:)

PROLOGUE…

There is something incredibly haunting about the concept of love. 

Maybe it’s all the weight that people can’t help but put into a simple word consisting of two vowels and two consonants. Maybe it’s the way people seem to chase it so insistently, as if there is nothing else in the world that could possibly matter. Maybe it’s simply the fact that love is nothing more than a concept—an unexplainable unknown, a guess of a feeling.

You don’t know much about love, on rare occasions you’ve questioned its very existence. But you know enough to know that, whatever it is, no one has ever felt that way about you. And there was a time when you thought that they did—that someone loved you, and cared for you, and looked at you like you were brighter than all the stars in the sky—but you were wrong. You were young, and naive, and foolish, too caught up in the shiny novelty of your hopes and dreams to see things for what they truly were.

As a little girl, you dreamed of your wedding day like it was a promise. You imagined delicate bouquets of wild flowers, twinkling candle lights flickering around the room, and soft pastels against cream whites. In the dust of the attic, you’d find the folded stacks of your mother’s old cotton curtains, draping them across yourself and prancing around the creaky floors with bare feet you imagined in elegant slippers. Your sisters would laugh at you, before wrapping themselves in their own curtains—or one of your father’s old suits, in Charlie’s case—pretending to cover you in gold and pearls and fawning over your dreamt up ring. 

Watched on by an audience of your creation, Rosaline would strut across the attic with her chin held high, tossing invisible flower petals over her shoulder for as long as she could get away with before Charlie would hurry her along with a laugh. Edith would follow, lining up next to Rosaline and giving her a playful nudge with her hip to stop the younger girl’s scowling. Then it would be you and Margo, wrapped arm in arm as Edith hummed a random melody for you to walk to. In perfect step, you’d reach the rest of your sisters, where Charlie would be proudly standing on an old apple crate, the sleeves of your father’s suit jacket rolled up to her elbows. In the fantastical world of your attic, you’d stand in the center. Margo and Edith would pretend to cry, Rosaline would excitedly remind you of all the flower petals she tossed on the floor, and Charlie would marry you to an imaginary man who you knew loved you more than anything.

Now, sitting silently as your father tenses with displeasure and your mother purses her lips in discontent, your vision blurs with how much you’re focusing on the woody grain of the table and you wish more than anything to be back in your attic, wrapped up in your mother’s white, cotton curtains.

From across the table, Pete Mitchell lets out a soft, resigned sigh. You can feel his eyes on you, almost burning you with his gaze, but you don’t dare look up. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and there’s a weight to his words that feel like he’s talking about much more than the current moment. “We tried to get Bradley to see reason, but with everything with—,” He stops himself. “With everything that happened, he’s… refusing.”

“So what exactly are you saying, then?” Your father’s voice is sharp, easily recognizable as the tone of a general.

For a moment, no one speaks. You feel Pete Mitchell glance at you again and you bite down harshly on the inside of your cheek to fight off the tears that have been itching your waterline. 

Penny Mitchell places a hand over her husband’s, trying to subdue the tension in the room with a gentle smile. “Perhaps we should give it some time,” she suggests. “I’m sure we can all agree that the past week has been challenging for everyone, Bradley just needs some time to process it all. After that, I’m certain he’ll be more agreeable.”

Pete Mitchell nods in confirmation and the answer seems to quell your father. Your mother remains silent and, when you glance down at her lap, her hands are stiff and frozen. You have no idea what she’s thinking and the uncertainty makes your stomach twist with nerves. Though your hands are hidden under the table, away from sight, you still hold back from the urge to pick at your nail beds. 

Your father says something more to Pete and Penny Mitchell, but you can’t seem to focus on it. The rest of their conversation sounds like muffled noise as they say their goodbyes. You follow your mother like a silent shadow. You almost feel like you’re floating. Like you’re walking on weightless steps, everything around you fuzzy and unfocused. 

Through it all, your mind drifts, flashing through memories of this house you’ve come to know almost as intimately as your own. 

You can see the hallway that leads to the staircase, decorated with beautiful paintings and detailed portraits of different members of the Mitchell family. You can see all the steps that take you up the winding staircase, all the homely rooms of the Mitchell estate. And then, at the end of it all, you can see one final room, the door closed and certainly locked. 

And as you and your parents pass through the threshold of the front door, as your face is scorched with embarrassment and the insides of your cheeks hurt from being bitten, as your eyes turn glassy and you feel like you’re floating and sinking all at once, you can see exactly what’s inside that room.

Inside that room, hidden away with such little care for you that he couldn’t even face you himself, is the man who you once thought just might have the capacity to love you. Now, as you walk away from that room, ducking behind your mother’s frame, you’re certain of two things: 

You are foolish and he never would.

AUGUST, SIX YEARS EARLIER…

“I hate this,” Charlie wrinkles her nose in disgust, yanking at one of the frilly sleeves of her dress. “How much longer until I can take this thing off of me?”

Your mother clucks her tongue, though she doesn’t even spare your sister a glare, her eyes firmly trained on the guests mingling around you. “Behave, Charlotte.”

Charlie slumps back in her chair with a scowl, but stays silent, only kicking at the fabric of her skirt in an act of defiance your mother chooses to ignore. You can’t quite figure out if that’s more upsetting to Charlie than being chastised. You’d think she’d grow tired of the constant back and forth with your mother—you know you would—but if anything the challenge seems to excite her, like she’d rather have all the questions than all the answers. The two of you have always been quite different in that way.

Around you, people chatter quietly, dressed in similar formal attire. Some you recognize, though only vaguely, but most are complete strangers to you. The thought makes you fold in on yourself slightly, rubbing the fabric of your skirt between your index finger and thumb just to focus on something else. 

This catches Margo’s attention and she leans closer to the shell of your ear with a look of understanding. She points subtly at the back of an older gentleman sitting several rows in front of you. “That’s General Prescott,” she tells you quietly. “He knew Father from before the war. It’s his daughter that’s getting married. I think you met her once, but it was quite a while ago.”

You shoot her a grateful smile and she squeezes your hand again. Though it’s an action she’s done upwards of a thousand times before, this time there’s a notable difference in the new sensation of her engagement band pressing against the top of your knuckles. You watch as she pulls her hand away from yours, running her opposite index finger against the ring with a faint smile. When she catches you staring, you give her a smile of your own. The ring is something you’re both getting used to.

It didn’t necessarily come as a surprise when Thomas proposed to your sister, honestly it was more of an inevitably. From the moment he came into the clinic with a large lump on his head caused by accidentally walking into a barn door and locked eyes with your sister as she tended to him, it was as good as set in stone. You hadn’t been there, of course, but luckily Dr. Bangs gossips enough to provide much more detail than Margo—who only said she’d met a handsome man at work that day—explaining that Thomas was so smitten with her that he almost hit his head again on the door as he left. The next day, he was at your door, head bandages and all, formally asking to court your sister.

You like Thomas. He’s kind and witty and always puts up with Charlie and Rosaline’s eccentricities. Most importantly, he loves Margo more than anything in the world. But ever since the engagement, you’ve struggled not to resent him just a bit. It never lasts for very long, just momentary lapses, and you know that it really has nothing to do with him and you would be mad at anyone in his place, but you can’t help but feel resentful at the thought that he’s taking your sister away from you. 

Because that’s what will happen—what was always going to happen—your sister will get married, and then she’ll have a husband and be a wife, and wives live with their husbands and not with you. And one day, all your sisters will get married, and you’ll get married, and you’ll never live with each other again. You can’t fully imagine it. You’ve never had to live without Margo, not once in your entire life. Sometimes the thought of it claws at your chest. It’s an almost frantic feeling of wishing time could just stop, that you could just stay in this moment forever and your sisters would stay right where they are too and no one would ever leave and you’d never have to be without each other.  

But time doesn’t stop, regardless of how much your heart constricts. In a month's time, Margo will be married and then she’ll be gone and you’ll all get older and do the same. You’re trying to be happy about it, but for the first time in a long time, you can’t find it in yourself to pay attention to a wedding. You miss the bride walking out in a beautiful dress, the face of the groom when he finally sees her take those steps down the aisle, all the vows about love and forever, and try to ignore how it feels like there are rocks in your throat.

It takes Margo’s hand on your shoulder to pull you out of it and alert you to the fact that the ceremony is over. There’s a confused worry in her eyes as she watches you get up from your seat quickly, but she says nothing of it when you placate her with your best reassuring smile. Your mother and Charlie have already left, so you walk out of the church with Margo to the reception, trying hard to smooth out any wrinkles in your dress before your mother sees.

As soon as you enter the reception hall, Margo is quickly swarmed by her friends and some of the older women in town, all cooing as she excitedly shows off her ring and recounts the story of Thomas’s proposal. You stand off to the side awkwardly, not wanting to distract from your sister, and scan the room to try and find where Charlie and your mother are sitting. 

“Oh, thank God.” A hand wraps around your bicep, fingers firmly pressing into the skin. You turn as Charlie pulls you closer to her, the relief on her face palpable. “I was wondering where you went. You have to help me.”

You laugh lightly. “What trouble could you have possibly gotten into in the two minutes I was gone?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Charlie huffs. “It’s Mother who’s—,”

You both look up at the sound of your names being called to see your mother’s pointed but refined gaze. “Come, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Wonderful.” Charlie mutters under her breath, but you’re already leading her over to your mother before she can bolt.

There are two men sitting at the table with your mother, the older one engaging in light conversation with her. He looks to be around your father’s age, with white strands blending into his blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard, a pair of thin spectacles balancing on the bridge of his nose. The younger one looks to be around your age, sitting politely in his chair in an expensive looking suit. It’s unclear if he’d been participating in conversation with your mother, but whether he had or not, his attention had now been caught by you and Charlie and he watches you as you walk over.

Once you get close enough, your mother hurries you with her hands and presents you in front of the two men. She says each of your names in order—in response Charlie grimaces and you smile politely. “And this is General Seresin and his son Jacob.” Her voice is sugar sweet as she introduces the two. “I believe Jacob is just around your age, Charlotte.”

“Yes, I turned 16 last winter, Mrs. Simpson” he supplies politely.

Your mother’s eyes light up. “Oh, wonderful! Isn’t that wonderful, Charlotte?”

Charlotte looks something akin to a feral barn cat, something between annoyance and rage glazing her eyes. She opens her mouth—too say something incredibly rude and unladylike, you’re sure—but then, unusually, clamps it shut, her expression still visibly sour. The silence hangs awkwardly in the air and you can sense your mother’s well-trained composer chipping away with each passing moment.

“Quite wonderful,” you assure the two men before the interaction becomes unsalvageable. “It’s not often we meet many new people our age.”

Both your mother and General Seresin look generally appeased by your statement—though your mother considerably less so—while Jacob’s eyes dart between you and Charlie with barely concealed amusement.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, we were both just a bit shocked to learn your age.” You tense as Charlie speaks, knowing that the smirk lighting up her face only means trouble. “Given that you look so old and decrepit, and all.” 

General Seresin’s eyebrows raise and your mother looks like she wants to smite you both where you stand, but Jacob just laughs, not even bothering to hide his amusement this time.

“I see.” The look of horror on your face must be evident because, when he looks at you, his grin widens. “Well, then I apologize for any confusion I’ve caused.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Your mother gets up quickly, trying to maintain a docile appearance as she grabs Charlie by the arm. “Charlotte hasn’t eaten quite yet and it makes her a bit… discourteous. If it’s alright, perhaps we should get some food?”

“Of course.” You shrink slightly under General Seresin’s gaze, his eyes unreadable as he looks at your sister.

Your mother gives him a polite smile, before turning slightly to Jacob. “As an apology for her indiscretion, Charlotte will bring you back a plate as well, Jacob.”

Your mother drags the two of you away before Jacob can respond or Charlotte can worsen the situation. Once you’re out of earshot of the Seresins—and the rest of the wedding guests—your mother turns on you both with a fury.

“You will not ever do something like that again.” 

“Mother—,”

You subtly squeeze Charlie’s hand, begging her to hold her tongue. “We’re sorry, Mother. We’ll apologize to both Jacob Seresin and his father, I promise.”

Your mother’s gaze falls to Charlie expectantly, and you have to squeeze your sister’s hand again to get her to give a curt nod of agreement. “Very well.” Your mother sniffs. “Now, get your food and go back to the table. I will speak to General Seresin and try to salvage this.” You watch as she relaxes her shoulder, mask coming back on as she turns to leave. “And watch how you eat in front of him.”

And then she’s gone. As soon as she blends into the other wedding guests, Charlie’s hands ball up into fists.

“She is unbelievable!”

You let out a soft sigh. It’s futile to try and reason with your sister, so you don’t, instead letting her angrily shove macarons in her mouth as you put smaller portions of food onto your plate. Beside your plate, you’ve brought one for Jacob Seresin as well—knowing better than to remind Charlie that, technically, she was supposed to be bringing food for him. 

You’re not quite sure what to make of him, you think, as you thoughtfully place food on his plate. He seemed amused more than anything at your sister’s blatant mockery, almost as if he enjoyed it. He’s handsome—perhaps not the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, but your mother has certainly introduced Charlie to worse options. You try not to focus on how handsome he is for too long, he’s clearly meant for—and seems interested in—your sister.

From beside you, Charlie rolls her eyes with a groan. “If he doesn’t stop looking at us, I’m going to throw a macaroon at him.”

You try to look discreetly back at the table to see Jacob very obviously watching you both.

“He seems quite taken with you. Maybe he’ll ask you to dance when we get back.

“Please.” Your sister scoffs, wiping macaron crumbs from her chin with the back of her hand. “If he even entertains the idea, I’ll step on all his toes as we waltz.”

You frown slightly. “Please don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Charlie insists, through another mouthful of macaron. “And if he calls me ‘Charlotte’, I’ll kick him in the shin. I don’t know what Mother has said to him about me, but, I swear to you, by the time we finish eating, I’ll make sure he thinks I’m the most horrid girl he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting!” 

All of that sounds to be the exact opposite of your mother’s strict instructions, but you know that Charlie isn’t bluffing in the slightest. Again, you feel the smallest bit of resentment towards Thomas because, if he hadn’t proposed, then Margo would be here with you instead of mingling amongst the other guests to share the news with everyone, and then you wouldn’t have to placate Charlie alone.

Instead, you look back at Jacob Seresin—who is still staring intently at your sister—worrying your lip through your teeth in thought.

“If I keep him away, will you promise me that you will not do any of that?”

Charlie flings her arms around you dramatically. “Yes! Yes, I promise! Oh, I love you, I love you! You are the most wonderful sister I’ve ever had!”

You giggle at her theatrics. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re much too dramatic? Just let me think for a moment.”

“What’s there to think about? You’ve already said he seemed interested in dancing, just go ask him in my place!”

“But—,”

“You’re a much better dancer than me and you know it,” Charlie states emphatically. “Now go, before Mother figures out what we’re up to.”

The music changes to something you recognize, but can’t name, and you relent, instructing Charlie to wait for a moment longer by the food before returning to your table. Then you gather all your courage as you walk back to Jacob—notably without the two plates you made—his lips part, but before he can even attempt to ask where your sister is, you speak.

“Would you like to dance?”

You try not to wince at how shaky your voice sounds and hope against all hope that he doesn’t reject you outright because then you’d have no other way to stop him from pursuing Charlie for the rest of the evening, and you just promised her you wouldn’t let that happen.

Your attention snaps back to Jacob when you hear the sound of his chair moving. He stands up and holds out his hand to you. 

“Very much so.”

It takes you a blink to collect your bearings and then you place your hand in his before he can change his mind and let him lead you to where the other guests are dancing. You catch Charlie’s eye as you do so. If you waited a moment longer, you would have missed the smile she gave you before heading back to the table with her food.

The music grows louder as you get closer to the orchestra and soon you and Jacob Seresin have fallen into step with the other dancing couples. You dance as smoothly as two teenagers can manage, though he’s quite a bit better than you, leading you with a practiced grace that you could only wish to have.

Jacob clears his throat suddenly. “Your sister seems to be… quite the character.”

You bristle slightly at the implication, but swallow it down quickly and plaster on a polite smile. “Yes, I—We—apologize. As my mother said, she hadn’t eaten much today.” Your voice falters as you try to think of all the things your mother would want you to say to rectify the situation. “But that’s still no excuse and we apologize for any offense and—,”

“I didn’t take any offense.” Jacob almost seems entertained by your rambling. “But I can’t help but wonder if there was any validity to your sister’s claims.” His head drops slightly, close enough that his teasing eyes take up most of your vision. “May I ask if you think I look–what was it–‘old and decrepit’?”

Your lips part in surprise and you lose your footing with a stumble, though Jacob corrects it effortlessly. “No, I—Of course I don’t—I would never—I think you’re very handsome!”

“Oh, very handsome? That’s quite the complement.” Jacob raises an amused brow.

You feel heat rush to your cheeks, now fully abandoning any semblance of following along in your waltz, simply letting Jacob guide you around as you try to contain your fluster.

“Yes, of course.” If you were Charlie, you think you would have stepped on his toes by now, but you aren’t, so you don’t. “I think you’d make a very handsome brother-in-law.”

Jacob grins. “I see.” Then his face softens slightly. “It’s a shame then.” Your head cocks slightly in confusion and he supplies, “My father and I will be leaving as soon as the month is over.”

“Will you be back?”

“Perhaps,” Jacob grimaces. “I’m not sure. He won’t talk to me about it much, but I think Father fears that the war is getting worse.”

You suck in a breath, your thoughts drifting to your own father. Much like Jacob, you find yourself in your own predicament of your mother sheltering you from the truth of your father’s safety. The occasional letters you get from him hardly go into detail either, and you’ve learned to stop asking your mother when he’ll finally be able to come home.

Your dance with Jacob ends on a somewhat somber note, the two of you lost in thoughts that you’re not yet intimate enough to share with the other.

Thomas and Margo’s wedding came sooner than you would have liked, but late enough that you’d been able to process it as much as you could. By that time, Jacob Seresin and his father had already left, forcing your mother to look for another eligible suitor for Charlie. At the very least, watching—and being roped in to—all of Charlie’s ever escalating plots to scare off any potential husband left you little time to focus on your eldest sister’s absence. 

Still, there was a dull ache that wouldn’t subside anytime you came down for breakfast and Margo wasn’t there. She promised to visit you regularly—and already has. She and Thomas didn’t even live that far away, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they did. Before Thomas found a better job, and they had children, and then Margo would enter a part of her life that you weren’t meant to follow. You try not to think about it.

It’s winter now. Your shoes crunch against the white snow as you walk, the bottom of your dress dampening slightly. Your mother had wrapped up your lessons early this morning—Charlie had been especially fidgety and, after one too many loud interruptions, your mother had exacerbated her patience and dismissed you. Father had sent you all some presents with his most recent letter and Edith had become enamored with the book he got her, choosing to read it quietly in her room. Charlie had quickly set to work creating a grand pirate map and Rosaline only wanted to be wherever Charlie was—which just left you.

You weren’t exactly in the mood for pirates, you thought briefly about visiting Margo, but the trek seemed too long for the weather. And then that thought made you sad, that there was enough distance between you and your sister that it could be influenced by weather. To try and damper the melancholy feeling in your chest, you wrapped yourself in a scarf, tucked your pencils and paper away into a small satchel, and set out for the lake.

It was frozen over now—the ducks long gone—but with the way the snow powdered the branches of pine trees and wild grasses peaked out from under the frost on your walk to the lake, you knew the scene would be beautiful. Your fingers itch at your sides—partially because they were freezing, but also because your father’s gift for you had been a set of new charcoal pencils and one of them just matched the green of the pine trees perfectly.

Your nose feels like ice itself when you finally reach the lake and you breathe the cold air in with a soft smile. As you suspected, the view is magnificent, better than you’d even imagined. You brush the snow off a large stone before sitting down and taking it all in. For a moment all you can do is stare and then, suddenly remembering why you came to the lake in the first place, you open your satchel and pull out a stack of paper and the metallic tin holding your new charcoal pencils.

It’s cold enough now that you’re becoming congested, your fingers stiffening. You persevere though, sketching out the horizon line, trees, and the shape of the lake. With a cock of your head, you take in the scene again. Wouldn’t it be lovely if there were a couple ice skating? You lightly map it out on the paper, allowing yourself to indulge in curiosity. 

You’d only ever gone ice skating once. It was back during the earlier stages of Margo and Thomas’s relationship, early enough that you’d only met him a few times at that point. It was a day similar to this one and, upon learning that your uncle had gifted you all ice skates for Christmas, Thomas had insisted on taking you out to the lake to try them on. Edith had picked it up quickly, while Rosaline had made it around the circumference of the lake once—with a vice grip on Thomas’s arm the entire time—before deciding that ice skating was unenjoyable. You’d also found trouble with it, holding onto Margo’s hands as she helped you both glide on the ice.

Charlie was trying to go as fast as she possibly could, tripping and slipping and getting up with a loud laugh. Thomas warned her that she would wake up with bruises from all that falling, and Charlie informed him that “there was nothing fun about going slow”, and you skated around the lake twice more, watching Charlie twirl and glide, and never let go of Margo’s hand once.

Ultimately, Charlie did wake up with bruises and, when your mother saw them, she put your ice skates away in the attic.

The wind rustles the pages of your sketching paper, pulling you from the memory. Your light outline of the couple skating had become more defined, transforming now into a resolute silhouette. Plucking the drawing between your fingers, you hold it out in front of you, tilting it from side to side to warp the perspective—just like your aunt said that real artists in Paris do.

A gust of wind picks up suddenly, pulling the paper from your grip, and the rest of your sketches scatter with it.

“No!”

You leap to your feet, rushing to collect them. In your haste, you don’t think to gather your dress, your petticoat getting caught under your steps and pulling you forward. Your hands shoot out before you can think, only one of them lucky enough to land on the soft snow. The other is sliced open by a loose stick, sending a burning sensation up the length of your arm that has childish tears pricking at your waterline. You slump to the ground, no longer caring about the wet snow, or your drawings, or your new tin of charcoal pencils, crying quietly as you hold your injured hand.

“Excuse me? Are you alright?”

“No.” You pout pitifully, because you're not. Your hand hurts, and your sketches are ruined, and you got blood on your dress, and you miss your father, and you miss your sister, and your hand really, really hurts.

There’s the sound of crunching snow and then, suddenly, two long legs are standing in front of you. You look up to see a face you don’t recognize looking at you with brown eyes full of concern.

He squats down to be closer to your level, probably ruining his nice looking shoes and pants, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s then that you’re able to take him in in more detail—through the tears blurring your vision. You’re now positive you haven’t seen him before. He looks older than you, definitely, but younger than Margo. He’s also the most handsome boy you’d ever seen in your life.

“Are you hurt?”

You nod.

His eyes drop down to the hand you’re clutching to your chest, he holds his own out gently. “May I?”

You hesitantly offer it to him, flipping your hand to let him see the injury on your palm. When you see just how much blood there is coming from the cut, your eyes widen and start welling up with tears again.

“It’s alright,” he tries to placate you, noticing how upset you’ve become. He cradles your hand gently as he inspects it. “But you’ll need someone to bandage it. My uncle’s quite close by, he should be able to help.”

You sniffle something too quiet for him to catch and he ducks his head closer. “Sorry?”

“I lost all my drawings.” It comes out louder this time, but just as pitiful.

You can hardly stand to look around at the scattered papers—some now wet and soggy from the snow—before your face falls into your uninjured hand with a defeated sob. 

“One’s all the way out on the lake!”

“Hey, don’t cry,” he consoles you, helping you up and sitting you on a rock. “I’ll get all your drawings for you. You just wait here and—,” He takes his scarf off and wraps it tightly around your injured palm. “—Hold this taut for me, okay?”

You sniffle. “Okay.”

You watch as he spends the next five minutes running around the lake, collecting your sketches. He checked on you routinely as well, making sure you were staying put and keeping his scarf against your cut like he’d asked, and perhaps gauging how cold you were. You aren’t sure what you must look like, but, whatever it is, makes him move faster.

Planting his feet firmly on the ice, he makes his way to the last sketch cautiously. He wobbles slightly and your heart leaps to your throat. You try to call out to him to just come back—that one sketch isn’t worth all the trouble. But either he doesn’t hear you or is determined to get it anyway and, only then, does he come back to you with a large smile. 

“There.” He holds them proudly, before grabbing your satchel to put them away with the rest of your things. You watch as he puts the pages in delicately, mindful of their fragility now that most of them are wet. He places the lid back on your tin of charcoal pencils and places them in as well. “All accounted for.”

“Thank you.” You tell him sincerely as you grab the arm he offers you and get up from the rock. 

“It was no trouble.” He smiles gently, swinging your satchel over his other shoulder.

Having seen the whole ordeal, you know that it was nothing but trouble, but you’ve already started succumbing to the exhaustion that followed your excessive crying and you don’t quite have the energy to explain to him why you weren’t worth the trouble to begin with.

“Can you walk?”

You nod meekly and the two of you set off for, what you assume is, his aforementioned uncle’s house.

“Is that what you were doing out here?” He asks suddenly, before clarifying, “Drawing?”

You nod again.

“Are you an artist then?”

The cold air against your wet cheeks makes your skin itch and you wipe away some of your tear tracks with your good hand. “No, I’m not an artist,” you correct. “I just do it because I like it.” And then, because you can’t stop yourself, you add, “I’m not good enough to be an artist, anyway.”

“I disagree.” You can feel his eyes on you, but don’t dare meet them. “I saw your drawings as I was picking them up. I thought they were amazing.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. No one had ever called your art amazing before—no one had ever called anything you’ve done amazing.

“Oh.” Despite the cold, your cheeks now feel very hot. “Well… thank you.”

It takes you far too long to realize that he’s leading you to the Mitchell estate. 

As soon as you recognize the grand manor, your head snaps up to him in surprise. “Your uncle lives here?”

“No, he—Or, yes—I should say—,” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “One of them does, yes. But my other uncle should be able to fix up your hand and he doesn't live here, he’s just visiting.” 

You narrow your eyes as you look at him again, this time more analytically. 

You remember something that Margo had told your mother days ago, on one of her visits to the house, something about how Pete Mitchell’s nephew was finally coming to stay with him and his wife. Everyone in town knew the story of Bradley Bradshaw, the boy who lost his father to the war and then his mother to illness a year after. At the time, everyone assumed that meant that he would be coming to live with his aunt and uncle and suddenly all thoughts of his tragic orphaning were quickly replaced with the fact that he was becoming quite the eligible bachelor. And with no one else to carry the Bradshaw name, none of the older women in town even tried to be coy with their motives.

But then years passed and Bradley Bradshaw still hadn’t arrived at the Mitchell estate, and neither Pete Mitchell nor Penny Mitchell offered any explanation for it, and eventually everyone became bored of the whole thing and moved on. 

But now, it seems, Bradley Bradshaw has finally arrived.

You and Jack could not be more different. Sure there were some overlapping in certain things, you’ve never met a couple that didn’t have at least one thing in common with each other, but from your personalities down to your clothing choices you and Jack were opposites.

Jack was more into neutral tones, never raised his voice even in stressful situations, and normally kept to himself. You are the pop of color in Jacks life. Everything you own is colorful, you’re bold and loud no matter your mood, and you’ve never met a stranger. You and Jack seemed to be from different worlds, and he loved it.

Jacks therapist is constantly telling him to try new things, put himself out there, ‘broaden his horizons’. And, although his therapist tells him that Jack finds comfort in the darkness, he can’t help but feel right at home with you; the little light in his darkness.

Just like your relationship, the way you two met was anything but typical. Jack was on the night shift, as always, when security was called to handle two rowdy patients in chairs. Jacks instincts got the better of him and he sprang to action as well, following the security guard through the double doors. The closer he got to the entrance, the louder a voice became.

‘Probably some patient yelling and complaining about the wait time.’ Jack thought to himself.

When he finally caught sight of the disturbance in chairs he couldn’t help but let the edge of his mouth cure up just slightly. There was a man, had to be over 6 feet tall with biceps the size of Jacks head, standing near the check in counter. But, much to Jacks surprise, the man wasn’t the one yelling. The source of the loud voice was coming from you. You were standing in front of the man, half his size, with your finger pointed at him as you scolded him. The security guard finally came in between you and the male patient and asked what was going on. The man spoke first.

“I was just trying to see what the hell the hold up is with getting seen by someone when this bitch-“

He motioned to you as he spoke, but before the man could finish his sentence, you were raising your voice again.

“Yeah this bitch stepped in because you were being a fucking asshole! He’s failing to mention that his way of ‘asking about being seen’ involved yelling at the worker and threatening to barge back there. I wasn’t just gonna sit there and let this dumbass talk to her like that.”

The man rolled his eyes as the security guard said something about waiting patiently and the ER being busy before asking you and the man to sit down and stay calm. The man began to walk back to his seat, but not before mumbling under his breath.

“The only one who needs to calm down is this cunt.”

You were riled up again.

“I might be a cunt but at least i’m not a dick! Probably wouldn’t matter if you were seen by a doctor anyways because it’s not like they’re gonna find anything in that thick fucking head of yours!”

The large man turned around and started walking towards you like he was on a mission, fists clenched, and mouth opened as if to retaliate. But you never move, not showing for a second that you were scared of anything this man might do. Jack takes this moment to step in.

“Hey, how about instead of turning the waiting area into a boxing ring, I go ahead and take her back there and then come get you as soon as we’re done.”

Before the man can complain about who’s been waiting longer, Jack leads you through the hall and towards the entrance of the pitt. He finally sits you on a bed in a free bay and closes the curtain.

“So, wanna tell me what you’re in for, tiger?” He asks as he puts on his gloves.

You hold out your hand and show off a slice across your palm.

“Was cutting up some strawberries for the cake I was baking. Dropped the knife and tried catching it before I even realized what I was doing.” You let out a small laugh as Jack examined your hand.

“Luckily for you it doesn’t look like it’s deep enough to need stitches. Just some antibiotics and bandages. You’ll be baking again in no time.” He gives you a small smile before straightening up and going to the cabinet on the wall to get supplies to clean and dress your wound.

“Gotta say,” he begins as he sits in the rolling chair to take care of your cut, “you handled yourself pretty well out there. Never seen someone look so tough while looking like strawberry shortcake.”

You can’t help but laugh at his comment. You came to the ER immediately after slicing your hand, panicking once you realized that one bandaid wasn’t gonna be able to fix it. You were covered head to toe in various shades of pink with small bits of flour across your shirt and pants. Your makeup was the same, expertly placed eyeshadow, winged eyeliner, and these little gems that caught the bright hospital lights perfectly.

“What can I say, I’m tougher than I look. Sparkles and all.”

He smiles as he begins wrapping your hand, noticing that even your nails were a perfect shade of hot pink.

“You’re all good to go. If you feel any pain or notice anything that doesn’t look normal, don’t hesitate to come back. I work nights, so if you’re in trouble while the suns out I won’t be here.”

You look at your newly bandaged hand and then look up to your care giver as you speak.

“I’ll make sure to keep all of my life or death situations at night then.” You smile up at him, your lip gloss shining as you do so.

The next day, Jack was hopping out of his truck, bag on his shoulder when he saw a flash of pink walking towards the ER entrance.

“Hey.” he calls out.

You whip around, smiling when your eyes land on him walking towards you.

“Hi, Dr. Abbot. You’re just the man I was looking for.” You respond when he’s finally a few steps away from you.

“Are you okay, hand still doing okay?” He asks, looking at your still bandaged hand. He quirks a brow at the small box cradled in your palms.

“Yes, I was actually wanting to see you for a different reason.” You hold the box towards him.

He takes it from you and looks through the clear film on top. Smiling as he sees a perfectly iced cupcake sitting in the box.

“I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for last night. So i thought i’d give you part of the reason I was in your care in the first place.” You half laughed before speaking again. “Oh, and I also wrote my number down. Just incase you fall in love with my baking and need more or if you need me to come tell off more annoying men in your waiting area.”

Jack unfolds the small piece of paper stuck to the pastry box and finds your number written in pink ink.

“Y’know it’s kinda frowned upon for a doctor to start seeing one of their patients outside of work.”

“Well then it’s a good thing i’m not your patient anymore, isn’t it?” You respond, a grin blooming across your face.

You wish Jack a good night shift and walk back to your sticker and decal covered car. Your hands are on the fluffy cover of the sterling wheel when your phone gets a text notification.

‘thanks for the gift, shortcake.’

And ever since then you two were always seen together. He loved having you on his arm. You stand out wherever you go whether it be due to your wardrobe, makeup, or both. Without saying a word, your very presence demanded to be heard or seen and Jack loved that about you, and loved even more that you paid no mind to the looks you got when the two of you went out. It truly was your world and Jack was just happy to be part of it. Sometimes he would get nervous about how much the two of you contrasted. He would get in his own head wondering why someone like you would want to be with a grumpy old man like him. He always tried to keep that slight insecurity hidden from you, but you could always tell when something bothered him.

You always used these moments to pamper Jack. He’d try to ramble on about how he didn’t want you ‘stuck with some old guy like him’, but you’d already be peppering lipstick kisses all over his face.

“Babe, why would you ever think that?”

He’s got red kiss marks on his cheeks and forehead, attempting to stammer out a response as he tries to focus while your lips trail down his neck. Your hands are already snaking under his shirt as you speak through kisses.

“You’re so handsome, Jack.” He whimpers at your words, his skin already completely flushed and warm.

“And you always take such good care of me. You always make sure I never go without anything.”

Your hands are pulling up his shirt to bunch up at the neck, the way his biceps stretch the material of the sleeves not going unnoticed by you. Your hands rake up his torso to his chest and Jack hisses as he feels your filed nails scrape against his sensitive skin. You kiss your way down to his chest, and then his torso, and finally at his belt buckle all while letting praises slip past your lips. Jacks looking down at you through hooded lids. The sight of you on your knees between his thighs was enough to drive him crazy. Your hands start undoing his belt and pants while you plant kisses on the skin right above his waistband, the red lipstick you wore now faded and smudged. Jack lets out a moan as his head falls back when you start palming him through his jeans.

“You’re gonna kill me, shortcake.”

And just as much as you loved pampering and praising Jack, he can’t help but do the same for you. You couldn’t count on one hand how many times Jack made up an excuse to pamper in any way he knew how. Jack loved taking care of you. One thing he loved most would be you letting him pay for you. Whether it be gas for your car or a full on shopping spree, Jack was ready to pay for it. The first time Jack offered to pay for something other than dinner, he practically begged you to use his card.

“God, how do they expect people to pay for this stuff?”

Jack took the mechanics bill out of your hands as he sat next to you on the couch, squinting at the words before grabbing his glasses.

“They actually cut you a deal. That sorta thing usually costs at least $300 more than what they billed you.”

“That is a deal?!” You exclaimed as you looked at him with wide eyes.

You deflated against the back of the couch, your head falling back as you look up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to pick up extra shifts to pay for that. Maybe if I text my manager and ask nicely she’ll give me more hours or-“

“I’ll pay for it.” Jacks words cut off your stressed rambling.

You lift your head to look at him.

“What?”

Jack grabbed his wallet from the coffee table and rummaged for his card.

“I’ll pay for it. They wrote down their website so I can just go ahead and pay it online, easy.”

You reached for the mechanics receipt but Jack pulled it out of your reach.

“Jack that’s entirely too expensive, I can’t let you pay for that.”

You sit up as your knees sink into the couch cushions and your hand braces against the back of the couch, trying to take the paper from him again but he holds it further again, now leaving you almost in his lap as you continue trying to grab the receipt.

“Don’t worry about how expensive it is, i’m gonna take care of it for you.” He responds, his hand finding its place on your lower back.

You pause and look down at him from your position, worry in your eyes.

“Jack, that’s a lot of money I-“

“No it’s not. Not if it’s for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes you melt and the eye contact he’s holding with you never falters. He drops the receipt next to him once he’s confident that you won’t try to take it and reaches up to cup your face.

“Let me take care of you.” He whispers, now moving you back on the couch.

Jack peppers quick kisses on your lips between speaking.

“Don’t want you to worry about that kinda stuff anymore.”

His lips move to your cheek.

“Wanna take care of you.”

He trails down to your jawline, his hand still cradling your face.

“You gonna let me take care of you, baby?”

You whisper a small ‘yes’ as Jack continues, laying you back on the couch and trailing down until your bottoms are discarded on the floor and Jacks face is buried between your thighs.

It was rare whenever Jack let you take care of him physically. Yeah, he let you be mushy over him and cover him in kisses and gentle touches, but he is the doctor in the relationship. It’s his ‘whole thing’ to take care of people, as he likes to put it. But that doesn’t stop you from trying, especially when Jack gets comfortable with taking off his prosthetic around you. The first time Jack let you help him with his leg was after a particularly hard shift at the ER. Jack laid on the bed next to you, prosthetic already discarded on the floor nearby. You had stayed the night before and you woke as soon as you felt the bed dip under his weight. You listened to him rant about coworkers, patients, and the workload he had during his night shift. Jack absentmindedly stroked your hair as he spoke, as if it were therapeutic to him.

“Should probably go bathe now. Don’t want that ER smell to get on the sheets.”

You smiled at his joke before sitting up.

“I’ll go run you a bath, stay here.”

Jack reached out for your hand, stopping you as you started to move off the bed.

“No it’s okay, I’ll be okay. I’ll just hop in the shower there’s no need to-“

“What’s that phrase you like to say? Let me take care of you.” You respond, standing off the bed when you feel his grip loosen on your hand.

Jacks eyes never leave you as you walk to the master bathroom and run a bath for him. He can smell the lavender soap you add to the water and almost see the steam emitting from the water as it continues to rise. He sits up as you make your way back to him, and asks you for the crutches he keeps near the bed to help him get to the tub without having to reattach his prosthetic.

“I got you, give me arm.”

Jack gives you a hesitant look but, when he seems that your determined expression doesn’t change, reluctantly gives you his arm. You drape his arm around your shoulders before helping him to the bathtub. When you both reach the bathroom, you help him out of his clothes. Jack doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so patient and careful as you undress him. Even when you bake or do your makeup you never look this focused; this attentive. When Jack is finally undressed you resume your position and help Jack brace himself against the tub as well as hold onto you as he sinks his aching body into the warm water.

“You want me to give you some alone time?” You ask as you put a towel on the edge of the tub for whenever he’s ready to get out.

“No. Want you in here with me.”

You smile as you plant yourself on the edge of the tub, Jacks hand reaching for yours. He intertwines his fingers with yours when he asks about your night while he was gone at work. You rambled on about the little things you did around his place. Jack always thought it was amusing how you could make something like a mundane night inside sound interesting. You rubbed your thumb over Jacks knuckles, and he felt his heart swell. After his wife passed, Jack never allowed himself to be this vulnerable with someone; especially when it came to this aspect of his life. He didn’t think that all the good he could bring to a relationship could outweigh this part of his life. Jack saw his prosthetic as baggage; something that would drive people away as soon as they realized his disability presented as a disability. But here you were, describing the latest reality show you were watching as if you hadn’t just helped him with a task that was greatly hindered by his disability. Jacks disability is part of him and it’s something that he cant turn on and off, and you knew this. Jack told you at the first whiff of your relationship getting serious that he lost part of his leg during his service. He wanted to give you a chance to run; said he wanted to give you a chance to ‘be with someone easier’.

“Everything is easier with you, Jack, and this won’t be any different.”

He remembers your response that night and how you seem to be proving your own statement correct. You made this look easy. You made being with him seem so easy, even when there were parts of him that tried convincing him that he wasn’t worth the effort. You didn’t see his disability as something that would hinder the relationship; you automatically accepted it as part of him and accommodated in any way you could.

“Are you listening, old man?” Your words cut through his train of thought and his eyes met yours. You had a playfully mad face, a smile fighting to break through your act.

“C’mere.” Jack whispered, giving a slight nod as if trying to direct you towards him.

You lean down, your face barely inches away from his when Jack leans up and catches your lips in a sweet kiss. He feels the corners of your mouth turn up slightly as you smile into the kiss. When you pull away for air, Jack holds eye contact with you again.

“I love you, shortcake.” He whispers, his eyes scanning your face and taking in your features as if he’s memorizing them.

You smile before giving him a short kiss.

You remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. The cold porcelain of the toilet seat under your thighs. The pregnancy test stick clutched in your trembling fingers while you tried to aim. The uncertainty that made every sound echo louder in your tiny studio apartment, the best place a med student could afford. The steady drip-drip-drip from the leaky faucet. The nervous pacing of Robby’s footsteps just behind the thin wooden door.

“You good in there?” he asked, you could picture him leaning in, pressing his ear against the wood like he could somehow hear your thoughts.

You quickly wiped away the silent tears that had been streaming down your cheeks. “Yeah…” Your voice came out shaky and small. “Yeah. I’m done.”

You wiped, flushed the toilet, and stood up on unsteady legs, pulling your pants back on. Carefully, you set the cup and the pregnancy test on the edge of the sink before washing your hands.

“Can I come in?” Robby asked from the other side. Guilt was already eating him alive. This was his fault. He should have been the one guiding you, teaching you how to become a great doctor. Instead, he had jeopardized everything,  your education, your career, your future. Now, because of him, you were taking a pregnancy test in a cramped bathroom, wondering what the hell you were going to do with your life if two pink lines appeared.

You didn’t answer with words. You simply walked to the door, opened it, and stepped aside so he could enter. “It says three to five minutes,” you murmured, nodding toward the test resting on the sink.

“How—” Robby cleared his throat when his voice threatened to crack. “How are you feeling?”

“Scared?” The word came out like a question. Truthfully, you didn’t even know if “scared” was the right word. What was the right word for finding yourself in a situation you’d never wanted, knowing it was your own damn fault? You should have been more careful. You should have said yes the first time he asked about wearing a  condom. You should have told him to pull out instead of moaning “fill me up, Robby” every single time like you had lost all sense. 

You knew the odds. You knew the risks. But when he was inside you, none of that had mattered. And now destiny was laughing in your face. You had no plan. If you were pregnant… what then? Goodbye to med school. Goodbye to your dream of graduating and matching into emergency medicine. You’d probably have to move back in with your parents and spend your days raising a child instead of becoming a doctor. And goodbye to Robby, because why would a man like him want to stay tied to the med student he’d accidentally gotten pregnant and the baby he never asked for?

Fresh tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, soaking your cheeks instantly. You tried to stay quiet, but the sobs broke free anyway.

“Hey, hey, hey… come here.” Robby closed the distance in one step. The heat of his body wrapped around you like a shield. He slid one strong arm around your waist, anchoring you against his solid frame, and the other hand cradled the back of your head. “It’s perfectly normal to be scared. But you’ve got me. You’re not alone in this.”

“What are we—” Another sob escaped, muffled against his shoulder. “What am I gonna do, Robby? What am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever feels right,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a gentle kiss there. “You’re supposed to do whatever you want to do. You have all the choices.”

“But which one is the right one?” You pressed harder into him, as if you could disappear into his chest. “Which one won’t make you hate me?”

“Jesus— Look at me.” He gently cupped your face with both hands, lifting it from his chest so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His own were red and watery. “Let me say this once, and I need you to hear me. I could never hate you. None of this is your fault. It’s no one’s fault… this just happens, okay? If the test is positive, then… it’s not the end of the world. We’ve got options. We have time to think about it.”

“Then why does it feel like it is the end of the world?” You tried to hide your face again in the broad warmth of his chest, where your tears had already left a dark patch on his shirt. He wouldn’t let you. He kept your face cradled between his palms, one thumb softly stroking your cheek as he wiped away another tear. 

“Why does it feel like no matter what I choose, you’ll end up resenting me for it?”

“I won’t,” he assured you again, his voice steady even though you could feel how hard he was trying. “You have to think about what you want. Nothing is more important than that. I’ll be here for whatever you decide.”

“What if I don’t want to keep it?” The words tumbled out. “Wouldn’t you feel like… like I took something away from you? Wouldn’t you think I’m selfish?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, his warm lips making you shiver. Then your cheek, tasting your tears. Then your lips, reassuringly. “If the test is positive and you choose to terminate 6he pregnancy, I wouldn’t think that makes you selfish. I wouldn’t think you’re a bad person or that you’re stealing something from me. I’d think you’re strong. I’d think you’re being brave. And I’d be right there with you.”

The calmness in his voice steadied you a little. You could tell he was terrified, probably having a panic attack on the inside, but he was pouring every ounce of strength into not showing it. He wanted to be the rock you could lean on, the one who had answer, who knew what to do, who’d be there to support you no matter what.

“Is that what you’d want?” he murmured against your lips. “An abortion?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered, so softly he might not have heard if he weren’t so close. “But… maybe it’s the only right choice. What would I even do with a baby? I’d have to drop out of med school… I’d fall so far behind. Raising a baby… I don’t know when I could even go back.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that, you know?” he said gently. “A lot of women finish their studies while pregnant. They work while being moms too. Think of Dr. Shamsi, she finished her residency while—”

You knew he meant well, but right now the last thing you needed was a pep talk about strong women. “Yeah, well, I’m not Dr. Shamsi, Robby,” you cut in, the words coming out harsher than you intended. “I don’t think I can do it. And I can’t… I can’t put that weight on you. That burden. A child, Robby. I’d feel so guilty knowing I trapped you.”

An incredulous laugh escaped him. He pulled back just enough to really look at you. “Trap me? Jesus fuck… do you even hear yourself? When have I ever made you feel like you’d be trapping me?” 

His tone edged toward anger, which only made your own flare up. “You didn’t ask for this! You’d be stuck with a child you never even wanted just because I didn’t want to get rid of it!” You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore and stared at the floor instead.

“A child…” He let out a slow breath. “A child doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.” The words he’d been too afraid to even think until now finally slipped out. “Yeah, it would be difficult. Yeah, it would be a fucking challenge. I’m not gonna lie, I’m scared. But I don’t think a baby would be the worst thing to ever happen. Not by far.” 

He’d be lying if he said he had never dreamed of having a child, of becoming a father. In his mid-twenties, he had pictured it so differently. Finding the love of his life, getting married, waiting a year or two before having their first baby, then another one soon after. A proper family. But life had gotten in the way, long hours in the ED, the weight of responsibility, his own fears and insecurities reshaping the entire trajectory of his existence. Time slipped through his fingers, and before he knew it, the dream had been pushed further and further into the distance. Definitely not like this, a baby at forty-nine with the fourth-year med student he’d been sleeping with in a messy situationship for only a few months… that was never part of the plan. And yet, as that pregnancy test sat on the edge of the sink, the possibility grew heavier, more real. Maybe this was how it was meant to happen. Maybe the universe had finally caught up with him. Maybe it was time to stop running, time to stop hiding, and finally commit to something bigger than work. Something that actually mattered. Something that’d change his life and give it a new meaning, a new purpose.

“You’re saying you’d want it?” you asked, surprise flashing in your eyes as you finally looked up at him. “If I were pregnant… you’d want the baby?”

“I’m saying I want you to do what you want. But yeah… if you chose to keep it, then I’d want it too. I’m in, 100%.” Behind the fear in his voice, you heard absolute certainty.

“And how would that even look?” you asked quietly. “How would we do it?”

“If we’re doing it, we do it right. Together.” He took your hands in his, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. “You could move in with me. Once the baby’s born, we’d arrange our shifts so one of us is always with them. We’d get a sitter to help us so you can still have time to do your residency. You have me. You’ll have me every step of the way.”

“Promise?” you whispered.

“Promise.”

Silence stretched between you, as if the rest of the world had stopped spinning. In that tiny bathroom, it was just the two of you, holding each other’s hands with the promise of facing whatever came next together.

“I think it’s been over five minutes,” Robby said finally, glancing toward the sink. “Want to check?”

You nodded, and Robby released one of your hands, picked up the test, and held it between you without looking at the result yet. “Together?” he asked.

You swallowed. “Together.”

The imposing voice of Dana cut through the fog in your mind. “Earth to you… hello?”

You blinked, startled, and reluctantly dragged your eyes away from the computer screen where you’d been pretending to chart for the last ten minutes. Dana was leaning against the nurses’ station counter with one hip, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Are you even listening to me right now? Because I’ve been talking to myself for five minutes. What’s up with you? You look like you didn’t close an eye last night.”

You forced a small, nervous laugh and quickly looked back down at the computer, hoping the glow of the screen would hide the exhaustion on your face. “Sorry… I slept okay,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant and unbothered. You weren’t fooling anyone, least of all Dana. You could feel her eyes studying you, taking in the faint shadows under your eyes, the slight slump of your shoulders, and the way you kept subtly shifting in your chair. Because no matter how hard you tried to focus on work, your body was still painfully aware of last night. The ghost of Robby’s thrusts still lingered between your thighs, a delicious ache that refused to fade even twelve hours later. 

Every time you moved, you were reminded of how hard he had taken you, how thoroughly he had ruined you. Your muscles were sore in the best and most inconvenient way possible. You crossed your legs under the desk, trying to ignore the throb that pulsed through you at the memory. The last thing you needed was Dana figuring out why you were so distracted. Unfortunately, Dana had the observational skills. She narrowed her eyes even further, tilting her head as she continued to stare at you. “Yeah… sure you did.”

Dana drifted his gaze past your shoulder down the corridor. Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly, lifting her brows a fraction and her mouth twitching like she’d tasted something sour. You followed her line of sight to Robby, striding toward trauma two, wearing his navy scrubs and cargo pants. There was a loose, easy roll to his shoulders, a confidence in his steps that screamed satisfaction. The corners of his mouth were curved in a half-smile that was the unmistakable “I got laid and it was fucking amazing” look.

Dana let out a dry huff of laughter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Jesus. I hate when he walks around with that ‘I got laid and it was amazing’ face. It’s obnoxious as hell. Makes the rest of us feel like we’re doing it wrong.”

You kept your face carefully neutral, tapping your fingers against the keyboard, but without writing anything. “Maybe he’s just in a good mood.”

“Oh, please, don’t give me that. You know that face, it’s always the same with that man.” Dana tilted her head, studying him as he paused to talk with Victoria, that satisfied smile lingering a beat too long. She narrowed her eyes, thinking hard for a second, then her head snapped back toward you when realization hit him. “Wait a minute… That face. That exact face is too familiar. It’s not just his regular ‘I got some’ look. That’s the same damn face he used to wear back when you two were sneaking around four years ago. And I haven’t seen it on him once since you two called it quits. Not a single time.”

Heat flooded your cheeks instantly. You felt cornered, exposed, like a deer caught in headlights. Dana ran this place, nothing escaped her eyes. Trying to lie to her was usually pointless, she could smell bullshit from miles away. “I– I really need to finish these charts,” you stammered. “I promised Hannah I’d try to get home early so we could—” The excuse died on your tongue, it sounded pathetic even to your own ears.

She looked at you like she’d already decided you were guilty. “Please tell me you didn’t do it.”

“Didn’t do what?”

She snorted. “You’re a terrible liar. Always have been.”

You exhaled through your nose, dropping your shoulders in defeat. You glanced around the nurse station. It was quiet, no one close enough to overhear, then leaned in just a fraction.“Okay,” you muttered. “It was one time. One weak moment. I’m not doing it again.”

Dana didn’t t look surprised, just disappointed in the resigned way of someone who’s watched this film before and knew how it ended . “You’re so stupid,” she said, almost fondly. “Letting that mess of a man back in again.”

“I know.” You rubbed a hand over your face, wishing you could teleport anywhere but here. “I know. I’m just… so weak when it comes to him. He’s got this way of looking at me, like I’m the only thing in the room that matters, and the way he touches me…” You trailed off. “God, Dana, you don’t know how good it is. How he remembers every single—”

She held up a hand with the palm out. “Stop. Right there. I do not need the details. I’ve worked with that man for the last 20 years of my life, and I still got to work with him for the next eight hours. Spare me the play-by-play.”

“Sorry. It’s just… it felt like coming home, you know? And then this morning reality hit like a truck. And I realized I fucked up last night.”

Dana studied you for a long beat, and her expression softened just a fraction, enough to show the concern underneath.“Honey,” she said quietly, “you’re not weak. You’re human. And that man has always known exactly which buttons to push with you. But you’ve built something solid these last five years. Don’t throw that away because the sex is good.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I told him it was a one-time thing. A relapse. I’m not doing it again. I swear.”

Dana arched her eyebrow high. “You swear.”

“Yeah.” You met her eyes even if your stomach twisted. You were embarrassed to let anyone know about your poor life choices, but if you could trust anyone, that was Dana, one of the only people who’d been here since the start of your story with him. “Last night was… it was stupid. It won’t happen again.”

She studied you for a long beat, then she pushed off the counter, stepping closer and dropping her voice to that tone she used when she’s done playing nice.“You'd better not. Go out. Meet someone. Anyone whose last name isn’t Robinavitch. Someone who can actually commit to a relationship.”

You looked down at your hands, still faintly wrinkled from too much hand sanitizer, a nervous habit you’d gotten out of him. “It’s not that easy.”

“It’s not supposed to be easy,” she countered. “But it’s supposed to be possible. Find a guy who doesn’t bolt after a month because he ‘feels trapped’ and ‘needs space.’ Someone who doesn’t look at commitment like it’s an impossible mission. Someone who stays.”

The words sting because they’re true. Robby never lied about it, he’d told you early on he wasn’t built for the long haul, that relationships felt like another thing he’d inevitably fuck up. And when Hannah came along, when the exhaustion and the shifts and the fear piled up, he didn’t fight to keep you together. He just… drifted. Back to separate houses, separate beds, separate lives. 

“Hon, you know Robby was not made for a relationship. He’s a great dad, nobody’s arguing that. The man would walk through fire for that little girl. But you? He loves you in the way he knows how: sporadically. And that’s never gonna change. Keep it that way. Keep him in the dad column. Don’t let him back into the partner one.”

You rubbed your temples, the ache from last night’s lack of real sleep settling in behind your eyes. “I know. I do. It’s just… when he’s there, when he’s touching me, talking to me like I’m still his… it’s like the last five years never happened. Like we could pick up where we left off.”

“That’s the trap,” Dana said quietly. “It feels like home because it used to be. But homes can be haunted too.”

In the days that followed, you did everything you could to avoid Robby. At work, you kept your distance, volunteering for procedures on the opposite side of the ED whenever possible and burying yourself in charts or patient updates the moment you felt his presence nearby. Because every single time your eyes met his, even for a brief second, your body betrayed you.

You remembered the crushing weight of him on top of you that night, the way he’d fucked you into the mattress like the world was ending. You remembered how perfectly your bodies still moved together, how easily he could pull those broken sounds from your throat. Years had passed, but the fire between you hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it was burning brighter and hotter than ever, threatening to consume every boundary you had built.

Thankfully, Robby seemed to sense your need for space and didn’t push. He gave you room to breathe at the hospital, only speaking to you when a case genuinely required collaboration. His tone stayed strictly professional, his touches nonexistent. He still called every evening like clockwork to talk to Hannah, but with you he remained carefully polite, never lingering, never teasing, never crossing the lines you had drawn. 

You should have been relieved. He was finally respecting your wishes, he was doing exactly what you had asked him to do, and yet… on nights like this, when Hannah was at his place for her half of the week, the silence in your house felt suffocating. The emptiness pressed in from every corner. No little footsteps pattering down the hallway, no giggles echoing from the living room. Just you, alone in the quiet, with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company. And your mind refused to shut off, It buzzed loudly, relentlessly, replaying every moment of that night in vivid detail, the heat of Robby’s skin, the burn of his beard against your neck, the groan in your ear when he came undone inside you. 

You kept hearing his promises afterward: that he was a changed man, that this time he wanted you for real. Not out of duty because he’d gotten you pregnant. Not because he felt trapped by responsibility. But because he truly wanted to be with you, because he loved you. God, you wanted to believe him so badly. There were moments, weak and dangerous moments when you wished you could be reckless enough to fall for every word that came out of his mouth. To let yourself be dumb and hopeful and blind, just like you were five years ago.

Maybe you would have risked it if you were the only one who would get hurt when everything inevitably fell apart. You could survive a broken heart, you’d done it before. But Hannah couldn’t, she was innocent in all of this. She didn’t deserve to watch her parents try and fail again, to feel the instability, the confusion, the heartbreak of seeing her mother and father almost become a family, only for it to crumble. You refused to gamble with your daughter’s emotional safety just because you still craved the man who once broke your heart.

The knock on the door came right on time, just as the late afternoon sun was starting to slant through the living room windows. You were still in your scrubs, hair thrown up in a messy bun, when you opened the door to find Robby standing there with Hannah perched on his hip, her little pink backpack slung over his shoulder, making him look both silly and endearing at the same time, and her head resting sleepily against his chest.

“Hey,” Robby said softly. “We’re here.”

Hannah’s face lit up the second she saw you. “Mommy!” She reached both arms out, already wiggling to get to you. Robby shifted her gently into your arms, brushing his hand against your side in the process. The brief contact sent an unwelcome spark through you that you immediately tried to ignore.

“Hi, baby girl,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft brown hair, she smelled like the strawberry shampoo Robby always used on her. “Did you have a good time with Daddy?”

“We had a great time,” Robby answered for her, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He set her little backpack down by the couch and rubbed the back of his neck, looking unusually hesitant. 

“Listen… I’ve been thinking about something.”

You raised an eyebrow, bouncing Hannah lightly on your hip as she played with the collar of your top. “That sounds ominous.”

He let out a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Not ominous. Just… I’m thinking of taking some days off work. Vacation days.” Your surprise must have shown on your face because Robby quickly continued. “I’ve been thinking about taking her somewhere warm. She’s been talking about the beach nonstop lately. There’s this resort in Mexico I’ve been looking at, very kid-friendly, right on the beach. Thought it might be nice for her to run around in the sand and actually see the ocean.”

Robby had never been one to take vacations. For most of his life, work had consumed him completely. He was drowning in the ED, the never-ending stream of patients, the constant pressure of being the one everyone relied on. There was always something more important, and a quiet voice in the back of his head constantly whispered that everything would crumble if he wasn’t there to hold it all together. He had never felt the pull to travel, no place ever seemed worth leaving the hospital for. Nothing could impress him or hold his attention long enough to make him want to step away. His entire identity had been tied to the job for so long that the idea of doing anything else felt foreign, almost selfish.

That was before Hannah arrived, she changed everything. From the moment she came into his life, Hannah gave him something he had never truly had before, and that was real purpose. She became the reason he woke up every single day determined to be better, to be the kind of father she deserved. The person who had to stay strong and healthy because she depended on him for everything, from teaching her how to tie her shoes, to how to be kind, how to stand up for herself. 

But Hannah had given him more than just purpose. She had awakened in him a brand-new desire to actually live. For the first time in years, his world expanded beyondwork. He wanted to do things, he wanted to see things, and more than anything, he wanted to experience them with her. His life no longer felt like it should revolve solely around the ED, he craved as much free time as he could carve out so he could share it with his daughter, watching her discover the world. He refused to miss even a single moment of her childhood while she was still small and everything felt unique to her. Hannah had unknowingly pulled him out of the endless cycle of work and survival. 

And that was how the trips began. Beach days where Hannah squealed at the waves and collected seashells in her bucket. Lazy summer afternoons fishing at a lake. Winter weekends at a cabin resort in the mountains, where they built snowmen in the backyard and drank hot chocolate by the fire. Whatever Hannah wanted to do, Robby made it happen.

You nodded slowly, processing the information. You dropped Hannah off carefully on the floor, and she immediately walked to her bedroom, mumbling something about saying hello to her stuffed animals. “Mexico… That sounds really nice for her. When were you thinking?”

“Probably in a couple of weeks, if I can get the time approved. I’d take about a week.”  He paused, watching your expression carefully. “Are you okay with that? With me taking her?”

“Yeah,” you said without hesitation. “Of course I’m okay with it. She’ll love it. Just make sure you send me all the flight information and the hotel details once you have them. I want to know exactly where she’ll be and how to reach you.”

“Already planning on it,” he assured you. “I’ll send everything as soon as it’s booked.” A comfortable silence settled for a moment. Then Robby shifted his weight and looked at you again, something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. “Actually… I wanted to ask you something else.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, a tell you knew too well. “Would you want to come with us?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“I’d pay for everything,” he added quickly. “Your flight, your room. You don’t have to worry about that. You’ve been working insane hours lately with residency. It might be good for you to get away for a few days, too. Relax. Sleep in.”

The offer hung in the air between you, and for one brief second, you let yourself imagine it. You pictured the three of you on a beach in Mexico. Hannah running barefoot through the warm sand, her hair messy from the ocean breeze, laughing with pure joy every time a wave came close enough to tickle her toes. You saw yourself and Robby sitting nearby on lounge chairs, drinking margaritas while the sun kissed your skin. The sound of the waves rolling onto the shore, lulling you into a nap you hadn’t allowed yourself in years. 

After surviving on less than six hours a night for so long, the mere idea of lying back on a lounge chair and actually resting felt almost sinful. Vacations had always been a luxury you couldn’t afford. Not with the mountain of student loans, the demands of your residency, and the constant juggle of motherhood. The thought of taking time off just to relax had felt selfish, unrealistic, and completely out of reach. And now Robby was offering it all on a silver platter.

You quickly shoved the beautiful images away before they could take root and make you weak. Because that was the problem with Robby’s offer, it wasn’t just a vacation. It was a week of playing house, of blurred lines, and of watching him be the devoted father he had become, while your stupid heart remembered exactly how good things used to feel when the three of you were almost a real family.

“Robby…” You let out a slow breath. “Thank you. Really. That’s incredibly generous. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He furrowed his brow slightly. “Why not?”

“Because going on a vacation like that, the three of us,  it would be confusing. For her, especially. If we’re sharing space like a family for a whole week, she might start getting ideas about us getting back together. I don’t want to give her false hope. And it’d be confusing for us two, we need to keep our distance after… You know what.”

Robby’s jaw tightened for a moment, but his voice stayed calm. “We can get separate rooms. Hell, we don’t even have to hang out the whole time if you don’t want to. You could do your own thing, be at a different pool, get spa treatments, whatever. I’m not asking you to pretend we’re a couple. I just… I want to do this for you. You deserve a break too.”

You shook your head, even as a small, traitorous part of you ached at how sincere he sounded. “No, Robby. Thank you, but no. It’s sweet of you to offer, but it’s too complicated. We’ve worked really hard to keep things stable and clear for Hannah. Mixing a family vacation into that… it blurs too many lines. I appreciate it, I really do. But I think it’s better if it’s just the two of you.”

He watched you for a long moment, something like disappointment passing across his face, a quiet frustration he tried so hard to hide. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Message received. I’ll just take her, then. But the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”

You gave him a grateful smile, even though your chest felt tight from how much you wanted to say yes, because of how much you wished that maybe in another life, Robby and you could be those parents sunbathing in Mexico with their kid. “I won’t. But thank you.”

He nodded once, lingering for another few seconds like he wanted to say more, but decided that by pushing too hard to get close to you again, he’d only end up pushing you away. “I’ll text you the details as soon as everything’s booked.”

“Sounds good.”

Before heading toward the door, Robby paused. He gave you one last long look, the kind that always managed to slip past every defense you’d carefully built over the years. In that single glance, you were flooded with memories you spent most days trying desperately not to dwell on. Memories from five years ago, back when everything still felt possible. Back when you still believed, with naive, foolish hope, that the two of you could somehow make it work.

And then there were the much more dangerous memories from just two weeks ago, the night where, for a few stolen hours, it felt like the rest of the world had simply stopped existing. His hands on your body like he still owned every inch of it, the way he’d whispered your name against your skin, the overwhelming feeling that you had teleported back in time, back to when it was just the two of you. For those few hours, you had let yourself believe again. You had let yourself imagine that maybe, just maybe, there could still be a “we” in your future.

A couple of days later, you heard the knock of the door echo through the house just as you were finishing packing Hannah’s favorite stuffed capybara into her little backpack. You opened the door to find Robby standing on the porch. Hannah immediately squealed at the sight of him.

“Daddy!” She bolted forward, launching herself into his arms. Robby caught her with ease, laughing as he lifted her high and spun her once before settling her on his hip. “Hey, angel,” he said, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek. “You ready for Daddy’s house?”

You stepped aside to let them both in, arms crossed loosely over your chest as you watched the usual handoff routine unfold. Hannah was buzzing with energy, clutching Robby’s shirt with her little hands. “Daddy, Daddy! Are we really going to the beach soon?” she asked with her eyes wide, full of pure excitement. “With the ocean and the sand?”

Robby grinned, the kind of soft and genuine smile he only ever wore for her. “We sure are, baby girl. I already picked out a really nice hotel. It’s right on the beach. Want me to show you the pictures later when we get home?”

“Yes!” Hannah bounced in his arms, practically vibrating. “Does it have a pool? And ice cream? And can I get a new swimsuit to wear?”

“It has a huge pool, and I’m pretty sure they have all the ice cream you can eat,” Robby answered patiently. He glanced over at you while still holding her. “I booked one of the family suites with a big balcony overlooking the ocean. You’re gonna love it, Han.”

Hannah gasped dramatically, her little mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. “Mommy, did you hear? Daddy got a hotel with a balcony! For the ocean!”

You couldn’t help but smile at her pure joy, even as a knot started forming in your stomach. “I heard, sweetheart. Sounds amazing.”

Robby set Hannah down so she could run to grab her stuffed animal from the couch. The moment she was out of earshot, he lowered his voice slightly. “I meant what I said the other day. The offer’s still open if—”

Before he could finish, Hannah came racing back, clutching her capybara tightly. “Daddy, can Mommy come with us to the beach? Please?”

Robby didn’t miss a beat. He looked straight at his daughter with an innocent expression that you knew was anything but. “You know what, Han? I was actually thinking about inviting Mommy too. What do you think? Would you like Mommy to come on the trip with us?”

Hannah’s entire face lit up like the Fourth of July. She spun toward you so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. “Mommy! You have to come! Please please please! We can build sandcastles together and swim and eat ice cream and watch the sunset and— and everything!”

You shot Robby a deadly look over Hannah’s head, the kind that promised a painful retribution the moment you two were alone. He simply raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He was weaponizing the one person he knew you could never say no to. Hannah. She had always been your biggest weakness, your softest spot, and Robby knew it better than anyone. Those big, warm brown eyes were lethal. One pleading look from her, and your resolve crumbled like sand.

And right now, she was using every ounce of that power, blinking up at you with hope while clutching your hand like her entire happiness depended on your answer. It was unfair, completely unfair. Robby wasn’t just standing by and letting her beg, he was actively encouraging it, using your daughter as the ultimate emotional leverage. He knew you could resist him, he knew you could fight your own feelings, your own desires, your own stupid heart. But Hannah? Saying no to her when she looked at you like that felt almost cruel. And the worst part? He wasn’t even trying to hide how satisfied he was with himself, that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth said everything. He was enjoying this far too much.

“Hannah, baby…” You crouched down to her level, gently brushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Mommy would love to, but I’m super busy with work right now. I have so many shifts and—”

Robby’s voice cut in smoothly from behind her. “Actually, you have a bunch of vacation days saved up. I checked it yesterday.”

You straightened up slowly, narrowing your eyes at him, silently warning him to stop this nonsense before it went too far. “Robby.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Just stating facts. You shouldn’t lie to your daughter, you know?”

Hannah grabbed your hand with both of hers, swinging it dramatically. “Mommy, pleeease? Pretty, pretty please!” You opened your mouth to respond, but Hannah was already in full pleading mode, her big puppy-brown eyes, exactly like Robby’s, staring up at you with devastating effectiveness.

“I really can’t afford it right now, sweetheart,” you tried again. “Plane tickets and hotels are expensive, and Mommy—”

“If Mommy can’t pay,” Robby interrupted you. “Then Daddy will pay. I’ve got it covered. Flights, resort, activities, all of it. You wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing.”

Hannah tugged harder on your hand, bouncing on her toes. “See? Daddy’s paying! So you can come! Please, Mommy? I want all of us together. Pretty pleeeeease.”

You felt cornered, trying to come up with more excuses, but as you reached inside your head, you couldn’t think of any. Robby stood there looking far too pleased with himself, while your daughter continued her relentless assault with those lethal eyes and endless enthusiasm.

“Hannah…” you started, searching desperately for another excuse.

“But Mommy,” she whined, pressing her face against your leg, “I’ll miss you so much if you stay here.”

Robby, the absolute traitor, decided to join forces. “She’s got a point,” he said casually, though his eyes were anything but casual when they met yours. “It wouldn’t be the same without you. And like I said before, I can get us separate rooms. You can do your own thing the whole time if you want. But it would mean a lot to her… and to me.” 

The “and to me” was spoken so quietly you almost missed it. You looked between the two of them, your daughter with her hopeful, shining eyes and her father, the man you still stupidly loved,  with that steady and patient gaze that had always been able to wear you down. The silence stretched. Hannah’s lower lip started to tremble just slightly, the ultimate weapon in her arsenal.

With a long, defeated sigh, you finally gave in. “…Fine,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “I’ll go too.”

Hannah let out an ear-piercing squeal of pure delight and threw herself at your legs, hugging them tightly. “Yay! Mommy’s coming! We’re all going to the beach together!”

Robby’s smile was slow and satisfied, though he tried to keep it modest. “That’s great,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Really great.”

You pointed a finger at him over Hannah’s head. “You’re going to pay for this later, Robinavitch.”

His only response was a knowing chuckle. “Looking forward to it.”

Hannah continued dancing around the living room in celebration, already chattering about sandcastles, seashells, and swimming with dolphins. You stood there watching her, with your heart full of love for your daughter, loving every second of seeing her so happy, and equal parts dread and excitement about what you’d just agreed to, a family vacation in Mexico with Robby. God help you.

Hours later, the glow of your bedside lamp was the only light in the room. You were already tucked into bed, wearing an old, oversized t-shirt that had seen better days. Your phone suddenly vibrated on the nightstand, making you glance at the screen, letting out a slow breath as soon as you noticed who was calling. A Facetime from Robby. 

You hesitated for two rings, it was almost midnight, and you didn’t feel like having any possibly agitating conversation right before your bedtime, but ultimately ended up accepting the call. Robby’s face filled the screen almost immediately, he was in his bedroom too, the light of his lamp illuminating his face. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hand through it, and his glasses were perched low on his nose, those fucking glasses… No, don’t even go there, you silently muttered to your brain

“Hey,” his voice sounded rougher, the way it always got late at night. A small smile tugged at his lips. “You already in bed?”

“Yeah,” you replied, adjusting the blanket over your lap, as if trying to cover yourself up. “It’s late, Robby.”

He hummed in agreement, slowly dragging his eyes over what he could see of you on the screen. “You look comfortable. Cute shirt.” There was a brief pause before he asked, almost casually, “So… have you started packing swimsuits yet?”

You stared at him for a moment, the irritation you’d been carrying for the past hours finally bubbled up. “Robby… we need to talk.”

Robby lifted his eyebrows slightly, but the lazy smile didn’t leave his face. “Alright. About what?”

“You manipulated me into agreeing to this trip.” 

Robby let out a low chuckle. “Manipulated? Damn, you’re using big words tonight.”

“It’s not funny,” you said sharply, though you kept your voice quiet so you wouldn’t wake Hannah. “You used our daughter to convince me, and then you joined in. That was low, even for you.”

He tilted his head, still smiling like this was all some lighthearted game. “Anything else?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes. You guilt-tripped me. The whole ‘it would mean a lot to her… and to me’ line? That was manipulation.”

Robby leaned back against his headboard, resting one arm behind his head, giving you an even better view of his bare chest. He looked far too relaxed for someone being accused of emotional manipulation. “Jesus,” he muttered, still chuckling softly. “Oh-ho-ho, I’m so evil, I manipulated the mother of my child into letting me take her on a fully paid week at a luxury beach resort in Mexico.” He raised an eyebrow, mock-serious. “Am I gonna go to prison for that?”

“Robby.”

“Relax,” he said, softening his tone just a fraction, though the amusement was still there. “Hannah’s excited. You saw her. She wants all three of us there. I’m just trying to give her what she wants.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you shot back. “I know your real agenda behind all of this.”

He tilted his head again, looking curious now. “Oh yeah? And what’s my agenda, according to you?”

You sat up a little straighter in bed, clutching the blanket tighter. “You’re using this stupid trip as an excuse to try and get back with me. You think throwing money at a vacation and putting us in the same space for a whole week is going to magically fix everything. It’s not going to work.”

For a moment, Robby just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then that stupid smirk of his spread across his face again. “Have you seen me in swim trunks lately? I look real good. You might have to swallow your words when you see me.”

You let out an exasperated scoff, though you couldn’t stop the flush that crept up your neck. You hated the way he could still make you laugh when you were trying to be pissed. You hated the way your body still reacted to his words. “You’re impossible. Seriously, it’s impossible to have a serious conversation with you sometimes.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Sun, sand, good drinks, me looking like this… you never know.”

“I’ll go,” you said, cutting him off before he could keep going. “But don’t even think this means anything else. We’ll get separate rooms. We’ll make separate plans. I’m going for Hannah. That’s it. Don’t get any ideas.”

Robby ignored your warning completely. “You look so gorgeous right now,” he murmured. Suddenly, his voice went quieter, more intimate. Robby moved his eyes slowly over your face, down to the collar of your shirt and back up again. “All soft and sleepy in bed like that. Fuck… I wish I were lying there with you.”

Your stomach flipped despite yourself, the way he said it, so sincere and full of a hunger that never ceased but only grew stronger every day, made heat bloom in your belly. You wanted to scream at how easily he could still do that to you. “Robby…” you warned him.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “I miss the way you feel under me. The way you breathe when you’re falling asleep next to me. I miss—”

“Goodbye, Robby.” You didn’t wait for him to finish, you ended the facetime call with a tap of your finger, plunging your screen into darkness. The room felt suddenly too quiet, too empty without his presence there. You dropped your phone onto the mattress beside you and stared up at the ceiling. Your skin felt warm, your mind was already replaying the way he’d looked at you, the tone of his voice when he said he wished he was lying there with you.

You pulled the blanket higher up to your chest, trying to ignore the storm of feelings Robby had just stirred up with nothing but his voice. It didn’t work, the ache was still there, as well as the flutter in your chest. The way your heart tripped over itself whenever he looked at you like that. Five years later, and Michael could still make your stupid heart race like you were that same fourth-year med student who used to sneak into his place late at night after shift. And now you had agreed to spend an entire week with him. A full week in Mexico. Seven days of Robby being Robby, charming, attentive, and far too good at reminding you exactly why you fell for him in the first place.

You had to force yourself to go back to one of the saddest days you could remember. Robby had come home from a brutal twelve-hour shift. You had just collapsed onto the couch after finally getting Hannah down, she’d been fussy all day, teething and crying restlessly. The moment he walked through the door, you could tell it had been a bad one. His eyes were glassy and distant, the lines on his face etched deeper than usual. Lately, every shift seemed to carve something out of him. He moved closer and pressed a quick, almost mechanical kiss to your forehead. No hello. No “how was your day.” Not even the ghost of a smile. Just autopilot, he was running on empty.

He sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, far from you, shoulders slumped. “There’s some pasta in the fridge I made,” you whispered, hoping it would reach him. He didn’t answer, didn’t even nod. He just stared at nothing, too drained to move.

Then Hannah let out a small cry from her crib. Before you could push yourself up, Robby was already on his feet. He scooped her up gently against his shoulder, swaying her in a soothing rhythm. “Are you okay, little angel?” he cooed softly, tender in a way it hadn’t been for you in weeks. “Yes, you’re okay. Yes, you are. Daddy’s here… shhh, go back to sleep.” That was the only moment you saw him smile genuine, and heartbreakingly soft as he held his daughter.

Tears burned in your eyes as you stood and walked closer to him. You had spent so many sleepless nights turning it over in your mind, and you couldn’t keep prolonging the inevitable. “Robby… we need to talk.”

“About us?” he replied, already sensing where this was going.

You nodded, feeling your throat tight. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be with me? That… you regret telling me to move in with you and being together?”

Robby sighed heavily, rubbing his temples like the weight of the world was pressing down on them. “It’s just work. You have no idea what it’s like trying to hold the whole fucking department together when everything is crumbling down and—”

“It’s not just that,” you cut him off. “You don’t look at me. You don’t talk to me. I understand your job is hard, that you’re stressed and exhausted, but… shit, Robby, all we do is ignore each other. The only time we actually speak is to argue about something stupid.” The tears slipped free then, there was no holding them back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I could do all of this, but I—” Tears welled in his eyes too, spilling over as he tried to hold it together. “I don’t know what to do. I—” A sob cut him off.

“Do you need space?” you asked, dreading the answer. “Is that it? You need us to take some time?”

He looked at you for a long moment, broken and defeated. “Yes.”

Two weeks had passed, and before you realized it, the suitcase lay now open on your bed, half-filled with the folded clothes you had carefully picked for the trip. You stood in front of it, folding another sundress, while Hannah sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by her own small pink suitcase and a pile of toys.

“Hannah, baby, do you have everything?” you asked for what felt like the tenth time. “Swimsuits? Sunscreen? The colouring books Daddy bought you for the plane?”

Hannah nodded enthusiastically, holding up her favorite ruffled swimsuit. “Yes, Mommy! And my water wings and the new sunglasses Daddy got me!” She beamed with uncontainable excitement. “Are we leaving soon? Is Daddy almost here?”

“Any minute now,” you replied, zipping up the main compartment of your suitcase with a sigh. Your stomach had been in knots all morning, this trip still felt like a terrible idea the more you thought about it, but Hannah’s joy made it impossible to back out now.

Right on cue, there was a knock at the front door. Hannah shot up like a rocket and ran toward it, yelling “Daddy!” at the top of her lungs.

You followed more slowly, pulling both suitcases behind you. When you opened the door, Robby stood there in a casual white linen shirt and shorts, looking annoyingly relaxed and handsome in the morning sunlight. His eyes immediately found yours, a small playing on his lips. “Hey,” he said softly. “You two ready?”

“Daddy!” Hannah launched herself at him. Robby scooped her up effortlessly, kissing her cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hi, my little mermaid. You got all your stuff?” He glanced over her head at you. “Need help with the bags?"

“I’ve got them,” you said, a little more curtly than you intended. 

The drive to the airport was filled with Hannah’s nonstop chatter from the backseat. She pointed out every car, every cloud, every sign, asking a thousand questions about the plane, the ocean, and whether there would be dolphins. Robby answered every single one with patience, occasionally glancing at you in the passenger seat. You kept your eyes on the road, trying not to think too hard about how domestic this all felt. 

At the airport, Robby handled check-in, and when the agent handed over the boarding passes, you caught a glimpse of them and froze. Business class.

You turned to him slowly as they walked toward security. “Seriously, Robby? It’s a four-hour flight. We could’ve flown economy like normal people.”

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I had miles on my card for an upgrade. Didn’t cost anything extra.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Robby.”

He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low so Hannah wouldn’t hear. “Forgive me. I just wanted to spoil my family a little.”

“We’re not a family,” you said firmly, glancing ahead at Hannah skipping between you two. Robby didn’t argue, he just gave you a look that said he disagreed but wasn’t going to push. 

The flight itself was smoother than you expected. In business class, the seats were wide and comfortable. You both let Hannah had the window seat, ans she spent most of the flight pressed against the glass, watching the clouds and looking at the ocean. Robby sat in the middle, keeping Hannah entertained with the in-flight entertainment and snacks.

You tried to read, but your mind kept wandering, every time Robby’s arm brushed yours, reaching for something, or when he laughed at one of Hannah’s excited comments, memories flooded your mind back, and you had to constantly remind yourself the only reason you were doing this was because Hannah had asked.

You landed in Cancun four hours later. A private transfer waited for you outside arrivals. The driver loaded your bags while Hannah bounced between you and Robby, holding both your hands. The drive to the resort took about forty-five minutes along the coast. You watched the palm trees that lined the road and the turquoise water on one side. Hannah pressed her face to the window the entire time, gasping at every new sight.

When the resort finally came into view, it was even more beautiful than the pictures. A luxurious property with white buildings, infinity pools cascading toward the ocean, and tropical gardens everywhere. 

The humid air of Cancun wrapped around you the moment you stepped out of the transfer van. The resort lobby was stunning with high ceilings, white marble floors and massive floral arrangements. Hannah’s hand was firmly in yours, her fingers squeezing with excitement as her eyes darted everywhere at once. “Mommy, look! There’s a fountain! And flowers! And the ocean is right there!”

Robby walked a few steps ahead, carrying Hannah’s pink suitcase in one hand and his own duffel in the other. He looked completely at ease, the fabric of his shirt slightly damp from the humidity and clinging just enough to show the lines of his shoulders. He glanced back at you with a reassuring smile before heading straight to the reception desk. You stayed back with Hannah, letting her point out every detail she noticed.

A few minutes later, Robby returned, twirling a key card between his fingers. “All set. We’re in the beachfront wing. Follow me.”

The walk to the room was beautiful but felt endless. Hannah skipped between you and Robby, holding both your hands and swinging them as she chattered nonstop about building the biggest sandcastle in the world. 

Robby finally stopped in front of a beautiful wooden door, he swiped the key card, and the door clicked open. The suite was breathtaking, with floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that opened onto a wide private balcony overlooking the ocean. The living area had elegant white furniture, and as you stepped further inside, your eyes landed on the bedroom area with two queen-size beds.

You stopped dead in the doorway. “Where’s the other room?” you asked slowly, worried you already knew the answer Robby was about to give you.

Robby set the suitcases down and scratched the back of his head, looking mildly sheepish. “Yeah… so there was a mix-up at the front desk. We only got one room.”

You stared at him with disbelief. “What? Are you serious right now?” The asshole had to be kidding. But then again, this was Robby, and this was exactly the kind of shenanigans he’d put you through. You should have known he wouldn’t keep his promise to let you do your own thing at the resort, to not act like you were a real family on a family holiday. You had been to hopeful to expect he’d at least wait a little longer before showing his real intentions.

Hannah, completely oblivious to the tension, let out a delighted squeal and immediately launched herself onto the nearest bed, jumping up and down with pure joy. “This one’s mine! No, this one! Look how bouncy it is, Mommy! Daddy, come jump with me!”

You barely heard her, your whole attention was locked on Robby. The family suite was gorgeous, in tasteful neutral tones, with fresh flowers on the nightstands, a bottle of champagne and fruit plate waiting on the table with a welcome note, but none of that mattered. What mattered now was that Robby had not only manipulated you to agree to this trip, but he’d also lied to you.

“Michael, do you think I was born yesterday? You totally did this on purpose. I know it.” 

He held up both hands in a placating gesture, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “There was a confusion with the booking. I swear. They had us down for a family suite with two queens instead of two separate rooms.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “Go fix it. Right now.”

“I already tried,” he said calmly, stepping closer so Hannah wouldn’t overhear. “They’re completely booked. Peak season, a big wedding happening this week. No other rooms available in the whole resort.”

You let out a frustrated breath, rubbing your temple. “This is not what I agreed to, Robby. Separate rooms. That was the condition. I never would’ve come if—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “But it’s just one week. I can take one bed, you and Hannah can take the other. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” you hissed, keeping your voice down as Hannah continued bouncing happily, now unpacking her stuffed capybara and arranging it on the pillows. “This is exactly what I was worried about. You’re pushing boundaries.”

Meanwhile, Hannah had moved on to dragging her suitcase across the room, chattering excitedly. “Mommy, can we go to the beach now? The water is waiting! I want to find seashells and build a castle.”

Robby glanced at her with that fatherly smile that always made your chest ache, then looked back at you. “Look at her. She’s already so happy. One week, that’s all. We’re adults. We can handle sharing space for a few nights without it meaning anything.”

You stared at the two queen beds again. They were large, luxurious, with more pillows than necessary. The balcony doors were open, letting in the warm breeze and the constant, soothing sound of waves. It would have been perfect… if it weren’t for the man standing two feet away looking far too pleased with this “mix-up.”

Hannah suddenly ran over and grabbed your hand, then Robby’s. “Come on! Let’s go to the beach! I’m ready! I have my bucket and everything!”

You looked down at your daughter’s beaming face, then back at Robby. He raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting. You let out a long, defeated sigh. “Fine. But this changes nothing, Robby. Separate beds. No funny business. And the second a room opens up, we’re switching.”

“Whatever you say,” he replied, but the small, satisfied smile on his face told you he wasn’t worried at all.

He set his suitcase near one of the queen beds and nodded toward the bathroom. “I’ll go change first. Won’t be long.”

You nodded silently, still processing everything, but as soon as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, you turned your attention to Hannah, who was already pulling things out of her pink suitcase with frantic excitement.

“Come here, baby,” you said softly, kneeling on the floor beside her bed. “Let’s get you ready for the beach.”

Hannah stood in front of you, wiggling with impatience as you helped her out of her travel clothes. You carefully slipped her into her favorite ruffled swimsuit, bright pink with little white flowers, adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric over her tummy. Then came the sunscreen. You squeezed a generous amount into your palm and rubbed it slowly over her arms, shoulders, back, legs, and face, making sure every inch was covred. Hannah giggled when you got to her nose, squirming because of how tickly it was.

“You have to stay safe from the sun, okay?” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’re going to have so much fun, but Mommy doesn’t want you to get burned like a toast.”

“I won’t!” she promised solemnly, then immediately went back to bouncing on her toes. “Can I wear my new sunglasses? And my hat with the flowers?”

The bathroom door opened, and Robby stepped out, for a moment, time seemed to slow. He wore dark swim trunks, paired with a simple white shirt that he hadn’t bothered to put on yet,  it was slung over his shoulder. You had seen his bare body no more than a month ago, you’d been under it, but it still felt, somehow, like seeing him again for the first time.

You stared at him longer than you should have. His soft but solid tummy that drove you insane, and that familiar trail of dark hair across his chest that you had always, always loved running your fingers through.

Your eyes traced the lines of his chest, the way the hair curled slightly, the soft give of his stomach. Heat flushed up your neck because God, you still loved every inch of him. 

Robby caught you looking and a knowing smile spread across his face. “What?” he asked teasingly. “I got something on my face?”

You blinked hard, tearing your gaze away. “No,” you muttered, grabbing your own beach bag a little too quickly. “I’m… going to change.”

You escaped into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind you. The mirror showed your flushed cheeks, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. This was just a week, you could handle this. Just a week of sleeping in the same room, just a week of seeing his body, just a week of him deliberately trying to break down our walls.

You changed into one of the bikinis you’d packed, a simple black two-piece that tied at the sides and back. You liked how it looked on you, it was flattering, but as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt suddenly, acutely aware of how little it covered. Your body had changed since having Hannah, a few stretch marks here and there, breasts that were fuller but not as perky as before. Standing here in just this tiny bikini, knowing Robby was right outside… it felt vulnerable.

You adjusted the ties one more time, took another steadying breath, and stepped out of the bathroom. Hannah immediately squealed. “Mommy, you look so pretty!” She ran over and hugged your legs before darting into the bathroom herself to grab her sunglasses and sun hat. “I’ll be right back!”

You stood in the middle of the suite, adjusting the strap of your beach bag, when Robby stepped in from the balcony. He had been leaning on the railing, looking out at the ocean, but the moment he turned and saw you, he stopped dead. His eyes widened, and he dramatically clutched his chest with one hand, staggering back a step like he was having a heart attack.

 “Jesus Christ,” he breathed, the grin on his face pure mischief. “Warn a guy next time.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile that wanted to break free. “You’re so not funny, Robinavitch.”

You wanted to slap that smug smile right off his face and kiss him senseless at the same time. The two urges warred inside you, because you hated how much his words mattered. How easily he could make you feel like the most beautiful woman who had ever stepped foot on this earth, and how completely you believed him when he said it. He wasn’t just mumbling the words because it felt like something he was supposed to say. No, Robby looked at you like he truly wanted you, like he was dying to get his hands back on your body, to pull you close and remind you exactly how good it used to feel. His gaze lingered, tracing over you in a way that made heat flood your stomach. God, you hated how much you still wanted him to.

He didn’t stop. He kept one hand pressed to his heart, shaking his head slowly as his gaze traveled over you, unashamed, appreciative, and far too warm. “You’re trying to kill me on day one, huh? That bikini… fuck. You look incredible.”

Heat flooded your face again, but you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly self-conscious. “Stop it. This is exactly what I was worried about.”

Robby took a slow step closer, still smiling, but his voice dropped. “Can’t help it. You’ve always looked good, but seeing you like this…” He let the sentence trail off, his sight lingering on the curve of your waist and the ties at your hips.

Before you could respond, Hannah burst back out of the bathroom wearing her oversized sunglasses and floppy sun hat, striking a dramatic pose. “I’m ready! Let’s go see the ocean!”

The sand was warm under your feet as the three of you made your way down the wooden boardwalk to the private stretch of beach reserved for resort guests. The sea stretched out in front of you, waves lapping against the shore, leaving behind lines of foam. Hannah’s excitement was infectious. She ran ahead a few steps, then back to you and Robby, her little sun hat flopping with every bounce. “The water is so blue! Can we go in right now? Please?”

Robby chuckled, adjusting the beach bag on his shoulder. “Let’s set up first, kiddo. Then we’ll swim.”

You chose three loungers under a large thatched umbrella near the water’s edge. You spread out towels while Robby helped Hannah with her water wings. The resort staff had placed a small cooler with chilled water and fruit beside the chairs, and soft music drifted from speakers along the beach. 

Once everything was settled, Robby stood and offered his hand to Hannah. “Ready, little mermaid?” 

She grabbed his hand with both of hers and tugged him toward the water. You watched them go, settling back into your lounger with the book you’d brought.  The sun felt incredible on your skin, you opened your book, but your eyes kept drifting over the top of the pages. Robby and Hannah waded into the shallow waves. Hannah squealed every time the water touched her legs, clinging to Robby’s hand. He lifted her high when a bigger wave came, spinning her around as she laughed uncontrollably. His swim trunks moved lower on his hips, and it made it impossible for you to focus on your book, every few minutes your gaze wandered back to them. 

After nearly an hour, Hannah came running back to you, dripping wet and beaming. “Mommy! Come build sandcastles with me! Daddy said he’ll watch our stuff.”

You set your book aside and took her hand, walking down to the firmer sand near the waterline. The two of you knelt together, digging with plastic shovels and buckets. Hannah chattered nonstop about her castle needing a moat and a tower for the princess. You helped her pat the walls smooth, adding seashells and bits of coral you found along the shore. The sun warmed your back, and for a while, everything felt simple and perfect,  just you and your daughter creating something together. But you felt Robby’s eyes on you the entire time, when you glanced up, he was sitting on the lounger, with his elbows on his knees, watching with an unreadable expression. 

He didn’t look away when your eyes met, the intensity in his gaze made heat bloom across your skin. Later, when the castle was tall and elaborate, Hannah got a mischievous glint in her eye. “Can we bury Daddy in the sand? Like a mummy?”

Robby, who had joined you, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see how it is. Ganging up on me already?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Sounds fair.”

The three of you worked together, slowly covering Robby as he lay back in the sand. Hannah patted sand over his legs with delight, while you worked on his arms and torso. The heavy sand molded around his body as he lay there patiently, occasionally joking with Hannah about becoming a “sand mummy.” Every time your hands brushed his skin while smoothing the sand, a spark jumped between you. He noticed, and you knew he did.

When you finally stepped back, Robby was almost completely buried, only his head and part of his neck visible. Hannah clapped her hands and danced around him. “He looks like a turtle!”

Robby chuckled, trying to move and finding himself well and truly stuck. “Alright, ladies. Fun’s over. Unbury me.”

You exchanged a look with Hannah, a smile spreading across your face. “You know what, Hannah? Don’t you want to go get some ice cream? I saw a stand right by the pools, and since this is all-inclusive, we can have all the ice cream we want.”

Hannah’s eyes lit up like stars. “Yes! Chocolate and strawberry and rainbow sprinkles!”

Robby snapped his head toward you, as much as he could with what little mobility he had left. “Ice cream sounds great. Why don’t you get me out of here and we go there together?”

You crouched down beside him, close enough that your shadow fell over his face. You leaned in until your faces were only inches apart. “This is for booking one room, Michael.”

His eyes widened with outrage. “You wouldn’t—”

You straightened up before he could finish, taking Hannah’s hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go find that ice cream. Daddy can wait a few more minutes.”

Hannah giggled conspiratorially and waved at Robby. “Bye, Daddy! We’ll bring you some… maybe!”

As the two of you walked away hand-in-hand toward the resort path, Robby’s voice followed you, half-laughing, half-protesting. “This is unfair punishment! Hannah! Come back!”

You didn’t look back, but you couldn’t stop the satisfied smile on your face. For the first time since arriving, you felt like you might actually survive this week, but only if you kept winning the small battles.

The light of late afternoon had softened into the warm pinks and oranges by the time you and Hannah returned to the suite. The scent of ocean salt that clung to your skin and your hair was a wild mess. You both needed showers badly. You helped Hannah first, rinsing the sand from her hair and body. After drying her with one of the oversized white towels, you slipped her into her favorite purple dress and brushed her hair until it was smooth. Your turn came next, you took your time, letting the warm water wash away the salt, sand, and sunscreen. When you emerged wrapped in a towel, Hannah was sitting on one of the queen beds, flipping through a children’s book the resort had left. 

She looked up with a bright smile. “Mommy, I’m so hungry! Can we go eat now?”

“Soon, baby. Let’s wait and see if Daddy gets back so we can all go together.”

You were both dressed and ready when the door to the suite finally opened. Robby stepped inside, still covered head to toe in sand. It clung to his hair, dusted his shoulders and arms, and left visible trails down his legs. His swim trunks looked gritty, and there was sand stuck to the damp skin of his chest and stomach. He looked equal parts ridiculous and defeated. You and Hannah stared for half a second before bursting into laughter. 

Hannah pointed, doubling over on the bed. “Daddy! You’re a sand monster for real!”

Robby closed the door behind him with a dramatic sigh, brushing uselessly at his arms. “It’s not funny,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “That wasn’t cool at all.”

You tried to stifle your laughter, covering your mouth with one hand. “You deserved that, Michael.”

He shot you a look, narrowing his eyes playfully. “I have sand in places no person should ever have sand. I’m talking places, okay? You left me there all afernoon.”

You raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Really? The whole afternoon?”

He ran a hand through his hair, sending another shower of sand onto the floor. “Maybe a beach guard eventually helped dig me out. That’s not the point. The point is you two left me there.”

Hannah was still giggling uncontrollably. “Sorry, Daddy. I ate all the ice-cream.”

Robby shook his head, trying to look stern but failing miserably. “Traitors, both of you.” He glanced down at himself again and sighed. “I need a shower. Give me ten minutes and we can head to dinner.”

While Robby disappeared into the bathroom, you and Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the water run. When Robby finally emerged, he looked refreshed, wearing a clean button-down shirt and shorts. “Ready?” he asked, offering Hannah his hand.

The buffet was everything a resort like this promised, long tables overflowing with fresh seafood, grilled meats, salads, tropical fruits, and many dessert stations. Hannah’s eyes were wide as saucers as she piled her plate high with pasta, shrimp, and fruit, while you and Robby chose more balanced meals. 

You ate slowly, savoring the flavors while Hannah chattered between bites about everything she’d seen that day, occasionally yawning as the long day caught up with her.

After dinner, the walk back to the suite was peaceful, the pathways were lit with lanterns, and the sound of waves grew louder again as you approached the beach wing. Hannah walked between you and Robby, holding both your hands, her steps slowing with tiredness.

Back in the room, the bedtime routine felt strangely intimate. You helped Hannah brush her teeth while Robby turned down the beds. Hannah chose to sleep with you tonight. You tucked her in on the bed closest to the balcony, reading her a short story while Robby dimmed the lights.

Soon, Hannah’s breathing evened out into sleep, her body curled against your side. You lay there in the semi-darkness while Robby settled into the other bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable.

“Well, isn’t this nice?” Robby murmured, soft enough not to disturb Hannah’s peaceful sleep. “The three of us here like this… I had a great time today. Even if I spent three hours buried under sand.”

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way your treacherous heart agreed with him. It did feel nice, dangerously nice. You’d had so much fun being with him, doing things together like a regular family: building sandcastles, chasing waves, watching Hannah’s delighted squeals. For a few stolen hours, it had felt real. “Tomorrow morning,” you said quietly, despite the ache in your chest, “you’re going to the reception and asking if they have any more rooms available.”

The next morning you woke slowly, Hannah was still curled against your side on the queen bed. Carefully, so as not to wake her, you slipped out of bed. You moved quietly around the room, brushing your teeth, splashing cool water on your face, and running a brush through your hair. You chose a red bikini today, tied the strings and slipped on a light white cover-up. Before leaving, you scribbled a short note and left it on the nightstand: Went for an early walk on the beach to watch the sunrise.

Robby woke later, he spotted the note immediately and read it with a smile. “Mommy went for an early beach walk,” he told Hannah, helping her sit up. “Let’s get ready and surprise her with breakfast on the beach. What do you think?”

Hannah’s face lit up. They took their time, Robby patiently helping her brush her teeth and wash her face. He changed into swim trunks and a loose linen shirt, applied sunscreen to Hannah’s face and arms, and they headed out hand-in-hand, making a quick stop at the breakfast buffet to grab some fresh fruit, croissants, yogurt, and cold water bottles to bring to the beach.

The ocean sparkled brilliantly as he scanned the loungers, looking for you. When he finally spotted you further down the beach, his steps slowed. You were standing near the water’s edge in just the red bikini, the morning light highlighting every curve of your body. You looked relaxed, confident, and breathtakingly beautiful. And you weren’t alone. A tall, ripped guy in his mid-to-late twenties stood close to you, shirtless, his sculpted abs and broad shoulders glistening slightly with sweat or water. He was laughing at something you said, leaning in with confidence, clearly flirting back with you. 

He looked like he belonged on a fitness magazine cover, young, with zero signs of the wear that came from decades of work. An ugly twist of jealousy hit Robby in the chest. But it wasn’t just jealousy, it was insecurity hiding right behind it. This guy was younger, fitter. Probably had endless stamina and no emotional baggage. Robby became acutely aware of his own softer stomach, the gray hairs scattered across his chest, and the wrinkles around his eyes from years of exhaustion. He felt every one of his fifty. years in that moment, standing there holding a plate of fruit and his daughter’s hand.

Hannah tugged excitedly on Robby’s hand. “There’s Mommy! Look, Daddy! She’s over there by the water. Can we go say hi? Please?”

Robby forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, angel. Let’s go.”

They started walking across the warm sand. Robby’s focus narrowed entirely on you and the man standing far too close. As they approached, he heard the guy’s easy laugh again. The young man was animated, gesturing toward the horizon with one muscular arm, clearly in the middle of some charming story. 

“Good morning” Robby said, trying not to sound bothered but doing a terrible job hiding his annoyance. “I see you found company.”

The guy’s gaze flicked from you to Robby, then back to you with mild confusion. “Is that… your father?”

The word landed like a punch, and Robby let out a short and dry laugh, though his jaw tightened painfully. “Her father,” he mumbled on the low. “Cute. No. I’m her husband, as a matter of fact.” His voice didn’t even hesitate over the blatant lie he’d just said.

You laughed, an uncomfortable and forced sound that made Robby’s chest twist. “He’s not my husband,” you corrected quickly. “He’s just… a guy I know from work.”

Robby turned to you slowly, raising one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “A guy you know from work? Excuse me?” The young guy shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly sensing the sudden thick tension crackling in the air. “I’m the father of her daughter. Michael Robinavitch, nice to meet you.”

The guy’s eyes darted between the three of you, with a confused look across his face as if he couldn’t quite process the sudden shift. Just a couple of minutes earlier he’d been leaning in close, flashing an easy smile and flirting with acute woman at the beach. Now here you were with a man standing possessively close and a little kid next to him. And as if he couldn’t quite believe that Robby, was somehow the father of that kid. “So… you have a daughter? With her?”

Robby kept his tone light for Hannah’s sake, ruffling her hair gently with one hand, but there was an edge underneath his words. “Yes. I got her pregnant. It was a wonderful experience, actually.”

The words came out with a possessive undertone he didn’t even try to hide. What a fucking little prick, Robby thought. He wishes he could pull a woman like you. Sure, the guy might have abs where Robby had a softer belly. Maybe his forehead was smooth, with no lines etched from the pass of time, and his head might still be free of silver hairs. But Robby had pulled you without any of that polished bullshit, and you had always looked at him like he was the most handsome man to ever exist. A little asshole like him wouldn’t have a clue what to do with a woman like you.

You shot Robby a warning glare, a mix of anger and embarrassment. because now you had to explain your awkard family situation to this stranger. “It’s… complicated,” you told the guy, forcing a polite smile that felt brittle on your face. “Really complicated.”

The young man rubbed the back of his neck, his sculpted shoulders tensing visibly. He was clearly uncomfortable now, the easy flirtation from moments ago evaporating. “Yeah… uhh, I think my friends are calling me. Nice to meet you, though.” He gave you one last lingering, appreciative glance before turning and walking away toward a group of guys further down the beach.

The second he was out of earshot, you rounded on Robby, trying to keep your voice low and controlled so Hannah wouldn’t hear, but still with a furious undertone in it. “What the hell was that? You completely ruined it. He was flirting with me, and you had to march over here acting like some possessive caveman. And “her husband” What the hell was that?”

Robby set the beach bag down on the sand a little harder than necessary. “Oh please,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, the movement highlighting the soft give of his stomach beneath his shirt. “He’s not even your type.”

You stared at him incredulously. “And how exactly would you know what my type is these days, Robby?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were dark with a potent mix of jealousy and insecurity. “Because I know you. That guy? All looks and no substance. Perfect abs and zero idea what real life looks like. You’d be bored in ten minutes.”

The words hung between you. Hannah, sensing the growing tension like children always do, tugged gently on your hand. “Mommy, can we eat breakfast now? I’m hungry.”

You forced a warm smile for her, pushing down the frustration and smoothing her messy brown hair with your fingers. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s sit down and eat. Daddy brought all your favorites.”

The rest of the morning on the beach passed in silence from your side. You didn’t speak one more word to Robby. Every time he tried to make conversation,offering you some mango, commenting on how beautiful the water looked, asking if you wanted more sunscreen, you answered with short nods or turned your attention to Hannah instead. Robby noticed, and after a while, he stood up slowly, brushing sand from his legs.

“I’m gonna take a walk around the resort for a bit. Give you some space.” He looked at Hannah with a soft smile. “You stay with Mommy, okay, angel? I’ll be back soon.”

Hannah nodded, already busy building another small tower on her sandcastle. Robby lingered for a second longer, resting his eyes on you with something regretful in them, before he turned and walked away down the beach path. You watched his back until he disappeared behind the palm trees.

The hours passed slowly, you played with Hannah in the shallow water, built more sandcastles, applied more sunscreen, and read a few chapters of your book while she napped under the umbrella. But your mind kept replaying the scene with the guy, Robby’s jealous interruption, his possessive words, the way he’d looked at you. It stirred up too many old feelings you didn’t want to examine.

 Part of you enjoyed the attention he gave you, the way Robby got possessive whenever another guy even stepped too close. It felt good to be wanted like that. To see him look at you like he still wanted you to be his and his only, even after all this time, even after everything that had happened between you. It was dangerous, how much you liked it. Because it stirred up the same old feelings, the ones that made it so hard to remember why you kept pushing him away in the first place.

Robby returned a couple of hours later, carrying two fresh iced drinks. He approached cautiously and sat down on the edge of your lounger, close but not touching you. “I know you’re pissed,” he said. “And you have every right to be. I overstepped. I was an asshole back there. Jealous and… yeah. I’m sorry.”

You stayed silent for a long moment, staring out at the turquoise water. “You were. You ruined a nice, harmless conversation.”

Robby nodded, accepting it. “I did.” He paused, then offered one of the iced drinks. “I walked by the spa earlier. They have really good reviews. I thought of getting you a massage as an apology. You deserve to relax after everything… and after dealing with me being an idiot.”

You looked at him then, searching his face. His expression was sincere, the usual cocky edge softened by genuine regret. Part of you wanted to stay mad. The other part, the tired nd overworked resident and mother, desperately wanted that massage. “…Fine,” you said eventually. “But this doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed.”

“Understood.” He gave you a small smile.

You left Hannah at the resort’s supervised children’s activity center, a beautiful shaded area with crafts, games, and attentive staff. She was thrilled to join the other kids, waving goodbye without a second thought. 

The spa building was serene and even more luxurious than the rest of the resort. Robby stepped up to the elegant reception desk first. You watched him leaning slightly on the polished wood counter, and the woman on the desk checking the screen and nodding. 

After a couple of seconds, Robby came back to you. “Okay, it’s all settled. I’m gonna head back, maybe hit the pool with the bar. Enjoy your massage. You deserve it.”

Before Robby had any time to head to the door, a masseuse in a white uniform approached you both. She offered a welcoming smile. “Okay, beautiful couple, ready for your couple’s massage? We have the ocean-view room prepared with the full aromatherapy package you selected. It’s one of our most popular experiences.”

You froze right there and then, the word “couple” hitting you like cold water. Your stomach tightened instantly, a rush of irritation flooding through you. “Robby,” you said, turning to him. “What the hell did you do now?”

He looked genuinely surprised, his eyes widening as he raised both hands in a surrender gesture. “I swear I don’t know,” he said quickly, sounding sincere for once. “I just booked a regular massage for you. I didn’t say anything about a couple’s anything. I was very clear, one person, one massage.”

The masseuse glanced between the two of you, still smiling politely, completely unfazed by the sudden tension. “It’s our signature couples experience, side-by-side tables, synchronized massage, and a glass of champagne afterward. Very romantic and relaxing. Perfect for reconnecting.”

Before you could refuse, clarify, or even form a full protest, the staff were already guiding you both forward with efficiency. They led you down a quiet, incense-scented hallway that opened into a treatment room. Two massage tables stood side by side in the center, candles flickering all around the room and towels folded neatly.

Your heart was racing now, a mix of irritation at Robby and anticipation because soon he would be shirtless again, lying only a few feet away while you were both having a “couple experience” when all you needed was to be as far away as possible from the concept of you and Robby being a couple. Your brain was already getting all these confused, dangerous feelings after spending so much time together, the laughter, the casual touches, the way the three of you looked like a real family from the outside. The last thing you needed right now was to keep doing couple activities. Every shared dinner, every walk along the beach, only made the line between co-parents. You were supposed to be keeping your distance.

You turned to him. “This is not what I agreed to, Robby.”

He looked almost sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I really did just ask for one massage. But… we’re here now. Might as well enjoy it?”

The masseuses were already moving, preparing the oils, laying out fresh towels, adjusting the temperature and lighting.

On of them smiled gently. “If you’d both like to remove your clothes to your comfort level and lie face down on the tables, we’ll begin with the back and shoulders. Take your time.”

Robby glanced at you, reading the hesitation in your posture. He gave a reassuring nod. “I’ll go first,” he said quietly, and stepped behind the simple privacy screen they had provided. 

You heard the rustle of fabric as he removed his shirt and trunks. You turned around quickly, facing the wall to avoid the sight of his fully naked body, one you knew far too well and that still had the exact same devastating effect on you. Definitely not the kind of reaction you needed when you were supposed to be relaxing. But even with your back to him, the knowledge that he was right there in the same room, completely bare, got your heart beating fast. 

When he emerged and lay face down on the right-hand table, he draped the sheet modestly over his lower half. You couldn’t help but notice the familiar lines of his back, his strong shoulders, the soft curve where his waist met his hips. Your turn came next, you stepped behind the screen, your fingers slightly unsteady as you untied the bikini top and stepped out of the bottoms. The cool air kissed your bare skin, you wrapped yourself quickly in one of the large, warmed towels and moved to the left table, lying face down.

You turned your head to the side, away from Robby, trying to steady your breathing. The masseuses worked in sync. Pouring warm oil first, spreading it with their fingers, starting at your shoulders and working downward in long strokes. The pressure was perfect — deep enough to melt the knots from endless shifts, gentle enough to feel indulgent. Beside you, Robby let out a low sound of relief as his own masseuse began. The sound sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine, you knew that voice too well, one you’d heard far too many times.

One of the masseuses, an older woman, spoke softly as she worked on your upper back. “You two make a lovely couple. Have you been together a long time?”

Robby answered before you could explain how you weren’t a couple, you two had ended here after a complicated series of events. “Five years.”

You opened your eyes, staring at the white sheet beneath you. “We’re not really together,” you corrected quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. 

Robby let out a soft chuckle from the next table. “It’s more like an on-and-off thing.”

You turned your head slightly toward him, the irritation mixing with the pleasure of the massage, an experience that was supposed to be relaxing, but now was irritating due to Robby’s presence. “It’s mostly off than on, really.”

The younger masseuse working on Robby smiled as she kneaded his shoulders. “Ah, but you are here together now. That counts for something, no?”

The older woman on your side pressed deeper into a knot between your shoulder blades, drawing a quiet sigh from you. “You make a good couple,” she said warmly. “I have seen many couples working here, but not many where the man looks at the woman the way he looks at you. It’s very special.”

You let out a small, skeptical laugh, the sound muffled against the face cradle. “I find that hard to believe.”

Robby’s voice came from beside you. “I look at her like she’s the second most precious thing in this entire world.”

The masseuses both made soft. The younger one asked curiously, “Why second?”

Robby didn’t hesitate. “Becuse the first one is the daughter she gave me five years ago.”

A soft chorus of “Awww” filled the room. You could practically feel the women melting at his words. The older masseuse patted your shoulder gently. “That is beautiful. A man who knows what he has.”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, a confusing mix of embarrassment, irritation, and something warmer that his words always managed to make you feel. “He’s a flatterer,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice light. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s very good at saying the right things.”

Robby chuckled again. “Only when it’s true.”

The synchronized rhythm of the massage created an oddly intimate atmosphere. When your masseuse dug into a tight knot between your shoulder blades, Robby’s masseuse did the same at the exact same moment. The sensation of feeling your own body release tension while hearing his quiet groans of pleasure made the room feel smaller, more charged. Time stretched. You found yourself relaxing despite everything, the ocean view, the scent of the oils, the pressure, until the masseuse gently asked you to turn over. You hesitated for a second before complying, keeping the sheet carefully draped over your chest as you rolled onto your back. Robby turned at the same moment, and for a brief second, your eyes met across the small space between the tables. His gaze was dark, but you looked away quickly, focusing on the ceiling and the glow of the candles.

The front massage was somehow even more intimate, oil poured across your collarbones, your arms, your legs. The masseuse’s hands worked slowly up your thighs, careful and professional, but the proximity of Robby, who was lying there with his eyes sometimes closed, sometimes open and watching the ceiling, made every touch feel amplified. 

The older masseuse spoke again softly as she massaged your temples. “It is good to see a family taking time together. These moments are precious.”

You stayed silent this time, and Robby’s quiet reply came a moment later. “They are. It took me a while to realize there’s nothing more important than my family.”

When the massage ended, the masseuses quietly stepped out, leaving you and Robby alone in the treatment room. Robes had been provided, and two elegant flutes of champagne with fresh strawberries and raspberries waited on a small table between the two massage tables. You sat up slowly, wrapping the white robe tightly around yourself. Robby did the same on his table, the robe hanging open just enough to show his chest.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were the distant waves. Robby reached for the champagne glasses and handed one to you. He clinked his glass gently against yours.

“To surviving the rest of this trip,” he said softly, a smile playing on his lips.

Robby leaned back against the edge of his table, watching you. The robe slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing more of his chest. “No matter how much you try to pretend you hate spending time with me… I know you secretly enjoy it. We get along. We have fun together. You know there’s this… connection between us.”

You stared into your glass, watching the bubbles rise. You took a sip before answering. “You’re wrong. The only reason we keep spending time together is because you pull this shit all the time. This wasn’t what I agreed to. I asked for separate rooms, no couple activities. You keep lying to me and manipulating everything because you have this fantasy that I’ll magically get back with you just because you paid for some expensive vacation.”

Robby set his glass down slowly. He didn’t look defensive. Instead, his expression was open, almost vulnerable. “I didn’t get a couple’s massage. I swear. I asked for one massage for you.”

You raised an eyebrow, the champagne making your cheeks feel warmer. “What about the hotel room mix-up?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe… I didn’t correct the receptionist when he gave me only one room.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Robby looked at you then. “I’m in love,” he said simply. “Crazy in love with you. And every single day, every second I spend with you it just gets bigger and bigger. I can’t help it.”

The confession hung between you. You wanted to push back, to stay angry, but the massage had stripped away too many defenses. You knew you could pack your suitcase right now. You knew you could call a taxi, get to the airport, and buy the fastest ticket back home. But part of you didn’t. Part of you longed to stay and see what the next thing Robby would do, how far he’d go to win you back, how much he was willing to risk this time, and whether he truly meant it. The worst part of it all was how little you actually wanted to run away from him.

“You can’t deny the massage was nice,” Robby added quietly.

You took another slow sip of champagne. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “It felt good,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “Really good.”

The next day you woke to Hannah’s excited bouncing on the bed and Robby’s chuckle from the other side of the room. After a leisurely breakfast on the balcony while watching the ocean, the three of you headed to the resort’s massive water park, full of slides, lazy rivers, and splash zones. Hannah’s eyes were wide with wonder as she ran from one attraction to the next.

You spent hours in the shallow kids’ area first, where sprays of water misted over mushroom fountains. Hannah laughed uncontrollably as she darted through the sprays. Robby lifted her onto his shoulders so she could reach higher sprays, both of them soaked and beaming.

Later, you moved to the lazy river, the three of you floated together on a large raft, the current carrying you under bridges and past waterfalls. Hannah sat between you and Robby, chattering nonstop about the “big slides” she wanted to try next. Robby’s arm rested casually behind you on the raft, occasionally brushing his fingers over your shoulder. 

You braved a few bigger slides with Hannah while Robby waited at the bottom with open arms to catch her. He went down the steeper ones with her, their laughter echoing as they shot out into the splash pool. You watched from the side, smiling despite yourself at how good he was with her, patient and playful.

By late afternoon, you were all tired, but still decided to head to the open-air resort theater for the karaoke night. The tables were arranged in an arc around a central stage. You sat at a table near the front with Hannah comfortably settled on your lap. She wore her favorite sundress, her hair still slightly damp from the evening shower. In her small hands, she held a colorful fruity mocktail with a paper umbrella and a slice of pineapple on the rim. She watched performer after performer take the stage, clapping enthusiastically for every single one, whether they were hilariously off-key or surprisingly talented.

Robby sat right beside you, he had switched to margaritas after dinner and was now on his third or fourth. His cheeks were flushed a warm pink, and his smile came easier, the alcohol had softened the edges that usually existed between you, but you kept your guard firmly in place, hyper-aware of the weight of his arm behind you and the occasional brush of his fingers against your shoulder

The host, a charismatic man stepped up to the microphone scanning the crowd. “Alright, folks, next up we have Michael Robinavitch! Michael, the stage is all yours.”

Your stomach dropped instantly. You froze, asking yourself if you’d heard right, because karaoke was something Robby would never, ever, do. But then again, this wasn’t normal Robby, this was Robby after four margaritas that inhibited any level of self-awareness he had. “Robby… where are you going? What are you doing?”

He stood up with a bright, slightly tipsy smile that lit up his whole face. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Hannah’s head, then straightened. “You’ll see,” he said.

He walked toward the stage with confidence, the stage lights catching on the slight sway in his step from the margaritas. The crowd quieted with anticipation as he took the microphone. For a moment, he just stood there, looking out over the audience, until his eyes found yours across the tables. A heart-stopping smile spread across his face.

“Good evening, everyone,” he began. “My name is Michael Robinavitch.” He scanned the audience again until his gaze locked directly on you. “This song goes out to the love of my life.” He pointed straight at you, and heads turned. Dozens of eyes shifted your way all at once. Heat flooded your face in an instant, a deep and mortifying warmth that burned from your chest all the way to your ears. 

You wanted the sand beneath the theater to open up and swallow you whole. You sank lower in your seat, wishing you could disappear. Robby didn’t stop. “No, not only the love of my life. She’s the woman of my life. She’s the mother of my child. Look at them, aren’t they the most beautiful ladies in the world?”

The crowd let out a collective and heartfelt “Awww.” Some people clapped, a few whistled. Hannah waved happily at her dad from your lap, completely thrilled and oblivious to your embarrassment. “Daddy’s singing for us, Mommy!” she whispered excitedly, bouncing a little.

The opening notes of Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing began playing, and Robby’s voice came through the speakers, rough around the edges from the margaritas, but surprisingly in tune despite being a terrible singer. He sang directly to you, keeping his eyes locked on yours the entire time, as if no one else existed.

“I could stay awake just to hear you breathing

Watch you smile while you are sleeping

While you’re far away and dreaming…”

Embarrassment burned through every inch of you. Your cheeks were on fire, and you covered your face with one hand, peeking through your fingers. 

“I could spend my life in this sweet surrender

I could stay lost in this moment forever

Where a moment spent with you is a moment I treasure…”

Hannah bounced happily on your lap, clapping along. “Daddy sounds so good! He’s singing for you, Mommy!”

Robby poured everything into the chorus, his voice rising with emotion, and cracking slightly on the high notes but full of feeling.

“Don't wanna close my eyes

I don't wanna to fall asleep

'Cause I'd miss you baby

And I don't wanna miss a thing…”

He pointed at you and Hannah again during the song, his gaze never wavering. The crowd was completely swept up, some singing along, others watching the three of you with fond, smiling faces. You felt painfully exposed, seen in a way that terrified you, and yet terrifyingly wanted and loved in front of all these strangers. 

When the final notes faded, the audience erupted in loud applause and cheers. He gave a small, humble bow, grinning widely. He didn’t step off the stage immediately, instead, he raised the microphone again. “Thank you,” he said, smiling at the crowd. “I just want to say one more thing before I go. I was an idiot. I did some things I regret. I let fear and work, and my own stubbornness get in the way of the best things in my life.” He looked straight at you. “But this woman right here… and our beautiful daughter… they are the best thing that ever happened to me. All I want is another chance to fix it. To do it right this time.”

The crowd reacted instantly, followed by scattered cheers and shouts of encouragement. Someone near the back yelled, “Give the man another chance!” More voices joined in, “Yeah, go for it!” until it became a playful chant rippling across the theater. 

Robby finally stepped off the stage, making his way back to your table amid the lingering applause. Hannah launched herself into his arms the moment he sat down. “Daddy! You sang so good for Mommy!”

You stared at him, your heart still racing from the public love declaration and the serenade. You leaned in close so only he could hear. “You’re an idiot, Robby.”

He turned to you, so close that the scent of tequila and his cologne wrapped around you again. “Yeah. But I’m your idiot.” 

You wanted to push him away, to stay angry about the public spectacle and the way he kept blurring every boundary. But with Hannah happily chattering between you two about how “Daddy is the best singer ever,” and the crowd still occasionally glancing your way with fond smiles, it was impossible to ignore the pull.

 “Every single word was true.” He brushed your shoulder gently. “I lost so many years, so much time, so many memories I let go because of how I felt, and now the thought of missing one single moment with you kills me. I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not.”

You had to blink back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. For the first time, you believed every single word that left his lips, no doubting, no second-guessing, no walls left to hide behind. After days of fighting him, of pushing back against every word and lingering touch, all you wanted was to pull him close, to bury your face in his chest and tell him you wanted the same thing. That every second you’d wasted fighting him was a second the two of you could have been together, laughing, touching. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” you swallowed. “When you’re not four margaritas in.”

The next morning, you woke before Hannah. You glanced at Robby in the other queen bed. He was still asleep, lying on his back with one arm draped over his stomach, the sheet low on his hips. You moved quietly and sat on the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. For a long moment you just watched him, the morning light highlighting the white hair on his jaw and the lines around his eyes. 

Then Robby stirred, fluttering his eyes open slowly, focusing on you with sleepy confusion that quickly shifted into something softer, almost disbelieving. “Am I dreaming?” he murmured as he blinked a few times, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Why are you in bed with me?”

You stayed seated on the edge with your hands in your lap. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”

He rubbed his face with one hand, still half-asleep. “We went to the water park? Hannah loved the slides…”

“Not that, idiot,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Later. The karaoke.”

Robby froze. His eyes widened as the memories clearly flooded back. He let out a long groan and dropped back onto the pillow, covering his face with both hands. “Oh yeah… Jesus. I can’t believe I did that.”

“I bet you’re regretting it now.”

He lowered his hands slowly. “I might be deeply embarrassed. But I don’t regret it. I wanted to do something romantic for you. Something that showed you how I feel.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light even as your pulse quickened. “Yeah? Nothing more romantic than singing off-key Aerosmith in front of a hundred strangers.”

Robby chuckled and pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. “Come on, it wasn’t that off-key.” His eyes met yours. “I meant every single word I said. About not wanting to miss another second without you. About you and Hannah being the best things that ever happened to me. About wanting another chance.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest, breaking down your defences more and more each day. “I heard you loud and clear, Robby.”

Hannah stirred slightly in the other bed but didn’t wake. You stood up slowly, smoothing your sleep shirt. “I’m gonna head to the pools for a bit before she wakes up.”

Robby sat up straighter. “You can’t.”

You turned back to him, raising your eyebrow. “Why not?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish again. “Yesterday I… booked us dancing lessons on the beach. Salsa. For this morning.”

You stared at him. “And why the hell did you do that? Why didn’t you ask me first? I don’t wanna go.”

He let out a helpless laugh. “I don’t know. I was drunk and thought dancing salsa with you on the beach sounded like a great idea at the time.”

You crossed your arms. “Well, I’m not going.”

“Please go with me,” he said wofter now, almost pleading. He looked at you with those warm brown eyes that had always been able to weaken your resolve. “I’ll behave. I promise. Otherwise I’m gonna have to dance with the teacher, and that would be even more embarrassing than last night.”

You stood there in the quiet morning light, part of you still wanted to say no, to keep the boundaries firm, to protect the distance you’d fought so hard to maintain. But you knew if it wasn’t this, then he’d simply come up with another way of putting the two of you together in another situation. Being with him for these days had softened you more than you cared to admit, it had all worn down your defenses. And after every honest word he’d laid bare last night, combined with the way he was looking at you now with that sheepish, boyish smile and those earnest eyes that always saw straight through you, it made it very hard to keep saying no.

After dropping Hannah off at the resort’s supervised kids’ activities center, where she immediately ran off with a group of children to do crafts and play games, you and Robby walked the shaded pathways toward the beach.

The beach dancing area was set up in a beautiful, semi-private cove framed by gently curving palm trees and large rocks. The instructor, a local man, welcomed you both with open arms. “Perfect timing!. Come, come, partners, face each other. We start with the basic steps.”

Robby was a terrible dancer. He tried, God, he tried so hard, but his movements were initially stiff and awkward, his hips resisting the rhythm. He settled his hands on your bare waist with visible hesitation at first, but that hesitation quickly melted into something much hungrier. 

The first time the instructor called for a basic side step and Robby pulled you in, he pressed his palm firmly against the small of your back, splaying his fingers wide as if he needed to feel as much of you as possible. 

The heat of his touch burned straight through your skin, sending a spark racing up your spine. “Like this?” Robby asked the instructor as he attempted the next step.

His thigh accidentally slid between your legs for balance during a turn, pressing close for a second longer than necessary. You felt the warmth of him, the subtle shift of his hips, and heat pooled in your belly.

The instructor laughed good-naturedly. “Looser hips, my friend! Feel the music. Let it move you.”

Robby tried again, pulling you closer on the next basic. He brushed his chest against yours with every step, the thin fabric of his shirt and your bikini top did nothing to hide the heat of his body.

“This is harder than it looks,” he muttered close to your ear, his breath warm against your neck. He slid his hand a little lower on your back, digging his fingers in with hunger. “But I like having an excuse to hold you like this.”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the beat. “You’re terrible at this.”

He grinned as he dipped you slightly on the instructor’s cue. “But I’m trying. For you.” 

His body was pressed flush against yours, his hips rolling in what was supposed to be a salsa step but felt far more intimate. The subtle grind, the way his thigh stayed between yours for balance, the hungry way in which he dropped his to your mouth and lower, to the swell of your breasts, made your skin tingle everywhere he touched. 

Your pulse thundered in your ears, almost drowning out the music. Every turn, every close hold, every time his hands guided your hips, the tension built higher. He traced possessive circles on your lower back with his fingers. When the music slowed for a moment to practice a more sensual move, he looked down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, like he wanted to devour every inch of you right there on the sand in front of everyone.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You’d tried to fight every single advance he’d made since you both arrived. You’d tried to ignore the way he looked, more tan from the sun, those charming freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, his soft body on full display in nothing but swim trunks. You’d tried to pretend you weren’t affected by the flood of memories rushing back every time he got close, or by the fantasies of what life could look like if you finally let him in. And you were bone-tired of pretending you didn’t want the same thing. Exhausted from denying yourself what your body craved so much, his hands, his mouth, the weight of him pressing you down, the way only he could make you fel.

Mid-step, you grabbed Robby’s hand tightly and started walking, pulling him firmly away from the group and down the beach. The ocean breeze tried cooling the flush on your skin but did nothing to calm the fire in your belly.

Robby stumbled slightly to keep up, surprised but not resisting. “Where are we going?”

You didn’t slow down, already scanning the shoreline ahead. “We’re going to have sex.”

He let out a startled and deep laugh that sent another shiver racing through you. A second later the laugh faded into pure disbelief. “Wait… are you serious?”

You kept walking, your breath coming faster as the arousal intensified with every second that went by without feeling Robby’s touch. “Yes, Michael.”

Robby’s grip on your hand tightened. “Let’s go back to the room then. No risk of anyone seeing—”

“It’s too far,” you cut him off, your voice breathy with need. “And they’re probably cleaning it right now.”

He let out an incredulous laugh, half-aroused, half-amused. “So what? We’re doing it in the wild?”

You glanced back at him, the corner of your mouth twitching despite the heat flooding your body. “Michael, it’s the beach, not the wilderness.”

“Excuse me,” he said, still laughing softly but with clear hunger in his eyes, “But I really like this resort. I don’t want to get banned for life from this chain.”

You stopped for a second, turning to look at him fully. Your voice dropped to a more direct and impatient tone. “You wanna fuck or not?”

His expression shifted instantly, completely undone. “Yes please.”

“Good, then stop complaining.” You kept walking until you found a good spot: a small, semi-secluded cove partially shielded by large rocks and leaning palm trees. The sand here was softer, shaded in patches by the foliage, with a clear but private view of the ocean. You pulled him behind the largest rock formation and Robby followed without hesitation, his hands already sliding to your waist the moment you stopped. The hunger in his touch matched the fire burning in your veins. He pressed you back against the smooth, sun-warmed rock, his body crowding yours, mouth hovering just inches from yours, breath ragged. The tension that had been building since the massage, since the karaoke, since the entire trip finally snapped.

The moment you pulled Robby behind the large, sun-warmed rock, the rest of the world fell away, all that existed was the heat between you, the desperate need that had been simmering since the very beginning of this trip.

You surged forward and kissed him. Robby met you instantly, a hungry sound rumbling in his chest as his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth was hot and demanding, and his fingers dug into your hips with desperation. He kissed you like a man who had been starving ever since the last night you shared together, sweeping his tongue into your mouth, claiming, while he slid one up your back to tangle in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted it.

He broke the kiss just enough to breathe against your lips. “I’ve been dreaming about this. Every single night since we got here. I didn’t think it would actually happen.”

You smiled against his mouth, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. “All your stupid tricks finally worked.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours as he roamed his hands restlessly over your body, down your sides, cupping your ass, pulling you harder against the growing hardness in his swim trunks. “All I did was to try and prove you how much I love you,” he murmured. “I want to be with you. Not just fuck you again. I want everything. You, Hannah, us as a family. That’s all it’s ever been about.”

Your hand slid down between you, palming the hard and thick outline of his cock through the fabric. He hissed sharply, jerking his hips forward into your touch. “It was torture,” he rasped, against your ear, “seeing you in that bikini every single day and not being able to touch you. Not being able to do this.”

You squeezed him gently, stroking the length of him through his trunks. “Maybe I wanted to touch your body too.”

He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan as you rubbed your thumb over the fat head. “I know. I could see the way you watched me. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

You couldn’t wait any longer. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of Robby’s swim trunks and pushed them down just enough to free him. His cock sprang out, the thick vein along the underside pulsed visibly as you wrapped your hand around the base, your fingers barely able to close fully around his girth. You stroked him slowly from base to tip, savoring the way he throbbed powerfully in your grip. “It’s your fault for having this fucking body,” you whispered. “It’s just my type.”

Robby let his head fall back against the rock with a moan, bucking his hips into your fist. “I was right,” he managed to say. “That guy the other day at the beach… he wasn’t your type, was he?”

You swept your thumb over the head on every upstroke, spreading the leaking precum and making him even wetter. Robby groaned deeply, jerking forward into your fist as you twisted your wrist just the way he liked, squeezing a little tighter on the way back down. “Please. That guy lacked everything I love in you.”

“Fuck… your hand feels so good,” he rasped. “Been dying to feel you touch me again.” He cursed under his breath, gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. 

You sank slowly to your knees in the sand, until Robby’s cock stood right in front of you, flushed a deep, needy red at the head and already leaking a steady bead of precum. You looked up at him through your lashes, taking in the sight of him towering above you. 

As you wrapped one hand around the thick base, the heat of him pulsed strongly against your palm, the weight and girth of him making your mouth water. You started slow, torturously slow. Leaning in, you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the leaking tip, tasting the salty, slightly bitter bead of precum that had gathered there. Robby’s hips jerked forward involuntarily as a whimper escaped from his chest. You kissed it again, slower this time, letting your lips linger as you savored the skin stretched tight over the swollen head. 

Then you dragged your tongue in a wet circle around it, tracing every ridge and vein, feeling the way he twitched and throbbed against your tongue with every pass. “Fuck… baby,” he groaned, already wrecked and sounding hoarse. One of his hands came down to gently grab your hair, trembling slightly as his fingers carded through the strands. “Come on… please… Take a little more, baby.”

You smiled against the slick head, barely parting your lips to take just the tip into the wet heat of your mouth. You sucked gently, swirling your tongue lazily around him, giving him only the lightest, teasing pressure. Robby’s moan was loud and needy, his thighs were trembling as he fought the powerful urge to thrust deeper into your mouth.

You pulled back just enough to speak, brushing your lips still against the glistening tip, a thin string of saliva connecting you. “You’ve been thinking about this the whole trip, haven’t you?” 

Robby closed his eyes for a second and nodded, almost like he was in pain. Then you took him deeper, sucking more of his length into your mouth. You hollowed our cheeks as you worked him with deliberate bobs of your head, savoring every inch. The taste of him, the salty skin that was so uniquely Robby, made you moan around his cock. The vibration drew another loud, desperate whimper from deep in his throat. 

You remembered every little trick he used to love from years ago, the way he liked the flat of your tongue pressing firmly along the sensitive underside, followed immediately by soothing suction, the way you hollowed your cheeks on the upstroke to create that perfect tight pressure. You did them all, eagerly and hungrily, losing yourself in the heavy weight of him on your tongue and the broken, needy sounds he couldn’t hold back no matter how hard he tried.

You slid your free hand between his spread legs, cupping and gently rolling his heavy balls, massaging them with careful pressure. Robby’s head fell back against the rock with a guttural groan that was almost too loud for the public setting. His hips stuttered forward, chasing the wet heat of your mouth as he fought for control.

“God… your mouth,” he panted, forcing his eyes to stay open. He couldn’t stop watching you, the way your lips stretched obscenely around his cock, the spit glistening on your chin and dripping down his shaft, the lust-drunk look in your eyes as you took him deeper with every bob of your head. “I can’t… fuck. You look so fucking good like this, on your knees for me.”

You moaned again around him, and took him as deep as you could, until your nose was brushing the dark, untrimmed hair at his base, holding him there for a long moment while your throat worked around him. You continued playing with his balls, gently tugging and rolling them, feeling them draw up tight as his pleasure built. 

Robby’s whimpers turned into full, unrestrained moans. He tightened his fingers almost painfully in your hair as he began rocking his hips shallowly, fucking your mouth with tiny movements. Spit dripped down your chin, coating your hand as you stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach, twisting your wrist on every upstroke just the way he liked.

You pulled off just enough to gasp for air, strings of thick spit connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing cock. “You gotta be quiet,” you whispered, “if you don’t want to attract an audience.”

Robby let out a shaky laugh that quickly dissolved into another deep moan as you licked a long stripe up the entire underside of his cock, tongue pressing firmly against the thick vein there.

“I can’t… I can’t be quiet when I’m finally feeling your mouth again. Fuck, I’ve missed this so much. Missed you so fucking much.”

You took him back in without warning, sucking harder and faster now. Robby’s moans grew louder, more needy, his body trembling as he fought the edge, his thighs shaking beside your head. “Baby… I’m close,” he warned, stuttering his hips forward. “So fucking close—”

You kept going, eager to push him over the edge, dying to feel his thick load flooding your mouth, but Robby suddenly pulled you off with a desperate groan. He hauled you up to your feet with strength. His cock, slick and throbbing and coated in your spit, pressed against your stomach. “Not yet,” he rasped. “Not like this. I want more. I want all of you.”

With a growl, he spun you around, pressing your front firmly against the rock. Your cheek rested against the stone as he yanked the ties of your bikini bottoms loose with impatient fingers until the fabric slid down your legs and pooled at your ankles. You kicked it aside impatiently, leaving yourself completely bare from the waist down. 

One of Robby’s large hands slid up your body from behind, slipping under the fabric of your bikini top. His palm was hot as it cupped your breast fully, squeezing the soft flesh with blatant hunger. He found your already hard nipple and rolled it slowly between thumb and forefinger, pinching just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting straight down to your dripping core. You gasped, arching your back and pressing your breast harder into his hand, craving more of that delicious sting.

At the same time, he dipped his other hand between your legs from behind, dragging two thick fingers teasingly through your soaked folds, parting them and spreading your slick arousal everywhere. The wetness coated his fingers as he explored you, rubbing up and down your slit before finally finding your puffy clit. He circled it with the pad of his middle finger, pressing it just right, making your thighs tremble and your knees threaten to buckle against the rock. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” his voice was rough with lust. “This pussy is dripping for me already. You’ve been aching for my cock, huh?”

You moaned loudly and pushed back against his hand desperately. “Robby… I can’t wait anymore,” you gasped. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”

He pressed a wet kiss to the back of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth possessively. “Fuck, yes,” he groaned.

You felt the blunt head of his cock nudge against your entrance, sliding through your slick folds once, twice, teasing you both. Then, with one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you.

The stretch was like something you never felt before, overwhelming and full, exactly what you’d been craving for days. Robby filled you completely, his cock dragged against every spot inside as he bottomed out with a satisfied groan. 

He stayed there for a long moment, buried to the hilt, both of you breathing hard together, his chest pressed flush against your back, one hand still massaging and kneading your breast, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.

Then he started moving, he was slow at first, giving you deep and rolling thrusts that let you feel every single inch of him. Robby snapped his hips forward deliberately, driving his cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach. The wet sound of skin meeting skin mixed beautifully with the waves and your shared, breathy moans. 

Robby’s grip on your hip tightened as he gradually picked up the pace, fucking you harder, deeper. “God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned right against your ear. One of his hands left your breast, sliding down your body until it reached your ass. He grabbed a full, greedy handful of the rounded flesh, squeezing hard enough to leave marks as he spread you open wider for him, pulling your cheeks apart so he could watch every inch of his cock as it disappeared inside your greedy pussy. Your arousal coated his shaft, strings of wetness connecting you every time he pulled back, only to slam in deeper. “So tight… so wet for me. Been thinking about this pussy every single day on this trip. You’re creaming all over me, baby. Can you feel how deep I am?”

You moaned loudly, pushing back to meet every powerful thrust. The rock was warm against your front, your breasts kept rubbing against it with every movement. He leaned over you more, changing the angle so he could fuck you even deeper, snapping his hips forward with raw purpose now. “You’re mine,” he growled against your ear. “This pussy is mine. You’re mine. Say it.”

You could only moan in response at first, lost in the overwhelming pleasure. “Y-yours.”

He grabbed your hips with both hands, digging his fingers in hard as he pulled you back onto his cock with every thrust. “Fuck, Robby… harder,” you gasped, still pushing back against him. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growled, slamming into you deeper. “Not gonna stop until you’re coming all over my cock.”

You moaned louder, unable to hold back. Robby’s hand left your hip and slid up your body, pressing two fingers firmly against your lips. “Suck on them,” he growled hotly against your skin. “Before someone hears how well I’m fucking you. Be a good girl for me.”

You parted your lips obediently, taking his fingers deep into your mouth. You sucked on them eagerly, swirling your tongue around the digits just like you had around his cock earlier. Robby groaned deeply at the feeling of your muffled moans against his fingers, his hips slamming into you harder.

With his other hand, Robby found your swollen, aching clit. He pressed his digit firmly against the bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles with exactly the pressure he knew drove you wild. He alternated between teasing strokes and faster, more insistent ones, never letting the rhythm become predictable. The dual sensation was devastating, not only his cock stretching and pounding into you from behind, but now his fingers working your clit relentlessly. 

“That’s it,” he rasped as he fucked you even deeper. “Suck my fingers while I ruin this pussy. You’re so fucking wet for me. Been thinking of it since the dance lesson, haven’t you? I could feel how soaked you were the whole time I was touching you.”

You moaned around his fingers, the sound vibrating against them as you sucked harder. Your legs shook uncontrollably. “Come for me,” he rubbed your clit faster and harder. “I want to feel you squeezing my cock when you cum. Let me feel how much you need this. How much you’ve been aching for me.”

The tension snapped, your orgasm crashing over you hard and suddenly. You cried out around his fingers, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his thick cock, fluttering and squeezing him tightly as waves of overwhelming pleasure rolled through your entire body. 

Robby’s thrusts grew erratic as he chased his own release. “Fuck… you feel so good when you cum. So tight. I’m so close, baby.” He kept fucking you through your orgasm, drawing it out with deep strokes, his fingers still rubbing your oversensitive clit in gentler circles. His voice was completely wrecked when he spoke again. “Can I finish inside? Please… I need to fill you up. I need to cum inside you.”

You pulled off his fingers just enough to gasp out. “Yes. Cum inside me. Fill me up, Robby. I want it so much.”

That was all he needed. Robby buried himself as deep as possible with a broken moan as he came. You felt every pulse as he emptied himself inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He kept thrusting through it, as if he wanted to push every single drop of his fat load as far inside you as possible. His body trembled against yours as he pressed his forehead to the back of your neck, breathing raggedly against your sweat-slicked skin.

Robby wrapped his arms around you from behind, holding you close as he softened inside you, placing lazy kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck. His cum slowly leaked down your thigh in sticky trails, mixing with your own wetness. 

Eventually, you shifted, feeling the pleasant ache between your legs and the reality of where you were. You reached down, picked up your discarded bikini bottoms from the sand, and slowly tied them back on with slightly shaky fingers. Robby stayed close, resting his hands on your hips, stroking circles with his thumbs as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

“We should go pick up Hannah,” you said softly, still sounding a little hoarse.

Robby didn’t move right away, he turned you gently to face him, cupping your face with his hands. “Wait,” he murmured. “What does this mean? Just admit it and stop fooling yourself. Tell me you want this as much as I do. That you want to be with me too. That you never minded sharing a room, or getting a couple’s massage, or taking dancing lessons. Tell me you actually like spending time together like this.”

You looked up at him, the vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache, and after an intense orgasm like the one he’d just given you, you couldn’t even fool yourself. You took a slow breath. “Yes… I do,” you admitted. “I like being with you, Robby. I like the sex. I like how you make me laugh. I like talking to you. I like… all of it.” His eyes lit up with hope, but you continued before he could speak. “But what happens with me? What happens with Hannah if you change your mind? If the charm wears off once we’re back home, dealing with real life.”

Robby’s expression turned serious, almost pained. He cupped your face more firmly, brushing your cheeks. “I wouldn’t go through all of this if I weren’t a hundred percent sure of what I feel and what I want. Hannah is the most important thing in my life. I’d die before hurting her. Or you. I’m not going anywhere this time. I promise.”

You searched his eyes, tears pricking at the corners of yours. “How can I believe you?”

He smiled softly, a little sheepish. “I sang in front of a crowd for you. That has to count for something.”

You laughed despite yourself. “This whole trip has been so nice… but real life isn’t a beach resort with massages and dancing lessons.”

Robby pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I want you when you’re tired from work. Sweaty, your hair a mess, exhausted. I want the long nights when we’re both too drained to speak, and the fights when we’re frustrated and still choose each other every single day. I want all of it.” He kissed you softly, then pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “Please… I’ve missed so much already, don’t let me miss another thing.”

You smiled, tears slipping freely down your cheeks. You leaned in and kissed him again, slow and deep, full of everything you’d been holding back. When you pulled away, he searched your face with hopeful eyes. “Is that a yes?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

You smiled wider. “It’s a maybe.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. “Say yes.”

You laughed softly against his lips. “Maybe.”

Another kiss, sweeter. “Yes?”

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yes.”

Your reblog doesn’t just support me as a writer, it also helps this reach the people who read the first part, so please consider taking 0.00001 second to click that button, it’s free!!💜

A/N: I feel like, the way it happens in a lot of media, second parts are never quite as good as the first one. But people wanted a second part, and I wanted to write one too, so here’s what I came up with. I hope it wasn’t too long or boring. I’m so thankful for all the love and support the first part got. It genuinely makes me so happy to see that people enjoyed it🥹

There’s honestly so much I could write about these two, but it already felt long as it is. I don’t think I’ll write a third part, to be honest.

@blacpiink @fallout-girl219 @tpwklizzie @tlc3802 @findthebeautyinbreakdowns

You could feel your face setting on fire as you desperately tried to think of what to do.

Robby’s eyes weren’t on you anymore as he got rid of his jacket and boots… this would be the perfect time to get up and scurry away towards the bedroom… Robby’s bedroom— Shit.

Your hands went to cover your bare tits as you tried to come up with something else.

“Decided to cut my sabbatical short,” Robby was explaining, “You all were right- as it turns out, I can’t go more than a month without the ED.”

You heard and felt Jack’s snicker, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles where he still held your waist.

His hard cock was still deep inside you, and as much as you hated having to depart from it, you really needed to get off and try to at least regain some decency.

Which is what you tried to do. You began rising from Jack’s lap, but in an instant, his eyes were on you, his brows furrowed.

“Where you going, sweetheart?”

He can’t be serious right now.

You glanced pointedly at Robby behind him, your voice barely a whisper as you murmured his name.

“It’s alright, honey, Robby doesn’t mind,” he spoke softly, his hands caressing you softly. “Do you, Robby?”

Robby’s soft chuckle came from somewhere closer than where he’d previously been.

“I sure don’t,” He was smirking once you slowly raised your gaze.

He’d walked to the edge of the couch, right behind Jack.

You felt your face burn with embarrassment- and yet your pussy clenched harder around Abbot as you caught Michael’s eyes drink you in.

“We were having such a good time,” Jack murmured, his mouth on your collarbones as he pecked your skin, “Would be a shame to stop now.”

Oh God, he was being serious.

“Jack- I-”

Were you dreaming? Was this one of the sick fantasies that materialized in your mind whenever Robby and Abbot were both on shift, and you had to squeeze your tights together at how incredibly hot of a pair they made?

Everything seemed to point in that direction, except for the fact that the feel of Jack’s fingers removing your hands from your naked chest was very much real- the same went for Robby’s voice.

“You know, sweetheart... we had a talk about you before I went away.”

You were bare again now, and Jack was making use of the space, filling it with delicious, taunting kisses as Michael spoke.

“Decided none of us were gonna try anything... didn’t wanna take advantage of you or anything….” His voice was rough and soft all at once as his hand went to cradle your cheek, “and now look at that.”

Heat bloomed low in your belly and on your cheeks as you heard yourself whimper.

What he was saying was… unbelievable. They liked you- both of them. Just as you liked them.

This was really happening- Dr. Robinavitch was watching you as you sat on Dr. Abbot’s cock. And they both looked incredibly casual, as if this were a daily occurrence.

“Since when has this been going on?”

When you didn’t answer, Jack stopped his ministrations on your neck to speak, “Just two weeks, man.”

“Is he lying to me?” Robby asked you, his head tilted in doubt.

“N-no,” You murmured as you cowered under his stare.

To that, he smirked, shaking his head as he muttered, “A week- that’s how long you lasted.”

“C’mon, man- you knew it was bound to happen.” Jack groaned, looking at you with a smirk as his mouth ghosted yours, “You’re too pretty not to do something about it.”

You felt your heart skip, and your hips involuntarily grind against Jack’s lap- causing you to whimper pathetically.

“Oh sweetheart…” Abbot cooed, his hands going back to rest on your hips, “Go on, take what you need.”

There was nothing you wanted to do more. As unusual as this situation was, you were so turned on that you feared you’d start dripping on the couch any second now.

Yet you watched the two men uncertainly, biting your lip as you went against your instinct to use Jack’s manhood to feel good.

“Go on, baby,” Robby encouraged you once your eyes settled on him, “Do as he said.”

His palm was still on your cheek, his thumb pulling on your lower lip to free it from your teeth’s grip… and you had no choice but to obey.

You started slow, shily grinding onto him, feeling Jack’s dick graze and reach all those sweet spots inside of you as your clit rubbed against his base.

Your mouth hung open as soft whines filtered through your throat. Robby’s hands held your face so you could only look at him- and the look in his eyes… the darkness in his iris and the locking of his jaw gave you all the more incentive to go faster.

You began raising yourself on Jack’s dick just to slide back down again until you found the delicious pace from before your interruption.

Your moans weren’t so quiet anymore as you struggled to keep your eyes open and gripped Jack’s shoulders for dear life, your nails probably leaving crescent moons on his skin.

“So good for me, baby,” Jack murmured against your neck, resuming his kisses on your salty skin as he thoroughly enjoyed the show. “Such a good girl.”

You cried like a desperate little thing at that, his dick hitting that spongy spot inside of you that had you feeling on cloud nine.

“Jack feels good, baby?” Robby’s voice felt muffled, as if the pleasure was acting as a sound shield.

“Y-yes,” You whined, your voice breathless, your movements more and more desperate, “B-big,” you cried brokenly.

You felt Abbot’s growl vibrate against your chest at that, and seconds later, you felt his mouth against your ear as he whispered loud enough for Robby to hear, “You’ve seen nothing yet.”

You didn’t have the brain capacity to understand what he meant by that, or to analyze the grin that spread Michael’s lips at those words, because all you could focus on was the growing sensation that sparked in your belly.

“Oh my god,” You whined, your thighs burning with the effort as the sound of your skin slapping with Jack’s echoed against the walls.

“It’s ok, baby,” Robby murmured, watching closely as your eyes almost closed and your brows furrowed in bliss, “You’re doing so good.”

You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but as Robby guided his thumb into your mouth, instinctually, your lips closed around it, sucking him in further.

“That’s it, baby,” he nodded, the weight of his finger on your tongue making you wish it was replaced by his cock. And that image… that image made your orgasm approach even faster.

Your moans were silenced by Robby’s thumb, but Jack could feel your walls gripping him like a vice.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he commanded, kissing the spot right beneath your ear. “Be a good girl and show Robby how pretty you look when you come.”

That was it.

You didn’t even have time to mentally prepare yourself that a bright white flash of pure ecstasy overtook your soul.

You came like the world would end tomorrow, your pussy spasming around Jack as he couldn’t help but follow suit.

Somewhere in the frenzy, you could hear Abbot’s groans while Robby murmured what appeared to be soft words to you, his hand never leaving your face.

The pounding of your heart thumped in your ears as you tried to calm your breathing.

Your eyes fluttered open to both the men looking at you, Jack’s eyes soft with gratification and adoration, while Robby’s irises swirled with lust and just plain need.

“You wanna switch?”

Jack’s words didn’t even make sense to you. You were still lost in the haze of what had just happened.

“Not on the couch, man.” Robby shook his head, his lips pulling into a small smile as he watched you. “Let’s get on the bed, baby.”

__ __  __

Your legs felt like jelly as Robby towered over you.

You knew what was happening, and yet your brain was still buffering.

His lips were so close to yours… just a few inches and you’d be kissing him.

But that’s not what he had in mind.

“Lay down for me, baby.”

You blinked, needing a second to understand his command and do as told.

The mattress was soft, the comfy duvet wrinkling underneath you as you laid back, your wide eyes watching him.

With a quick move, he removed his shirt, throwing it behind him… in the direction of Abbot.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning against the wall, his eyes dark as he watched the scene unfold.

By the time you looked back, Robby was naked- and your lungs took another toll.

You were propped on your elbows, shamelessly eying all of him. His broad chest, the dark hair on his pecs, on his belly, until your gaze lowered just enough to catch his cock-

You were pretty sure you’d stopped breathing completely.

That’s what they’d been talking about.

You really had seen nothing yet.

You swallowed dryly as his big hand wrapped around his dick, giving it two slow strokes that had him seemingly grow even more.

Your eyes were wide as he stalked closer to you, his smirk everlasting.

“R-Robby,” you stuttered, clearly intimidated.

“’S alright, baby. I’ll go real slow.”

“I-I- How…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shook his head, “spread your legs for me, baby.”

And even if your heart was going crazy and your brain was telling you that was an impossible fit, you did as told.

“Wider.”

You slid your feet further across the bed, opening yourself up to him completely, eliciting a delighted groan.

“Pretty,” he murmured, his palm going to your mound and his thumb moving to your folds, exploring slowly.

Jack’s come was still leaking out of you, creating a sultry mixture with your own juices.

Your cheeks heated at his unabashed gaze, but then his other hand grabbed the base of his manhood, his tip suddenly parting your folds, and all thoughts left your head.

You were whimpering already, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and Michael would have done anything to record those sweet sounds and listen to them on repeat all day long.

“It’s ok, baby, relax for me.” That’s all he murmured, as he started guiding his impossibly thick tip inside of you.

“Oh!” You gasped, your eyes wide open as you watched him thrust into you.

He was looking at where your bodies melted into one another, watching your greedy pussy swallow him in.

The stretch burned at first- he had the biggest cock you’d ever seen after all- counting porn- but his soft growls and groans were making you all the more pliant.

His thumb started circling your clit to help you out as broken cries fled your throat.

He was retracting his hips just to thrust softly into you, over and over again, filling you up inch by never-ending inch.

“O-Oh my god,” You were crying, your hands fisting the sheets as he kept going.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he reassured you, his free hand tight on our waist. “Stretching so good for me- such a good girl.”

Your walls tightened around him at that, causing him to hiss.

“Let me in- just like that… good girl”

You knew the moment he was in to the hilt, because you could barely breathe at the feeling of how unbelievably full you felt.

Breathy gasps spilled from your lips as your gazes met.

“Told you you could do it,” he smirked, before he started to move.

The moan you let out at the first full, deep thrust was more of a scream.

“Robby!” you gasped, your fingers gripping his forearm as he started building his pace.

His back hurt like a motherfucker from all those hours on his bike, but he’ll be damned if he denied himself this sight.

“He always makes you do all the work?”

How his voice was still so even when you could barely breathe, let alone think, was a mystery.

You want to tell him the truth, that no, Jack was usually very much adamant in his need to take care of you, to pin you beneath him and fuck you thoroughly well into the day… but all you could manage was a whine.

You watched his lips pull into a grin at the state he’d rendered you in.

“Oh, c’mon, brother, I’ve just come back from a twelve-hour shift,” Jack defended himself from his spot against the wall as your eyes found him.

You could see from the bed, even with his boxers back on, that he was hard again.

God, this was all so hot.

The way both their eyes were only focused on you as Robby’s thrusts had you bouncing up on the bed, your tits moving in tandem with his harsh movements…

“And she hasn’t?” Robby raised his brows, shooting Jack a quick, disappointed look, before coming back to you.

“You don’t have to worry about it now, baby,” he spoke softly, the thumb he still had on your bundle of nerves resuming its torturous movements. “I’ll take care of you like you deserve from now on.”

You felt butterflies in your stomach at those words.

Your hips were chasing his movements, forcing the loud smacking of his skin hitting your core over and over again to get even louder.

You could feel every inch of his dick inside you, every vein and ridge slide against your velvety walls as his tip speared you and reached parts of you no one ever could find but him.

And with a feeling like that… it was inevitable for tears to gather in your eyes, your vision blurring as a knot of pleasure tightened inside you.

“Oh baby, I know it’s a lot.” his voice was calming, soothing your overexited system.

It was a lot. He was a whole damn lot.

“Just take it,” he cooed, “Don’t think about it, sugar, just be good for me and Jack, yeah?”

You slowly nodded, tears rolling down your temples and onto the sheets as the air filled with your moans.

“That’s it, pretty girl— that’s it.”

And suddenly, it was all too much.

“I-I- Oh my-”

He groaned at how tight you got. His chest inflating with the effort not to come on the spot.

“Let go, baby,” he instructed. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

The last thing you saw was his smile; everything after that was sort of a blur.

A tidal wave of pleasure washed over your body; you were pretty sure you were moaning his name like a prayer as you experienced a mind-blowing orgasm.

Your eyes and ears started functioning again as Robby’s thrusts got sloppier, more erratic.

He grinned as you whimpered at the overstimulation, his groans getting louder as he got closer, until he spilled inside you with a feral roar.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed after several moments, slowly pulling out of you.

Jack had gotten beside him somewhere in the meantime, and both men’s eyes fell to the release spilling out of your spent core.

“C’mere,” you whined, breaking them out of their amazed trance.

They both smiled, and it was Jack who joined you on the bed first, moving you so your head could rest on the pillow as he spooned you, wrapping his arms around you.

“You did real good, sweetheart,” he murmured to your ear, his stubble grazing your skin as your eyes fluttered shut.

You were exhausted.

You didn’t even hear Robby lying down next to you until he placed your head to rest on his chest.

“So… am I gonna have to sanitize every surface of the house?”

A soft laugh fled your throat as Jack grinned amusedly.

“The kitchen should be saf—” The look you sent Jack had him suddenly remember all the alternative meals he’d consumed on the kitchen counter. “No, yeah… the whole apartment.”

Brendon Park has always believed that the path of medicine could – and should – only be taken up by the cream of the crop. Life was not something you put in the hands of those who were ‘good enough’. What use does he have of overeager students who can’t differentiate a vein from an artery or the top student who buckles at the smallest hint of criticism?

Only those who are the best deserve to be doctors. And only those who beat the best deserve to become a surgeon.

“Where’s the kid?”

The newbies look at each other, confused. Clearly, not being given a heads-up of the culture and hierarchy in the Orthopedics Department.

His assistant speaks, “She is finishing up a consult in the ER. She should be here any –”

“… next time one of Frank’s idiots calls, tell them they better make sure it is compartment syndrome or I will shave off their senior resident's pretty hair.”

 There she is. The crème de la crème.

She composes herself once she finally catches her attendings’ steely eyes and the suffocating tension he likes to maintain in his surroundings.

“Good morning, Dr. Park.”

“Good morning, doctor. Rough shift?” He cocks his head as the two of you ignore the gawking, trembling residents who are here to observe the surgery and continue your conversation next to each other in the sink. “Robby told me to let you sit this one out.”

The reminder of Robby’s cautious text about ‘giving you a break’ as if he knew you better than him makes his blood simmer once more. He lets his senses focus on the cold water running through his palms instead.

“Fuck, no,” you groan, scrubbing your hands aggressively, still frustrated. “I’m fine. It’s just – I fucking hate newbies.”

He actually chuckles at that, letting your shoulders bump as he walks in first, hands raised.

“You’re distracted,” he lets his words hit you where it matters. Your pride. “Fix it before you get in my OR.”

He sees it. The side of you that mirrors him. The way the irritation sloughs off of you like a false skin, the intensity in your eyes that held the same focus he does, the deep breath you take as your chest expands like a well-oiled machine revving up to do its purpose.

Robby doesn’t know what the fuck he is talking about.

“Yes, Dr. Park.”

Everyone knew who you were.

Shark’s favorite – his little prodigy. One he snatched from the ER Department, right under Robby’s nose, to hone into his successor.

The bias wasn’t for show.

You were brilliant, skilled, and had the most potential. You graduated top of your class, beat out your peers in your first rotation as a med student, and got offered a residency program by all departments in the PTMC.

It was almost a little too familiar with his experience when he was an upcoming resident.

And now, after thrashing the other attendings, he gets to have his own perfect protégé.

A student he considers as one of the great successes in his career.

Even now, he can’t help but marvel at you as you skillfully ride his cock.

A true overachiever, through and through.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well," he pats the flesh of your ass almost paternally. The small irritating voice of Jack Abbot reminds him that positive reinforcement is quite effective when done sparingly.

They say surgeons are narcissistic to a fault. That they’d fuck themselves if they could. Maybe that’s why he loved fucking you so much – his mini me.

You’re the perfect specimen. The perfect woman.

“Does it feel good, Dr. Park?”

After all, surgeons would fuck themselves if they could.

And his little me wasn’t any different.

He tried to stay away. Swore to himself that he would not derail your career in any way. Women have it hard enough to get into male-dominated fields as it is, much less if you were to become a pariah because of him.

It would be unfair and cruel to be a bump in your career – and your belly, god forbid – when he swore to himself you would be the one to soar alongside him.

Instead, he focuses on more wholesome approaches. Or as wholesome as he could manage.

If he couldn’t have you, he had to monopolize you.

Controlled your schedule, made sure any and every surgery that comes your way went through him first because no one gets to overwork his student but him.

"Cancel all her consultations this Friday. We're doing the spinal fusion."

His assistant visibly stiffens, rapidly scrolling through his schedule. "Doctor Abbot requested her assistance for --"

He glances at him in bored disapproval. "Abbot isn't her attending isn't he?"

The young man nods. Capable but expendable, and he is smart enough to know it. "No, Dr. Park."

"Good. And tell him he can find his own senior resident to torture," he swivels his chair, done with the conversation. "This one's mine."

He had you moved into a condominium near his – lied through his teeth about the hospital paying for it too. Some bullshit about wanting their star resident to focus on her work.

"It should be for move-in next week," the realtor eagerly rattles as Park signs the lease, making sure to verify that it was his other bank account in the contract lest you be smart enough to check it and figure out your nice new condo didn't come from the good graces of the hospital.

"Quite an investment, doctor. Should be worth double by next year. Are you planning to flip it?"

Park signs on the last line.

"'s for my kid."

It eventually escalated to gym sessions together, then the same tailored diet plan because he refuses to let his successor survive on questionable food, and eventually syncing your health apps so he could oversee your fitness and sleep schedule.

'Bedtime.'

You actually stare at your phone like an unruly child.

'Can't sleep. I'll just study for the case tomorrow.'

Before you could flip another page laid in front of your table a call was already blaring through your phone. The shark emoji gave no doubts as to who was calling.

To his hypocrisy, he was also in front of his study table.

"I need you on peak performance tomorrow. Bed, now."

He crosses his arms and your eyes actually drop at how his shirt constricts across his biceps. Fuck.

Whatever, you can just remove your watch so he can stop tracking your bedtime like a fucking --

"Prop your phone up on the bedside table," you press your lips together, caught. "I know your tricks, kid."

In under five minutes, you were tucked in your comforter, staring at your screen as he uses the reading glasses he refuses to let anyone else see him wear.

He doesn't look at his phone again but you knew better than to try and test him. And even though it kills you to admit it, the soft sounds of the flips of the paper was lulling you to sleep.

"Goodnight, Dr. Park."

His reply, if any, slipped past unheard. Only his gentle eyes lingered in your memory as the last thing you saw.

It satisfied the desire, for a while.

When it no longer worked, he tried for the opposite.

He put some space, gave you cases separate from his, called you ‘kid’ to remind himself that he was decades ahead of you.

This time, you saw right through him.

Smart girl, that you were. Ballsy, too.

Chasing him down to his office and demanding an explanation for his abrupt indifference after indulging you with his warped attention.

Try as she might, Gloria couldn't find anyone who would talk about what actually happened that day. All she knows is that it was not pretty. A vicious argument between two top predators of the PTMC.

One that nobody knew ended in you spread out in what was his pristine desk, a quick plan B trip to the pharmacy, and a meeting in HR where the two of you had to declare your relationship once and for all.

It was a scandal and a headache for the higher-ups. They even had half the mind to transfer you to another hospital but he had assured them that he too would quit if that ever happened – making them lose not only an esteemed student but also an irreplaceable attending. Thus, a compromise was reached and the relationship was to be hidden until you officially finished your residency.

Not that he fucking cared. He could be the picture of restraint provided they keep their filthy little paws off of what was his.

What was now finally his.

“Getting tired, kid? Hmm? Need some help? I told you, you needed more leg work in the gym,” he grins maniacally at your whine, your little claws burying into his chest in defiance.

“I can do it. I can –”

You shriek as he slapped your ass, now meeting your thrusts as he bounces you on his cock, punishing your weak efforts with brutality. Grabbing both of your wrists with one hand as he pulls you down meanly to meet his pace.

“This all my little genius can amount to, hm? Can’t even ride her attending’s cock properly?”

You whined, shaking your head. “No – Please, Dr. Park. I can do it! I swear!”

“So polite,” he smirks, settling back down and letting you gyrate weakly in his lap.

He pinches your clit cruelly, heart pounding in glee at your cry. A notification pops on his phone as well as the smartwatch he had bought for you – ten minutes till 10.

Should be enough time.

“Get on with it, kid. It’s almost bedtime for you.”

You don’t disappoint. You never do.

It’s not that you expected the frequency of sex to remain the same throughout your pregnancy. Hell, there are times where intimacy has been scarce before. Life gets busy. Sometimes those sorts of things fall to the wayside. It feels different lately, though. And maybe that’s just you getting into your own head. You tend to do that.

Trouble is, your body is changing—every day it’s changing, and in ways you don’t always find easy to reconcile with. Sometimes it’s hard to look in the mirror and appreciate any of what you see. So is it really that farfetched to assume that Jack might feel the same way—that his attraction has waned over the past several months?

After weeks of him constantly side stepping intimacy, you decide, one evening, to give it one last try. You doll yourself up, shave as best you can given the constraints your pregnancy puts on you, and wrap yourself in a silk robe.

You feel a bit ridiculous, posing in what you hope is an alluring manner on the bed. Jack hardly looks up as he enters the room and sits at the edge of the mattress. Your confidence, as fickle as ever, shrinks a few sizes. He grunts as he doffs his prosthetic, leaning down to massage his leg. 

You swallow hard and shuffle closer, sidling up to him so you can press a kiss to his jaw. One hand lands on his thigh, fingers trekking upwards. He shrugs you off, rolling his shoulders. 

“You should get some rest, sweetheart.”

The rejection feels sharper than usual. You think because this time you’re trying—really trying and he barely looks at you. Maybe it’s worse than you thought. Is he so repulsed that he can’t even bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds? You feel like an idiot for attempting to make something happen. 

“Jack,” you begin, failing to keep your voice as prim and even as you want to. “It’s okay if you’re not attracted to me anymore, but please tell me so I can stop making a fool of myself.”

A silence presides over the room, so potent you could hear a pin drop. His movements still completely. Then he whips his head around so fast that you swear, if you were none the wiser, you would be convinced that you’ve just shot him straight through the chest.

The utter shock on his face makes you feel crazy. You have half the mind to start back pedaling, but you’ve already hit the gas on this conversation. There’s no turning back now. The damage is done.

He opens his mouth then closes it. You have rendered your husband, who can rarely ever shut his mouth, speechless. Absent-mindedly, you fiddle with the hem of your robe, waiting for him to muster up his next words.

His eyes elevator down then back up your figure. Jack has been your comfort person for so long you forgot how it is to feel as though you’re under his scrutiny. You hate feeling the innate need to shield your body from a gaze that has never looked at you with anything but admiration before.

“What are you talking about?”

“This—whatever is going on.” You gesture vaguely between you. “You barely look at me, let alone touch me.”

Shock resurfaces on his face. Then his brows pinch together, and you watch the gears turn as he retraces every moment over the past couple weeks. Dragging one leg up onto the bed, he scoots closer and cups your face. 

The fragility with which he speaks brings you back down to earth, urging you out of the storm that has been silently brewing for weeks. 

“I’ve been withholding because I worry about losing myself in the heat of the moment,” he says, holding your gaze firm. “I am incredibly attracted to you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass, Jack,” you huff. All this worry and insecurity because Jack didn’t think himself capable of being gentle enough with you. It would be endearing if you weren’t terribly sexually frustrated. It feels like a lot of time has been wasted—opportunities let slip away.

“I know. I know…” he says, eyes deliberately raking over you again. “Very pregnant, and so fuckin’ sexy for it.”

“You’re laying it on pretty thick there.” You want to give him a hard time—make him really grovel for it, but you are so pent up that you’re not sure how long you can deny him. He frowns, and his eyes look so sad that you nearly give in at the mere sight.

“I’m sorry I made you feel anything less than beautiful,” he says. “I shouldn’t have made any decisions for you.”

You turn your head to the side in an attempt to avoid falling back under his spell. 

“I’d like to make it up to you, baby,” he continues, and you’re sure that if you let him, he would talk your ear off for an eternity. “I’ve been pent up myself here…”

“And whose fault is that?” The look you give him is scalding. He offers you a sheepish smile in return.

“Your idiot husband’s.”

“Yeah, my idiot husband’s,” you echo as the space between you narrows. His lips meet yours in a heated kiss. He licks into your mouth. Your axis tilts, and you land flat on the bed. He moves to occupy the space above you. A soft sound wells up your throat when he pulls away.

“Oh fuck…” he hisses. You follow his gaze to your chest where two damp patches have formed in the silky fabric over your nipples. His eyes flick up to you, pupils dilated. “When did this start?”

His fingers are already tucking themselves into the waist tie of your robe before you can reply.

“A couple days ago,” you say. He makes quick work of the knot and your robe falls open. “Didn’t want to give you another reason to find me unattractive.”

He fits your swollen breasts into the broad cradle of his palms, attention locked onto where pearlescent liquid trickles in continuous droplets. 

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he says. His thumb swipes up a droplet and he brings it to his mouth. You watch as his eyes flutter shut and a groan swells from his chest at the taste of you. He immediately brings his hand back down, massaging your breasts and watching in fascination as thin rivulets pour down your skin. “I’m crazy about you.”

It’s difficult to deny such a statement when his erection is pressing incessantly against your thigh. One of his hands coasts down your body, stopping only once he’s cupped it over your glistening cunt. He slides three fingers over the seam, dipping down to prod at your entrance. 

“I need you—now!” You whine, bucking your hips. It’s been too long, and your patience has worn extremely thin.

“Mhm? Okay,” he murmurs, withdrawing to ruck his pants and underwear down. He gives his cock a few firm strokes before lining himself up with your entrance and slowly pushing in. You mewl at the stretch.

Slowly, he begins to rut into you. His attention fixates on your breasts that bounce with every thrust, your nipples still dribbling milk. He moans lowly, unable to resist for much longer.

“Can I?” His head dips down. You feel his hot breath fan over damp skin and shudder.

“You mean—You want to…?”

“There’s nothing I want more right now.” He hovers a second longer before latching onto one nipple, and giving a gentle suck. His hips stutter as a strangled noise escapes him. You cup the back of his head, fingers tangling in sandy grey curls. He reaches between you to toy with your clit. 

“Jack…!” you keen, consumed by a multitude of sensations. He hums, pulling off of you with a wet pop. Next, he’s leaning down and dragging your other nipple into his mouth. It’s so much all at once. Your body shakes apart, tensing up and then going listless. He bottoms out one last time, pouring himself into you while he smothers himself in your tits.

It takes him another couple moments to withdraw, lifting his head to meet your gaze. He looks a mess, but satisfied—that smirk of his twitching at the corner of his lips.

“You’re crazy,” you say breathlessly.

SD!Jack Abbot who tells you you're going on a summer trip with him a day before the flight. He sends you a quick text with the 5-star hotel in Monaco and an itinerary—no questions asked. After all, you were his sugar baby, and he needed you by his side. A pretty thing to show off at expensive cocktail hours on private yachts or to sit on his lap on a white sandy beach in nothing more than a strappy bikini. 

You agreed without hesitation. 

SD!Jack Abbot who didn't make you beg for his shiny black card (you soon learned it was actually an American Express Centurion). You had 24 hours you prime yourself for your luxury Italian vacation: 4 hours sitting in the salon chair -$560, 1 hour getting a mani-pedi -$175, 1 hour Brazilian waxing appointment -$120; and of course your favorite part, 8 solid hours spent in the lux mall to buy the skimpiest bikinis and sundresses, heels, makeup, jewelry -$11,000. The best thing about Jack's card is that he had no limit. You had whined and pouted about spending more than $500 when you first met him, and sighed when he deemed that pocket change. 10k was his minimum, and he wanted you to spend to your heart's content. If you didn't buy it, he'd just buy it anyway. You don't even bother looking at price tags anymore; instead, you appreciate the item for what it is. Like a red lace thong and matching bra from Fleur de Mal that caught your eye while passing through the store. Maybe you'll surprise Jack later...

SD!Jack Abbot who leads you around the international airport with a gentle hand on the small of your back. He walked with a steady confidence that made you want to turn your brain off. He knew exactly where to go and wouldn't let you lift a finger. Chauffeur-driven airport transfers, a personal flight attendant who prechecked bags and loaded them first with TSA precheck, facial massages, and a Michelin-star brunch provided in the Emirates lounge area. They even offered to get Jack a wheelchair for his leg, but he insisted on walking with his girl. 

SD!Jack Abbot who got to the gate and only had to flash a smile to the attendant to be ushered past a line of people awaiting the plane. It felt wrong and so completely foreign. But once settled in the plush seats of the first class, all you could think about is the wonderful 2 weeks ahead of you. Jack sits down beside you with a small groan and rubs at his metallic knee before unhooking it. "You okay, Jackie?" You look up at him with doe eyes, chin propped up in your hand. "Why are you worried about me, baby?" He smiled, flicking the tip of your nose with his finger, " 'm fine." He ordered two drinks and melted into the seat. One hand held the thin glass flute, and the other found the soft flesh of your thigh, kneading it gently. You occupy yourself throughout the flight with movies, shitty offline mobile games, books, and a short catnap before landing at Nice Côte d'Azur airport in France. Monaco was only a 30-minute drive away. 

SD!Jack Abbot who rented a sleek black Mercedes-Benz for the rest of the trip, let you be the passenger princess. "Do you know where you're going?" He shoots you a look. "Jus saying... Google Maps doesn't work around here. "I can read a map" "You brought a paper map?" "A souvenir," he claimed as he unfolded the paper in his lap and pointed at a road, "we should be somewhere around here..." "Jack. Don't tell me we're lost." You eventually made it to your destination, a large coastal resort fit with a golf course and a 2000 sqft luxury suite. Your belongings were already in the room, clothes sorted in dressers, robes, and welcome gifts on the bed. You turn to Jack to place a big kiss on his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck.  

SD!Jack Abbot who doesn't even flinch when you thank him, just brushes it off with a "anything for my girl" and a slap on the ass. He plops onto the California king-size bed and pats the space beside him. You ignore the spot altogether and crawl onto his lap. His hands ran down your body, squeezing your plump chest, caressing your hips, rubbing your thighs. You place kisses against the mature lines of his neck and begin unbuttoning his tacky, vibrant vacation shirt. You trailed your lips all the way down to his navel when his phone vibrated. Work

SD!Jack Abbot who unbuckles his belt and shoves his pants down when he answers the phone. He talks into the earpiece, voice unwavering as he fucked your face. "Yep, we'll be there tonight, Robby." You heard him say over the sound of your slurping and gagging. He let out a rough exhale as the man on the other side of the phone just kept talking. Your hot mouth and soft hands on his cock were driving him insane, closer to the edge. "...fuck---no sorry. Yep, I'm fine, brother, be there tonight. Roma Yacht, left off the pier" a sharp inhale when you took him to the back of your throat, "I will see you tonight. In the middle of business. Yep, bye!" 

SD!Jack Abbot who grabbed your hair and rutted himself into your mouth the second the call ended. He emptied himself in your throat, pulling out and letting the last spurt of cum land all over your face. He swiped a thumb over the mess at the corner of your lip and pressed it between your lips "Go clean up. We have somewhere to be, baby." 

SD!Jack Abbot who watches you walk over to the bathroom, pulled his pants back on. He looked in the mirror and fixed his salt and pepper curls. You come out of the bathroom with a clean face and a little black dress. He let you get dolled up so you didn't look like you had just had your face fucked 5 minutes ago. He gave you a slow once-over that screamed "I'm not done with you." You smooth your hair out of your face and follow him out of the resort to the line of expensive yachts waiting on the coast. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ pt.2 

SD!Jack Abbot who introduced you to all his colleagues as his 'girlfriend' and joked about how you kept him young. He handed you a glass of expensive rosé. You had only the expectation to smile, look pretty, hold the champagne glass daintily, bat your eyes at old couples, laugh at suggestive jokes about your appearance—the old song and dance that came with these events. You brushed it off and wrapped yourself tighter around Jack's bicep.

SD!Jack Abbot who couldn't keep his hands off you all night. A hand resting on your hip, an arm around your shoulder, lips against your temple. He did NOT care about PDA. He whispered reassurances into your ear all night long, sometimes in front of guests, not caring who overheard him calling you a good girl or how pretty you looked.

SD!Jack Abbot who snuck you into a private room in the interior rooms of the yacht to make out. He loved the way you made him feel alive again, your skin hot and soft against his. He hastily returned to the fancy gathering of doctors, lawyers, and dignitaries. Back to the niceties of shallow conversation. Robby raised his brow at the smudged lipstick on the crisp white collar of Jack's dress shirt. Hm. You smile and laugh it off, letting the alcohol and laughter soothe the suspicions. 

SD!Jack Abbot who you convinced to get into the hot tub connected to the suite bedroom. He concedes with some light pressuring and your nude form under the bubbling hot water. "Don't be shy, daddy. C'mere," you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub. "...but my leg, can't get it wet. "then take it off." He pursed his lips and went to undo the mechanism connecting his prosthetic. He sat down on the edge of the bed and hobbled over with crutches, "Really sexy, huh?" His voice was sarcastic and horribly insecure. How could this man possibly be insecure!? You must prove him wrong. You tug him into the hot tub, “very”. 

SD!Jack Abbot who was completely in the nude, sank into the hot water. His grey-haired, speckled chest came just above the water line. You tried to keep your eyes from trailing down to the reflection of his dick. You wade over to him on the bench and sit on his good thigh. "You enjoy tonight, sweetheart?" he asked, “I know I did.” You nod and run a greedy hand down his abdomen to his stump and back up to his neck. 

SD!Jack Abbot who froze at the simple words "I love you" that fell from your lips. Your very wet and kissable lips. "Yeah, you like this old man?" "mature" he let out a raspy laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "yeah right. Whatever the hell you want to call it, baby. The wrinkles and grey aren’t gonna scare you away?" You nibble at your lower lip and shake your head. "What am I gonna do with you. Hm?" He took your jaw with his large palm, forcing you to look at him. You close the gap between your faces and plant sloppy kisses on his lips, his stubble scratchy against your chin. 

SD!Jack Abbot who couldn't seem to get hard, his cock staying flaccid when you fondled him. "Shit" he hissed. "'s okay, Jackie." "I forgot to bring my prescription...sorry, baby." "It's okay, really." His lips pulled into a tight, frustrated line. You'd been teasing him all night, and now he couldn't even do anything about it. 

SD!Jack Abbot who begged you to sit on his face when you both got out of the hot tub. "Sit down all the way," he growled as you hovered over his waiting lips. He yanked you down by the hips. You gripped his hair as he ate you out thoroughly, his tongue dipping into your hole and lapping at your clit. At the same time, he pumped furiously at his half limp cock. You turn around on his mouth, your ass cheek now pressed against his nose, so you could lean down and go down on his soft member. A hand landed on your ass with a tight grip when you suckled on the head of his cock.

SD!Jack Abbot who flipped you over the second he got hard enough to put it in you. He held your wrists over your head as he pounded into you hard and fast. He liked the way you moaned his name, daddy, or whatever could get out of you. Then he stopped. 

SD!Jack Abbot who told you it was time to "show him a little gratitude" and ride him. Why did he have to do all the work after paying for this trip? You climbed on top of him shakily, sinking yourself on his thick, veiny cock that was now rock solid. He rests his hands behind his head as he watches you make a mess of yourself on his cock: head thrown back, makeup smudged, a mess of juices inside your thighs. He rested a hand on your hip to thrust up into you lazily. The cool European air wafted through the open balcony doors. He could look over your shoulder and look at the water and the late setting sun. How the golden glow made your skin look radiant. 

While you finish preparing your patient presentation for the incoming orthopedic surgeon consult on the case you’ve been working all day, Dennis Whitaker, who’s been assisting you, groans under his breath as he catches an imposing figure approaching. “Fuck, our consult’s the Shark.”

“Of course it is.” Shen, who’s been in the corner half-supervising you since he completely trusts your work as a fellow, tells Whitaker, “This kind of damage? He eats up cases like this. The Shark’s never gonna let someone else-”

You turn to both of them, hold up a hand to shut them up, and ask, “Who?”

“Dr. Brendon Park,” Shen explains like he’s telling you about an upcoming horror movie. “He’s the head orthopedic surgeon.”

“Haven’t met him yet,” you reply. Drawbacks of circumstances forcing you to change hospitals in the middle of your fellowship; you don’t know the whole team like you did back in your residency. With a final few glances through your day’s meticulous work, you wrinkle your brows and check, “I thought Torres was head of orthopedic surgery.”

“No, she’s the nice orthopedic surgeon. The Shark only deigns to come to what he calls ‘the butcher shop’ for juicy cases.” Shen shakes his head and says, “I’m gonna dip before he gets down here. I’ll grab Robby to supervise.”

“You’re leaving? Why?”

“Park can actually stand Robby.” Shen shrugs and tosses his gloves in the trash. “I made the mistake of suggesting an amputation when it was possible to salvage a limb and the Shark’s always down my throat when we work together now.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” Shen pushes the door open and says before heading over to the hub to grab Robby, “That thing you’ve heard about sharks having three-second memories? Not accurate. PTMC’s Shark never forgets. Don’t fuck up your first impression.”

Your wide eyes turn to Whitaker. “Well, that was comforting.”

Jesse, who’s been supporting you on and off when you needed more hands than just Whitaker’s, tries to offer, “Park’s not so bad.”

“Yeah, because you’re a nurse,” Whitaker replies. “He likes nurses. Respects them. It’s other doctors he thinks are stupid.”

You screw up your face with confidence and nod sharply. “Then I won’t be stupid.”

“Good luck with that,” a deep, clear voice says behind you. You turn and nearly bump into the center of a very broad chest. Very broad. With matching biceps and traps threatening at the fabric of his blue scrubs. He’s easily a whole head taller than you. And his face. Oh. Good face. Lots of masculine, rugged angles. It’s not that the ED is lacking in arm candy, but most of the doctors down here aren’t so…biteable. You’re fighting not to ogle as his voice draws your eyes back up to his mouth. Which is a nice mouth. Under a nice nose. And a heavy brow with pretty blue eyes so sharp you feel a little light-headed under their intensity. “You’re new.”

Robby slips into the room behind him and hugs the wall, posture much straighter than you’ve seen. He doesn’t look scared the way Whitaker does, but there’s a clear expectation about what the interaction’s going to be: Efficient, intense, clear. Robby says bluntly, “New fellow. Recent relocation.”

Park’s eyes narrow, taking in your pink shoelaces, perfectly applied makeup (including shimmery gloss) despite being elbows deep in the shift, and the pastel-heart-patterned long sleeve beneath your scrubs. “We haven’t met.”

You take one quick, deep breath and remind yourself there’s no reason to be scared. You don’t play hospital politics like the residents. You’re a fellow, a real goddamn doctor. This is your case. Your save. You’ve got it. So you introduce yourself with a friendly smile and explain, “I started here last month. Just haven’t had a big sexy skeletal trauma to dangle in front of you until today.”

Park cracks what almost appears to be a smirk. Committing your name and your pretty face to memory, he says, “Welcome to the team, pipsqueak. Try not to butcher any bones and we’ll get along fine.”

“No problem.” You bounce slightly on your feet. “Shall we get started here?”

His chin cocks slightly to one side. You’re not shrinking. Not bashful. You’re smiling. That’s rare. He doesn’t mind. Arms crossed over that massive chest, he orders, eyes sweeping the room, “Tell me what we’ve got.”

Whitaker looks to Robby. Robby looks to you. You nod and list off, “Mr. Jacob Westman, thirty-seven-year-old green energy tower technician, brought in by ambulance after falling from an electrical tower. Freak accident. Alert and responsive on arrival but no sensation in lower extremities. Lead doctor on the case – that’s me; I’ve been point for Mr. Westman all day – chose to sedate for pain management and stabilization once significant spinal injuries were identified. The most severe salvageable damage is in the cervical and thoracic, but I don’t necessarily agree with the interpretation from the ortho radiologist that-” Robby clears his throat to stop you there. Sheepishly, you finish, “Vitals are within safe range for operation to correct cervical and thoracic fractures and dislocations."

Robby offers, “So essentially, the approach is-”

“Hold on.” Park looks up from the chart and focuses squarely on you. “What did the radiologist say? Why did you stop there?”

You glance over at Robby, who’s shaking his head with pleading eyes. But it’s your case. You’re the one who gave up your lunch break to pore over the imaging. So you let your eyes rove back to Dr. Park’s and tell him firmly, “Your radiologist feels that the lumbar injuries causing Mr. Westman’s paralysis are completely inoperable through traditional methods. I was advised to defer to his opinion.”

Brows furrowed, he eyes you seriously. Almost…amused. Like he’s watching a puppy try a new trick. “What’s your opinion, doctor?”

Behind Park, you see Whitaker shake his head and grimace like you’ve just signed your own death certificate. Even Jesse is gripping his clipboard a little more tightly.

“I suggested that, even though it may be riskier, a series of nerve grafts and transfers could return the patient’s ability to walk.” Your voice lowers a bit and you try not to let your wobbly ‘bleeding heart baby doctor’ voice come out. “Mr. Westman is a highly-trained, highly-educated specialist in a type of engineering only a handful of people in the country can do. Work that’s absolutely critical for the development of renewable energy sources. When I was going over everything with his wife, Jenna, she told me that he loves his job more than life itself. That he would risk everything to regain use of his legs.” You swallow hard and pinch back tears. It’s something that always annoys you; whenever you really, really care about something, you start to cry. Eyes averted, you wrap up, “I know that the kind of procedure I’m suggesting would be much longer and much riskier on several levels and that it’s not at all my place to-”

Park shakes his head and cuts you off, “Show me the scans.”

You quickly brush past him to the nearby screen and blow up the images.

Dr. Park lets out a low whistle as he flips through the X-Rays, head tilted slightly as he gives the scans his full attention. He asks you a handful of questions and you answer them as best you can, all the eyes in the room burning the back of your head. You watch the wheels turning behind Park’s eyes; this is his passion, his favorite thing, his reason to wake up. You love seeing people in that state where all they’re thinking about is what they do best.

Finally, he turns to you and says, “I don’t care what your title at this hospital is. If a goddamn janitor can propose a valid surgical approach for an ‘inoperable’ injury, I want to hear it. Complex spinal reconstruction with multiple fusions, laminectomy, discectomy…fuck, ‘just-about-everything-ectomy.’ Plus nerve transfer. Now that’s sexy. I like it.” Before Robby can thank him for taking over, Park looks you up and down – just a little slow to be completely professional – and asks, “Pipsqueak, you wanna assist?”

You stand up straighter and turn your attention to Robby with wide, hopeful eyes. Looking nothing short of shocked, he nods and does a ‘sure, why not?’ type of gesture. You give a big, adorable grin and say, “Yeah, that would be awesome. I’ve always wanted to see autograft harvesting and transfer firsthand.”

Whitaker shakes his head and mutters, “Freak.”

“Go to the bathroom, eat a snack, and scrub for OR three,” Park tells you, ignoring everyone else. As you nod eagerly and excuse yourself, he slaps Robby on the back hard enough to make him stagger and mutters, “Congrats, Mike, you finally matched a competent fellow.”

Dumbfounded, Robby just says, “Ah, thanks.”

Coming out of the surgery thirteen hours later, you’re glowing like you haven’t been awake for thirty-four hours in a row. Following tight on his heels, you’re practically skipping as you beam, “Dr. Park, that was so amazing. I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity.”

“You’re good,” he says simply, walking through the halls of the surgical wing like he owns the place. “Great calls like that deserve great rewards. Would’ve given you a gold star sticker, but I’m not as soft as Robinavitch.”

“I wish Robby gave out stickers,” you reply wistfully. “That might actually convince me to stay here after my fellowship is up.”

You’re about to say something else when Park turns around and puts one baseball-glove-sized hand on your shoulder. “Unless you want to see my dick on our first day working together, you should probably stay on that side of this particular door.”

You startle backwards as you realize he’s pushing into the men’s room. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry; I sometimes kinda space out when I’m excited.”

Park lets out a laugh. An honest-to-god laugh.

He has a handsome smile.

Even though your face is now about a thousand degrees, you still nibble your lower lip, grin, and call through the door, “By the way, it’s technically our second day working together since that was an overnight surgery.”

Park’s amused, loud voice hollers back, “Go home and get some sleep, pipsqueak.”

When you clock in for your next shift two days later, Dana waves you over right after you’re done putting your things away. She says, “There’s something in your mailbox, if you’d believe it.”

“Really?” You worry a hangnail on your thumb. “Don’t tell me I’m getting served or something.”

“You? Come on, you’re Miss Bedside Manner USA.” She nods over to the doctor’s lounge and explains, “It’s from ortho. Something about that surgery you sat in on last week.”

“Huh, okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

You scurry off to your mailbox, which you’ve only even looked at once, the day you started. They’re a relic from the days of fax machines and printers. Inside your cubby is a blank, hospital-issue envelope. Upper left corner: Brendon Park, MD, FAAOS. In the middle, in his scratchy handwriting: Pipsqueak. With your lips pursed in curiosity, you rip the top of the envelope and remove the contents.

Inside a folded piece of notebook paper, there’s a card-sized sticker sheet with eight big, cutesy stickers on it. A happy sun, baby ducks, a strawberry, a stuffed bunny. All things sweet and girly. The theme is white, baby pink, sky blue, and light yellow, the same colors as the heart-patterned shirt you’d been wearing under your scrubs. In between the big stickers, a few pastel stars serve as filler.

With a little squeal, you unfold the note and read. Couldn’t find one with a gold star. Close enough. Good job. Happy you’re here.

Underneath, he’s drawn a tiny shark in lieu of a signature.

You melt – just a little.

Riding the elevator up after your lunch break, it’s kind of embarrassing how much your heart is pounding. You’re really not supposed to be doing this. It’s a total violation of protocol – not the sort that would get you in real HR trouble, but definitely the kind that could permanently piss someone off.

But you do it anyway. You gently knock on Dr. Park’s door after checking with the ortho receptionist that he’s in. He makes a sort of grunting sound that you interpret as ‘yes, what?’ Pushing the door open just enough to slip into the opening, you say, “Hi, Dr. Park. Robby asked me to page ortho down for a follow-up on the Westman case, but I thought it would be nice to ask you directly so that they could have consistency of-” When Park doesn’t even look at you, eyes staring intently at the file on his computer, you shrink into the doorway and shake your head. “Sorry; that’s silly. I’ll get back downstairs and send a page like I should’ve to stop annoying you.”

His eyes flick to yours for half a second. His eyebrows go together almost imperceptibly. “You’re not annoying me.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You bite your lower lip and stare at your shoes for a moment. Purple sneakers today, Park notices. Matching the lavender polka dots on your long sleeves. “So, yeah, if you have time today to come down and check his repeat images with me, that would be really amazing. I’m working until six, so no rush. No pressure. I know you’re really busy. And I can definitely just ask Torres if you-”

“I’ll do it,” he interrupts urgently. “Don’t ask Torres. Or anyone else. I’ve got it.” Then he adds, hasty, “Patient outcomes improve when they have a consistent care team. You’re right about that. You can come get me about Mr. Westman whenever you need to.”

At that, you absolutely beam. His eyes go to your lips. Your cupid’s bow and the way it stretches when you smile. A pretty smile, he thinks. Really pretty. You glow, “Okay, perfect, I will. Thank you.”

You linger for a second, one hand on the doorknob as you debate whether or not to say something. He hasn’t returned to his computer screen, eyes just roaming around the room and occasionally spending a second on you, so you take it as an invitation.

“I also wanted to, um, to say thanks for the stickers, by the way.” You lift your water bottle and show him the doodle-style pink star you’d picked out to grace it among your collection. “I really like them.”

“Good.” He’s tempted to lie, say it was someone else’s idea, act like he found them somewhere in the hospital, but he can’t when he’s looking at your delighted schoolgirl smile. “Saw them at Target and thought of you. It was nice to work with someone so…competent.” You swear there’s a slight blush in his cheeks, but it must be a trick of the light. It must be. Then he clears his throat and adds, “I’ll come down to see you- for Mr. Westman’s follow-up in an hour, alright? I have to finish this report and my dyslexia’s fucking killing me today.”

Physically unable to stop yourself from being helpful, you offer, “I could type it up for you, if you want.”

“I didn’t mean to tell you that,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have this disarming thing about you. It’s jarring.”

“Um, thanks?” You tilt your head like a puppy. “Are you not supposed to talk about it or something?”

He shrugs, definitely blushing now and pretending not to be, and replies, “People hear their doctor has a learning disability and get a little antsy. So if you don’t mind, keep that to yourself.”

“No problem, Dr. Park, I’m the picture of discretion,” you assure him seriously. But then you keep spilling out, “But, y’know, I actually read this study from the Royal College of Surgeons that showed people with dyslexia make better surgeons than their peers because of their well-developed spatial reasoning skills, attention to detail, and problem-solving ability – not to mention the resilience and creativity that inherently come from- Aaaand I’m word vomiting. Shoot. Sorry. It’s- it’s chronic, my word vomit. I see a specialist.”

He raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Do you now?”

“Yup. My likelihood of remission is incredibly low. Lifelong struggle, really.” You swallow hard and tell him gently, “Um, I had this undergrad student I tutored. He was in biology – pre-med – but he didn’t think he could do it because he was dyslexic. So I did a bunch of research and presented it to him. I’m not, like, one of those cool photographic memory people who remember every study on earth or something.”

“People with photographic memories freak me out,” he says with a chuckle. You wonder if you’re the only person in the ED who’s heard him laugh. More than once, even. Then he says something that actually does manage to shock you: “I’d love the help, if you have time.”

“Yay!” You do this little bouncing thing that makes his head spin. “I’m still on my lunch, so I have a few minutes.”

Voice sounding almost protective, he checks, “Did you eat?”

“Yeah, of course. But I get bored if I don’t have anything to do after my leftovers.” You scooch around his desk and slide between him and the computer, your perky ass directly in his face. With your fingers hovering over his keyboard, you lilt, “Alright, big man, what are we writing?”

It takes Park fifteen seconds to recalibrate, ten of those seconds spent memorizing the way he can see the outline of your tiny thong when you lean forward slightly, the fabric of your scrubs taut over your ass. Then he hastily stands up and puts himself behind the chair, his nosy dick safe from being seen, and says, “Why don’t you take my spot? You’ll be more comfortable.”

You shrug and sit down, throwing your head way back to look up at him with perfect, sweet blowjob eyes. “Whatever you say, Shark.”

The next time Park’s in the ED, his crush on you is completely and totally solidified. It’s horrifying, the way the feeling swirls around his stomach and makes his cheeks hot. It’s not a feeling that’s ever dared encounter him in the workplace and, honestly, not in a hell of a long time outside of it, either.

It’s because you’ve got Ogilvie backed up against a wall, your pointed finger in the center of his chest. He’s a head taller than you, even slouching, but you’re dwarfing him with your energy. Park’s never seen you so brutally animated, eyebrows knitted together and posture perfectly straight. He lingers a bit too close, hugging the corner so he can listen and watch.

Ogilvie’s hands are up in the air, waving, frustrated. “I didn’t do anything wrong! All I did was-”

“Oh my god, how many times do I have to tell you to shut up and listen to me?” With your feet planted firmly in your white sneakers with red laces and your arms crossed in your cherry-printed sleeves, you go on, “I get that I’m a woman. I get that I’m short and cute and girly. I get that you think you’re god’s gift to medicine.”

“I don’t think I’m-”

“I wasn’t done. I get that you struggle to respect me. Idiotic men often do. But let me make one thing abundantly clear: You are a slug of a man-child, James. You leave a trail of slime behind yourself in the form of problems everyone else needs to clean up, you hide whenever things get hard, and you need to blot the oil from your T-zone so you’re less shiny. And invest in a frizz-control shampoo.” While Park stifles a snorting laugh, you go on with the most pointed, cruel voice he’s ever heard from a woman so painfully adorable, “If you ever speak to me like that again, you will envy the corpses you practice on. All you will do clinically is change infected necrotic dressings and disimpact bowels and every other moment of your day will be dedicated to administrative scut so monotonous it makes your vision blurry. I will ask to have you on my service every day just so I can torture you until you question your entire career path. Do we have an understanding?”

Ogilvie is too stunned to speak for thirty seconds straight. Then he swallows and stammers out, “Yes, doctor. I- I understand.”

You nod tightly and add, “I’d like an apology now.”

“I’m sorry,” he says right away. It sounds more afraid than earnest, but that’ll get the job done. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

“Good. I forgive you.” Then you give him a warm, friendly smile and a pat on the head that you have to rock up onto your toes to execute fully. “Now let’s get back to Mrs. Andrews so you can get another lumbar puncture under your belt before your next evaluation, alright?”

Ogilvie manages to get out, “Thanks,” before you turn around and lead him back to the ED. He looks like a scolded toddler, lip pouted and cheeks red, while you have that familiar unshakeable pep in your step.

And Brendon Park is smitten.

The next week, as you’re sending off a list of prescriptions, you hear Langdon’s voice from the other side of the ED. “Sharkbait, get over here!”

You turn toward Langdon and point at yourself. “Me?”

His eyes are big and begging. “Yeah, c’mon, I need you.”

“I have work to do, Frank.”

“Please?” He clasps his hands in front of his chest like a prayer. “Park’s going to kill me when he sees the state of these ribs.”

Exasperated, you cut back, “What the hell does that have to do with me?”

“You’re Sharkbait,” he replies, mimicking your expression. “When you’re in the room, he’s less of a dick.”

Several craving any time with Brendon, you roll your eyes and stomp over, telling him, “I’ll give you five minutes. Get me up to speed.”

He runs through the patient history with you while you gently palpate the chest.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe as you feel the myriad of fractures all over the ribcage and sternum. “LUCAS?”

“On an elderly osteoporosis patient. Dumbass firefighter meatheads.” He shakes his head and mutters, “It’s basically a bag of bone soup in there.”

“Sounds promising,” Park announces, always knowing when to cut into a conversation. When he sees you, he sighs in relief, “Pipsqueak, thank god you’re on this, too. I don’t have the patience for dealing with Ken on my own today.”

As Langdon talks to Park with you just sort of standing there as an emotion diffuser, Santos and Whitaker watch in wonder from the hub.

Trinity, whose last interaction with the Shark ended with him saying she should switch to a career with no skeletons involved, scoffs and murmurs, “Why hasn’t he ripped her head off? She’s brand new; she doesn’t know how to placate him.”

“Her aura powers are unknown to us,” Whitaker mutters back. “She has some kind of sorcery ability incomprehensible to the masses.”

“I mean, she has nice tits,” Trinity reasons. “She’s smart. Made some good calls in front of him.”

Whitaker argues, “Baran’s brilliant and has great tits. He called her an imbecile last week.”

Amused, Trinity raises her eyebrows. “You think Dr. Al-Hashimi has great tits?”

“Not the point.” A minute later, Park leaves the room with a smile in your direction. You swish over to the hub to grab a new chart and Dennis asks, “What’s the deal with you and the Shark?”

Humming gently, you ask him absently, “What do you mean?”

Trinity cuts in to reply for them both, “Well, I mean, he likes you. Are you two fucking?”

Your eyes startle wide at the idea – tantalizing but impossibly far away. Park is so wildly out of your league you can barely entertain the thought. “What? No! Of course not. Brendon’s not as bad as you guys think. You just have to get to know him.”

Trinity mouths to Whitaker, Brendon?

Whitaker shrugs, baffled, and then muses as the three of you watch Park head toward the OR, “I didn’t realize that was a possibility.”

You chuckle and tease, “Maybe try being a better doctor next time?”

“Brutal, Sharkbait. Brutal.”

That weekend, the Pittsburgh Penguins hosts its annual Medical Worker Appreciation Night. Because Dana’s been nominated as a spotlighted nurse, the hospital sprung for discounted tickets in the name of staff morale.

Robby shepherds you and the other newer ED staff who’d gotten their hands on a ticket down to the PTMC section. When he checks seats, pointing everyone in the right direction, he frowns at yours. “Kid, do you wanna trade spots with me?”

Your brows furrow. “What? Why?”

“Look.”

Your eyes follow Robby’s pointing chin. At the end of the long row, Park’s perched on the edge of his seat, staring down the players doing warmups. He’s wearing a black Penguins hoodie, a black Penguins hat, and a pair of jeans that his meaty thighs battle for dominance with. You’ve never seen him outside of scrubs and it’s becoming a problem very quickly. You shrug and tell Robby, “I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

“We get along great, actually.”

“That explains the new nickname,” he chuckles under his breath. “I figured it was because you’re a sacrificial lamb.”

Park catches your eyes and waves you over, his lips flirting with the concept of a smile. He can’t bear to say it out loud, can barely even tolerate the thought in his own head, but he’d looked over the seating chart on the HR receptionist’s computer and basically threatened Ogilvie’s life to switch with him (and then swore him to secrecy on similar conditions).

You plop down next to him and nudge him in the bicep. “Hi, Bren, I didn’t think you came to things like this.”

Bren. Nobody’s used a nickname besides ‘Shark’ for him in decades. He shrugs like his heart rate isn’t picking up at the way your arm has to touch his because of how broad he is. “It’s hockey.”

“It’s team bonding,” you tease. “You hate bonding. And teams that aren’t sports.”

“But I like free Pens tickets,” he replies simply. Then he notices your outfit. You’re wearing pants, at least – leggings, because fuck him, he figures – but your arms are agonizingly bare from the elbows down, your yellow tee not doing much to protect your skin. He frowns and asks, “Did you bring a jacket or something? You’re gonna freeze to death in here.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that cold; I’ll be okay.”

“Give it a period.”

“I’m not on my- Oh. They’re called periods in hockey?”

Biting back a mean joke because of your sweet, innocent eyes, he says, “Yeah. Periods. Three twenty-minute periods with intermissions between.

“You’re gonna have to explain everything to me,” you say as you stare at the different parts of the stadium. “I’m not from a hockey town.”

“I don’t mind,” he admits after a second. He adds carefully, “I never get to talk hockey outside of work.”

“No gym buddies to gab with?”

“No gym buddies,” he confirms.

“That’s shocking, considering the biceps of it all.” And the pecs you would honestly motorboat. And the big veiny hands. And the thick thighs you could bounce on for hours. You swallow hard, thankful you don’t have a dick to give away your thoughts. “Are you one of those douchey guys who puts in his AirPods and focuses on his form in the mirror? Oh my god, do you film yourself so you can make sure you-”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” he laughs, raising his hands in defeat. “You’ve got me pegged, sweetheart. I have to be strong because I crack femurs all day. And you have to focus on form if you want to get strong and don’t want to get hurt.”

“So no time for gym buddies.” You lilt, sweet and easy, “Maybe you can show me some time. I could use a little more muscle and a little less-”

“No, you definitely don’t need ‘less’ anything,” he protests way too quickly as his mouth goes dry. He can barely tolerate the sight of you in leggings this close to him; he’d burst a blood vessel if you were in bike shorts and a sports bra like his brain immediately supplies. With his neck going splotchy pink, he course corrects, “Lifting isn’t about losing weight or visible muscle. It’s about building practical strength.”

And your body is fucking perfect. If you wanted to change it out of insecurity, he’d drop to his knees and kiss your feet until you realized you shouldn’t change a thing. Your thighs are just the right thickness, your ass downright juicy, your stomach spectacularly soft, your breasts-

Park sucks in a sharp, deep breath and shakes out the thoughts. “I’m gonna grab something to eat before the game starts. Can I get you anything?”

After a second of thinking, you ask sweetly, “Do they have cheese fries?”

“They have every disgusting, greasy sports food you could ever want,” he confirms. “I’ll be right back with some goodies.”

You occupy yourself by playing social butterfly, introducing yourself to everyone you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. When Park returns, he takes a second to admire you running around spreading your sunshine. Then you return to his side and squeal when you see a mountain of loaded cheese fries that make your mouth water in the best way.

Before sitting down to share them with you, Park shoves a folded garment into your arms. “Put this on. I won’t be able to focus on the game if you’re shivering next to me the whole time.”

“Aw, Bren, thank you.” Your voice borders on a whimper as you unfold the classic lacer pullover, black with yellow and tan bars around the lower hem and arms, the iconic penguin himself at the center of the chest. “Just let me know how much I owe you for it – at least for half.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up; it’s a gift.”

“Okay, thank you so much, that’s so sweet, but the suggestion to shut up is incredibly offensive given I disclosed my word vomit diagnosis to you,” you reply seriously, glaring at him.

Park clutches his chest and tells you, “I apologize for making light of your vulnerability with me.”

“I forgive you because of the cheese fries.” You examine the back of the thick, cozy hoodie and observe, “Crosby. Is he your favorite? Or just the cheapest sweater?”

Park smirks (it’s the most expensive sweater) and replies, “Sid the Kid. Best player Pittsburgh’s ever had. Best player in the league, if you ask anyone with a brain. Rumor has it he’s retiring soon; I think that’ll be my first true heartbreak.”

You balk at the idea. “You’ve never had your heart broken? I get my heart broken ten times a month.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You go on that many dates?”

“No, no, no, no dates,” you quickly reply. Too quickly. A little desperately. “But it breaks my heart when I see sad puppy commercials or old people eating alone at restaurants or trailers for romantic dramas at the movies. One time I cried because I could only find one of my favorite socks. I tried and I tried but the second one was just…gone. I couldn’t look at the single one without getting so sad it was hard to-”

“Team introduction’s starting, then the national anthem,” he interrupts gently. Reluctantly. Like he’s actually invested in your rambling. “Put a lid on the word vomit for ten minutes and I’m all yours for a full sock eulogy.”

You giggle and salute as the whole stadium stands. “Yes, sir.”

He rolls his shoulders and pretends that doesn’t go straight to his dick. When you cheer extra loud for Sidney Crosby as he skates to center, jumping a tiny bit like your smile is too big to hold in your body, Park damn near swoons. He wants to sling his arm around your waist and pull you into him, to kiss the top of your head, to, fuck, put you on his shoulders and parade you around or something. He can’t even name everything he wants to do with and to and for you. It’s agony.

Once the game starts, Park takes care to make sure you understand what’s going on. “That’s Ovechkin. You’re gonna see one hell of a game. He’s Crosby’s biggest rival.”

“So we hate him,” you reply obediently. “Got it.”

He smiles at you and confirms, “Yeah, we hate him. Mostly because he’s really fucking good.”

You nudge him with your shoulder and tease, “That’s why people hate you, so it’s good company.”

He barks out a laugh. “Is that why?”

“That or because you never show off that handsome smile.”

With a pout, he counters, “I smile plenty.”

“He said, frowning.”

“I’ll smile when the Pens win,” he promises.

But, despite his best efforts, he does, actually, get caught smiling before the end of the game. In a big, obnoxious way. After the end of the second period, with the game tied 1-1, you watch the kiss cam flying around the arena with dopey heart eyes so precious Brendon can’t rip his eyes away from you. It’s too cute of an expression not to memorize.

You don’t notice he’s staring, too wrapped up in loving to see people in love, until his face lights up the big screen. You’re so shocked that you don’t process just how bright and intent his eyes are, his lips soft and slightly upturned, everything about his expression and posture screaming ‘god, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ It’s the kind of expression kiss cam operators gravitate toward; only men who adore their girls look like that.

Before he can even truly realize that it’s you and him on screen, his eyes widening, you grab him and plant a big fat shimmery lip gloss kiss on his cheek. Then you grin, following it up by blowing a kiss and winking to the camera.

And Brendon Park smiles wide enough to power the whole arena, the apples of his cheek glowing neon pink and he drops his eyes and shakes his head in delight.

The video is immediately saved and sent to the ED group chat by none other than Trinity Santos, naturally. One of the nurses proceeds to forward it to the nurses chat, where it makes its way to the ortho chat. By the time the camera even pans away, the moment has been forever cemented in PTMC history as the first time Park the Shark has smiled earnestly – innocently, even – in front of his coworkers.

Only the whoops, cheers, and laughs from your nearby ED coworkers drops him back onto earth from cloud nine. Park frowns as he rubs his cheek with a napkin, pouting, “You got lipgloss on my face.”

“What was I supposed to do?” You gesture to Trinity and Whitaker, who are pumping their fists in their air victoriously. “Leave my adoring fans hanging?”

With a sheepish wave in their direction to get them to fuck off, he mutters, “I think you’ve permanently damaged my tough guy reputation.”

But you just reply in a sing-sony voice, “You didn’t have to blush.”

“Involuntary response to relevant stimulus.”

“Whatever you say, big guy.”

If he’s honest with himself, his smile isn’t half as bright when the Penguins win an hour later. It only warms back up to critical heat when you wrap him in a hug, gleefully jumping up and down as the puck hits the net right as the buzzer goes off. He’d kiss you for real if you weren’t surrounded by the PTMC staff.

Still, with your arms around the back of his neck, he can’t resist doing something. So he keeps it simple and asks, “It’s been a while since those cheese fries; want to grab dinner with me?”

When you say yes, his heart sings.

After the hockey game, there’s a definite shift in your friendship with Brendon. It’s more playful. Less guarded. The two of you grab dinner together after your shifts whenever Park doesn’t have a late surgery and, if you miss out on dinner, he insists on coffee in the morning. He tells you about his personal life and you do the same, not that it’s hard on your end. Gradually, you start to notice the differences that everyone else in the ED picked up on months and months ago. The way his face goes from hardened to soft when he sees you entering a room. The way his texts have emojis instead of periods. The way he accepts your hugs instead of turning them into handshakes.

Right when you’ve gotten up your confidence to actually ask him out, you overhear him and Robby talking in hushed tones inside Park’s office. The door’s cracked and you’d come up specifically to ask him to go out with you in a few days on Saturday because you both actually have a weekend off.

With an X-Ray in hand, Robby pushes, “Are you sure you can’t do the revision yourself on Sunday? I know you’re not scheduled to be here, but the family trusts you now, and it might be-”

“I told you, man, I’m surprising my girlfriend on Sunday. I’ve been sitting on these ballet tickets for weeks already and I don’t do shit like that,” Park tells him sternly. No room for argument. “You’re in good hands with Torres; she’s as good as me any day – maybe better since people actually like her.”

You don’t wait for Robby’s response. Losing your ability to breathe, you scamper to the nearby staircase and start stamping your way down to the ED. Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces. No, a million. They fall down the stairs like glass, so heavy you’re surprised you can’t hear them echoing.

Stopping just shy of the ED entrance, you tuck yourself away underneath the staircase to catch your breath, trying not to let yourself cry. Park’s just one of those guys, you figure. Guys with ultra-secure girlfriends who don’t care if they have female friends who drool all over their biceps. Guys who don’t mention their ultra-secure girlfriends because they know what they have at home and they probably don’t even realize you’re flirting because they’re so enamored with their great, successful, probably gorgeous girlfriend who knows exactly what she’s doing in bed and always satisfies him and-

There are the tears.

Feelings of inadequacy and sadness well up and spill over. It’s hard to keep your sniffles and sobs quiet enough not to draw attention when all you want is to ugly sob over a tub of ice cream and your favorite movie. Only one more hour in your shift. You can make it. Right?

Upstairs, you hear the door squeak open and heavy footsteps traipse down toward you. Familiar footsteps. Of course. He probably saw you running away from his office and is coming to find you because you have the luck of a worm after a rainstorm.

When Park comes closer, he spots your elbow sticking out from behind the staircase. Hiding. You’re still crying, unable to stop yourself until you get it all out. Silently, yes, but with puffy eyes and tiny whimpers and sniffles that escape every once in a while. Tucked up underneath the staircase, you blot at your cheeks with the sleeve of your daisy-patterned turtleneck.

Rage devours Brendon’s insides. He beelines for you and demands with a level of anger in his eyes you’ve never seen before, “What’s wrong? Did someone make you cry?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You try a shaky smile and wipe your face again even though more tears just fall in their wake. “Just, um, I’m on my period and I’m emotional.”

Which isn’t not true. It’s the last day or two and you are emotional. It’s definitely not helping the situation. Park’s a little taken aback you admitted that so freely, but he’s a doctor, dammit, so he doesn’t let it faze him. Instead he offers, “Okay, well, um, do you, ah, do you need anything? I have some ibuprofen in my office if-”

You start crying harder, ugly sobs now at how nice he’s being when he just unintentionally and unknowingly turned you into a 12-year-old girl having her first heartbreak.

Park stammers, unsure how to deal with this situation. “Okay, ah, maybe just a hug, then?”

You nod ardently and he pulls you close with his strong arms. You nestle your face in his chest and breathe deep. If this is the closest you’re gonna get to having him, you’re gonna milk it for all it’s worth. With your nose pressed to his muscles as you start to calm down, you whimper, “You smell really good.”

Still tentative, Brendon murmurs, “It’s Dior. My mom bought it for me.”

Then you start crying even more.

That night, after making some lazy excuse to Brendon for why you can’t get dinner like usual, you curl up on your couch and vow to set some darn boundaries with the guy. You’re only going to get yourself hurt if you indulge in dinners and coffees and stolen gazes and elevator conversations. So you put his messages on silent, only returning them when you actually have a second instead of carving out time. You make a point of ducking into other rooms when you know he’s coming down for a consult, ignoring the desperate calls for Sharkbait from your hapless coworkers.

And by the time you’re clocked out on Friday night, you almost feel better about the situation. Well, that’s a lie. You actually don’t feel better at all. If anything, you feel much, much worse because you don’t have your best friend to hang out with anymore. You’re going to have to resort to drinks with the Pittlings if you don’t find another attending soon.

But at least you have the weekend to wallow.

Walking to your bus stop with Celine Dion blasting in your ears, you try to focus on the pretty sunset and the wins of the shift instead of letting your brain drift to-

Fuck.

Brendon’s standing at your bus stop with his stance wide and his arms crossed like a bodyguard, forearms looking extra delectable in the sunset. He’s not a hallucination from your lovesick mind nor a hologram designed to trip you up on the way home.

You scurry up to him with averted eyes and ask, “What are you doing here? You drive a Rolls-Royce.”

“Yeah, and that Spectre is my damn baby, but you take the bus when you’re ignoring my offer for rides. So here I am.” His eyes drill through your forehead and your resolve. “Can we talk now?”

Weakly, you mutter back, “My bus is in five minutes.”

“You’re not taking the bus. I’m driving you.” The firmness of his voice makes your knees wobble. He nods over his shoulder toward the small park next to the hospital. “We’re talking. Come on.”

Then he takes your hand – you want to throw up – and leads you through the park entrance to a shaded spot under a tree where the light makes his chiseled features agonizingly beautiful. Like a fucking Roman marble sculpture. He doesn’t wait for you to say anything, instead taking charge and launching in, “What’s going on with you? Why have you been ignoring me the last few days? If I did something to hurt you, tell me and I’ll fix it. I know I’m a dumbass about the feelings stuff sometimes, a lot of the time, but I’m not going to mess shit up with you, so you have to let me know what I need to do better.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” you whimper. You hate how pathetic you sound. How downtrodden and heartbroken. But Brendon looks hurt, too, which makes you feel ten times as bad. So you rush out a hasty version of the truth, “I came up to your office on Wednesday to ask you on a date this weekend, but then- then I heard you telling Robby about your girlfriend who you’re surprising on Sunday and it just, like, crushed me so bad even though I know it was so silly for me to think I’d ever have a chance with someone like you in the first place since you’re this sexy strong surgeon and I’m so not but I thought maybe in the last couple months-”

“Woah, pipsqueak, hey.” Brendon cups your cheek in his hand to cut you off once the shock of your words wears off. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Unable to meet his eyes, you start to feel the tears coming. Dammit. You stare at your pink sneakers – the same ones you were wearing when the two of you met, you realize – and let them fall to the ground. After a minute, you manage to admit, “I just- I don’t think I can be this close to you if you have a girlfriend. It’s great that she’s so cool about you having female friends, but I’m just so sensitive and I know that’s not your fault but-”

“Hold on.” Brendon places both hands on your shoulders, staring at you like you’re an alien making first contact. Baffled beyond his wildest dreams, he explains slowly, “You’re my girlfriend.”

Between sniffles and shaky breaths, you whimper out, unable to process anything, “Huh?”

“My girlfriend. Who I’m surprising on Sunday. That would be you.”

Now it’s your turn to go catatonic, eyes wide and shimmery. “What are you talking about?”

“I asked you out to dinner after the hockey game,” he tells you, exasperated in the cutest way you’ve ever seen. Like you’re dumb but like maybe he’s also dumb. “I paid for your dinner. I insisted you get dessert. The whole thing. And we- Sweetheart, what do you think all the dinners we eat together are? Why else would I always be inviting you for coffee? Why would I always pay? I don’t just dump a couple hundred bucks a week on casual coworkers.”

Starting to feel silly instead of sad, you cover your laugh and protest, “I don’t know; I thought you were being friendly! You make $500,000 a year; you should be paying for all your friends’ coffees!”

“$650,000, actually, I have a sub-specialty in pediatric surgery,” he replies as though you wouldn’t drop your panties right here in the park. “More importantly, I am the least friendly person in the entire hospital. Maybe the entire city.” He runs a hand through his hair and replies a bit bashfully, “I kind of figured you like that about me or we wouldn’t be dating.”

The last two months recontextualize in your head in rapid succession. Little moments appear lit up by neon lights that blare, HEY DUMBASS! Brendon tied your shoes last week instead of telling you they were loose, dropping down on his knees right outside the ED where anyone could see just to make sure you wouldn’t trip. He always takes your backpack from your shoulders before walking you to the parking garage and opening the door of his gorgeous navy blue sedan for you. Even the way he looked at you at the hockey game.

God, you’re an idiot.

With your lips parted and your eyes rapidly blinking, you come up with a new protest: “You’ve never even tried to kiss me, Brendon. What the fuck? You should be kissing me all the time! You could’ve been jumping my bones ever since the hockey game; that would’ve made things pretty clear to me!”

“Jumping your bones?” He suppresses a laugh since you’re still flustered. He just kind of scoffs and explains with a shrug, “I guess I’m still old-school about that. A gentleman. I wasn’t picking up signals that you wanted me to, y’know, make a big move. Figured we should take it slow. I mean, you’re new to Pittsburgh, you’ve had some big life changes. And I have a history of being too, ah, too intense for some women. I didn’t want to mess that up with you.”

“That’s actually really sweet, Bren,” you reply, sniffling back tears. Waving a hand in front of your face to cool down your burning cheeks, you pinch your eyebrows together and point out, “Okay, well, then we never did, like, a ‘what are we?’ talk.”

“That’s because I’m 38 years old,” he replies bluntly. “When I’m with my woman, she has my full attention. My devotion. Everything. I don’t need to have that talk.”

My woman. The phrase makes you feel kinda bubbly like soda. You smack him on the chest and poke him, “Clearly you do, dummy!”

After you nudge him, Park catches your hand in his, fingers enveloping yours. Fuck, his hands are so big and sturdy. Then his eyes soften and he kisses your fingers. He leans down slightly to make better eye contact. “Okay, I’ll have that talk if you want it.” Crystal clear, blue eyes positively sparkling with amusement and adoration, he asks, “Would you like to be my very, very official girlfriend?”

You let out an absolute squeal. It’s delighted and silly and so cute his stomach turns. God, how did a girl like you get your claws in him? When you throw your arms around his neck and he spins you around, he doesn’t care why or how. He just cares that the first words out of your mouth are, “Yes, of course, obviously.” You nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder, feet barely touching the ground, and murmur against his ear, “This is my favorite night ever.”

“You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, princess,” he assures as he sets you down on your own balance. Then he holds your face in his palm and finally bends down to kiss you properly.

But you stop him with your pointer finger in his lips, his eyes widening. “No, no, no, I can’t have our first kiss be when I’m all puffy and snotty from crying.”

He gives a pretend growl but concedes, “Fair enough. Whatever you want. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

Before he turns away, though, you step on your very tippy toes (and then some) and kiss his forehead before asking so sweetly, “How about you come over tomorrow? I know we already have plans Sunday – by the way, I really love the ballet, so good job – but maybe we should have a first date that I know is a first date beforehand?”

“Yeah, of course,” he replies wistfully, still feeling your lips on his skin. On his thick fucking skull. “I’ll go anywhere you ask me.”

Like you asked, Brendon knocks on your door at 3PM sharp. You promised to entertain him and make him dinner and he could absolutely care less about any of the details beyond getting to be with you like he craves. He’d agonized over what to wear to an embarrassing extent, nearly caving and texting his mother for her approval. But that would be a fate worse than death, so he settles on dark jeans rolled at the ankle and a black tee because a little old lady told him he looked hunky when he wore them to the pharmacy a few weeks ago.

You answer the door wearing nothing but the oversized Penguins sweater he bought you, a pair of panties he can barely see under it, and knee-high socks.

Park’s pupils dilate.

In that one look, you can finally see why they call him Shark. He’s a predator latching onto you, ready to devour you alive. You take a step back and he steps forward like you’re pulling him by a string attached to his gut. He doesn’t even notice himself closing and locking the door, too fixated on the expanse of your legs and the Pittsburgh Penguins logo on your chest. He tentatively puts one hand on your waist and sighs reverently, “Yup, this is the singular sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You look away from him, bashful under his praise: “Well, y’know, I wanted to surprise my boyfriend since he’s planning on surprising me tomorrow.” Then your attempt at a sultry voice goes away and is replaced by your usual glittery one when you see that he’s carrying a bouquet of pastel pink, soft orange, and angel white gerberas in the hand not touching you. “Brenny, did you get me flowers?”

‘Brenny’ might be too far, but he can’t bear to tell you that. You could call him anything and he’d accept it. He lifts the flowers up and offers them to you. “Um, yes. Is that still romantic or is it really, really lame now?”

“Still romantic,” you assure him with misty eyes, taking the bouquet and skipping away toward the kitchen.

Brendon toes off his shoes and follows you into the house, not surprised to find the place decked out in pastel colors and soft fabrics and dreamy artwork. You dig through your cabinets to find a porcelain vase you thrifted years ago and arrange the flowers inside of it.

As you place them on the windowsill, you give him a soft gaze, softer than any he’s been on the receiving side of. “This is the sweetest thing any man’s ever done for me.”

Brendon pulls you into a warm embrace, holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger, and says, “Baby, you’re about to have your bar raised, because flowers are the least you deserve.” When your lips part into a shy smile, he asks, “Can I kiss you now?”

You nod eagerly and rock up onto your toes, tilting your chin to get as close to him as possible. Brendon’s gentle, boyish smile makes your heart pound in your throat in the moments before he closes the gap. He takes a second to admire the slopes of your face when you’re gazing up at him like he means something.

And then he kisses you.

It’s eager and bright, the way you kiss after prom night. You have to fight not to smile when he holds your face between both hands, so much desire in his touch that you can feel his resolve to take it slow with you melting away.

Suddenly, at the sound of you giggling for only a second, Brendon’s arms loop around your back. Before you know it, he’s lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You hop up, knowing he’ll catch you, and lock your legs around his hips. When you feel his smooth, cold belt buckle against your panties, you gasp out a moan at the contact.

Brendon chuckles and buries his forehead in the crook of your neck. He groans quietly, “Baby, you can’t make all those little sounds or you’re gonna kill me.”

Breathless, you tease back, “Then you definitely can’t call me baby.”

He smirks, kisses you again, and asks in a lower and more pointed voice, “Where’s your bedroom, baby?”

“It’s right upstairs; if you wanna put me down, I can-”

He shakes his head and keeps you balanced firmly in his arms, walking back toward the staircase. “No point in having these muscles if my girl ever has to touch the ground again.”

As he carries you up the stairs so easily that you’re turning into a person made more of giggles than anything else, you ask him, “Are you gonna carry me around from patient to patient forever?”

“If that’s what you want,” he replies with a laugh as he pushes through your bedroom door. Guiding you down onto the bed, which you’ve meticulously made, Brendon murmurs against the pulse point just beneath your ear, “I’ll give you everything you want, kitten.”

At the tender pet name, you can’t help but moan, encouraging him to touch you as he pins you to the bed just by virtue of how big his body is. He pulls back and gazes down at you so gently. Your heartbeat is slow again, comfortable, safe, but the heat between your legs is undeniable.

Brendon lowers himself down to kiss you once more. The energy between you shifts in that kiss, like he’s become painfully aware of being in your bedroom, your body pliant beneath him, your eyes full of trust and adoration he hasn’t experienced in years. His kiss is slow and sweet and simple. He shifts onto his side so one of his hands can cradle your cheek while the other gingerly takes your waist. You can tell he’s being painfully careful with you, his gentle touch revealing a certain level of fear – that he’ll hurt you or break you or scare you off.

So you reach forward and twine your fingers in the short hair at the base of his neck, gently scratching his scalp, and press your body against his. One leg thrown over his hip so that he can feel the heat of your barely clothed cunt. You arch your back and wiggle a tiny bit so that his hand almost has to move to your ass. He chuckles into the kiss and that makes you whimper. But he doesn’t do more, doesn’t grab or push or demand.

You pull back an inch, stare at him seriously, and murmur, “You’re not gonna break me, Bren.”

Mischief flickers in his blue eyes. He knows perfectly well what you’re asking, even if he’s tentative to give it to you. “What are you trying to say, sweetheart? Use your words.”

Mimicking his own voice, you bat your lashes and offer, “What’s the point in having those muscles if you don’t throw your girl around a little? C’mon, Shark, I know you’re not a shy lover.” You sit up just enough to reach down and lift the hockey sweater up and over your head. Underneath, you’ve got a black lace unlined bra, filled out only by the weight of your breasts, and it’s absolutely sinful. “Touch me like you mean it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, this is one hell of a surprise,” he rasps as he grabs your tits through the fabric, a rough sting buzzing through your body. The sight of his hands against the lace flips the switch in his mind and he’s hunting for blood in the water. “I didn’t know you owned anything black.”

As he pinches your nipples, mean and certain, the fabric of the lace adding a scratchy friction, you gasp, “It’s a special occasion.”

“Yeah?” His hands run down toward your thighs, kneading the thickness of your waist and hips with a greed that approaches true obsession. You lose the ability to think when he bends down and bites the side of your waist, his teeth quickly becoming less and less gentle as your moans get louder and louder. “What’s so special?”

You can only whimper as he roughly manhandles you upwards so that he can unhook your bra, using only one hand. Fucking surgeons. All you can think about is what else those hands of his can do. You’ve noticed how thick his fingers are a million times and now you might actually get to feel them the way you want.

Brendon can see the lust laid bare over you, chest rising and falling faster, eyes wide and waiting, skin prickled with goosebumps. Hooking his fingers beneath the edges of your panties and pulling them down, he teases, “Out of words now, pretty girl?”

You take five seconds to breathe, swallow hard, and order, “Take your clothes off.”

He throws his head back and grins. “Good choice of words.”

While you prop yourself on your elbows for a better view, Brendon steps off the bed and tugs his shirt off first. He even does that thing buff guys do where he pulls it off by the back, his arm muscles offensively large as he reveals his abs. His muscles are less defined than they are sturdy, built not like an Abercrombie model but more like a lumberjack or, y’know, a fridge. The way his obliques cut down into his hips is downright pornographic.

You let out a long breath. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Perfectly and completely aware, he gives you a hunky grin. “What? Something wrong?”

You bite your lower lip and physically try to stop yourself from staring, but you just keep failing. Because he’s your boyfriend. Sitting on the edge of the bed now, gradually drawing closer to him like a magnet, you attempt to tease, “Are you always this much of a cocky bastard about your hot bod?”

“My hot bod?” His hands go to his belt and he slowly removes it. Then, once he’s stepped out of his jeans and you’re blinded by the outline of his, yes, proportionally long and thick cock against his black boxer briefs, he says, “Yeah, I always am.”

Eyes greedily drinking down every inch of his body and imagining all the ways you could play with it, you manage to mumble out, “You should be.”

God, he even makes taking off his underwear hot. It must be those damn thighs. Or the everything else. With your eyes trained squarely on his fat cock, mouth actually watering, Brendon steps toward and lifts your chin. “Like what you see, princess?”

With that same confident smirk on his lips, he takes your small hand and wraps it around his shaft. Suddenly you get the whole ‘beer-can-sized-dick’ thing you’ve read in way too much erotica because you can’t close your hand around his girth. “Oh.”

“What? Bigger than you thought? You intimidated?”

“Honey, I think everyone you’ve ever met knows you have a big dick.” Your eyes flick up to his playfully. “And I’m definitely not intimidated.”

“Really?”

“You’ve never intimidated me. Not like you do everyone else.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m so into you.” As you smile coyly, Brendon thrusts between your fingers, watching every miniscule change in your expression – which is rapidly growing less patient. He cups your cheek with his hand and asks, “Want a taste?”

You open your mouth. Obedient, immediate. When his tip touches your tongue, you eagerly lap up a sticky drop of precum and then take him between your lips. Brendon has to grip your headboard hard to tolerate the sight of you sucking him with such a precious, adoring, sweet look in your eyes. It feels like you’re thanking him with your mouth, making the prettiest damn noises for him to memorize and play on repeat.

When you lift your hand to gently tug and roll his balls, Brendon hangs his head and groans, loud and low, gravelly in a way that tickles the back of your mind. “Fuck, baby, that’s- that’s perfect.” Your happy hum in reply makes his toes curl into the carpet. “Jesus, you drive me crazy, you know that? I’ve never been this obsessed with someone.”

You pull off him and beam, lips shiny and slightly swollen now. “Really?”

Brendon pushes you back on the bed and crawls on top of you, easily maneuvering you so that your head’s back on the pillows and his hands are on either side of your face. He kisses you hard, claiming, and says, “It’s actually become a huge problem for me. You’re all I can think about.”

You giggle breathlessly and ask, “Is that a complaint?”

“Mmm. There’s that little laugh of yours. That’s how you got me,” he groans before kissing you again. “I made some stupid goddamn joke during surgery and the whole team was exhausted but you laughed. Just like that. And I was done for.”

You cover your face, embarrassed and delighted all at once, and remember, “Then I said you have a cutting-edge sense of humor.”

“And I thought that was funny,” he goes on with a fond chuckle. His hands have never stopped roaming over your body, playing with your breasts or digging into your hips. “You’re so gorgeous and perfect I thought that was funny. You don’t even realize how deep you’ve got your hooks in me, baby.”

Biting your lip, you try to come up with something to say to match his sudden deep sweetness, but he stops you from being able to think at all. His lips drag down your neck, biting and kissing in equal measure until you’re squirming and bucking under him. Then, just beneath your ear, he growls, “Can I leave marks?”

The sound you make is nothing short of pathetic. You clutch the back of his head, tugging his hair a bit to push his teeth against your neck, and whine, “Please.”

“Yeah?” He’s grinning, now, but he can’t bear to let you see. “Want the whole world to know you’re mine now?” You whimper and nod, tilting your head to the side to give him better access.  He murmurs, “Good girl.”

Fuck, you’re soaked.

As Brendon sucks hard over your pulse, branding you with the dark shape of his kiss, his right hand goes between your legs, pushing them apart. Two of his thick fingers dip between your folds to collect your wetness before smearing it over your clit. “All this for me? You’re easy to work up.”

You laugh and tuck your forehead into his bicep. “Are you surprised?”

“Not even a little,” he chuckles. Making sure to kiss you and hold you as his fingers work firm circles around your clit, Brendon purrs, “I’ve thought about all the sounds you must make a thousand times. How you must be so enthusiastic to be a good girl. You’re so easy for me to read; I knew I could get you off better than anyone else.”

You nod against his arm and moan when he finds just the right tempo on your clit, his fingers ridiculously skilled. “Just like that.”

“Whatever you need, sweet girl,” he assures, listening to you and keeping his fingers exactly the way they are. Methodical.

“Brendon,” you gasp as your pussy pulses wantingly around nothing, “I really need you to fuck me.”

“I love the enthusiasm, kitten, but I’m not gonna hurt you,” he replies simply. Reluctantly. There’s a tenderness to his voice that shouldn’t fit with his harsh attitude and masculine features, but it does. It’s him, beneath everything he shows the rest of the world. He drops down between your legs and nuzzles loving kisses over your sensitive inner thighs, worshipping into your skin, “If I’m gonna fuck you to sleep tonight, then I can’t leave you sore from the first time. Let me make you cum before I’m inside you, kitten. Can you be good and do that?”

With your eyebrows knitted together and sweat on your brow, you nod and whine, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” he tells you. It’s insane that a man being offensively cocky with all those smirks and chuckles is so hot. He leans back, sitting between your legs, and begins to plunge his fingers inside of you. Just his two middle fingers have to be as thick as any dildo you’ve used before. He bends at the waist so he can keep biting and sucking on your body, the most brutal on your nipples but sure to get ample coverage over your waist and stomach and hips. When he feels you clamping down tight around him, the pleasure so much you can’t come up with any response besides your body’s natural reactions, he teases lightly, “Careful, baby, my hands are my livelihood.”

Eyes large and glassy, you breathe, “Sorry about that.”

Brendon’s thumb goes to your clit and your walls tighten again. This time, he doesn’t tease you. He works your clit intently, trying to find what he’d found before, and doesn’t rest until he’s right there. Your delicious gasp gives him all the cue he needs. With his thumb flat and firm, he rubs your clit in time with his fingers curling back toward himself. His eyes focus on your expression, each detail, and he’s addicted to your every sound and twitch.

“There you go,” he praises while your pussy tightens up slowly, threatening to snap into sparkles. “That’s right. Just trust me. All I want is to make you feel good.

Your orgasm bursts like waves against a hull, building and building until it crashes over you, rocking your gravity and stealing your breath. Brendon’s there with you through it, his blue eyes a lighthouse, his stupid smirk your shore. His free hand holds you down by the hip as he lets you enjoy the fluttery aftershocks, not quite forcing you into overstimulation but not letting up until you’ve had as much as you can take.

When you’re finally completely breathless and satiated, Brendon slowly withdraws his fingers and then licks them clean. He leans down for a moment and laps at your inner thighs, tasting your tart juices and salty skin. Your hips buck instinctively when he presses one tiny kiss to your clit and then laughs at your reaction, breath ghosting down your hot cunt. With his slick-wet hand, he fists his cock and asks, “How do you want me, sweetheart?”

You take a few seconds to think and admire the view before asking, “Can I ride you? Whenever I’ve fantasized about us having sex, that’s what I’m doing.”

“You can do literally whatever you want to me, baby,” he reminds you as he reclines on the bed next to you. He steals one more kiss from you before you start moving to your knees, collecting your balance. “What exactly do you fantasize about?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you reply as you climb into his lap, hands going straight to grabbing his pecs with your nails digging deliciously into the flesh, “but you have these giant fucking tits I’d like to fondle.” Then, as he laughs, you rub your sloppy cunt up and down his shaft, watching his eyes close and hearing his breath go shaky with lust. “I wanna see your arms when you hold onto my hips and thrust up into me. Wanna feel how strong your thighs are underneath me.”

Brendon shakes his head and snickers, “Wow, I had no idea how much you were going to objectify my muscles.”

“Shut up; yes, you did.”

You roll your eyes and sink down on him, nice and slow, savoring the way he has to resist slamming up to meet you.

He groans, hands finding purchase on the curve of your waist, “Yeah, you’re right.”

You’re completely forgotten how to talk. The stretch of him is divine. Everything you’d imagined and then some. You have to be careful not to get too eager too fast because his length is definitely enough to bruise your cervix if you aren’t gentle with yourself while your pussy adjusts to him. Which is sad, considering the only thing you’ve ever wanted in life all of a sudden is to bounce on Park the Shark’s huge cock until you pass out.

Instead, you slowly rock back and forth, your hands flush on his pecs, with your eyes pinched shut and your mouth falling open. Brendon reaches up to hold your chin, forcing you to open your eyes, and checks softly, “Too much? We can slow down and-”

“Shut up,” you order breathily. He smiles, puts his hands behind his head a moment, and enjoys the view of you being a tiny bit bossy. “Feels so fucking good, I promise. Not too much. Just- just- Jesus.”

“Well, they do say he was hung.”

Your laugh is addictively adorable, sounding almost sleepy from the enormous effort of acclimating to him. “You’re so awful.”

Dragging his hands down and resting them on your ass, he coos back, “And you’re sooooo into it.”

When he gives you a quick upward thrust, your response turns into a squeak, “Yeah.”

From there, Brendon helps you out. He knows he’s not exactly an easy man to take in this position – beyond the size of his cock, his thighs and glutes are so well-developed that your knees don’t even reach the mattress on either side of his hips – so he holds you in place and rolls his hips up into yours, slow and precise.

Once he can tell you’re getting comfortable, breaths easy and moans tumbling out again, he murmurs, “How about you touch yourself?”

Eyebrows knitted together, you sigh, “Already so much, Bren.”

Purposefully missing the point, he sighs back, “I guess I can do it for you, princess.”

When his thumb goes to your clit, your nails dig into his chest. Mean pink half moons rise in their wake, but you can’t stop yourself – and he doesn’t mind. So stretched out, your pussy pulses more than it clamps down, each contraction a fluttery thing that’s somehow more intense than the last. He’s grinning to himself as he feels your orgasm approaching fast. You’re so relaxed with him that he can control your pleasure with the ease of a decades-long lover. He’s going to have to teach you to be less trusting, maybe teach you to fight, but right now all he wants is for you to yield to him completely.

You cum with a long, drawn-out whine, sweat shiny on your hairline, and Brendon has to take over completely as your thighs twitch and falter. It’s impossible to hold yourself up through the roiling pleasure that overtakes you in a deluge. Your wetness drips down his balls and onto your bed and you’re not sure you’ve ever been this soaked from how much a partner’s turned you on and worked you up.

“Aw, my sweet baby,” he purrs as you fight to stay upright, your thighs burning for relief in the wake of your second orgasm, “trying so hard to keep up.”

While you let out tiny, cute whimpers, Brendon pulls out slowly and stands up, ignoring your complaining whine at the lack of contact. He goes to your bedside table and muses, “Let’s see what we have here.” Your cheeks burn as he thumbs through your admittedly maybe-too-ample sex toy collection. Taking out your baby blue silicone mini wand, Brendon grins. “Hot, young, single doctor – knew I’d find some goodies in here.”

You’re totally gone by now, anything but your desire to be with him gone out the window, and he can tell. It’s his favorite thing in the world. When he says, “get on your knees for me,” your brain is so mush for him that you do it without a single thought or word, presenting your ass beautifully with a placid smile on your lips.

Brendon yanks your hips back so that he can stand at the foot of your bed – which means he can use all his strength to handle you. Lining up the thick, angry red tip, he tenderly rubs your ass and says, “Tell me if you want more.”

All you can do is nod. Usually he’d press you for words just to hear you beg, but the eye contact you make is full of so much pleading that there’s no need for further clarity. You really are so sensitive; there are tears of pleasure and need brimming at your waterline.

“Don’t worry that sweet little head of yours,” he practically growls as his cock slowly fills you deeper than he’d been able to get without being in total control, “I’m gonna take care of you, princess. Gonna keep this pretty pussy stuffed. Gonna make sure you get everything you need. I promise.”

Gripping your pillow tight as you once again adjust to his thickness, you nod and sniffle, “Thank you, Bren.”

“There she is,” he teases as he starts to slam into you. Each time he bottoms out, it comes with a weak, needy cry. “That’s my sensitive girl. Love that about you.”

“That I’m a crybaby?”

He picks up speed at the word and all it means to him. You’re never prettier than with tears running down your cheeks, making your eyes shiny and your lips wobbly. “You know how much of a confidence boost it is making you cry because of how good you feel?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, princess, I fucking love it.” Brendon flicks the vibrating wand onto its lowest setting and reaching one huge arm around your body to press it to your clit. Your corresponding moan turns into a screaming sob, loud and messy and violently sexy. It’s completely overwhelming and consuming. The way your face contorts from the intensity sends Brendon’s thrusts into overdrive, almost putting all his force into it now. As sweat falls from his forehead onto your back, he urges, “Let it out. Let it all out for me. I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”

And you weep.

The catharsis of his cock christening you takes over. You’ve cried during sex before, yeah (of course), but this is different. It feels like pure relief and connection. Your mind is totally present in your body, feeling every single place of contact where Brendon’s sweating skin slides against yours. The vibrator between your legs is making you shake in his arms, but you trust him to hold you up, to give you what you need, to take you through exactly what he wants to give you.

“C’mon, honey, focus, you can do one more, I promise,” Brendon grunts when he starts to feel your pussy weakly squeezing him again. He didn’t think he could get you to this point your first time together, but, if he can, he’s not going to stop.

He leans over your body, mounting you now, primal and animalistic, and wraps his elbow around your neck. The gesture pulls your cunt tight to him and snaps your head back, forcing you to take a deep breath that lights your brain up. Tears slip constantly out of your eyes and Brendon’s drunk on the sniffles and whimpers and moans that choke out of your thickened throat. You drunkenly kiss his arm as it muffles over your mouth.

Then you bite him.

Brendon’s hips stutter and his balls tighten up. You bite him again and again. And you’re not screwing around with it. Your teeth are ravenous on his flush, cutting in nearly enough to draw blood. You’re so thoughtless that you’re just going for whatever’s been put in front of your mouth; it’s irrelevant that it’s your boyfriend’s flesh.

“There it is,” Brendon groans, the pain of your bites sending him spiraling out into a new height of pleasure. “I can feel it coming on. Don’t you dare hold back, baby. Show me how much you can take. Give me another one and I’ll fill you up. I know what’s what you want, isn’t it?”

You nod without releasing his arm from your mouth. Drool spills from the sides of your lips, mixing with your tears, and you’re hurtling into the orgasm more than it’s welling up within you. The thought that really does it, though, isn’t Brendon’s encouragement or the vibrator unrelentingly stimulating your clit. No. It’s the idea that Brendon’s going to cum inside of you. Even on birth control, it’s a sign that he’s claiming you completely, making you his, being totally naked with you in every sense.

Bliss blows your brains out like a volcano finally giving into the pressure. Brendon holds you tight against him with his free hand, so tight that his thrusts are short and deep. The final few, he grinds into you, totally enveloped in your cunt, letting himself feel each millimeter as it grabs down on him and milks it out. When his cum coats your walls, both of you collapse onto the bed into gasping breaths.

Brendon kisses and kisses your shoulders while he goes soft inside of your pussy, gently pulling your chew toy away and shaking it out because it fucking kills in the most satisfying way possible. He makes a mental note to buy himself a long-sleeve to wear to work as he admires the egregious display of total horny thoughtlessness from the cutesy, angelic doctor.

He sits up and then murmurs, rubbing your back softly, “I’m gonna carry you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up, okay?”

You nod lazily, eyes half-lidded. You make no effort to help him, which only makes him smile to himself and shake his head. He’d do anything for you already. Cradling you like a baby, he pushes open the bathroom door with his foot and hits the light with his elbow. He’s absolutely done for. Setting you down on the toilet, he orders, “Go pee, baby. No UTIs allowed.”

Under normal circumstances, you definitely wouldn’t be able to pee in front of your boyfriend and you would definitely be mortified by the mere thought. But you’re so relaxed. Your whole brain is like a nice cozy hot tub, warm and bubbly and nothing to worry about. So you do as he instructs without question, some part of your brain acknowledging that he’s correct.

Brendon leans down on his knees, a posture that would be condescending in most situations but is nothing but adoring right now, and suggests, “Now, you said you were gonna cook, but how does delivery on my tab sound? We can get pizza.”

You give a hazy smile and nod. “That’s so nice, Brenny.”

“We’re gonna have to talk about that nickname,” he chuckles, booping the tip of your nose.

You pout out your lower lip. “I’m gonna call you whatever I want.”

“Yeah, alright, tough guy.”

“Mmm.” You lean up to kiss him. “Good boy.”

Brendon laughs and then stands up to fiddle with the handles of your shower until he’s happy with the temperature. Then he guides you to your feet and brings you under the water, not too hot or too cold on your over-sensitive skin. You’re glad you went for the house with the rain shower when you moved, both of you fitting comfortably beneath the stream at the same time. For a while, he just holds you, hands roaming up and down your back, as he kisses the top of your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs quietly, barely audible above the running water. “You’re gonna turn me into such a softie.”

You giggle, “Or you’re gonna make me a big mean gym bro.”

Brendon shakes his head and reaches for your shampoo. “Maybe we stick to our current roles.”

“I think they suit us,” you agree as he squirts some into his palm and orders you to turn around. With his fingers working devotion into your scalp, you hum gently under your breath and trust him to hold you up. During the course of the shower, you gradually come back to life. Once you’re sudsing his abs with your lufah, maybe being a touch too thorough by going over every spot with your hands, you lilt,  “You fucked my brains out. I didn’t know that was actually a thing.”

“I did set a high bar for myself,” he concedes with a self-satisfied laugh, “but I’m guessing it’s only gonna get better from here.”

You stand on your toes and kiss him. “Does this mean we’re doing paperwork when we go back to the hospital?”

“I love paperwork,” he tells you, mock serious. He chuckles and whistles, “My first time to HR for something besides another doctor filing a complaint because I hurt their precious feelings by ensuring my patients get the highest quality care possible.”

“Big bad scary Park the Shark,” you agree as you turn off the water. You gently brush his cheek and coo, “My softie.”

Brendon rolls his eyes affectionately, shakes out his hair, and steps out, grabbing a towel and wrapping you up in it before taking one for himself. With a towel hanging low on his hips, he’s scrumptious enough to have your mind wandering toward round two even though your body wouldn’t even consider cooperating for a few more hours.

You head over to the mirror for your moisturizer and catch a glimpse of yourself with clear eyes for the first time since your sex brain turned off. Looking at the myriad of bite marks littered over your body, the flesh swollen and indented, you laugh, “Jesus, now I know why they call you Shark.”

“Yeah?” Park bares his left forearm to you, the one that had been in your face while he destroyed your cunt, to show off an absolute minefield of neon pink bites, some deep enough that they’re bruising already. Your eyes widen with guilt, but he quickly yanks you close and kisses you hard, nothing but lust and gratitude on his lips. He nips your neck and teases, “They’re gonna have to start calling you Sharkette.”

he froze.

still not used to the term or the sound of it for that matter. not even set on paper yet— completely his fault considering he hadn’t signed them— and he hated it. hated how it had become something so absolute before anything was finalized. hated how everyone knew the circumstances and still referred to you as that. even if it was technically true.

it had been over a year since the separation.

the divorce papers only appeared a few months ago. ones he hadn’t signed. which is more likely why you were calling and had been calling.

“tell her I’m in surgery.”

grabbing some paper towels, he wiped his hands off, before tossing them in the bin and leaving. the nurse nodded. having expected him to say that. it’s what he had been saying. an excuse to fall back on because it was available.

he was just always in surgery.

brendon didn't want the divorce. but he’d made it easy for you to give into the idea of it.

a man comitted to his work. always making sure things fit around his schedule because that was his priority. and when you guys got married, you were his priority. even before he put a ring on your finger, he tried to make sure that his job never interfered with his time with you.

it fell inevitable most of the times, considering what he did, but you weren't one to completely call it quits just because he was pulled away. it was his job. he was good at what he did. and he knew it. it was something that always made your eyes roll.

he missed it.

missed you.

he wouldn’t admit it. be it his pride or the overwhelming guilt that kept him from telling you the truth.

but it’s been a year. a little over. and nothing was really the same. he hadn’t been the same.

it’d been like that for a long time. drowning in your guy’s new reality. not even thinking that he wasn’t the only one in the boat. it was selfish. but grief did that to people.

and rather than face the truth, brendon chose to let the boat sink more.

—

he should’ve known you’d show up to his office. he was married to you.

“does surgery really take up that much of your time?”

it was good to see you after what felt like years, even though it had been just a couple of months.

his eyes held yours briefly before looking away.

“you shouldn’t be here.”

the words came out sharper than intended. short. to the point. unattached. it’s usually what everyone else got. but never you.

you didn’t even flinch.

“I shouldn’t but I am. you wanna know why?”

brendons jaw set. His lips pressing tight together as he still refused to look at you. because of course he knew why. didn’t mean he wanted to hear it. 

you blew out a shaky breath when you didn't get an answer. swallowing the lump that began to form in your throat as you nodded your head. trying to choose your words carefully.

“I’ve been calling…” you started off. your voice not as hard as it was when he first walked into the office.

“I know you used to say that even if you weren’t able to pick up, you always made sure to call back,” something between a huff and a laugh escaped you, remembering how adamant he was on answering the phone, and when he couldn’t, he’d find a way to let you know.

“and I keep waiting these days for that to be true again.”

it was sad to think about. and even sadder to admit. your eyes water; wiping before anything could fall.

brendon finally looked at you. the action grabbing his attention. It was always a weakness of his. seeing you cry.

especially when he was the one to cause it.

“I miss him too, you know?” 

It hit like a wave.

and he couldn’t tell what was worse; him hearing it or the way it was said. like in saying it took away whatever was left of your voice. nothing coming out but a broken whisper. 

It was the first time in a year of you bringing it up. and brendon wanted nothing more than to talk about anything else. the divorce. how much you hated him because he wasn’t there for you. anything. just not this.

“He was our son.” you bit your lip as it quivered. “Not yours, not mine– but ours.” you could feel yourself getting angry. bitter.

“It wasn’t just you, you know?” the tears were falling freely by now.

“I was in the same boat too. I still am for gods sake! So I know how you feel, Brendon. I know what it’s like because guess what?” you laugh cynically, “I’m still living it! Okay? And i dont ever think there'll be a day where i’m not.” you looked furious now. devastated.

your eyes glistened as you looked at him. 

his weren’t any better.

hot, angry tears sliding down his cheeks as he shook his head. “he was ours, brendon, and will always be ours, but you,” your finger jutted out at him “have to accept that he’s not here anymore. He’s not. I know you want him to be– I want him to be– but he’s not coming back!”

brendon never yelled. never. especially not to you. and if his voice did ever raise, you were not on the receiving end. guess that was the thing about grief, it brought out the worst of people sometimes.

and you both fell victim to it.

“you think I don’t know that?!” it was like the line broke. “you think I don’t relive it too every day?”

“that wasn’t what I said—” your voice was just as loud. just as sharp.

"I know what you said."

his throat suddenly closed violently. biting the inside of his cheek.

the tone changed. still hard but softer. deveated.

brendon took a breath. wiped a hand down his face and turned his body away. walking around the desk before he leaned his back against the front of it. a couple of feet between you guys.

he looked at you.

a furious look still in your eyes. diluted but there.

you let out a laugh again, wet and choked.

"I think I prefer getting sent to voicemail, though." your words dry. "the nurse, bless her, wasn’t who I was trying to get a hold of.” your finger wiping beneath your eyes.

“poor thing is doing god's work for putting up with us. you especially.”

the movement was faint. it could’ve been missed if you weren’t looking.

the side of his mouth lifting up.

"you never took it off."

it wasn't a question. but an observation. having been watching him. waiting to hear him say something, anything; your eyes had caught something else.

brendon's hand instinctively went to the necklace around his neck. wedding ring hanging off of it. his fingers rubbing the jewelry between his fingers. eyebrows furrowing.

but your head shook.

"your badge." you reiterated. head tipping towards the card clipped to his chest pocket.

"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be wearing it when I'm at work." he said drily. joking.

your eyes narrowing at him. smartass. but before you could reply back with something just as smart, brendon answered. already knowing what you had been referring to initially.

his finger running over the sticker next to his picture. already faded and partially peeled off.

a little fisherman.

it was child-like. cartoonish. one of those stickers you'd get in a variety pack. always ending up with of the same of each or a completely odd number of the others it came with. you wouldn't expect to see it on the badge of orthopedic surgeon. especially if that ortho surgeon was him. considering the nickname he has at the hospital.

it was often commented on by patients. but never the staff. probably because they were too afraid to ask or joke about why park the shark had a kiddy sticker on. if they had seen it, they never said anything. most of them too, specifically upstairs, knew he had a kid.

his thumb rubbing over it as he swallowed.

—

your son thought brendon was secretly a fisherman.

he overheard him being referred to as shark once— when he went with him to work after brendon was called for an emergency consult—and thought it was because dad caught them.

he’d point at everything, after that, everywhere he went and would ask “can you catch that daddy?” and every time, brendon would nod.

a teasing smile on his face as he turned to his boy. “you think I can’t?”

doesn’t matter what it was, where ever it was— brendon could catch it. some physically impossible to even consider it an attempt, but if it made his sons eyes shimmer the way they did each time he asked brendon the famous question, then who was he to take that away. he’d give anything to the little boy.

even if that thing was the moon.

it came up on your guy’s drive home one night. the words falling from his lips as he pointed up at the sky. eyes wide in awe at his finding.

it was apparently following you home.

“can you catch it for me daddy?!” and despite it being past his bedtime, already late, he still managed to find the energy to exclaim. like any kid would. his head turning to look as he watched the moon trail behind. his tiny hand pressed up against the window, cheek squished to the glass— just staring. “you have to catch it!”

“catch what, bud?” there was a furrow between your husbands eyebrows. still trying to grasp the first request.

“the moon.”

your son sounded almost offended that he even had to clarify. already knowing he had a look on his face without even looking behind you to the backseat. he was a lot like you in many ways. but that was all brendon right there.

same eyes, same smile, same unimpressed look anytime someone said something mildly inconvenient— he was his fathers son through and through.

brendon glanced at him in the rearview mirror. his boy still staring out the window. practically vibrating in his car seat.

he caught the moon that night.

—

he laughs wetly.

"I went into work that day not even knowing it was on my badge.”

it made you smile.

brendon noticed everything. nothing ever getting past his eyes. so, when garcia brought it up that day, his eyes immediately narrowed. not wanting to give her any indication that he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

he didn't even realize until later on when it was brought up again. but by you after his shift.

his son had already gone to sleep for the night so he couldn't even question the culprit.

“it makes you seem more approachable. amiable even.” you joked. the sticker barely noticeable to the eye and with it being faded, you really couldn’t tell.

“I’m approachable.”

it was said in such dry seriousness. his eyes finding you as he stared. your eyebrow quirking at his words.

“and I’m the fucking pope.” you snorted, crossing your arms over your chest as your weight fell to one side of your body. one leg favored over the other. hip jutted out.

brendon shrugged. faux nonchalant. a smile threatening to appear.

you felt like you could breathe better. the room a little lighter after being under the current for bit. silence settling over as you both stood across from one another.

“I —” you were interrupted by a knock on the office door. one of the nurses cracking it open, head peeking through.

“Dr. Park, they need you downstairs.”

his eyes glanced over to her before turning back to you. watching a familiar look dawn onto your features.

“I’ll be there.” it was short.

not giving any more to his announcement as she shut the door.

you smiled sadly. straightening up.

“I didn’t come here to argue. I didn’t even come to talk about the divorce papers. I just,” you sighed, head rolling to the side. “—I wanted to make sure you were okay.” the last part whispered out. almost unsure to even admit something like that after being separated.

and you'd never tell him. at least not yet. but you missed him.

“I’ll uh, let you go though. I know how busy you are,” you said walking to the door, “dodging my calls.” giving a quick jab before you leave.

his eyes stare at the spot you were at. a sigh exhaled out through his nose as his pager went off again.

fingers, subconsciously fiddling with the ring hanging off the necklace around his neck.

—

you were always on his mind but after seeing you earlier, it weighed down more. a heavier feeling pressed to his chest as he signed off on a few more charts.

his fingers moving but no longer writing.

he stared blankly at the papers and before he knew what he was doing, brendon picked up his phone and called you.

you answered on the first ring.

"he asked if I could fix him."

you didn't say a word; it wasn’t difficult when that's what he started off with. choosing to let him finish; figuring it was something he needed to get off his chest.

"the day he passed, he asked me.” your chest suddenly felt tight.

brendon's thumb rubbed over the sticker on his badge that was still clipped to his scrubs. eyes staring at the frame sitting on his desk.

his son looked back at him with a smile. big with his two front teeth missing.

it was taken a few months before he passed.

“I didn’t know what to say to him. because what could I say? his dad who is a fisherman, that can catch sharks and catch the moon, is also an orthopedic surgeon who fixes bones—”

your eyes shut immediately at his words. the last of it washing over you. because they weren’t brendons words. they were your sons.

you remembered when he asked what dad did. before he knew of his secret job.

and brendon told him. in bigger words. only for your boy to stare back at your husband with furrowed brows, and in the most obvious tone. “you fix bones?”

“—but can’t fix him.” you could hear him crying on the other side of the phone. “I couldn’t fix him.”

the tears falling quick and quietly as you just let yourself drown in his words. the realization crashing over you.

he thought it was his fault.

“it’s not your fault.” trying to collect yourself as you tell him. “it’s not, brendon— he was sick. and there wasn’t anything we could do. there wasn’t anything anybody could do. I know that’s not something you wanted to hear, or want to hear still for that matter but— you can’t always save them.”

your eyes closing again as you took a breathe.

“you can’t always save them— but you can love them.”

it was the sad reality. but it was true.

“and you did.”

you let out a wistful laugh. the heartbreak evident but still finding joy in the memory.

his head shook as he listened to your cries. seeing how far out in the water you were.

he left you stranded.

"I'm so sorry." he took a deep shaky breath.

"I'm sorry—" his jaw tightened, "I'm so sorry for everything. I'm so sorry." he could hear your cries still. "and i know my apologies are just words. ones I'm saying over the phone for the love of god—”

he scoffs, shaking his head. even if the latter of his confession made you choke out a wet laugh.

brendon was always the first to apologize. always.

and he always did it in person. never wanting to feel like there was something between you guys when he said them.

you guys just cried for a while.

and when you were done, you just sat in the silence that followed. finally able to come up for air after being pulled under far too many times.

brendon hadn’t said a thing in the last few minutes. neither of you had.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” you announced quietly.

you could feel your eyes getting heavy. tired. not wanting to hang up but you knew he had to go. you had to go. you guys could've stayed on the phone, would've, but he had to work in the morning. and so did you.

“I’ll call you back.”

a small smile appearing on your face at his promise.

no longer having to wait anymore.

—

brendon had just finished a surgery.

washing his hands in the sink at the scrub station when one of the nurses came over.

“Uh, Dr. Park?” his eyes briefed up, eyebrow quirked in expectancy.

a new face.

“your wife is on the phone.”

his movements stuttered. thinking maybe she misheard you when you called. “my wife?”

she looked at him with furrowed brows. her finger jutting over her shoulder as if trying to explain and understand with just the small action.

“I, uh, yes? that's what she told me, or- what she referred to herself as."

his face was expressionless as he stared at her before nodding. realizing she was waiting for a response.

"tell her I'll call her back here in a couple of minutes."

his head tipping to his hands which still had rub on. the woman nodded as she walked out.

he pulled out his phone shortly after cleaning his hands off.

your voice on the other end, light and teasing.

Moodboard (1942)

Flashback, warm nights...