🎀☕️

You made it halfway to your car before you stopped moving altogether.

The thought of going home suddenly felt unbearable. Your apartment would be too quiet. Too much empty space and time to replay every conversation, every look, every almost-confession until your brain dissolved into static. And, perhaps most dangerously of all, too many reminders.

The photostrip from the vintage store. The lamp. The photos on your fridge. The sweater Dennis had leant you ages ago draped over your chair.

Without really thinking about it, your feet had already changed direction.

The night air hit your face in a cool rush the second you stepped outside.

Your legs carried you without any sense of direction. You shoved your hands deeper into your jacket pockets as you walked past darkened storefronts, a group of drunk corporate suits spilling out of a bar, a florist hosing down the pavement outside their shop.

A few more blocks passed before you finally slowed. Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since mid-morning.

Your gaze lifted.

A familiar hidden red neon sign glowed softly against the dark street.

You stared at it for a moment before letting out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

Of course your stupid subconscious had brought you here.

The bell above the door jingled softly as you stepped inside, warmth wrapping around you instantly.

The diner was busier than the last time you’d been here with Dennis.

Two construction workers occupied a booth near the window, nursing coffees and looking exhausted. A mother sat near the counter trying unsuccessfully to stop her two children from turning sugar packets into confetti. Somewhere in the back, pans clattered loudly against one another followed by a stream of rapid Italian swearing.

You felt your mouth twitch despite yourself.

“Ah!”

Angelo appeared from the kitchen, his face immediately brightening when he spotted you.

“The lovely lady!” He spread his arms dramatically as he approached. “You come back!”

You smiled properly for what felt like the first time all day.

“Hi Angelo.”

He clicked his tongue as he ushered you towards the same booth you and Dennis had sat in the night of the fireworks.

“Where’s Topo?”

The nickname landed somewhere beneath your ribs.

You shrugged off your jacket and slid into the booth slowly, trying not to think about Dennis sitting opposite you last time, carefully picking capsicum off your pizza like it was second nature.

“Taking a break from me.”

The joke came out weaker than you intended. You glanced down at the menu to hide your face.

Angelo hummed knowingly, leaning a calloused hand against the table. He studied you more carefully then, his expression softening slightly.

“You look like a kicked puppy.”

The bluntness of it caught you off guard enough that your eyes widened.

“You got the face.” He gestured vaguely to your brow. “Even got the battle scars to match.”

You huffed out a startled laugh.

“Rough week.” You admitted eventually.

Angelo nodded immediately, as though that explained everything.

Without asking, he reached over and plucked the menu from your hands.

“You eat.” He declared.

Your eyes narrowed. “I’m not getting a choice again, am I?”

He raised a brow. “You think you know Italian food better than Angelo?”

You lifted your hands up in defeat. “Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself faintly as he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Slowly, your gaze drifted around the diner, your smile fading.

The chipped counter. The faded Steelers poster near the door. The tiny crack in the salt shaker Dennis had pointed out because he'd apparently witnessed a drunk guy throw it during a game years ago.

It was ridiculous. The place was just a diner, and yet somehow every corner of it felt touched by him. Like he'd left pieces of himself here without meaning to.

Your phone sat heavily in your jean pocket.

Before you could really stop yourself, you pulled it out and opened your camera roll automatically. Your thumb moved, scrolling deeper into your trove of memories in an attempt to distract yourself.

Dennis asleep in the break room snuggled into the CPR dummy.

Dennis holding up a drill while assembling your dining table.

Dennis and you at karaoke, blurry from movement because you’d both been laughing too hard when Santos took it.

You stared at that one the longest.

Not because either of you looked particularly good, but because you remembered that was one of the first nights in a long time that you felt like you had friends.

You scrolled further.

A screenshot of a text thread between Dennis after a terrible shift:

u alive?

Your response:

physically no emotionally also no

And his:

cool same. wanna split mozzarella sticks and a monster after work?

Your lips involuntarily curved.

Before you could stop yourself, you were on his instagram scrolling. You scrolled further back than you'd ever bothered to before. Past the few photos he'd uploaded during the time you'd known him, past med school, until you reached Nebraska.

Your thumb hovered. He looked so much younger, his smile wide as he stood beside a cow, permanently frozen in time.

You came to a stop at a photo of him on a farm. His farm, surely.

The one he had invited you to come visit.

The invitation felt different now as realisation dawned on you.

Because Dennis didn't let people in, not really. He was friendly, kind, probably too willing to help anyone who asked. But he protected the things that mattered - always vague at work about his family, the farm, the things he missed, the things he loved.

But not with you. Somehow, over the past 10 months, he'd been handing those pieces to you one at a time. Never making a big deal of it or asking for anything in return. Just quietly making room for you.

Before you realised what was happening, your imagination filled in the gaps.

Being woken up by a rooster at some ungodly hour, groaning as you buried your face back into his chest. Dirt roads stretching endlessly beneath pale hues of pink and gold. Dennis teaching you how to ride horses while trying not to laugh at how painfully suburban you were. Leaning on his shoulder watching the sunset from the porch as cicadas hummed around you.

The image settled somewhere deep inside you with startling ease, warmth spreading out from it and seeping into you.

The strange thing was it didn't feel new, as if those images had already existed somewhere inside you. As though some part of you had already quietly started building a future with him.

You thought about the fireworks. The humid summer air. His fingers resting beside yours on the bench like he wanted to hold your hand but was too scared to cross the line.

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket when Angelo reappeared shepherding a pizza and a glass bottle of coke towards your table.

"This will fix you."

Your stomach growled immediately.

"Thank you Angelo."

"Of course, anything for a friend of Topo."

You elected to ignore his emphasise on friend as you eagerly reached forward to grab your first slice.

Angelo remained where he was, hovering. He cleared his throat after a moment.

"You know.... this is probably not my place to say."

You watched him sling his dishrag over his shoulder, one beefy arm leaning against the booth.

"That boy has come here more times than I can count." Angelo gestured to the booth. "But that night he brought you here, I've never seen Topo like that before."

Your pulse stumbled.

"He looks at you like you hung a moon pie."

You tried to laugh it off.

"I'm sure that's not true."

Angelo's expression softened.

"You know how many times that boy has sat in this exact booth talking about you? Honestly I think I know more about you than I know about my own daughter."

Your cheeks flushed an offensive shade of red.

"Of course he never said your name but the second you walked in here-" Angelo shook his head. "I knew."

You stared down at the table for a long moment, fingertips tracing absent circles against the condensation pooling beneath your soda bottle.

"He's a good boy."

You smiled softly. "Yeah...yeah he is."

Angelo studied you for a moment, then nodded once as though he'd just received confirmation of something he'd already known.

"Eat." He ordered, wrapping his knuckles once on the chipped lacor. "Let the bread soak up your sadness."

You let out a breathy laugh as Angelo disappeared into the kitchen.

And as you ate your pizza and listened to the hum of the diner around you, for the first time in days, the knot in your chest began to loosen.

Because somewhere deep down, beneath all the panic and confusion and fear of ruining everything, you finally allowed yourself to admit the truth.

When you pictured your life, one that was happy, calm, steady - every version of it somehow led back to Dennis Whitaker.

Abbot's voice echoed back through your head.

I think deep down you already know.

Except this time, you didn’t argue with him.

-

The next shift felt unbearable from the second you walked through the doors.

Every instinctive movement you’d once brushed off as normal suddenly felt charged with unbearable clarity.

You understood too much now. Weighed down with the realisation of what you wanted - of who you wanted. Which somehow made walking into work infinitely worse.

You barely made it to your locker before you spotted Dennis already at his.

He was digging through his locker with the same chaotic lack of organisation he'd always possessed. Something warm unfurled instinctively in your chest at the sight of him. Before you could overthink it, the greeting slipped out.

"Hey."

You winced at how strained your voice sounded, like you were trying way too hard to be casual.

He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, nearly hitting his head on his open locker door as he turned.

The second his gaze landed on you properly, concern immediately replaced whatever else had been there before. The fluorescent lights overhead caught against the dark circles beneath his eyes as he tried to shift his features into something neutral.

"Hey." He answered, watching you as you opened your locker beside his.

“How’s your head?”

Your fingers instinctively brushed the bandage taped above your eyebrow.

“Oh.” You forced a small smile. “Still attached, surprisingly.”

Dennis huffed a quiet laugh, though it didn’t quite disguise the nervousness sitting underneath it.

"Ogilvie's been asking everyone for updates." His mouth twitched faintly. "I think he's waiting to get fired."

"Or for me to sue him." You remarked.

That earned a real laugh.

For a moment neither of you spoke. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, more unfamiliar than anything. And you hated it.

Because standing here felt painfully normal. Dennis still looked at you the same way. Still angled himself towards you unconsciously like he always had. Still held onto that gentle attentiveness that made you feel like the centre of his entire world whenever he focused on you.

But now you could see it.

Every tiny thing Santos and McKay had pointed out suddenly felt blindingly obvious.

And judging by the slight tension in Dennis’ shoulders, the careful distance he was forcing between the two of you, he knew that you knew.

Your chest tightened.

"So-

"Anyway-"

The two of you began at the same time.

You both stopped, staring at eachother for a moment.

Dennis let out an awkward huff of laughter and gestured for you to continue.

You withheld a sigh. "I was going to make a joke that surely this shift can't be worse than the last one but then...

"You realise you jinx yourself when you say shit like that?"

"Exactly."

A faint smile tugged at his mouth, but it faded almost immediately, like he'd caught himself doing something he shouldn't.

He glanced over his shoulder, like he was looking towards the escape route. And before you could say anything else, he took a step backwards.

"I should-" He pointed vaguely behind him. "Need to check something before handover."

"Oh. Yeah. Of course."

You tried to hide the disappointment that hit harder than it should have.

His eyes met yours briefly, long enough for something conflicted to flicker across his face.

Then he nodded.

"I'll see you around."

And before you could stop him, he was gone.

-

It had only been a week since your run in with the surgical light and yet, it felt like a year.

Dennis was still treating you like a glass figure. It wasn't in an obvious way to anyone else, but it was jarring to you.

The way his eyes would widen slightly whenever he spotted you before immediately darting somewhere else. The way he always seemed to find something urgently important to do whenever you started walking in his direction. The way he now positioned himself just far enough away that he couldn't accidentally brush your shoulder in a crowded trauma bay.

Like proximity itself had become dangerous.

Like one wrong move would have you permanently shattered across the floor of the ED.

You were miserable.

You hadn't realised how deeply Dennis had woven himself into your life until the threads started disappearing.

You'd missed the gym the past three days because you hadn't had Dennis pushing you to go, your phone felt strangely quiet without Dennis spamming you with stupid reels that were always perfectly curated for you, every time you opened your cupboard at home you realised you had no snacks because Dennis hadn't snuck a packet into your work bag when you weren't looking.

And the worst part was that despite everything, despite the emotional clarity currently bulldozing through your nervous system, despite the panic and confusion and weeks of emotional whiplash - you still smiled instinctively whenever you saw him.

Like your body had already made the decision before your brain caught up.

You tried to focus on work instead.

Unfortunately, the universe seemed determined to make that impossible too.

You were in the descrubbing bay after a trauma, trying to come down from the inevitable adrenaline rush.

“Careful.”

Frank’s voice appeared beside you just as you nearly walked directly into the monitor behind you.

His hand settled briefly against your elbow, steadying you before immediately dropping away again.

You looked up.

Somehow he was still able to look directly at you in a way that made it feel like he was peeling back layers you hadn’t given him permission to touch.

You broke eye contact quickly. Looking at him had become difficult, because every time you did, guilt followed shortly after.

“You trying to get another claim?” He asked lightly.

A laugh escaped automatically before you could stop it.

Something softened in Frank’s expression at the sound, like he'd been starving for that reaction.

"Hoping this one might take me out of action for a bit longer."

Frank smiled properly then, small but genuine.

"Bold strategy."

And there it was again. That horrible pull.

Even now, even after all the chaos and confusion and emotional fallout - being around him still felt magnetic.

But somewhere over the past few weeks, you'd finally realised something important.

Being around Frank felt exciting, almost like you were doing something you shouldn't. If you pulled back the layers, you probably would figure it was because you had looked up to him for so long.

But being around Dennis was something else entirely. He felt like an anchor, like he was steadily pulling you into a safe harbour. Like he was a steady, warm presence that was always meant to exist in your life.

"So, you ever going to stop avoiding me?" His words were light, but you could hear the edge veiled behind them.

You swallowed, glancing down at your sneakers.

When you looked back up, Frank was already watching you.

The shift in his expression was subtle, but unmistakable.

And suddenly it hit you. He knew. Not because you or anyone else had told him. But because Frank Langdon noticed things, particularly when they involved you.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

"You figured it out."

Not a question. Not accusatory. Not angry. Just an observation.

And somehow that made it worse.

"How did you know?"

Frank exhaled softly through his nose, gaze dropping briefly toward the floor. When he looked back up, he seemed oddly vulnerable. Like he was debating how honest he wanted to be.

"I think I've known for a while." He spoke quietly. "Ever since I've been back I've felt... out of place."

His gaze drifted towards the department beyond the curtain. "I've felt like I've been trying to catch up to a version of you that's outgrown me."

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you bit your tongue, granting him the space to let the words tumble out.

"You and Dennis make sense. You're both ambitious, you work well together, you have each other's backs...." His mouth twitched. "And he looks at you like you personally invented caffeine."

"Frank..."

He shook his head almost immediately.

"You don't need to explain."

"I care about you." You breathed out.

His expression faltered for a second.

"I know."

"I haven't outgrown you I just...." You trailed off, unable to find the right words.

"I know."

Emotion climbed sharply into your throat.

The sounds of the department drifted through the curtain, reminding you that life was carrying on around the two of you.

His mouth twitched faintly, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes.

“You know, for the record…” He glanced back at the curtain. “He’s been miserable.”

You blinked.

Frank huffed quietly.

“Like genuinely painful to watch.” He paused. “Which has honestly made this whole thing a lot less fun for me.”

A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Frank smiled softly at the sound. Then something flickered across his face, gone almost instantly. But you saw it. The heartbreak. The kind that came from finally accepting something you couldn't change.

“Well.” He cleared his throat lightly. “Guess Nebraska finally wins something.”

Your eyes burned immediately.

“Frank-"

“No seriously.” He shook his head with a quiet laugh. “I’m trying to be mature here. Don’t ruin it.”

You let out another shaky laugh, pressing your lips together hard.

For a moment he just looked at you, like he was committing you to memory.

The curtain to the descrubbing bay shifted.

The two of you turned instinctively. You froze as your eyes met Dennis'.

For a moment, it was like the three of you were suspended in time. Dennis stood rooted in place, his eyes darting between the two of you, taking in how close you were standing, the expressions on your faces.

You watched a dozen different conclusions flash across his features.

Then, his face morphed. His jaw clenching as he took a step back.

Something in your chest cracked clean down the middle.

"Den-"

He was gone before you could even get the word out.

Your hands fell limp at your sides, a curse falling softly from your lips.

Beside you, Frank followed your gaze for a moment before looking back at you.

"You should probably go talk to him."

You turned to him as he folded his arms. The smallest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You know before he goes and crashes his tractor or something."

Your brow knitted. "How long have you been sitting on that one?"

Frank's smirk widened. "A while."

-

By the time you finished descrubbing, Dennis was no where to be found.

Dennis wasn't particularly difficult to find under normal circumstances. He tended to orbit the same handful of places whenever he needed a moment to himself.

But this time he wasn't near the nurses station, not in the stairwell, not by the ambulance bay, not in the breakroom.

The image of his face in the descrubbing bay replayed itself relentlessly in your mind.

You approached Santos and McKay, your heart beating painfully against your ribcage.

"Have you guys seen Den?"

Both of them looked up.

Santos raised an eyebrow instantly.

"Ah yeah, a little bit ago."

"I passed him maybe ten minutes back." McKay offered.

Your heart climbed into your throat.

"Where?"

The two of them exchanged a glance.

"Not sure." McKay frowned slightly. "He said something about needing air."

You nodded, your pulse roaring in your ears. "Ok um-" You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Can you tell Robby I'm taking a break or something..." You said vaguely, already moving past them before they could ask anything further.

Santos watched you disappear through the ambulance bay doors.

The heavy doors hadn't even finished swinging shut before she turned back towards McKay.

"A break? In the pitt?"

McKay folded her arms. "That's how you know it's serious."

Santos stared thoughtfully towards the doors for another second.

"If Robby asks, I think it's safer for everyone if we just tell him she's been hit by a car."

McKay snorted.

"And it'd probably involve less paperwork than whatever's actually happening."

-

The late afternoon sun hung low over Pittsburgh by the time you slipped out through the ambulance bay doors, washing the city in muted gold.

The heat from earlier had finally started to break, replaced by a breeze drifting in from the river that lifted loose strands of hair from the back of your neck as you crossed the street.

Your pulse thudded harder with every step, your pace quickening as your legs guided you to the place you somehow knew Dennis would be.

For weeks you'd been desperate for clarity and now that you finally had it, you weren't sure what to do with it.

Because the terrifying part was that once you said it out loud, everything would change. And if you fucked this up, you were going to lose one of the most important people in your life.

Part of you wanted to turn around. To walk back into work and pretend none of this had happened. Pretend that you hadn't gone to Angelo's, pretend that you hadn't spent hours staring at photos of Nebraska. Pretend you hadn't realised that every version of your life you imagined automatically weaved Dennis in somehow.

The path along the river was busier than the last time Dennis led you here.

A couple sat beneath a tree sharing headphones. Someone jogged over the pedestrian bridge with a dog straining excitedly against its leash.

You came to a stop.

Dennis was there, seated on the same bench. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together as he stared out across the water.

For a second you just stood there watching him.

Your footsteps must have been louder than you realised because Dennis looked up suddenly, his entire body going rigid at the sight of you.

Your stomach flipped.

“Hey.”

His throat bobbed visibly before he straightened slightly on the bench.

“Hey.”

Neither of you moved.

Dennis glanced away first, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Can I sit?” You said after a moment.

His eyes widened slightly as his head jerked back up to you.

“Yeah.” He shifted immediately, making more room for you even though there’d already been plenty. “Of course."

You sat beside him carefully, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.

The river rolled steadily in front of you, sunlight breaking across the water in fractured streaks of golds and pinks.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Dennis’ knee bounced once, then twice, then he pressed his palm hard against it to stop himself.

You realised then how out of place the two of you must look, still in your scrubs, faces pale from exhaustion, sitting far enough apart that the interaction didn't look natural.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

You offered him a small shrug. "Just had a hunch."

Dennis hummed, nodding as he rubbed a hand over his jaw sheepishly. "I am kind of predictable."

"Yeah, turns out there's like only three places you go outside of work."

Dennis laughed quietly at that. "Guess I need some new spots."

When you glanced out of the corner of your eye, you could see Dennis already looking at you.

The two of you looked away.

Jesus Christ. This wasn't you. You didn't get nervous around Dennis Whitaker. You'd seen him do drunk karaoke, then seen him throw up after drunk karaoke, then had him carry you up the stairs after you threw up yourself.

He was one of your best friends, the two of you practically lived in each others pockets. Now you could barely keep eye contact with him.

You swallowed carefully before speaking again as a streak of courage surged through you.

"What you just walked in on with... Frank and I..."

The shift in Dennis was immediate. A flicker of pain flashed across his features before they settled into something resigned.

Like he'd already rehearsed whatever heartbreak was coming next.

"It isn't what you think."

Dennis' eyes shot up to meet yours again.

"What-" He swallowed nervously. "What do I think?"

The vulnerability in the question nearly broke you, because he genuinely didn't know. Because somewhere along the way he'd convinced himself he'd already lost.

You looked down at your hands, then back at the river, then finally at him.

"I went to Angelo's the other night."

Dennis froze, completely caught off guard by the change in conversation.

"I don't know why, I just didn't want to go home and somehow I ended up there, like my legs had a mind of their own." You fiddled with a loose thread of your scrub pants.

"...what did Angelo say?"

Your lips twitched involuntarily. "Nothing."

Dennis huffed. "You're a terrible liar."

"Do you really want to know?"

"No actually not really. I'm sure whatever it is will haunt me."

A proper laugh escaped you then.

This was the longest the two of you had been together since the night at the bar, and slowly - piece by piece - you were starting to feel how you used to, like you were finding your way back to each other.

The sound of your laugh seemed to pull him apart a little.

Because the second it faded, his expression shifted again. Nervousness creeping back in around the edges.

Like he still wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading.

Your heartbeat thudded painfully against your ribs.

"When I was sitting in there, I started thinking about your offer to go to the farm." Your eyes flickered back to the river in front of you, suddenly overwhelmed by how vulnerable this felt.

"I started picturing us doing all of this stuff together."

Dennis stilled beside you.

You twisted toward him more fully now, your hands curling together in your lap.

"A rooster waking me up at five in the morning... you teaching me how to ride a horse."

That earned you a proper smile.

"The weird thing was... it didn't feel far-fetched. It felt... familiar."

The breeze shifted around you as everything disappeared except him.

"And then I realised something."

His gaze stayed locked on you now, eyes dangerously hopeful.

"Every time something good happens lately, you're the person I want to tell." Your voice grew quiet. "When I have a terrible shift, you're the person I look for. When something makes me laugh, you're the person I want to send it to."

Your eyes burned.

“Every time I picture something good, something safe, something that feels like home..." Your voice caught slightly before you forced yourself onward.

"Somehow you're always there."

For a long moment neither of you spoke.

And for the first time since you'd arrived, Dennis stopped looking afraid. Instead, he looked at you like you'd handed him something he'd been hoping for so long he'd stopped believing it was real.

The late afternoon light caught against the green flecks in his eyes, turning them softer somehow.

A nervous laugh escaped him eventually.

"Wow."

"Wow?" You echoed.

"Sorry." He let out another bark of laughter as he dragged a hand over his face. "It's just - I had this whole other thing planned when I came back."

"A whole other thing?"

"Yeah."

You watched his cheeks flush.

"Dennis." You said slowly. "What whole other thing?"

"I can't."

"You can."

Dennis groaned. "It was bad."

"Like how bad?"

"Like if I'd actually gone through with it, Santos would've bullied me for the rest of my life."

A wry smile spread across your lips. "Santo is going to bully you for the rest of your life regardless."

"That's true."

"So..." You gestured for him to continue.

He sighed.

"It may have involved a speech..."

"A speech." You repeated slowly. "You... wrote and memorised a speech?"

"No god no, I only made bullet points."

Your eyebrows shot upwards. "You made notes?"

Dennis motioned to you.

"I can barely talk to you right now, you seriously think I could get through a speech without forgetting every single line?"

The sound of your laughter that followed seemed to loosen something inside him.

His smile lingered for a moment before slowly fading, the seriousness returning gradually.

"You know after Javadi’s, I figured the last thing you needed was me making things harder.” Dennis looked back out toward the river briefly before speaking again.

“So I thought if I just backed off enough eventually things would go back to normal.” He huffed quietly. “Which was stupid because apparently I’m physically incapable of acting normal around you.”

“Apparently that makes two of us.”

That earned you a soft laugh.

God, you’d missed this. Missed him. The easy rhythm that somehow existed even inside difficult conversations.

Dennis turned toward you a little more fully now, his expression growing more serious again.

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

Your brows pulled together. “For what?”

“For the party.” He looked down briefly. “For dragging you into all that weird macho bullshit.”

You blinked.

“Den-”

“No, seriously.” He shook his head. “You had some asshole grabbing you and instead of just focusing on helping you, I made it about…” He gestured vaguely, frustrated with himself. “Everything else.”

You reached out before you could second guess yourself, your fingers brushing lightly against his wrist.

Dennis went still instantly.

"You protected me. Made me feel safe." You said quietly. "And as for everything else... I should have realised sooner."

Dennis shook his head. "You never did anything wrong."

Your hand stayed resting against his wrist.

Dennis looked down at it briefly, then back at you.

"I thought I was too late." He admitted quietly.

The confession hit you square in the chest.

"When Langdon came back, and you guys just..." He searched for the words carefully. "Fit."

Emotion climbed thickly into your throat.

"The way you looked at each other. The way you worked together. The way you'd tell stories and finish each other's sentences."

His jaw flexed briefly.

"I kept thinking that if I'd been braver six months ago and told you how I really felt maybe things would've been different."

You squeezed his wrist gently, forcing his gaze back to yours.

"Frank and I do fit in some ways." You acknowledged. "We have the same sense of humour, we work well together but... he's not the one I rely on to get through the shit show that is our job. He’s not you.”

Dennis mouth curved upward slightly at that.

"I guess what I’m trying to say is… you weren't too late Den." You murmured.

Silence wrapped around you again, except this time neither of you rushed to fill it.

The sun had dropped lower now, the river now reflected streaks of gold and orange that were the same colours that had filled the sky the night of the fireworks.

"I should probably tell you something then." He whispered.

"What?" You whispered back.

"I like you." He confessed. "Like, I really like you."

Your heart thudded in your chest as you slid your hand from his wrist towards his palm. And then finally, your fingers threaded through his.

"I really like you too Den."

Dennis swallowed. "Yeah?"

You exhaled a shaky laugh. "Yeah."

A slow disbelieving smile spread across his face then.

And suddenly the nervousness that had followed you here began to dissolve.

Because this was Dennis.

The same person who sent you terrible reels at two in the morning. The same person who hid snacks in your work bag. The same person who'd spent weeks trying to protect your feelings even while his own heart was breaking.

Your Dennis.

Dennis' gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then immediately shot back up.

The movement was so obvious it made your smile widen.

Dennis’ fingers tightened slightly around yours.

The breeze drifting from the river lifted a few strands of hair across your face. Before you could brush them away, Dennis reached over and tucked them gently behind your ear.

A breath caught in your throat.

Because now he was looking at you in that way again. That soft, overwhelmed look that somehow still carried enough intensity beneath it to make your stomach flip violently.

The air between you seemed to narrow suddenly.

You became hyperaware of everything all at once. The warmth of his hand. The way his chain glinted in the afternoon sun. The way his eyes flicked once more toward your mouth before dragging themselves back up again like he was desperately trying to remain respectful.

You swallowed carefully.

Dennis leaned in slowly, like he was still giving you time to change your mind.

Your heart hammered so hard you were convinced he could probably feel it through your hand.

“What are you waiting for Whitaker?"

That finally snapped the last thread of restraint holding him together.

His other hand lifted carefully to your face, fingers brushing lightly along your jaw before he kissed you.

Soft at first, almost cautious. Like he was afraid this might vanish beneath him if he pressed too hard.

You felt the quiet sound he made against your mouth more than heard it, something relieved and overwhelmed all at once, like kissing you was simultaneously everything he’d wanted and something he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to have. Like it was full of all the things he’d apparently been carrying around silently for months.

You kissed him back harder before you could overthink it.

That finally broke whatever fragile restraint he’d been clinging to.

His hand slid more firmly against your jaw as he pulled you closer, the kiss deepening enough to leave your entire nervous system short-circuiting.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing slightly unevenly.

And in that moment, something in you settled.

Like a piece of yourself had quietly clicked back into place without you realising how off-balance you’d been before.

Dennis seemed to feel it too.

You watched it happen in real time across his face - the way some of the tension permanently lodged in his shoulders eased slightly, the way his thumb brushed unconsciously against the side of your hand like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you like this now.

Neither of you spoke for a few moments.

Dennis was the one who broke first.

"Wow." He murmured.

A smirk twisted onto your lips. "You said that already."

"I know."

Your smirk widened. "You might need to start preparing notes everytime you kiss me."

Dennis groaned. "I can't believe I told you that."

You giggled, pressing your forehead against his. "Unfortunately you're never living it down." You murmured as you placed another kiss to his lips.

“You know." You said after you pulled away. "Santos is going to be unbearable about this.”

Dennis laughed.

"Yeah no, we're never hearing the end of it."

You smiled.

And for the first time since Javadi's birthday, since the confusion and guilt and impossible choices, everything felt quiet.

"Can I ask you something?" You murmured against his lips.

"Anything."

You're not going to make me shovel horse shit on your farm are you?"

Dennis let out a real laugh, forehead pressed harder against yours.

"Not if you keep kissing me like that."

Your grin widened. "You don't need to tell me twice Whitaker."

-

Two weeks later and things in the pitt had finally started to settle.

The tension that had hung over the department since Javadi's birthday had finally begun to dissipate.

The three of you weren't walking on eggshells anymore.

Things with Frank were still a little awkward. But you were both trying. You could see it in the way he still sought you out on shift. In the way he still made terrible jokes whenever he caught you looking too stressed. In the way neither of you pretended the friendship wasn't worth saving.

You could sometimes feel Dennis’ eyes lingering on the two of you. But you could tell he was trying too, trying to learn to accept it for your sake, which only made you fall for him even harder.

"I approved your leave request."

You glanced over the top of your computer.

Robby sat across from you, the blue glow of his computer reflecting faintly against his glasses as he worked.

"Oh thanks Dr Robby."

"No problem."

His fingers continued to move across the keyboard.

"I noticed Whitaker's taking the same days off." He added after a moment.

Heat flooded your face so quickly it was almost impressive.

"Oh um-"

His lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "Relax." He finally glanced at you over his glasses. There was something suspiciously close to amusement in his expression.

"I'm happy for you two."

The embarrassment somehow intensified.

You muttered something completely unintelligible before immediately pretending to be very interested in your charting.

Once you were sure Robby was no longer looking at you, a grin slowly spread across your face at Robby's words.

“You’re smiling at your computer.”

You looked up to find Santos standing beside your desk wearing the most insufferably smug expression you’d ever seen in your life.

“I’m literally not.”

“You literally are.” She leant against the desk. “It’s actually disgusting.”

You fought the urge to smile harder, which only made her narrow her eyes further.

“Oh my god.” Santos pressed a dramatic hand to her chest. “You’re gone gone.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

McKay appeared beside her, looking significantly more pleased with herself than any normal person should.

“For the record.” She announced calmly. “I’d like it formally acknowledged that I handled this situation with considerably more emotional maturity than Santos.”

Santos scoffed loudly. “Oh please, I’m the only reason these idiots ever figured anything out.”

“You literally screamed they were both in love with her in a public bathroom.”

“And was I wrong?”

McKay begrudgingly paused.

“… no.”

“Can you two please act normal for like five minutes?”

“Absolutely not.” The answer came immediately and simultaneously.

Before you could respond, movement down the hall caught your attention instinctively.

Dennis.

Your stomach still did that stupid flipping thing every single time you saw him.

He was walking beside Donnie, brows furrowed in concentration while Donnie rambled beside him about something animatedly.

The second Dennis glanced up and spotted you at the nurses station, his entire expression softened automatically.

He shot you a small smile, and then he walked directly into a wheelchair, nearly hard enough to send him toppling to the ground.

Donnie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo down the corridor.

“Oh my god.” Santos whispered reverently beside you. “He’s somehow become even worse around you.”

You watched Dennis straighten quickly, cheeks flushing red as he muttered something defensive at Donnie before looking back toward you.

You were already grinning helplessly.

His embarrassed expression smoothed into a smile of his own.

McKay let out a deeply satisfied sigh beside you. “Nature is healing.”

“You’re both unbearable.”

Dennis finally made his way over a moment later, attempting and failing to look normal under the combined scrutiny of Santos and McKay.

“Hey.” His voice came out slightly softer when he looked at you.

“Hey.”

The word settled warmly between you. Different then it used to, but still easy.

His hand brushed lightly against the small of your back as he stepped around you to get to his own computer.

The touch was fleeting enough that technically nobody could call it inappropriate.

Unfortunately Santos witnessed it anyway.

You flashed her a warning glare. For once, she had the decency to stay quiet. The smug expression on her face suggested she was simply saving her commentary for later.

-

Hours later, after the chaos of shift change finally settled, you found Dennis waiting for you outside the ambulance bay.

The evening air was cool against your skin as you stepped outside, exhaustion pulling at your limbs.

Dennis looked up from his phone immediately when the doors slid open.

And there it was again. That expression. Like seeing you was still the best part of his day.

“You hungry?"

"Always."

You stepped closer until your shoulders brushed.

Then, gently, you hooked your fingers through his.

Dennis immediately relaxed at the touch.

"Robby approved my leave."

"Mine too."

Dennis squeezed your hand lightly as the two of you started walking toward Angelo's together.

“Fair warning." He said after a moment. “You are absolutely shovelling horse shit at least once.”

You faked a gasp.

"You promised."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did." Your eyes narrowed. "You're not an entrepreneur at all Whitaker."

"Oh yeah? What am I then?"

"You're a swindler."

Dennis laughed softly beside you, the sound carrying into the evening air as he placed a kiss to the crown of your head.

And as you walked, you realised that choosing him had never felt like choosing at all.

It felt like fireworks, like you and him against the world.

Like home.

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Tags (I’m so sorry if I missed you!!!)

“I let some old guy convince me to buy a String of Pearls.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it as you glanced over your shoulder at him.

Something softened in his face immediately, so quickly that it felt almost unfair - like he’d been waiting all day for proof you could still laugh.

“That’s like the hardest plant to keep alive.”

“I know."

His grin widened slightly.

"I didn’t have you there to talk me out of it.”

“I told you Frank Langdon doesn’t give paternal.” You answered as you shut your locker.

You turned and nearly walked straight into him.

Somehow he'd moved closer.

Standing close enough now that you could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough to notice the exhaustion etched around his eyes.

For a moment neither of you moved.

Then Frank reached up, his fingertip brushed lightly against the bandage above your eyebrow. The touch was so gentle it almost hurt, enough to make your breath hitch and your pulse stumble.

"It was coming loose." He explained, voice low.

You swallowed as his touch lingered. "Oh."

Frank's attention remained fix on your forehead as he smoothed out the edge.

"Robby did a good job."

"You'd hope so."

His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, then finally fell away.

Your skin felt cold, like it was automatically starved of his touch.

You hated how aware you were of him.

You took a subtle step backwards, needing to create distance.

For a moment the two of you stood there eyeing each other. The room felt uncomfortably full with all of the unspoken things neither of you seemed capable of saying.

Eventually you gestured vaguely over your shoulder towards the exit.

"I should probably go."

Your voice sounded strange to your own ears.

"Doctor's orders and all that."

Frank shoved his hands into the pockets of his scrub pants, looking away briefly.

“Ok."

Something about the way he said it made you pause. He wasn't pushing, wasn't finding another excuse to keep you talking, wasn't trying to make you laugh.

The fluorescent light caught harshly against the tired lines of his face. For once, he didn’t look confident. He didn’t look amused or easy or untouchable. He didn't look like the version everyone else saw.

Instead he looked like someone bracing himself to be left behind.

Your chest pulled tight.

Frank opened his mouth.

For a second you thought he might finally say whatever had been sitting between the two of you for weeks.

“Goodnight.”

You nodded once.

“Goodnight.”

-

Your apartment was quiet when you got home. Oppressively so, like you were being squeezed from all sides and might burst.

You kicked your shoes off near the door and stood there for a moment in the dim entryway light, staring blankly at the unopened mail scattered across the counter and your clean laundry still in its basket from days ago. Everything looked strangely untouched, suspended in time while your life seemed to have detonated somewhere outside of it.

You exhaled slowly and wandered toward the kitchen, your head throbbing faintly as your painkillers wore off. The ache pulsed dully behind your stitches, but it was nothing compared to the pressure that had lodged itself beneath your ribs ever since Javadi’s party.

Your gaze drifted absently toward the fridge as you unscrewed your water bottle.

The photos were still tacked there.

Your stomach twisted.

You needed sleep. Or alcohol. Or to get hit again in the head but hard enough this time to make you slip into a coma.

You made it halfway to your bedroom before coming to a stand still.

The stupidly beautiful stained-glass lamp sat glowing softly in the corner of your living room, casting muted lilac and amber light across the walls.

You still hadn’t confronted Frank about it, mostly because doing so would require acknowledging why he'd bought it.

And acknowledging that felt dangerously close to acknowledging everything else.

You walked over slowly, fingertips brushing lightly against the cool glass petals. The light shifted across your skin.

Your chest tightened unexpectedly.

You tried to push thoughts of him out of your head.

Tried not to think about the way he remembered your coffee order despite complaining about it every single time. Or the way he automatically shifted during procedures because he knew where you preferred to stand. Or the way he always knew when to make a joke or when to leave you to wallow after a bad trauma.

The way he'd somehow inserted himself into hundreds of tiny corners of your life without you ever noticing it happening.

You sat down slowly on the edge of your bed, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of today's shift finally seep into your bones.

Your phone buzzed suddenly beside you, making you jump.

You reached for it automatically.

Three messages from Dennis.

hey sorry if this is weird but i just wanted to make sure your head is ok

Your heart twisted painfully.

Because even now - even after all of this - Dennis was still careful with you. Still giving you space. Still terrified of pushing too hard.

You typed back a quick confirmation that you were fine before tossing your phone further up the bed, unwilling to look at it any longer.

The apartment fell quiet again.

Your hand unconsciously drifted up to your forehead, brushing over your stitches.

Without permission, your brain conjured the memory of Frank's hand ghosting over your skin. The way his eyes locked with yours, the cut of his jaw as he scanned your face for signs of hurt.

You huffed, flopping onto your back. Your hands settled on your stomach as you stared up at your ceiling.

You thought about Dennis’ smile, his big eyes that made him look like a baby deer caught in headlights, the way his hand always hovered just close enough to yours to never quite be touching. The farm. The way he looked at you like you hung the moon.

Then, like always, Frank elbowed his way to the front of your conscious.

The way his eyes seemed to always find yours in any room, locking you in place. The way his hand had brushed your waist in the photo booth, the heat of him radiating into you. The way you were never quite sure what he was thinking when he looked at you.

The way his biceps bulged when he crossed his arms, the way his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he listened to you talk.

The way praise from him somehow mattered more than it should. The way you secretly loved how he treated you differently to everyone else at work. The way your body reacted whenever he was even in the same room as you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to get Frank Langdon out of your head.

Because no matter which direction your mind tried to run, it kept ending up in the same place.

“Fuck.”

-

The next few shifts passed the same way all the others had since Javadi’s birthday.

Except now, people's eyes flickered to the stitches above your eyebrow before darting between you, Frank and Dennis. Not obvious enough to call out, but not subtle enough to miss either.

It felt like the whole department was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You threw yourself into work with almost frightening determination, clinging to routine like it might save you from having to think too hard. You picked up extra cases before anyone else could grab them, volunteered for procedures, spent longer than necessary updating your notes at the nurses station just so you always had something to look busy with.

It worked with most people.

Not with Frank.

Frank Langdon, unfortunately, had made a career out of noticing things other people missed.

Which meant he noticed the way you suddenly remembered somewhere else you needed to be whenever he entered a room. The way you conveniently found an excuse to swap out on his cases. The way your eyes slid past him whenever he spoke directly to you. The way your body seemed to recognise his presence before your brain did and immediately started looking for an escape route.

And because Frank was Frank, he doubled down. Even worse than he had been before the Ogilvie incident.

Your last name was the first he called when a trauma rolled in, he stood just a touch closer than absolutely necessary as he waited to sub in during compressions, and whenever you got thirty seconds to breathe, he appeared as though summoned by some invisible force neither of you understood.

And every morning, before Shen could reach you, an iced latte with your name scrawled on it would appear somewhere within your line of sight.

You never saw him leave them, but you knew.

By the end of the week you were beginning to suspect he possessed the supernatural ability to sense your exact location at all times.

It was nearing the end of another brutal shift when you found yourself alone in the breakroom trying to force down half a protein bar and enough caffeine to survive the last two hours.

Your body ached. Your feet hurt. Your forehead still throbbed if you bent down too quickly. And emotionally, you felt like someone had scraped you hollow.

The door to the breakroom opened behind you.

You didn’t even need to look up to know it was Frank.

He leaned back against the counter beside the coffee machine, studying you quietly while it brewed.

His arms were folded loosely across his chest, his expression was deceptively casual. His eyes weren't.

"You look exhausted."

"Gee hello to you too." You remarked dryly.

A soft huff of laughter left him at that.

The sound wrapped around your ribs before you could stop it.

"You don't look exactly like the picture of health either."

“Yeah, but mine’s from old age and substance abuse.” He tilted his head slightly. “What’s your excuse?”

Your lips twitched as you shook your head.

“There’s something genuinely wrong with you.”

“I know." He nodded solemnly. "I've been diagnosed multiple times.”

A snort escaped before you could stop it.

Something in his expression softened immediately, like every tiny crack in your composure felt monumental to him now.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, which somehow made it worse.

Frank glanced down at the half eaten protein bar in your hand.

“Those things tastes like drywall.”

“You’ve had one?”

“Multiple. I lost a bet to Robby once and had to eat them for a week straight.”

You grimaced.

"That feels like a health risk."

"It was."

Before you could react, Frank leant forward and took a bite out of it while it was still sitting in your hand.

You blinked.

Frank pulled back, chewing thoughtfully. His eyes flicked up to yours as he winced.

"Yep." He said through a mouthful. "Still tastes like shit."

You stared at him.

"You did not just do that."

"Do what?"

You looked down at the mangled remains of your protein bar, then back at him.

"I don't remember consenting to you contaminating my food with your germs."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Oh please."

He pointed at the remaining piece.

"I could physically see you losing the will to live trying to finish that thing."

His hand gestured vaguely.

"I've done you a favour."

You laughed before you could stop yourself. A real one this time, the kind that bubbled out unexpectedly.

Frank grinned as he watched you laugh, like he was committing it to memory.

Like he'd forgotten whatever he was going to say next. Like hearing you laugh after weeks of distance had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

And for a brief moment, everything felt normal again.

Princess suddenly appeared at the doorway, the sound of your last name making you turn.

"Robby's looking for you."

You sighed, tossing the remains of the protein bar into the bin,.

"On it." You nodded.

When you turned back to Frank, his smile had faded. You felt your heart jump in your chest as his gaze met yours.

"I'll see you later."

His gaze held yours for a beat too long. Then he nodded, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallowed. "See you."

-

Two shifts later and you were in the supply closet, trying to find a very specific size of sutures.

Or at least that was the official reason you were there.

Unofficially, you were hiding.

The department had been relentless all day. Every room felt too crowded. Every interaction felt loaded. Every time you turned around it seemed like someone was watching you, waiting for whatever inevitable explosion everyone seemed convinced was coming.

"You know." A voice remarked casually behind you. "At this point I'm starting to think you genuinely hate me."

You nearly dropped the packet of suture kits in your hands.

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered, pressing a hand briefly to your chest as you turned to meet Frank's eyes. “Do you always move that quietly or are you doing it on purpose now?”

His mouth twitched.

Not an admission, but not a denial either.

You turned back to the shelves before your traitorous body could react any further.

“I’m serious.” His voice sounded closer this time. “You’ve fled from me four times today.”

You grabbed another box.

“I have not.”

“You literally turned around mid-conversation with Princess and walked into a curtain.”

Heat climbed your neck.

“That was unrelated.”

Frank hummed, unconvinced.

“Can I help you with something?” You asked, continuing to inspect shelves that no longer held anything you actually needed.

"Not really, I just like spending my spare time in supply closets."

You shut your eyes briefly.

There it was.

That stupid humour. That effortless ability to slip beneath your defences before you even realised they were lowering.

“Frank.”

His expression softened slightly at your tone.

"Are we going to keep doing this?"

The humour had vanished entirely when you turned around.

"Doing what?"

He shot you a knowing look.

The kind that made you feel far too seen.

The kind that always seemed to strip away every excuse you'd carefully prepared beforehand.

Your cheeks warmed instantly.

"Can we not do this at work?"

"We're always at work." He countered.

"That's not-"

"You've been avoiding me."

"I've been avoiding both of you."

The words came out sharper than you intended.

Frank’s face flickered.

"Yeah, I've noticed."

You swallowed, glancing down at the floor as your chest tightened.

You hated how well he knew you.

You looked at him properly then, frustration finally breaking through.

“What exactly am I supposed to do in this situation, Frank?”

Something flashed across his face.

Hope. Even after the party. After the silence. After you’d practically been running from him for over a week.

Frank studied you quietly for a moment before speaking.

“Talk to me.”

The simplicity of it nearly undid you.

Because underneath all the jokes and pushing and relentless attempts to corner you into engaging with him, that was all he’d really been asking for.

Not even to choose him. Just asking to not shut him out.

Your throat tightened painfully.

“I don’t know how to do this without hurting someone.”

For the first time in days, Frank stopped trying to be funny.

The humour left his face completely, exposing something far more dangerous underneath.

"Dragging yourself through hell trying not to make anyone unhappy is only going to hurt everyone else more. Especially you."

The honesty of it landed like a physical blow.

You looked away immediately, trying to ignore the way your heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest out of your chest.

Before you could spiral further, Frank unexpectedly stepped closer. Close enough that you immediately became aware of every inch separating you.

"What are you doing?"

His arm lifted, resting against the shelf above your head.

"Helping."

Your eyebrows shut up. "Helping?"

His mouth twitched. "You seem stuck."

You hated him. Hated him for making your heart race at the worst possible moments, for looking at you like that, for refusing to let things stay simple.

You forced yourself to jut your chin up to meet his gaze.

"And how is this helping me, exactly?"

Frank's smile disappeared. His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

The movement sent heat shooting through you.

"Tell me you feel nothing."

"What?"

"Between us." He clarified, his eyes dragging over your face. "Tell me you feel nothing-“ He swallowed. “-and that this is all in my head.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the small space in that moment. The mood shifted as any trace of amusement shifted from his features.

“Tell me-“ He repeated again, his voice quietening to a strained whisper. “-and I'll leave you alone. No more supply closet ambushes, no more coffees, perfectly respectable co-worker boundaries only.”

Your eyes involuntarily dragged from his forearm, to his bicep, all the way to his face, lingering on his mouth.

You swallowed, your pulse roaring in your ears. "Frank-"

"Tell me." And for the first time since you'd known him, it sounded dangerously close to pleading. Like he he needed to hear the confirmation so he could stop hoping, stop waiting.

You froze like a startled deer, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt his arm brush against yours.

“I-“ You started, your eyes involuntarily flickering down to his mouth, then back to his eyes.

You felt yourself inch just a touch closer. Barely noticeable, but Frank spotted it, his breathing changing instantly.

“I…”

The door to the supply closet swung open. The spell shattered instantly The sounds of the department rushed in at a brutal pace, the fluorescent lights streaming in.

Frank pulled away immediately, but not quick enough.

Dana stood there, one hand on her hip, brows raised as she glanced between the two of you.

You reacted on impulse.

“Found what I was looking for.” You announced to no one in particular as you blindly snatched a packet of sutures from behind you.

You ducked under Dana’s arm that was leaning on the edge of the doorframe, shooting her a sheepish grin before disappearing with the grace of a newly born lamb.

Dana turned and watched you go before settling her gaze on Frank.

“I was just-“

She raised a hand up to stop him. “I don’t want to know.”

Frank remained exactly where he'd been left standing, staring at the doorway like he could somehow will you back through it.

Then her expression involuntarily softened, letting out a small sigh as she studied his pathetic expression.

"You have to stop playing these games, kid."

Frank looked down at the packet of saline he'd apparently picked up at some point.

He couldn't remember doing it.

"Tell her how you feel."

A bitter smile tugged at his mouth.

"I'm trying."

Dana snorted.

"No. You're flirting."

Frank opened his mouth. Closed it again.

"What's the actual plan here?"

Frank didn't answer. Because he didn't have one.

At first he'd convinced himself that if he was patient enough, funny enough, persistent enough, eventually things would settle. Eventually you'd stop avoiding him. Eventually you'd look at him the way you used to.

But now, he couldn't help but wonder if you'd made your choice. A possibility that had been sitting quietly in the back of his mind for days.

He'd just been trying very hard not to look directly at it.

Dennis. The thought alone made something unpleasant twist in his chest. Kind, safe, the sort of guy people introduced to their parents.

The sort of guy who didn't have entire sections of his life he wished he could erase.

Frank swallowed.

Dana's expression shifted. She'd known him too long, seen too much.

"Tell her."

"What if I'm too late?"

Dana held his gaze.

She didn't tell him what she could see so plainly - that you and him were so clearly inevitable. That you were so clearly scared of the intensity of the connection the two of you shared.

"Then at least she'll know." Was all she said instead.

The words lingered long after she left.

Frank remained standing in the supply closet alone, staring at the doorway you'd disappeared through.

For the first time in weeks, he didn't immediately think about how to get you to talk to him. Or what excuse he could invent to keep you in the same room.

Instead he found himself wondering something far more dangerous. Whether Dana was right. Whether he'd already lost. Whether he'd be able to survive it.

And if he had, whether he was brave enough to tell you anyway.

-

Sleep proved impossible that night.

Your brain felt like someone had thrown every thought, feeling and memory you possessed into a blender and hit start.

You lasted maybe twenty minutes lying in bed before frustration finally forced you upright again.

The apartment was dark except for the lamp.

Soft lilac and amber light spilled across the tiles as you wandered barefoot into the living room, your oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder as you passed the couch.

The city glowed softly outside, the muted sounds of cars driving past offering some comfort that there were at least some other people that were still awake.

You were exhausted.

But every time you closed your eyes, your mind immediately betrayed you.

Dennis smiling softly across a diner booth.

Frank’s hand settling beneath your ribs in the photobooth.

Dennis asking if you wanted to come to his farm.

Frank saying I missed you like it had cost him something to admit.

You groaned quietly and dropped face first onto the couch cushions.

The apartment, unsurprisingly, offered no solutions.

After a moment, you rolled onto your back and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Objectively speaking, the answer should have been easy.

Dennis was kind. Steady. Safe.

He listened carefully when you spoke. He noticed small things. He made space for people. He was one of your best friends. You socialised in the same circle of people. Your lives fit together neatly, logically.

So why did every thought somehow keep circling back to Frank?

Your eyes caught on the book sitting on your coffee table. You reached for it absentmindedly, hoping reading a few chapters might distract you and bring on sleep.

You barely managed to open it before something slipped free from between the pages, falling onto your lap.

Your breath caught.

The spare copy of the photo booth photos you had forgotten to give Frank.

You stared at them in your hand, at the softened edges, the slight bend through the middle from repeated use.

You’d been using it as a bookmark.

Not consciously. Not deliberately. Just… naturally.

A shaky laugh escaped you, the sound swallowed up by the empty apartment.

Your thumb brushed over the image instinctively.

Frank looking at you instead of the camera in each frame, like he physically couldn’t stop himself. And somehow, despite every logical instinct screaming otherwise, you looked at him the same way.

Because he’d seen you at your highs and your lowest of lows in this job. Seen you covered in snot, shivering in the stairwell after one of your first unsuccessful reductions. Seen you on days you weren't particularly likeable. Seen the mistakes, the self-doubt and had just accepted it. Accepted you.

Even now with all of this he’d never made you feel judged. Until Javadi’s, had never taken an opportunity to talk Dennis down, had respected your wishes to leave Dennis alone. All the while hiding his own feelings.

You had no doubt that he would be accepting of you being friends with Dennis. That he wouldn’t treat you any different if you didn’t choose him.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Because that was the thing you hadn’t fully let yourself acknowledge until now. Frank saw you.

The same way you saw him.

You knew every fault, every ugly scar, every secret and yet, despite that or more correctly because of that, you still wanted him.

And suddenly you understood why you’d been so desperate to avoid him these past weeks.

It wasn’t because you were confused anymore. It was because somewhere deep down, you already knew.

And knowing meant eventually having to say it out loud. Which meant hurting Dennis, risking friendships, changing things.

Your gaze drifted back toward the lamp glowing softly in the corner.

You were tired of this.

Tired of fighting your own reactions to him. Tired of pretending you didn’t feel the atmosphere shift every time he walked into a room. Tired of acting like your pulse didn’t immediately spike whenever he looked at you for too long.

Tired of fighting something that seemed determined to follow you wherever you went.

Tired of pretending that he didn't feel inevitable.

For the first time since Javadi's party, the panic that had been following you everywhere began to loosen its grip.

Not because the situation was any less complicated, but because you finally had the truth.

And as terrifying as it was, there was something strangely freeing about that.

You weren't trying to decide between Dennis and Frank anymore.

You were trying to figure out how to live with the fact that you'd already chosen.

And that was a very different problem.

-

You found Dennis during your next shift without really meaning to.

You had both just come out of back to back traumas, a multiple vehicle collision. Numerous resuscitations, intubations - the works. By the time you finally escaped, your scrubs felt glued to your skin and your head was pounding behind your eyes.

The ambulance bay was meant to be a welcome reprieve. Instead, you stopped short when you found the back of one of the parked ambulances already occupied.

He was sitting on the back step of one of the ambulances, elbows resting on his knees as he stared out across the parking lot. The afternoon sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the concrete.

His curls were messier than usual, flattened in places where he'd clearly been dragging his hands through them all day. There were dark circles beneath his eyes too, the kind exhaustion alone didn't entirely explain.

As if sensing you looking at him, Dennis glanced up.

And froze.

The reaction was subtle enough most people wouldn’t have caught it. But you did.

The way he straightened slightly. The immediate softness in his expression. The almost imperceptible panic that followed right after it.

"Sorry-" You started. "I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"It's fine." Dennis brushed off your apology, gesturing to the space beside him. "You're not interrupting."

He wiped his hands on his scrubs as you came to sit beside him.

The metal beneath you was warm from the sun.

The distant sounds of the pitt drifted through the open bay doors behind you.

"Your cut looks like it’s healing well.” Dennis said after a moment.

"Yeah. Robby would probably kill me if I didn't follow the proper aftercare."

Dennis' mouth twitched, nodding in understanding as he fiddled with his watch strap.

Silence settled awkwardly between you. It was worlds apart to when you'd last been out here, when you'd seen Dennis flex his hand out of the corner of your eye and had wondered if he might take yours in his.

Now it was like both of you were standing on opposite sides of thin ice trying not to crack it further.

“This is weird.”

You huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah it really fucking is.”

Dennis rubbed the back of his neck lightly before speaking again.

"You don't have to worry you know."

Your brows knitted. "What?"

He shot you a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“About me making things harder.”

Your chest constricted painfully.

“Den-"

“No, it’s okay.” He shook his head gently before you could continue. “I mean it.”

The steadiness in his voice somehow made it worse. Because you could hear how hard he was working to keep it that way.

Your throat tightened.

Because somehow, even now, he was trying to make things easier for you.

“I didn’t want any of this.”

“I know.”

He studied you for a moment.

"That day he came back-" Dennis looked away. “I knew.”

The confession landed softly between you, like something he'd been carrying for a very long time.

You didn't interrupt.

Dennis stared out towards the parking lot.

“You two have this thing.”

He glanced down briefly, like he was trying to find the right words.

“The way you look for eachother in a room. The way you somehow always end up next to each other, the way you work like you’re in each other’s heads…” He trailed off as he swallowed heavily.

You stared at him, unable to speak.

“You may not realise it yet but...” A sad smile pulled briefly at his mouth. “I think it’s always been him."

Dennis shook his head slightly as glanced down at his hands. "Even if I don't really understand why."

"If it makes you feel any better... I don't understand it either." You murmured after a moment.

There was a moment of heavy silence. You saw something flicker across Dennis' face. Because you hadn't denied it, hadn't tried to explain your actions. You'd only confirmed he was right without actually saying it.

"It doesn't."

The honesty of it landed hard.

When he looked back at you, there was no accusation in his expression. Just vulnerability. Raw and unguarded in a way Dennis rarely allowed himself to be.

"I think... I think I'm going to need some space."

You knew it was coming, but it didn't make the blow land any less heavy.

"Of course." Your voice cracked slightly.

Dennis nodded, more to himself than anything. He glanced down at his hands again, trying to hide the wetness of his eyes.

And suddenly every instinct you had screamed at you to fix it.

You wanted to hug him, to tell him he was one of your best friends and that nothing had to change - but you couldn’t. Because both of you knew that would be a lie.

"I'll always care about you Den."

The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Dennis visibly flinched. Not dramatically, but enough that it felt like watching a bruise form.

"Whitaker." He corrected quietly.

"Please."

Your chest had constricted so sharply you thought it might cave in entirely.

Because you knew he was trying to put distance between himself and something that hurt. Trying to become your coworker again because being your Dennis was no longer an option.

"Whitaker." You repeated quietly.

Dennis looked up at you after a moment.

"I'll always care about you too."

For a second neither of you moved.

Then he let out a long breath and scrubbed both hands down his face.

“Even if your taste in men is objectively questionable.”

That broke the tension just enough for you to huff out a watery laugh.

And even though he smiled again, you could still see the pain written all over his face.

And as you sat beside him in the fading afternoon light, watching him stare out across the parking lot, you found yourself desperately hoping that time would eventually give you back some version of what you'd lost.

-

Despite your conversation with Dennis, you were still doing your best to avoid Frank.

You knew it was unfair, bordering on immature and most definitely cowardly.

The confusion that had been plaguing you for weeks was gone now, replaced by a terrifying sort of certainty that felt infinitely harder to deal with.

Because confusion at least gave you somewhere to hide. Confusion meant you could tell yourself you didn't know. That you needed more time. That eventually everything would sort itself out.

Now you had no such cover. Instead, you now had to figure out how you were going to say the things you wanted to say out loud.

And once you did that, there would be no taking it back.

You lasted exactly three more days before everything fell apart.

You were in the last half of a relatively uneventful shift by pitt standards when Dana asked you (or really, told you) to assess a new patient in room 5.

"Can do." You answered, rerouting to the other end of the hall.

"Langdon's already assessed her in triage."

You ignored the way your stomach fluttered at the sound of his name. God, you were pathetic.

"Thanks."

Princess appeared beside you and handed over a tablet as the two of you headed down the hall.

"Patient is Rosie McLean, 74 years old, came in complaining of intermittent chest pain and general fatigue. Vitals are stable.”

You nodded, flicking through the file notes as Princess opened the door.

"Hi Rosie, I’m-“

You stopped short for a moment, your name dying on your tongue as you took in the patient in front of you.

It was the lady who owned the vintage store.

Maybe she wouldn't remember you, she must see hundreds of people every-

You watched as her eyes lit up with unmistakable recognition immediately, sparking panic through your entire system.

"I know who you are, you're the lovely girl from the other week." Rosie beamed.

Princess shot you a look that demanded an explanation.

"Rosie here owns a very nice vintage store." You explained in response as you pumped a handful of sanitiser onto your hands. "And helped me decorate about half my apartment."

"You didn't tell me you and your boyfriend were doctors dear." Rosie continued happily.

Princess' head snapped towards you so fast you were surprised she didn't sustain whiplash.

"Boyfriend?"

Fuck.

"He's not my boyfriend." You corrected lightly. "Anyway, should we talk about what's brought you in today-"

Rosie frowned. "What do you mean he's not your boyfriend?"

You laughed awkwardly. "He's just a friend." You insisted, ignoring Princess' eyes practically burning holes into the side of your face.

"Nonsense." Rosie scoffed, waving a dismissive hand

"When that boy came back to buy you that lamp he couldn't stop talking about you." Rosie shook her head, apparently delighted at the idea of having an audience.

"Going on about how you worked so hard and never bought yourself anything nice and that you deserved something beautiful for your new apartment. How he wanted to give you a little piece of himself for your new place."

Your heart was now actively attempting to leave your body.

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

Princess looked moments away from exploding.

Rosie glanced towards her. "Now what kind of friend says that?"

"Not a single one I've ever had." Princess agreed, a smirk so wide it was almost offensive.

"And the way he looked at her." Rosie shook her head. "That's true love my dears."

"I'd pay very good money to see that."

You shot Princess a look, which she very intentionally ignored.

“Anyway." You cleared your throat pointedly. "Let’s get back to-“

The door opened before you could continue.

Your stomach dropped when you locked eyes with Frank.

“Sorry to interrupt.” His eyes flickered to Princess. “Did we get those results back yet on our patient in Room 3?”

“Not yet.” Princess answered.

“Ok thanks.”

Frank’s eyes lingered on you for a moment.

That was all it took.

"There." Rosie immediately pointed between the two of you.

"See?"

Your soul left your body.

“Meant to be.”

Princess froze, then slowly turned towards you and Frank.

"Wait-" Her eyes widened. “Langdon’s the guy you were in the vintage store with?”

Nobody answered.

"Oh my god."

You wanted the floor to open beneath you. Frank looked like he was considering throwing himself into traffic. And Rosie looked thrilled.

-

You somehow managed to get through Rosie’s consult without anymore mentions of Frank or you collapsing into an embarrassed pile of mush on the floor.

But by the time you were stripping off your gloves, your entire body felt wound impossibly tight.

Because now there was another person that was going to start telling you what you'd already started admitting to yourself.

You threw your gloves into the bin and hurried out of the room before Princess could corner you and demand answers.

You could practically feel her running to tell Perlah everything, which meant that by the end of your shift the entire floor would know.

The pitt suddenly felt far too small.

Your breathing had started to feel strangely uneven by the time you reached the hallway. You turned sharply, heading straight for the on-call rooms.

Just five minutes to yourself, that’s all you needed.

But of course, that wasn’t what the universe had planned for you.

You’d barely shut the door behind you when you heard a faint knock.

“Yeah?” You called out, unable to hide your exasperation.

“Sorry.”

Your stomach flipped violently when the door opened.

“It’s fine.” You said, watching as Frank took that as permission to step inside.

“You ok?”

The door clicked shut behind him.

“Yeah I just-“ You inhaled sharply. “Don’t think I was ready for Princess of all people to find all of that information out.”

Frank nodded in understanding, eyes tracking every micro expression on your features.

“I get it, going furniture shopping with me is pretty much rock bottom.”

“Yeah that was my cry for help if you didn't realise.”

“I know, that’s why I’ve booked you in for one of our complimentary psych sessions.”

The tension eased just enough as your mouth curved slightly.

His eyes sparked as he watched your face.

Like always, Frank knew exactly what to say to get you to stop spiralling, to make you feel like you could actually take a breath.

You leant against the hospital bed, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Thank you.” You said quietly after a moment.

His brows knitted. “For what?”

“The lamp. I never said thank you. It's..." You glanced away briefly before looking up at him through your lashes. "It's perfect."

“It was nothing." He shrugged lightly. "You deserve it."

You studied him for a moment.

“Did you really say all that stuff to Rosie when you went back to buy it?”

"What stuff?"

You shot him a pointed look.

"The stuff about me working hard and deserving something nice."

"Yeah I did."

"Frank..."

"What?"

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "You do work hard and you never buy yourself nice things. The least I could do was buy you that lamp."

The honesty in his voice stole the air from your lungs. Like he couldn't even understand why any of that would be surprising. Of course he'd wanted to give you something that would make you happy.

"And did you say the other thing?"

A faint flush crept up the back of Frank's neck. It was subtle. If you hadn't spent years studying his expressions, you might have missed it entirely.

Frank let out a breathless sort of laugh, dragging a hand over his jaw.

"What? About me wanting to give you a piece of myself for your new place?"

He took a step towards you.

"Because I said that too."

The air shifted between you then.

That dangerous pull that always seemed to happen when the two of you were alone too long.

Frank seemed to feel it too because his expression changed almost imperceptibly, humour fading into something quieter. More vulnerable.

"You know, you never gave me an answer the other day."

“Frank-“

“No, wait.” His voice came out rougher than intended. Softer. “Just - give me like… thirty more seconds before you start avoiding me again.”

You stared at him.

He took your silence as permission to continue.

“I need to say some things. And then you can give me your answer.”

And suddenly all the confidence people associated with Frank Langdon felt paper thin.

Your stomach contorted painfully, your nerves making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Okay.” You breathed out.

Frank looked down briefly, like he was trying to organise thoughts he usually kept hidden behind jokes and sarcasm and easy charm.

Then he looked back at you.

And for the first time since you’d known him, Frank Langdon seemed genuinely nervous.

“Last year when Robby found the drugs in my locker…” He swallowed once. “My first thought wasn’t about my job.”

Your breath caught.

Frank’s eyes stayed fixed on yours.

“It wasn’t about what other people would think. About the fact I might lose my job or go to prison. About letting Robby down.”

His mouth twisted slightly.

“It was you.”

Your chest constricted violently.

“All I could think about was you finding out.” He continued quietly.

Frank laughed softly under his breath, but there was no humour in it.

“I hated the idea of you looking at me differently. Of losing your respect and trust.” His voice roughened further now, every carefully constructed layer of confidence starting to splinter apart in front of you.

“And then you showed up at rehab with a bag full of contraband takeout.”

“You have no idea what I had to go through to sneak that in there by the way.” You joked faintly.

A small smile twisted up on his lips.

“And then even after I told you what I'd done, I came back here and you still looked at me like…” He stopped himself, jaw tightening briefly. “Like I was still me.”

Frank shook his head once, almost frustrated with himself.

“And you know what the really fucked up part is?” He asked quietly.

Your stomach flipped.

“What?”

“When I came back…” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “I saw how much you'd grown, saw the connections you'd made. And I told myself that I'd give you space, that I'd already fucked up my chance."

Your pulse thudded painfully.

“But then you’d smile at me.” His laugh was quiet and wrecked at the edges. “Or make a joke. Or look at me like my opinion mattered…” He cut himself off briefly. “And then I couldn't stay away."

The room felt unbearably warm suddenly, because you knew exactly what he meant.

Frank’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again, restraint visibly tightening through his shoulders.

"And I was too selfish and scared to let you go." He admitted.

That shattered something in you completely.

Because beneath all the teasing and persistence and pushing, you finally understood the truth, Frank hadn’t been chasing you because he thought he was entitled to you. He’d been chasing you because he was terrified that if he stopped reaching for you, you’d stop seeing him.

You pushed off the edge of the bed to move towards him.

"Luckily for you, that's not your decision to make."

You felt yourself step closer before you consciously decided to.

Frank stilled.

"That thing between us…" You breathed out, your voice quieter now, stripped of all the excuses and deflections you'd been hiding behind for weeks. "Every time I'm in the same room as you, every time I think about you, every time I look at that lamp sitting in my apartment…"

A helpless laugh escaped you.

"I feel it, Frank."

He looked at you like the ground beneath him had shifted.

His eyes searched your face carefully, as though he was looking for hesitation, for uncertainty, for any sign that you might take the words back.

He didn't find it.

"And I was so scared to admit it." You continued. "Because once I admitted it, it became real. And real meant consequences."

Your eyes drifted briefly to his mouth before finding his gaze again.

"But now I have, I can't fight it anymore."

The corner of your mouth lifted.

"I don't want to fight it anymore."

Every inch of him was focused entirely on you as you took another step closer.

"There's your answer."

Frank looked at you for a long moment.

Like he was trying to convince himself he'd heard correctly. Like he was terrified this was another dream he was about to wake up from.

Then something inside him finally gave way. Pure, overwhelming relief. The kind that came from carrying something heavy for so long you'd forgotten what it felt like to put it down.

He moved, bringing the two of you close enough now that your breath tangled together.

“If I kiss you right now." He said quietly, voice rough enough to make your stomach flip violently, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back."

Your breath caught.

No games, no ambiguity. Just Frank standing in front of you offering his heart with shaking hands.

"I don't want to go back, ever."

For a second neither of you moved.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with anticipation and relief and every feeling that had been building for months.

Then Frank's hand lifted slowly to your jaw, his touch careful.

You leaned into it instinctively.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was soft at first, more emotion than urgency, years of friendship and months of longing finally finding somewhere to go. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck as he drew you closer, and the moment your fingers tangled in the front of his scrubs you felt the last of his restraint disappear.

The kiss deepened instantly. Your back met the edge of the hospital bed, Frank stepping closer without breaking the kiss. His hand settled at your waist, squeezing tightly like he was grounding himself just as much as he was grounding you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing a little harder than before.

Frank rested his forehead against yours and let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Jesus Christ."

A helpless smile spread across your face.

"Yeah."

He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his gaze moving slowly across your face as though he was committing every detail to memory.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

You actually thought your heart might burst out of your chest at that.

You reached up instinctively, brushing your thumb lightly along the line of his jaw.

Frank's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, blindly finding your other hand and squeezing it gently.

And in that moment, everything finally felt exactly the way it was supposed to.

"Careful Langdon." You murmured after a moment, your tone making his lashes flutter open.

"That's starting to sound like preferential treatment."

His eyes darkened a touch, the Frank Langdon smirk you knew too well reappearing on his lips.

“Trust me, you haven’t seen what actual preferential treatment looks like yet.” He murmured.

“Is that so?” You whispered, nose bumping against his.

He hummed against your mouth, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

“Well." You continued, your hands fisting the material of his scrubs again. "You know I've always been a visual learner.”

That was all it took for him to hastily press his lips against yours again.

-

The next few days at the Pitt felt strangely fragile.

Not bad. Not awkward in the catastrophic, world-ending way you’d feared.

Just… delicate.

Like the three of you had survived an explosion and were now carefully stepping through the debris trying not to trigger another one.

You knew that Santos knew. You could see it in the way she looked at you, at the disappointment that flashed across her features. That was another unintended fallout that you were desperately trying to piece back together.

You and Frank had decided it was best to keep everything under wraps, which was proving to be impossible because Frank constantly looked like he was visibly restraining himself from touching you.

A few weeks later, the photobooth strip quietly appeared on the inside of Frank’s locker.

Then you started arriving to work together, a coffee already in your hand before Shen could pass you one.

And then one evening Dana caught the two of you making out in Frank's car.

If people hadn’t caught on by then, they certainly had now.

Dennis was still making a very concentrated effort to avoid being alone with either of you for too long. And although it hurt, you understood that he needed a little space to reassemble himself. But, you’d seen flickers of your past friendship emerge in stressful situations - enough to give you hope that things would eventually settle into something comfortable.

Frank understood, even encouraged you to talk about how you missed Dennis being in your life, comforted you when you confided in him.

All of which only made you fall for him harder. Because he was the same calm, secure man he’d always been. Still only wanted whatever would make you happy.

“You’re staring again.” You muttered under your breath as you updated your charts.

“I’m literally reading a patient file.”

You glanced sideways.

Frank was, in fact, not reading the patient file.

He was looking directly at you over the top of it, staring at you with the same intensity that he always did.

“You’re annoying.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said last night.”

Heat flared immediately up your neck.

Unfortunately, McKay happened to be walking past at the same time.

“You know, there’s a thing called appropriate workplace behaviour, and this conversation most certainly does not fall into that category.”

Frank grinned unapologetically.

“You’ll survive.”

“I actually might not.”

Javadi snorted beside her.

Frank glanced over at you, shooting you a wink before heading to his next patient. You couldn't hide the smile on your face as you turned back to your charting.

The ease of it startled you sometimes.

How quickly you and Frank had fallen into this.

Or maybe not fallen. Maybe just… stopped resisting.

Because now that everything was out in the open, it felt almost absurdly obvious.

The way you automatically orbited each other. The way your humour bounced off each other effortlessly. The way you read each others minds. The way he looked for you in every room like it was instinct.

You noticed all of it now.

And apparently so did everybody else.

“You know.” Mateo mused later that same shift when he found himself beside you in the breakroom. “I always thought after you and Langdon finally hooked up it would resolve your weird sexual tension, but it just seems to have made it worse.”

You nearly spat your coffee out.

“What?”

Mateo shrugged casually.

“It’s almost uncomfortable for the rest of us dude.”

“Oh my god.”

From one of the chairs, Princess pointed at you.

“See? Look how red she gets whenever someone mentions him.”

“I do not-“

“You’re practically a tomato.”

-

Later, you were back at the nurses station and of course, Frank was hovering nearby.

“Everyone knows.” You murmured low enough to ensure that it only reached his ears, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen in front of you.

“Knows what?”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“About us.”

Frank hummed thoughtfully.

“Well it’s not exactly hard to figure out, what with you practically drooling over me constantly.”

Your lips pursed as you tried to fight a smile.

“Don’t pretend you’re not the obsessed one Langdon.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” He shot back smoothly.

The answer came so quickly that you actually looked up from your screen.

A laugh escaped before you could stop it when he winked at you.

You shook your head and turned back to your computer.

“So…” He added after a moment. “Mine tonight? I may or may not have got a booking at that new place around the corner.”

Your smile widened. “Sounds perfect.”

“Cool.”

After a moment, Frank's hand brushed yours beneath the desk, the touch brief enough that nobody else would notice.

You glanced sideways instinctively.

Frank was already looking at you.

His mouth twitched slightly when he caught you staring back.

And somehow, for the first time in a very long time, everything felt steady.

Frank glanced down at your hand still resting beside his. Then back at you.

That familiar look settled across his features, the one that had followed you through through years of friendship and months of denial.

The one you'd finally stopped pretending not to understand.

Your stomach fluttered anyway.

“Your staring is becoming a workplace hazard."

Frank's smile widened.

“Guess you'll just have to file another comp claim."

You rolled your eyes.

But your hand turned over beneath the desk, threading briefly through his before one of the nurses called out for Langdon.

And as Frank disappeared down the hallway, you found yourself watching him go.

Halfway down the hall, he glanced back.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he disappeared around the corner.

And despite the chaos unfolding around you, you found yourself smiling too.

Because after months of fighting it, denying it and overthinking it into oblivion, you'd finally stopped asking yourself what if.

Finally stopped running from it and started running towards it.

Towards him.

And now, you didn't think you ever wanted to stop.

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