~reading blog~

Living in a tin can hurtling through the dark abyss of space meant that personal boundaries were a luxury you had both abandoned long ago. You had learned to navigate around each other in the cramped, utilitarian quarters of the ship, sharing unappetizing nutrient paste rations, recalibrating the atmospheric controls shoulder-to-shoulder, and existing in a constant, comfortable proximity that would have felt suffocating back on Earth.

But out here, with only each other - and an incredibly intelligent, five-legged alien space spider - for company, that proximity was the only thing keeping you sane. Ryland was brilliant, relentlessly optimistic, and possessed a deeply ingrained, nerdy charm that made the crushing weight of the mission feel survivable. He was a good man.

Lately, however, that comfortable proximity had started to feel a lot heavier. The accidental brushes of his arm against yours in the laboratory, the way he looked at you when you managed to decipher a new string of Eridanian vocabulary, the warmth of his presence when you were both exhausted and staring out at the uncaring void - it was all beginning to build a quiet, simmering tension in the pit of your stomach.

Currently, that tension was being tested as you sat strapped securely into the pilot’s seat in the main control room, running manual astrogation drills.

The ship’s automated systems were robust, but Eva Stratt’s paranoia had dictated that every single crew member know how to fly the Hail Mary in the event of a catastrophic computer failure. Well, except the two of you. You were scientists, not pilots. The dizzying arrays of vectors, velocities, and orbital mechanics were entirely outside your wheelhouse. But Ryland, ever the patient educator, had taken it upon himself to teach you - in theory, that was. You liked to consider the both of you as clueless as any other human down on Earth.

"Okay, let's run through the parameters one more time," Ryland said.

He was hovering just over your left shoulder, anchored to the hard plastic back of your pilot's chair in the zero-gravity environment of the control cabin. Because there was no 'up' or 'down' without the centrifuge spinning, he was floating at a slight angle, perfectly relaxed in the weightlessness.

"If I want to adjust our attitude to point exactly at that specific star cluster in the Tau Ceti system," you murmured, keeping your eyes locked strictly on the glowing telemetry screen in front of you. You raised your hands, hovering them over the manual thruster controls. "I can't just fire the port thruster like I'm turning a steering wheel."

"Right. Why?" Ryland prompted. His voice was close. Close enough that you could feel the ambient heat radiating off his standard-issue jumpsuit, a stark contrast to the slightly chilly, sterile air of the cabin.

"Because of Newton's First Law," you replied, reciting the lessons he had been drilling into your head for the past three weeks. "An object in motion stays in motion. In the vacuum of space, there is zero atmospheric friction to slow down the spin. If I fire the port thruster, the ship will just keep spinning along that axis forever, or until we make ourselves incredibly dizzy."

"Exactly," Ryland beamed. The pride in his voice was palpable, vibrating right near your ear. "You are your own friction. You have to be your own brakes."

You swallowed hard, forcing your focus away from the warmth of his arm, which was currently hovering a mere millimeter away from the shoulder of your flight suit, and forced your brain back to the math. "So, I fire the port thruster to initiate the turn, let the momentum carry our mass, and then I have to counter-fire the starboard thruster at the exact right millisecond to arrest the momentum and lock us into the new trajectory."

"That's the theory. Now let's see the application," Ryland encouraged softly. He was watching your hands over the console, entirely focused on your progress.

You let out a slow, steadying breath. You disabled the autopilot interlocks, the console flashing a brief yellow warning before yielding full manual control to your joysticks.

"Alright. Manual control engaged. Firing port attitude thruster for zero-point-two seconds... now."

You tapped the left control stick. The ship didn't shudder - the attitude thrusters were too small to feel inside the massive hull - but the starfield out the reinforced viewport slowly, lazily began to drift to the right. It was a dizzying sensation, watching the universe spin around you while you sat perfectly still.

You glued your eyes to the digital degree marker on the main astrogation display. It ticked up with agonizing slowness. Ten degrees. Fifteen degrees. Twenty degrees.

"Wait for it," Ryland coaxed.

He leaned in a fraction closer to check the monitor over your shoulder. You could faintly smell the sterile, unscented ship soap they provided in the washroom, mixed with the distinct, warm scent that was just fundamentally him. It was intoxicating in a way it had absolutely no right to be. His presence was a massive, grounding anchor in the middle of nowhere.

"Twenty-eight... thirty-two..." you counted aloud, your fingers tensing over the starboard control stick. Your heart was thumping a rapid rhythm against your ribs. If you overshot the counter-burn, you'd have to waste precious fuel correcting the wobble.

"Thirty-eight, thirty-nine... counter-firing now."

You tapped the starboard control with as much precision as you could muster.

Out the viewport, the spinning starfield instantly stopped drifting. The sudden halt was almost jarring to the eyes. The nose of the Hail Mary locked into absolute stillness. You checked the telemetry screen. The digital crosshairs were sitting exactly on top of the coordinates you had calculated. Dead center. Zero drift. Zero wobble.

"Yes!" Ryland cheered.

In a completely natural, unfiltered burst of scientific triumph and pride, he shifted his grip.

His large hand moved from the hard plastic back of the pilot's chair to rest warmly and firmly on the curve of your shoulder. His thumb pressed right into the dip of your collarbone through the fabric of your jumpsuit, an anchoring, heavy weight in the zero gravity. He leaned down, his face dipping into your peripheral vision, his cheek almost brushing yours as he grinned at the perfect alignment on the screen.

"Perfect pitch and yaw," he praised.

The sheer, relieved approval stripped away his usual nervous, rapid-fire energy. His voice dropped an octave, settling into a low, breathless rumble that vibrated right through the shell of your ear.

"Textbook execution. Good girl."

The ambient, ever-present hum of the ship’s life support systems seemed to vanish entirely from your awareness.

The praise had slipped out of him on pure, unadulterated instinct. It was a leftover relic from his previous life, from his days of leaning over lab tables, grading middle school science fair projects, and offering gentle, authoritative encouragement to students who finally figured out how to balance a chemical equation.

But floating in a tiny cabin in the dark abyss of space, millions of miles away from any school or civilization... it didn't sound like a teacher.

Delivered with the heavy, possessive weight of his hand on your collarbone, the close proximity of his body, and the low, rough timbre of his voice, it sounded like something else entirely.

It sent a searing, electric jolt straight down your spine, pooling hot and heavy in your stomach. Your breath hitched audibly in the dead quiet of the cabin. Your hands froze over the manual controls, your fingers curling inward. Every single nerve ending in your shoulder seemed to hyper-focus on the exact shape and heat of his hand gripping you.

It took Ryland Grace exactly one and a half seconds to hear the echo of his own words replay in his brilliant, analytical brain.

"Oh, my gosh," he gasped.

He yanked his hand off your shoulder as if your flight suit had just been doused in liquid nitrogen. In his sudden, blind, overwhelming panic, the man completely forgot the very laws of physics he had just spent half an hour teaching you.

He pushed back away from you with entirely too much force. Without any gravity to anchor him, the violent push launched him backward across the control room. He flailed wildly, his arms windmilling in the air as he sailed across the cabin, completely out of control, until his back slammed into the main science console with a loud, painful thump.

You spun around in your chair, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, entirely unsure if you should be concerned for his safety or absolutely entirely amused by his panic.

The brilliant, world-saving biologist - the man who had figured out how to harness alien microbes for interstellar travel - was currently tangled in his own zero-G socks, gripping the edge of the metal console for dear life. A furious, agonizing, painfully bright red blush was crawling so fast up his neck that his ears practically looked radioactive.

"I- I didn't mean-" Ryland stammered.

His eyes were wide, round, and completely horrified behind the lenses of his glasses. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air in front of him, fingers twitching, as if he didn't know what to do with his own limbs anymore.

"My brain just- it cross-wired!" he blurted out, his voice cracking horribly. "I was looking at the telemetry and I was just so proud of the math, and my brain just reverted to grading eighth-grade science fairs! I swear on my life, I swear to gosh, I do not think of you as a seventh grader! That was incredibly inappropriate, I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean it like- I didn't mean to sound-"

He was rambling at the speed of light, his chest heaving under his jumpsuit as he hyperventilated.

But despite his absolute mortification, despite his frantic attempts to rationalize the slip of the tongue as a simple, harmless pedagogical error... the tension in the room had irreversibly shifted.

It was thick. It was electric. You could practically cut it with a scalpel.

He was panicking precisely because he was suddenly, acutely, and overwhelmingly aware of the fact that you were definitely not one of his students. The realization was hitting him like a freight train, crashing through the comfortable, platonic barriers he had built around himself for the duration of this mission. As he stared at you from across the room, his eyes darted nervously from your gaze, down to your slightly parted lips, down to the curve of your throat, and quickly back up to the ceiling ceiling panels, swallowing hard enough that you could see the apple of his throat bob from across the room.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying desperately to suppress the smile that was threatening to break across your face. Your own cheeks were burning hot, a flush that you knew matched his completely. You could still feel the physical ghost of his thumb pressing into your collarbone.

"Ryland, breathe," you managed to say. You tried to sound reassuring, but your voice came out a little softer, a little huskier than usual, betraying the fact that the slip-up had affected you just as much as it had horrified him. "It's fine. Really. I know what you meant-"

Thump.

A soft, hollow impact echoed in the cabin, cutting off your reassurance.

A large, perfectly clear, pressurized sphere of xenonite drifted lazily through the open doorway of the control room, gently bumping against the upper doorframe before floating into the space between you and Ryland.

Rocky was inside his custom-built bubble. The Eridanian engineer had likely been in his workshop, heard the loud crash of Ryland slamming into the science console, and pushed himself down the zero-gravity corridor to investigate the commotion.

"Observation. Human female face is red. Internal temperature elevated."

The deadpan, entirely emotionless robotic monotone of Ryland’s custom translation program filled the room instantly. Because the software was completely hardwired to intercept Rocky’s frequencies and translate them in real-time, there were no musical chords to soften the blow - just the immediate, blunt observation echoing from the laptop speakers strapped to the console.

Ryland groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated suffering. He let go of the console and pressed both hands over his flaming face, hiding behind his fingers.

"Oh, heck," Ryland muffled into his palms. "Please. Kill me now. Just vent the airlock and put me out of my misery."

Inside the floating sphere, Rocky shifted. His carapace scraped slightly against the xenonite, his five little articulated legs tapping a rapid, curious rhythm against the clear wall of his bubble. He was a scientist at heart, and a new, unexplained biological phenomenon was entirely too fascinating to ignore.

The laptop speakers instantly spoke again, delivering the translation with zero tact.

"Query. Grace also turning red. Heart rates for both humans are currently fast. Biometric sensors indicate endocrine systems are actively producing large amounts of adrenaline, cortisol, and oxytocin."

Rocky’s bubble slowly rotated in the zero gravity, his eyeless carapace seemingly tracking between the two of you.

"Are humans in physical danger, question? Or is this typical Earth mating behavior, question? Please explain."

"It's not mating behavior!" Ryland yelped, dropping his hands from his face.

His voice was an octave higher than normal, bordering on hysterical. He pointed an accusatory finger at the floating glass ball, looking like a man who was fighting for his life against his own ship's computer.

"It was a linguistic error! A vocabulary slip! I used a colloquial phrase in the wrong context and triggered an inappropriate psychological response! Rocky, I swear to gosh, turn off the biological monitors right now! Stop looking at our oxytocin levels!"

Inside the sphere, Rocky tapped a few more times.

"Linguistic error causes mating response, question?" the robotic voice stated deadpan. The xenonite ball slowly bounced off a wall panel, lazily drifting back toward the center of the room. "Earth biology remains highly confusing. I will take notes for future reference."

You finally let out a shaky laugh. You couldn't hold it in anymore. The sheer absurdity of the situation - arguing about mating responses and oxytocin levels with a highly intelligent, incredibly blunt alien space spider who was rolling around in a hamster ball - was exactly what you needed to break the suffocating, heavy sexual tension that had gripped the room.

You unbuckled your complex pilot's harness, the straps floating away from your shoulders. With a gentle, practiced push against the footrests, you floated up and out of the pilot's seat, letting the zero gravity carry your momentum smoothly across the small room.

Ryland watched you approach. He looked entirely paralyzed, his back pressed flat against the science console. His eyes tracked your every movement, the dark rings around his pupils blown wide, the furious blush on his face stubbornly refusing to fade.

You reached out and caught the edge of the science console, arresting your momentum and stopping just a few inches away from where Ryland was currently trying to merge his molecular structure with the bulkhead. Up this close, you could see the rapid pulse beating at the base of his throat. You could feel the heat radiating off him again.

He looked up at you, his breath catching audibly in his chest for a second time.

"I'm going to go to the galley and get a drink of water," you said softly, holding his panicked, entirely captivated gaze.

You let a slow, deliberate, teasing smirk tug at the corner of your mouth. You didn't back down from the proximity. Instead, you let the silence stretch for just a second longer than necessary, letting him sweat it out.

"But you know..." you added, leaning in just a fraction of an inch closer, dropping your voice. "My astrogation is getting pretty good."

Ryland swallowed, his eyes darting to your lips. "It... it is. Yes."

"So," you whispered, pushing off the console to slowly float backward toward the open doorway, "I expect you to keep up the positive reinforcement, Dr. Grace."

Ryland made a sound that was half-choke, half-squeak. His hands gripped the metal edge of the console so tightly his knuckles turned completely white.

Satisfied, you turned in the air and floated gracefully out of the control room, heading down the corridor toward the galley. You left the brilliant, awkward microbiologist completely flustered, entirely speechless, and very, very red as Rocky’s clear glass bubble lazily drifted past his head, the laptop speakers chiming one last time.

"You and Rocky alliance. Good. Grace still stupid."

For hours, the lab had been filled with intense work and loud arguments. The experiment they’d been so sure about had failed immediately. Neither of them gave up, of course, just pivoted, recalculated, argued, and tried again.

If not for you, Grace and Rocky would’ve forgotten to eat entirely. And when they ignored you, you had to physically herd them away like stubborn children, promising they could come back once they’d finished their food.

You checked your watch. Nearly sixteen hours. No wonder Grace was getting sloppy. No wonder Rocky was irritated.

"You need to lie down," you said, stepping toward Ryland. "You need sleep."

"I don’t need…"

You took the tools from his hands and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead.

"Don’t argue with me," you said firmly. "Rocky’s right. When you’re tired, you get irritable and act… stupid."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t fight you. "I just want this to work. We’re close. I can feel it. Another hour or two and…"

"And then Armando gets to hook you up to life support? No. You’re done."

Rocky shifted slightly in his enclosure, pretending not to listen, but he failed. "Grace must sleep. You correct. You smarter than Grace."

You bit back a laugh and rested a hand on Ryland’s shoulder before he could respond. The last thing you needed was another argument on the Hail Mary.

"You take Grace to sleep, question? You watch Grace, question?"

That got you thinking. Rocky rarely asked to be replaced while watching Grace, not like this. He must have been in a really bad mood right now.

"I promise," you said gently, tapping the transparent wall. "Everything okay, Rocky?"

"Will be good after Grace sleeps.” But he tapped lightly in return.

You took Ryland’s arm and led him toward the dorm.

"He likes you more than me," Grace muttered, glancing back.

"Don’t be jealous," you said quietly. You knew Rocky could hear every word anyway. And you also knew he’d still be listening.

The dorm lights were dim. Grace kicked off his Converse and set his glasses aside with zero precision. At some point, the two of you had pushed your mattresses together. One was too narrow. Two were better. Safer, and somehow less lonely.

He collapsed onto the bed with a long sigh. You sat against the wall, picking up a jumpsuit and examining the tear in the sleeve. Quiet work felt right while he rested. Maybe you’d put on an audiobook, there were still so many left in the archive.

"What are you doing?" His voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"I’ve got a suit to repair," you said, holding it up.

"Don’t be ridiculous. Come here."

"You need sleep."

"Yeah, and how am I supposed to sleep if you’re sitting over there?" He propped himself up, frowning. "It’s bad enough Rocky’s probably still listening, maybe watching too."

You sighed. You weren’t winning this one. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. It’s science. Probably. I mean, there are studies…l, okay, I don’t remember them exactly, but it sounds like something science would support."

You raised an eyebrow. "That sounds made up."

"It is. But it’s also true."

"...Wow. Okay."

You slipped off your shoes and lay down beside him. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the distant hum of the ship, the faint sounds of the lab far away.

Then…

"I’m really glad you’re here. I mean…not glad you’re on a suicide mission. That part is objectively terrible. But… you being here is not terrible." he said. "I mean…this whole situation sucks, obviously. But… yeah. I’m glad it’s you."

You smiled softly. "I’m glad too. Though I would’ve preferred meeting you under better circumstances. Dinner or something like this, maybe."

Ryland swallowed. "Wait…really? You mean, like… a date?"

"Yes. A date. If you wanted."

"Yes…” he said immediately. Too immediately. Then he froze. "I mean…yes. Hypothetically. In a purely theoretical, post-not-dying scenario…yes." 

You laughed. "Good. Then when this is over, that’s the first thing we’re doing."

He smiled, softer now. "Deal," he said, and paused. "That sounded too intense. I didn’t mean it like, okay, I’m going to stop talking now."

Your hand found his, your fingers threading together naturally. "You should be asleep," you murmured.

"Working on it." Grace yawned, his eyes already slipping shut. "My brain is currently running three parallel processes," he muttered. "One is exhausted, one is trying to solve the experiment, and one is… this." He gestured vaguely between you. "This one is the least efficient."

You smiled softly. "And which one is winning?"

"None," he mumbled. "Total system failure imminent."

You let out a quiet breath, your thumb brushing lightly against his hand.

"Dr. Grace," you said softly, "I once read a study that said hugging reduces stress. Don’t you think that, combined with your current research, we might…"

"I think that’s an excellent idea," he murmured, cutting in before you could finish. "Groundbreaking. Nobel Prize. Minimum."

His voice faded at the edges, words blurring as sleep caught up with him. You shifted closer, careful, resting lightly against him. For a second, he went still, just for a second,then relaxed. His breathing slowed, evening out, steady and warm beneath your cheek. You stayed like that, listening. It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t what you would have chosen. But it was good. Somehow. 

Rocky was already waiting when you stepped back into the lab. "Grace sleep efficiency improved, question."

You blinked. “Yes?"

"Good. Rocky observations confirm."

Ryland groaned behind you. "Oh no. What did you observe?"

"Heart rate lower. Breathing stable. Grace not stupid during sleep."

You pressed your lips together. "Rocky…"

"Also," he added, "proximity to you increases Grace survival probability."

Ryland froze. "I…what?"

"Conclusion: you stay close to Grace. For science." A pause. "Rocky approve."

Ryland buried his face in his hands. "I’m never going to recover from this."

++++++

"How are you doing?"

Ryland’s voice came through the intercom in your helmet.

"She fine. Question."  Rocky said from somewhere in the background.

"It’s fine, Rocky. One more spot and I’m done," you replied.

You clipped yourself to the railing and moved along the Hail Mary’s hull. The damage wasn’t severe, but it needed fixing. The welder Rocky had modified worked perfectly, sealing the hull faster than expected. 

Even before you left the airlock, you had to deal with Grace. He didn’t like you going out alone, it made him anxious.

"I’ll be fine," you had told him, pulling on your suit. "Eat something. Get some rest. I know what I’m doing."

"I know," he muttered, adjusting his glasses. "I just… I worry, okay? You’re…I mean, you matter. To the mission. And…just… don’t die, okay?" 

"Okay," you smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "Two hours. I’ll be back."

He nodded, but it didn’t really reassure him.

"How are you doing?" he asked again now, over the intercom. "Not trying to be pushy. Rocky’s worried."

"Rocky is not worried. She knows what she is doing. Smarter than Grace."

You smiled. "A few more minutes. What if…"

The ship jolted. The welder slipped from your grip, but you caught it just in time. Another jolt.

"Something’s wrong with the engine…I think it’s a short…I’m fixing it…just…hold on… are you there? Can you hear me?" 

"I am, just…"

The next pull yanked you off the railing. The tether snapped tight, then recoiled like a whip, slamming you into the hull. Your head slammed into the helmet. A dull crack echoed in your ears. The air punched out of your lungs, nothing left, just panic and silence. 

"Grace! She needs help. Grace! Focus. Fix engine. Now." 

You couldn’t answer. Everything spun.

"Are you there? Can you hear me? Say something, please." 

"Quick, quick, quick."

Warmth spread across your lips. Metallic. Blood. Your fingers tightened around the welder pressed to your chest as another violent tug shook you. You grabbed the railing again, pain shooting through your arm.

"She there. Time critical. Grace, take her." 

The buzzing in your head grew louder. Nausea rolled through you. You clung to the railing, your only anchor. Your vision dimmed.

You were lying on something soft.

"Eye movement detected."

You tried to move, but a hand caught yours.  His thumb brushed over your knuckles before he let go, like he wasn’t sure he should. He pulled back a little too quickly. 

"Hey. Easy."

Ryland.

You opened your eyes briefly, too bright, then shut them again.

"You had a minor concussion," he said, voice quieter now. "Some bruising. You’re okay. Medical system patched you up. You scared us."

"You came for me?" you whispered.

"Of course I did," he said immediately. "Statistically, you’re my favorite person."

"There are no other people here, Grace," Rocky pointed out.

Your lips twitched. You touched your head and felt the bandage under your fingers.

"You should lie down," Ryland said.

"You’re not that kind of doctor."

"Still counts. You’re concussed. You don’t get opinions."

You let out a weak breath that might have been a laugh. "You look tired."

"I’m not," he said quickly. "I’ll stay."

And he did.

When you woke again, hours had passed. Grace didn’t mean to fall asleep, his hand was still loosely wrapped around yours. Rocky watched over both of you.

Later, you managed to sit up. Then stand.

"I didn’t thank you," you said quietly as Ryland steadied you. "You saved me."

"You’d have done the same," he replied, watching you carefully. You scared us." He paused „You scared me." 

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t be. Just… next time, you’re staying inside."

Two days later, you were moving on your own again, though neither of them let you do any real work. After you failed to complete your work outside the ship, someone had to do it. The choice wasn't difficult, or rather, you no longer had a say.

"Grace worried. Very, very, very," Rocky said.

"I know," you replied, watching Ryland on the screen outside. "He’s nice, isn’t he?"

"Grace heart rate changes when you speak." 

You smiled faintly. "I like him too. And I like you too, Rocky."

"Grace observes you. Often. When you not looking."

"Rocky, stop." You felt yourself blushing and a strange shiver ran down your neck.

"Why stop? This is data."

You blinked. You looked up from the screen and looked at your friend. "What? No, we’re just friends."

"Grace looks at you differently. You look at him that way also. Grace very worried."

You glanced back at the screen, Grace still working. You knew you would have followed him without hesitation, whether his life was in danger or he suddenly decided to fly to the other side of the universe.

"It’s complicated," you said softly. "Humans are complicated."

A click.

"I’m done," Ryland’s voice came through the radio. "Heading back."

"I’m waiting for you. Be careful."

You saw the thumbs-up and smiled. You didn’t see it, the way he smiled, just for a second. 

The airlock hissed open. You were already there waiting for him to help him with the suit. Ryland stepped inside, pulling off his helmet too fast, eyes finding you immediately.

"Hey," he said, a little breathless.

"Hey."

He crossed the distance without thinking. He ignored your hands that were waiting to take the helmet from him and threw it to the ground. "Don't do that again, don't go out there alone." he said quietly. "Please."

"I’ll try."

"That’s not…" he stopped, exhaled. "Okay. Fine."

His hand found yours, like it had before, but this time he didn’t hesitate.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered. “When I came back for you… I’ll never forget it. And being there now, I kept thinking about it.”

“You didn’t lose me, Grace.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I didn’t.”

But he didn’t move away, not even a little. You were standing too close now. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slower, more deliberate. The look in his eyes was different than usual. 

Your lips. Your eyes. Back again. Something shifted.

"Grace. Heart rate elevated."

Neither of you reacted.

"Significant. Cause: you."

You let out a soft breath, but neither of you pulled away. Ryland leaned in, closer. Close enough that you could feel his breath, uneven and warm. He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, like he was giving himself one last chance to stop.

"Data indicates—"

Ryland closed the distance. The kiss was soft and careful. A little unsure at first, like he wasn’t entirely convinced this was real. Then his hand tightened slightly around yours, and something in him settled, and it was real. You touched his cheek gently, feeling his soft stubble under your fingers.

"—contact established," Rocky finished.

Ryland pulled back enough to look at you. His blue eyes were wide, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

"…Okay," he breathed.

A beat of your heart.

"Statistically," he added quietly, "that was a good decision."

You laughed softly, and then he smiled, gently, a little crooked, but completely sincere. And this time, when he leaned in again, he didn't hesitate.

When everything around you was so crazy and dangerous, when you lived with the feeling that the end might soon come, this closeness was what you craved. What you deserved. What you wanted to wrest from fate together.

And it felt good.

to be fair, he had warned you and rocky beforehand that he might get emotional, but you hadn’t expected full-on waterworks.

“wait, wait— this bit,” he whispered urgently, grabbing your arm while pointing at the projector, his temple touching yours. “this is one of the best scenes in cinema.”

“ryland, we're still on the opening credits.”

then, the second julia roberts appeared on screen, he went still. like completely frozen you weren't sure if he was even breathing. then he made a sound. something between a gasp and a sob that tried and failed to stay inside his body.

“oh my god,” he whispered. “that’s her. that’s her.”

you blinked, eyebrows meeting in a knot. “you mean julia roberts?”

he didn’t even look at you. “she’s incredible. do you— do you see her? she’s perfect. julia roberts is objectively—”

by the time ryland moved his eyes from the screen and saw you raising your eyebrows, he stammered. “i— i mean— look, i’m just saying science should study her face.”

you chuckled, more entertained watching ryland's reaction than the film itself. you have always thought of him as the 2001, singin' in the rain type of guy. not notting hill. but you were not complaining.

that was one among many things. the other was when ryland hit pause approximately every six minutes to provide unsolicited facts about the film.

“that’s the real travel bookshop in london.”

pause.

“that line was improvised.”

pause.

“fun fact: hugh grant stammered because—”

pause.

“did you know—”

pause.

“ryland,” you said, nails digging into the outer layer of the popcorn bowl.

“yes?”

“if you pause the film one more time i’m ejecting you into space.”

he actually looked genuinely offended.

by the time julia roberts delivered the iconic line “i'm also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her”, ryland was openly crying. not just quiet sniffles but full, shoulder-shaking, nose-running tears. he kept wiping his face with the back of his hand, muttering “it's just allergies” while you handed him another tissue and rubbed his back.

in the meantime, rocky watched the whole meltdown with polite confusion, he made some noises that you have rendered as thoughtful hums.

the movie ended. credits played. ryland blew his nose one last time and sighed, all watery and content. "best rom-com ever made. nothing can beat it."

rocky was still seemingly staring toward the screen, then toward ryland, then toward you before his voice came through the translator.

“why male human make many mistakes, question?”

“because he’s british,” ryland muttered quickly.

you laughed.

rocky however, had accepted this as a scientific fact.

the lights had come back, fully lit. the ship humming around you. and rocky was in full interrogation mode.

"why grace face leak water during movie, question? is broken, question? or is this the love thing, question?"

ryland laughed wetly. "it's emotion, rock. humans cry when stuff hits hard. happy cry, sad cry, whatever. that ending…. gets me every time."

"rocky amaze," rocky said, though he sounded more puzzled. “rocky have many question. is okay, question?”

“yeah, buddy. sure, what are they?” you answered.

“why human female cry at end, question? she get male. happy ending. no death. why tears, question?”

ryland laughed again, still dabbing at his eyes. “because it’s beautiful, rocky. it’s about love winning against all odds. the vulnerability, the grand gesture—”

“grand gesture inefficient,” rocky interrupted. “human male could state intention clearly at beginning. save many minute of film. also, why all humans speak so fast, question? rocky understand only sixty-three percent of dialogue.”

you bit your lip to keep from laughing. ryland shot you a mock-offended look, but his puffy eyes ruined the effect.

he looked adorable like this, you thought.

rocky wasn’t done. “conclusion: human love is voluntary madness, question?”

“that is honestly one of the best definitions i’ve heard,” you said, nodding to no one in particular.

“thank.” rocky clicked happily. you grinned.

ryland leaned forward, still emotional. “human love is…. it’s…. it’s everything, rocky. it’s wanting to be with someone, protect them, make them laugh, share your life. it’s scary and messy and the best thing in the universe.”

rocky’s claws tapped thoughtfully against his carapace. “rocky understand. similar to eridian bonding. rocky miss adrian. adrian very good mate. strong claws. excellent at solving differential equations under pressure. adrian once fix life support during solar flare with only three limbs. very impressive.”

ryland nodded solemnly, still wiping his nose. “sounds like a keeper.”

“yes,” rocky agreed. “adrian best. rocky and adrian mate for life. very efficient. just chemical compatibility test and immediate lifelong commitment. much better than human method.”

you chuckled. the contrast between the romantic movie and rocky’s brutal take on human relationships was incredible.

“human female chose grace-movie-human because emotional resonance stronger than status hierarchy, statement.” rocky added.

“hugh grant,” ryland corrected.

“yes. grace-movie-human hugh grant.”

“that's not even—”

rocky went on, ignoring him, “humans perform strange mating rituals. walking in park. staring at each other during rain.”

“it’s a romance film, rocky. it exaggerates.” you said.

“incorrect.”

you frowned. “what?"

“i observe same behavior between you and grace.”

silence.

you blinked. ryland froze. you and ryland glanced toward each other, purely instincts, before quickly turning your heads away.

ryland opened his mouth, then closed it again. “what— what are you talking about, bud?"

rocky turned his head fully toward you and ryland. “rocky observe! both you and grace single. no mate. no offspring planned. wasteful. better to have partner for support.”

your throat suddenly went dry. “uh, rocky—”

“logical solution obvious,” rocky continued, completely serious. “you and grace should mate. immediate. grace cry at romantic film, has strong reproductive drive and emotional capacity. you laugh at grace crying, shows good humor compatibility. both breathe same air, tolerate same gravity. perfect match. rocky approve.”

your face went hot. ryland’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“rocky, buddy, that’s not how it works—” ryland started, voice cracking with leftover tears and sudden panic.

“why not, question?” rocky asked, genuinely confused. “human film show this. two lonely human. one grand gesture. mating happen. happy ending. rocky can help with grand gesture. rocky very good at engineering. can build large sign. or small explosive for dramatic effect.”

before you could say anything more, rocky lifted one claw.

“rocky have evidence for human love. evidence one: you save last black human drink for grace.”

“you meant coffee—?”

rocky interrupted you by lifting another claw.

“evidence two: grace give you extra dessert ration pretending accidental.”

“i mean— she loves pudding—”

third claw.

“evidence three: you touch each other many unnecessary times.”

your face went warm. ryland choked.

“we do not—”

rocky cut you off yet again. “correction. grace touch shoulder. arm. back. hair always.”

ryland made a strangled sound. “you remember that?”

“i remember everything, statement.”

“it wasn't even—”

rocky kept going.

“evidence four: when you sleep in command module during bad radiation storm, grace watch you breathe for thirty-seven minutes.”

ryland whipped around. “rocky!”

you turned to ryland almost immediately, faster than the speed of light.

“you watched me sleep?!”

his ears turned pink.

“i— i was checking if you were dead!”

your mouth fell open for a minute. “honestly i don't know if that's sweet or borderline edward cullen-type of creepy.”

“who is edward cullen, question?”

"nobody!” you and ryland answered at the same time.

“romantic,” rocky said as another part of his observation.

“that is not romantic!” you and ryland countered back together again.

“very romantic.” rocky said calmly. “why you two not mate, question?”

“rocky,” ryland sighed, head bobbing down while his hand rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right word to explain.

“you can’t just…. suggest that, buddy.” he said carefully, voice cracking just a little.

“why not, question?”

“because that’s not how humans—” he stopped, rubbed his face, then muttered, “oh my god, i’m being out-argued by a space spider.”

rocky, completely serious: “i am not spider. i am rocky.”

then rocky made delighted clicking noises. "you two are alone. no mate. you watch movie together. you make grace leak water. you bring grace extra blanket when he complain about cold. you tease grace when he talk too much about science. this is like movie. you should mate."

ryland looked like he wanted to crawl into the air vent. "rocky—"

"is good plan," rocky continued cheerfully. "you do the hug thing often. you say 'good job' to each other even when not necessary. on erid this means mating time soon. very obvious. why wait, question? humans like waiting too much. inefficient."

your face burned. you tried to laugh it off but this time it came out strangled. the little alien was absolutely not going to let this go. you never seen this kind of determination from rocky before, unless it was about the mission.

"rocky, buddy," ryland managed, voice cracking with a mix of horror and laughter, "that's not— i mean, we're friends. crewmates. get it? CREWMATES. CREW. not…. not mates. not romantic mates. "

"friends who leak water together over love movie," rocky countered, sounding proud of his logic. "friends who fix each other mistakes in calculations. friends who stay up late talking about home. this is romantic in movie. why not in real, question? you both single. no mark to hate here."

ryland groaned and buried his face in his hands. "oh god, not the mark thing again."

“who's mark?”you asked.

“nobody!” ryland answered, a little too fast.

“humans in film.” rocky continued. “they do bonding rituals. this is mating behavior, question?”

ryland choked. “what— no— rocky, no, that’s not—”

but rocky was already continuing, tone unchanged.

“male human watches female human. expression changes. heart rate likely increased. behavior similar to when you observe her.”

there was a pause.

you blinked. “m-me?”

“yes, yes, yes,” rocky repeated simply. “correct classification: bonded partner.”

"oh my god…. oh my god…. oh my god. rocky, i don’t have—”

“incorrect,” rocky interrupted. “you do. you observe her frequently. pupil dilation increases. voice pattern softens. you perform assistance behavior not required for survival.”

you slowly turned your head toward ryland.

he was now the color of a man who had just been scientifically outed for having feelings. he buried his face into his palms. you were willing to bet that his face was just as red as his ears right now. you felt your own heating up as well.

“i do not— i mean— those are just normal— i am a professional!” rylan tried to counter back again. so far you have nothing else to contribute but letting ryland to represent both your sides in this debate.

rocky continued, relentless in his analysis.

“you also share food. sit close. laugh at small noises she makes. this is mating-adjacent behavior.”

"we were trying to ration food—"

“and she reciprocates,” rocky added, now shifting attention to you. “you also exhibit proximity preference toward ryland grace.”

“you do?” ryland suddenly asked, sounded a little too enthusiastic. not at all what you expected.

both of their attention now were on you, and you stammered looking for the right thing to say in order to not make this worse.

“i— i mean—”

“conclusion updated,” rocky interrupted. “you should mate.”

“i haven't even said anything yet!” you countered back.

“rocky have seen enough.”

“rocky,” ryland said weakly. “my guy, please stop doing science at me. i mean us.”

“science is observation.”

“i am being observed incorrectly. i meant we."

rocky continued, undeterred. “also: grace cry when female human appears on screen. this indicate strong attachment response.”

“that was character appreciation!”

“you said ‘she is perfect’ twenty-seven times.”

“that was.… artistic commentary.”

“i mean rocky's right.” you added, shrugging. to be fair, julia roberts was an incredibly charming woman.

“you're making this worse!”

you held up both hands in surrender. “sorry.”

then you made the mistake of looking at him.

he looked back.

and immediately looked away again like he had been caught committing a crime.

“eye contact.” rocky said in a sing-song.

“please stop.”

you glanced at ryland. “he’s not wrong about that one. you do look at me a lot and i don't know why.”

that made him go very still.

the air between you shifted. like something that had always been sitting quietly in the room had finally been named.

ryland swallowed. “yeah,” he said, voice lower. “well. i mean. you’re easy to look at.”

you blinked before letting out a scoff. “huh. wow. okay.”

he immediately panicked. “that came out wrong. not like— scientific observation. not like rocky observation. just— human observation. normal human—”

“ryland.”

he stopped again.

“is this mating behavi—”

“no!” you and ryland said simultaneously.

———————

much later, rocky was curled up in his little ball, lights dimmed for ship-night, his breathing low and rhythmic.

asleep.

you and ryland sat nearby, watching rocky as both of you had promised to him since the first time you met. to be left alone with ryland after what went down in the projector room was as awkward as you had imagined without rocky's usual quips. neither of you had moved for ten minutes, pretending not to replay the entire conversation in your heads.

pretending like your minds were not going back and forth between two "what if he's right" and "what if he's wrong" questions.

what if rocky was right and maybe there was perhaps a little spark there between you and ryland grace? hidden to the two of you but undeniable to the alien?

what if this was just the result of being the only two people from the same species being 11 light years away from home?

perhaps it was the latter. perhaps it was nothing. like who cares if ryland watched you sleep during the radiation storm? you were the pilot, he was the scientist. you two needed one another for this mission, to survive. the coffee/dessert part? just the two of you being polite. the blanket? he was cold. watching movies together? well, who else were you supposed to see them with? and thank goodness rocky wasn't around yet to see you cry against ryland's neck while watching casablanca together. if notting hill was his undoing, yours would be that.

it was probably 10 minutes later when ryland finally muttered a simple “well.”

“well.” you repeated.

and more silence.

“that was…. something. earlier, you know?” he laughed nervously. "crazy."

“did not have a rock alien setting me up on my bingo card this year.” you said.

"i didn't even have "meeting an alien" on my bingo card at all.”

you snorted.

ryland smiled too before looking down. “but do you…. do you think.…”

“think what?”

he rubbed his neck, hesitating. he went quiet for a while before shaking his head. “nothing.”

you watch him momentarily. “ryland.”

he looked up at you, glasses low. his eyes uncertained, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him.

“did you watch me sleep during the radiation storm?”

a beat.

“a little.”

“a little? for thirty-seven minutes?”

“that number is way too specific.”

you laughed. “maybe rocky exaggerated that part.”

he smiled, then exhaled. “yeah, maybe.”

“but the rest of them are true.” you added.

the ship was quiet again. you looked at him. really looked at him this time. and suddenly he was no longer the awkward, rambling scientist who couldn’t sit through a movie without turning it into a commentary track. not the guy who got emotional over rom-coms and denied it. but the person who had been there through everything. who made you laugh when things got too heavy. who noticed when you were off before you even said anything.

“which part?” he asked, quieter now.

you hesitated, then forced yourself to meet his eyes. “the…. stuff about us. spending time together. looking out for each other. all that.”

he swallowed.

“that’s just…. normal, right?” he said, but there was uncertainty in it now. he didn't even believe what he said.

“is it?” you asked gently. “but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

he didn’t answer, so you kept going.

“you stay up with me when i can’t sleep,” you said. “even when you’re exhausted. you remember the smallest things about me. stuff i don’t even remember telling you. you—” you stopped yourself, then shook your head a little, smiling faintly. “you always make sure i eat before you do.”

he let out a quiet breath, eyes flicking down.

“you do things too,” he said quickly, almost like he needed to even the scale. “you— you check on me when i get too caught up in work. you bring me those stupid snacks i like even though they’re objectively terrible. you—” he huffed a small, nervous laugh. “you laugh at my jokes. that alone is, like, a huge indicator of something.”

you snorted. “your jokes are funny.”

“they are not funny.”

“they are to me.”

when your eyes meet again, something in his expression shifted. softened. the same way like it had earlier during the movie, but this time it wasn’t directed at a screen.

it was at you.

“….that’s the thing,” he said quietly. “it’s…. different with you.”

your heart skipped.

“different how?” you asked, just as quietly.

he hesitated, like he was choosing his words carefully, or maybe just trying to find them at all.

“i don’t—” he stopped, exhaling. “i don’t feel like i have to be ‘on’ around you. you know? like…. i’m not performing or over-explaining or trying to prove anything. i can just…. be.”

you didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that until he said it.

your voice came out softer than you expected. “you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“i know,” he said. “that’s…. kind of the point.”

a beat again.

he shifted closer. so close your shoulders touched. your breath hitched, stomach doing that stupid thing again. but neither of you moved away.

“can i ask something stupid?”

you didn't trust yourself to speak so you just nodded.

“if i kissed you right now….” he swallowed. “.…would that ruin everything?”

silence.

your lips parted but not words came out, eyes already flickering to his mouth.

“i guess there’s one way to test that hypothesis.”

he was the one who leaned first, crashing his lips against yours carefully, like one wrong move and everything would be ruined. then he stilled. his lips were softer than you imagine. you felt his hesitations, felt his contemplation, if he should pull away or keep going.

but then he finally moved. slow, testing the waters. you kissed him back, sighing into his mouth a little like you've been waiting months for him to do it. perhaps you had but haven't admitted it to yourself until now.

you felt his hand hover near your face before finally settling to cup your jaw, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you at all, while having his lips on you. like you were the most sacred things in the universe that he wanted to protect.

“excellent.”

“ARGH!!!!”

you flinched at the sudden interruption. ryland automatically jumped from his seat, holding your shoulder and hid behind you.

it was rocky.

and rocky was very much awake.

upright. watching. jazz hands wiggling.

“rocky!” ryland screamed.

“you were not asleep?!” you asked, voice high.

“correct.”

ryland yelped. “were you spying on us?!”

“no.”

pause.

“listening.”

“that IS spying, rocky!" you groaned.

“successful mating initiation.” rocky sounded smug, which should have been impossible for an alien spider.

“oh, jesus.” you hid your face in your palm while ryland slowly sat back down.

“adrian would be pleased.” rocky clicked proudly. “when is the wedding, question?”

"nope! no more questions from you! that’s it. movie nights are cancelled forever,” ryland said, pointing accusingly. “done. over.”

“incorrect,” rocky replied. “more mating films required for further study.”

“conclusion,” rocky continued, completely ignoring him, “mutual romantic interest confirmed. physical interaction increases bonding.”

“stop analyzing us like we're lab experiments!” you said.

“it is a lab experiment,” rocky countered calmly. "rocky will need to see the mating process now.”

“no!”

ryland looked like he was this close from ejecting rocky to outer space. pissed but in an adorable way.

"ryland, ryland. calm down. it's okay." you giggled, hand caressing his chest and kissing his cheek while he was still mock glaring at rocky, just to see something. he went red all over again.

rocky made delighted clicking noises.

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you gave Olivia the okay to answer the question. She happily took your permission and ran with it, always the first to answer any questions you posed in class. If only the rest of these damn middle schoolers were as eager as she was.

“Penelope didn’t want to marry anyone else, so she gave them an impossible task,”

“Why does she always know everything?”

Marcus thought his comment was whispered just low enough that you wouldn’t hear him in the first row, but he was never quite that lucky. He quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere but in your direction the second he caught sight of the disapproving look you were casting directly at him.

“You are exactly right, Olivia. Thank you for answering my question,” there were a few chuckles in the room at the obvious sarcasm laced through your words, as you hopped up onto your desk to relax and get a better look around the room full of kids. “Penelope knew the only person that could string her husband’s bow, was her husband himself. She needed to buy time, especially when these suitors only really wanted to be the ones to inherit Ithaca-”

There was a loud knocking on the door to your classroom that had been left open for the last 20 minutes of class, interrupting your words. You weren’t surprised in the slightest to meet the eyes of none other than Ryland Grace, the science teacher.

“Uh- sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt important book talk stuff. Super important, you uh-you never know when Shakespeare will come up at your future desk job,” the cringe that Ryland physically did at his own comment was easy to see, even from across the room. He gave you a sheepish smile, his glasses barely hanging onto his face from their unconventional spot hanging off of one of his ears. The blonde held up the brown bag in his hand, and you could practically smell the food that rested inside. “I’m early, I’m sorry. Didn’t think you’d want to have a cold burger for lunch.”

“I told you!” Marcus still didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, leaning over to his best friend Jason at the desk beside him, slapping him on the arm. “They’re totally dating!”

“As if Mr. Grace could pull her,”

There was a chorus of snickers and laughter through the class, any semblance of order you might’ve had descending into chaos as every single one of your loveable, little shits just kept casting looks between you and Ryland, who still stood awkwardly in your classroom doorway with reddened cheeks.

Your face was surely no better, you were sure you could feel the heat that was emanating off of your skin, as you ran a hand down the burning skin of your face and wondered why you chose to teach these little menaces for the rest of your life. The world decided to be kind to the pair of you though, for once, letting the lunch bell save you from any further embarrassment from a group of 13 year olds.

“Please come to class prepared to actually answer questions tomorrow!” you called out over the hustle and bustle of the class as they grabbed their things, eager to scurry off to their lunch hour and finally eat. “Your unit test is at the end of next week, and I would prefer not to fail all of you.”

They weren’t listening, but by this point in the day you were hungry and didn’t have the energy to try and argue with them.

Any of that tiredness they brought to your bones? It disappeared the second you watched the way they all interacted with Ryland on their way out the door.

Big smiles, every single one of them excited to see the school’s favorite science teacher lingering in the doorway to their English class. You could just barely hear the tail end of one of Ryland’s terrible science puns, something about a hungry planet needing a ‘light snack’ that got a groan out of Marcus. All it did was bring a soft smile to your face, though, one that somehow softened even more at the quick, secret handshake Olivia shared with him before she was out the door.

Then, it was just the two of you, smiling like idiots as you locked eyes across the room again. And god, did you want that fluttering group of butterflies in your stomach to calm down for just a moment.

Having a crush on Dr. Ryland Grace, the former molecular biologist turned San Francisco middle school science teacher, was inevitable from the moment you turned up at the school for your first day over a year ago. Incredibly smart, amazing with kids, and so incredibly handsome you thought your heart stopped beating the first time you saw him–hell, Mrs. Doyle, the math teacher for over 5 years, said there were at least 4 other young teachers that absolutely had crushes on this man. You were far from the first.

He broke that perfect vision of himself you were building in your head within 5 minutes of meeting, tripping over his own two feet and knocking the stack of papers a mile high from the Principal’s hands, but you had only found it even more endearing.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologized again, long legs striding across the room and reaching your desk in a matter of seconds. “I had a free period before this, a-and you mentioned this morning you forgot lunch so I grabbed some for both of us-”

“Sal’s?” you questioned, pointing to the bag of foot now sitting on your desk with the familiar logo. “They’re, like, 10 blocks away. Why’d you go that far?”

“Because I know they’re your favorite,”

The flare of heat in your cheeks was instant. Ryland Grace, who rode a damn bike to the school every day, used his free period to ride 10 blocks away and pick you up lunch from your favorite spot, all because you mentioned offhandedly at 7 a.m. about forgetting your lunch for the day.

Well, he certainly didn’t do that for the four fresh out of college teachers that had crushes on him. You’d mentally consider that a hefty win in your book.

“How sweet of you to remember,” Ryland simply waved you off, head turned away as he passed your wrapped burger into your hands, taking up space on your desk chair while you stayed comfortable on top of your desk. “You even remembered tomatoes this time!”

“I forgot them one time and I never hear the end of it,” laughter was shared between you both for a moment as Grace took a bite of his own burger. “I caught the tail end of that discussion. Olivia answering all your questions like a champ?”

“Isn’t she always,” you shot back with another laugh, turning slightly on your desk to better face him. “I swear she’s the only one that I can ever get to answer any of my questions. She might be the only one that does any of my assigned readings.”

“To be fair, can you blame her?” Ryland’s words were muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. You couldn’t even contain the slight smile that grew as he managed to just barely catch the ketchup dripping off his burger before it could smear itself on the stack of papers that needed graded at your desk. “Shakespeare was just…so interesting. Couldn’t get enough of his stuff. Don’t know why your kids don’t want to read it.”

There was silence for a moment, your eyebrow quirked in his direction. The blonde stopped mid bite of his burger, looking back at you quizzically, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.

“You know we’re currently learning The Odyssey, right?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll let you think about that for a second,”

He did, just slowly blinking in your direction. He glanced at the chalkboard behind you, covering in little notes you’d made throughout the class discussion, before they flickered to the copy of the book that sat on your desk. That was finally when you saw the light bulb flicker on above his head, Ryland’s eyes shutting as he let out a loud sigh.

“...that wasn’t written by Shakespeare, was it?”

The laughter that bubbled out of you practically had you throwing your head backward.

“No, but I’m sure Homer won’t be too offended,” feet landing on the ground as you hopped off your desk, you gave Ryland’s shoulder a quick squeeze as you moved past him. “The attempt was cute, though, it was a good try.”

Cute. Why in the world did you let that one slip? You were practically cursing yourself in your head for that one, taking another bite of your burger as you worked to erase the whiteboard to prepare it for your next class. You didn’t dare steal a glance over at Ryland, in fear that your little slip-up was going to ruin everything.

There was only quiet for a moment before the single moment of awkwardness was gone.

“I promise you I know Homer wrote that. I swear!”

The desperation to believe him drew another laugh out of you. Sparing a glance in his direction, Ryland was giving you his best, exaggerated puppy dog eyes, begging you to believe him, as a smile just barely squeaked its way onto his lips.

“Right, of course you did. My mistake. Whatever you say, Ryland-”

“I mean it!” It was his turn to laugh this time, a sound that had those butterflies rattling around once more. “I was just…distracted.”

“Uh-huh, distracted,” as if you were preparing to scold one of your students, you turned to face him fully with a hand on your hip, eyebrow raised expectantly. “By what, exactly?”

If a human being could buffer, Ryland Grace always seemed to be constantly buffering. Your eyebrow remained raised, waiting for him to piece together his response. All he could do was open and close his mouth like a fish, before looking away and taking another bite of his food.

“Nevermind that, just finish your food before it gets cold. I did bike, like, three miles to get that thing,”

With a roll of your eyes that held zero malice what-so-ever, you made sure the blonde could see your next bite of your food, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Back to the previous topic,” you steered the conversation in another direction, wiping off the last bits of chalk on the board and writing down your next period at the top so that you could start the discussion on the reading over again. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard to get some of these kids to just read the content. They all pay attention in your class!”

“I heard Jason make a comment yesterday during class that Marcus has a crush on Olivia. Maybe they’re too distracted to read,”

You shot him a skeptical look.

“Marcus, crushing on Olivia? He was just making fun of her before you came in the room,”

Ryland averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in his ID badge hanging around his neck from his school issues lanyard.

“W-well, maybe he just doesn’t…know how to express his feelings,” he spared a glance up at you, seeing you were still watching, as he tripped over his words again. “It can be hard for boys–and men–of all ages, to…tell someone how they feel.”

“Well, I don’t know where he’s learning from, but making fun of the girl you like isn’t the right way to go about things,” you shot back.

“Then teach them!” Ryland sounded absolutely ecstatic, that light bulb over his head going off again as he looked like he’d come up with the world’s greatest idea. “Classic literature, there’s plenty of great love stories in there. Get his interest by teaching them about that, so he can learn from them.”

“Alright, give me an example then, Mr. Suddenly an Expert in Classic Literature,”

“Romeo and Juliet,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world, balling up the remnants of his finished food and tossing it in the bag it came in. “Greatest love story ever told, so great Taylor Swift wrote a song about them.”

“Except they don’t run off and get married and live happily ever after, Ryland. Romeo thinks she is dead and kills himself with poison, and when Juliet realizes he’s dead she stabs herself,”

Ryland’s excitement fell slightly, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape.

“...oh,”

“Don’t think that’s what I want to teach young, impressionable pre-teens about love-”

“Daisy and Gatsby, then! He loved her so much he stood on that dock staring at the-the bright yellow light of a stoplight for her,”

“It was a green light and it was the dock light, first of all. I’m not even sure how you could be that off. Secondly, Gatsby is murdered at the end of the book and Daisy doesn’t even attend the funeral, she and Tom move away and pretend it never happened,”

Ryland’s eyes are shut at this point, his fingers massaging his temples and those glasses just barely hanging on from their place around his neck.

“...does anyone not die in these old books?”

The sound of your laughter permeates the room and you sweep over, collecting his trash and combining it with yours. You never even spared him a glance, though you could feel his eyes on you, as you swept the trash away with you to the other side of the room, his voice echoing across to you.

“I’m going to get lucky on one of these guesses!”

What Ryland Grace was really lucky about was how adorable you found him, and how head over heels you were for him, because his lack of literary knowledge was astounding.

❤︎

“I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me that aren’t currently fucking the eye candy that is the science teacher in room 305?”

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn Doyle was in her late thirties, married since she was 18, and already had three kids with her high school sweetheart. Since you had transferred into Grover Cleveland Middle, you’d become fast friends and she had become a great mentor.

She had, sadly, caught onto your pathetic crush on Ryland Grace before you had even fully realized it, and was now ‘vicariously living through you’ as she always said.

“There’s not a single child left in this entire school right now,” she shot back, gesturing around her empty classroom, as she finished cleaning up anything her students had left around at the end of the day. You rolled your eyes at her excuse, perched on the edge of her desk. “Please, I’m tenured, what are they going to do?”

“I’m more so yelling at you for butting into my love life, once again,” was your reply through laughter. “Ryland and I are good friends, that’s it.”

It was her turn to laugh, finishing up her cleanup around the room before she joined you at her desk, packing her things away into her shoulder bag.

“Oh please, you keep denying that little crush of yours-”

“I never said I was denying that,” you cut her off. “Lord, you realized I liked him before I even did. But he and I aren’t anything besides friends. I’m not lying.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, like they typically did when you were around Evelyn. She simply waved your statement off, tossing her bag over her shoulder as you followed her out of her room and down through the quiet of the school hallway. The quietest the hallway ever was, in the hours right after students were sent home for the day. You’d rather be anywhere else, preferably at home, but these mandatory once-a-month staff meetings were unavoidable.

“Whether you’re telling me the truth or not, you have to understand why everyone thinks so–teachers AND students. I think even some parents think so!” The only response she got was an eyeroll, her shoulder bumping into your’s playfully. “He brings you lunch at least once a week, meaning he rides that dingy bike to get whatever you’re craving that day.”

“It’s usually just something random-”

“Constantly in your classroom, or vice versa,” she cut you off, and you quickly realized you weren’t getting a single word into this conversation. “I’m pretty sure Principal Marshall has considered, somehow, moving your classroom closer to his just so he’ll stop being late to classes because he’s busy talking to you.”

Okay…yeah, you didn’t have a retort for that one. Your classroom was on the opposite end of the school building from Ryland’s own, and yet every time he had even a split second he was somehow always leaning in your doorway. Even if it only resulted in a conversation that lasted all of a minute.

Many times those ended with your students having to remind him that the bell rang and he definitely had students in his own class unattended, waiting on their teacher. More than once he’d slipped as he tried to sprint back to his classroom from yours. It didn’t matter how short those little conversations were, though, because every second around him was precious to you.

“Awe, look at you blushing about it-”

You slapped Evelyn’s hand away, throwing her a look of disdain that didn’t really hold any true malice to it.

“Look, all I’m saying is the ball is in his court,” was the response you finally settled on as Evelyn propped the door of the small auditorium open for you to enter. “Ryland is nothing but friendly to me, so if he’s interested then he’s got to show me.”

“You’re acting as if you’ve made your own feelings clear, honey,”

“No, but I clearly don’t do a good enough job of hiding them,”

Speak of the devil: there he was. Ryland’s head shot up the moment the pair of you walked into the auditorium. Those damn glasses hanging down from one side of his face, framing his stubbled jawline perfectly. A smile lighting up his face the second those blue eyes found yours, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

A packed auditorium, as you and Evelyn were the last ones there. Every seat up practically filled, and yet Ryland Grace sat among a crowd of people, eyes trained on you and a single seat saved for you amidst it all.

All you could feel was the heat in your cheeks, and the touch of Evelyn patting your back as she laughed, voice low but loud enough to hear as she shifted past you to find a seat of her own.

“Doesn’t have interest in you my ass,”

Her words swam through your head with every apology you muttered to the other teachers as you snuck past them in the cramped rows, happily taking the empty seat beside Ryland.

“You didn’t have to save me a seat, you know,” your voice held a hint of teasing to it, but it was soft. Filled with an adoration that you knew you were terrible at hiding. Luckily, Ryland was terrible at picking up on it.

“Wanted to sit next to you,” he whispered back as Principal Marshall began to drone on about updates neither of you particularly cared about. He leaned in close, a hint of his breath wafting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You make these slightly less boring.”

Close proximity to this man was your worst nightmare, and the cramped auditorium wasn’t helping. That single touch of his breath against your skin was enough to send a simultaneous shiver down your spine and another round of heat to your cheeks. His suit jacket covered arm rested on the shared armrest between your seats, the edge of his bicep ghosting against the bare skin of your arm with every little shift he made, tapping incessantly against the armrest.

The slight action made you smile. He never could sit still in these meetings, always hated them.

“Did anything fun happen in class today?” you kept your voice low, eyes trained on the principal, as your head tilted slightly over to Ryland so he could better hear you.

“Uh, if you count Madison telling me that she thinks the sun orbits the earth, then sure,” you had to stifle your laugh at that, casting Ryland a side glance as he grinned at you, doing a terrible job of whispering back at you as usual.

“How could she possibly think that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Ryland leaned just a tad bit closer, the side of his arm pushed up fully against your own. You could almost hear the smile in his voice without even having to look over at him. “The National Science Foundation estimates that 26% of Americans still think the sun orbits the earth.”

“Jesus, that many?”

“Well, 100% of them are stupid, so,”

Nasty looks from other faculty were shot your way that second you choked on your own breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. You gave them the most sympathetic look you possibly could, learning how to breathe normally again before mouthing sorry at them all.

Ryland didn’t care in the slightest for the warning look you shot him, a bright smile on his face as his eyes seemed to trail over every inch of your face.

“If you keep doing this in every faculty meeting, they’re going to separate us, Ry,”

“I met Madison’s parents for the first time last month for parent-teacher conferences,” he continued, ignoring your plea. Instead, he leaned in even closer, eyes locked on yours, and god it was impossible to look away. “They are, 100%, undeniably, part of the Flat Earth Truthers Club.”

You shook your head, a smile creeping back up on your lips. Ryland’s gaze could still be felt on the side of your face as you turned back to face the front, eyes focused back on the principal again in an attempt to pay attention to the meeting.

“Flat earthers are ridiculous. They’re just scared of science,”

“Well, you know what they say…the only thing they have to fear is sphere itself,”

There simply wasn’t enough time to clap your hand over your mouth and conceal your laughter, a split second of it breaking through the quiet of the auditorium. And Ryland? His smile was somehow even brighter than it was before, still locked onto your face, never having strayed once.

“Dr. Grace, is there something you feel needs to be shared with the rest of your fellow faculty?”

Principal Marshall’s voice was enough to knock Ryland out of whatever trance he seemed to have put himself in. Eyes wide as if he’d just seen a ghost, hands barely able to catch his glasses as they almost fell right off of his ear where they dangled, a burst of red spread through his cheeks instantly as his deer-like eyes locked onto the unamused principal.

“I-I uh, no. No, nothing, Principal Marshall,” he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling up his already messy hair, a nervous tick you’d picked up since the moment you’d met him. You simply buried your head in your head, eyes trained on your shoes and Ryland out of the corner of your gaze, terrified to look up at your fellow faculty that you’d already apologized to once. “Just getting super jazzed about faculty updates. Hard to keep it in here. I’m like a mushroom, getting all…hyphae…”

A collective groan sounded through the auditorium at the terrible biology pun that rolled off of him with ease. All you could do was smile into the palm of your hand.

“Please just…pay attention to the meeting, Dr. Grace, before I separate you and your other half,”

Other half. That’s not how she meant it, but it was impossible not to let your mind wander to the idea.

Early mornings. Coffee, the smell of eggs and toast burning in the kitchen. Ryland and his hair that was surely even more unkempt that early in the day. The guarantee that he definitely had about 120 science puns ready to go at any moment.

Late nights. Curled up on a couch. A movie, a shared blanket, warm in the embrace of his arms. The quiet of just being with someone that made you happy in ways you’d never felt before. The promise of another day with them on the horizon.

It was becoming increasingly harder not to think about Ryland Grace like that every day, of what a life with the awkward, endearing science teacher could be.

And as Principal Marshall continued her meeting, and your eyes met the blue ones that were already looking at you: soft, kind, a hint of something you couldn’t understand in them, you could only dream he thought the same thoughts when he looked at you.

❤︎

“Alright, who can tell me the day of the first human space flight?”

Not a single middle schooler, packed into the building’s planetarium, raised their hands at first. Many of them started whispering to each other, confused looks on their faces, but Ryland just waited with a smile on his face. A brave soldier from Mr. Harkin’s class, Damien, finally raised his hand.

“Uh, Mr. Grace? Wouldn’t that…be today?”

“Excatly!” Grace’s clap echoed through the room as he pointed toward the young kid sitting in the front row of seats. “International Day of Human Space Flight, commemorating the first human space flight by Yuri Gagarin. It was a trick question, and you passed my tiny friend.”

Were you excited about losing a chunk of your day to escorting your class to the planetarium, along with other classes in the building, for a special science presentation? Absolutely not, especially not with how terribly your class did on their last The Odyssey assignment.

When you found out that Ryland was giving the presentation during your allotted time? Suddenly, The Odyssey meant nothing to you. Not when you could watch Ryland teach, something he did so effortlessly.

The way he captured every single child’s attention with ease. That glowing smile on his face every time they answered a question right, and simply the way he seemed to love what he taught. You were captivated every time you got the chance to see him teaching the thing he loved so much.

“Yuri Gagarin was a Soviet cosmonaut who became the first person in space in 1961 aboard the Vostok 1,” the planetarium was lit up with the night sky, little stars reflecting down. You could almost see them in the students eyes, in their bright smiles as they looked up into the vastness of space. Your eyes trailed to Ryland, already looking at you with a soft smile of his own, before he cleared his throat and moved throughout the room, focusing back on the kids. “Over the course of 89 minutes, his ship traveled to a maximum altitude of 187 miles, as it orbited the Earth.”

“Wait, so we weren’t the first people in space?” one of your students, Lydia, called out. Ryland laughed, pointing over at her.

“No, we kind of sucked,” you rolled your eyes with a grin at Ryland’s statement, though it drew a laugh from all of the kids. “No, America had actually scheduled its first space flight for May 1961, so this was a huge blow to us. It really heated up the space race.”

“He really is good with them, isn’t he?”

Glancing over, Mr. Harkin had saddled up beside you on the edge of the room, head tilted toward you and voice low so as to not disrupt the lesson the kids were being taught. Your gaze drifted back to Ryland as he continued his lesson, eliciting more laughter from the kids. It only brought another soft smile to rest on your lips.

“He is, in a way that I just don’t understand,”

Those blue eyes you’d become so fond of met yours for a moment across the room, face illuminated by the light projecting onto the planetarium’s dome walls. The little grin he wore seemed to drop just slightly, gaze still locked on you but flickering every moment over to Mr. Harkin as he spoke to the students. Harkin’s elbow dug lightly into your side.

“Careful, you’re giving him major ‘heart eyes’ across the room right now,”

You did your best to conceal your laughter, shooting Harkin a look, Ryland’s gaze still felt on the side of your face even as you looked away.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to find out that every teacher in this school has a secret betting ring going on when it comes to Ryland and I?”

“I mean, it’s not a secret. Principal Marshall runs the damn thing,”

“Mr. Grace?” one of the youngest girls in the grade, Aurora, called out, raising her hand up to get Ryland’s attention. “My mom told me the other day that there’s 8 planets in our solar system. What happened to Pluto?”

Ryland went to answer when Mr. Harkin beside you laughed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, as he shook his head at his young student.

“No, honey, scientists a couple years ago decided that Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore,”

Your eyes flickered to Ryland, who was already staring at Harkin from across the room as he tossed his little crochet earth back and forth in his hand. His response was a bit of a forced laugh.

“Well, your teacher isn’t wrong. Scientists classified Pluto as a dwarf planet a couple years ago,” he explained to the kids, eyes trained on the little crochet sphere in his hands. “But there’s 8 other very important, even closer planets that we should focus on. I mean, who really cares about a tiny, slow planet that takes 248 years to orbit the sun–honestly, he should just accept that he’s slowly falling into obscurity and stop trying to steal the spotlight.”

The room got quiet. Your eyebrow raised slightly, head tilted, as everyone just seemed to stare at Ryland, who had yet to look up.

“Uh, Mr. Grace?” some student in the back called out. “Why did you call Pluto ‘he’? Are the planets boys and girls like us, too?”

Ryland’s head shot up, as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of students. His eyes shot to you, his mouth opening, then closing, before he quickly looked away.

“I–well…planets don’t really…I’m not trying to misgender the planets, you know? That’s not for me to decide, that’s for them to–you know what, does anyone else have any other questions that aren’t related to Pluto?”

You really didn’t want to laugh at Ryland, but only he would be able to accidentally turn a lesson about space and planets into almost a lesson on bodily autonomy. He caught your eye, his widening just slightly and you could almost see his cry for help written across his face, but it only made your laughter worse.

It was little Madison that raised her hand next, speaking before she’d even been called upon.

“Are you sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe?”

Ryland hung his head in shame, the shaking of his head evident from across the room as a few of the kids around laughed at the young girl’s comment. You were quick to shoot them a warning look, not keen to hand out any detentions today.

By the time your gaze turned back to Ryland, he was already looking at you. His gaze flickered to Harkin, then back to you, and it was like a light bulb had just flickered on the way his eyes lit up.

“Yes, Madison, I’m sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe. And I can show you,” his long legs crossed the room in seconds, his body sliding between you and Mr. Harkin as his hands landed on your shoulders with a tiny little squeeze that sent your heart leaping through your chest. “But to do that, I’m going to need this volunteer that I’m not quite giving a choice.”

“It’s not volunteering if you didn’t ask, Ry!”

You exasperatedly tried to whisper to Ryland as he steered you across the room to stand before all the kids. He only shook his head as a bunch of your own students started cheering for you around the room, only worsening the red that coated your cheeks the second his hands had landed on your body.

“I need you for this,” he shot back hastily, positioning you in the middle of the room, standing in front of you. His body blocked the students from your vision, blue eyes boring down into yours, hands gently squeezing at your upper arms as you begged the blush in your skin to not be too obvious. “You trust me?”

A ridiculous question, because the only answer was yes. You gave him a nod, and Ryland’s smile only widened as he turned back to the kids in the room.

“Alright, kids. Your gorgeous teacher here is the Sun,”

Little oohs and awes sounded from the kids around the room at Ryland’s little slip in of the word ‘gorgeous.’ There was a sting in your bottom lip as you bit into it with your teeth, trying to contain your own smile. Marcus spoke up from across the room without raising his hand, as usual.

“Then what’s Mr. Harkin?”

“Oh, he’s Pluto,” Ryland shot back immediately, nodding his head. “Suits him.”

Laughter rang through the room, the young boys as rambunctious as ever. Ryland met your astonished look with a tiny wink of his own, one that forced a small laugh to tumble from your lips. Then, he began to slowly spin, walking around you in a circle.

“And I am the Earth,” he called out to the kids, and you could only hope he didn’t trip over his own two shoelaces. “The Sun holds 99.8% of the mass in our solar system, which means it’s packing some massive gravity.”

Ryland stopped spinning himself, still moving around you in a circle. He held his hand out toward you, and you slipped yours into it without hesitation, spinning in that circle slowly with him.

“Because the Sun holds such intense gravity, it’s actually pulling Earth into it. But, Earth has such high forward velocity that it actually keeps us moving sideways. Put these two together, and it keeps Earth moving in an almost perfect circle around the sun. Can anyone tell me another fun fact about our movement around the sun?”

The words went in one of your ears and straight out the other. There was no paying attention, not when Ryland’s hand held your own. Soft skin, just slightly rough around the edges, and those blue eyes were so soft, locked onto you as if there was nowhere else he wanted to look.

“Our speed changes!” Olivia called out from somewhere in the back, but you didn’t even try to look and find her. “When we’re closer to the sun in our orbit we move faster, and the further away we are, the slower we move.”

“Very good, Olivia!” Ryland called out, sparing just a quick glance over to the kids in the room as his hand held yours tighter, still spinning slowly together. “Madison, we also know this works because there’s other sun-like stars out there that are also orbited by planets. Like Tau Ceti, which has four Earth-like planets orbiting it.”

“Is the sun important for other things, besides just being the center?”

Ryland’s eyes flickered to you, and you watched as he paused. The slight hesitation on his face, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple for a moment, before those blue eyes locked onto yours and refused to look away.

“I-It is…for a lot of reasons. The Sun is the Earth’s entire reason for existing. The Sun gives the Earth life. The Sun is the reason the world is beautiful,”

Your breath hitched, eyes still trained on Ryland. There was something in his words, something in that earnest, raw look that he had written across his features as he looked at you that added a weight to his words. A weight that sent a tiny chill across your skin, raising the hair on your arms.

“Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing,”

There was quiet across the room. Then, a couple snickers, followed by Olivia’s smug little voice.

“The Sun sounds beautiful the way you talk about it,”

“She is,” his voice was lower, softer than it was before. Until, he seemed to realize what he said, the red on both of your faces spreading further than before as his eyes shot wide. “THE SUN I mean! I-I’m talking about the sun, obviously, b-because this is a science presentation!”

Laughter rang through the room, little chants of your names mashed together coming from some of the kids as the bell rang and saved either of you from further embarrassment.

Ryland, being Ryland, chose that moment to finally trip over his own two feet. You pulled on his hand as hard as you could, saving him from plummeting to the ground as he instead just landed on his one knee.

“Make good choices,” Ryland commented lowly as some of the kids walked past the two of you, still snickering and giggling to themselves. You let go of his hands finally, simply resting it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Don’t uh, I don’t know, blow up the world during lunch or anything. Or pop those chip bags and give kids heart attacks, whatever you kids do these days.”

You laughed, stepping around Ryland as your kids lined up outside of the room, waiting for you. He shot you a sheepish smile from the floor, and your skin still burned with heat at the memory of his words as you looked at him.

“Every time I think you’re doing well with those kids, they manage to knock you down a peg,”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?”

When you met your class outside, you didn’t let them get a word in before you warned them not to say anything. You could still hear little comments talking about ‘shipping’ their English and Science teachers the entire way back to your classroom.

❤︎

Ryland Grace didn’t understand how he had ended up here.

Well, he did. Calling the leading scholar in his field a “staggering waste of carbon” at a UNESCO conference in Denmark was an easy way to get blacklisted from the field he’d studied in for many years in college. It was an easy explanation for how he ended up teaching middle school science at Grover Cleveland Middle in San Francisco.

Not that he had a problem with teaching! He actually loved it. Loved his kids, loved talking about science. He loved teaching the future little scientists of the world about why every facet of science was awesome. The pay wasn’t great, though.

Especially when it was the reason he rode a bike to school daily.

And there was currently the equivalent of a monsoon raining down from the sky onto the pavement, the reason he’d been standing at the front doors for the last 20 minutes hoping that the rain would simply let up. The heavens didn’t take pity on him, though, and it only rained harder and harder. His rain coat and bike were not meant to withstand heavy rain and damaging winds to this extent. 

Best cast scenario? It takes him a little longer to get home on his usual 20 minute bike ride than normal. Worst case? He crashes and dies, dead in a ditch covered in mud.

“Ryland, please tell me you aren’t thinking of riding your bike home in this?”

Then there was you. You were probably the single greatest reason why he loved teaching at Grover Cleveland Middle. If he ever had the unfortunate chance to meet that scientist from the conference again, he’d thank him this time for being a staggering waste of carbon, because it led him down a path to you.

“I can’t be that bad,” he tried to joke, waving you off as a crack of thunder seemed to shake the entire building, and his fake confidence faltered for a second. He glanced back at you, coat wrapped around your bag instead of yourself in order to keep its contents dry. “Just, you know…the slight threat of bodily harm.”

He really wished the path that led to you was less bumpy and full of himself looking like an idiot, but at this rate he’d take what he could get from the universe.

“Yeah, absolutely not,” was your immediate reply, head shaking as she fished your car keys out of the bag still covered with your coat. “I’m giving you a ride home, can’t risk the best science teacher’s life over a dumb storm.”

Ryland immediately shook his head, turning to face you beside him. He was not letting you risk your own life in the storm for him. If it really came down to it, he’d sleep at his desk. There was a change of clothes he kept in the bottom drawer, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it.

“I can’t let you-”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Ryland snapped his mouth shut as you cut in once again, dangling your car keys up in front of him with a little shake. “I…care about you, okay? I want to know you are home safe.”

There was no stopping the immediate heat that filled Ryland’s cheeks, and he knew it. There was red blooming across your own, but Ryland shook all wishful thinking from his mind. The AC unit in this school was unreliable, you were definitely just flushed from the heat. No other reason.

Ryland decided he wasn’t going to put up a fight at this point, but he wasn’t going to let you do this without anything in return. He shrugged the yellow raincoat hanging over his own shoulders off as he kicked the glass door in front of him open, the muffle sounds of the torrential downpour now louder as droplets of water splashed into the front door. He held the jacket out, hanging it above your head to protect you from the rain.

“At least let me save you from getting drenched,”

“You’re going to look like a dog that just had a bath by the time we reach my car,” Ryland only smiled at your joke, and the little giggle that fell through your lips. The close proximity didn’t help as he held the jacket up around you.

“Actually, it’s not windy today,” he shot back with a grin, nodding out the propped open door into the rain. “That means if we run, I’ll be drier than if we walked, because the rain that’s hitting us from above is proportional to time. Though, the rain hitting us from the front is proportional to distance, and when running-”

“Ryland Grace, you are adorable when you get all science-nerd, but if we’re going to run…we should run,”

Ryland was thankful that you couldn’t see the renewed heat flooding his cheeks, as you were both too busy sprinting through the torrential downpour to the staff parking lot.

Being a gentleman (who was head over heels in love with you and too terrified to say a damn thing) was thrown out the window with how fast you were booking it to your car, the idea of shielding you from the rain with his jacket abandoned after just a moment booking it across the lot. He could feel the coolness of the water settling against his skin as it soaked through every layer of clothing he had, every few seconds having to furiously wipe at his glasses in hopes of seeing through them.

None of it really mattered in the end, not when he heard your laugh. The little shrieks of laughter as a particularly big drop happened to fall right in your eyes. Or the laughter as Ryland managed–in his signature fashion–to slip on the final step into the parking lot, and you had to double back in laughter to help haul him to his feet.

He’s spring clumsily through the rain a thousand more times if he got to see you smile like that. And that is why his kids always told him that he was definitely ‘whipped’ for you. Whatever that meant.

The second you had both jumped into your respective seats of your vehicle, doors slamming shut, there was only a moment of silence between the both of you. Ryland felt like his chest was going to explode, remembering why he always hated gym class, his heavy breathing mixed with yours as you both caught your breath, before you locked eyes over the center console.

Then the laughter resumed.

He held his hand to his stomach, feeling an ache settling in as he couldn’t stop his own laughter. Your’s grew slightly louder in his ear as you leaned over, trying to help him wipe at his glasses that were still covered.

“I was right, you look like a wet dog,”

Ryland’s only response was to shake his soaking wet hair like one, a simple reaction that earned yet another shriek of laughter from you and a light slap to his shoulder. You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, but Ryland found himself unable to tear his gaze away from your lips as you started the car and began to pull out of the staff lot. How soft they looked, the way the little beads of water running down your cheeks fell over them.

Whipped. He still didn’t get it, but he agreed wholeheartedly with his kids at this point.

There was no driving fast in this rain, especially when the windshield wipers were moving at their highest programmed speed and it still wasn’t enough. It was quiet in the car for just a moment as you pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryland broke it the second your phone had connected to the car’s bluetooth, music filling the space between him and you.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.

“Frank Sinatra,” Ryland couldn’t help the growing smile on his lips as the familiar song flooded through the car speakers. He kept his eyes trained on the side of your face, watching the little smile grow on your own lips, eyes focused on the road conditions in front of you. “Old books and old music. Didn’t know you had such an old soul.”

“You calling me old, Ryland?”

“N-no!” Ryland immediately back track, hands flying up and shaking back and forth as his eyes went wide. “I might say some stupid stuff some–okay, most of the time–but I know better than to comment on a woman’s age.”

“I’m just teasing you,” he could thankfully hear the sincerity mixed in with the teasing lit to your voice. “But yes, I do enjoy some old music. Always been a big fan of Sinatra, especially this one.”

“It’s a nice song…just not scientifically accurate,” he caught the side eye that you threw his way for just a moment, another crack of thunder banging across the sky and almost shaking the car. Ryland couldn’t help but jump slightly. “Jupiter only has a 3.13° tilt to its axis, so it doesn’t experience seasons like we do. Mar’s would, though, because its axis is tilted at 25°, only 1.5° more than our own tilt…”

Ryland trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he caught you fully facing him this time with a bemused expression written across your face. His smile dropped just slightly as he let out a sheepish laugh, adjusting his glasses as they slid back down the wet bridge of his nose.

“...I went full science-nerd again, didn’t I?”

Your laughter drowned out the rain beating against the roof of the car as your attention returned to the road once more.

“You always do, but I happen to enjoy it very much,”

If only teaching paid more, because the commute to Ryland’s apartment was a lot shorter than his bike ride home every day from work. 

Parked in an open space across the road from the dimly lit apartment building, Ryland Grace hesitated with his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes swept out over the area around the vehicle, still being hounded with rain. The top of his road looked like the beginning of a river, the way the water was rushing down the small incline to pool at the bottom.

“Thanks…for this,” he gestured toward the weather right outside the card.

You moved to respond to him, when the weather alert on your phone propped up on your dashboard sounded out. Ryland could just barely make out the headline: FLASH FLOOD WARNING.

The roads were far too dangerous, and Ryland already knew from various conversations that you lived on the opposite end of town from him.

He…could ask you to stay for the night. Just for safety reasons, obviously! He was quickly trying to work through the pros and cons list in his head.

Pros: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be safe and not driving in this storm.

Cons: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be inside his tiny little apartment that looked like it had been hit by a separate hurricane than the one it felt like they were currently suffering through.

“I should probably get home-”

“Stay,” Ryland cut in, quickly continuing his words after his vague statement. “I-It’s just, the roads are bad, and you live on the other side of town. This storm is just going to get worse, and I-I’d hate to know something happened to you.”

You hesitated, he could tell, shaking your head.

“Ryland, I couldn’t ask you to let me stay,”

He hesitated himself for a moment, every feeling he’d kept bottled up for a year now threatening to escape past his lips. Instead, he settled on echoing your own words.

“I…I care about you. I want to know you’re safe,”

Moments later, he had his rain coat draped over your head as he rushed you inside his apartment to shelter from the storm.

Ryland’s hands shook the entire time as he put his key into his front door’s lock. The last time he had guests over…was never. His apartment was built and designed for him and his brain, scattered with notes and books and piles of arts and crafts that he worked on in order to decorate his classroom. It was not meant for visitors, especially not ones as pretty as you.

“Don’t, uh, mind the mess,” he mumbled, holding the door open and motioning after you, allowing you to take a step inside his apartment as he let out the small breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Chucking off his sneakers, little puddles of water forming below them on the ground, his jacket found its way into a pile with them. Ryland wiped his hands nervously against the thighs of his jeans, the action doing nothing against the soaking went material, as he watched you take in his apartment.

The apartment that looked like it had been ransacked, at least partially. Stacks of books relating to a thousand different topics were stacked on the ground by the tv stand, on top of the coffee table along with the coffee cup he’d abandoned there early in the morning in a haste to get to the school, and and by his desk that had a stack of papers scattered around it after her strewn them about in order to find one specific slip of paper at 11 p.m.

It was a mess, and Ryland regretted everything.

“It’s not messy, it’s homey,” your reply sent a burst of heat through his skin as you turned to him with a bright smile, leaving your own bag and coat by his pile of wet items before gesturing to your own soaking wet clothing. “Do you maybe have something a little less…wet?”

He scurried away into his bedroom, trying to ignore that little section of his brain that took your comment in a MUCH different way.

His bedroom was worse. Ryland wasn’t letting you sleep on the couch, but he surely wasn’t letting you see his room in a state like this.

Clothing was thrown across the room and Ryland quickly ran about, shoving piles of clothing away into corners where he was certain you wouldn’t be able to see any of it. Throwing it into his closet and slamming the door before it could fall out, pushing it down in his laundry basket, kicking it under his bed so it was out of sight and out of mind, whatever he could think of.

“Great idea, Ryland,” he muttered to himself, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants and a tshirt for himself, trying to shake the remaining water out of his hair as he rummaged for something you could wear. “Almost get the woman you’re in love with killed by letting her drive you home in a monsoon. Invite her to stay the night in your apartment that makes you look like an even bigger loser than you are. Amazing idea. A doctorate in molecular biology and this is the best you can do.”

You were waiting by the couch in his living room, just glancing around at everything with a smile, when he reappeared. Sheepishly, he handed the folded clothing over to you, hand running through his soaking wet hair as he pointed down the hall.

“You can take my bed for the night. Uh, just leave your clothes in the bathroom, I can throw them in the dryer in a bit. I can scrounge up something to eat in the meantime,”

“Thanks, Ry,” your hand reached out, squeezing his upper arm lightly, and he felt the heat in his skin instantly bloom under your touch. “For all of this.”

If it wasn’t for the giant crack of thunder that flickered the lights of the building for a moment and made Ryland jump out of his skin, he would’ve forgotten how to breathe again.

He rummaged through every part of his kitchen, desperately trying to find something that he could make the two of you to eat that also wouldn’t make him seem pathetic. All he could come up with…was a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly.

Yesterday. He’d stayed late after the end of the day to help in tutoring. He forgot to go grocery shopping. Ryland let out a sigh at his realization, back to his fridge door and head banging back against the stainless steel, hand running down his face and dragging against his skin as his glasses were knocked off, hanging off of one ear.

“Great,” he muttered into his palm. “Just absolutely freaking great, Ryland.”

Ryland Grace desperately wished he had the guts, the bravery, to just simply tell you how he felt.

From the moment he met you, when you had arrived for your first day at Grover Cleveland Middle, he was a goner. It had been a long time since he’d had a partner, his last one certain that he was too busy with his head in the clouds to pay attention to her, and she wasn’t wrong. But from the moment he looked at you, waving and smiling as you introduced yourself to all of the teachers that had gathered to welcome you, you were suddenly the only thing his brain wanted to focus on.

He had been so focused on you, too busy admiring every inch of you in silence, that in his typical clumsy fashion he tripped over his own two feet and knocked Principal Marshall’s papers out of her hand, spreading them five feet across the floor. But you’d joined him on the ground, laughing lightly to yourself, as you helped him clean up the papers, and Ryland knew he was a goner for you.

It only continued every single day, getting worse, and you somehow became his friend. His only friend, if he was being quite frank. So he tried to hide the way he really felt, too scared to mess anything up. He’d rather have you in his life in any way he could, then mess this up and lose you forever.

Keeping those feelings in was getting increasingly harder in the last few months. Which explained why he’d traveled cross town just to get lunch from your favorite place, or compare you to the sun and basically called you his entire reasoning for living in front of a bunch of children-

Either Ryland was going to blurt it out at some point, or he was taking these feelings to the grave with him.

“Peanut butter and jelly? Sounds like we’re eating like royalty tonight,”

He shouldn’t have looked over at you. He really, really shouldn’t have. Leaning against the opposite wall of the kitchen, hair still damp and dripping onto the cheesy “I had potential” shirt he’d been gifted by one of his students the following year. Sweatpants that were bunched up around your ankles so that you didn’t trip over the length, waist tied in as tightly as possible so they didn’t just slide right off your hips.

Ryland Grace had never thought it possible that you could look more gorgeous than you did every day, but he stood corrected. He felt more in love than he ever had just looking at you right in this moment.

“Sorry, I don’t exactly…live a life of luxury,” Ryland awkwardly laughed as he spoke, pulling out two sad paper plates from the cabinet next to him and flashing them in your direction, shaking them lightly in the air. “Hope this doesn’t ruin my perfectly curated image.”

His eyes followed you as you brushed past him, humming to yourself with a little grin. You fumbled through every drawer in the kitchen, looking for something, when Ryland quickly popped open the one right next to him, showcasing his small selection of utensils. You flashed another heart-stopping grin at him before digging out two knives from the drawer.

“That image cracked a long time ago, Ry. Like that time you let Marcus perform some chemical reaction and got the fire department called to the school,”

The tall blonde groaned to himself, rubbing at his temple as you pushed past him to throw some of the bread down onto the plates and crack open the jars of peanut butter and jelly set out.

“That was one time!” he tried to defend himself, saddling up beside you as you passed him one of the knives. He almost completely missed the opening of the peanut butter jar, eyes too transfixed on the sight of you in his clothing. It was still up in the air if his heart was actually working correctly yet. “I learned my lesson very quickly not to let him handle any more chemicals.”

“Don’t worry. I made the mistake of doing popcorn reading when we were working on The Outsiders. Marcus seemed to end up with every single instance of profanity in the book, which he would yell at the top of his lungs,”

Ryland snapped his fingers, glancing down at you at his side with a teasing smile.

“You know what? That explains that really loud ‘HELL’ I heard across the school a couple months ago. I was so sure that it was going to shatter the windows of my classroom,”

“Oh, shut up! It wasn’t that bad!”

Your laughter permeated the air, elbow digging into his side as you spoke. And when your eyes locked with his, and Ryland got the perfect look at every square inch of your face, he could see it so clearly in his head.

Mornings just like this, where you’d both struggle to get out of the warmth of the blankets. The way he would surely annoy you with his very disorganized morning routine, but he’d make up for it with coffee already set out for you, just as you liked it. The lingering moments by the door, too wrapped up in each other because you didn’t want to leave the peace of this space, even though you were going to the same place.

Late nights, curled together on the couch with some movie playing on TV that neither of you were particularly paying attention to. Whispered words, laughter shared. Kisses that lingered, hands that trailed-

Thunder broke Ryland from his spell, thoughts gone in a flash. He was back in his dingy kitchen, with you just inches away, staring up at him as the picture of true beauty.

“T-This is nice,” he cleared his throat, turning back to his sandwich as he spread his toppings along the bread, heat blooming across his cheeks again. It always did around you. “Making dinner with someone…no matter how sad the dinner is. I haven’t done this in awhile.”

“Right,” your voice responded after a momentary pause. “Sarah, wasn’t it? You were dating her when we first met. What, uh…what ever happened to her?”

“Oh, we broke up a long time ago,” Ryland waved the comment off, shaking his head. “She just, uh, thought my head was too far in the clouds. Didn’t think I wanted to be down here on Earth. She wasn’t wrong. It was for the best, though. She hated…all of this. The rundown apartment, the lack of a car, my love of science. She just never understood it. I was just…too much for her. But she’s with Mark now, so I’m sure she’s happy.”

Ryland chose not to mention that his last relationship had been dead long before it officially ended, the pair not having seen each other in well over a month by that point. If his math was right, which it usually was, Sarah had started dating Mark before she’d even broken it off with him.

He also failed to mention the relief he felt inside when she had called it off, knowing his heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had locked with his.

Fingertips just barely ghosted over Ryland’s cheek, and he froze in place. Eyes trained on the plate in front of him, he could feel the way your hand curled around his cheek. The way your thumb glossed over his skin, back and forth, and the way your other fingers barely grazed over the shell of his ear. He couldn’t help the way he instantly leaned into the touch, a touch he hadn’t felt in so long.

Ryland turned his head, still resting in the palm of your own, to look you in the eyes. You gave him the softest smile, hand trailing across his cheek and ghosting over his jawline. His eyes watched it move, the way your fingers gently curled around the frame of his glasses dangling precariously from his face, and placed them gingerly back where they belonged, resting on the bridge of his nose.

His breath caught, your body so close to his, as your hand trailed back down and rested on his chest for just a moment, your own gaze flickering to its resting spot while his gaze stayed on your face.

“You are never, and will never be, too much, Ryland. Not for the right person. They’ll love every part of you. The clumsy parts, the nerdy parts, every part that makes you…you,”

The Sun. That’s what you were to Ryland Grace. He meant every word he had said in that planetarium that day, driven by the rare jealousy of seeing Harkin that close to you. 

The Sun was the reason Earth had life. Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing.

Without you…well, Ryland Grace had accepted long ago that he didn’t understand what it was like to truly live until he’d met you.

Your eyes flickered for just a second, and Ryland took in an audible breath, swearing they settled on his lips for just a second. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the pattering of the rain against the living room windows.

The moment shattered with yet another terribly timed clap of thunder, your body jolting away from his, focus turned back to the counter in front of you, face hidden from his wide eyes.

“Y-you know…I can’t tell you the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,”

Ryland shook his head, smiling slightly to himself at the little stutter in your own words, turning back to finishing his own food as well. But the moment still lingered in his head, the heat that bloomed from where your skin touched him still lingering.

“Since peanut butter is banned in school for allergies, probably awhile,”

“I almost forgot that rule a couple weeks ago and almost packed peanut butter crackers,” you joked back, before Ryland heard you snap your fingers. “Oh! Speaking of work, did you put yourself down to volunteer for the school dance next week?”

Sandwiches finished off, Ryland packed the ingredients away and stashed them back in their appropriate spots, laughing awkwardly to himself.

“Hah, uh, no I didn’t. I chaperoned last year and kind of left covered in punch, became the kids’ favorite ‘meme’ for a week afterward since one of them got a picture of it,”

He turned back to you. Leaning against the island counter, holding your sad little sandwich in your hands, face still lit up red as you smiled toward him.

“I think so far it's me, Doyle, and Harki, plus Principal Marshal and I think Katie and Dawson from the front office. We could really use another teacher,” he swore the fluttering of your lashes was on purpose just to kill him and his resolve. “Sign-up? For me?”

Well, there was no universe in existence where Ryland said no to a request like that.

Rejoining you at the counter, he held his own sandwich in his hand, reaching out and tapping it against yours as if you were sharing a toast.

“For you? Totally,”

Even as you both took a bite of your sandwiches, eyes still locked together, Ryland felt as if something had shifted in the air. Your eyes were still as kind, your smile still bright, but it felt like there was a new weight to your gaze as you looked at him.

And he swore–and hoped–for just a split second, that your eyes had just flickered down to his lips again.

❤︎

The student council had outdone themselves with this end of the year dance.

As you stepped through the main doors of Grover Cleveland Middle’s building, the smile on your face grew immediately at the sight before you. The walls were lined with little fairy lights, little styrofoam planets hanging down from the ceiling at various lengths, glow in the dark stars right around them and glowing. Silver streamers hung around the fairy lights, with the check in desk decorated with tons and foam and lights behind them to look like twinkling lights in the clouds.

“A space theme?” you called out as the two kids in front of you ducked away from the registration desk. Evelyn Doyle finally looked up from the sign-in sheet, grin growing as she took in the sight of you and rounded the desk. “I hadn’t heard anything from the student council on the theme, but they did well.”

“Nevermind the theme, you’re finally here!” you laughed as you threw her arms around you, reciprocating the hug, before her hands landed on your shoulders in order to get a good look at you, eyes trailing you up and down. “And look at this dress, oh my god!”

The deep yellow dress fell right around your knees, the fabric light and airy as it swooshed through the air with every move you made. Buttons lined the front down to the tie around your waist, leaving just enough room for the little gold necklace resting against your collarbone. You thanked yourself for choosing a short sleeve option, already feeling the heat in the building from how many kids were all packed in and dancing together.

“Thank you,” was the sheepish reply you gave your friend as she let you go. “I’m sorry I’m late, I caught one of my student’s parents in the parking lot and they turned it into a mini parent-teacher conference, sadly.”

“Not a problem,” she waved the comment off, gesturing toward the doors of the gym just off to the left of you both. “Just get on in there, have some fun, and keep those slow dancers at least 12 inches apart at all times.”

If the hallways were gorgeous, the inside of the gym shone even brighter. Bathed in blue and purple, even more little lights twinkled around the room, hung off the walls, the ceilings, and on every surface they could possibly find. Moon and star decals, made by the art students, hung off the walls and from the ceiling, almost glowing under the lights.

Your eyes trailed over all of your children, scattered throughout the room, already having been dancing for at least thirty minutes. The smile on your face grew as you watched each one of them, gathered with their friends as they danced together in groups, or even stood off to the sides and just observed from beyond the dimly lit dance floor.

Mr. Harkin had been stationed at the punch table, and you could hear him from across the room warning these middle schoolers not to try and spike the punch. You could only giggle to yourself, shaking your head at his antics, before your eyes swept over the crowd once more-

The music seemed to stop in your ears, breath hitching, the second you laid eyes on him across the room. Ryland Grace.

He wasn’t in anything fancy. A nice pair of jeans, the worn pair of black dress shoes you’d seen by his apartment door that night. A dark green shirt was tucked into his jeans, adorned with a worn, navy blue suit jacket overtop, and those same glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he spoke animatedly to Olivia.

Ryland looked good. Too good, in your eyes.

For just a second, he looked up, and his eyes happened to meet yours across the room. You thought for sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Whatever had happened that night, in the silence of his apartment with only the beating of the rain against the windows and the roof as a witness, had shifted something. From the moment your fingertips had ghosted along his skin, your hand had rested against his chest, and you’d been close enough to see the specs that danced in those ocean blue eyes of his up close, nothing had been the same.

Like the little bubble you had been existing in with your harbored crushed had finally popped. Like a toe had dipped just slightly over a line, and there was no going back from then on.

You always blushed around your friend, every time he’d manage to fumble his way through a comment that borderlined on a kind-of-not-just-friendly compliment. But since that day just a week or so ago, every time he has been within a few feet of you, your face lit up like a hot summer’s day.

Moments where he’d find a second to linger in your classroom door, held a new weight to them. Sharing lunch together, fingers just barely brushing for a second as you both reached for your food, to moments when you’d simply be walking together down hallways, back of hands brushing along each other’s but no one making any moves to stop it from happening.

Something was different, and you weren’t sure you wanted to go back to how things were before. Not after touching his skin, or existing in his orbit like that. Not when you’d seen the side of him beyond these school walls.

You were in love with Ryland Grace. You had been for a long time. And, finally, you were done trying to pretend that there wasn’t at least a small chance that he felt the same.

“I need your help,”

The heated staring contest between you two was broken by the sound to your right. You turned, just to see Marcus standing directly beside you and reaching up to pull on the sleeve of your dress. His hands wrung together, foot tapping incessantly on the ground, and you immediately knelt down in front of him to get a better look at his face that he was trying to hide from you.

“Marcus? Honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently, hands coming to rest on his arms as you tried to get him to look at you.

“I…I like Olivia,”

Oh. It was one of those problems. The anxiety you felt in that moment finally washed away, an easy smile falling to your lips as you took a quick glance over in Ryland and Olivia’s direction, the former’s eyes still locked onto you from across the room.

“I did hear a rumor about that. Olivia is a great girl,”

“She is,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His nerves were basically written across his face. “I-I’ve been really mean to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“I know, honey. Sometimes feelings can be confusing,” you stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him with a smile. “Do you want to dance with her?”

“I do,”

You held your hand out toward him with a smile.

“Then why don’t we start by going and apologizing to her?”

With Marcus’s hand in yours, you confidently led him across the room, eyes locked back onto Ryland’s as you approached. He stood with Olivia at his side, who was talking his ear off, a dopey looking grin on his face as he nodded to whatever she said as he continued to watch as you approached him.

“Dr. Grace, I’m sorry to interrupt you and Olivia,” you announced yourself to the pair with a grin of your own, hands on Marcus’s shoulders and you lightly pushed him forward. “But Olivia, there’s something that Marcus here wants to say to you.”

The young boy shuffled awkwardly forward, hands wringing together again as he stood in front of his crush.

“I, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry. For being really mean to you. I didn’t mean it,”

Olivia’s eyes went wide, as she too shuffled uncomfortably for a second. Ryland saddled up to your side, the pair of you sharing a glance as you watched the interaction happen right before your eyes. His hand graced over yours lightly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and lock your fingers with his.

“Oh! It’s, um, it’s okay. Thank you,”

“Say, Marcus?” Ryland called out to them both, catching the boy’s eye and gesturing toward Olivia with a wink. “What do you think of Olivia’s dress?”

“I…I think she looks really beautiful,”

That comment finally seemed to catch Olivia off guard, her eyes wide in shock as she giggled nervously.

“Oh! I…thank you, Marcus. You look really nice too,”

“Thank you,” his posture seemed to straighten out at Olivia’s reaction, like seeing her accept his compliment gave him the confidence he needed. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Olivia shot you and Ryland a look, and you both immediately gave her a thumbs up. Then, your happy eyes could only watch the two pre-teens awkwardly shuffle away together to the dance floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the other.

“Look at us, playing matchmaker for middle schoolers,”

“I think they did that for themselves, we just helped,” you laughed, turning your head. The laughter died on your lips the second your eyes met with Ryland’s, voice low and breathy as you whispered to him through your smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispered back just as breathily. His hand came up to the back of his head, running through his hair for a moment, and you could see the red and pink hues that lit up his cheeks. “I got worried when I didn’t see you. I was ready to call you.”

“You could’ve,”

“I’ll remember for next time,” he shot back, hands finding their way to rest in the front pockets of his jeans. His eyes moved back over the crowd, finding your two young students once more. “I’m proud of him for that. That…must have taken a lot of guts to do.”

You followed his gaze, landing on the pair as they danced together, laughing and talking like old friends.

“Like you said before, it can be hard for boys to express their feelings. All he needed was to pull up his big boy pants and ask her,”

Ryland laughed beside you.

“Yeah…I should probably follow in his footsteps,”

You glanced back to him, seeing him already watching you. A single eyebrow raised toward him quizzically, even though your heart felt like it was ready to beat directly out of your chest.

Ryland’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were trying to force out words that he couldn’t quite seem to get right. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, hoping inside that whatever he wanted to say would address the weight that seemed to be hanging between your gazes.

“Stay here,”

There wasn’t even time for you to respond before the tall blonde rushed away, almost tripping as he dashed over to the DJ booth across the way from the makeshift dance floor. He whispered something to the DJ, and you could see the thumbs up he got in return, before he rushed back over to you, panting slightly.

“Ryland?” you questioned softly, the man who held your entire heart without knowing it standing just a foot in front of you with a nervous grin on his face. “What did you just do?”

As if on cue, the song changed, and familiar lyrics floated through the room, bouncing off the walls.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars

“I’m pulling up my big boy pants,” he responded with a nervous laugh, his hand outstretched toward you. “And asking you to dance with me.”

Nothing else existed the second that you slid your hand into Ryland Grace’s without hesitation, letting him pull you in. You weren’t in the school, not in a room decorated for a middle school dance, and certainly not surrounded by middle schoolers and a bunch of faculty that had placed bets on you both.

It was just you and Ryland Grace. That’s all you wanted it to be.

Your arms found a place to rest around his shoulders, fingertips just barely brushing past the strands of hair that tickled the back of his neck. There was a fluttering in your chest the second that his hands made their way to your waist, curling around the divet just above your hip bone, pulling you into him just by another inch.

In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my life with song, and let me sing for ever more.

"I didn't tell you yet…,” his voice was soft, words whispered just between the two of you in a crowded room. “But you look beautiful,"

"You don't have to flatter me, Ryland,"

"No, really, you look-"

"Like a banana in this yellow dress?"

He paused. His tongue poked out, running along his bottom lip, and you could see the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple before he spoke again.

"...like the sun,"

You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.

Oh. That fluttering in your chest was back, and suddenly, you weren’t at a middle school dance anymore. You were back in that planetarium, spinning in circles. And this time, there were no doubts in your mind. You were the Sun, and he was the Earth. And what was the Earth, without its Sun?

"Ryland-"

"I wasn't lying,"

You cocked your head.

"...about what?"

"That I knew Homer wrote The Odyssey,"

That drew a short laugh from you, but you could still see the nerves that were laced through Ryland’s smile.

"Right, you were just distracted,"

"I was. By you. I'm always distracted by you,"

In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.

You took a deep breath. He’d crossed the line for you, thrown himself onto the other side, and was waiting for you with open arms. It was just a leap of faith.

“I’m always distracted by you, too. Since the day we met,”

The song faded away, melting into the next. There could’ve been eyes on you both, either from students or from faculty, but nothing would break either of your gazes away from the other.

Ryland took a quick look around the room, before his hands took hold of your own, bringing them down between you both. He gave you a grin, one filled with more happiness than you had ever seen–and you knew your own matched his perfectly–before he tugged you toward the doors of the gym.

“Come with me,”

“Ry, we’re supposed to be chaperoning!”

“I don’t see Principal Marshall anywhere. What’s the worst she could do, fire us?”

“Quite literally, yes!” you shot back with a laugh.

Ryland only shrugged his shoulders, tugging you again, and you didn’t even try to fight back. Your feet simply moved with him.

“Worth it,”

Hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, your laughter echoed off the walls of the empty hallways as Ryland Grace ran you down them, a destination clear in his mind. Every few seconds he’d look back, just smiling at you as his eyes trailed over every single inch of you, before you’d yell at him to look at his own feet before you’d both be sprawled across the linoleum floors.

The door to his classroom was open as you flew inside, hand slipping from his as you caught yourself on the projector cart sitting in the middle of the room. Spinning on your heel, you caught his eye just as he shut the classroom door behind him, and the silence enveloped you both once more. Finally alone, no prying eyes to watch.

The momentarily confidence that seemed to seize hold of Ryland dissipated in that moment. He wiped his hands against the front of his jeans, chuckling awkwardly as he took a few steps toward you.

“What was your plan here, Dr. Grace?” you teased, taking a couple steps toward him as well, too high on the feeling of everything you’d just finally realized. High on the feeling of finally not denying what your heart knew long ago: you and Ryland Grace were never just friends.

“I’m not going to lie,” he shot back, coming to a stop just in front of you, barely an inch or two separating you. “I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”

“Then stop thinking,”

No one had leaned in first. It had been both of you, as if drawn together like two magnets, as your lips finally found one another's.

Goosebumps rose across your skin as Ryland Grace’s mouth moved against yours with an ease that shouldn’t exist between two people that have never kissed before. It was like a perfect dance between two partners that knew each other better than anything.

Your lips never left his, moving against his as if you couldn’t believe you had deprived yourself of this for so long, as your hands wound around his shoulders. Fingers curled into his hair, finally carding themselves through the blonde strands that felt so soft between your fingers.

The slightest little moan, enough to send heat coursing through your body the second you heard it, slipping from Ryland’s mouth into your own. His hands grasped at your hips, winding around your back to press into your lower back and tug you as close as humanly possible, as if he was a starved man that craved to touch you in any way that he could.

His lips were soft, a feeling that you knew you were going to crave for the rest of your life now that you’d had a single taste of them. You pressed further into him, a small mewl tumbling from your own lips and swallowed by his mouth as you pressed every inch of yourself into him, desperate to hang onto the moment in case the world would be cruel and wake you from this dream moments later.

The need to breathe was what finally separated you, but not far. Ryland’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning out across your skin. His hands still gripped at your hips, holding him to you, as yours stayed carded through his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as you chest heaved as it tried to level your breathing back to normal.

“If I haven’t made it clear already, you’re my best friend,” his words were breathy, accented by the way he was still trying to catch his breath. But his smile was bright, his eyes almost shining, as he looked down at you. “And I’m completely in love with you. Literally, since the moment we met.”

You laughed, trapped in this little bubble with him, as your hands slid from his hair to instead cup his cheeks. The tip of your nose just barely brushed against his, and he bumped his right back against yours without hesitation.

“I’m completely in love with you too, Ryland Grace. Since the moment you tripped over your own two feet,”

The sound of your laughter filled the empty, dark science classroom again as Ryland’s hands came to scoop you up around your thighs, spinning you in relentless circles. All you could do was hang onto his broad shoulders and smile, his lips peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin he could possibly reach.

The Earth needed the Sun, like how Ryland said he needed you. The person that makes it all worth it, that makes the days brighter, that makes this short little life worth it.

The constant lingering edge that surrounded his work, his practice. Like everyone was waiting for him to snap. To fall back into a bad habit he'd vowed to give up forever.

Frank knew.

He knew the way Trinity ignored him like the plague, rolling her eyes at his mere presence. The way Dr. Al Hashimi watched him like he was some problem child, a bad apple waiting to fall back out of the tree. The way Parker and Mateo sometimes watched him during handoffs, curious.

Like they were all waiting for him to screw up. To make a mistake.

To relapse-

“Hi Dr. Langdon!”

Frank looks up, his face softening as he watches you pass by. You give him a pretty smile, accompanied by a small wave and your signature pink scrubs. A very welcome sight amidst the grey and gore of the ED.

“Hey,” he raises a hand in a gentle reply, his heart flipping in that strange, stuttering pattern it always adopted when you came down from the L and D ward to provide a consult. He smiles when you pause, redirecting your path towards the nurses station. Frank sits up straighter, ignoring the twinge in his back as you lean over the station’s counter, eyeing him.

Don't stare like an idiot. Don't stare like an idiot.

But Frank is sure he's got that stupid smile on his face. In fact, he knows he does because Dana passes by and gives him a look.

He knows he does because Princess and Perlah are suddenly both hovering together over a computer, definitely not looking over a patient's labs by the way their shoulders press together and their low whispers become less coherent.

Frank clears his throat, elbows leaning on the charting desk.

“What brings you down here?”

You smile at his question, long lashes blinking slowly.

“Oh the usual. Al Hashimi wants me to show a couple of the med students how to detect gestational age by feel and not the monitor.” Franks nods, like that wasn’t the least interesting reason you could be down here in the Pitt.

“What, her Ai can't just tell us?” You giggle, glancing back to make sure the attending wasn't around to listen.

“I think the last hospital blackout finally got through to her about our over reliance on technology.”

“So she's overcompensating and teaching medieval practices now?”

“It's not medieval, Langdon,” you laugh. “I’m pretty sure they still teach it in medical school.”

“I must have skipped that lesson then. Right along with bloodletting and mercury poisoning.”

You give him a look, the one you'd give a puppy when it's done something stupid- like gnaw on its tail or trip on its own paw. A look that said “that’s cute” as well as “poor guy.”

But it wasn't pitying. Never pitying. You didn't treat him like he was glass or an infection you didn't want to catch.

You never did.

In the six months he's been back, the six months of knowing you, you had never once brought it up. Never made a jab or given him a side eye. You had come down to the Pitt that first week he'd returned, passing him by as he'd finished his urine collection with one of the nurses.

He remembers that first smile you'd given him, tired after a long day, but still oh so bright. Frank thinks he fell a little in love with that smile. Not that he believed in love at first sight. But this was pretty close to it.

Frank just swallows thickly, trying not to stare up into your pretty face and think about how that shade of lipgloss glittered beneath the ED’s lights.

Unfortunately for him he wasn’t given the chance to.

“Hey,” Trinity’s voice carries casually, her eyes darting quickly between you and Frank as she walks up.

She wore the same calculating look she always wore around him, like she was just waiting for him to taint you somehow. To ruin your bubbly persona and bright smile. The caution and hurt drawn between furrowed brows and a thinly pressed smile that matched the guilt and apology written in his clenched fist and deep lined frown.

Not that you notice. Or at the very least, you pretended not to.

“Hi Trin,” you smile, turning as the glowering R2 takes you by the arm, already pulling you away from Frank.

“Al Hashimi sent me to get you. Says she doesn’t want to keep the mom here any longer than she has to.”

“Oh okay-”

Frank watches as you glance back at him, barely getting out a rushed goodbye and an apologetic look before Trinity was pushing you over to a triage room where Victoria, Joy and Ogilvie were already gathered and waiting.

Frank sighs, not quite ready to get back to his charting, his blue eyes still tracking your pink scrubs from across the ED, watching as you move about the room with a calm patience and grace.

Frank knew you knew about his past. Knew why he'd had to redo his senior year. You had to... being friends with Trinity. And the fact you'd seen him with the drug test that first day.

But you never said anything about it.

You treated him like you treated every doctor down in the Pitt. With a radiant smile and kind heart. And a bit of admiration because you'd once told him, "you ER cowboys never fail to impress me."

That had been after he'd helped you deliver a pair of breech twins. He'd left work grinning ear to ear that day.

It was that smile.

That darn smile.

The one Frank could see you giving Joy now as you helped guide her hands over the patient’s belly. He lived to see it now, a tiny prayer said before every shift that he’d get a case needing your input.

That at some point in the miserable spread of his twelve hour shift he’d get to see your pink scrubs and pretty smile. Get to hear your bright laugh- maybe he’d even get to make you laugh. Or help you with a laboring patient when you needed an extra pair of hands-

“You ask her out yet?”

Dana’s voice startles Frank. He jumps in the chair, turning around like a caught child as he tries to remember he wasn’t currently elbow deep in amniotic fluid and helping you deliver a baby.

“What?” He asks dumbly. Dana snorts, eyeing Frank over her clipboard.

"Barbie doll over there. You just gonna sit there and daydream about her or are you finally gonna ask her out?"

"I wasn't daydreaming about her."

"Oh sure," Dana gives him an incredulous look. "And I'm gonna quit smoking."

Frank shakes his head, waving Dana away. She laughs to herself, pulling out her clipboard.

"What? I'm just curious."

"Yeah, well, it's none of your business." Frank huffs, and turns back to his chart, staring at the computer that had gone back to the main desktop. He stared, not signing in yet, his eyes drifting back up to you.

"I'm just saying kid," Dana continues. "You've been pouting all day, down in the dumps. And then she comes along, gives you a smile and suddenly you're grinning to yourself while charting? Hell of a coincidence if you ask me."

Frank shrugs. "I don't know what you're talking about." He shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. Dana raises a brow. Frank continues, "And even if I did, it's not like I can just ask her out. She's friends with the girl who made me public enemy number one. There's got to be some kind of girl code about saying yes to a guy like me."

"So you think she would say yes. Given the right circumstances." Frank flushes.

"Well... I mean, she seems to like me. Enough at least."

Dana shakes her head. "Oh you kids. You always make this stuff more complicated than it has to be."

"Well it's not that simple Dana-"

Frank is cut off as Dana turns around and calls out a name.

Your name.

He looks up with wide eyes as you slow your steps out of the patient room, pausing your conversation with Al Hashimi. Dana waves you over and you approach the nurses desk curiously, looking between the charge nurse and Frank who is quietly telling Dana to stop.

"Hi Dana." Dana gives you a kind smile.

"Hey yourself. I've got a question for you."

"Oh sure. Shoot."

"You doing anything Saturday?" You stuff your hands in your scrub pockets, rocking on the balls of your feet. Frank gives Dana a look, horrified and wondering what she was playing at.

"Um, not really. I've got to walk my dog and pick up a dress from the dry cleaners, but that's about it really."

"What do you think about joining Frank at the movies? He's got an extra ticket and needed someone to go with. Figured you'd be the perfect person."

"Oh," your eyes widen with surprise. Frank's do too because he's almost hundred percent positive he does not have movie tickets. "What movie?"

Frank swallows, realizing you were pointing to question to him.

"Uh-" He looks at Dana like a fish out of water, silently begging her to not leave him stranded.

"It's the one with the scientist. He goes to space and meets a little alien friend. He's blonde, good looking-"

"Oh! I know which one you're talking about. That new one everyone's been talking about, right?" You say the title. Frank gives Dana a look and she nods.

"Uh, yeah. That's the one." You smile and Frank's heart flutters.

"Sure. That sounds fun. I could use a fun outing. What time is the movie?"

"Um... I have to double check my tickets-"

"3:00," Dana interjects. "I think Frank can give you a ride too. Right Frank?"

"Yeah, uh, yes?" He says unsure. You giggle.

"That's alright Frank. I can meet you there. Oh, hey maybe we could get dinner or something after. Movie theater snacks are ridiculously expensive and I'm always famished after a movie."

"Yeah, that sounds great," Frank nods, brain half functioning because WAS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?

"Perfect," You smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

You look down as your pager beeps, Frank blinking at you as he was still trying to compute what just happened.

"Oh shoot, I have to go... but I'm totally down for Saturday. Do you have my number?"

"Number?" Frank asks dumbly.

"No probably not. Here," You say quickly, grabbing the pen Dana holds out to you.

You reach over the nurses station, grabbing Frank's hand. The ballpoint pentip digs into the back of his hand as you quickly scribble down your digits. Frank is almost sure his brain has been fried.

"There. Sorry, I've got to run. Got an active labor upstairs who needs me. I'll see you Saturday though! Bye Frank!"

Your words trail off as you begin running down the hall, pink scrubs disappearing around the corner. Frank blinks, his hand still raised, skin prickling from where you'd written on it.

Dana smirks, taking back her pen from where you'd dropped it and putting the cap back. "I'm sure you're wondering about the movie tickets."

Frank hums questioningly, still just staring at the space you'd been standing.

"My husband and I were supposed to go this weekend, but he got called out on a work trip and I'm gonna cover for Lena so she can go visit her niece. Figured I couldn't let them go to waste.

"Uh huh," Frank nods. "Did that really just happen?"

Dana laughs.

"Sure did kid. I told you it was simple." Frank chuckles. A quiet huff that quickly devolves into a belly shaking laugh.

"I can't believe it. She said yes."

"Think you'll be okay with Barbie gone back to the penthouse for the day?"

"She said yes Dana. You could stab me with a scalpel or shave my head and I'll still say this was the best day ever."

From across the nurses station, Perlah and Princess giggle with each other, slipping a twenty between their hands as they watch Frank smile starstruck.

Oh yeah. ER Ken was absolutely smitten.

You didn’t like the alarm in general — it meant peeling yourself out of bed and dragging your body toward what was sure to be a grueling shift — but you disliked Frank’s alarm even more.

You tugged your pillow from beneath your head and pulled it over your face to dull the sound.

“Make it stop,” you groaned into the pillow, your voice muffled.

After a second, the screeching finally stopped, and the bedroom was swallowed by silence once again. You sighed softly, grateful for the lack of noise.

Warm hands wrapped around your waist as Frank burrowed his nose under the pillow you were hiding beneath, his head settling in the crook of your neck. His nose bumped against your ear, tickling you and drawing out a soft laugh.

“Morning, baby,” Frank whispered against your ear.

You tugged the pillow off your face, turning your head so you could press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Morning,” you whispered against his smile.

You turned your body around, letting Frank pull you tight against his chest. You breathed in, savoring that familiar scent that just seemed to come with Frank. You wanted to stay like this for the rest of the day—unfortunately, you had work.

The alarm started blaring again. You groaned, which only made Frank laugh. He reached back blindly for his phone and shut it off.

“We better get up before we’re late.”

You slapped a hand over your face.

“Oh God. No. I refuse.”

Frank laughed again and tugged you even closer as you let your body sink deeper into the mattress. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Just think—tomorrow we’re both off. No alarms. No trauma bays. No patients throwing up on my shoes.”

His lips dragged along your cheek.

“We can stay in bed as long as we want… go to Altius for dinner… and then I’m taking you home, and you’re gonna be screaming my name all night long.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Frank.”

He kissed that spot just under your ear—the one he knew turned you into absolute putty. 

“What? I’m motivating you.”

When he pulled back, you brushed your nose against his, leaning in for another kiss.

“First we have to work twelve hours,” he whispered against your mouth.

You moved back with a dramatic groan.

“Way to ruin the moment.”

The smell of stale coffee and antiseptic hit as soon as you walked through the double doors. You and Frank ended up standing shoulder to shoulder at the board, your name already splattered under three cases.

“Looks like I’ve got a possible radius and ulna fracture,” you said. “What’d they give you, Frankie?”

He squinted at his line. “A fuckin’ abscess drainage. I swear they’re assigning me the boring ones on purpose.”

You bumped your elbow into him. “That’s because you need to be nicer to people.”

Frank turned like he was ready to protest, then your offer sank in. “You’re taking the abscess?” he said, eyes brightening.

You shrugged, casual. “Sure. You can take the fracture. Grab Mel and knock it out.”

He leaned in until his lips brushed your ear.

“God, you’ve never been sexier. I’m tempted to bend you over the nurses’ station right now.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him lightly.

“Calm down, cowboy. This just means you owe me. Next case I don’t want? You’re taking it. No complaints.”

He backed away with that stupid wink.

“You got it, baby.”

As you walked toward Dana, she shook her head at the sight of Frank disappearing into the hall.

“You are way too nice to him,” she muttered.

“It’s my weakness,” you said, because… yeah. It was.

You found Javardi triple-checking her pockets like she’d misplaced her entire existence.

“Javardi!” you called. “Have you seen an abscess drainage before?”

She perked up. “Not in the ED. I’ve only seen videos.”

“Perfect. You’ll observe this one with me. Ask whatever you need. And then I’ll have Dana assign us the next abscess that comes in — that one’s yours. Deal?”

Her eyes widened like you’d just handed her a Christmas bonus.

“Yes! Thank you!”

The patient was in his late fifties, a big guy, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. His chart said thigh abscess. The swelling under the blanket confirmed it.

“Hello, Mr. Bernstein,” you said warmly. “I’ll be your doctor today, and this is Dr. Javardi — she’ll be observing. I understand you have an abscess. How long has this been going on?”

“A week and a half,” he grunted. “Hurts like hell. I don’t even know what I did.”

“They can be really painful,” you said gently. “Today we’ll numb the area, drain it, and get you started on antibiotics and pain control. You may need to come back in a couple days for a dressing change. Any questions?”

“No. Let’s do it.”

You pulled the instrument tray closer. Behind you, Javardi laid out the supplies with careful precision.

“Alright, I’m going to disinfect the area and then inject lidocaine for numbing,” you explained. “The lidocaine burns — I’m sorry in advance.”

As you swabbed the skin, Bernstein glanced at Javardi.

“You a student doctor?”

She smiled shyly. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s impressive. Congrats. What year are you?”

You weren’t paying much attention to the exchange — just focusing on getting this guy fixed up and out of the room as fast as possible. There were other people who needed the bed.

Maybe if you had been listening, you would’ve noticed how he wasn’t even looking at Javardi as she chattered nervously about being a student doctor. Maybe you would’ve caught the exact moment his eyes flicked to the scalpel. The precise second his body leaned forward to grab it.

But you weren’t paying attention.

So you didn’t notice any of it until white-hot pain exploded in your side.

Everything happened at once.

Javardi’s scream tore through the room. The sound that came out of you wasn’t even a scream—more like the air had been punched out of your lungs all at once. Your hand flew to your side, warm blood already slicking your fingers.

Dana burst through the doorway, eyes wide as she searched for the source of the scream. When she saw you slumped on the floor, your palm stained red, she didn’t hesitate.

“Code white! Security — I need security!”

Robby and Ahmed barreled in behind her, going straight for Bernstein. The room detonated into chaos: shouting, the crash of a rolling cart, Bernstein snarling something incoherent as he fought them.

But all of it felt… weirdly distant. Your vision wasn’t focusing the way it should. Your ears rang. The pain was white-hot, stabbing—and then somehow ice-cold underneath.

Dana dropped to her knees beside you, eyes huge. “Jesus—okay, okay—pressure, we need pressure on that wound—Javardi, get Langdon, now!”

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Dana pressed down on your side, and you let out a raw, broken groan.

“I know, hon. I’m sorry, I know. I have to keep you from bleeding out.”

Frank barreled into the room like someone had launched him from a canon. He didn’t even look at Bernstein or the chaos around him — his eyes found you instantly.

He froze.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Then he dropped to the floor beside you, hands cupping your face, his voice too calm to be real.

“Hey, baby. I’m here. Look at me. Don’t worry.”

His gaze flicked down to where Dana’s hands were drenched in your blood. His eyes snapped back up, meeting Dana’s — her expression mirroring exactly what he felt.

You swallowed hard, tasting metal.

“Frankie…”

“Stay with me, baby,” he blurted, breath shaking. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, okay?”

“We need to move her, Frank — if we don’t, she’ll—” Dana stammered.

“I know!” Frank snapped, louder than you’d ever heard him.

But it wasn’t anger that made him raise his voice — it was fear. Dana knew that, so she didn’t take it personally.

Javardi was talking to Robby, stumbling through an explanation about how she hadn’t seen it coming, how there were no signs of distress. Robby called for Princess, asking her to take Javardi somewhere else — the girl was clearly in shock. Princess nodded, guiding her out by the shoulders. As they passed you, you could hear Javardi sobbing apologies the whole way out.

Someone touched Frank’s shoulder, snapping his attention upward. Mel crouched beside him, her expression sharp and focused.

“What do you need?” she asked.

Frank didn’t hesitate.

“You’re gonna take over pressure. You have to be aggressive. I don’t care if she screams — she’ll bleed out otherwise.”

You barely inhaled before Mel and Dana switched hands.

The scream tore out of you before you could stop it.

Frank gathered you into his arms, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

“We’re going to the trauma bay. Mel — keep that pressure. Don’t stop. One, two, three—”

He stood, muscles tensing as he carried you out while Mel kept her hands clamped to your side.

People jumped out of the way. You heard gasps, someone calling for a crash cart, a nurse shouting to prep a trauma room.

Frank’s breath was hot and ragged against your hair.

“Stay awake,” he kept saying. “Baby, stay awake. Don’t do this.”

Bright lights. Cold air. Too many hands.

They lowered you onto the bed, and you cried out when Mel’s pressure shifted for even a second. Perla grabbed scissors, slicing open your scrubs and exposing the full wound. It wasn’t small. A sickening amount of blood pooled beneath you.

Frank’s voice cracked.

“Fuck.”

Robby rushed in beside you.

“I need TXA on board now! Give me ketamine, two bags of O-neg STAT! Langdon, keep her with you!”

Frank cupped your cheek with blood-soaked fingers, forcing your gaze up to his.

“Hey. I’m right here. Stay with me. Stay calm.”

Your vision shimmered. Your ears buzzed.

Frank tried to smile.

“You always said if you were ever hurt you’d want Robby as your doctor instead of me. That’s still kinda rude, by the way.”

You actually felt a weak flicker of amusement.

Your hand — slippery with blood — lifted halfway before you could stop it. Frank caught it instantly, pressing it to his mouth.

“Frankie…” you gurgled.

His breathing faltered.

Behind him, a monitor beeped erratically.

Then— It didn’t.

A flat, continuous tone filled the room.

Everyone froze.

Frank’s head whipped toward the monitor.

“No,” he whispered.

The world went silent.

Robby shouted from somewhere far away, “Push epi! Start compressions! Now!”

Frank snapped back into motion and climbed onto the gurney, starting compressions himself. A sickening crack echoed—your sternum giving way.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered raggedly as he pumped your chest. “But you’re not leaving me. You don’t get to leave.”

Minutes stretched—endless, brutal.

Twenty minutes later, Robby’s voice was quiet.

“Frank… it’s time.”

“No!” Frank barked, still compressing. “We keep going! She’s not gone!”

He leaned down, forehead pressing to yours.

“Tomorrow—I was gonna propose. The ring’s hidden in my locker, top shelf. You can’t miss that. You promised me a lifetime, baby—don’t you dare—”

Dana’s voice broke. “Frank… she’s gone.”

His entire body trembled. Tears streamed down his face as he choked, “We’re supposed to get married. Have kids. Grow old. I love her. I love her—”

Robby placed his hands on Frank’s. “Frank… time of death is 11:42.”

Frank collapsed over you with a raw, broken sound no one in the room would ever forget.

Mel never stopped applying pressure.

And then—

A blip on the monitor.

Another.

Robby turned. “Dana—pulse check!”

“I have something!” Dana gasped.

“Dr. King—on the gurney. DO NOT lift your hand. Hang another liter. Push norepi. OR, now!”

Frank kissed your forehead before they raced you out of the room. He stood there shaking, covered in your blood.

Robby took his shoulders. “We got her back. She has a shot. Garcia will take care of her. She’s a fighter.”

Frank sobbed. “This was my case. She switched with me.”

“No,” Robby said firmly. “Don’t do that. You saved her. Those compressions saved her.”

Frank broke, pulling Robby into a hug. “Thank you for not giving up on her.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking. Mel’s the one who kept pressure even after we called it. She’s the one who gave her a chance.”

Robby patted Frank’s back as he finally pulled away from the hug.

“She’s gonna make it, Frank.”

He nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the door they’d wheeled you through. Robby left the room, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts for a moment.

He felt exhausted all of a sudden, the adrenaline that had been pumping through him finally draining from his body. He stumbled out of the room, his eyes immediately finding Mel talking to Robby. Her scrubs and hands were covered in blood.

Your blood.

Frank’s stomach lurched at the sight, but he forced himself to walk toward her anyway. Mel’s head snapped over to him at the sound of his shoes against the floor.

“Dr. Langdon, they’ve started the procedure, she’s—”

But before she could finish, Frank stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, desperate hug. Mel let out a startled sound. Frank’s voice broke against her shoulder.

 “God, you saved her, Mel. You fuckin’ saved her. I can’t thank you enough.”

Mel awkwardly patted his back, still clearly unsure of what to do.

“You’re welcome, Dr. Langdon.”

When he finally let her go Dana was at his side, her hand moving to rest on his back as she gave him a soft look.

“Frank. Go shower. I promise—if we hear anything, I’ll come get you myself.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, like leaving the hallway meant abandoning you somehow—but Dana just held his stare. Eventually his shoulders dropped, and he nodded.

The locker room felt wrong. Too quiet. Too normal. Frank stripped out of his blood-soaked scrubs with shaking hands. When he stepped under the water, the red spiraled down the drain in thin, diluted streams. He pressed his palms to the tile and let the water hit the back of his neck. His chest hurt. His eyes burned. His breath kept catching in that half-sob way he couldn't stop.

By the time he walked out, hair still dripping, fresh scrubs clinging to him, Javardi was waiting. Her face crumpled as soon as she saw him. Frank could tell just from looking at her that she'd been crying just as much as he had. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I froze. I got in the way. I should’ve—”

Frank let out a sigh, his hand moving to rest gently on Javardi’s shoulder as her face twisted into a deep frown.

“This wasn’t your fault, Javardi. You couldn’t have known what he was going to do—there weren’t any signs. You said so yourself.”

Javardi stared at him, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? Just go home. Get some rest.”

She nodded, crying even harder, and backed away down the hallway.

Hours later, you slowly slipped into consciousness.

Everything hurt. A deep, throbbing, full-body ache that made your breath stutter. When you tried to shift—even a little—a sharp stab tore through your side, and you let out a groan.

Frank jerked awake instantly.

His head had been resting on the mattress beside you, his fingers tangled with yours. His eyes shot open—red, puffy, glassy. He looked wrecked.

You blinked at him, your voice scratchy. “Frankie… you look terrible.”

He let out a weak laugh—half relief, half broken sob. “You literally died, and that’s the first thing you say?”

You tried to laugh, but the motion made your voice twist in pain. Frank immediately shushed you, lifting from his seat so he could press a soft kiss to your temple.

“God, I love you,” he whispered against your skin—skin that, thankfully, was no longer cold and clammy like it had been the last time he kissed you.

“I love you too.” You squeezed his hand as best you could as he settled back into his seat.

For a long moment he just stared at you, drinking in the fact that you were alive—breathing—talking. The adrenaline was gone, but the terror still clung to him.

“What… what happened?” you whispered.

Frank swallowed thickly.

“We almost lost you.” His voice cracked. “We did lose you. For a minute.” He dropped his forehead to your hand. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You smiled faintly. “I’ll try my best.”

Frank let out this shaky little laugh at your words — the kind of sound someone makes after almost drowning. It lasted all of two seconds before the smile fell right off his face.

He went quiet. Completely still. And then his chin wobbled. His breath hitched. His eyes filled again, overflowing before he even tried to stop it.

“Frank…” you whispered.

He shook his head like he was mad at himself for breaking. A tear hit the blanket near your hip. You squeezed his hand weakly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. 

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”

His shoulders caved inward, like everything he’d been holding back finally punched through.

“I was so fucking scared,” he choked out. “I thought—God, I thought I lost you for good.”

You dragged in a slow breath, ignoring the ache that lanced through your ribs. 

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked at you, like he still didn’t quite believe it. Then he let out this humorless little scoff.

“Life’s too fucking short, isn’t it?”

You blinked, confused. “Frank…?”

He inhaled sharply, sat back just a bit, and wiped his face with the heel of his hand. Then his gaze softened in this heartbreaking way, and he shook his head.

“I was gonna wait,” he said quietly. “Better circumstances, you know? Something romantic. Something… not this.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly.

He swallowed hard. “But after today? After watching you—after hearing that monitor—” His voice cracked again. “You never know what’s gonna happen. So I’m done waiting. I’m done pretending I’m not ready.”

He reached into the pocket of his scrub pants — the new pair Dana forced him into — and pulled out a small, black velvet box. His hand shook.

Your breath caught, and pain flared in your torso. You let out a soft gasp.

 “Frank—are you seriously proposing to me while I’m lying in a hospital bed?”

He gave a watery laugh. 

“Yeah. I guess I am.” His thumb brushed the lid of the box. “So… what do you say?”

You stared at him — at his wrecked face, his trembling lip, his desperate, hopeful eyes — and your heart swelled painfully in a way that had nothing to do with your injuries.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Frank let out a relieved, broken laugh that instantly dissolved into more tears. He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to yours, careful of all your lines and bandages.

“Thank God,” he breathed. “Thank God.”

He kissed your hand — over and over — whispering your name each time like a prayer.

Frank slid the ring onto your finger with hands that were still trembling, letting out a shaky breath like he’d been holding it for hours. His eyes flicked up to yours, still glossy but finally… lighter.

“So,” he murmured, giving you that crooked, exhausted smile, “how’s it feel to be Mrs. Langdon?”

You blinked, took the smallest inhale — and immediately regretted it.

“Honestly?” you rasped. “Like shit.”

There was half a beat of silence before Frank barked out a laugh, trying to smother it against your arm.

You groaned, “No—don’t make me laugh, it hurts—”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, absolutely not sorry, still laughing through what might’ve been lingering tears.

You started laughing too, breathy and pained but real, and reached over to squeeze his hand. “God, we’re a disaster.”

Frank dropped his forehead against your arm, still smiling. “Yeah. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You thought that you were one of the easier residents to work with. 

Each harder case to come through the front doors went right over to your eager hands without any arguments, you taking the tablet with a nod and steeled nerves. Robby knew you could handle anything that got thrown at you, and his trust meant a lot, his nods and compliments healing something deep in your chest. 

With you, patient satisfaction scores came up, much to the appeal of your seniors. And again, that little twanging flutter made you push to feel it more often. It made you want to be someone that everyone could count on to be there. 

In the Pitt, friendships and comradery were two things that got everyone through shifts; whether they were easy going ones where the worst case through the doors happened to be a broken leg, or they ended with death and loss over and over in a seemingly never-ending cycle. Everyone needed someone, and you always wanted to be the person that others could come to when they needed a hug or a shoulder to cry on. A smile always seemed to be on your face, and even through the worst traumas, you rarely cried, needing to at least be one strong person in a room full of broken souls. 

However, that meant that sometimes, people forgot that you were able to break too. 

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop after what seemed like the longest 4th of July shift you’ve ever experienced while working at PTMC. The hours were filled with an abandoned baby, two new med students, obnoxious assholes, your boyfriend coming in with a bullet wound to the back, a brand-new attending and her AI charting system, the cyber-attack taking away said AI charting system, and probably most draining, Robby acting like he wasn’t going to come back after his three-month sabbatical, putting everyone on edge and making it seem like they had to walk on egg shells. Even you, after many suggestions of trying to talk him into staying local from multiple different people, weren’t able to get a clear answer from him, and that made it all worse somehow. 

Since dating Jack, you’d weirdly been able to form a closer friendship with the older chief attending that ran farther than a normal boss-coworker relationship. Trying to count the times he came over to Jack’s for dinner or a late-night Steeler’s game would be impossible. You got to see another friendlier and more open version of the man that had only ever been reserved for his closest confidant. So, to not be able to know if he’d come back safely, had your heart racing the entire day. 

Add on everything else (still backtracking to Jack getting shot at—he made sure to tell you that there was indeed a difference), you were closer to a breaking point than you’d been in a long while. 

“Here you go, hun. I think this is the last one before you can get outta here,” Dana sighed as she handed over a paper chart. “To think that we started out the day with robots taking over the chart, and we end it with writing each one individually.”

Your hand cramped at the thought of writing another chart, but you took it from her anyway. “Remind me to keep a hand brace in my locker at all times,” you groaned. “I think my fingers are withering away.” 

“Shocking Abbot doesn’t have on in that go-bag of his.” 

“He has an emergency trach kit but not a measly brace.” You rolled your shoulders, the muscles tight and thickened with nerves and tension. “I’m taking his card after this and booking us both massages.” 

“Amen, sista,” Dana muttered, eyes transfixed on her hand-written nurses board. “At least he’s good for something.” 

You snorted, the sound unfamiliar for the day. “Don’t tell him that, or he’ll want to come with us. I made a monster the last time I brought him with me for a facial, and now he insists to join me every single time.” 

“Uh, Dr. (L/n)?” Dennis asked, his voice carrying over your shoulder in a nervous tone. 

Your neck twisted, and you winced slightly at the pop it gave. “Yes, Whitaker? Still haven’t found your badge?” 

His lips pursed. “No; still haven’t found it, but I actually had a question for you.” 

“Shoot.” 

“Not to throw her under the bus, but Trinity might have mentioned you had an extra energy drink?” he said as more of a question than a statement, and it made your lips curve at his nervous nature. “A-and I was maybe wondering if—” 

“If you could have it?” you finished. “Sure. It’s in the fridge with my name on a sticky note.” 

Dennis smiled largely, and his chest fell with a big exhale. “Thank you so much. I swear I’ll pay you back.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” You waved a hand through the air. “Can’t have you falling asleep here during the last leg.” 

When you turned back to Dana after Dennis left in the direction of the breakroom, she already had a knowing look on her face, eyebrows cocked and grey eyes trained on you over her glasses. Heat rushed to your cheeks. 

“What?” you asked, doing your best not to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t going to drink it anyway.” 

“Sure you weren’t. It’s not like I heard you tell Abbot earlier about how much you were looking forward to drinking it.” 

You glanced over your shoulder. “He obviously needs it more than I do. Plus, he has other things like his bills to worry about. If a can of Monster gets him through the evening, then I’ll let him take mine.” 

Because your eyes had gone back down to the chart midway, you missed the downcast of Dana’s expression. “You still have to worry about bills too, hun. Until you’re Jack’s age, they’re going to forever be a pain in your ass.” 

You huffed. “One Monster isn’t going to make me go broke.” You paused. “Plus, Jack bought it, so his loss really.” 

She tapped her pen on the counter twice. “Then you can take it up with him after you finish that chart. But don’t go too hard, Lord knows you’re one of the hardest working ones here. Abbot better get you the nicest Uber home.” 

A warmth bloomed in your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks, always one to get a reaction out of the simplest of words. Dana could tell you that you did a good job tying your shoelaces, and her praise would mean more than anything else. 

In response, you only shook your head before clicking a pen open to start writing in the chart. The words came easily enough, your fingers actually cooperating with you to make the lettering legible enough that someone could easily transfer your notes once the systems were fully back on. To your right, you heard a crisp crack and chuckled. 

Dennis certainly wasn’t one to wait when a cold Monster dropped right into his hands. 

Almost to the halfway point in the chart was when you heard both Dennis’s and Victoria’s voices carry over the loud ED. You tried your best to concentrate; once you were finished, you got to kiss Jack goodbye and then go back to your shared home where you knew your bed and dinner were waiting for you. You could almost imagine it: the post-work bath, the warmed up left overs, then drifting right off to sleep only to wake up twelve hours later in Jack’s arms, something that only happened when you both had the day off, and July 5th happened to be just that. 

“Did you ever find your ID badge?” Victoria asked Dennis, and you couldn’t help but frown; the poor kid had been looking for it all day. 

“Uh, no,” Dennis answered after taking a sip from the can. “So, you any closer to deciding what’s next for you?” 

“Uh, yeah. I’m seriously considering law school.” 

Your brow quirked. Law school? Well, she was young enough to switch everything if she wanted to. 

Dennis choked on a swallow. “What? What are you talking about? You’re going to be a great doctor.” 

She scoffed lowly. “I mean, no offense, but look what this place does to you.” 

Your pen stopped against the page, and your stomach tightened. By now, you were listening with purpose, unable to quit even if you knew better than to eavesdrop in on their conversation. Yet, they were talking rather loudly in the middle of the hub, so you probably weren’t the only one who caught their words. 

Victoria continued. “Langdon’s an addict.” 

You blanched. What? 

Dennis was quick to correct her. “Is a person with substance use disorder.” 

“McKay was on house arrest,” she continued, not heading his words at all. “Dana’s a time bomb.” 

A frown took over your mouth, and an ugly feeling roared its head in your center. If there was one person who wasn’t a time bomb, they’d be Dana, the charge nurse who had seemingly never-ending patience, a caregiver who rushed into danger moments after hearing Hula Hoop!, a woman who pushed herself up and worked through a mass casualty after a man abused her in the ambulance bay. Through it all, Dana had persevered, and Victoria had the audacity to call her a time bomb. Your fingers curled white-knuckled around the pen, and you had half a mind to turn around and speak up, but you stayed silent, wanting to hear what she had to say about your coworkers. 

“Santos is one of the angriest people you are ever going to meet.” 

“Woah. Sarcastic, yes. Cynical, definitely. I don’t know if she’s, you know—” 

“Mel?” she interrupted before pausing like she couldn’t come up with something vicious for a the most innocent of your colleges. “Samira has no life. Abbot’s an adrenaline junkie who gets shot at for fun.” 

Now, anger roared its head and bubbled under your skin. What does she fucking know about Jack’s need to keep going because he feels like if he stops, he’ll quit living. You’d been there to hold him through the bad days, through all of his deepest darkest fears and doubts that if he didn’t have a purpose, no one would want him. You swallowed thickly, and when you blinked, the chart suddenly became blurry through glossy eyes. 

“Robby’s got, like PTSD or something way fucking worse.” 

Your breath hitched high in your throat. For more years than Victoria had even been alive, Robby had seen the worst of the world. You knew he’d been abandoned at a young age, but everyone else knew he had to make the decision to take his mentor off life support in hopes to give a younger life a fighting chance, only for them both to end up six feet under. He carried the responsibility of every single employee on his shoulders even if they didn’t want him to. He was tired, he was scared, he was angry, and all she could say was that he is basically fucked mentally. You shifted your weight, ready to turn around and speak your mind, but like self-torture, your name was next on her list, and this time, the ER went silent to hear it all.  

“And don’t get me started on Dr. (L/n). The poor girl has an obvious case of validation addiction and depression, plus, dating a senior attending? Talk about daddy issues.” 

It was as if all the breath was stolen from your lungs, and inhaling became immensely difficult. You tried your best to take in deep inhales, but your chest refused to cooperate with your brain’s need for oxygen. A high-pitched ringing overtook your hearing, fogging up and overpowering anything that followed. Slowly, you looked up from where your eyes had stayed glued to the chart, and your stomach dropped even further when you met not only Dana’s eyes, but what felt like the whole departments’ including Jack’s, who had just managed to make it in before Victoria had even said your name. 

He had been there for all of it. He'd heard her.

Your jaw dropped, and your shoulders hunched in jerky motions as you tried to say something—anything, but she had managed to rendered you speechless in three measly sentences and make you feel the most vulnerable you’d ever been. Everyone who was looking at you now knew something you’d tried to hide through consistent smiles and a small dosage of Lexapro to get you through the day. But now, with your soul bared wide open by someone who didn’t understand what loving an ER did to a person, nothing seemed to make it all feel better. 

You shakily looked around the room, pen dropping from your hand as you began to back up from the counter. For a split second, you met Victoria’s dark eyes and guilt-ridden expression, but it was too late for her to take anything back. In a shuddering breath, you turned and hastily walked in the direction of the stairwell, failing to meet Jack’s eyes after brushing right past him and Robby, taking two steps at a time to get somewhere with air once you got to the stairs. 

And you had only one place in mind with enough air to last a lifetime: the roof. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Jack’s jaw clenched to the point his teeth hurt as the med student’s words rang through his head. 

He could probably piece together that you weren’t the only one she talked loudly about, but in that moment, you were the only one that mattered. His hand tightened around the strap of his bag. He left Robby standing there with his arms crossed against his chest and walked over to where she and Whitaker were standing. 

By the time he reached her, the Pitt had delved back into quiet motion, however, that didn't mean a few had stuck around to possibly hear what Jack was about to say or see what he was about to do.

Loudly placing his bag down in a thunk that echoed through the hub, the room still reeling with the too-loud ill-thought words thrown at you, one of their most trustworthy residents they’d ever had. Jack made sure to square his shoulders to be as intimidating as he hoped he could come across. His hazel eyes burned with an unfiltered rage as he looked down.

“I don’t know what led you to this little . . . gossip name-calling session at the end of your shift, but what you have just said is completely inappropriate and absolutely disrespectful to one of your superiors,” he stated lowly, voice close to a growl. “And frankly, I don’t care if you’re tired, or if this is a slip up of not thinking straight. You have just made a very strong accusation about my partner. And once her name came out of your mouth, all bets of me reprimanding you as an attending flew off the table.”

Javadi felt the blood drain from her face. “Dr. Abbot, I didn’t mean—” 

“But you did,” he cut her off. “You’re only backtracking now because we all heard you—she heard you. Do you know exactly what you’ve done?”

When she failed to answer, Jack scoffed. 

“Fine, I will tell you what you’ve done so that it can sit with you for the rest of your weekend. Dr. (L/n) works her ass off to be approachable. She never complains, never staggers under pressure, and is one of the best fucking people within these walls, and you have just belittled everything she does for this damn hospital. She gets praised because she’s great, not because she’s a little attention seeking med student,” he cracked, not holding back at all. “You should know a bit about that. You graduated and went to college at what? Sixteen?” 

Jack knew he lowballed it just for her to quietly correct him with a meek thirteen. He clicked his tongue loudly against his cheek. 

“What do they call you kids these days too? Nepo-babies? Your mom works upstairs, and you’re down here desperately trying to hide away from her and make a name for yourself. Well, let me tell you something, kid, this—” He gestured to her and then around the hub with a flick of his wrist. “—this is not the way to go about things. You don’t get to loudly judge others and expect there to not be reprimand and get away with it.” 

He leaned against the counter and tilted his chin back. “You’re studying to be a doctor, for fucks sake. What if you’d been saying this shit about a patient, and their family overheard you? Your scores would tank, and then you might have to repeat a whole year because you couldn’t find the dignity to keep your thoughts to yourself. This is not the standard of care we’d give to patients and certainly not one we give to coworkers who have never given us, and especially you, grief for anything.” 

Taking a deep breath, Jack tried to relax, but just remembering the devastation on your face kept the fire rolling. 

“My relationship with Dr. (L/n) is and will always be no one’s business. If she wants to date an older guy, one who happens to be me, it doesn’t automatically mean someone has daddy issues,” he spat, the words curdling in his mouth. “It means that she was comfortable enough to go for someone who knows the right way to treat a woman, and I will not stand here and let you think for one more second that she is not capable of carrying for herself.”

Jack pushed off the counter and really looked into her eyes one more time, making sure everything really stuck. “Most of the superiors in here have been working in medicine longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve had to live with the repercussions of war far longer than you’ve been alive. Once you’ve gotten a true taste of what this world can do to a person, come find me, and we’ll have a real discussion about how adults find ways to cope with it all without killing ourselves every night.” 

He turned around without a second thought, leaving behind a more than embarrassed med student and a hub full of coworkers who understood every word he had said deeper than they’d like to admit. But he couldn’t think of any of them now, not with you and the roof on his mind. He hated the way his stomach flipped and twisted as he rode the elevator upwards, leg not able to handle the stairs so early into putting his prosthesis back on after working the few hours after the SWAT raid he manage to do plus little sleep in time to kiss you goodbye after your shift. 

Jack was never one for religion, but he prayed that he’d find you behind the railing instead of in front of it. Hell, he’d rather you be on the other side than not even on the roof anymore. His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he willed the machine to go faster. He didn’t dare breathe even when it finally dinged open, body rushing forward through the familiar motion of the journey to the roof, one he’d taken way too many times to count. 

When he pushed open the heavy door to reveal the roof being swallowed in the setting sun, the tension in his body bled out only slightly at the sight of you standing there, closer to the edge than he first hoped. His steps crunched into the gravel, and he guessed that you knew he was there even if you refused to turn around. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said carefully but not like talking to a spooked animal. Jack knew better than to treat you like that, or he’d be going against everything he just said downstairs. “Mind if I stand here with you?” 

You sniffed loudly, and Jack watched the way your one hand rose to rub a hand at your face, indicating that you were crying. Your neck bent as you looked down at the road below and all the glowing ant-sized cars and people, mind running with the thought of how long it’d take to get down to the bottom. 

“I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking,” Jack started again, taking a full step forward to be closer to you. “But I know you, and I can take big guess that you’re telling yourself that she’s right.” 

The smallest nod of your head sent Jack’s heart down to his toes. 

“Cause she is,” you warbled, voice thick with emotions too big to keep inside. “She is right. I-I thought I did a better job at hiding, but she read me like a damn book.” 

“No,” he responded. “No, she didn’t. She’s far from right, and I hate that you think she is, because how she described you is nothing like how I or anyone else sees you, baby. You’re strong; you don’t have a validation addiction. Fucking everyone loves a compliment, and in our line of work those are few and far between. So, when you get one, it’s special.” 

You sobbed a bit harder at his attempt to make you seem normal . . . at least what normal meant in your mind. 

“And who gives a shit if you do like them more than others; just means you’re more in-tuned with what you know you like. I, for one, am grateful for that because instead of telling me to fuck off, old man—” He spoke in a higher pitch that wasn’t anywhere near your voice to speak. 

You gave him a small giggle as a reward, and Jack smiled. 

“You let me take you to dinner; you let me, a tired, grumpy old man who’s still wears his wedding ring because he’s scared of forgetting and being forgotten, love you.” 

That finally got you to turn around, and the glare you tried to send his way was a bit more pitiful than you were probably trying for, but his heart fluttered as your personality slowly peaked through the sadness. 

“You’re not that old . . . or grumpy,” you muttered before holding your hand out. 

Jack took it without hesitation, fingers curling around yours, arm holding up your weight while you stepped over the railing. He wasted no time in tugging your hand once your two feet were planted to wrap you in a hug. He felt you sigh heavily against him, body dropping into his chest as everything drained out of you. Jack pressed a small kiss to your temple. 

“Baby, I’m fifty. If that’s not old, I’m scared of what old feels like in twenty years.” 

You laughed softly before going quiet. “I don’t know why I came up here. I shouldn’t have run away like that.” 

Jack huffed. “You needed to get out and get some air; that’s not running away. I’m actually proud that you came up here.” 

"I'll make sure not to take your spot." Your cheek shifted until the top of your head tucked beneath his chin. “I want to go home, but I don’t want to face any of them.” 

“Can always sneak you down the outside stairs.” 

“But then I won’t get to say goodbye to Robby.” You inhaled sharply. “God, I hope he didn’t hear what she said about him,” you whimpered, suddenly overwhelmed with the weight of Victoria’s words. 

"Mike's a big boy. If he couldn't take a few harsh words, he would have quit a long time ago." Jack squeezed you a bit tighter. “But, I talked to him, and he’s going to stay in the area for a bit longer. Still needs that vacation, but he owes us at least one more movie night. We’ll walk down together and get you home.” 

You pulled back enough to look him in the face. “Your shift?” 

“I don’t care about my shift right now. Plus, with the fireworks, I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate as well as I could. John’ll cover if I bribe him with free Dunkin' for a month.”  

"Maybe I'll add in to make it two," you muttered, sighing at the end. "Let's go back down the normal way." 

Jack's brows pinched tightly together. "Sweetheart, we don't have to—" 

"It'll be better for me to rip the Band-Aid off than worry about this for the rest of the weekend." Your eyes cast downward to your feet. "It's not like she can say anything worse." 

"If she even tries—" 

"Which she probably won't," you gently said in attempts to placate him, hand rubbing gently rubbing at his chest. "I just want to go home . . . please." 

His heart melted just at bit, the please resonating in his soul, quenching the fire to replace it with the need to provide for you. So, instead of fighting, he nodded. 

"We'll get you home, sweetheart." 

Without waiting, you pulled on his hand, leading him back toward the door. Unlike the first elevator ride up, Jack was less anxious, however, he disliked the way you seemed to be moving with nerves, hand shaking, body swaying. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and he never hesitated to step in if you needed. 

He heard the shaky breath you sucked in right as the elevator doors opened. His hand kept a tight hold on yours while he led you back through to the lockers, keeping a watchful eye out for anyone. Thankfully though, the hallway was empty, and it took you no time to put your code in, grab your stuff, and slide your hand back into his. 

You were almost home free, the side door in sight that led to the employee parking, when a shout of your name behind had you freezing, eyes widened as the voice computed in your brain, the one that would now be etched forever with venom dripping from her lips. 

"You don't have to turn around," Jack muttered, but you had already started twisting. 

"Yes, Javadi?" you asked softly, not being able to ignore her even if you tried. 

Her hands wrung together as she looked at you with big eyes. She looked like she was about to say something before she halted. 

"I just . . ." she trailed, obviously not ready to say what she wanted. "I want to apologize for what I said in there. I have no excuse, and I wanted to say sorry before you left. So, I'm sorry." 

Your tongue ran across your lips, but your mouth was left dry. Your mind ran with so many things to respond with, but nothing would form enough for you to actually speak them. 

"It's fine," you settled on the familiar excuse. 

Jack tensed at your side. "It's not fine—" He stopped when your hand squeezed his a bit tighter, silently telling him to drop it. 

You pursed your lips. "Have a nice rest of your weekend." 

Jack finally took that moment to turn you back around and lead you out the door, leaving Victoria in the empty hallway. The sight of Jack's truck felt like heaven opening up with an angel chorus. 

One small trip, and then you'd be home, and Jack had a whole evening to prove that you were more than demeaning gossip. And he'd make sure by the end of the night, you'd be nothing but mindless enough to agree with everything he told you.

“Good?” Tucker’s eyebrows raise as he awaits his friend’s reply, “I hope?”

Logan’s brow lace together as he snarls, “You hope? That shit is delicious, Tuck!”

Tucker smiles, “Thank you. Really, dude. Thanks.” He turns to his phone, scrolling through his Spotify before he looks back up to John, “What’re you thinking?”

Logan’s eyes shift over to where you and Allie dance, “Whatever keeps those two dancing. I haven’t seen this kind of entertainment since Dean and Graham went streaking on the ice sophomore year.”

“What have I missed?” Dean’s wide hands playfully slap down onto Tuck’s shoulders, scanning the room before his gaze quickly falls back to his friends, “Busy night, huh?”

John Logan nods as he braces his hands on the kitchen island, “Damn right, Di Laurentis. Packed house, yet again.”

“I haven’t seen this many people in our house since fall semester. I’m just happy no one’s called the cops.. Coach would kill us,” Tucker slightly shakes his head before stress eating an hor d'oeuvre. “Maybe we should shut things down? Call it a night? The house is definitely beyond capacity.”

“Hell no!” Dean protests, rubbing his hands together as he walks around the island and towards the crowd. “Let's ride things out and see where the night takes us, huh?”

“Whatever you say, man,” Logan’s eyes remain on where you continue to dance. A ridiculous smile spreads across his face as he sees you and Allie start to scream hearing the beginning notes of some Charli XCX song.

“You know you can go talk to her, right?” Dean says as he nods towards the living room. “Just because she’s our physical therapist doesn’t mean you can’t converse with her. We’re all adults here.”

John’s forehead creases as his eyes shift back to his friends, “I thought Garret said she has a fiance?”

“Nah, man.. I haven’t seen a ring on her finger,” Dean’s brows raise as he eyes Logan. “She’d have a ring on her finger right now if she were engaged.” All three men stare, trying to scope out an engagement ring on your finger.

“What the hell are you guys looking at?” Jules says, startling the hockey players. 

Logan turns towards Dean, looking embarrassed as he looks down at his sibling. He shrugs, slightly shaking his head, unable to find the words to say.

“Alright, Fifth Line. What’s the deal with Stretch?” Dean leans towards Jules. “Why did she leave MU?”

Jules inhales with a hiss, “She actually got fired from Minnesota.”

“There’s no way she got fired,” Beau interjects as he saunters up behind the boys. “She puts up with all of us idiots daily, and then puts up with you idiots too. I dare say she might be a saint. No one fires a saint.” He takes a sip of his beer.

“She has to be a saint to have put up with the assholes at Minnesota,” Dean shakes his head. “So pretentious and entitled.”

“Wait,” Tuck sounds concerned as he pulls out his phone. “We play Minnesota tomorrow, do we not?” He scrolls and clicks on the screen before laying his phone down on the countertop. 

ROUND THREE: BRIAR HAWKS V MINNESOTA FROST 6 PM

“Shit,” they all collectively curse before directing their attention to where you and Allie dance.

Jules blinks before making a face, “Well, that’s not gonna be good.”

“Yeah, it’ll probably be super awkward,” Tucker puts his phone back into his pocket. 

Jules' head shakes, “It’s not as simple as her just ‘getting fired’. She got fired after accusing three MU hockey players of sexual assault... I thought this was known news.”

The guys turn towards Jules immediately, shocked and disgusted at hearing what you had endured. 

“What?” Logan’s voice is flat, his nostrils flair as he grips the liquor bottle in his hand.

“Yeah,” Jules takes another sip of their drink. “Her case didn't even make it to court, which is insane because of what she accused them of doing to her.” Their eyes roll before glancing over to you, “At least she’s made friends here already. She seems like a great addition.”

“She is,” Tucker says as he mixes ingredients in a bowl. “She fixed my hamstring! She clearly has a gift.”

Dean’s eyes are locked in on the dance floor, “Minnesota will have to face us if they fuck with Stretch.”

“Wait, what happened with the hockey players?” Logan asks as he opens the bottle of liquor and pours it into a shot glass before tossing the liquid into his mouth. 

“Absolutely fucking nothing,” Jules pulls out their phone and scrolls before pointing at the screen. “The accused are actually Minnesota’s starting line.”

The men all share the same primal look before Dean says, “Guess we’re wrecking Minnesota tomorrow.” 

“You’re damn right,” Logan agrees before taking another shot. He watches you dance around, carefree and happy. His stomach ties in knots thinking of what you had been through. 

You can’t help but to feel like you’re being watched as you start to scan the room, still dancing around Allie. Your line of vision lands on the kitchen where a small group of athletes stand awkwardly behind the kitchen island; each of the men stare off into different parts of the room. Jules smiles and waves before taking another sip of their drink.

You wave back, confused before turning back to Allie. “What is that about?” You ask, breathless as you continue to dance along to the rhythm of the loud music. “That was weird, right?”

Her brown eyes shift over to the kitchen before falling quickly to the ground, “I- uh.. Y-you know them- there’s no telling.”

Your brows lace together seeing Allie’s apprehension, “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, “Nothing, nothing. I think the crowd might be getting to be too much.” You notice her eyes shifting over to the kitchen island again, her gaze lingering before ultimately falling back to the carpeted floor, “Maybe I’ve just drank too much.”

“I’m sure Tuck would be more than happy to feed you,” You motion towards the kitchen. “C’mon, let's get you sober.”

As the two of you push through the crowd, Hannah and Garrett descend the stairs, looping around the foyer to the kitchen and running into you and Allie at the island. 

“Holy shit at this crowd,” Hannah says loudly over the bumping music.

“How have you guys managed?” Garrett asks.

“Alcohol, Graham. Alcohol,” Dean teases, taking a shot before he turns away from the group and heads towards the dance floor. “In fact, I’m about to be managing even better.”

“So, were you helping tutor Garrett?” Allie teases as she gives Hannah a hip bump.

Hannah smiles widely, blushing as she bumps her hip back at Allie, “Oh, shut up.”

Garrett’s hand wraps around Hannah’s waist as he plants a gentle kiss on the back of her head, “I’m gonna take the trash out real quick, okay?”

“Okay,” She nods as she turns her head towards her boyfriend, kissing him sweetly before turning back towards you and Allie. 

“You guys are adorable,” you smile. 

“Thanks,” she peeks over her shoulder, watching her boyfriend head out towards the trashbin outside. “He’s pretty great. I’m lucky.”

“Han,” Allie says, her brown eyes darting towards the staircase. “Bathroom trip?”

“Of course,” Hannah replies before she looks at you, “Bathroom trips are for the girlies only. Would you like to join?”

“I’m actually good,” you flash them both a smile. “I’m honored to have been invited though. Next time!” 

“Fine,” Allie says. “You’ll be missed.”

“However will you pee without me?” You tease.

“I’ll hold her hand, don’t worry,” Hannah jokes. “Be right back!”

“Good luck!” You say before turning towards the countertop where most of the hockey players stood, bumping right into Logan’s chest. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” 

“No need to apologize,” he shakes his head, his warm eyes gaze down at you. Beau accidentally backs into you as a group of puck bunnies make their way through the house, pushing you back into John’s chest. “Are you good?” he gulps at your nearness.

“Feeling a tad squished,” your chest presses firmly against the man towering over you, “And very short.”

Logan nods, “You are quite short.” 

“Hey!” You give him a sassy look. “Maybe you’re just insanely tall?”

John’s face is only inches from yours as he says, “You know, I just realized I never thanked you for fixing my neck a few weeks ago. That thing was killer and you magically made it go away.”

God, he smelled so good.

“Thanks, Logan.”

“No, ma’am. Thank you,” he licks his bottom lip before smiling at you again. 

“I am so sorry, Stretch,” Beau turns, dusting you off and giving you room to breathe again. “It was a little cramped there for a bit. Sorry about almost squeezing you to death.”

“It’s okay, Beau,” you reply, feeling like you should be standing on a step stool as you stand sandwiched between the two athletes. “Would you guys want to do a shot with me? Hannah and Allie aren’t here and I don’t like drinking alone. It’s okay if not.”

“Hell yes!” Beau grabs three shot glasses and nods at Logan, “Three shots, good sir.”

“Gladly,” John bows, smiling widely as he fills the small cups with liquor. You each grab your respective glass.

“Cheers to our incredible physical therapist,” Beau says as he holds his shot glass up.

“No, no, no,” you raise your glass. “Cheers to the Hawks being undefeated this semester!”

“To Stretch!” Dean yells from across the living room, holding up an invisible glass as he dances behind a beautiful redhead. 

“When did he get so plastered and who allowed it?” You turn to both boys. “Who was on Dean watch?”

The guys look at each other and then to you. 

“It was Tuck,” Beau says quickly, shrugging.

“Oh, no no no, Maxwell, you two aren’t pinning this on Tucker, because he has been graciously hosting all of us. You-,” you point at Beau. “-were on duty tonight. Weren’t you?”

“I can try to wrangle him in,” Beau says before abruptly knocking back his shot and stretching his neck from shoulder to shoulder. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck!” You yell over the music as Beau shimmies his way into the crowd.

Logan’s laugh grabs your attention. 

“What’s so funny?” you ask, still holding your full shot glass.

“Nothing, really. There’s just never a dull moment. Hasn’t been one since I’ve gotten to Briar U,” He watches his friends before directing his brown eyes at you. “We still need to take these shots!”

“Oh, shit!” You hold your glass up to the man. “Cheers to you, John Logan.”

“No, ma’am,” he touches his glass to yours. “Cheers to you. We’re lucky to have you.”

“You are always so sweet to me, John. Thank you,” you nod before taking your shot, shaking your head as warmness spreads through your stomach. 

“You’re easy to be sweet to, Stretch,” his cheeks hurt from smiling as he throws the shot into his mouth, hissing before placing the glass back onto the island countertop.

“Looks like Beau has successfully corralled Dean,” you nod towards the two men wrestling on the living room floor, grunting and laughing as they each take turns overpowering the other. “I guess?”

“This is normal behavior, so I say Beau’s wrangling of Dean was a success. Now to get Dean to go to sleep..” John laughs as he watches Beau get Dean into a playful chokehold.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow’s game?”

His question makes your heart race.

“I- uh, I think you guys will do well if you all stop drinking,” you tease, though your voice is laced with melancholy. “No, really. I think you guys will easily win. Your line of defense is too strong to lose.”

John’s eyes look sad as he stares down at you.

“What?” Your brows furrow. “Did I say something?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I.. uh-I was asking because Jules kind of told us why you left MU.” He shakes his head at his sudden word vomit. “But- but, it's not a big deal, I swear.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. “What? Oh god.. You guys know?”

John is at a loss for words, swallowing hard before he clears his throat.

“Oh my god,” you feel lightheaded from the rush of anxiety washing over you. Faint ringing silences the noises from the party around you. “I-uh, I have to go.”

You feel like you’re outside of your body as your feet begin towards the front door of the house. John quickly follows as you head out of the house and start down the sidewalk, not even walking in the direction of your room.

Your feet pick up the pace as you begin to run, hoping to escape the shame and embarrassment you felt as hot tears run down your face.

Logan runs after you, his long legs catching up with you as his large hands reach out to grab your arm. “Hey, hey-” he coos, bringing you both to a halt. “Hey, look at me. Please.”

You blink back tears as you stare at the ground. “You guys weren’t supposed to find out.. no one was. Coach Jensen said the news would never get out,” you shake your head. “I told him you’d all find out eventually and that you’ll think differently of me.. Maybe even hate me. Or-or maybe you’d be uncomfortable to be around me if you knew.”

“You thought we would hate you after finding out three grown men sexually assaulted you?” He lets out an exhausted scoff. “You should have been worried that we would kill the assholes that hurt you after we found out what happened.”

Finally, your saddened gaze meets John’s deep eyes. The tears streaming down your face shine under the streetlamp, breaking Logan’s heart as he swallows down his building rage, not wanting his defensiveness to scare you.

He points in the direction of the stadium, “If any of those motherfuckers even look your way tomorrow I will personally beat the shit out of each one of them.” His lips press together as he exhales slowly, shaking a bit as his fingers rake through his locks. “Look.. No one is ever hurting you again. None of us will allow that shit.. Especially me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” you murmur, staring at the beautiful man in front of you. “I-I was so scared for you guys to find out why I had to leave Minnesota. Especially you..”

“Me?” He’s taken aback, brows furrowing as he blinks. “Why?”

“Who wants to be with a girl who got raped by three different guys?”

“I’m sorry, what? They raped you?” John starts seeing red as he begins to pace. “And no one believed you?”

“People would rather not believe me than believe their star hockey players are monsters,” you try to relax your aching jaw from clenching your teeth so tightly. “I should have never come forward. I probably should have just stopped being a physical therapist after everything happened.”

Logan stops pacing, “You were right in coming forward. I believe you. We all believe you.”

Your voice is small as you say, “I’m scared to see them tomorrow.”

“You can be scared, that’s valid,” he locks eyes with you again. “But you need to know, no one will hurt you while I’m around. I swear on my life.”

“You don’t think differently of me?” You ask, confused by his protectiveness after finding out your deepest shame. 

“Hell no,” he says, stepping closer to you. “If anything, it makes me even more protective of you than I was before.”

“You wanted to protect me before?” You choke in disbelief that John Logan even thought of you outside of being the hockey team’s physical therapist.

“Yeah, I did.. And I still do,” his chest rises and falls as he looks down at you, his fingertips brushing against yours before his hand wraps around your shaking palm. “You are an incredible woman.”

You instinctively stretch out onto your tippy toes and plant a chaste kiss on Logan’s stubbly cheek. “Thank you, Johnny,” you whisper. “Thanks for believing in me.”

His cheeks flush as he nods, his hand reaches out to wipe the tears from your face. His voice is so kind as he whispers, “You’re welcome, Stretch.”

You look away bashfully just as John’s warm lips meet your cheek, shocking you as you turn back to him, blinking wildly as a gleeful smile spreads across your face, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He looks confused. You point to your cheek, blushing. “Are you thanking me for kissing you on the cheek?” He smiles, “I’ll do it again.”

His free hand gently cups your face as he slowly leans down and lovingly kisses your cheek before moving to your opposite cheek, tenderly kissing your flesh and sending butterflies rushing through your gut. 

He stands a little straighter, your cheek remains cradled in his large hand as he says, “Let me take you home. I’ll even come get you tomorrow before morning skate so I can take you to get brunch at Malone’s before my pre-game nap.”

You laugh, “You take a pre-game nap?”

“Yes ma’am. They’re glorious, and greatly encouraged by Coach,” he smiles. “You’re more than welcome to join me in whatever you feel comfortable doing. I do happen to have an incredibly comfortable blow up mattress I can sleep on, so you can take my bed if you decide to partake in nap time at the hockey house.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up as you reply, “I’ll have to consider that. I guess we’ll just see where the day takes us, Logan.”

“Whatever you do tomorrow, please don’t be alone,” he sounds like he’s pleading. “You need to stick with me and the boys, or Hannah and Allie tomorrow since those assholes will be around town.

The anxiety from early comes creeping in as your heart starts to race.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey, look at me.. Please.”

Your wary eyes scan up to meet his deep gaze. 

“Remember that I am right here, always. You need me at 3 am? Call me. You want me to go egg the hotel where MU is staying? Say less, let's go right now.”

You smile weakly at John, “You’re too sweet to me.” 

“I’m serious. Please.. If you need anything or feel scared.. Anything.. Just, please- please promise me that you’ll call me so I can be here for you,” he pleads. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I need you to know that I’m here for you.”

“I promise, I will,” you nod. “Walk me home?”

“Okay, Stretch,” his thumb strokes the apple of your cheek before he motions towards the Hawk House. “Lets get out of here.”

———

Being friends with Lois and Jimmy throughout the early stages of your careers means that you are bonded by the shared struggle of being a journalist in Metropolis. The violent streak of villains streaming into the city. The sick billionaires plotting the deaths of good, innocent people. The corrupt government willing to sell themselves to said billionaires for more power over neighboring countries, even allies. That sort of depravity binds you. 

Regardless, meeting Clark was inevitable. On the surface, Clark is broad and tall, oftentimes too big for whatever space he is in, no matter how many times he tries to shrink himself to avoid attention. But Clark is also delicate and gentle and clumsy, all of the traits that make him endearing to those around him. 

You can’t help but want to protect Clark. When someone’s giving him a hard time, you are the first to stand up for him. He is a man who means well. 

It is not difficult to fall for him, especially when the glances he sends your way are shy and curious. Whenever he gets caught looking a little too much, he quickly drags his eyes away with a blush creeping up his cheeks. 

Clark is thoughtful. Once he finds out how you take your tea, he prepares a perfect cup for you every morning. The right temperature, the right sweetness. He never fails to walk you home at night, taking the time to make conversation to learn more about you as you also learn about him growing up in Kansas. He reluctantly leaves you at your door each evening, refusing to actually depart until he sees you waving at him from the safety of your home. 

Clark Kent is a good — no, he is a great — man. 

When he finally asks you out to dinner, it is natural to say yes. The first date quickly leads to a second and a third, consecutive nights spent giggling over nothing and everything. Clark asks you to be his exclusive girlfriend with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a home-cooked meal. 

With strawberry pancakes on the table and the stars twinkling outside, Clark shyly asks you to love him and only him. 

Again, another easy yes. 

Things with Clark are easy, at least for a while. Superman’s growing popularity along with the Justice Gang (you’re still debating if you really want to put that name on paper) draws plenty of unsavory characters to Metropolis, the temptation of challenging Earth’s mightiest heroes luring them into the otherwise quiet city. 

With Superman getting busy, so does Clark. The two seem to have a good bond, with Clark getting exclusive interviews after every battle, which makes big splashes on the front page. His career takes off and Perry has been more than pleased with his work.

However, with this new steep trajectory, it also means that Clark has less time to spend on things outside of work. One of those things is you. 

There have been a handful of dates where he shows up an hour late, if he even shows at all. When he does, he is disheveled, having rushed from wherever the battle had been to the date spot that you had picked out and planned. When he doesn’t even appear, the apologetic texts come in hours after you’ve gone home and prepared yourself for bed. 

These days come with excuse after excuse. Perry held me up. Trains were delayed. Traffic was crazy. There was an accident on the highway. Superman this, Superman that. At some point, you have to salvage your pride and admit to yourself that maybe Clark isn’t as interested in you as you are in him. He has a stronger relationship with Superman than he does with you. 

Because someone who wants to make time would. Right? That’s what you’ve always believed. 

Perhaps the bitter pill to swallow is just that — Clark does not want to make time so he doesn’t. It’s a simple line of thinking but it’s one that you settle one to give yourself a reason to call it quits. With an amicable breakup, there is no tension between the two of you. A few awkward silences here and there, but nothing either of you can’t handle. 

Your freelance work with The Daily Planet also means you frequently see him at the office. You walk in and greet your friends, Clark included. When you wrap up a meeting with Perry, Clark is there waiting with your cup of tea ready. He is still same old Clark which makes it difficult to not fall more in love with him. 

Even today, as you step out of Perry’s office and towards one of the spare desks, Clark is rising from his desk with a cup of tea. Clark is still indisputably beautiful. The way his dark curls fall against his forehead, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Your heart aches. Once upon a time, you had buried your fingers through his thick hair as he whispered kisses onto your skin. 

Now, his touch feels like a distant stranger. 

“Good afternoon,” he smiles, dimples appearing. 

Your heart flutters traitorously in your chest and you stomp down on those butterflies in your stomach. He really is unfairly handsome. “Good afternoon,” you return politely. 

As much as you tell yourself to be calm, cool, and composed around him, your heart never fails to say otherwise. 

“How was your meeting with Perry?” Small work talk is always his safe bet. 

“Good, I’m making good progress on my piece. Just need to do a little bit more digging to polish things up.”

At that, his brows furrow in concern. “Aren’t you working on that piece about the Gotham masked vigilante? What’s his name again? Batman?” You’re surprised that he knows what you’ve been investigating. Maybe it came up in other conversations with the Daily Planet team. “Is that safe? I mean, Gotham isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Not that you’re not strong, because you are, and you’re very smart and incredible—” he bites his tongue, wincing when he realizes that he’s rambling.

This is the Clark that you’ve missed. Awkward, concerned, adorable. 

“I could go with you, it might be safer,” he offers. You cock a doubtful eyebrow at him. Clark is big and tall, but he’s also a semi-klutz. You can’t imagine him going with you into Gotham with his puppy-dog eyes and golden retriever energy, talking to your sources. Superman feels more of his speed compared to Batman. 

“Thank you, Clark, but honestly, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been working with Gotham PD and I’ve got good sources who have my back. I’ll be safe.”

He looks far from convinced but that’s just who Clark is. 

Thankfully, he decides to drop the subject and move on to the next. By the way he keeps shifting around your desk, you almost think that he wants to spend more time around you, even if it means talking about the most meaningless things. “Are you going to the event tonight?”

It’s an industry networking night The Daily Planet is hosting. Every year, Perry invites the who’s who of the news world — anyone from newspapers, television, and even social media (the last one Perry is less happy about but he has to keep up with the times). It’s a chance for his full-time staff and any adjacent journalists that he likes (you) to meet other professionals. 

Really, it’s an excuse to drink and shit talk the industry that you all love with your peers. 

You show up on time, hoping to get a few drinks in to loosen you up before the head honchos arrive. Apparently, a few of your friends have the same idea. When you enter the room, your eyes immediately land on Clark. 

It’s not that you’re looking for him, your eyes naturally find his tall frame in the room. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

Lois waves you over and you snatch up a glass of champagne on the way. Your shimmery black dress flutters against your thighs, landing at an appropriate length without looking too risque, but also not too conservative that it looks like you’re going to a business dinner.

“Look at you,” Lois beams, taking your hand and twirling you around.

You giggle and stop with a curtsy. “Thank you, you clean up very well yourself, Miss Lane.” Lois’ navy blue dress is stunning and emphasizes every gorgeous part of her. 

Jimmy tugs you into a side hug. “I might need you to protect me tonight. Those two girls from accounting keep making eyes at me and I’m starting to get scared for my safety.”

A smirk pulls at your lips. “Only you would be terrified of hot girls pursuing you.”

“It’s not just me! Tell her, Clark. They’re relentless and I just want to write my articles.” 

That is when your gaze finally shifts to Clark. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at him because you already know how your body will react. It’s always been the worst at self-control when it comes to Clark. 

Still, you eventually have to look at him and he is delicious in his classic black tux. His glasses are still perched on his nose but his hair has been slicked back slightly, taming the wild tendrils. 

“Mhmm, relentless,” Clark mumbles distractedly, too busy looking at you in the dress. You can feel the trail of fire his gaze leaves on your skin as he peruses you. When his eyes finally meet yours, you could see the blues have turned into midnight. 

Shivers snake up your spine and your breath hitches quietly in your throat as you try to pull your stare away from him, but you can’t help it. Your body feels tingly all over with the way he drinks you in like a man parched. 

You remember the nights Clark looked at you like this, right before he slants his lips over yours, tugging you desperately into bed. He’s always been greedy with you, chasing after your kisses, refusing to let you leave. He bides his time worshipping you until you have no other thoughts except his name rattling in your mind.

Swallowing thickly, you watch as Clark’s eyes fall to your throat. His fingers twitch by his side, betraying his desire to reach out to you. 

The magnetic pull to him is undeniable. You almost cave. You want to give in. 

However, the sound of your name crescendoing in your ear yanks you out of this haze. Clark looks away just as Perry reaches you. He looks irritated. “What are you doing? I’ve been calling you. Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Lois and Jimmy look relieved to be released of the tension, glancing at each other with knowing looks. They are fully aware of how things ended between you and Clark, opting to choose no sides. 

Before you can respond, Perry is already dragging you by the elbow towards a man some distance away from your friends. Sighing, you plaster on a smile when you finally lock eyes with the man Perry is introducing you to.

“This is Mark, he works for the Gotham Gazette.” 

Your eyes flick to Perry briefly, a go-get-him look in his eyes. You’ve been meaning to talk to someone at the Gazette to see if they have additional sources or if they’re willing to offer a comment for your piece. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mark,” you force out your brightest grin. 

Honestly, you are in no mood to socialize, but anything for the article right? 

The three of you chat briefly about how Mark and Perry knew each other. Mark is significantly younger than Perry but no less ambitious. You can see him being the editor-in-chief for the Gazette soon. Perry gives you one last look before leaving the two of you alone to chat. 

“Can I get you a drink?” It’s an open bar but sure. 

So you make your way to the bar and he puts in both your orders. Mark mentions his interest in learning more about your piece on Batman and what you’ve found so far. “Well, I can’t really share my sources. Plus, I’d like to publish it once it’s final, so no sneak peeks,” you smile behind your cocktail. 

“Beauty and brains,” Mark hums. You feel heat lick at your skin at the compliment. Mark is good-looking, you’ve spotted a few dirty looks thrown your way since you started speaking with him. But he can’t hold a candle to Clark. 

Speaking of Clark, you try to search the room for him and spot him some distance away. His eyes are still on you, narrowed now but still on you. 

Mark interrupts your thoughts, “Would you like to get some air? I’d love to chat more with you, it’s just getting a bit loud here, isn’t it?”

The absolutely not nearly falls from your lips, but you remind yourself again that this is work. This is what tonight is for. Armed with pepper spray in your purse, you let him lead you out onto the balcony of the banquet hall. The music fades out behind you, turning into a distant muffle. Mark’s hand reminds low on your back, a little too low. 

The two of you share more small talk for a little bit, but all you want is to get more out of him for your article. You don’t care much for his Ivy League education or his pretentious boarding school. You’ve seen your fair share of privileged kids and Mark feels like another. 

“So, what else do you know about Batman?”

The corner of Mark’s lips tip up. Perhaps you sound overeager, but he still plays along anyway. “How about, if I share some of my Batman sources with you, you go on a date with me.” He leans against the railing, a charming smile dancing on his lips as he leers at you again. 

The look isn’t particularly flattering nor uncomfortable so you let it slide. The industry is smaller than you’d like, which means you can’t exactly tell him to piss off without ruining Perry’s relationship with the man. 

“Trading secrets for a date? Your editor would be ashamed of you,” you choose to tease. 

“Well, anything to get to know you a little more. Even if it means risking my journalistic integrity.”

One date for more sources? That seems like the easiest and best bargain you’ve ever struck. 

However, before you can agree, Clark’s face flashes in your mind. Sweet Clark. He would likely hear about this date. And while the two of you aren’t technically together anymore, it doesn’t mean you want to close out that possibility completely. 

Crap. 

You open your mouth but the words don’t come out when you feel an arm slide around your waist. Whirling to your side, you crane your neck to look at Clark who is suddenly next to you. You didn’t even the door click open. 

“Clark,” you blurt out.

“Perry says he wants to see you,” he bites out. His eyes are laser focused on Mark as he says this, fingers digging into your side. 

“Right now?”

“Yeah, something about that senate policy piece for next week.”

The senate policy piece isn’t due for another two weeks, the hearing was pushed back. You cock an eyebrow at Clark but he still isn’t looking at you. 

“Sorry about that, I have to steal her for a second.” He does not wait for Mark to respond before he manhandles you — gently — back into the building and straight into a closed-off room on the side. 

Once you’re in there, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He paces the length of the room, which isn’t long at all, while you stand by the shelves, arms crossed over your chest. 

Clark isn’t a liar until he needs to be, you suppose. The question is why he needs to be one.

“What’s going on? I know that piece isn’t due for a while. Perry wouldn’t be badgering me on a night like this for work.”

“Were you going to say yes?” Clark asks, a little breathless as he stops and turns to look at you. 

His eyes are bright blue underneath the room’s fluorescent lights. They are softened by the creases on his face, the concern that etches itself deep into his skin. 

“Say yes to what?”

“To a date with him?”

How did he— “How did you hear that? You weren’t even there when he asked me.”

Clark purses his lips and only looks at you. “Well, were you?”

“Why does it matter if I did? It would’ve been for work.”

“It was a date.”

“I wanted his intel for Batman.”

A groan slips past his lips as he reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, curls coming apart. “I could help you get that, you don’t need to go on a date with him for that.”

“How would you help me do that? You don’t do work or pieces on Gotham.”

Clark opens his mouth, frowns, then promptly shuts it again. “I would’ve figured it out.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Clark. Mark isn’t a bad guy, Perry knows him, that’s why he introduced us.”

He looks far from appeased, earning a sigh from you.

“You want to tell me what this is really about?”

His face crumbles, blue chipping away into something lighter, something more vulnerable. “I miss you,” he whispers. “I miss you so much.”

Fuck. All the air is sucked from your lungs as you look at him. “Clark, don’t do this.” 

“I do. I know it’s been a couple of months but I can’t stop thinking about you, how good things were between us. And I know it wasn’t perfect, I’m not perfect, but I want to be with you.”

This can’t be happening. Not now. You’re in the midst of a very public event for god’s sake and Clark is… Clark. He’s beautiful and he’s honest and wonderful, and he’s telling you that he misses you. 

Your heart splits in two as you look at him. Fury and sorrow mixes inside you. How dare he but also why is he doing this? Why is he doing this to you now of all times? “If you told me all this when I told you things weren’t working out, I would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. I would’ve stayed. But now that time has passed, I still don’t see things changing. It’s not like we’re any different.”

Clark swallows. “We can be different. We can. I need to tell you something—”

The door slams open and Lois spills inside, stumbling in her heels. “Clark, you have to see this.” 

The desperately apologetic look on his face says everything. The excuse on the tip of his tongue is loud and clear before he even opens his mouth. Another story to chase. Another thing that takes him away from you. 

Something in you cracks because this is not unfamiliar. It’s like the time before and the one before that. You know that nothing is going to change between you and Clark. Doomed before you even start. 

Seeming to sense that shift, Clark steps up to you and catches your chin between his fingers. His eyes are earnest, pleading, as they search yours. “I have to go, but I’ll come by your place after.” 

It’s not a question. It’s not a request. It’s a promise. 

Instead of arguing, you whisper, “Okay.” He presses his lips against your temple. His touch is gentle, but there is a tremor to his mouth that melts your heart. With one last squeeze of your hand, Clark heads out to what most likely is a battle scene. 

By the time you regain your composure and rejoin the guests, everyone is honed in on the one television screen in the room. Some massive monster has breached the Delaware Bay, clawing its way towards the shore. News and police choppers are circling the scene, the whirring of its blades buried in the monster’s roars. 

The Justice Gang has been at it for a couple of hours with no progress made. You see Superman fly into the scene and the guests erupt into cheers. It’s another day in Metropolis but Superman somehow always puts on a show. 

Superman’s laser beams are followed by Hawkgirl’s strikes. Mr. Terrific’s T-Spheres and Green Lantern launch combination attacks of offense and defense. In no time, the heroes take them down. Another successful day for the metahumans. Just another day in Metropolis. The attendees swiftly turn back to their conversations. 

Glancing back at the screen, you wonder if Clark is already out there. You wonder if he’s safe. If he got his big story. If he’ll make it back to you. 

When the camera comes in close to the heroes, they do a full close-up of each hero, including Superman. His face, dashing and bloodied. But that’s not what you pay attention to. It’s his eyes. 

The eyes of a man who has looked at you across the office for months. The same eyes you yourself have gazed upon on those late nights sharing snacks and giggles under your duvet. The same eyes of the man who made you a promise just thirty minutes ago. 

You have never paid too much attention to Superman. He’s another superhero. A supposedly, particularly kind one who really considers humanity when saving the world. But there are enough journalists who write about him that you have never felt the need to really care. 

Plus, you have Clark and he is equally — if not more — cute and nice and big. 

Now that you’re really looking at him, looking at his eyes, you think that Superman has Clark’s eyes. 

And you’ve never been an idiot. At least, you didn’t think so until today. Everything seems to fall into place. The excuses, the disappearances that are always timed with Superman’s fights, both domestic and international. It all makes sense. 

You are still stewing in this discovery when you hear a knock at your door a few hours later. You know who it is, of course. 

When you swing your door open, the first words out of your mouth are “you’re Superman.”

Not an accusation, just a fact. 

Clark shows up at your door with flowers, your favorites, and no glasses. You feel your breath catch. The resemblance has always been there, you don’t know how you could’ve been so blind. All the pieces seem to click into place. 

He takes a step forward, you take a step back. One after another until you’re pressed up against the wall and the door is closed behind the two of you. He sets the flowers on the hallway table and dips his head, a shaky exhale escaping. He leans closer, until his lips are brushing yours. 

“I am,” he murmurs. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

The time that you’ve lost. The evenings you spent wondering what if. 

You look up at him, those familiar blue eyes that now you’re struggling to fully recognize. “Why now? I mean, we had months. You had months to say otherwise.”

Clark shies away slowly, his gaze shattered with guilt. “I thought I’d be content with just being in your orbit, just by being… around you. But I realize today that it’s not enough. The idea of you with someone else — someone else who makes you laugh, who cooks you breakfast for dinner, who gets to tell you that they love you every day — I don’t want to imagine that. Today, I felt what it was like to possibly lose you and I’m not perfect, and I’m selfish, but I want you. I want to be with you.” 

Your palms flatten on his chest as you push him away. The flicker of hurt in his eyes is unmistakable but you need space. You need to breathe and think about this. 

It had torn you apart months ago to end things with Clark. You knew it was a leave you before you leave me situation. All this time, you thought it was the best thing to do for yourself. Although you weren’t with Clark for that long, your chemistry wasn’t something you could ignore. 

There are pieces of yourself that you’ve given Clark that he can’t possibly return. 

“I don’t get it, you— we could’ve had all that. I always just thought that you didn’t have time for me, that you weren’t actually interested.”

Clark winces as another sympathetic expression settles on his features. “For a while, I thought it would be easier for you, if I weren't in your life. I didn’t want to inconvenience you or hurt you more than I already have.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know, it seems like I have fudged it up, haven’t I?” He smiles softly. Fudged. God, as if you couldn’t be any more endeared by this man. “I can’t be the perfect boyfriend. To be fair, I don’t think anyone can. But I can promise you I’ll do my best to be better. I’ll overcommunicate. I’ll always have the justice… thing supporting me. It won’t be all me all the time. I’ll make sure we have time.” 

“Clark, that’s not… right. You have a city and a world to protect, and I don’t want to be the person standing in the way of that.”

An exasperated sigh escapes him. He pulls on his curls again. “You can’t— you can’t possibly think that that’s why. I’ve always wanted to protect the world, that’s what I always believed to be my purpose. But with you, it’s even more clear. I want to make sure this planet is safe, because you’re in it. So if you’ll allow me, and if you’re willing, I want to give us another chance to make it. Because I really, really like you.”

The gravity of his words sink into your bones. Clark is at his best when he’s like this. Beautiful, sweet, honest. He is trying now and you have to give him credit for it. And you miss him so, so much. You don’t even realize how much until he’s right here again with you. You miss how he held you gently with his large hands, the way he would slip into your bed quietly and tuck you into his chest.

And maybe this time, you can make it work. 

You know you can. 

“I really like you too,” you confess quietly. 

Clark’s eyes brighten and that beam of hope strikes you in the heart. “What do you say? Would you give me a second chance?” He is smiling but you can see that his eyes are tight. He’s nervous. 

You laugh, “Yeah. Let’s try this again, Kent.”

–

Bonus:

“Wait, so does that mean you’re friends with Batman?”

Clark freezes. “Um, yes we have met a few times.”

“Do you think you could get me an interview with him?”

“Honey…”

“Come on!”

Deciding to take two cars, you drove alone as Hannah and Allie followed behind you in Hannah’s car. As you continued to drive, the snow became heavier and heavier, the visibility lessening for you. The girls decided to pull over for a quick pee break, you letting them know you were going to keep going.

Seeing the snow finally let up, a sigh of relief comes from you, as you can at least see now. Maintaining a fair distance from the car in front of you and not going too fast, you were determined to get there on time and safely.

It was only a matter of time before the familiar feeling of your tires skidding makes your heart drop in your stomach. You try gently turning the wheel, foot hovering over the brake as your car eventually reaches the stop sign, coming to a complete stop at the divided highway. 

Slowing your breathing down, you exhale, thankful nothing too scary happened. Seconds later, a car rear ends you, most likely unable to stop properly on the ice as well, causing your car to be pushed into the middle of the highway. Attempting to turn your wheel and move was a lost cause, the gas pedal doing nothing as your tires skid in place. A loud horn sounds as you look out of your driver’s side window, seeing bright headlights coming straight for you.

Your heart lurches in your throat, the car slamming into the center of the driver's side your car. Your head whips to the side on impact, your car now being pushed by the truck, unable to stop. Eventually, you separate from the truck as they successfully hit their brakes, only to send your car ping ponging off a metal pole as your car slides into a ditch.

Snow starts to pour down again as you finally stop, angled awkwardly in the ditch, the car tilting to the right. Your right foot managed to get stuck under the now busted brake pedal, any movement sending waves of pain through your foot and up your body. Airbags deployed, every light on your dash on or flashing, your seatbelt locking you in place. Being too scared to unbuckle it and do more damage, you leave it alone.

Trying to breathe and stop the tears, you try and reach for your purse. Your phone peeks out, just out of your reach, a loud groan leaving your lips as you realize you're trapped. A sense of lightheadedness creeps up on you, not knowing how severe your injuries were, you closed your eyes, focused on your breathing, praying that someone would help you.

Hannah and Allie weren’t too far behind you, confusion finding them as they still haven’t seen your car. They approach the divided highway, Allie noticing some slight debris in the road.

“What the hell?” she says, looking around, seeing a truck stuck in the middle of the road. She watches as the guy who presumably was in the truck runs towards the ditch. Allie’s heart drops, seeing a strange brush of the grass and snow paved out as if something slid through it, leading into the ditch. 

“Hannah, pull over, they might need help.” Allie says. Hannah doesn’t question her, pulling off to the side of the road, putting the car in park. Allie rushes out, not caring if she slips on ice. Snow continues to fall as she runs to the top of the ditch. Her heart sinks, seeing a Briar U bumper heart shaped sticker, distorted from the initial hit but still visible on the right side of the back of the car.

The bumper sticker she gave you.

“Fuck! Call 911!’ Allie shouts out to someone, anyone, as she runs down the hill, Hannah on her trail, grabbing her phone. Allie finally reaches the car, her heart sinking once again, seeing you passed out in the driver’s seat. She yells out your name.

“Shit! We’re here, okay?! We’re gonna get you outta there!” she yells, not even knowing if you can hear her.

After what feels like hours, the police and fire rescue arrive, safely extracting you from the car, getting you onto a stretcher as you groan in pain at any sudden movements. The girls get the approval to leave Hannah’s car as they both get in the back of the ambulance with you, one of the firefighters handing Allie your purse with your belongings. Hannah holds your hand as Allie pulls your phone out to start calling your family. After notifying your family, she puts your phone away, grabbing hers from her pocket. Before she can call Dean, your mumbles catch her attention.

“Shhh try not to talk, okay?” Allie soothes.

“Logan…” you mumble, “someone… has to tell Logan,” you finish, your eyes slowly blinking, slightly loopy from the morphine given to you to help ease your pain. Allie and Hannah’s eyes leave yours to look at each other, both incredibly confused, thinking you’re just extra loopy. Hannah looks back down to you, leaning in closer to you.

“John… Logan?” Hannah asks. You nod ever so slightly.

Logan’s hanging out with the guys at the house, complaining once again about Tucker’s massive Christmas to-do list when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He laughter dies down, smile fading, confused when he sees the caller ID as ‘Allie Dean’. They were chill with each other, sure but never really interacted too much unless she was with Dean, hence the contact name. Unsure if it’s a butt dial, he answers.

“Hello?”

Logan’s chest tightens hearing Allie’s stressed voice, rambling as she explains what she knows about your situation and mentions that although strange to her, you asked her to call him. The guys look at Logan with concern, seeing the way his face dropped and the color seemed to wash away from his face. Allie drops the name of the hospital you’re headed to.

“You gotta get here now.”

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

Logan enters the hospital faster than humanly possible, scouring the waiting room until he finds the girls sitting there, nervous looks on their faces. Garrett, Dean and Tucker follow behind him, the same stressed looks on their faces.

“Where is she?!” Logan asked, worried out of his mind. Hannah reassured him that you were currently in surgery and most importantly, that you were alive. Logan runs his hands through his hands as he sits down, his head now sitting in his hands as he tries to slow down his breathing, the adrenaline consuming him.

“What the fuck happened?” Dean asked, rushing to hug and comfort Allie.

Hannah tries to explain everything they know, not knowing how you ended up in the ditch. They described your injuries, Allie explaining how she found you, tears welling up in her eyes. The energy in the waiting room is heavy, not just from the stress of your unknown status, but of everyone but Logan looking at each other, confused yet intrigued about what was going on between the two of you.

No one brought it up, obviously wrong place, wrong time, but the thoughts did circulate, along with waiting, hoping and praying you’re okay. 

After what felt like hours, the surgeon enters the waiting room, calling out your last name. All six heads snap towards the sound of his voice, Logan getting up the fastest as the surgeon walks over to the group.

“She’s stable,” he starts, exhales and sighs of relief leaving everyone.

“She did break her right foot and she’s got some minor fractures in her leg, along with some torn muscles, some cuts and bruises from the impact. Fortunately, there were no signs of spinal injury or any internal bleeding, but we did find signs of whiplash and the few broken bones. She’s incredibly lucky,” he finishes.

Logan rubs his sweaty palms against his pants, his body still shaking from the overwhelming anxiety. The surgeon continues,

“We’ve got her in the ICU now. We’re going to keep an eye on her for a little bit before we can move her to a room, then she can have visitors,” he finishes. Everyone says their thanks before sitting down.

The longer the wait, the more nervous Logan got. His leg bouncing at a rapid rate, him constantly standing up and pacing around the room. His heart raced in his chest at the thought of anything happening to you. Although he felt relief knowing you were okay, not being able to physically see you, to physically touch you, was killing him.

After what felt like days, into the late hours of the night, a nurse comes out, saying your last name, once again, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“She’s finally settled in her room, we can start bringing you guys back, but it’ll have to be one at a time,” she explains.

Garrett pats Logan on the back, “Go. Go see your girl.”

Logan nearly tears up, not even caring that everyone knows now. Everyone nods in agreement as Logan follows the nurse back into the inpatient rooms area. His heart races, not knowing what to expect. Eventually, he and the nurse arrive at the door, opening it softly. 

Logan’s body tenses up, anxiety bubbling up inside him. You lay on the bed, peacefully sleeping, an oxygen mask sitting lightly in your nose. A small cut on your left temple, scrapes on your arms, your foot elevated in a sling and wrapped in a cast.

He didn’t think he hated anything the way he hated seeing you so hurt, so vulnerable, so quiet. The nurse leaves, shutting the door behind him as he approaches the bed. You lie there, another wave of nausea coming over him, his mind thinking the absolute worst. He finds the spare chair in the room and gently pulls it over so he can sit at your bedside. His hand reaches up to find yours, being careful to not touch any wires. Slight redness graces your knuckles as Logan brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles, wishing he could take away all of your pain.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re okay,” he mumbles into your hand, before dropping both your hands on the bed. As if his words had some magic touch, your brows furrow as you shift slightly, your eyes opening slowly, a groggy, glazed look in your eyes.

“Hey, hey…” Logan says, standing up so you can see him without having to move your head too much. “You’re okay.” he says, for you but also for him.

“Water… please,” you croak out, Logan letting go of your hand, finding the cup of water sitting on the counter. He grabs it, extending the straw for you as you try and sit up, grunting in pain. 

The ice cold water washes into you like you had been dehydrated for weeks, instantly feeling better before nodding to signal you were done. Logan puts the cup down before coming back to you, sitting down in the chair. Despite the pain in your neck, you turn your head, a tear that was sitting in your eye falls down your cheek, bottom lip quivering.

“I thought I was gonna die,” you say, voice breaking, fighting more tears that threatened to spill.

Logan’s hand comes up to your head, lightly moving the hair from your forehead before kissing it, soothing you with gentle hands, his thumb lightly grazing your temple.

“I know, baby, I know. But you didn’t. You’re here and you’re safe,” he reassures, his thumb moving to your cheek. With a light nod, you agree, thankful that this didn’t go where you thought it was going to, being trapped in that car for so long.

After a few moments of a now more comfortable silence, Logan speaks up again,

“Allie called me, she and Hannah found you,”.

Tears refill your eyes, guilt washing over you knowing you had probably traumatized both of them, them having to see you like that. Logan immediately clocks it, shutting down those thoughts.

"Hey, this was not your fault. Thank God they were there and were able to get help, right?" he reassures. You nod, Logan's thumb coming to wipe the tears off your cheeks.

“They all know.”

“Good. It was about time we told them,” you joke, a light giggle leaving your lips, your eyes still full of tears. Logan had never been happier to hear your laugh, joining you in laughter.

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

After the overnight stay, your vitals looked good and you were cleared to go home. After seeing everyone, you insisted that they all went home and got some sleep. Logan had immediately said no to that, staying with you the entire night, camping out on the guest chair in your room. Once you got discharged, the nurse wheeled you out on a wheelchair to the front drive, Logan pulling his truck around the front. He and the nurse both worked to get you in the truck, saying your goodbyes and thanks before heading to your apartment.

You hobble off the elevator on your crutches, muscles still sore as you approach your apartment door. Logan opens your front door for you as you enter, you immediately finding your couch. Sighing, you plop down, thankful for finally be rid of that hospital bed.

“You hungry?” 

“Oh my god, yes, I’m so tired of hospital lasagna and Jello cups.”

Logan stayed with you at your place for the first week of your recovery. The way he always took care of you, doing everything you needed - half the time without you even needing to ask - made this recovery process so much lighter and less stressful. No matter how frustrated you got, he always knew exactly what to say to calm you down and comfort you.

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

Following that first week, after your energy came back, you and Logan made your way to the hockey house, hanging out with everyone, you needing desperately to get out of the house. A hangout with your friends is exactly what you needed.

You all sit on the couch, Logan setting a pillow down on the coffee table for your foot, helping you hike your leg up before he sat down next to you as you both explain, well, everything.

"You guys have been dating?"

“For months??!”

"No way."

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Why wouldn’t you say anything?”

Questions bombarded both of you as you laughed. “In my defense, I was gonna tell you girls at the cabin,” you say, giggling.

Despite this very traumatic event, you found yourself incredible grateful for not just your boyfriend, but the group of friends you had surrounding you. This was going to continue to be a long and frustrating recovery process, but knowing you have the support system behind you that you do, alleviated some of that pain for you.

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

For one terrible moment, you couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but stare at his face, at the genuine worry, and wonder how someone could look at you like that and then go on a date with someone else.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine. Sorry." You pulled away from his hands, ignoring the way your skin seemed to protest the loss of contact, and stepped around him. "Gotta check on a patient."

You didn't look back. If you looked back, you might see something in his eyes that would undo you completely, or worse, you might see nothing at all.

So you disappeared into the nearest patient room.

Behind you, Frank stood exactly where you'd left him. He stared after you, confusion etched into every line of his face, before his gaze slowly drifted to the nurses' station. Perlah and Princess suddenly found the computer screen fascinating. Neither would meet his eyes.

Busying yourself with patients barely helped. It did something, kept your hands moving, your mouth talking, your brain focused on vitals and medications and everything except the image of Frank Langdon on a date with someone who wasn't you. But the moment a room emptied, the moment you had two seconds to yourself, the thought came back.

Frank Langdon has a date.

You'd just finished discharging a teenager with a sprained ankle when you found yourself back at the central board, staring up at the rainbow of markers and patient names.

What patient should you take next? Didn't matter. Pick one. Anyone. Just keep moving.

"Hey."

The voice came from your left, close enough to make your heart seize. You didn't need to look to know who it belonged to. You'd know that voice anywhere.

You glanced up briefly. Just long enough to confirm it was him, standing there in his black scrubs, hair slightly disheveled, looking down at you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

Then your eyes were back on the board, fixed on a random patient name. "Hi," you managed, and even that single syllable came out too quiet, nothing like your usual voice.

Frank actually did a double take. He'd gotten used to your smile. The smile that would carry him through the next hour. But there was nothing now. Just a blank expression and eyes that refused to meet his.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of himself. His hands itched to reach for you, but something in your posture made him hold back.

"Want to take the fever one together?" The question came out softer than he intended. Not his usual style at all.

You bit your lip, still not looking at him. "Uh, no sorry." You took a step back. "I have to—I have to check on Ogilvie and Joy. And their patient." You were stammering, you realized. Actually stammering. "Resident duties."

The last part came out with a small grimace, as if you'd just remembered that Frank was also a resident, as if you were reminding yourself that he existed in the same professional category as you, that there was nothing special about him, nothing that should make your chest ache this way.

You turned to leave without waiting for his response.

His hand caught your forearm before you could escape. "Hey." His grip was firm enough to stop you but not enough to hurt. "Did I do something?"

He turned you toward him slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and when you didn't, he stepped closer. Your shoes nearly touched. You could smell him, that stupidly nice combination of hospital antiseptic and whatever soap he used, the one you'd noticed weeks ago and never mentioned because that would require admitting you paid attention.

"No!" The word came out too fast. You shook your head, and when you tried to gently shake off his grip, he let go immediately. "No, no, you haven't done anything. I promise."

For a horrible and awkward moment, you didn't know what to do with your hands. They hovered, before one of them landed on his chest. You patted him. Twice.

"I'm fine," you heard yourself say. "Just a rough day with patients."

You both stared at your hand on his chest. For one endless second, you felt the warmth of his body through the thin scrub top, the way his heart was racing. You dropped your hand like it had caught fire and then you were gone.

At some point, you lost track of time hours ago, you were called to assist. Car accident, multiple patients. Robby's voice called your name as you fell into place beside Frank. Side by side, like always.

You worked well together. You always had. Frank would reach for something and you'd already have it ready. You'd start a sentence and he'd finish it. It was the kind of relationship people spent years building.

But today, there were no lingering looks from you. No soft smiles when he did something right.

Robby called out a compliment when you got a difficult line on the first try, and you smiled at him, the way you used to smile at Frank. Frank tried to add his own praise, laying it on thick, hoping for even a crumb of that smile. Garcia, working beside you, rolled her eyes the moment he opened his mouth.

Frank ignored her completely, too focused on you. You gave him something that barely qualified as a smile. Then you turned back to the patient. Frank felt something crack in his chest.

It got worse.

When he handed you an instrument during the procedure, your fingers hesitated before taking it, careful to avoid touching his. When he reached for the ties on the back of your surgical gown, something he'd done a hundred times before, you nearly bolted away. Only the fact that he already had hold of the ties kept you there, frozen, while his fingers worked the knot with shaking hands.

What was happening? The question rattled around Frank's skull for the rest of the shift. He couldn't focus.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He got you coffee.

You were in the break room, hunched over a clipboard, when he found you. The coffee sat in his hand, made exactly the way you liked it.

"Hey."

You looked up. And then you just… stared at him, at the coffee, back at him. For too long. Long enough that Frank started to feel uncomfortable under the weight of it.

He held the cup out, waiting. His big blue eyes were wide and uncertain, searching your face for something, anything. Then he smiled at you. The smile that showed his dimples, the one that usually made you smile as well.

Your eyes dropped immediately. You took the coffee with careful fingers, making absolutely sure not to brush against his.

Frank felt like someone had poured ice water down his spine. He missed you. He missed your smile. He missed the way you'd throw flirty comments at him across the ER. He missed the way your eyes would light up when he walked into a room. He missed you. And you were right here, three feet away, and he'd never felt further from you in his life.

"Hope I added enough sugar." He tried for casual and failed. His voice came out almost pleading.

You took a sip and shook your head slowly. "It's perfect. Thank you." You set the coffee aside on the counter and picked up your clipboard again, flipping through papers you'd already read twice. A clear dismissal.

Frank wanted to grab you by the shoulders. He wanted to shake you until you talked to him, wanted to demand answers, explanations, anything that would make this stop hurting.

Instead, he tried one more time. "You sure you're okay, pretty?"

He'd called you that once, during your second month at the Pitt. You'd been exhausted, running on no sleep and bad coffee, and he'd brought you a sandwich from the cafeteria. Eat something, pretty. You're gonna fall over. You'd called him handsome right back. And somehow, it had stuck.

You flinched. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Frank." You gave him a weak smile and you didn't call him handsome. He nodded wordlessly and left. He didn't see the way you stared after him.

The end of shift crawled toward you like it knew they were both suffering and wanted to drag it out.

You felt Frank's eyes on you before you looked up. There was something about the weight of his gaze that you'd grown attuned to over the months like a warmth at the back of your neck. You'd always loved it before. You loved knowing he was looking, that you existed in his line of sight.

He was finishing up with his last patient, an elderly woman with a stomach ache who'd been admitted hours ago and was finally being moved upstairs. You watched him from the corner of your eye as you pretended to focus on your charting. Saw him glance your way, hold the look. Long enough that even from across the ER, you could see the confusion in his expression.

You dropped your eyes back to the computer screen.

You'd barely spoken all day. That was on you. You knew it was on you. Frank had approached at least ten times. Ten separate opportunities to just talk to him, to ask about the date, to clear this whole mess up. But you couldn't. Every time he got close, every time you heard his voice, your throat closed up and your eyes started burning and all you could think about was tomorrow.

Tomorrow, when you'd come back to work. Tomorrow, when you'd have to hear about his date. Tomorrow, when you'd have to pretend to be happy for him while some other woman's name sat on his lips and some other woman's smile lived in his memory.

Better to start the distance now. Better to build the wall brick by brick before tomorrow, when you'd really need it. Before you had to hear how fantastic she was, how beautiful, how funny, how everything you weren't.

Then Frank was suddenly behind you. He didn't do his usual thing, the thing where he'd lean against your desk and make stupid jokes until you gave in, the thing where he'd wait for you to finish so you could walk out together, the thing where he'd annoy you just enough to make you push your charting to tomorrow, letting him pull you out of your chair while you giggled and pretended to be mad, warm all over from the simple pleasure of his hand in yours.

He just stood next to your desk. "I'm going home." His voice was careful. "You need a ride?"

You looked up and God, his eyes. Those stupidly blue eyes that usually softened with warmth when they landed on you. Now they just looked desperate. His hands stayed at his sides. He was resisting the urge to touch you. You could tell. You'd grown to read his body language as well as you read your own.

You shook your head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Frank hesitated. For one awful moment, you thought he might push. Then he nodded and he didn't even manage a smile this time. "Yeah. Fine."

You heard the hurt. Frank Langdon, who hid everything behind sarcasm and that infuriating confidence, was upset.

You don't know how long you sat there. But it was long enough for the night shift to start filtering in, for Dana to give you a concerned look from the nurses' station that you pretended not to see. You just kept charting.

By the time you finally finished, your eyes were red rimmed and hurting. You couldn't tell if it was from the sheer heartbreak or from staring at a computer screen for way too many hours. Probably both. Definitely both.

The locker room was quiet this late. Everyone else had gone home or moved to night shift, leaving you alone with your own miserable thoughts.

You pulled your jacket from its hook and draped it over your arm. Your fingers found your phone, and you stared at the screen without really seeing it.

What was Frank doing right now?

Was he home, getting dressed up? Changing out of his scrubs into something nice? A button down, maybe, the dark blue one that made his eyes look even prettier? Was he standing in front of a mirror, running his hands through his hair, checking his reflection before heading out?

Was he already at the restaurant? Was it even a restaurant, or something fancier?

Who was she? Did you know her? Was she a nurse from another floor, a doctor from a different department, someone completely outside the hospital? Was she pretty? Smart? Funny?

Was he going to kiss her tonight?

Would you have to hear about it tomorrow? Would he come in with that stupid smile, that glow of someone who'd had a good night, and would someone ask and would he tell them and would you have to hear it?

You grabbed your phone harder and pulled up the bus schedule. The next bus would be here in twelve minutes. You'd wait in the cold, go home, crawl into bed, and try not to think about where Frank was or who he was with or what he was doing.

Simple. Easy. Fine.

You walked out into the Pittsburgh night, and the cold hit you immediately. But you barely noticed it. Your eyes were on your phone, squinting at the bus times, trying to calculate how long you'd be standing here, while simultaneously trying not to think about how every passing minute was another minute Frank spent with someone who wasn't you.

Nine minutes until the bus. Nine minutes of him being on a date. Eight minutes. Eight minutes of him maybe holding her hand. Seven minutes. Seven minutes of him maybe leaning closer, maybe—

You walked directly into someone.

Your phone flew out of your hand, clattering to the pavement, and you stumbled backward with a yelp, only to look up and feel your entire world stop.

Frank, standing right outside the hospital entrance. Frank, who had left an hour ago. Frank, who should be on a date right now, not standing here in the cold.

"Frank?"

"Hi." You could see him physically stop himself from adding pretty, saw the way his mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again on just the simple greeting. Remembering your flinch this morning, trying not to hurt you again.

Your heart cracked a little more at that small act of restraint.

"What are you doing here?" You bent down to grab your phone, grateful for the excuse to look away from him for a second.

Frank was quiet for a moment. "Waiting for you." You blinked at him.He gestured past you, toward the bus stop where you'd been heading. "I knew you were lying."

Heat flooded your face immediately, guilt, embarrassment, the horrible feeling of being caught. You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Charting was going to take too long. I didn't want to bother you." You scuffed your shoe against the pavement, unable to meet his eyes. "You had… things. To do."

Things. Such a weak word for a date with another woman.

"Never bothered me before."

Your eyes finally met his. He was right. He'd never once acted like you were a bother. You thought about all those nights when he'd sit in the chair next to you while you finished charting, spinning back and forth, making stupid comments, poking at your arm until you swatted him away and told him to stop bothering you. He never listened. He just grinned that stupid grin and kept bothering you.

He never went home without you. Not once.

So why were you surprised to find him here now? Why had you ever thought he would?

"Did I do something?"

Your eyes shot up to meet his. The streetlight behind him cast his face in shadow, but you could still see the concern in his eyes.

"No, why?" The words came out too defensive, and you regretted them immediately. Regretted the 'why' most of all, because now you'd put yourself on the spot.

Frank tilted his head, studying you with those impossibly blue eyes. "You know why." You bit your lip and glanced away toward the bus station. "I'm serious." His voice dropped and he tilted his head again, trying to catch your eyes. "Did I upset you? Did I say something wrong?"

You shook your head quickly, too quickly, still staring at the bus station.

"I'd like to fix whatever I did."

The silence stretched. The bus sign clicked to four minutes.

"Frank, I'm fine." Your voice sounded strange to your own ears. "Just go, before you're late for your date, yeah?"

You finally met his eyes. God, his eyes. You'd never get over his eyes, so blue they almost didn't look real, so blue you'd spent months finding excuses to look at them, so blue you'd written terrible poetry in your head that you'd never admit to anyone.

But now those eyes just looked confused. "Date?"

"Yeah." Your voice cracked slightly. "Your date. Tonight."

Frank stared at you for a long moment. "I don't have a date," he repeated, and his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Who on earth said I had a date?"

Your brain, exhausted and overwhelmed at this point, could only manage one word. "Perlah."

Frank's eyebrows shot up. "Perlah?" He tilted his head, processing this information. "And where did she get it from?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask." You mumbled the words, suddenly feeling very foolish. Why hadn't you asked? Why had you just accepted it as fact? Normally you were smarter than this. Normally you didn't take gossip at face value.

But normally your heart wasn't on the line.

Frank glanced down at you. "Okay. Well, I don't have a date."

You raised your head, searching his face for any sign of deception. "Where'd the rumor come from, then?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled.

You narrowed your eyes. You'd spent months watching Frank, watching him with patients, with colleagues, with attendings. You knew his tells. You knew when he was hiding something. "Yeah, you do."

Frank's jaw worked. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he spoke. "Perlah just misunderstood my conversation with Donnie."

He was looking away now, studying the hospital entrance. The streetlight caught the slight flush creeping up his neck.

"What conversation with Donnie?" you prompted gently.

Frank's eyes flicked to yours, then away again. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you'd rarely seen from him. "Was talking about how I'd been planning on asking you out. On a date. And Donnie, being Donnie, probably said something loud enough for Perlah to hear and she… filled in the blanks wrong."

You stared at him. Your brain, which had been through absolute hell today, officially stopped working. "Huh?"

Frank grinned at that, even as a flush spread across his cheeks. He looked almost shy, which was so utterly ridiculous on a man like Frank that you couldn't quite process it.

"My turn to ask weird questions," he said, and his voice had gone softer now. "Why were you so upset with me? Are you sure I didn't say anything wrong?"

"Because—" You stopped. Your mind was still stuck on the words asking you out on a date,. "Because we've been flirting for months!" The words burst out of you, louder than you intended, more upset than you wanted to sound. "Flirting for months, Frank. And then I just—I find out you're going on a date with some other girl, and I'm just supposed to be fine? I'm supposed to just stand there and watch you smile at someone else and bring her coffee and wait for her after shifts?"

"You could have just asked me." His voice was impossibly fond. "You've been here long enough to know that listening to Perlah's gossip is never a good idea."

You crossed your arms, defensive now. "Don't act like you haven't believed half her gossip before."

Frank's grin widened. "That's different. Her gossip is usually right. But you should have learned by now that when it comes to me, you come straight to the source." He stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. The silence stretched between you, both of you smiling at each other.

"So," you said slowly, "you were planning to ask me out?"

Frank's expression softened further and he nodded. "If you'll let me."

"Yeah." You felt the smile spread across your face. "Definitely."

"Good." Frank's own smile widened, those dimples making an appearance that made your heart stutter. "Let me drive you home first," he said softly, "and we can discuss the details there, yeah?"

You nodded, unable to stop smiling. But before you could take a step toward where his car was presumably parked, you rose up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

You buried your face in the curve of his neck. You'd missed his touch so badly. And now that you could have it again, you couldn't get close enough.

Frank didn't hesitate for even a second. His arms came around you immediately. "Please don't ever do that again," he mumbled against your hair.

You giggled against his neck. "I'll try my best, handsome." You felt him relax as soon as he heard the word.

Finally, reluctantly, you pulled back. Frank's hands lingered on your waist, clearly unwilling to let go entirely, and you didn't blame him. You didn't want to let go either. But then he smiled and reached for your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours and he started walking toward his car, pulling you gently along with him.

"So," you said, swinging your joined hands slightly as you walked, "are you going to take me to a fancy restaurant?"

Frank glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. "That's your first question?"

"It's an important question. I need to know what I'm getting into."

He laughed. "Yeah. I'm taking you to a fancy restaurant."

"What time are you picking me up?"

"Whenever you want."

"Should I dress up?"

You rolled your eyes and pretended to think about the answer for a second. “I was in med school and needed someone to fuck so I could release the rest of my energy?” you joked and he rolled his eyes with a scoff. “What?” you looked back, smiling. “You should take it as a compliment, you’re so sexually talented, I’ve stayed with you all this time!” you sent him a bright smile and kissed his cheek as he rolled his eyes and removed himself from you. He walked off to his patient, mumbling something about ‘drive me crazy’, as Princess laughed at him. 

“He’s hovering today,” she shook her head. “You’re not concussed again or something, right?” she questioned, referencing the time you got a concussion on shift and he wouldn’t leave you alone. It was the day everyone found out that you and Langdon didn’t actually hate each other, and that you actually shared the last name. You’d gone by your maiden name in your first year, mostly because you hadn’t bothered to legally change your name after the wedding for a long time (med school kept you busy), and also to avoid the awkward explanation. 

You laughed. “No concussion yet, but the day is still young,” you smiled before walking off to your first case. 

Princess shook her head. Something was up. 

Mateo stared at Frank as he stared out the window. “You good?” he questioned. Everyone had been a bit nicer to Frank since he joined back to the Pitt after his rehab stint and sabbatical, so he didn’t go straight to teasing. Everyone knew it was difficult for him, and they understood that sometimes he might be a bit more snappy, or a bit dazed. They did their best to accommodate because, even if he was an asshole, he was an integral part of the Pitt, and people loved how happy he made you. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, biting his lip and he didn’t take his eyes off whatever he was staring at. Mateo sucked in a breath. 

“Dude,” he cleared his throat. Frank finally pulled his eyes away from whatever he was so entranced by. He faced Mateo. “You good?” He asked again, a hand on his shoulder. 

He nodded slowly, then quicker. “Yeah, yeah,” he shook his head, like he was shaking off whatever was in his head. “Yeah I’m good. Just tired. Forget how hard these shifts are sometimes.” He chuckled semi-convincingly. Mateo just nodded, filling it into the back of his mind if Robby ever asks him about Langdon and how he thinks he's doing. 

Frank left the room, pulling his stethoscope around his neck as he left. “He’s being weird,” Mateo shook his head. “Makes me nervous.” 

Trinity let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. “Right? Super weird, he didn’t even chew me out for making a joke about his hair today.” She stared at the spot he’d last been like he’d just disappeared into thin air. Mel looked between the two of them, it being an unnaturally slow (she knew she was jinxing herself by even thinking it) day, meaning both her and Santos were on a case together. 

“I think he’s being normal,” she shrugged, confused by their reactions to him. “He’s just… getting his bearings. It’s his first week back and his first day was the 4th, and that was terrible. He’ll be back to normal in a few days.” She offered them her signature smile, and got nothing but shaking heads in return. She frowned. 

“He’s being strange,” Mateo repeated. He walked up to the window, searching for him. “I mean, look, he’s filling up Y/n’s bottle for her. That’s weird.” 

“Why would that be weird?” Trinity and Mel asked at the same time. 

Mateo’s jaw dropped. “You haven’t heard of the bottle incident of 2022?” he scoffed. They both shook their heads. He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, so back then, none of us knew they were together, and all they used to do was bicker, which we all now know is their foreplay, which is gross,” he made a face, then continued on. “And one day, it got so bad, Y/n spilled Frank’s bottle all over him when he’d asked her to refill it, in front of Gloria and a patient. Ever since they’ve literally been banned from touching each other’s bottles. It always ends badly,” he looked out the window again to see him hand you the freshly refilled bottle, with a quick kiss to the cheek. 

Mateo knew he had to consult Princess’s sheet. 

Trinity stared at Frank in the breakroom. He was looking at something on his phone, but he was covering it with his other hand, like he didn’t want people to see. She raised an eyebrow, and kicked him in the leg (softly). “Watching porn at work?” she joked, Frank quickly turning off his phone and sending her his signature glare. “Come on, I’m kidding,” She smiled. “It’s good to have you back.” 

He nodded, rolling his eyes. “Weirdly, it’s good to be back,” he agreed. He looked down. “Look, I was a dick to you before-” “aw thanks-” “Not finished. You can still be a pain in the ass, but you’re a good doctor. You’re talented. I was… well I was fucked up before, and I’m sorry I treated you the way I did. It wasn’t cool.” He finally met her eyes, an awkward sense of accountability filling the air. She blinked at him. 

“Thank you for apologising,” she said tentatively. “That’s really… adult of you, I guess.” She chuckled to try and diffuse the awkwardness of the moment. Maybe Dr.Abbot was right about her needing to switch to nights? Day shift was too personal for her. 

“Yeah well, I have to become one at some point,” he huffed before walking out, and she stared as he left, her jaw dropped to the floor. Had Frank Langdon just made a self-depricating joke? ER Ken, ‘the chin’, handsome squidward (okay maybe she came up with two of those), had actually admitted to having flaws. She watched as he swung by your workstation, a granola bar in hand, pressing it into your palm as he kissed the top of your head. 

She was adding it to Princess’s list.

Jesse hated it when Langdon interfered with your work, because you always let him. Langdon wasn’t the most openly affectionate husband, hell, no one had known you two were together for about a year. Neither of you had anything to prove, no PDA would change the fact that you two loved each other, and everyone knowing really just made things more complicated. 

So why the fuck was Langdon taking all the good cases and Jesse was stuck with him for half of them? It was no secret that you were Jesse’s favourite doctor, you were cool-headed, always kind to nurses, and always in a good mood somehow. He’d seen you lose it once, and it was the day Langdon’s drug problem was uncovered by Robby, and then the mass casualty after it. You’d sobbed in the breakroom with Jesse and Yolanda at your side, emotionally exhausted from the toll of the day. As the months rolled on and Langdon started his rehab journey, you still stayed positive. You were still smiling, still updating everyone and telling them he was doing well, telling them he missed them, even though they knew he didn’t. He missed you, missed being at work with you. Everyone else was just a side-character to him, you were everything. 

“What the fuck is going on? You’re taking all the good cases and leaving Y/n with the shit,” Jesse asked as he threw his gloves in the bin. “I mean, come on, she’s getting all the easy ones! I did CPR in there for 4 rotations before someone else came to help!” He scoffed as Langdon turned to him. 

“She’s tired,” Frank shrugged, dropping his own gloves into the bin as he passed Jesse. “She asked me to take ‘em, I took ‘em.”

Okay, Jesse knew that was bullshit. You always thought about yourself last, it was always the patients first. You also wouldn’t let Frank have all the fun with the difficult cases. 

Jesse stared at the sheet as he stood at the nurses station. He added it, just to be safe. 

Perlah was appalled by the sight in front of her. She had half a mind to write you both up. Frank had his hand around your waist in the breakroom, a hand sprawled over almost your entire stomach, with his head leaning on yours, just listening to whatever story Jack was recounting. She watched him. Chewing slowly against you, a thumb running back and forth over your scrubs. 

You noticed her staring and sent her a mouthed sorry and a shrug, like you had no idea what had gotten into him. Perlah decided to blame it on first week back-jitters. She just averted her eyes when he leant down and stole a quick kiss, shocking the both of you in the process. 

It was the next line on the list by noon. 

Dennis Whittaker took no pleasure in making the right call when it meant he would face the wrath of Frank Langdon. He’d made a quick save, realised something before him, and he’d ordered the correct meds before he could consult. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to calmly explain that technically, Frank had made the wrong call. 

“You alright Whitty?” You called out, Frank at your side. Whitty was something you’d started to call him a few months ago after he’d made a witty joke out of nowhere, making you laugh so hard, you’d cried. “What’s up?” You questioned. Frank’s eyes snapped to him and he took a very sharp breath. 

“Y’know Mr. Gregor?” he asked, you shook your head and turned your attention to Frank. He nodded. “Well I was going over his CT scan and I notice how close his bleed was getting to causing a seizure and I know you told me not to push Atorvastatin unless he was actually seizing, but I tried it anyway, and his BP went way down and he’s stable enough to go to theatre,” he blurted out. “Sorry, I know I should’ve told you, o-or gotten you, or-”

A smile bloomed on Frank’s face. “Good save, kid,” he smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Go check on Mrs. Taylor, yeah?” 

Whittaker walked away genuinely concerned that Frank had been replaced with a different person. He added it to the list after he told Trinity about it.

It took a lot for Mel to notice something. She usually just assumed everyone was alright, and if they weren’t, they could speak up and say something about it. She knew that Frank had been a bit… antsy since coming back. He constantly looked for you once he left a patient's room. He stared all the time. He kissed you whenever you got close enough to him. You just laughed it off. Called him clingy, or a big baby. He didn’t bite back. He just smiled. He didn’t argue, just tried to kiss you again before you pushed him off, warning him about being written up. You acted like this total 180 personality change was normal. She swallowed back her surprise when Frank had started rattling off facts about pregnant women, to the pregnant woman in front of him. Obviously, every doctor and nurse here had knowledge on pregnancies, but this was overkill. Random facts about fetal anatomy and positioning. Those ‘lovey-dovey’ (as Santos had so elegantly branded it) things about mothers and babies that he would’ve called bullshit a year ago. 

She blinked when she started talking about various tracking apps he wouldn’t have known the name of a year ago. 

The patient was discharged with a smile, and Mel turned to him. “Trying to get patient satisfaction up?” She asked incredulously, completely at a loss for words.

He shrugged. “No, why?” 

She stared, mouth open and helpless, like she thought he should know what she was talking about. He just stared back. “But, you knew all that?” She chuckled, more surprised than laughing. 

“You don’t?” he asked before leaving the room, probably off to find you. 

She added it to the list after a talk with Dana.

Dana had been keeping an eye on the both of you all day. Princess had shared her strange findings on a small chart at the nurse’s station. Frank had gone to find you 18 times in 7 hours, when he could usually go the entire shift without looking for you. Dana looked it over, confused, what the fuck was he doing? 

“How’s your resident doing?” Dana asked as Robby came up beside her. Her eyes stayed on the piece of paper. It had add-ons from Mateo, Santos, Jesse, Perlah, Whittaker, even Mel was in on it. He stared at Frank from across the room, talking animately to a patient. 

He sighed. “I don’t know yet. Still wondering if we brought him back too early,” He shook his head and noticed the sheet of paper. Robby stared at the sheet for a moment, then ripped his glasses off his face. He huffed. “Fuck’s sake.” he breathed out, and she turned to him expectantly, then it dawned on her. 

“We’re going to be losing two of our best Senior residents in about 8 or 9 months for paternity leave,” She shook her head with a smile, and Robby couldn’t exactly hide his own.

Of course. 

He’d had his hands on you all day. He kept looking for you to make sure you were alright. He refilled your water without having to be asked. He gave you his protein bar. Come to think of it, he’d been taking the strenuous cases and leaving you with the easy ones. He even took Trinity off your hands so that you could take Mel and have an easier day. Robby chuckled, grabbing Frank as he passed by, his eyes set on one thing, you. 

He didn’t notice the hand reaching out and grabbing the collar of his scrubs, so he kind of tripped into stopping. “Woah!” he scoffed, his hands up in air as he balanced himself, Robby’s hand retracting. “What the fuck was that for?” 

Robby smirked as Frank turned his attention back to you, those tiny glances everyone had seen all day. “Y/n’s still going to be there in 4 seconds,” he shook his head. Frank looked at him, faking confusion. “What’s going on? How far along is she?” 

Frank’s face went blank. Dana laughed, gaining the attention of Princess and half the nursing staff. Frank cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shook his head. Frank Langdon was many things. Blunt, rude, annoying. One thing he was not, was a good liar. Dana laughed into Robby’s shoulder as a chuckle left his own lips. 

“Sure kid, just let me know so I can book off your paternity leave,” he clapped a hand on Frank’s shoulder, who quickly brushed it off, irritation surging through his body. Robby stayed smiling. “I’m happy for you two, congratulations.” 

Frank gritted his teeth, stepping in closer, his voice cutting and final. “She is not pregnant. We are not pregnant!” He practically shouted, gaining the attention of nearly the whole ER. Everyone stared, he went bright red, he cleared his throat, and he walked. 

Straight to you, of course. You laughed at him as he pushed some of his hair out of his face, following you around like a puppy. You hadn’t heard his outburst, but no doubt you’d hear about it.

“Nice catch Robby,” Dana smiled. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.” She shook her head. 

He shrugged. “He’s such a worrier the second she gets sick, we’re going to have to deal with this for months now.” 

The small group that had gathered all realised they’d have to deal with Dr. Worrywart for a whole 9 months. They quickly went back to work. 

“I think everyone’s onto us,” You chuckled as Frank came up to you for the 24th time that day. He shook his head. 

“No, I think we’re good. No one knows-”

“Everyone knows!” Both Robby and Dana cheered from behind you. Dana hugged you from behind as you laughed, Frank’s blank expression breaking into an annoyed squint. “Congratualtions,” she smiled. “You’re going to be the coolest parents.”

“I think you already fill that role,” you chuckled, taking her hand. “But thank you.” 

“Congratualtions.” Robby smiled, shaking Frank’s hand and then pulling you into a hug as Dana pulled Frank into a reluctant hug. 

They left you after a few more congratulations and you turned to Frank. “You’re totally right, no one knows,” you teased.  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, fuck off,” he couldn’t fight the bright smile on his lips.

the pitt masterlist

You loved being Frank’s wife—loved knowing that at the end of the day, he was the one coming home with you. But there was one small issue: you both worked together.

Even though you’d started working in the same hospital back when you were just dating, and there was nothing that explicitly prohibited coworkers from being in a relationship as long as it didn’t interfere with their work in the ER, you and Frank had decided to keep your relationship quiet.

Not a secret exactly—more like something you simply didn’t mention at work. The moment the two of you stepped into the ER, you both slipped into your “professional mode,” only interacting with each other in ways that could be seen as two coworkers who happened to be friendly.

People knew you were married. Frank wore his ring on his finger every day, and you always had yours hanging on a chain around your neck—so yes, people knew you were married. They just didn’t know it was to each other.

It was kind of funny, actually. You and Frank had turned it into a sort of game. He would talk about his wife, always praising her, knowing you were close enough to hear. His eyes would find yours, giving you that knowing look that never failed to make you smile. And you did the same—talking about how amazing your husband was, your eyes often catching the soft smirk that would grace Frank’s features as you did. 

It was the way the two of you had found to still give each other love during your shifts without alerting the rest of the people at work that you were actually talking about each other.

But that wasn’t the only thing people didn’t know.

Frank turned off the car engine, the silence in the interior taking over for a moment. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath—this would be the last moment of peace and quiet you’d have until another twelve hours had passed, and you wanted to savor it.

Frank grabbed your hand, causing your eyes to open as you turned to look at him. You gave him a soft smile as he gazed back at you.

“Ready to march into battle?”

You nodded, giving his hand one last squeeze before reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, you’re forgetting something.”

You gave Frank a confused look, which made him pucker his lips, exaggeratingly tilting toward you.

“My goodbye kiss.”

You knew what he’d said, but with his puckered lips it sounded more like, “Mu gubye kisth.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby before leaning over the center console and giving Frank a quick kiss.

“Come on, Langdon. We’ll be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As always, you and Frank walked in together. Nobody questioned the fact that you always arrived with each other—you’d given the bullshit excuse that you lived close by, and that it was easier for Frank to give you a ride than for both of you to drive to work. Plus, it was better for the environment. One less car on the streets.

Of course, people believed you. You gave them no reason not to.

When you made your way over to check the board, Robby caught sight of you. He smiled and made his way over with ease. You let him tug you into a quick side hug, your arm wrapping briefly around his waist.

“Hey, Honey. How you doing today?”

You pulled back so you could look him in the eyes.

“I’m doing good. How about you, Robby?”

Your eyes caught the bags under his eyes, and you immediately knew he hadn’t slept well the night before. But Robby hated people worrying about him, so when he said he was fine, you pretended to believe it.

“You searching for a target?”

At Robby’s question, your gaze flicked back to the board, briefly catching Frank disappearing into one of the rooms with Mel before settling on the writing on the screen.

“Gonna start easy, I think. A kid with a nosebleed might be ready for discharge. I’ll go check on him.”

“Alright then. The kid’s in good hands. See you around, Honey.”

You smiled as Robby gave your shoulder a soft squeeze before heading off, leaving you to make your way toward your first patient. You didn’t even notice the glances, didn’t hear the whispers as you moved through the ER. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

See, here’s the thing—people in the ER love to gossip. It keeps them entertained, helps keep the pain and sadness at bay as you all try to make it through your shifts. And when people don’t have all the information, they can come up with some pretty wild rumors.

The most recent one was that you and Robby were secretly married to each other. Which was absurd—not only because of the age difference, but because Robby was family. Literally family. He was your uncle. Biologically. As in, your father’s brother.

But people didn’t know that. Only a select few did—people who mattered, like Dana and Jack and the higher-ups. They knew either because they’d seen you grow up, in Dana and Jack’s case, or because they’d been responsible for hiring you and were aware of your family ties to Robby.

But everybody else?

Oh yeah. They had no clue.

Which ended up causing some… issues.

Because the Robby rumor was bad—but the Frank one was so much worse.

It started harmlessly. Frank bringing you coffee during a lull. Leaning against the counter beside you while you charted, shoulders brushing. A hand resting briefly at the small of your back as he passed behind you in a crowded hallway.

Normal things. Small things.

Things that meant everything to the wrong people.

They started noticing it one by one. Santos clocked the way Frank’s voice softened when he spoke to you. Javadi caught the way Frank’s eyes followed you across the ER when you laughed at something a patient said. Whitaker saw Frank step a little too close when you were visibly shaken after a bad case.

And then, to make matters so much worse, someone saw you and Frank in a very private moment.

You hadn’t thought anything of it—ducking into an empty break room, adrenaline still buzzing through you after a rough trauma. Frank followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Hey,” he murmured, hands already finding your waist. “You did good in there.”

You exhaled, leaning into him, fingers fisting in his scrub top as he kissed you—slow at first, then deeper. Familiar. Safe. His hand slid up your back, grounding you.

You were so caught up in Frank that you didn’t hear the door hinges open slightly. Didn’t hear the soft gasp, or the door shutting a little too quickly.

Someone had seen you with Frank. And because they thought you were married to Robby—and didn’t know Frank was married to you—the speculation took a sharp turn, fast.

An affair. A scandal. A nurse cheating with a married attending.

And somehow—somehow—people thought they’d finally figured out the truth.

They had no idea how wrong they were.

And because you had no idea these rumors even existed, you ended up unintentionally feeding into them.

When a tough case got to you, Robby had pulled you to the side, giving you a bear hug as tears swelled in your eyes. And when he left the room to keep working, and you started to take a breather, Frank had slipped in, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke comforting words.

And people saw it. They saw these small, soft moments—and twisted them into something they weren’t.

But like everything in life, there was a final straw.

It came as an accusation.

You were hunched over the chart, scribbling notes after checking on your patient, when a voice from the nurses’ station broke the quiet.

“You know… you should really own up to it.”

You froze, pen in midair. “Excuse me?”

They leaned a little closer, a smirk playing at the corner of their lips.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be coy. We all know you’re… you’re cheating on Robby.”

Your hand dropped to the counter. “What?!”

Someone else, leaning over nearby, snickered. You blinked, utterly confused.

“Cheating? On… Robby?”

The first person shrugged, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah. I mean… it’s obvious. You and Frank, right? We see it all the time.”

You held up a hand. “Okay, whoa. You need to relax. You’ve got this all wrong. Completely wrong.”

By that point, movement in the hallway caught your attention. Robby and Frank had both emerged from different rooms, strolling in the general direction of the nurses’ station. Their heads tilted slightly, noticing you animatedly talking to someone, lips moving, hands gesturing.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath. “This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

As they approached, you straightened, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Okay,” you said, raising your voice just enough for everyone nearby to hear, “let’s get something straight. For everyone.”

The staff fell quiet, leaning in curiously.

“I am married—to Frank,” you said slowly, letting it sink in. “Robby is my uncle. I am not cheating on anyone. And yes, we all work together, but none of what you’re imagining is actually happening.”

A pause. Some eyes widened. Some shifted awkwardly.

And then there was Dana.

Dana had appeared quietly, arms crossed, a grin spreading across her face.

“Oh my god,” she said, barely holding back laughter. “This is gold. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Robby calls you ‘Honey’ nonstop. What’s the deal with that?” the accuser jabbed.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. God, people really liked grasping at straws.

“‘Honey’ is my middle name. Robby’s been calling me that since I was a kid.”

The accuser froze, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, go back to work.” You turned to glance around at the people still gawking at you. “Everyone, back to work.”

The staff reluctantly returned to their tasks, whispers and smirks lingering just a little longer than usual. And Dana? Dana lingered a little longer too, clearly planning to tease you about this for weeks.

That’s when Frank appeared beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, smirk fully in place. 

“Well,” he said, glancing around at the still-whispering staff, “guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling. “I guess so.”

Frank leaned closer, voice dropping into a mock-serious tone.

“So… what’s stopping me from kissing you right here? In the middle of everybody?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Decency.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly offended. “Decency? Since when have I ever been decent?”

Before you could answer, he tugged you gently toward him. Lips met yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. You laughed against his mouth, and he grinned against yours before pulling back just enough to whisper:

“See? We should have told them about us ages ago.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his forehead against yours, “but you love me anyway.”

And you did.

You and Frank exchanged a look—quiet, silly, and utterly yours.

“Get back to work, Dr. Langdon.”

Frank gave you a mock salute. “Yes, Mrs. Langdon.”

You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head as he walked away. When he was finally out of view, you turned and stared at Dana.

“I hate you.”

She gave you a smile and pulled you into a hug.

“No, you don’t.”

The first time you fainted around Logan was honestly, probably best-case scenario, all things considered. Having not mentioned too much about your diagnosis to him, he couldn’t lie, he was absolutely terrified seeing you stand up very quickly from the kitchen chair before collapsing. Knowing what he did know, his reflexes kicked in, grabbing your body as you fell into him, his hand cradling your head as he lied you down flat on the floor, slightly elevating your legs.

With his heart beating out of his chest, he hovered his hand over your mouth and nose, ensuring you were breathing as he continued to monitor your breathing, waiting for you to wake up. Your eyes slowly opened, a large exhale of relief coming from Logan.

“Shh, don’t move too much, baby, just relax,” he softly spoke, his hand coming up to gently caress the side of your face. Your hand slowly finds his arm holding your face, your thumb stroking small lines on his arm, a silent ‘thanks’ being said from the action.

Once you were feeling better, you had fully let Logan in on what this condition was like for you. Your experiences, your signs and symptoms. You felt bad for not telling him sooner, but found yourself thankful for his receptiveness and understanding, him not thinking any less of you because of this.

Logan spent that night scouring the internet, caffeine fueling his system as he stayed up late, searching up anything and everything – triggers, other possible side effects, ways to help prevent and/or handle fainting when it occurs. His eyes trail to the large box of Liquid IV packets leftover from his sponsorship deal with Garrett. He was determined to ensure you would always be taken care of whenever you were together, no matter what.

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

The football stands were packed out, the team on track to head to the championship. After scanning your tickets, you, Logan and the rest of your friend group walked around, everyone splitting off to grab snacks, drinks, take pictures. You reach into your bag, pulling out your portable fan and turning it on, feeling a hot flash starting to radiate through your body.

Focusing on your breathing, Logan noticed your body language shifting slightly, looking more tense. Logan happens to glance over at one of the food carts at the perfect time, seeing Garrett and Hannah trying to get his attention, motioning to see if he wants anything. He glances at you before throwing up a “W” with his hands, an indication for ‘water’ that you all universally understood. Garrett shoots him a thumbs up.

You both stand around waiting for the rest of the group. You scour the football field trying to find Beau, him being the main reason you all came – to show support the way he always does for all the hockey guys. You see him, shouting his name and waving, Logan joining you as Beau spots you both, returning the wave before going back to his warmups.

Slowly, everyone comes back, meeting up with you and Logan again. Garrett passes the water bottle to Logan discreetly. Everyone heads into the stands, Logan falling behind from the group and calling your name, making you turn around.

“Here,” he says, unscrewing the water bottle, then reaching around to his back pocket, pulling out an electrolyte packet. He rips the packet open with his teeth before pouring the contents into the water, closing it and shaking it up before handing it to you.

Finding yourself baffled at what you just witnessed, you thanked him, reopening the bottle and taking a sip. The mix of water and electrolytes circulates in your system, making the stress you were feeling slowly dissipate. Making the dizziness go away. Making the lightheadedness fade away.

A look of shock is written all over your face, while Logan looks at you with that same cheeky smile you know and love.

“How did you-“ 

“I did my research. I’m not gonna have my girl ever be worried around me,” he replies, gently slinging his arm around your shoulders as you smile up at him. 

Logan has always been consistent, always showing up for you, always being your safe space, always showing off how much he loves you. Warmth spreads through your body at his continued kind nature in making sure you're taken care of, no matter what.

You lean in, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek before nuzzling into his side, sending him a 'thank you' through your hug. Glancing back up at him, the smile on his face like yours, not leaving.

“I do have some salty snacks for you too, but Dean got into some of them,” he admits.

You laugh, your heart warming at his attentiveness. He leans in to peck your lips lightly, giggling about how he can taste the flavor of the electrolyte packet on your lips as you both walk into the stands, joining your friends.

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

note – not sponsored by liquid iv, I wish

you've been having a rough shift, rougher than usual. the atmosphere at PTMC felt strange and the patients you've dealt with today were crazier than usual. you could've sworn it was just sleep deprivation that made you feel like that, until javadi leaned against the desk you were currently sitting at.

"am i the only one who feels like everyone has gone crazy?"

you looked up from your screen, where you were actively charting about a patient that had shot a nail through their left hand with a nail gun. that alone felt like the appropriate response to javadi's question.

"you're not alone," you sighed, typing out a few more words into the chart. your hands felt like they were only seconds away from cramping.

"oh, thank god." she sighed out of relief. "i genuinely thought i might be having some sort of weird stroke."

"nope. but the er might be," you stated. that was your weak attempt at being humorous.

javadi's mouth twitched into a position that could almost mirror a smile if she wasn't absolutely exhausted. "you can say that again."

"just a few hours left. we can do this," you tried cheering her up, knowing that you didn't even believe in that statement yourself. five more minutes and you might just collapse on the floor.

right then, the overly enthusiastic version of frank langdon, that you rarely saw ever, appeared next to the both of you. "if you keep chit-chatting like this, robby might just kill you."

"hello to you too," you said, your entire body fighting a battle against sleep.

"jesus. you look like the epitome of death," he declared when he saw just how terrible you looked at the moment. you could've sworn you saw concern appear on his face. but again, that could've just been sleep deprivation tricking your mind into believing something that wasn't true at all.

"how are you so… energetic right now?" javadi asked the question both of you were wondering.

"what? this shift has been great!"

"of course you'd think that," you commented, forcing a sarcastic smile on your face.

he stared at you like what you just said was utterly ridiculous and ultimately crazy. "what?"

"nothing," you rolled your eyes. or at least you think you did. your body was starting to become so numb to the point that you weren't even sure if your body was operating properly.

"hey, if you have that much energy, you can always just take my patients," javadi said to him.

just as langdon was about to utter a sarcastic response, dana rushed over to the three of you, all gathered around the same desk.

"langdon, mel's looking for you. she's in central nine."

"oh, okay. i'll be there," he said again with way too much enthusiastic energy for both you and javadi.

dana's eyes wandered from your face to javadi's. "you two don't get paid for sitting around and talking shit, now do you?" she said. you'd almost think she was being judgemental if you didn't know better.

"yes, ma'am," you responded, sarcasm slipping into your tone. your gaze fell on langdon who was still leaning against the desk, rocking on his heels.

"you can go, you know."

"and leave you here? c'mon, aren't you fascinated to know what case mel needs help with?" he was now the one trying to cheer you up. javadi's whole presence shifted at his words, from exhaustion to curiosity.

"not really."

"you're so boring."

"mhm," you hummed. "now scram, boy."

he just huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. he did end up departing, but not without giving you a playful pat on the shoulder. you fought the smile that tried to appear on your face at that, but you could feel just how your heart slightly fluttered.

"now what was that?" javadi said, her eyebrows raised. her whole exhausted demeanour was now completely gone. the tea was apparently more important.

"what?" you feigned.

"i mean, he clearly wanted you to come with him."

"nope," you physically forced yourself to look back at the chart, only to notice that the screen had already returned back to the original desktop.

"yes!" she insisted.

you just ignored her words, signing back into the computer. you could hear her sigh, but she took that as a sign that you weren't willing to talk about it.

the shift was coming to an end, you only had one patient to treat before you could hand out all of your responsibilities to the night shift.

you were currently picking out a specific syringe from the supply room, having to lean on your tippy toes as you tried to reach for it from the top shelf.

that was when langdon opened the door with too much force which startled you to the point that you could've sworn you were having a heart attack. "jesus fucking christ!" you almost lost your balance, having to grab the shelf in front of you.

"sorry! sorry- i didn't know anyone was here," he immediately apologized, lowering his voice.

"you're fine, just… christ." you placed your hand on your chest, feeling your fastened heartbeat. the door closed behind him and the air started to feel warmer from both of your bodies being cramped in the same room.

you tried to reach for the syringe, cursing to yourself. i mean, god, why would they put such an important item so high up? what was the logic behind that exactly? to have every nurse and doctor in the world struggling, apparently.

"you need help with that?" he asked. he tried to bit back the teasing smile that was fighting to emerge on his lips.

you would've loved to refuse the offer, but you seriously needed the syringe, it was your one way ticket home. so, you let out a sigh loud enough to make sure he heard your frustration and muttered, "fine."

then he leaned closer than you expected him to, reaching out for the syringe. his scrub top was itching way too high that you could see the waistband of his boxers. you had to physically force yourself to look away.

after he also struggled to reach the item, he finally caught it with his fingertips. "yes, baby!" he cheered to himself.

with your already red cheeks, the smile that had been forced on your face from his cheer was making you look way too smitten. you bit your cheek to try to suppress it before he could notice.

he handed you the syringe, grinning like a man who've just won the olympics. "see? i've still got it."

you tried to hide your flustered expression with sarcasm, something that came easy to you. "what a gentleman."

"uh huh, you're welcome."

"now, what did you need?"

"well," he cleared his throat. "you remember when i said that i didn't know you were here?"

"yeah?"

"well, that was a lie. i knew you were here. i specifically came here looking for you." he scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"oh," you uttered, your eyebrows now raised. "what for?"

"i know you're exhausted," he started.

"you can say that again," you joked. though, your body had already forgotten sleep ever since his shirt just happened to ride up right in front of you.

"-but i have a very good case for you!" he said with too much enthusiasm.

"no," you immediately shut him down. "i'm so close to finishing my shift."

"please." he held his hands against each other, practically pleading. "it'd be a great teaching case. this is still a teaching hospital, right?"

god, why was he being so persistent? and why was it making your cheeks warmer than they already were?

"i promise it won't take long."

"if i say yes, you owe me," you pointed at his chest with your index finger.

"yes, anything!" he released his hands from each other, now holding them in the air.

"fine," you surrendered. "but- i need to go see my patient first."

"yes, of course. it's not critical or anything."

"okay…"

the both of you continued to stand there for a second too long. "i'll just-" he moved to the door.

"yup."

"come find me in north 2," he said, opening the door.

"okay." and that was when he slipped out of the room, letting the door close behind him.

you let out a deep breath out, one you didn't even know you were holding in the first place. what the fuck was going on today?

you did go see langdon's patient, which happened to not be an actual teaching case, but an adult dressed as a disney princess for a kid's birthday party. langdon found it hilarious enough for him to show it to you and you would've called it a waste of time if you also didn't find it sort of funny. and it's not like you'd complain about getting to spend more time with him.

but now you were once again charting, the endless cycle of being a resident. but it was your last patient's chart and then you were officially free from the ED, so you pushed through it.

"oh my god, when is he going to stop staring at you?" you heard trinity say under her breath.

when you raised your eyes from the computer screen to trinity, she was already staring at you.

"what?"

"langdon," she pointed with her chin to the right.

when your eyes drifted to the direction she was pointing to, your eyes locked with the exact suspect.

you quickly averted your gaze back to your computer screen, feeling your cheeks once again getting warmer for what was probably the tenth time today.

"i don't know why he's doing that."

you could hear trinity groan. you were sure if you looked at her right now, she'd also be rolling her eyes. "yes you do."

you shut the chart you were actively working on and swiftly moved closer to trinity, leaning against her desk. "i swear to god, he's been acting so weird today."

"today?" she mocked.

you ignored her comment and kept explaining yourself, "yeah, like… he keeps asking for me to come work with him on cases and-"

trinity cut you off with your name. "you seriously haven't noticed?"

"what?"

"oh my god," she said, clearly irritated by how oblivious you could be sometimes. well, more often than just sometimes.

"you haven't noticed how everytime you walk into a room he crosses his arms, just to show off? or- or how he always gives you space when working on a patient, like he's memorizing where you like to stand.

she started to list the idiotic things langdon does for you, something she found very aggravating. "he's also always wherever you are. i mean, god, he's practically like a dog when it comes to you."

with each thing she let roll from the tip of her tongue, you started to realize exactly what trinity meant. like finding a key to a locked door. you finally started to uncover just what was behind it.

"ask him for your coffee order and he probably has it memorized!"

you let your gaze wander back to him while listening to trinity's words. he was at the exact spot your eyes had found him in before and, of course, his eyes were still on you.

"told you," she just retorted, giving you a disbelieving side eye and turned back to her screen.

but you couldn't help the smile that was now so clear on your face. because she was right. and hearing those words from trinity might've just been the best thing ever.