Summary: They don't call him Joe 'Keeps making jokes' Keery for nothing
The moment you stepped out of the car, you felt the noise hit you all at once.
It was louder than you expected. Cameras clicking, people shouting names, flashes lighting up the carpet so quickly that you barely had time to blink between them. You had been fine on the drive over, or at least you had convinced yourself you were fine, sitting beside Joe with your hand tucked into his and your knee bouncing beneath the hem of your outfit.
Now, standing in front of a wall of photographers with dozens of people calling for you both to look their way, you could feel your confidence slipping.
Joe noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
His hand found the small of your back before you could even say anything, warm and steady, grounding you without making it obvious. He leaned closer, his smile still fixed for the cameras, and murmured, “For the record, I also think this is weird. Grown adults yelling at us to turn left like we’re confused Sims.”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Joe’s grin widened, pleased with himself. “There she is.”
You glanced up at him, trying to hide how grateful you were, but he already knew. He always knew. His hand stayed firm against your back as he guided you a step forward, careful not to rush you, careful not to let the crowd swallow you whole.
“Joe! Over here!”
“Y/N, this way!”
“Joe, can we get one together?”
Your shoulders tensed at the sound of your name being shouted from every direction. Joe must have felt it, because he shifted a little closer, his body angled slightly in front of yours, not enough to block you completely, but enough to make you feel sheltered.
He turned his head towards you again. “Do you reckon if I trip dramatically, they’ll stop taking photos of you and start asking if I need medical assistance?”
You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile too obviously. “Please don’t.”
“I’m just saying, I’m willing to commit to the bit.”
“You are not falling on a red carpet for me.”
“I would absolutely fall on a red carpet for you,” he said seriously, then paused. “Maybe not face first. I have limits.”
This time, you laughed properly, and the photographers noticed.
“Beautiful! Hold that!”
Joe looked smug. “See? I’m a professional.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot,” he said, squeezing your waist gently.
The comment was quiet, meant only for you, but the way he looked at you was impossible to miss. Soft. Proud. Protective in a way that made your chest ache.
As you moved further down the carpet, an interviewer waved the two of you over. You felt your nerves return the second a microphone was pointed in your direction. Joe sensed that too. He always seemed to catch the smallest changes in you, the way your fingers curled into your palm or your smile became a little too fixed.
Before the interviewer could ask anything, Joe leaned towards the microphone and said, “Just so everyone knows, she’s carrying this entire evening. I’m mostly here for moral support and snacks.”
The interviewer laughed. “You two look amazing tonight.”
Joe looked at you instead of answering straight away. “Yeah, she does.”
Your face warmed, and you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “You’re meant to say thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said, still looking at you. “But I stand by what I said.”
The interviewer smiled, clearly picking up on the way Joe kept checking on you between questions. “You seem very calm together.”
Joe laughed under his breath. “That’s because one of us is actually cool, and the other one is me pretending I know what I’m doing.”
You shook your head, but you were smiling now. A real smile. The tightness in your chest had started to ease, replaced by the comfort of Joe standing beside you, making himself a shield without ever making you feel small.
When the interviewer asked you a question, Joe stayed quiet, but his thumb brushed gently against your side. A tiny reminder that he was there. That you did not have to rush. That you were doing fine.
You answered, your voice a little shaky at first, but stronger by the end. Joe watched you with that soft, proud expression again, the one that made it hard to remember anyone else was around.
When you finished, he leaned in and whispered, “That was very hot of you.”
“Joe,” you hissed, trying not to laugh with the microphone still nearby.
“What? I’m supporting you.”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“Lovingly.”
The interviewer laughed again, and somewhere nearby, cameras flashed faster. You could already imagine the clips online later. Joe Keery making Y/N laugh on the red carpet. Joe Keery unable to stop looking at Y/N. Joe Keery being protective as Y/N gets nervous.
And maybe people were noticing.
Maybe they could see the way he kept his hand on your back, the way he gently moved you away from the louder photographers when they started calling too much, the way he answered quickly whenever someone tried to talk over you, giving you space to breathe.
But for once, you did not mind being noticed.
Because Joe made the whole thing feel less terrifying.
As you reached the end of the carpet, you let out a breath you had not realised you were holding. Joe looked down at you.
“You okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”
His face softened. “You did so good.”
“You kept making jokes.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, slipping his hand into yours as you stepped away from the flashing lights, “you looked nervous.”
“I was nervous.”
“I know.” His voice went quieter. “That’s why I wasn’t going to let you stand there feeling alone.”
Your heart squeezed.
For a moment, the noise of the carpet faded behind you. There was only Joe, his fingers linked with yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, his smile gentler now that no one was shouting for it.
“You’re very protective, you know,” you said.
He shrugged, trying to play it off, but the tips of his ears turned pink. “Only because you’re you.”
You smiled up at him. “That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense in my head.”
You laughed, and Joe’s expression softened all over again, like that had been the whole point. Like he would make a fool of himself in front of a hundred cameras if it meant getting you to breathe a little easier.
Then he leaned closer, his voice low and warm beside your ear.
“Come on. Let’s go inside before I actually have to fake an injury.”
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it’s late when sukuna returns, shards of moonlight peeking through the blinds of your shared home like pieces of glass. you’d been up late waiting for him, same as every night.
you lift your head up from your palm when you hear the sound of shoes scuffling, tired expression letting up into a soft smile at the sight of your boyfriend. you get up immediately to make your way over.
you don’t notice it: the tension in his features or the almost-scowl on his face, the aura of irritation he’s carrying like a weight. you’re blinded by affection.
“hi, kuna,” you smile sweetly, tiptoeing to wrap your arms around his neck as you lean into him. he tenses up under your touch and you coo sympathetically, rubbing his back. “long day?”
“um, yeah,” sukuna grunts, not moving to reciprocate the embrace. he shifts slightly, irritation radiating off him in waves. “could you let go? ‘m gonna go take a shower.”
he sounds annoyed, you realise, but he’s probably just exhausted. of course you’re gonna try your best to help, and cuddles always helped, at least for you. you could do that.
“nuh-uh,” you reply instantly, smiling as you cling to sukuna tighter. your face drops onto his shoulder, nuzzling as you inhale his heady scent. “you can shower later, let’s cuddle first. i miss you.”
“later.” his voice rises.
you pout childishly. “no, now, you’re tired and i can hug you and —“
“i said, later.” sukuna finally snaps, tone poisonous and voice tight like coiled wire. he crosses his arms, his way of pushing you off without actually doing it. “you just never fuckin’ know when to quit, do you?”
you freeze.
he doesn’t yell, never does, but this is worse somehow. harder to swallow because you can feel the pure anger in it.
you don’t trust your voice enough to respond. slowly dropping your hands off him, you take a quiet, shaky step back. sukuna grunts in approval, rubbing his temples. “i’ve had a long day. can’t deal with you right now.”
that pierces through your heart like a bullet. suddenly, all you’re filled with is hurt and guilt and the slightest twinge of anger. you fight to keep a straight face as your eyes sting.
can’t deal with you right now.
what the hell was that supposed to mean?
sukuna had never once made you feel like a burden, ever. you knew what he was like before you started dating, you’d heard everything about how he fucked people over.
but he always treated you like you were the most precious thing on earth, like you were something to be handled with gentleness. you almost believed it, stupid girl.
now you got it. you understood exactly what everyone had been telling you. he finally got sick of you, eventually realised that you were too annoying. too bright, too nice, too much for him.
but maybe he didn’t have to be such an asshole about it, you think as you bite down on your lip to hold back tears.
“okay,” you exhale, struggling to keep your voice even. “i’m sorry. i, um- i ran you a bath.”
the tense silence is deafening. you swallow, voice growing quieter. “i’ll just go to bed then.”
sukuna doesn’t respond, glaring at something on the floor. you quickly turn around and make your way to the bedroom, the dam quietly breaking as soon as the door’s closed and you're out of his view.
you settle into bed, tucking in with your hands wrapped tightly around your body like a shield. the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut makes you flinch.
the clink of the shower turning on follows right after; he didn’t even use the bath you set up for him.
you hate feeling this way. like you did something wrong and you don’t know what, like he did something wrong and you don’t want to admit it.
quiet sniffles escape you as you close your eyes, feeling the cold tears drip down the bridge of your nose, down your temples. you will yourself to sleep, despite knowing it won’t come.
it’s a long time before you feel a dip in the bed, sukuna’s weight climbing in next to you. you’re in that weird headspace between wakefulness and sleep, but immediately tense awake at the jostling.
it takes a moment before he says anything. almost like he’s hesitating. you hear his heavy breaths.
“hey, baby,” he finally murmurs from behind you, hand reaching out, hovering before he gently puts it on your waist. checking if it’s okay.
you turn rigid, and sukuna retracts his hand like he’s been burned, frowning slightly.
“you’re upset,” he mutters. not a question.
he’s unsurprised when you don’t reply, but he hopes you’ll give him a sliver of a chance anyway. “could you at least turn around?” he grunts. “look at me?”
silence.
he sighs, softer now. he grumbles something under his breath before speaking up again. “please?”
it takes a minute before you begrudgingly shift, rolling over so you’re facing him instead of the wall. you glare up at him, sitting on the covers and looking down at you.
sukuna looks you over.
he thinks he feels something in him crack at the sight of your dried tear tracks, puffy red eyes.
he made you, his sweet, angelic girl, cry. you were just trying to take care of him. only trying to make him feel better, and he snapped at you, and now he feels like the biggest loser on earth. all because of what? a fucking bad day?
idiot, he thinks to himself as he reaches out, both hands cupping your cheeks. he wipes your tears away firmly, so gentle despite it all.
you huff, trying to pull back, but sukuna doesn’t budge. his hands stay on your jaw, soft as his thumbs brush your cheeks.
“let go,” you muster angrily, but it’s a weak attempt.
“no.”
“sukuna, let me go. you’re such an —“
“asshole, i know,” he exhales roughly. his thumbs pause in their ministrations, pressing down on your skin softly. “bitch, jerk, fucking dick. i know. and i’m sorry.”
one hand moves to card gently through your hair, and he feels you grow more pliant under his touch. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you,” sukuna continues. “i had a bad fucking day, people saying the stupidest shit and pissing me off in every way possible. but that wasn’t… i shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
you swallow.
“no, you shouldn’t have,” you mumble, all your anger dissipating into something akin to hurt. you tilt your head down to look at your fiddling fingers. “i thought i did something wrong. or maybe you just finally realised you were sick of me, and you hated me.”
“no, baby —“ sukuna responds, almost desperate as he tilts your chin up to look back up at him. he presses a rough kiss to the side of your mouth, hating to see his bright girl looking so dim. “— fuck, no. you did nothing wrong, yeah? i was an absolute idiot, taking out my anger on you, when you were just trying to be nice.”
you bite your tongue. “you really are,” you say quietly, gaze locked on him. “an absolute idiot.”
“i am, baby,” sukuna agrees, brushing a curl back from your face. “you didn’t deserve that.”
he’s looking at you with not just guilt, but that quiet affection now, the one reserved just for you.
slowly, he bends down but doesn’t yet close the gap. he’s waiting for you to do it, or maybe to pull away if you want to. you give in.
you wrap your arms around his neck, using it as leverage to pull yourself up to meet his lips. he holds you up easily.
the kiss is soft, reverent, sorry, like sukuna’s never kissed before. his passion is still obvious, but it’s gentler now. moulding into something sweeter just for you.
it’s a while before you pull away, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he rests his forehead against yours.
his hands are warm where they’ve slipped under your top, drawing quiet patterns on your hip. you melt into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder with your fingers tangling in the hair at his nape.
“so,” he murmurs, and you feel the vibrations of his voice. “does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
“maybe,” you mumble, lips twitching. “if you buy me a slice of that strawberry shortcake tomorrow, i’ll consider it.”
“how many ever you want, baby,” sukuna presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “i’ll get you the whole damn bakery.”
thinking about royalty au!sukuna and royalty au!reader…
royal au!sukuna who is a cold and unfeeling prince, next in line to be king of his kingdom and has fought in countless of wars. each one coming out undefeated and sharper from the years of training and isolation.
royal au!sukuna who is forced to betroth royal au!reader in hopes of getting him a dutiful queen who will be able to play her role as his placeholder till the next comes.
royal au!reader who is a rebellious princess from another kingdom, who is forced to accepted the engagement, out of reasons of ‘settling down’ and becoming more ‘royal-like’ - fulfilling her birth rite duty to becoming someone’s wife and someone else’s mother.
royal au!reader who decides she will do everything in her means to live her life the way she wants and somehow try to make royal au!sukuna’s life a living nightmare.
royal au!sukuna who has to try to not poison, stab or choke royal au!reader to death at every inconvenience she pushes him into.
royal au!reader who has to try to juggle the massive mantle of being next in line to be queen of a kingdom she has never called home, while maintaining her own self-identity as reader and not just a princess or someone’s wife.
all while somehow royal au!sukuna seems to soften up around the edges over time at the presence of royal au!reader. as cliché as it sounds.
royal au!sukuna and royal au!reader who end up finding out little things that make them fall for each other find each other more tolerable over the course of their year long engagement.
royal au!reader who finds it hard to love.
and royal au!sukuna who finds it not just hard but an absolute pain to love… yet, wants to try if it’s a chance to be with royal au!reader.
Summary: Jack Abbot is going to propose to you. That part is easy. The harder part is honoring your very serious, definitely-binding request that your best friend be consulted on any future ring purchase or proposal plan. Which is how Jack ends up in a coffee shop with John Shen, four ring photos, one proposal plan, a folder labeled Proposal Committee: Preliminary Review, and a cinnamon latte that may or may not become evidence in a future homicide investigation. But when the ring finally arrives six weeks later, Jack realizes the plan was never really about the candles, the takeout, or the timing. It was always about knowing you.
Warnings: fluff, proposal, engagement, emotional intimacy, established relationship, Shen being Shen, best friend/work husband chaos, brief lingerie mention, Jack being deeply in love, crying, happy tears, mild language
Author's Note:
The clause saga continues, and this one is pure proposal chaos with a deeply emotional center. Jack is trying so hard to be normal. Shen is taking his advisory role with terrifying seriousness. The reader is, of course, two steps away from figuring everything out at any given moment. This is for everyone who wanted Jack to honor the best friend clause, survive the proposal committee, and still get his perfect kitchen proposal. I hope you love it.
Xoxo, Del
Previous Parts: The Work Husband Clause & The Best Friend Clause
Jack Abbot was going to propose to you. He had known that for a while now. Not in the vague, distant, maybe-someday way people talked about marriage when they were trying not to scare themselves with the size of what they wanted. Jack had passed that point weeks ago. Months, maybe. It was hard to track the exact moment when wanting forever with you had stopped feeling like a thought and started feeling like a fact. Maybe it had been the first time you fell asleep on his couch with one hand tucked under your cheek and one foot pressed against his thigh like you had decided he was furniture.
Maybe it had been the morning you stole the last sip of his coffee, kissed his jaw, and told him you loved him before walking out the door wearing two different socks. Maybe it had been the night you looked at him with a straight face and told him that your best friend needed to be consulted on any future ring purchase or proposal plan. Jack had laughed. Briefly. Naively. Like a man who did not yet understand that you and John Shen could turn a joke into binding infrastructure if given enough time, caffeine, and access to the Notes app. But Jack loved you. God help him, he loved you enough to take the request seriously.
Which was why he was sitting in the back corner of a coffee shop on his day off with a black coffee, a notebook, four ring photos, and a level of preparation that would have embarrassed him if he had not been so determined to get this right. He had chosen the table carefully. Back corner. Clear sightline to the door. Not too close to the register. Not too close to the bathrooms. Not in your usual section of the café, because apparently, he now had to account for your caffeine habits as if planning a covert operation. There were easier ways to buy a ring. Jack knew that.
Normal men probably went to jewelry stores. Normal men probably texted a sister or a friend, asked a few questions, picked something beautiful, and moved on with their lives. Normal men did not arrange a committee meeting with their girlfriend’s work husband, best friend, former contractual betrothed, and active proposal advisor. Jack looked down at the top page of his notebook. Advisory Only. He had underlined it twice. Then the front door opened, and John Shen walked in wearing sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a jacket collar pulled high enough to suggest either espionage or a deeply suspicious errand. Jack stared at him.
In one hand, Shen carried a folder. He scanned the café once, spotted Jack, and crossed the room with the grim focus of a man approaching a hostage negotiation.
Jack waited until Shen reached the table. Then he said, “Absolutely not.”
Shen did not sit. “Meeting here was a tactical error.”
Jack looked at the sunglasses. Then the hat. Then the folder.
“Was the tactical error the coffee shop,” Jack asked, “or whatever this is?”
Shen removed the sunglasses and set them carefully beside Jack’s black coffee. “The coffee shop.”
Jack leaned back. “Why?”
Shen’s eyes moved once toward the counter. “She can sense when I’m getting coffee without her.”
Jack stared at him. Shen stared back.
“That is ridiculous,” Jack said.
Shen glanced toward the menu board. “I need coffee.”
Jack’s brow furrowed, “You just said meeting here was a tactical error.”
“Yes,” Shen replied. “The error has already occurred.”
Jack watched him walk to the counter. He was thirty seconds into the meeting, and Shen had already arrived in disguise, declared the location compromised, and left Jack alone with a folder labeled in neat black marker. Jack looked down.
Proposal Committee: Preliminary Review
God give me patience. He thought. At the counter, Shen ordered something Jack could not hear. The barista nodded. A minute later, Shen returned with a cinnamon latte. Jack looked at the drink. Then at Shen.
Shen sat down. “Seasonal offering.”
Jack picked up his black coffee. “Of course.”
Shen’s phone rang. Both men looked down. Your name lit up the screen. For one perfect, terrible second, neither of them moved.
Then Shen said, very quietly, “Oh no.”
Jack looked from the phone to Shen. “Answer it.”
“I can’t,” Shen said.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
Shen looked genuinely alarmed now, which was, frankly, more unsettling than the sunglasses. “She’ll kill me if she finds out I got coffee without her.”
Jack stared at him. Shen stared back. The phone kept ringing. Shen’s gaze dropped to it.
“Answer it,” Jack said. “Or she’ll get suspicious.”
Shen looked at him as if Jack had just suggested walking directly into traffic.
Jack pointed at the phone. “Dunkin.”
Shen exhaled once, then picked up the call with the stiff posture of a man accepting his fate.
“Hello,” Shen said.
Jack immediately closed his eyes. Shen’s voice was too calm. You were going to hear it.
“Hey,” you said, bright and easy on the other end. “Jack had to go to some hospital meeting, so I’m bored. Do you want to get coffee?”
Shen’s eyes went wide. Jack’s head snapped up. Shen looked across the table at Jack like this was somehow Jack’s fault. Jack mouthed, No. Shen blinked at him. Jack shook his head once, sharper this time. No.
“No,” Shen said.
Jack’s eyes widened. There was a pause on the other end.
“You can’t get coffee?” you asked.
Shen sat perfectly still. “Correct.”
Jack dragged one hand down his face. God give him strength.
You were quiet for half a second. Then, suspiciously, you said, “John.”
Jack pointed sharply at Shen and mouthed, Errands. Shen’s gaze flicked to him. Jack mouthed it again, more aggressively. Errands.
“I am running errands,” Shen said.
Jack gave him a tight nod.
“Oh,” you said. “Great. I wanted to stop at the mall. We could meet up there?”
Shen froze. Jack froze with him.
“The mall?” Shen asked.
“Yeah,” you said. “Victoria’s Secret is having a sale, and I wanted to pick something up to surprise Jack.”
Jack’s forehead dropped to the table. Not hard. Not enough to hurt. Just one quiet, controlled thunk against the wood. Why? He thought. Why did his girlfriend tell Shen these things? Why did Shen receive these things like standard operational updates? Why was this his life? Jack asked any higher power with relevant insight. At this point, he wasn’t picky. Across the table, Shen’s eyes widened.
“John?” you asked.
Jack stayed face-down beside the ring photos. Shen stared at him.
“John,” you said again. “What was that?”
Shen lifted one hand and knocked twice on the table beside Jack’s head. Jack did not move. Shen knocked again, faster this time. Jack turned his head just enough to glare at him with one eye. Shen pointed sharply at the phone. Jack mouthed, Fix it.
Shen straightened. “Nothing.”
There was a pause.
“That was not nothing,” you said.
Shen’s grip tightened around his phone. “ I’m at the grocery store.”
Jack slowly closed his visible eye.
You were quiet for half a second. Then you said, “John.”
“I have to go,” Shen said quickly.
“What?” You asked, confused.
“Groceries, checking out, ” Shen said. “Bye.”
“Okay, talk to you lat—”
Shen ended the call and lowered the phone to the table with extreme care. Neither of them spoke. Jack still had his forehead pressed to the table. Shen waited. Jack did not move. Finally, Shen lifted one finger and knocked once beside his head.
Jack’s voice came muffled against the wood. “Do not knock on me.”
“I knocked near you,” Shen said.
Jack lifted his head slowly. “Why does my girlfriend tell you these things?”
Shen adjusted the folder in front of him. “Because we are best friends.”
Jack stared at him.
Shen added, “Best friend clause active.”
Jack pointed at him. “Do not invoke the clause during a Victoria’s Secret incident.”
Shen nodded once. “Boundary noted.”
Jack leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. This was his life. This was how he was planning to propose to his girlfriend. Sitting in a coffee shop across from John Shen, surrounded by ring photos, proposal notes, and the knowledge that you were apparently out in the world, attempting to buy lingerie while Jack attempted to behave like a composed adult. Fan-fucking-tastic. He thought. Shen’s phone lit up. Both men looked down.
You: If I find out you went and got that new cinnamon latte without me, I will murder you.
A second text appeared.
You: Jack will help me hide the body.
Jack stared at the screen. Shen stared at the screen. Then, slowly, both of them looked at the drink Shen had ordered. The cinnamon latte. Untouched. Obvious. Damning.
Jack’s eyes lifted to Shen. “You got the cinnamon latte?”
Shen’s expression remained perfectly still. “It was a seasonal offering.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “She specifically named it.”
“I did not know she had surveillance capacity,” Shen replied, clearly distressed.
Jack dragged a hand over his mouth. Shen turned the phone face down.
Jack leaned back in his chair. “She’s going to kill you.”
Shen adjusted the folder with great care. “You are named as an accomplice.”
“I am not helping her hide your body,” Jack replied.
Shen frowned, “The text suggests otherwise.”
Jack looked at him. “Dunkin.”
Shen looked down at the latte again. Then he slid it across the table toward Jack. Jack looked at the cinnamon latte. Then down at his own black coffee. Then back at Shen.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
“Drink it,” Shen said.
Jack’s eyes lifted slowly. “No.”
Shen’s eyes widened in panic, “We have to get rid of the evidence.”
“I have coffee,” Jack replied, lifting his coffee.
Shen pushed the latte closer, “This is different coffee.”
Jack pointed at the cup, “This is a murder latte.”
Shen looked mildly horrified. “It is not a murder latte.”
Jack shrugged, “My girlfriend just threatened homicide over it.”
“She threatened my homicide,” Shen said. “You were listed as logistical support.”
Jack stared at him.
Shen pushed the cup another inch closer. “Drink it.”
Jack pushed it back with two fingers. “Absolutely not.”
“Abbot.” Shen pleaded.
Jack sighed, “Dunkin.”
Shen glanced toward the front windows, then back to the latte. “If she finds us, the latte becomes material evidence.”
Jack looked at the latte. Then at Shen. Then at the proposal folder. God give me strength. He thought. Jack loved you. That was the thing. He loved you enough to consult John Shen before buying your ring. He loved you enough to honor the ridiculous best friend clause. He loved you enough to sit here while Shen treated a cinnamon latte like contraband in a federal investigation. He did not love anyone enough to drink the murder latte.
“I’m screwed, aren’t I?” he muttered.
Shen paused. Then he picked up his pen. “Emotionally or logistically?”
Jack looked at him. “Do not write that down.”
Shen wrote something down.
Jack pointed at him. “Dunkin.”
Shen did not look up. “Noted.”
Jack closed his eyes. For one second, he let himself imagine proposing to you in a world where none of this was happening. A quiet room. Your hand in his. The ring in his pocket. Your face when you realized what he was asking. No folders. No committee language. No seasonal beverages with criminal implications. Then Shen opened his folder. Jack heard the soft scrape of paper against paper. He opened one eye. There were tabs. Internally, he said, God give me strength. There were tabs.
Shen clicked his pen. “We are already behind schedule.”
Jack stared at him. “Behind whose schedule?”
Shen looked down at the folder. “The proposal committee’s.”
Jack sat forward and flattened both hands on the table. “There is no proposal committee,” he said.
Shen glanced at the ring photos. “Then why am I here?”
Jack held his stare. Shen held it back. The cinnamon latte sat between them like evidence.
Finally, Jack exhaled through his nose, “Advisory only,” he said.
Shen nodded once. “Limited strong advisory.”
“Do not start,” Jack warned.
Shen looked down at his folder. “Starting is item one.”
Jack stared at him. Shen slid a printed page across the table. At the top, in clean, merciless lettering, it read:
Proposal Committee: Preliminary Review
Jack looked at the page. Then at Shen. Then at the murder latte.
“I should have proposed in private and lied to everyone,” Jack said.
Shen picked up his pen. “She would have known.”
Jack hated that he believed him. Shen looked down at the page, then toward the front windows.
“We need to get down to this before she finds us,” Shen said.
Jack stared at him. “Do not make my girlfriend sound like an approaching weather event.”
“She is mobile, suspicious, and under-caffeinated,” Shen said.
Jack hated that Shen was right. You were out there somewhere. Mobile. Suspicious. Under-caffeinated. Potentially armed with a Victoria’s Secret bag and the ability to detect cinnamon-based betrayal through walls.
Jack dragged a hand over his mouth. “Fine,” he said. “We start with the ring.”
Shen nodded once. “Agreed.”
He opened the folder. Jack saw the tabs immediately. Ring Preferences. Proposal Constraints. Wooing Requirement. Embarrassment Avoidance. Post-Proposal Notification Protocol.
Jack pointed at the last one. “What the hell is post-proposal notification protocol?”
Shen glanced down. “I assume you will notify me after she says yes.”
Jack paused. “After,” he said.
Shen looked up. “I am not asking to be present.”
Jack relaxed by two percent.
Then Shen added, “Unless requested.”
Jack pointed at him. “You will not be requested.”
Shen nodded once. “That seems likely.”
Jack dragged one hand over his mouth again. “This is already too much.”
“You asked for advisory input,” Shen said.
Jack pointed at him, “I asked for limited advisory input.”
“Yes,” Shen replied. “We should begin with the ring.”
Jack looked down at his own notebook, then at the ring photos stacked beside his black coffee. Fine. That was why they were here. Not the latte. Not the tabs. Not the fact that Shen had arrived dressed like he was about to commit a minor felony. The ring. Jack pulled the photos closer. Shen’s gaze dropped to them, then shifted briefly to Jack’s notebook.
Jack covered the page with one hand. “No.”
Shen blinked. “I did not say anything.”
“You were about to,” Jack replied.
Shen frowned, “I was observing.”
“Observe the rings,” Jack said.
Shen nodded once. “Reasonable.”
Jack slid the first photo across the table. “Start there.”
Shen picked it up. For all the nonsense, for all the committee language and the cinnamon latte currently threatening to become a crime scene, something in the air shifted when Shen looked at the picture. Jack felt it immediately. This was why he was here. Not because he could not choose a ring. He could. He had. Mostly. But you had asked for Shen to be consulted, and Jack had listened. Because he loved you. Because Shen mattered to you. Because forever, apparently, came with advisory obligations.
Shen studied the first photo for half a second. “No,” he said.
Jack blinked. “No?”
“No,” Shen repeated.
Jack frowned, “You looked at it for half a second.”
“That was sufficient,” Shen said.
Jack’s jaw flexed. “Reason?”
Shen set the photo down. “It is trying too hard.”
Jack looked at the ring. Then at Shen. “It’s a ring.”
“It is a ring with anxiety,” Shen said.
Jack stared at him.
Shen folded his hands. “She would feel obligated to like it.”
Jack looked down at the photo again. Annoyingly, that made sense. He hated it when Shen made sense. Jack slid the first photo aside and picked up the second one.
“Fine,” he said. “Next.”
Shen accepted the second photo.
This time, he looked at it for three seconds. “No.”
Jack leaned back. “You’re going to have to start using more words.”
“She would like this for someone else,” Shen said.
Jack frowned. Then, against his will, he understood exactly what Shen meant. The ring was pretty. Elegant. Clean lines. Not too much. The kind of thing you would point out in a store window and say was beautiful. For someone else. Jack took the photo back without arguing.
He slid the third photo across the table. “This one.”
Shen picked it up. He did not reject it immediately. That was something. Jack kept his face still, but his fingers tightened once around his coffee. Shen studied the photo longer than the others. His eyes moved over the center stone, the setting, the band, the details Jack had looked at for far too long the night before.
Finally, Shen set it down. “Closer,” he said.
Jack’s chest tightened. “But?”
Shen tapped the edge of the photo with one finger. “Still not hers.”
Jack looked down at it. He had known that too. It was close. Closer than the others. Romantic without being loud. Pretty without trying to announce itself from across the room. But not quite right. Not quite you. Jack exhaled through his nose and moved it aside.
Shen watched him. “You already knew.”
Jack did not answer.
Shen’s expression did not change, but his voice shifted slightly. “You brought comparison options.”
Jack looked up. Shen looked back at him calmly.
Jack’s jaw moved once. “I brought options.”
“You brought one option,” Shen said. “And supporting evidence.”
Jack stared at him. Shen waited. Jack reached for the final photo. He did not slide it across right away. For a second, his thumb rested on the corner of the paper. He had found it last. After hours of looking. After too many tabs open on his laptop. After too many rings that were beautiful and wrong and almost and no. He had found this one and gone quiet in his kitchen with his phone in his hand because, suddenly, he could see it. Your hand in his. Your fingers brushing his jaw. The ring catching light when you reached for his coffee. Your face when you realized what he was asking. Jack slid the photo across the table.
Shen picked it up. This time, he said nothing. Jack did not rush him. The coffee shop moved around them, quiet and warm and ordinary. Someone laughed near the counter. Milk steamed behind the bar. The murder latte sat between them, untouched and irrelevant for the first time since Shen had ordered it.
Shen looked at the ring. Then he looked at Jack. “That one,” Shen said.
Jack’s chest loosened before he could stop it. “Good,” he said.
Shen held the photo out.
Jack took it back carefully, his thumb brushing over the edge. “That’s the one I liked best.”
Shen nodded once. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Shen said, “Then you did not need me.”
Jack looked down at the photo. The ring was not flashy. Not plain, either. It had detail where it mattered, small and intentional, something you would notice more the longer you looked at it. Like you. Like the life he wanted with you.
“I didn’t need you to choose it,” Jack said.
Shen waited.
Jack looked up. “I needed to ask.”
Shen went very still. It was subtle. Almost nothing. A pause in his hands. A slight shift in his eyes. The kind of reaction most people would miss. Jack did not.
Shen looked down at the photo again. “She will like that.”
Jack glanced at the ring. “The ring?”
“No,” Shen said. “That you asked.”
Jack’s throat went tight before he could stop it. He looked down at the picture again because that was easier than looking at Shen. Then Shen picked up his pen.
Jack’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Do not write down that I’m emotionally evolved.”
Shen paused.
Jack stared at him. “Were you going to?”
“No,” Shen said.
Jack did not believe him.
Shen looked back at the folder. “I was going to write that ring selection is complete.”
Jack leaned back. “Good.”
Shen turned another page in his folder. “Proposal plan.”
Jack looked up. “I have one.”
Shen paused with his pen over the page. “One?”
“One,” Jack said.
Shen studied him for a second. “You brought four ring options.”
“Three comparison options and one ring,” Jack corrected.
Shen’s mouth barely moved. “Progress.”
Jack ignored that and opened his notebook to the page he had written the night before. There were not three plans. There were no backup locations, alternate timelines, or a ranked list of restaurants based on privacy and lighting. There was one plan. Because every time Jack tried to imagine asking you anywhere else, it felt wrong. Too staged. Too public. Too much like he was trying to perform forever instead of ask for it. Shen leaned forward as Jack turned the notebook around.
Jack tapped the page once. “At home.”
Shen looked down. Jack watched his face carefully.
“Dinner,” Jack said. “Her favorite takeout. Not something too formal. Candles, but not too many. Flowers, but not some apology-looking arrangement.”
Shen’s eyes flicked up.
Jack looked at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” Shen said.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “That was not nothing.”
Shen glanced back at the page. “You accounted for apology flowers.”
“She hates arrangements that look like someone is trying to apologize,” Jack said.
Shen nodded once. “Correct.”
Jack hated how good that felt.
He moved his finger down the page. “Music. A playlist, songs she actually likes. Songs from us.”
Shen kept reading. Jack’s thumb rested near the last line. He did not tap it right away.
Then Shen looked up. “Location?”
Jack exhaled through his nose. “Kitchen.”
Shen went still.
Jack bristled on instinct. “What?”
Shen’s gaze stayed on him. “Why?”
Jack looked down at the page because that was easier than explaining it while Shen watched him like that.
“Because she always ends up there,” Jack said.
Shen did not interrupt.
Jack’s voice went quieter despite himself. “She sits on the counter when I cook. Steals food off the cutting board. Drinks my coffee even when she has her own.”
Shen’s expression did not change, but his attention sharpened.
“If she’s upset, she stands by the sink and pretends she’s getting water until she can talk,” Jack said. “If she’s happy, she dances there. Sometimes badly.”
Shen blinked once.
Jack glanced up. “Do not write badly.”
Shen looked down at the folder. “I did not.”
Jack did not believe him. He kept going anyway.
“She thinks the kitchen is where nothing big happens,” Jack said. “Which is why everything does.”
Shen was quiet. The coffee shop noise moved around them. Milk steaming behind the counter. A chair scraping against the floor. Someone laughing near the door.
Jack looked down at the notebook. “I can’t really imagine doing it another way.”
Shen looked at the page for another second. Then he nodded once. “Good.”
Jack lifted his eyes. “Good?”
“This is perfect,” Shen said.
Jack went still. Shen did not soften the words. He did not make them bigger than they needed to be. He just looked at Jack across the table and said it like a fact.
“She will know what it means,” Shen said.
Jack’s throat tightened before he could stop it. He looked back down at the notebook. The word kitchen sat there in his own handwriting, underlined once. He had written it because it felt like you. Because when he pictured asking, really pictured it, he did not see a restaurant or a scenic overlook or some perfectly orchestrated setup with strangers nearby and flowers arranged by someone who did not know you. He saw you barefoot in his kitchen. He saw you laughing at something he said under his breath. He saw your hand on his chest. He saw himself reaching into his pocket because he could not wait one more second.
Shen tapped the page once. “The goal is not to make it look like a proposal.”
Jack looked up. “That is the point.”
“No,” Shen said. “The point is to make it look like you know her.”
Jack went quiet. There it was. The thing he had been circling for weeks. Not spectacle. Not performance. Not proof for anyone else. Just you. The way he knew you. The way he loved you. The way he wanted to ask in the middle of an ordinary place because nothing about loving you had ever felt ordinary to him.
Jack swallowed once. “Kitchen,” he said.
Shen nodded. “Kitchen.”
Jack pointed at him. “No committee language.”
Shen looked down at his notes. “I will avoid it during the proposal.”
Jack stared at him. “During the proposal?”
Shen paused. “Before and during the proposal.”
“Better,” Jack said.
Shen made a note.
Jack leaned forward. “What did you write?”
“Kitchen plan approved,” Shen said.
Jack looked at him.
Shen added, “No committee language.”
Jack sat back. “Good.”
Shen wrote one more thing.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Dunkin.”
Shen did not look up. “I am writing that the wooing requirement is satisfied.”
Jack closed his eyes. God give me strength. By the time Jack left the coffee shop, the ring was no longer a photo. It was purchased. Ordered in your size. Expected to arrive in six to eight weeks. Jack had stared at the confirmation email in his car for a full minute before putting his phone facedown in the cupholder and breathing like a man who had just done something irreversible. Which, technically, he had not. He had not asked yet. You had not answered yet. The ring was not even physically in his possession. But it was yours. That was the part that got him.
Somewhere, in some warehouse or workshop or carefully organized back room, there was a ring being prepared for your hand. Jack sat in the driver’s seat and let that fact settle into him. Then he drove home, hid every piece of evidence with the kind of precision usually reserved for narcotics and classified documents, and spent the next ten minutes making absolutely certain there was no chance you would find the folder, the notes, the receipt, the confirmation number, or the phrase ‘Wooing requirement satisfied’ written anywhere in his home. Only then did he let himself come looking for you.
Your shoes were by the door. One heel tipped sideways near the entryway. Jack looked at it and \ immediately thought of Shen’s story about the emotionally load-bearing heel. God help him, even your shoes had lore now.
“Baby?” Jack called.
“Bedroom,” you answered.
There was something in your voice. Jack stopped with one hand on the back of the couch. Not suspicious. Not exactly. But soft. Warm. Waiting. His pulse shifted before he could talk himself out of it. Jack walked down the hall, still carrying the leftover tension from the coffee shop in his shoulders. The ring. The confirmation email. Shen’s folder. The murder latte. Advisory capacity. Limited strong advisory. The exact shape of forever. He had been thinking all day. Planning all day. Trying to keep every secret tucked safely behind his teeth.
Then he reached the bedroom doorway. And every thought in his head went silent. You were sitting on the edge of the bed. For one impossible second, Jack did not understand what he was seeing. Then he did. The bag from the mall was folded on the chair beside you. The receipt was on the dresser. You were wearing something soft and pretty, something that held your body in a way that made Jack’s heart forget what it was supposed to do. Something you had picked for him. That was the part that stole the breath from his chest.
Not just the lace. Not just the delicate straps or the way the bedroom light touched your skin. You had stood in a store, thought of him, and chosen this. For him. Jack stopped in the doorway. All day, his mind had been full. Now there was nothing. No thoughts. No schedule. No committee. No higher power accepting inquiries. Just you.
Your smile started small. “Hi.”
Jack stared at you.
You tilted your head. “You okay?”
Fuck no. He thought. Absolutely not. I am not okay. Jack opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Your smile widened. “Jack?”
He blinked once. Then, very carefully, he said, “I need a second.”
You laughed softly. “A second?”
Jack nodded once, still staring. “Maybe several.”
Your expression softened, but the amusement stayed at the corner of your mouth. “Bad meeting?”
Jack let out a low, helpless laugh. Complicated did not begin to cover it. He had spent his afternoon with John Shen in a coffee shop, choosing the ring he was going to put on your finger and planning the night he was going to ask you to keep him forever. He had listened to Shen say the words ‘wooing requirement’ with a straight face. He had ordered a ring. He had hidden the evidence. He had come home prepared to act normal. And then there you were. Sitting on his bed in something you had bought with him in mind, looking at him like he was exactly where you wanted him.
“Complicated,” Jack said.
“With administration?” you asked.
His eyes lifted to yours. The lie sat there for half a second.
Then Jack walked toward you. “Something like that,” he said.
You watched him come closer, your smile shifting into something softer, warmer, almost shy now that he was close enough to touch. Jack liked that too much. He liked all of it too much.
You reached for the front of his jacket and hooked your fingers there, drawing him between your knees. “You look tense.”
“I was tense,” Jack said.
You raised a brow, “Was?”
His hands settled at your waist. You were warm beneath his palms. Real. Here. His. Not officially. Not yet. But soon. God, soon. Jack looked down at you, and the thought hit him so hard he almost had to close his eyes. He had spent the whole day trying to plan the moment he would ask you to marry him. And now you were in front of him, soft and warm and smiling, and the question felt almost ridiculous. Not because it mattered less. Because in every way that mattered, it was already true. You were his future. You were sitting in his bedroom wearing something meant to surprise him, and Jack could barely remember how to breathe.
Your fingers smoothed over the front of his jacket. “You’re thinking too much.”
Jack looked down at you. For the first time all day, that was not true.
“No,” he said, his hand sliding along your waist. “I’m really not.”
Your smile went quiet. Jack bent and kissed you. Slowly at first. Carefully. Like he had time. Like he had all the time in the world. Your hands moved up his chest, and Jack felt the last of the day leave him. The coffee shop. Shen’s folder. The tabs. The timeline. The ordered ring tucked somewhere safely out of reach. All of it went quiet. You made a soft sound against his mouth, and Jack’s hand tightened at your waist. There you are, he thought. Not the proposal. Not the plan. Not the future arriving in six to eight weeks. Just you. Right now. Jack pulled back only enough to look at you.
Your eyes opened slowly. “Hi.”
His mouth curved. “Hi,” he said.
You touched his jaw. “You’re better now.”
Jack’s thumb brushed over your side. “Yeah.”
You smiled, pleased with yourself. “Good.”
Jack looked at you sitting there, soft and beautiful and entirely unaware that somewhere in the world, a ring was being made for your hand. He pressed another kiss to your mouth. Then one to your cheek. Then one to the corner of your jaw, just because he could.
Your fingers slid into his hair. “Jack.”
His eyes closed for half a second. He loved the way you said his name. He loved that you had no idea what was coming. He loved that even if you did, Shen would probably claim you had known because of abnormal detection patterns, and Jack would probably have to hear about it for the rest of his life. He smiled against your skin.
You leaned back slightly. “What?”
Jack lifted his head. “Nothing.”
Your eyes narrowed with familiar suspicion. “That was not nothing.”
“No,” Jack said, his hands warm at your waist. “It was good.”
You studied him for another second. Then your suspicion softened into something sweeter.
“Okay,” you said.
Jack bent and kissed you again before you could ask anything else. Because he could keep the secret. He could. For six to eight weeks, he could keep this tucked safely inside his chest. He could wait for the ring. He could plan the kitchen. He could survive Shen’s advisory committee. Probably. But standing there with you, looking at him like that, Jack knew the truth. The ring was coming. The question was coming. The rest of his life was coming. And for once, he was not thinking too much. He was only thinking yes. Six weeks and four days later, the ring arrived.
Jack knew because he had checked the tracking more often than was medically reasonable. He had checked it before work, again between patients, once in the parking lot, and one final time while standing outside his front door with his keys in his hand and his heart somewhere dangerously close to his throat. Delivered. A single word on the screen. Small. Ordinary. Absolutely devastating. For one second, Jack just stood there.
He had known it was coming. Obviously, he had known. He had ordered it. Paid for it. Read the confirmation email until the words started to blur. Spent six weeks pretending he was not thinking about the ring every time you reached for his hand. But knowing it was coming was different from knowing it was here. The ring was no longer a photo. No longer a plan. No longer a coffee shop conversation with John Shen, a murder latte, and the phrase ‘Wooing requirement satisfied’ haunting him from a folder with tabs. The ring was real. The ring was here. The ring was yours.
Jack found the small delivery box exactly where the notification said it would be, tucked near the side door, hidden enough that you would not have noticed it first if you had come home before him. Jack stared at it for half a second too long. Then he picked it up, unlocked the front door, went straight to the bedroom, and hid every trace of the packaging with the focus of a man handling evidence.
Box broken down. Shipping label removed. Receipt tucked away. Jewelry box transferred to the inside pocket of the jacket he had already laid out for the night. Confirmation email archived. Deleted from the visible inbox. Recently deleted cleared. Then checked again. God give me strength. He was proposing marriage, not committing wire fraud. Still, with you, caution felt appropriate. Only when the evidence was gone, and the ring box was safely hidden, did Jack let himself breathe.
Then he went back to the kitchen and started setting up. He had done exactly what he said he would do. Favorite takeout ordered. Candles, but not too many. Flowers, but not the kind that looked like someone was apologizing. Music playing softly from the speaker by the cookbooks. Not proposal songs. Not anything obvious enough to make your eyes narrow the second you walked in. Songs you liked. Songs from the two of you. A real date night at home. Private. Warm. Specific. The kitchen plan. Shen had called it perfect. Jack had tried not to care about that. He cared.
The front door opened before the food arrived. “I’m home,” you called.
Jack’s hand stilled near the wineglasses. For one impossible second, he forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Then you appeared in the doorway, still in your coat, your bag on your shoulder, your eyes moving over the kitchen with immediate suspicion and a slow, pleased smile.
“Oh,” you said, softer now. “You meant date night.”
Jack looked at you. “I said date night.”
“You say a lot of things,” you said, stepping farther into the kitchen.
His mouth curved. “Do I?”
You set your bag down on one of the chairs. “You also say them in your serious voice, and then I have to decide if you mean dinner or a medical emergency.”
“This is not a medical emergency,” Jack said.
Your eyes moved over the counter. The candles. The flowers. The wine.
Then your gaze came back to him, warmer than before. “Good.”
Jack held your eyes for one second too long.
You noticed. Your head tilted slightly. “You okay?”
Jack turned toward the drawer before you could see too much on his face. “I’m good.”
“You sound weird.” You replied.
Jack looked at you, “I’m getting silverware.”
Your brow furrowed, “That does not usually affect your voice.”
Jack opened the drawer. “Maybe I care about presentation.”
You laughed and crossed the kitchen toward him. “You do not care about presentation.”
“I care about presentation for you,” Jack said.
That quieted you. Jack felt it happen before he looked at you. When he did, your expression had gone soft in that way that made his chest feel too full for the space inside it. Jack’s hand tightened around the silverware. God. Six weeks and four days. He had waited six weeks and four days. He could wait through dinner. He could. That was the plan. You moved closer, rose onto your toes, and kissed the corner of his mouth. Jack closed his eyes for half a second. No. No, he probably could not. The doorbell rang before he could make a catastrophic decision in the middle of the kitchen.
You pulled back, smiling. “Saved by takeout.”
Jack looked at you. “Temporarily.”
Your eyebrows lifted. Jack took the opportunity to turn away before you could ask him what that meant.
“I’m going to change,” you said, already stepping back. “Give me five minutes.”
Jack nodded once. “Take your time.”
You narrowed your eyes playfully. “That sounded suspiciously patient.”
“I am capable of patience,” Jack said.
You smiled as you backed toward the hall. “Sure.”
Then you disappeared into the bedroom. Jack stood still until he heard the door close. Then he exhaled. Jack tipped the delivery driver too much, locked the door, and carried the bags into the kitchen with both hands. This was it. Favorite takeout. Candles, but not too many. Flowers that did not look like an apology. Music low by the sink. The ring in his jacket pocket. Six weeks and four days of waiting, and now he was arranging containers of noodles and rice like his entire future depended on whether the dumplings went near the vegetables. God give me strength. He set out plates. He opened containers. He poured wine.
The bedroom door opened down the hall. Jack turned. You came back into the kitchen barefoot. That was what did it. Not the candles. Not the wine. Not the music. Not the ring sitting heavy in his jacket pocket. You. Barefoot in his kitchen, smiling. You had changed into jeans and a sweater, your hair tucked behind one ear, your sleeves pushed to your elbows like you were ready to steal food off the counter before he finished setting it out. You looked comfortable. Happy. Home. Jack stopped with a takeout container in his hand. He was not making it through dinner.
You came closer, eyes dropping to the open containers on the counter. “Oh my God, you got my favorite.”
Jack set the container down. “Obviously.”
“And extra sauce?” You asked hopefully.
He nodded. “Obviously.”
Your smile went bright. “I love you.”
Jack looked at you. He knew you meant the food. Mostly. Probably. It did not matter.
“I love you too,” he said.
Your expression softened again, but then the music shifted, and your smile came back. You reached for the wineglass he had poured for you, took a sip, and climbed onto the counter like you had done a hundred times. Jack watched you settle there, one knee bent slightly, your bare feet kicking lightly against the cabinet beneath you. You bounced your shoulders a little to the song playing from the speaker. Just once. Barely anything. Enough to ruin him completely.
“This smells amazing,” you said.
Jack stared at you.
You took another sip of wine and looked over at him. “What?”
Nothing. Everything. The ring was in his jacket pocket. The kitchen was warm. You were sitting in front of him, barefoot and happy, moving to the music like the whole world had narrowed to this one room and this one night and the woman he could not imagine living without. Jack let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
“I was going to do this after dinner,” he said.
Your feet stopped moving. The wineglass lowered slowly from your mouth. “Do what?”
Jack looked at you for one more second.
Then he shook his head, helpless against it. “I can’t wait.”
Your lips parted. Jack turned, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, and felt the box fit into his palm like it had been waiting there forever. When he turned back, you were completely still.
“Jack,” you whispered.
He stepped closer. “I had a plan,” he said.
Your eyes dropped to his hand. Then back to his face. “You did?”
Jack smiled faintly. “A whole one.”
You made a small, shaky sound that might have been a laugh if your eyes had not already started to shine. Jack moved between your knees, close enough now that he could see your breath catch.
“I was going to let you eat first,” he said.
You blinked quickly.
“I was going to be patient,” Jack continued.
Your mouth trembled.
“I was going to wait for the exact right moment.” He looked around the kitchen, then back at you.
Then his voice softened. “But this is the exact right moment.”
Jack opened the box. For half a second, the world went very, very quiet. Your hand flew to your mouth.
“Yes,” you said immediately.
Jack froze. Then he laughed. It broke out of him before he could stop it, startled and breathless and happier than he had any right to be when he had not even gotten the question out.
“Baby,” Jack said, smiling so hard it almost hurt. “At least let me ask.”
You were already crying. “Okay.”
Jack took a breath. You nodded at him, helpless and eager and already reaching for him even though he still had the box in his hand. Jack’s chest went tight. He loved you so much it was almost inconvenient.
“I love you,” he said.
Your face crumpled.
Jack’s voice stayed low. “I love this. I love coming home to you. I love finding you in our kitchen, stealing my food, drinking my coffee, dancing badly when you think I’m not watching.”
You laughed through the tears. “Badly?”
“Beautifully badly,” Jack said.
You pressed one hand over your heart. Jack looked at you sitting there in the kitchen, your wine forgotten beside you, your eyes wet, your whole face open and shining like you already knew every answer he could ever ask of you. His throat tightened.
“I love the life I have with you,” he said. “I love every quiet part of it. And I want all the rest of it, too.”
You made a small sound.
Jack held your gaze. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” you said again.
Then you launched yourself off the counter. Jack caught you with one arm around your waist, the ring box still clutched safely in his other hand, as you wrapped yourself around him. Your mouth found his, messy and smiling and wet with tears. Jack kissed you back, laughing against you, holding you so tightly your feet barely touched the floor.
“Yes,” you said against his mouth.
Jack’s arm tightened around you. “I heard you.”
“Yes.” You said again.
Jack exhaled a happy laugh, “I heard you the first time.”
You kissed him harder. Jack let himself have it for another second. Two. Three.
Then he pulled back just enough to breathe. “Baby.”
You chased his mouth. “What?”
He laughed softly and lifted the box between you. “Let me put it on you.”
You looked down at the ring like you had forgotten there was a step after saying yes.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
Jack took your left hand. Your fingers were trembling. So were his. He slid the ring onto your finger slowly, carefully, watching it settle exactly where it belonged. It fit. Of course, it fit. Shen would be unbearable about that later. But Jack could not care about Shen right now. Not when you were staring down at your hand, crying and laughing at the same time, turning your fingers slightly so the kitchen light caught the ring.
“Oh my God,” you said again.
Jack looked at it. Then at you. Then back at the ring. His chest went tight and full and almost painful.
“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice rough.
You looked up at him. Jack shook his head a little, like he still could not believe he was seeing it outside his own imagination.
Your mouth trembled. “The ring?” you asked.
Jack smiled, helpless and sure. “You.”
You looked down at the ring again. For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. You only held your hand between you, fingers trembling slightly, turning it one way and then the other so the stone caught the kitchen light. Jack watched your face. Not the ring. Not really. The ring was perfect. He knew that. He had known it when he saw the photo, when Shen confirmed it, when he opened the box in the quiet of your bedroom after it arrived. But this was different. This was your face while you wore it.
This was you crying in your kitchen, wine forgotten on the counter, takeout going cold behind him, your bare feet still tucked close to his on the floor. This was everything.
You lifted your eyes to his. “We’re engaged.”
Jack’s smile came slow and helpless. “Yeah.”
You let out a laugh that broke halfway into another sob. “We’re engaged.”
Jack’s hands found your waist. “Yeah, baby.”
You looked down again, then back up at him, like you needed to make sure both things were still true. The ring. Him. The life suddenly opening in front of you.
“You asked me to marry you,” you said.
Jack brushed his thumb over your side. “I did.”
“In the kitchen.” You continued.
His mouth curved. “I did.”
You beamed. “With my favorite takeout.”
“Romantic,” Jack said.
You laughed wetly and pressed your forehead to his chest. Jack wrapped both arms around you, holding you there, his chin dipping toward the top of your head. He closed his eyes for half a second. There it was. Quiet. Finally. No tracking updates. No hidden receipts. No Shen folder. No committee language. No murder latte. Just you in his arms, your ringed hand curled against his shirt, saying yes over and over again without saying a word. Jack breathed you in. Then you went very still. He felt it immediately.
Jack opened his eyes. “What?”
You lifted your head. “John.”
Jack closed his eyes again. “No.”
You pulled back enough to look at him. “Yes.”
“No,” Jack said, more firmly.
“He needs to know.” You insisted.
Jack groaned, “He can know in the morning.”
Your eyes widened like he had suggested something deeply unethical. “Jack.”
“We have been engaged for less than five minutes,” Jack said.
“And he has post-proposal notification rights.” You replied.
Jack’s eyes opened. He stared at you. You stared back, beautiful and tearful and absolutely serious.
“I knew that tab was going to ruin my life,” Jack said.
You were already reaching for your phone on the counter. “This is not ruining your life.”
“It is interrupting my life.” Jack amended.
You shrugged, “It is part of your life now.”
Jack pointed at you. “That sounded like Shen.”
You smiled through your tears. “Best friend clause.”
Jack grimaced, “Do not invoke the clause during our engagement.”
You lifted the phone. “Too late.”
Jack dragged a hand over his mouth as you tapped Shen’s contact and started a FaceTime call.
“Can we have one private moment before committee notification?” Jack asked.
You looked up at him with watery, sparkling eyes. “We did.”
“That was thirty seconds,” Jack replied.
You nodded seriously, “It was a very meaningful thirty seconds.”
Jack stared at you. You smiled. God give me strength. He thought. The call connected on the second ring. Shen’s face appeared on the screen. He was in scrubs, standing somewhere that looked suspiciously like a hallway at PTMC, his expression flat and expectant in a way that told Jack he had absolutely been waiting for this.
“Accepted?” Shen asked.
You made a strangled sound. “John.”
Shen blinked once. “That was not an answer.”
You laughed and cried at the same time, turning the phone so your face and Jack’s shoulder were both in frame. “Yes.”
Shen’s expression did not change much. But Jack saw it. The slight softening around his eyes. The small release in his jaw. The way his gaze flicked from your wet face to Jack and then back to you, as if confirming that you were happy before allowing himself to react.
“Good,” Shen said.
You laughed again. “Good?”
Shen nodded once. “Expected, but good.”
Jack leaned closer to the phone. “Expected?”
Shen looked at him. “Yes.”
Jack’s brows lifted. “You couldn’t give me that level of confidence six weeks ago?”
“You did not ask for reassurance,” Shen said.
“I asked for advisory input,” Jack replied.
Shen shrugged, “Different category.”
Jack pointed at the phone. “Dunkin.”
You wiped under your eye with your free hand. “Look.”
You held your left hand up to the camera. For the first time since he answered, Shen went completely still. His eyes dropped to the ring. You turned your fingers a little so he could see it properly. Shen studied it for two seconds.
Then he nodded once. “Correct.”
You let out a watery laugh. “Correct?”
Jack closed his eyes. “Of course, that’s what he says.”
Shen looked at you through the screen. “It is the correct ring.”
Your mouth trembled.
Shen’s voice softened by the smallest degree. “It’s perfect.”
That did it.
Your face crumpled again. “Oh, John,” you whispered.
Jack’s annoyance disappeared before it could fully form. Because Shen was quiet on the screen. And you were looking at him like the little piece of history between you had just folded itself into this new thing, this future Jack had asked for, this life that somehow had room for all of it.
Shen cleared his throat once. “Are you happy?”
You nodded quickly. “So happy.”
“Good,” Shen said.
Jack’s hand settled at your waist.
Shen’s gaze shifted to him. “Well done.”
Jack went still. You looked up at him.
Jack looked at Shen through the screen. “Thank you.”
Shen nodded once. “The kitchen was the correct choice.”
You froze. Jack froze. The kitchen went silent except for the music still playing low by the sink. Slowly, you turned your head toward Jack. Jack looked down at you. Your eyes narrowed.
“John knew,” you said.
Jack closed his eyes. “Here we go.”
“John knew?” you repeated.
Shen looked between you two on the phone. “I was consulted.”
Your mouth fell open. “You were consulted?”
Jack opened his eyes. “Advisory only.”
Shen added, “Limited strong advisory.”
Jack pointed at the phone. “Do not help.”
You stared at Jack, then at the phone, then back at Jack. “You asked John to help plan my proposal?”
Jack’s jaw shifted. “You told me to.”
Your expression changed. The shock softened first. Then the realization. Then something so tender crossed your face that Jack forgot how irritated he was supposed to be.
“You listened,” you said.
Jack’s voice went quieter. “Of course I listened.”
Your eyes filled again. Shen looked down briefly, giving you privacy in the only way he knew how.
Jack touched your cheek. “You said he needed to be consulted.”
You laughed through another tear. “I was mostly joking.”
Jack’s thumb brushed under your eye. “I wasn’t.”
You stared at him. For one second, Shen did not exist. The phone did not exist. The food did not exist. Only Jack’s hand on your face and the ring on your finger and the knowledge that he had taken every ridiculous, silly, sacred piece of you seriously.
Then Shen said, “The wooing requirement was satisfied.”
Jack’s eyes closed. “Dunkin.”
You gasped softly. “A girl needs to be wooed.”
Shen nodded once. “Correct.”
Jack looked toward the ceiling. Any higher power currently accepting inquiries, this was still a good time.
You looked at Jack, glowing now. “You satisfied the wooing requirement.”
Jack’s eyes dropped back to you. “I proposed to you in my kitchen.”
“Our kitchen,” you corrected softly.
Jack stopped.
Your smile trembled. “Our kitchen,” you said again.
Jack’s hand tightened at your waist. Something in his chest gave way. He looked at you for a long second, then bent and kissed you, because there were only so many words a man could survive in one night. You kissed him back, smiling against his mouth.
On the phone, Shen cleared his throat. “Post-proposal notification protocol is complete.”
Jack pulled back just enough to glare at the screen. “Goodbye, Dunkin.”
Shen looked at you. “Congratulations.”
Your smile softened. “Thank you.”
Shen paused.
Then he said, “You were never going to die alone.”
The kitchen went quiet. Your breath caught. Jack felt it. He remembered the story from the bar. You on the floor with pizza. One heel still on. Shen sitting across from you with the worst comfort imaginable and somehow exactly enough of it. Your eyes filled all over again, but this time your smile was different. Older. Softer. Grateful.
“I know,” you said.
Shen nodded once. “Good.”
Jack could not even be annoyed at that. Not this time.
You held up your hand again. “I’m getting married.”
Shen’s mouth barely moved, but it was almost a smile. “Yes.”
“To Jack.” You added.
Shen looked at Jack through the phone. “Also correct.”
Jack shook his head. “That’s your blessing?”
Shen paused, “That was my factual acknowledgment.”
You laughed.
Jack reached for the phone. “And that’s enough.”
“Wait,” you said, pulling it away.
Jack looked at you. “Baby.”
You turned back to Shen. “I love you.”
Shen went still. Jack’s hand paused at your waist. On the screen, Shen blinked once.
Then he said, quietly, “I love you too.”
Your mouth trembled. Jack kissed your temple.
Then Shen looked at Jack. “Take care of her.”
Jack’s expression shifted. He did not make a joke. He did not bristle.
He only nodded once, steady and sure. “Always.”
Shen studied him for a second. Then he nodded back. “Committee adjourned.”
Jack closed his eyes. “There it is.”
You burst out laughing. Shen’s mouth twitched.
Jack finally took the phone from your hand. “Goodnight, Dunkin.”
“Goodnight, Abbot,” Shen said.
Jack ended the call.
You looked up at him immediately. “That was rude.”
“We are engaged,” Jack said, setting your phone facedown on the counter. “He’ll survive.”
You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck. “We’re engaged.”
Jack’s hands settled at your waist. “Yeah.”
You looked down at your ring again. The kitchen light caught it. Jack watched your face soften.
Then you looked back up at him. “Our kitchen?”
His throat tightened. “Our kitchen,” he said.
You smiled. Jack kissed you again, slow and certain, his hands warm at your waist, the takeout cold on the counter, the flowers catching candlelight beside the sink, the music still playing softly around you. No committee. No notes. No hidden evidence. No higher power needed. Just you. Your ring. His kitchen. Your kitchen. And the rest of his life saying yes.
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summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, fluff
word count: 4.4k
a/n: thank you all for still being here! we're nearly at the end :(( but it's been so much fun!! i appreciate you lots and LOVE reading your comments <33 i hope you enjoy! <33
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist
The Pitt | Masterlist
Main | Masterlist
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You wake to the sensation of soft kisses brushed against your skin—your forehead, your cheek, and your chin. It's the best sleep you've had in months, muscles warm and at ease. The feeling grows with each kiss as you're reminded of the fact that last night was real.
Jack loves you.
It wasn't just a vivid dream; the tender kisses he places on your skin confirm that. You're tempted to pretend to stay asleep just to enjoy more of this, but you instinctively scrunch your nose as his lips land on it, his scruff tickling you gently.
"Morning," he murmurs warmly, his voice husky with sleep, as he breathes against your cheek. You can feel his smile before your eyes fully open as he presses another soft kiss to your face.
Jack rests on one elbow, his hair tousled, with the soft morning light catching the strands that are more white than grey. God, he's handsome.
Yesterday, you might have convinced yourself that this look of adoration he’s giving you is just a figment of your imagination, but today, you know it’s real. He’s actually gazing at you like this, as if nothing else matters—not your messy morning hair nor yesterday’s mascara remnants around your eyes. He simply looks like he’s glad you’re here with him.
"Morning," you grin back, stifling a yawn into your hand.
His smile broadens. "Hi."
You chuckle softly. "Hi."
He keeps staring at you with a smile on his face. His other hand finds your waist, and your cheeks flush in response as he drags you closer. Although his touch isn’t new, the familiarity feels different now—seeing as you now know the intent behind it means what you want it to.
"What?" you ask, a bit self-conscious, rubbing your eyes in hopes of wiping away the stubborn mascara stains.
"Nothing," he shrugs, yet the grin on his face suggests otherwise.
"Jack." You pout at him and watch as his gaze drops down to your lips.
"I just..." he laughs lightly and shakes his head. "I can’t believe this is real."
You know exactly how he feels, and you hope he's able to see it in your eyes. If he doesn't, then you hope he feels it as your hand brushes through his wild strands. His eyes flutter shut under your touch, and when he opens them again, you’re convinced he does.
You both lock eyes for a moment before he leans forward. At the last moment, you turn your head, and his kiss lands on your cheek instead. He makes a comically disgruntled noise.
"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," you lament, though unable to suppress your laughter at his pouty face.
"I don't care," Jack says, placing a kiss against your jaw.
"Jack," you giggle louder. "I’m serious. My breath stinks."
"I've wanted to do this for months," he says, pressing another kiss to your cheek. "A little morning breath won’t stop me. Honestly, you could have rotten teeth, and I’d still kiss you."
"Ew," you grimace, but he just laughs and plants another kiss at the corner of your mouth.
You debate it for a second, then your cringe morphs into a grin as you lean in, stealing a quick kiss from his lips.
When you pull back, Jack stares at you with wide eyes. You can see when realisation hits him; his eyes darken, and he leans in quickly, giving you no chance to dodge him again. His mouth meets yours, soft yet persistent, each kiss lingering a bit longer than the last. He swallows your giggles with his lips, but he can't help but laugh, too.
Eventually, he presses his forehead against yours, and you stay there for a little while, wrapped up in each other, letting the reality of last night fully settle. The room is quiet except for your breathing, and for the first time since yesterday, the silence feels comfortable.
"I missed waking up next to you," Jack confesses, his voice low in your ear.
You press a kiss to his cheek before resting your head against his shoulder. "Me too."
You breathe in, nose buried deep in the crook of his throat, and his arms tighten around you when he realises what you're doing—breathing in the scent that's purely him. You've never been able to do this freely, and it feels surreal to be able to be this close with no excuses needed.
The moment's broken when your alarm rings softly. Jack shifts to turn it off while still holding you close, and makes no move to let you go or get up.
"We need to get up," you say after a minute, trying to pull back.
"Says who?" he answers cheekily, pulling you in even closer.
"Check-out, for one," you reply, pushing gently against his chest. "And I’d like to shower before we have to sit in an enclosed space for two hours."
"What if I like the way you smell?" he says, and usually, your stomach would be fluttering at a sentence like that, but you know him too well—
"—Fritos are my favourite chips," he continues. His chest bounces a bit as you playfully swat him.
"Rude," you grin, and this time he allows you to slip out of his grasp. "And you’re a liar. I know your favourite isn’t Fritos."
"Says who?" he repeats with a grin as he watches you sit up. You move to the edge of the bed, and he sits up to be able to see you better.
"Says the several bags of Doritos in your cabinets," you counter with a raised eyebrow. You move to slide off the bed, but he catches your arm, pulling you back over to him.
"Ja-ack," you laugh as you land against his chest.
"Those are for Robby," Jack says, and before you can argue, his mouth captures yours again. He keeps you there for another five minutes before your alarm blares again.
"Fine," he concedes when you pull back again. "Just leave me all alone here."
You shuffle forward, but pause at the doorway to the bathroom, meeting his eyes with a mischievous smile. "You could always join me."
Jack freezes, and you can see him process the offer—the way his eyes darken and the slight swallow as his gaze trails over you.
"Or not," you shrug, stifling a grin as you turn away.
He's got his crutches in his hands before your sentence finishes.
The checkout line is ridiculously long, and under normal circumstances, you’d complain about it—after all, how hard can it be to hand over a keycard and walk out? But with Jack’s arm wrapped around your waist and soft kisses peppered onto your hairline, you just can’t find the energy to care.
Even as Jack offers to give you his car keys, so you can wait in the car, you shake your head. You want to stay close to him despite the line barely moving. The lobby is crowded, and it really makes no sense for both of you to be standing here. Still, after spending weeks keeping your distance, torturing yourself, the thought of being apart now feels absurd.
Jack doesn’t push the issue; he simply nods and pulls you closer again. You're plastered to his side for the ten minutes it takes before you finally reach the desk.
"Hey," a warm voice greets you just as Jack hands over the keycard. Jeremy stands off to the side, a bag slung over his shoulder, sunglasses pushed up into his hair.
"Hi," you respond with a smile, stepping out of the queue to approach him.
He returns your smile. "I’m glad I caught you—you left before I could tell you how nice it was to see you again yesterday."
"Oh, sorry about that," you start, embarrassment flaring at the reminder of your jealous outburst. "I had—"
"We had some stuff to do," Jack interjects, slipping an arm around your waist again. He gives Jeremy a tight smile.
"Oh, don't worry about it," Jeremy responds. "Warren was asking about you, but honestly, I’m not sure she even remembers anything now." He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I had to extend her hotel room for her—she got pretty wasted after you left. The ushers had to escort her to her room after she threw up in the plants in the hallway."
"What? Really?" Laughter bubbles out of you. "Well, that's very professional."
Jack squeezes your waist admonishingly but still huffs an amused breath.
Jeremy grins. "Anyway, it was great to see you again. You’ve really done well for yourself, Sleepy." He nods at you, then glances at Jack, offering him a nod as well.
"You too," you say, and you mean it. Jeremy was a great guy in med school, even if he wasn't the best at relationships back then, but you're sure he's grown up more. You certainly have.
You're more certain of what you want, more certain of what you deserve, and somehow, that has landed you with Jack.
"Maybe we'll see you around," you finish. Presby isn't that far from PTMC after all.
"Yeah, I hope so," Jeremy replies, pulling his sunglasses down. He smiles at you one last time before he walks off. "Get home safe."
Jack grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'yeah, I hope so' as he steers you towards the exit. He keeps a neutral face until you're outside, where it turns sullen. A laugh escapes you the moment you’re near the car, and away from prying eyes.
Jack narrows his eyes at you as he pops open the trunk. "What’s so funny?"
Another laugh leaves you. "You're just a silly, jealous man."
"I'm not silly," he replies immediately as he places your bags inside the trunk before shutting it again.
"That's the part you focus on?"
"I'm not jealous," he insists, crossing his arms.
You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm not."
"Hey," you say, stepping closer. His arms drop the moment you gently press down on them. You curl your fingers into the front of his t-shirt. "You have nothing to be jealous of."
Jack huffs, staring at your hands.
"Jack."
His eyes lift to yours.
"I love you." The words still feel new in your mouth, but no less right.
His eyes search yours, still checking after everything revealed yesterday that you mean it. The tight line of his mouth softens when he finds a satisfying answer.
You draw him in closer. "Okay?"
"Okay." His hand slides to your cheek and you meet him halfway, your lips pressing together in a tender kiss.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he pulls back. "Let's go home."
Coming home feels strange.
Not in a bad way, but it feels different than it did when you left. The air has shifted inside, the furniture moved without being an inch out of place, and the smell is different, and yet everything is exactly the same.
Jack's sweater still hangs over the back of the dining room chair. Your blanket is still draped across the couch, unfolded in that way Jack always grumbles over, but never does anything about.
Everything feels new and somehow the exact same. The only different thing is you and Jack. There's finally nothing unspoken between you, with all cards on the table. No uncertainty, no wondering, no pretending.
There's still the question of what this means for you, but it doesn't feel pressing. It's just there in the background, waiting until the moment feels right. There's no rush to speak.
You're free to enjoy this moment for what it is. The pleasantness from the drive, where Jack spent the entire trip with his hand firmly planted on your thigh, carries into the house.
The bags get unpacked together, clothes thrown into the washer by four hands rather than two. You follow Jack to the bedroom when he puts the bags away; he follows you into the bathroom when you put your toiletries back. You make lunch together, hips nudging, shoulders brushing—a task that normally takes ten stretches into thirty because neither of you can stop talking and laughing.
He keeps looking at you like he still can't believe it's real. You can keep leaning in close to prove to him that it is.
The day settles eventually as you both curl up on the couch with books. The laundry tumbles quietly in the background as warm sunlight spills in through the living room windows.
You're leaning against his chest, reading, but more focused on the hand that's trailing slowly up and down your arm. Every so often, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the scruff on his jaw that's slightly longer than usual, the way he scrunches his nose at passages in his book, and how his face is relaxed in a way you haven't seen before.
As if sensing you, he glances over at you. His mouth immediately curves into a smile when he catches you swiftly looking away. He huffs a little cute sound, squeezing your shoulder.
You grin into your book, nudging his leg with your hand. You try to refocus on the pages, but it doesn't take long before you're blinking heavily. Without even really thinking about it, you slide down until your head is resting on his lap instead.
Jack's hand follows soundly, petting your head softly and lulling you to sleep.
By evening, neither of you has spent more than a few minutes apart.
Dinner comes and goes. The dishes get washed. The laundry gets folded. Around you, the house gradually darkens, shadows stretching across familiar rooms. You try to stay awake as long as possible, hoping to drag your sleeping schedule back toward something resembling normal before your next shift. By the seventh yawn in under a minute, Jack gives you a look.
"Okay," he says with an amused huff. "Time for bed."
You grumble half-heartedly but still let him steer you toward the bedroom. Blearily, you grab at clothes in the closet. Jack doesn't comment on the fact that you grab one of his shirts, just glances at it with a pleased smile before he heads into the bathroom.
When he's done, you brush past him in just his shirt and underwear that he can't see, biting back a smile at when he swallows harshly. You don't fight the grin once you're alone in the bathroom, letting the giddy feeling take over.
Your phone vibrates against the counter, just as you've put your toothbrush into your mouth.
>> Hello??? Are you alive?!
It's Olivia. Fuck. She's already texted you three times earlier today, and you'd ignored her, unsure of what to say that won't reveal everything immediately.
<< Yes
>> That's it??
<< Yes, I'm fine <3
You add the heart, toothbrush hanging loosely from your mouth as you try to act normal.
>> Uh huh. How did it go?
You can picture her narrowed eyes when you read it. Your thumbs hover over the screen for a minute, thinking of what to say.
<< It was fine. Nothing worth mentioning.
You can see her typing, deleting, then typing again several times.
>> And what about Jack?
<< He's fine, too.
You pause before adding:
<< We're fine. Things are okay again.
>> What does that mean??
You take too long to answer her, but her following text shows that it doesn't really matter anyway—she knows you too well.
>> oh😏
When you reemerge, you've decided to keep this to yourself until the morning. No need to reveal to Jack that the plan has failed immediately. This can still be just yours tonight.
He sits against the headboard, prosthetic off, and duvet covering his lap. He looks nervous. "Are you gonna—?" He gestures vaguely toward the empty side of the bed before clearing his throat. "I mean..."
The uncertainty in his voice surprises you. You'd just spent the entire day together, and he's unsure if you want to share the bed. It's kinda cute.
"Yeah," you say softly. "If that's okay?"
His answer comes fast. "Of course it's okay." He pauses. "I just didn't know if—" he shrugs, trailing off.
You climb into bed, into the arm that was waiting for you. You both sink down until your head settles against his chest, listening to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat.
You guess this is as good a moment as any other to finally have the conversation.
"I...uh—" you start. "I have the divorce papers printed on my desk."
Jack goes very still.
"I also still have that apartment viewing on Thursday." You stare at a loose thread on his shirt. "I know we've done this in a weird order. Getting married, moving in together, and then confessing."
You force out a laugh. "If you want to do this properly, we can."
The room goes quiet. Jack's arm tightens around you. "Properly?"
"You know." You shrug. "Dating. Separate places. Normal people stuff."
For a moment, he doesn't say anything; then, he says: "Do you want that?"
The question catches you off guard. You hesitate but answer truthfully. "No."
Jack lets out a breath. Just a small exhale that sounds suspiciously like relief. "Oh."
You lift your head. "Oh?"
Jack's mouth twitches. "I don't either." He rubs the back of his neck. "But I don't want you staying because you think you have to."
Your chest squeezes. "Jack."
"You've spent months trying to make decisions based on what you thought I wanted." His fingers trace idle patterns against your arm. "I'd rather know what you want."
You stare at him for a second. "I want to stay. I want to stay here."
His eyes soften immediately. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "We don't have to rush to figure things out. I like having you here. We can't figure the rest out later."
"Yeah?"
"Mm," he hums, his grip tightening around you. "I slept like shit when you weren't here. I'd prefer not to do that again."
You huff a breath. "Me too."
Even though the apartment had been nicer than the others you'd looked at, you really didn't want to move. You're happy he feels the same as you do. Maybe it doesn't matter if you do this in an order that doesn't make the most sense—as long as it makes sense to you, that's all that matters.
The room quiets again until Jack speaks again. "Can I ask you something?"
Your chest tightens, but you still nod.
"Why Lily?"
You knew he was going to ask eventually, but it doesn't make it any less embarrassing. You sigh into his chest. "That day—" you don't have to specify which, he already knows. "The way you ran inside looking terrified—"
You swallow. "And how you yelled at me after..." The memory of it still stings now, even after his countless apologies. "It was the difference in how you treated me and her."
"I'm sorry," he says again.
"I know."
"No." His voice is quiet. "I need you to understand what happened."
You lift your head enough to look at him.
"I got there seconds after—" His jaw tightens. "I barely managed to pull you away. I was already petrified when I heard the code being called. I could only imagine you—" he stops, breathing heavily. "...I can't explain what that felt like."
He continues, "When I realised it wasn't you, I was relieved. And then I felt guilty for being relieved because someone had still gotten hurt, but all I could think about was how happy I was that it wasn't you."
The confession lands heavily between you.
"I was scared out of my mind. Angry at the patient. Relieved that you weren't hurt. Guilty that I was relieved. All at once. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry."
You squeeze his hand.
His eyes find yours. "It was never about Lily."
You believe him. Now, you do. But back then? Back then, you'd been drowning in uncertainty.
You shrug helplessly, revealing more of how you felt. "After that, I started noticing every little thing. The way you talked to her. The way she made you laugh."
"You make me laugh," he says firmly.
You roll your eyes at him, a slight smile tugging on your lips. "I think I was trying to make peace with losing you. If I wasn't the one for you, then she could be. She could be better for you. Kinder than me. Easier than me."
Jack's face falls. "Sweetheart..."
Your mouth twitches sadly, looking down at his shirt again.
"You genuinely thought that?"
You nod.
His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, lifting your gaze back to his. "Do you have any idea how much time I spent wishing you'd look at me the way I looked at you?" His thumb brushes across your skin. "It was always you."
You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. You sigh. "We wasted so much time."
"Yeah."
Moments stolen by fear and assumptions and bad timing. You think about every dinner that could have been a date. Every movie night spent pretending not to notice how close he sat. Every almost-confession. Every chance that slipped away.
But now, everything's finally out in the open. The conversation drifts after that. You talk about everything. The first dinner. The first kiss. The kiss cam. The bar. Every misunderstanding. Every moment one of you had walked away convinced the other didn't feel the same.
Sometimes you laugh until your stomach hurts. Sometimes you bury your face in a pillow because neither of you can believe how oblivious you've been. Sometimes there's silence while you mourn all the things that could have been.
By the time the conversation finally slows, pale morning light is spilling through the curtains. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, but your chest feels lighter than it has in months.
You don't know what happens next.
You don't know what being married and newly confessed and hopelessly in love is supposed to look like. But for the first time, that uncertainty doesn't scare you. You'll figure it out together.
Beside you, Jack shifts closer beneath the blankets until there's barely any space left between you.
His lips brush your hair. "I love you."
You smile immediately. The confession still feels unreal. "I love you too."
The smile you feel against your forehead is warm and content. And wrapped in his arms, with the future still unwritten and endless possibilities stretching ahead of you, sleep finally finds you both.
The next evening finds you faster than you'd like.
As you step in through the door to the hospital, side by side, it reminds you of the first time you walked in carrying a secret on your shoulders—only this time, your shoulders are light, and your stomach is fluttering with happy jitters.
Somehow, you manage to make your way to the lockers without meeting anyone. With your bags dropped, you sneak a brief kiss against the door before you reenter the Pitt. Jack's hand brushes yours, your pinky catching his for a second, before you take a step apart.
You try to bite back the smile that threatens to break through. If you want this work, you need to stop acting like a lovestruck teenager. It's incredibly hard, though.
Robby stands at the hub, tablet in hand and a frown on his face.
"Rough day?" Jack says, clapping his back. He leans against the counter as you trail closer.
"Yeah... Good luck." Robby rubs his face, dropping the tablet on the counter. When his eyes open, they narrow in on the space between you and Jack—or rather the lack of it.
You shift to the side, trying to act nonchalant, but Robby's a hound. His eyes follow the movement immediately, nose twitching as he tries to sniff out everything you're trying to keep quiet.
"How was the conference?"
"Fine," Jack replies, glancing up at the board. He taps his fingers rhythmically on the counter.
"It was?" Robby raises an eyebrow, staring at him. Jack nods at him, shifting his gaze away quickly. Robby watches him for a moment, then turns to you.
"Mm," you nod, offering a tight smile. "The usual."
Robby stays silent, shifting his gaze from Jack to you, and then he grins widely. He chuckles, "If you so."
"Yeah," Jack nods with an awkward smile.
"Well, that's good." Robby keeps grinning as he pats the counter twice. "I'll see you later." He salutes you, still smiling, then walks off without any further questions.
You stare at his disappearing figure with a sense of dread. With a hand around Jack's wrist, you pull him into a quiet corner, hissing: "He knows."
Jack frowns. "How could he? We were acting normal."
You stare at him. "Normal? If you call 'you not looking at him at all' normal, then yes. Very normal."
"I did look at him."
"For two seconds. Normally, you don't look away at all," you counter.
Jack crosses his arms. "Well...You gave it away to Olivia."
"I didn't—I told her nothing."
"Exactly!" Jack points out. "That's not normal for you."
You stare at him with pinched eyebrows and then sigh. "...Yeah, okay. Maybe I did."
Jack sighs, too. "I guess I did, too." He shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips as he leans closer. "But to be fair, I think we forgot that they've spent months dealing with our sorry asses. Of course, they know. They knew we were in love before we did."
"—Abbot, there you are! Stop hiding in corners with your missus—trauma incoming," Lena interrupts with a wink. She doesn't even look back as she disappears down the hallway.
Jack squeezes your hand briefly on the way out, sending you a soft smile. "See you on the other side."
You watch him disappear around the corner before you head after him. The familiar knot of anxiety never comes. For weeks, every shift had felt like walking a tightrope. Every glance from Jack had meant something, and every action had been dissected. Now, the uncertainty is gone.
The Pitt is still loud. Still chaotic. The same as it always was. It's you who is different.
Across the department, Jack glances back. Just for a second, but long enough to catch your eye. Long enough to smile, and then he's gone into a trauma room.
And for the first time in a very long time, you're looking forward to the shift ahead.
Summary: After leaving your boyfriend some little notes of love in his lunchbox, you became very famous throughout the night shift. But you didn't know this until you had to step into the ER trying to give Jack his forgotten lunchbox.
Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.
Thanks to the anon who requested a part 2 for Little Notes of Love and illuminated my brain because this little fic wasn't meant to have a part 2.
Hope you guys love it just as much as the first part.
(Sorry that this took me more time than I planned to 🙃)
The ER wasn't a place you liked. Really, you didn't enjoy being at a hospital. Ironic, since your boyfriend is an ER doctor. There is nothing specific for you to dislike about the place, it's just a hospital, and no one really likes being there. But this time, you drove voluntarily to the place all because Jack forgot his lunchbox, and your concern about the rare times your boyfriend gets to eat at his job is more important than your dislike for the hospital.
You don't really know where to get in. You're not a patient, and you're afraid that the lady at the desk would not let you in, so even if you're a little embarrassed, you get in through the ambulance bay. Your plan is not to stay too long and to bother people as little as possible. It's a very busy place, and you don't want to get in anyone's way.
You stand near the place where a desk is (the nurse station), trying to find Jack through all the people moving from one side to another so quickly that you could get dizzy.
Someone taps your shoulder, making you turn around.
“Ma’am, is everything okay? You should go through the desk at the front door.”
She said calmly with tired eyes, but she still gave you a small smile. By Jack's description, you think it's Dr. Ellis.
You smile at her, letting out a relieved sigh.
“I’m not a patient, I'm fine,” you assure her. You lift the gray lunchbox in your hand, and by the expression she makes, you think she recognizes it. “I’m looking for my boyfriend, he's an attending here,” you explain to her.
“So you are the mysterious Lady Notes, huh?” she said, smiling widely, her eyes suddenly bright with interest.
Your cheeks burn because you never thought that Jack would show them the notes, or that they would see them.
“Guess I am,” you said, telling her your actual name, but something tells you that you're stuck with Lady Notes.
“I’m Dr. Parker Ellis,” she introduced herself by shaking your hand. “Follow me.”
You do. She guides you through the nurse station toward a nurse who looks like she is in charge, and by the look she gives you above her reading glasses and Jack's description, you think she's Lena. By her side, there is a tall man who looks completely relaxed and not even bothered by the rush of the ED.
“Look who finally visited us,” Parker said, too excited.
You stay a few steps behind, a little embarrassed by the attention the three of them give you, and again, they seem to recognize you the moment they see the gray lunchbox in your hands.
Lena gives you a full smile, looking really excited, while Shen just says:
“You are Mysterious Lady Notes?” he asked, taking a sip from his Dunkin' coffee, looking as surprised as he could.
Lena gave him a look that made him shrug.
“You are beautiful, hon,” she said, walking toward you. “I’m Lena, the charge nurse from the night shift.” She smiles at you, and you give her your best smile as you introduce yourself to her.
“I don't want to disturb you or anyone. Jack forgot his lunchbox, so I thought I'd stop by and give it to him,” you explain.
“You don't disturb anyone. We all have been waiting to meet the woman who has softened Abbott.”
And you can clearly see that because of how excited the three of them seem at your presence, and their reactions attract more people.
“I thought Jack was having hallucinations when he said he would take five minutes to eat the lunch his girlfriend made for him,” Shen told you from where he was standing a few steps back from Lena. He had been talking about something with Parker before. “I’m Dr. Shen.”
You tell your name again, giggling at his comment.
You told yourself it was going to be a quick visit: give Jack his lunchbox, a kiss, and then head back to your apartment to sleep. But twenty minutes later, you have said your name more times than in your entire life, introducing yourself to anyone who tells you, “You're the mysterious Lady Notes.” You get to know Nurse Mateo, Dr. Henderson, the student Nazly, Nurse Vivi, and you think that by that point, you have met everyone who works there.
“What is happening here?” a well-known voice cut through the crowd surrounding the nurse station.
Jack stood there waiting for an explanation when his eyes met yours, and realization quickly hit him.
“Okay, you guys, stop overwhelming my missus.” He walked toward you, placing himself by your side and resting one of his hands on your lower back as usual.
“I don't think you get to call her missus if you haven't married her yet,” Mateo said playfully, pointing to your bare ring finger.
Jack looks at the nurse, narrowing his eyes, and points at him.
“Careful, or you'll spend the rest of the night with the bad cases,” he warns while the rest of the people laugh.
“He’s right, Abbott. I have no idea how you haven't put a ring on that finger already,” Parker says, raising both eyebrows.
If your cheeks were warm before, now your face was burning hot. All the eyes were on the two of you, and everyone was supporting Ellis and Mateo's thoughts.
“Okay, okay, all of you, leave them alone. Go back to your jobs. There are sick people who need you all,” Lena commands with a tone of voice that actually scares you, and it is a warning for everyone because they all say goodbye to you and go back to work as soon as they can.
Jack guides you to an empty room. Your face is hot, but the wide smile is something nobody could get rid of no matter what they said.
“So I'm the mysterious Lady Notes,” you said, giggling.
He looks at you in that intense way that only he is able to do, that hazel gaze that makes your legs tremble like jelly and your heart race so hard that you can hear it in your ears.
He huffed, rolling his eyes at your words.
“They insisted on calling you that until they knew you,” he mumbled, trying to look irritated but failing because of the smile growing on his face.
His hands go instinctively to your waist, and your arms settle around his neck. There is not an inch separating the two of you. You brush your nose against his, which finally makes him give you that crooked smile you love so much.
Jack didn't wait. He kissed you, not caring that anyone could walk in and catch you.
“You forgot your lunchbox,” you said through the kiss.
He breaks the kiss but rests his forehead against yours.
“And you brought it to me instead of going to sleep when you have to work early,” he whispered in disbelief.
“Your shift is long. You need to eat, and I don't trust the vending machine,” you said as if it wasn't a point of comparison, and just imagining him eating something from the vending machine felt like a betrayal.
He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh.
“I love you.” He leaves a kiss on your temple and another on your cheek.
“I love you too,” you respond, leaving a short kiss on his lips.
You wanted to stay a little longer, but you saw that the ER was full and that you had already attracted too much attention and distracted several people. You didn't want to take up too much of the chief attending's time.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” You leave the lunchbox in his hands and another kiss on his lips. “Eat something,” you said, pointing at him with your index finger like a threat.
He just smiles at you.
“I will. See you in the morning.” He watches you disappear through the door.
He's quick to open the lunchbox, finding just what he wanted: a little Post-it note. It was white, and written on it was:
“Lovely grumpy doctor, if you ever forget your lunchbox again, you will be temporarily banned from these masterpieces that I put my heart into.
(I’m being very serious, please don't forget to eat like you forgot your lunchbox.)
Should I be worried about memory problems? They are very common at your age.
Your beautiful girlfriend ;)”
He lets out a laugh, shaking his head.
That one was going to his locker.
Jack keeps the Post-it in his scrub pocket after reading it a few more times before Parker finds him and tells him that they have an incoming trauma. She also tries to see what the note says, but he makes sure to hide it from her view.
It was just for him.
After the trauma and doing some rounds, he finally has time to sit and do some charts. But peace was something that never happened in the ER, and definitely after your visit, he would know no peace for a while.
“What?” he asked Lena, who was looking at him above her reading glasses.
She gives him a look that Jack completely ignores.
“What are you waiting for?” she said as if it were obvious. “She deserves that damn rock on her finger.” It was more of an order than a suggestion.
Jack goes back to his chart, but the last thing he was thinking about was the patient. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it, but it had only been a year and a half since the two of you started officially dating. He didn't want to scare you. Even though you didn't seem bothered by the comments his co-workers made, maybe you thought they were just kidding and trying to bother him.
There was nothing that he would like more than to call you his wife, Mrs. Abbott, seeing you stop signing your notes with “girlfriend” and replacing it with “your wife,” the title you deserve because there was nothing in that life that would make Jack let you go.
You were stuck with him for the rest of your life. What better way than to make it official?
Since your visit to the ER, your discomfort with the hospital has faded, and you have visited more often, dropping Jack off and picking him up, always making a little entrance to say hello and gossip a little with Lena, Ellis, and Shen.
Now you make sure to pack Jack more food than before and tell him specifically which bowls are for each nightcrawler: the dark blue one for Mateo, the red one for Parker, the green one for Shen, and so on with the rest of the crew.
He complains, telling you that you are spoiling them. But deep inside, he loves how you worry about all of them, so he gives them all the bowls, threatening that if they don't return them empty at the end of their shift, they will be stuck at triage for an entire week.
But something that keeps staying on his mind, and that everyone keeps telling him, even Dana and Robby, is about the ring that is missing from your finger.
It doesn't sound like a rushed step if everyone keeps telling him that he's been taking a long time.
I have to admit I was smiling like an idiot while writing this 😽
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