“I’m taking it off.” His jaw worked once.
Silence.
—————————
Jack :
He hated sitting.
Hated that she was standing over him.
Hated that she’d somehow managed to bully him into this chair without raising her voice once.
She didn’t even look up from the med kit.
“I can do it myself.” He convinced himself.
“No.” One word. Simple. Matter-of-fact.
Like there wasn’t another option.
Jack let out a slow breath through his nose.
“…You’re insufferable.”
“So I’ve been told...” She crouched in front of him.
“…So have you.”
His mouth twitched despite himself. Barely.
“You always this bossy?”
“Only with stubborn patients.”
“I’m not your patient.”
“No.” She reached for the clasp securing his prosthetic. “…You’re worse.”
His hand instinctively moved toward hers.
Not to grab it.
Just… just for a moment. He just-
She looked up. Didn’t say a word. Just waited.
Jack stared at her for a long moment.
Then… He dropped his hand. “…Fine.”
She nodded once. “Good.”
The locking pin clicked free.
She eased the prosthetic away carefully, taking her time so the liner didn’t catch against irritated skin.
The second it came free…
She froze. “…Jesus.”
Jack looked away.
“You rubbed it raw.”
“It’ll heal.”
She looked back up at him. “…Yeah? Doesn’t look that way.” Silence settled between them. She gently rolled the silicone liner away.
The skin beneath was angry. Red. Broken.
A thin smear of dried blood clung to one side where the socket had rubbed for hours.
Maybe days.
She frowned. “You haven’t taken this off in a while.”
It wasn’t really a question.
“You’ve been wearing it.”
Another beat.
“…Several days?”
Jack leaned back in the chair. “I’ve been here.”
She glanced up. “At the hospital.”
He nodded once. “Yeah.” Nothing else.
She could’ve asked why. She didn’t.
Could’ve told him he was an idiot. God, he was.
Didn’t do that either.
Instead, she reached for saline.
The cool liquid ran over the raw skin. It stung.
Jack’s jaw tightened.
“You can cuss if you want.”
His eyes flicked toward her. “…What?”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I know.” She dabbed carefully with gauze. Every movement slow, intentional.
She wasn’t rushing. Wasn’t fussing.
She simply… worked.
Her hands were smaller than he’d expected.
Warm despite the cold saline. Steady.
Every touch deliberate.
Every movement confident.
She never once looked uncomfortable.
Never hesitated. Never made him feel like he should be embarrassed.
She treated the wound exactly the way she treated every patient who rolled through the trauma bay.
With hands that somehow managed to be firm…
…and impossibly gentle at the same time.
Jack watched them move.
Watched her thumb steady the back of his calf while the other hand cleaned away the dried blood.
His chest tightened unexpectedly.
He knew those movements.
Knew what it felt like to sit still while someone quietly took care of him.
…
No.
His jaw tightened. Don’t.
He tore his eyes away from her hands, focusing instead on the linoleum beneath his boot.
She noticed nothing.
Or, if she did… She was kind enough not to say anything. She simply kept working.
She smoothed the fresh dressing flat with the side of her thumb.
Jack watched the movement. It stopped him.
Her hands.
Not because they fascinated him.
Because he couldn’t remember the last time someone else’s had been here.
Helping.
Not because he couldn’t.
Because they wanted to.
He swallowed once. “…Finished?”
———
Bear:
Pressing one last strip of tape into place before sitting back on your heels
“There.” You looked up. “…Better.”
His eyes finally lifted from the floor. He glanced down at the fresh dressing. Flexed his leg once. Testing it.
“It’ll need a few days,” you said as you began gathering the discarded gauze. “Try to keep the pressure off it.”
“Hm.”
“You should probably give the prosthetic a break…”
“I’ll survive.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Silence settled between you again. Then—
“…Thanks.”
The word was so quiet you almost thought you’d imagined it.
You looked up. “…What?”
His jaw tightened immediately. “I said thank you.”
A beat.
“…Don’t make me repeat myself.”
The corner of your mouth lifted. “There he is.”
His brow furrowed. “…Excuse me?”
“The asshole.” You shrugged. “I was wondering where he went.”
For the first time all night… His mouth twitched. Barely.
“Unbelievable.”
“I’ve been called worse.” You shrug.
“I’m aware.”
A quiet laugh escaped you as you began packing the first-aid kit back together.
Alcohol wipes. Saline. Tape. Gauze.
One by one, everything disappeared back into the plastic box.
When you turned back around…
Jack had leaned forward, reaching for the prosthetic resting against the chair.
At the exact same moment—
So had you.
Your fingers brushed against the carbon fiber shell.
Both of you froze. It wasn’t dramatic.
Just… unexpected. His hand stilled beneath yours.
For the briefest second, neither of you moved.
Then Jack cleared his throat. “…I’ve got it.”
You looked up at him. “I know.”
His eyes searched yours for a moment.
“I wasn’t saying you couldn’t.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
Slowly, you withdrew your hand.
He lifted the prosthetic onto his lap, adjusting it with practiced familiarity.
Neither of you spoke.
The silence wasn’t awkward anymore.
He secured the liner with careful movements before glancing toward the door.
“…You should get back to work.”
Professional.
Measured.
Safe.
The attending was back.
You nodded once.
“Yes, Doctor.” You picked up the med kit and made it halfway to the door before his voice stopped you.
“…Bear.”
You turned. He held your gaze for a long second.
“…Thanks.” Again.
Not Dr. Abbot.
Not your attending. Just a tired man who, for once, had let someone help him.
Your smile was small.
“Gonna make me think you’re getting soft, Doc.”
He snorted quietly. “Don’t push your luck, kid.”
You grinned to yourself as you opened the break room door.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The door clicked shut behind you.
—————————
The apartment greeted you with silence.
You nudged the front door shut with your foot, letting your work bag slide from your shoulder and land beside the entryway with a dull thud.
Home. Finally.
You kicked off your shoes somewhere between the kitchen and the hallway.
Your scrub top disappeared next along with your badge. Your hair tie.
Everything landed in an exhausted trail behind you.
Shower. Soap. Shampoo. Hot water.
The routine unfolded on autopilot.
By the time you climbed into bed, your muscles felt heavy enough to sink straight through the mattress.
You didn’t bother checking the time.
Didn’t bother setting an alarm.
You simply buried your face deeper into the pillow and let out a long sigh.
Finally… sleep.
Bzzzt.
You groaned. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
One arm flopped blindly across the nightstand, knocking into a bottle of lotion before finally finding your phone.
“Do Not Disturb,” you mumbled.
Your thumb was already moving toward the setting when the screen lit up.
Unknown Number
Your brows pinched together.
Who on earth…
You unlocked the phone.
- You made it home?
You blinked. Just four words. No name.
No explanation. Nothing.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before finally typing—
- …Who is this?
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Then-
- Jack.
Not Dr. Abbot. Not Abbot. Just… Jack.
You stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then, despite yourself—
You smiled. A real one.
You dropped your phone onto the pillow beside you, still shaking your head.
Sometimes you just need to disconnect from the noise and let the green take over. There’s something so grounding about standing among trees no notifications, no rush, just the quiet hum of nature doing its thing.
Taking a second to breathe it all in. Highly recommend stepping outside today, even if it’s just for five minutes. 🤍
