crawling back to you

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"What would you say to a date?"

You turn to find none other than Dana Evans being the one with the absurd question. You're not even entirely sure where she came from. Suddenly she's propped up, hip against the desk, crashing your peace with that certain gleam in her eye that means trouble. 

This wasn't the first time Dana's complained about your singleness. The way your life consisted of the commute to work, the commute home, a cheesy romance movie, and bed. On the occasional wild day maybe you'd take a trip to a coffee shop, or an in-person trip to the grocery store instead of DoorDash. That is if you were feeling really adventurous. Somehow in those times though you've never managed to have some rom-com meet-cute like in all the movies you watched. 

"As flattered as I am, I was under the impression you were married!" You dodge not only the question but also her. Turning on your heels, you walk to the leftmost side of the desk, keeping your eyes down. 

Sure, a date sounds nice in theory. The same way a leading man chasing you through an airport seems nice in theory. But, if it actually happened you'd most likely pepper spray him. 

"Not me." She says dryly. "Maybe in my younger days though." 

You give her a sideways glance, which she's already giving you. The thought intrigues you more than you care to say. What you would give to know more about Dana's college days!

"I've got a guy for you."

"Dana, really I'm good. I don't have time to even fantasize about a date right now."

To you, a date was never a fantasy. They just never turned out right. Men would speak over you, or you'd intimidate them and it's a night full of awkward silences and bad company. 

However, you find the occasional times to fantasize about Jack Abbot.

Your crush on Abbot started slow and accidental really. A night off work for the first time in months. Which of course you spent doing the one thing you love most: turning off the lights, drinking wine in your pajamas, and watching whatever rom-com popped up first in your recommended tab. This night just happened to be Two Weeks' Notice. You'd seen it a thousand times and could probably quote half of Sandra Bullock's monologues. 

But, there was something different about it this time. Something about the way she was falling in love with her charmingly sarcastic boss. It seemed less like something you'd laugh at and instead it started making perfect sense to you. 

I mean Sandra Bullock is falling in love with her boss. Why can't you?

Somehow by the second glass of red, Hugh Grant's face somehow started to morph into Jack Abbott's. 

But, most of all it was the mistake of falling asleep during the fourth glass and the dreams that followed, guest starring a sexy doctor. 

As quick as this crush started, it was anything but quick to leave. No matter how much you willed it away. 

Sandra Bullock-esque rom-coms don't happen to people like you. Hot boss or not. 

"It won't kill you." Dana's arms thud against the counter as she lays them down with purpose. 

"It might." A voice that belongs to Shen interjects into the conversation you already wish you weren't having. "Have you seen how awkward she gets when hot dads bring their kids in?"

"I do not!" You half-yell. "I'm a professional. I don't think about things like that at work."

"Yeah, and that's why you eye fuck Abb-" 

"OKAY!" You yell. Prying eyes are on you immediately as your voice cuts through the ED. You give an awkward thin-lipped smile and apologetic wave to the strangers. "Okay. Point received." 

Now the only fantasy you're having at work is ripping the Dunkin cup from Shen's hand and drenching him in it. 

"Ignore him." Dana shoos Shen away. He slinks off slurping what's left of his melted iced coffee. 

You can't miss the small glint in Dana's eye as she bites back a laugh at Shen's accusation. Which is totally false!

"Dinner. That's all I'm asking." Dana pries once again. You shake your head, not even bothering to verbally answer anymore. "An hour, two max."

"Dana when I'm not here I'm sleeping or trying to get all my shit done before I have to be back here. I don't have time." 

"You have time." She responds insistently. 

It's almost impressive how she hasn't budged. 

"Fine. I don't want to make the time then."

"You don't want to go out and just have a free dinner with a handsome guy?" Dana's eyebrows shoot up.

Unfortunately, the idea intrigues you somewhere deep down. That same part of you that smiles and rewinds when the movie finally crescendos with a dramatic declaration of love. But, in reality, the movie would end differently for you. A terrible date with a guy who went to a doctor a few times and now feels confident in his ability to mansplain medicine. No love at first sight for you. 

"Sounds like hell."

You can't even remember the last time you looked at a man that wasn't on your TV. Well, I mean besides the ones you're forced to see every day. Abbot… Who apparently you REALLY look at.

Your mind trails off as he moves from room to room in front of you. That quiet confidence radiating off of him like it always does. UGH, and he's wearing those camo pants tonight. OH. You totally are eye-fucking him aren't you?!

You snap your eyes from him back to Dana immediately. "Tell me about this guy." 

No part of you really wants this, but you've got to get your mind off Abbott. Fully. You one hundred percent, unequivocally, cannot be crushing on Jack Abbot. 

"It's a guy I know. He's been single for too long. Like you." She says pointedly. "I think you'll like him. He's good people." 

"You sure you wanna do this?" It's a genuine question, not a threat. Introducing you to someone could be a bad move on her part. You're not exactly revered as a charmer. "Because, if I don't like him, I'll leave."

You we're strong willed and didn't enjoy wasting your time. There was nothing wrong with it, but some men would disagree. Apparently you could be a quote, "a real ball buster" as your college boyfriend so eloquently wrote in the very text message he dumped you with. 

As time went on, you came to realize you liked love more in theory or in dreams. You were not cut out to be a rom-com star. 

"I know." Dana draws out her words, rolling her eyes at you. "But, I have a good feeling."

"What's his name?" You give a defeated sigh. 

Dana's face lights up with that cocky closed-lip smile she gets when she's won something. She's beaten you down enough and she knows it. Success!

"No names." Leaving no room for rebuttal, she claps her hand flat against the counter to make her point. "I don't want you looking him up."

"Come on-"

"No. You and Santos do that cyber stalking thing and you'll try and find him." She's already turned on her heels before you can get another word out. 

 "It's not stalking!" You yell after her. "It's the way the world works. Get with the times Dana!"

Well, looks like you just got yourself a date you didn't really want to go on in the first place. But if all goes well you'll fall in love and never think of Jack Abbot as anything more than a boss ever again. 

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"Jack, c'mere I gotta talk to you." 

Dana surveys the floor, making sure you're nowhere in sight. Luckily for her, you're tied up in a trauma room with a very chatty guest who, based on their facial expression is not very happy with you. 

His face turns confused for a second, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening before he falls in step.

"You need a date." She says simply. 

For once in his whole life he's actually speechless. He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is an offended scoff. 

"When's the last time you've been on a date?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

The offended sound comes out once again as he blunders for a second. "I don't know. A year…?"

He tried once, maybe twice after his wife passed. Someone who asked him out both times. He'd never actually pursued anything himself. It wasn't exactly that he was resisting, there was just never anyone who caught his attention first.

Then came you. But to him, that was forbidden.

"That's sad."

"I'm doing just fine for myself-"

She holds up her hand for him to stop before he says anything further. "I didn't ask about that. And, I don't believe I want to know that."

Robby laughs from somewhere behind her. Of course, listening in on the conversation. Somehow his ears seem to be everywhere at once. There's no conversation he misses in this hospital. 

"What?" Jack asks him. The tone of his voice would almost sound offended if he wasn't chuckling. 

"No, nothing." Robby shakes his head. He clasps a friendly hand on Dana's shoudler. "He's doing fine Dana. Just this morning Myrna offered to flash him." 

Alright, now they're just being mean. 

"Tell him he needs a date." Dana elbows Robby. Before Jack can interject, Robby's response is immediate. 

"Ohhh, you need a date brother."

Jack's outnumbered and somehow they're also beating him at his own game. He has no defenses left. No sarcastic comments that'll stop them 

"You know what? Fine." Jack tosses his hands up. "I'll start looking for someone." 

His eyes rake across the hospital floor like he's looking for someone and before he's even made any conscious effort, they land on you. 

One day you were a thorn in Jack's side, a new resident he had to get acclimated to. But, very, very quickly you became something else. The worst part was it wasn't even because you were attractive - which you absolutely were. No, it was the first time you yelled at him during trauma. You, a resident, yelling across the table at your attending.

He was gone. 

Robby and Dana side-eye each other at Jack's obvious stare. He was never a subtle man and even less so when it came to matters of the heart. The number of times Dana's caught him acting like a giddy school boy around you was absurd.

That time you complimented his technique for a chest tube and he walked around like a God for the rest of the night. 

Or, even worse, that time he let his beard grow and asked you, Dana, and Ellis for your opinions. They both agreed it was fine. - not that they cared much either way. - But, you weren't a fan. The next day he was shaved. 

It was just something about you. Something he had never seen in someone else. You had no angle, you didn't play games or hospital politics. You came in to work every day, yelled at whoever needed yelling at, and fixed whoever needed fixing. No ass-kissing or pride involved.You had no ego; it was refreshing. If you thought he was acting like a dick you'd tell him. If you thought he was right you'd tell him. Though maybe a little awkwardly because nice feelings weren't really your thing.

"No need!" Dana says with a satisfied grin. "I've got someone for you."

Robby howls a laugh at how perfectly Dana manipulated Jack into this. 

"Who?" He asks. 

"Someone I've been wanting to set you up with."

"Set me up with? Like a date?" He says emphatically. "Like I'm twenty?"

"It'll be fine. You'll like her."

"Well, who is it?"

"You don't know her." Her face gives nothing away but for a fleeting second Jack would almost swear that seemed like a lie. 

"She's smart and beautiful, you'll like her."

"Well, I can't say I don't like those two things." A small smirk creeps up his face. Smart and beautiful was great but he knew someone who fit that description already. Doesn't much matter though, Jack can't remember a time he's seen you show interest in him. And, he was the furthest thing from a pushy man.

Plus, if you wanted him surely you would've said something by now. 

"She's a little young," Dana trails off. "That okay with you?"

Jack finds himself calculating in his head how old you were. Would that be weird? Wait. First, why would he care? Second, why would it matter? 

"I mean how-" 

"Okay, great." Dana claps her hands with a loud boom, ending his sentence for him. 

She's already exited the conversation before he can ask more of the many pressing questions he has. "What's her name?" He calls out, Robby still beside him, happy to be a non-involved third party to this shitshow. 

"Secrets." She hollers back not turning around, her hands doing most of the talking. 

"Looks like you just bought yourself an appearance on the Dating Game." Robby claps Jack's shoulder with an overjoyed smile that crinkles the skin around his eyes. 

Hopefully she isn't that young because God, they really are old. I mean the Dating Game, really?

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"What are you up to?" Robby asks, narrowing his eyes onto Dana once he's managed to find her alone. 

"Just think he needs someone." She shrugs sounding a little tender, strangely. 

"Uh huh." Robby clicks his tongue. "And I'd swear I heard you giving that same advice to one of our residents earlier.

Dana gives nothing away, just a shrug. 

"Not saying it's a bad idea. Jacks clearly got it bad. It's just ballsy."

"So you'll help me?" Dana asks. 

"Whoa, no." Robby lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. "I didn't say that."

"All I'm asking is that you keep them away from each other tonight so they don't find us out."

"There's no us here Dana." He tosses his hands up in surrender. Always the dramatic. "I've got a hospital to run and this is your master plan." 

She gives him a look over the rim of his glasses. He knows he's too grown to be scared into submission by Dana but damn if it doesn't always work. 

"I'll see what I can do."

"Hey, why don't you ever set me up on dates?" He can't help but ask as he's already halfway leaving. 

"Because I've seen you in relationships."

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Somehow as if by miracle, the ER was the Q word you'd never dare utter. So, for now you'll just say slow. It seemed brighter without so many people clogging the place up, not such a terrorizing place to spend your nights. But, on the other side of quiet and peaceful meant all you could think about was this stupid date with some (probably) stupid guy you don't even want to meet. 

Even if it was a leisurely night, there was no such thing for Dana. She paced around the giant hospital centerpiece that was the nurses' desk, doing a million jobs that somehow all belonged to her. 

You came out of nowhere, suddenly popping up on the other side of the desk. "I don't like mansplainers." 

"Okay, and I don't like the Ravens. What're you telling me for?" It always seemed like her accent had a way of getting thicker when she was stressed or angry. 

"For the date." You tap your finger to your temple in a duh fashion. "If they start mansplaining anything to me, I'll leave."

Dana doesn't give you a response, just a curt nod. Because she was definitely going around the city looking for the perfect asshole mansplainer to force you into a date with. 

"And they need to be politically sound. I can't deal with someone who doesn't care about the issues I do." 

As much as you loved Maid in Manhattan, you always found yourself disliking the leading man just a little too much. That was not a rom-com you wanted to star in, alongside a right-leaning politician. 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Dana snaps her head up, shutting you up immediately. It's terrifying when she starts cursing in catholic. "He's a non-mansplaining registered democrat. Does that satisfy you?" 

"Yes." You answer quietly tucking your lips into a thin line apologetically. 

She reaches over the desk, gripping your arm and guiding you somewhat forcefully until you're standing under the track board. 

"Work." 

Looking down at the iPad in your hand, you said your patient's name to yourself over and over again. You had this terrible habit of knowing everything you needed to know about someone and then coming face to face and forgetting everything, even down to their name. You've done this with friends and patients alike your whole life. 

"Janet Lawson." You mutter on a loop, scrolling through to see what the nurses had already done for her. 

"Janet Law— Ow." 

Your forehead is suddenly rebounding off a black T-shirt; underneath it is a weirdly muscular back that's actually managed to rattle your brain around. Of course. Who else wears a black T-shirt and camo pants to work and has this muscular of a build? 

"Doctor Abbot! Sorry." You laugh to mostly yourself, running a few fingers over your forehead. Why'd that come out like a giggle? You laugh. You don't giggle. 

"My fault. I should've known better than to stand here when you're running around." He grins.

He's so charming. 

You drop your eyes back down to the iPad, looking at him made your chest pinch. Why does it feel like you're cheating on him by going on this date tonight? He's your boss! People don't usually feel like they need to divulge their dating life to their bosses right?

"You off this weekend?" He asks, tilting his head to be able to better to see your downcast eyes. 

"Yep. Played my cards right and got two whole days."

"Got any plans?" He crosses his arms over his chest casually. He always asks about your life. This isn't weird, this is just the only time you've thought about keeping it secret. 

"Not much." The lie comes out before you can stop it. 

"Me neither."

"Cool." 

Jack Abbot could befriend a brick wall and somehow you've just managed to have an awkward interaction with him. 

"Jack!" Dana's voice echoes between you too. It's so loud and desperate-sounding that he whips his head around immediately. 

"Yeah?"

"I need you in room 3."

He looks to the whiteboard, eyes scanning over it twice. The hospital's calm tonight, what could possibly be this critical?

"No one's in room 3…"

She doesn't even turn to the whiteboard herself to double-check. "Room 4 then."

"Okay…" He agrees. "Catch you later?" He turns back to you with a sympathetic frown, waiting for your confirmation. Once you nod at him, he pulls himself and his lingering eyes away.

Like clockwork, Abbot finds himself in your orbit once again. He's nearly convinced you have some kind of magnetic force he's not aware of because there's no rational reasoning for him to be trailing after you all the time. 

Your shift is officially over and if you're not going to fall asleep behind the wheel you're desperately going to need a cup of coffee. As your hand rests flat against the break room door, you feel a much bigger and stronger hand just inches above yours.

"Together again." He laughs. He's so close behind you, you swear you feel the vibrations in your own chest. He pushes the door open, just enough that you have to duck under his arm to step over the threshold. 

"How was everything with that patient?" You ask, hoping your voice is even and trying your best to keep your face away from him until the heat in your cheeks die down. 

"Fine. Just cut and dry stress hives. Not sure what the big emergency was."

You plop down in the chair around the small table, the one leg that's off kilter shakes it back and forth for a second. "Weird." You stretch your legs up onto the second chair in front of you, resting until he's done making his coffee. 

As the coffee maker percolates in the background he considers mentioning the fact that Dana is setting him up on a date. Do attendings and residents ever share that much personal information with each other? Probably not.

What was he even hoping to achieve? That you'd imagine him out with some (probably) hot nurse friend of Dana's and lose your mind with jealousy that he's never once seen you have. 

It felt weirdly offensive to share his weekend plans with you. He's wanted to ask you out since the second week you worked at this hospital and never has. He couldn't, as the superior here and the man twice your age he wouldn't even let himself think about you too long if he thought it would be disrespectful. It'd be too weird to sit here and talk about his dating life like this. So, he opts for silence. 

You push your chair out once Abbott's done using the coffee maker, groaning from the pain that's popped up in your spine from standing all day. 

"Here ya go." He extends a full cup to you just as your feet hit the ground. 

You stare at the drink for a second. He made you coffee? Coffee you didn't even ask for. He pushes the cup towards you once more, urging you to take it instead of staring at it.

You wrap both hands around the thin cup, feeling the warmth seep through to your palms. "You know how I take my coffee?" You ask, noting the color difference in your cup compared to his. 

"Yeah, milk and two sugars. I've seen you make it enough times." Wow, the world really was never going to let this crush ease up was it? "I didn't give you any vanilla though. Keep taking it like that and you'll end up in a coma." You laugh, noticing the wide smile on your face in the reflection of your coffee. 

"Thanks." Your voice loses the harsh edges it usually has. 

He shrugs as if this was a small gesture and not something that made your entire body feel like it was on fire. He sips the coffee but never takes his eyes off yours. They have a darker look to them as the cup puts a shadow over his face. 

"Heading out?"

"Yep." You toss your bag over your shoulder. "I'm caught up on all my charts from tonight."

"Yeah, I trust you." His words come out smooth. 

You know you're so far gone when these upcoming two days off start to feel like punishment more than a much-needed break. Two days without seeing him might be bordering on eternal torture. 

This is the last time you'll see him until your date with some stranger. You're being so dramatic but it literally feels like you're some Wild West movie heroine seeing her one true love for the last time before heading to her arranged marriage.

Maybe it's just because your fantasy had to end now. You had to live your life, date (annoyingly so), and you could keep falling asleep at night and having Jack Abbot's face pop up in your dreams. It was a fantasy, that's all it was. 

Abbot likes people, not you. He liked to be friendly, wink at nurses, and flirt with the old ladies who were frequent fliers. Even if you weren't his resident, people like you didn't end up with people like him. 

Plus, if he wanted you surely he would've said something by now.

"Want me to walk you out?" He asks, always the gentleman. 

"Sure."

He reaches over and slides the bag from your arm, throwing it over his own shoulder. His arm stays on the small of your back as you pass through the crowded triage area, only dropping when you make it to your car. A small, beat-up Civic you're embarrassed to tell people the year of. 

"Have a nice vacation." He grins, setting your backpack in your backseat for you.

"Yeah, two days is one crazy vacation." 

"Well, either way don't miss me too much."

You laugh, your head lulling backwards as the sound reverberates outside in the quiet parking lot. "Might be too hard. Living in a cold, cruel Doctor Abbot-less world." 

He leans over, enough that you can tell he's not wearing any cologne as the smell of antiseptic wafts off him. And the worst part is, somehow it works. The click of your car door opening is the only thing that draws your eyes away. 

"Be safe." He says, carefully shutting the car door once you're solidly inside. "Come by if you start missing me too much." He speaks a little louder so you hear him through the sealed window. 

You give him a thumbs down as your reverse lights come on. 

He watches you pull out of the parking lot and imagines what that sight would be like more often. Your taillights pulling out of the driveway of his house every day, waving you away while drinking his morning coffee, knowing you'd be back that night. 

Oh yeah He's going on a date with another woman tomorrow. 

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This is horrible

You stand in front of the mirror in the third outfit of the night. You pull at the fabric, like a toddler. It clings to everywhere you don't want it to. You've got to have help for this.

Where's your quirky best friend sidekick that everyone in the movies has?

To: Santos From: You what do you wear on a date?

To: You From: Santos show up naked power move 

Unhelpful. 

A dress feels like too much, but dress pants make you feel like a politician. The place is way too nice for jeans. As Dana specifically told you. You don't even own anything you'd consider a blouse. And to make matters worse, you're beginning to notice you have very little color in your wardrobe. 

This is agonizing. 

The outfit you have on will have to suffice, if only because you're running out of room on your floor for discarded clothese.

The long skirt feels less dramatic than a dress but less stiff than pants. This is the nicest shirt you own and the closest thing you'd associate with fancy. All in all, you clean up pretty well. Everything is black like all the other items in your wardrobe. But, Dana requested you wear black since she told your date that's how he'd recognize you. Your mystery man will be in white tonight 

Your body collides with your bed as you toss yourself onto it like an angsty teenager. You haven't been on a date in months and the last one you went on lasted an hour before you faked and emergency and left. 

Katherine Heigl's voice blares through your apartment as 27 Dresses begins auto-playing after whatever you threw on to begin with. 

What the hell is with these movies and falling in love with your boss?

Rolling onto your back, you're fingers start typing Jack Abbot into the Instagram search bar before you even know what you're doing. It only takes the letter J for his account to come up. You've for sure done this too many time. Maybe Dana's right. This is totally stalking. 

He has three posts and none of them are his face. He's got a picture of Robby and Dana at some fancy hospital event and two pictures of some scenic locations he visited. He's such an old man. The only thing you can see him in is his profile picture. Much to your dismay, you screenshot and zoom in. 

He's so handsome and this is such weirdo behavior.

The more you zoom in, the blurrier the photo gets. Right now, you're essentially looking at pixels that vaguely resemble Jack Abbot and even then he's otherworldly handsome. Some selfie from a terrible angle that he no doubt took the moment Instagram prompted him for a profile picture. 

You scream as the name pops up on the top of your screen, tossing the phone on your bed like it burned you. For a second you actually believe he somehow knows your cyber stalking him right now, but there's no way. On your feet now from the scare, you timidly reach over and in one quick motion flip the phone face up. 

Abbot: Have fun on your vacation while the rest of us are working our asses off. 

You've got to stop reacting to everything he does like some school girl experiencing their first crush. You're more giddy from this stupid text than you are about this date. This is what you're actively trying to avoid!

You click the side button stuffing the phone into your skirt pocket. Yeah, the skirt has pockets. You give yourself one more look in the mirror, closing your eyes and taking three deep breaths to clear your mind. 

No more Jack Abbot tonight. 

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This place is nice just like Dana described. An Italian restaurant that you had to take a taxi to reach. The outside has a deep maroon awning where people waiting on tables are congregating. It's not crowded but there's way more people here than you want to experience a first date in front of. 

The inside is even nicer. Dark walls and romantic lighting. There's even a band playing from somewhere you cant see, but you recognize the sound of live instruments. The tables are all covered in white cloths. This is far from the restaurants you usually eat at where children color on those paper table runners. 

"Hi," You approach the hostess more timid than usual, clearing your throat. "I'm meeting someone…"

Your eyes scan over the many people in the room. Theres way more people seated than you'd hoped. Great, all these people may witness your biggest humiliation tonight. Theres a small, even fancier dining room that's walled in and you wonder if your mystery man is in there. 

The maitre d responds but your ears are suddenly filled with nothing but the sound of your own heart beat. Your eye's zero in on someone, someone sitting in front of the giant burgundy curtains that drape from floor to ceiling. 

A very familiar face.

No. Fucking. Way. 

"Doctor Abbot?" You say standing beside the empty chair at this table for two. 

His eyes shoot up so fast you're afraid he's going to hurt himself. He looks like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out of his barely parted lips. You're mirroring the same expression back to him. Shock and horror. 

He stands up from his chair so fast, the table rocks and sends ripples through the expensive water glasses. "What are you doing here?" He asks, hands flat on the table like he needs to prop himself up. 

"Me?" You say back, clutching the purse strap over your shoulder. "What are you doing here?" You want to dissolve into dust in the huge fancy restaurant that suddenly feels much smaller. This can't be happening. 

"Oh fuck." 

You both speak at the same time. Your sentiment is much more verbal than Abbot who had the decency to whisper under his breath. 

You two go back to staring at each other for another moment. Completely still except for the twitch around Abbots eye. You know your eyes are wider than usual and probably frighteningly so, but you can't make them close. To make matters worse the trumpet crescendos into something romantic from wherever they're playing from. You're a little too busy to look right now. 

How could this happen?

"I think Dana uh—" The words die in your throat as soon as they start. You gesture vaguely hoping to fill in the blanks. 

"Yeah." He speaks gruffly. 

"Yeah." You parrot the same word back, unsure of what else there even is to say. "I could go." You gesture back to the grand entrance of the restaurant. 

That's all it took to shake Jack from the shell shocked state he was in. He reaches out before he even thinks much about it. Not a pull, just his palm flat against your forearm making sure you don't bolt.

"No. Were already here." He shrugs like it's simple. "Plus, I need you to stay and help me plan on how to get Dana fired."

You laugh, your shoulders easing finally, dropping from where they were pulled up so tight. The immediate horror of this situation is beginning to dissipate between the two of you. Despite the knot in your stomach, you actually feel a little giddy. I mean, you've dreamed about this for a long, long time. Maybe it wouldn't be awful of you to at least try and enjoy yourself. 

"We might as well stay and eat." He picks up his menu and gestures to the chair that's meant to be yours. 

"Might as well?" You repeat back with a sarcastically sensual tone. "Well, with an offer that romantic how could I refuse?"

He walks around the table, eyes on you the entire time. He pulls out your chair without even looking at it. When he puts his arm on the small of your back to guide you onto the seat, your actually worried your knees might buckle. 

"You know what I meant." The breath from his nose tickles your ear as leans in close to tuck your chair in. 

"Can I get you two started with anything?" The waiter appears from the kitchen, dressed just as nicely as half the patrons in here. Jack gives him a polite just a second gesture. You've both been far too distracted to look at the menu.

"You want wine?" He asks, flicking his eyes from the menu to you. "I mean… we are on a date." Theres a small smile in the corner of his mouth when he says it, almost humorous like he's enjoying saying that in the presence of the server.

A date. Officially a date.

"Yeah, I'll do a glass."

"A bottle of the house red." Jack speaks to the waiter. A bottle? Big spender! 

The wine the waiter returns with is in expensive glassware. The stems are crystal thin and make you feel like you're back in the OR holding a delicate medical instrument.

Jack makes a polite declining gesture as the waiter goes to fill his glass. "None for me, thanks."

"You're not having any?" You ask, lowering the glass from your lips, suddenly feeling embarrassed of the large sip you've already taken. 

"I've got work tonight. Not everyone has the weekend off like you." He laughs. Oh yeah. It was only 5:30 of course he'd be heading to work after this. Always saving lives. 

"You didn't need to order all that then." You gesture to the still mostly full bottle the server left behind. "I'm not gonna drink a whole bottle myself." Not in front of him at least!

"Take it home then." He shrugs. Damn that's sexier than it needed to be. He orders one of the nicest bottles of wine, doesn't have any for himself, and then tells you to keep it. "I know how much you like your wine. 

"You look nice." He crosses his arms on top of the menu resting on the table so there's nothing that could possibly distract him from you. His words are genuine but a little stiff. He hasn't complimented someone on anything outside of a medical context in a while.

"Thanks " You actually smile. looking down at the fancy outfit you were so hyper critical of in the mirror. "I wouldn't get used to it though."

"You clean up nice yourself." You force out. Not because it wasn't true, it very much was. But, it's always felt awkward to you to compliment someone. 

"Feels weird." He tugs at the black tie resting on top of his white dress shirt. It was quite the site. Under the warm lights of the dining room, at certain angles the muscles under his shirt were highlighted perfectly, especially his arms.

Jack however is more caught of guard by your new look than you are of his. Your hair is fixed and resting on your shoulders in waves instead of pulled back and frizzy from a scrub cap. I mean, you looked beautiful the other way, but he didn't know this was an option. And your clothes. It was few and far between that he saw you in anything but scrubs and certainly never anything fancy like this. Your scrubs were loose and unflattering. These clothes were tight and highlighted all your features well. You'd been hiding all this? But, maybe that's for the better because he wouldn't be able to survive this look day to day. 

"Would you judge me if I had another glass?" You have a small smile just on the corner of your mouth. Your stemware was getting emptier and emptier as the conversation went on.

"I'm not your boss tonight." He chuckles, filling up the glass for you. He holds your eyes when he says it, like it's important to him that you remember that.

"Alright. Let's be honest with ourselves." You finally laugh out, shaking your head. "This is weird." The wine coursing through you is making it a lot easier to say whatever you're feeling. Plus the small drink you had back home to pre game that you're not going to bring up. 

Thankfully, he laughs too. "Yeah. I didn't imagine I'd be sitting in front of you tonight."

"Yeah. I certainly wasn't expecting Doctor Abbot." You gesture widely towards him. "… I should probably drop the "Doctor" on a date right."

"Yeah probably." He nods. "Just Jack is fine." 

You're stomach flips. It's silly, something as simple as a name change getting you this worked up.

"Jack." You test it out, turning the name over in your head a few times. It just felt so intimate for some reason. You've known him as Doctor Abbot for so long, now you get to learn Jack.

"So, Jack" You laugh, using the name one more time now that you've been awarded the permission. "I was expecting Dana to set me up with an Orthopedic surgeon I'd hate or something." You laugh. If your relationships with the Ortho team at work was anything to go on, that date certainly wouldn't have gone well. 

He laughs loudly in the dining room full of people talking softly below the music. "Yeah, God help us all if she did that. I was expecting a nurse or a lawyer or something. Not my resident."

"But, I'm glad she didn't." He says at a lower register.

"Wait!" You completely skip over the romantic thing he said, your brain already locked onto a minute detail you just thought of. "You texted me before I left the house." 

"Yeah? So?"

"So?!" You scoff at him, but you're laughing too much for it to be perceived as upset. "So, you texted me before you thought you we're going on a date with some woman."

He just shrugs. "I was thinking about you."

Your cheeks burn hot and you have to roll your eyes to try and get some of your cool demeanor back. "That's crazy."

"Well, it doesn't matter now does it."

Being on a date with Jack is even nicer than you imagined it could be. You've barely lifted a finger tonight. He pulled out your chair for you, he refills your glass for you. 

Yes, you're now a quarter through your third.

From anyone else, you'd probably get a little annoyed with this, but there's something romantic about the way Jack does it. He's not smothering or chauvinistic about it, just someone who wants to care for you. 

He really is like a man from a movie. 

By the time they drop your food off at the table, you're enjoying yourself more than you ever have on a date. He cuts into the steak while telling you the story of the first patient he ever had, which actually makes you snort. 

"My first patient at PTMC bit me." You laugh, nodding emphatically as you do. The third glass of wine has definitelyloosened you up. Enough to even reach across the table and put your hand on his arm when you laugh.

"Oh yeah! The one with the suppository." He points the end of his fork in your direction as he remembers. 

You make a sound of dissatisfaction between your teeth, scrunching up your face. "Let's avoid saying suppository on a date."

"Fair enough." He laughs, covering his mouth with his napkin. "Man, I thought you were gonna kill that guy." 

"I remember telling Robby when you first started, you we're gonna drop the night crews patient satisfaction scores by half." He shakes his head fondly.

"What?!" You laugh, dropping your mouth open with a jokingly offended expression. 

"You have a real mean streak to you." He shrugs truthfully, but he smiles when he does. He loves that about you. 

"I do not." You roll your eyes, the mean streak showing through clearly. "And, I could say you're not as charming as you think you are." 

He doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah I am." 

Yeah he is. 

You pretend to care about his accusations some more, but he can see the smile you can't wipe off your face. "I can't believe you talked shit about me to Robby." You shake your head. "And to think I actually liked you when I first started. You were my favorite Attending." 

"Yeah?" He quirks his eyebrow up, somehow looking even more handsome with that smug sideways smile. 

"Yeah I did."

"Did it wear off?" He asks, leaning back, tilting his head as he looks at you. 

"Nope."

The words hangs there a moment too long. You expect him to make a joke, tell you that you have good taste, or that he was the obvious choice, but he doesn't. Instead he just looks at you, his smug grin changing into something much softer. 

"Good to know." His voice is maybe as tender as you've ever heard it. Like your statement meant more to him than he's letting on. 

Jack's already reaching into his pocket for his wallet before the check hits the table cloth. In fact, he doesn't even let it sit there. He takes it from the waiters hand so there's no argument about who's paying. 

"I can cover my half." You offer anyways, hand digging around in your purse under the table. This would not be the first date a man expected you to go dutch on.

"No you can't." He rolls his eyes. He knew you'd offer no matter how obvious he made it that you weren't paying this bill. It was just in your nature to be fiercely independent. But, he was here now. "I don't make a habit of asking women out and making them cover the bill."

"Technically you didn't ask me out… Dana did." You raise your eyebrows in a challenge. 

He makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh. "Either way, you're not paying."

Jack opts for cash, pulling out a few bills that you try and count up so you total how much he's spent on you tonight. You can't make out if a few pieces are twenties or fifties, but based on the wad alone it must be a lot. 

"Fine. I'll get the next one." You're eyes widen a little as you catch what you said, your words coming way too freely with your tipsy-ness. "I mean… not, or, If- you know." You flubb, your hands moving quickly in front of you.

"No you won't. But, you can offer, again."

He stands first, extending his arm to you like the gentleman he's been all night. The sleeve of your jacket catches the chair as you stand making you wobble on your already slightly uneven footing. "Alright, let's get you out of here before you hurt yourself." He laughs. His reassuring hand stays flat against the small of your back, guiding you through the beautiful dining room and into the cool night air. 

Jack stands under the awning with you, shoulder to shoulder as he waits for your ride to arrive. Before he has to drag himself back to work and away from you. Through the window, you can still hear the bands instruments playing, on the high notes it rattles the glass just barely. 

"I love this song." You gasp, leaning against the wall and physically feeling the song course through you. Jack listens intently for a second, making out what you're hearing. He jogs his memory and remembers having heard the songs a few times. Something by Louie Armstrong; there was no mistaking that voice. La vie en rose that was it!

Jack stays silent, listening to the song alongside you. He doesn't close his eyes like you do. To be honest, he's far more interested in you than the song. This was what he's thought about so many times. Not this exact scenario, but things like it. You in domestic situations, calm, happy. With your eyes still shut, he roams his eyes over every part of your face without fear of being caught. 

The slope of your nose, down to the curve of your lips. You had a prominent cupids bow that made your lips look sharp in a way he could never stop thinking about. Your eyelashes that now fluttered along your under eye. He wasn't sure in this moment if you've ever looked more beautiful. 

"You know," He says quietly, making sure you we're still able to hear your song over this words. "all thing's considered I think this was a pretty good date." 

You peek one eye open, flickering it over to him with a smile. "So we are calling it a date?"

"Yeah." He grins back at your silly looking one-eyed expression."I mean that's what it was wasn't it?"

"Just making sure." You relax again, back to closing your eyes. You can hide the gleam in your eyes by shutting them, but you can't hide the smile on your face. 

"But," Jack starts his sentence quietly, devoid of that usual sarcasm he carries through every word. "I was always under the impression good dates usually end with a kiss."

Both your eyes open now, quickly. You stay leaned against the wall, putting a few fingers over your mouth to try and cover the stupidly giddy grin. You coyly nod, eyes looking back and forth like you're thinking hard. He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for whatever response this could possibly lead to. 

"That does check out." You laugh, one finger tapping on the side of your mouth in fake thought. "That's usually how all the movies end."

"Yeah?" He mutters close to your mouth, settling his hands on either side of your face. You floss your lip in between your teeth, not even that hiding the grin. "Yeah." 

La vie en rose crescendos in the background as Jacks lips finally connect with yours. It's perfect. It's like a movie. Like a really perfect rom-com. He's not careful, but he's not aggressive. You can feel how long he's wanted to do this in the way he swallows every breath that leaves your mouth. Your hands trail up his arms, finally feeling how toned they actually are after wondering what they'd feel like under your fingers every time they flexed in the OR. 

You're sure you're getting stares from a few concerned citizens along the sidewalk but you couldn't care less. You feel that same smile grow on his lips as you press a hand to his chest. You're reminded of the scene in The Princess Diaries and swear your leg almost kicks up just the same.

He pulls back for no other reason than breathing which he's almost sure he could live without if he could do that a few more times. But, before he can go too far you chase him for one more peck which he reciprocates with just as much enthusiasm. Your hand is still on his chest and now white knuckle gripped against his tie.

"Yeah pretty good date." You repeat the sentiment, any ability to form new thoughts left your head the moment he kissed you. You smooth down his tie with one hand, straightening out the wrinkles your fist caused. He stops you, enveloping your one hand with both of his, pressing his lips along your knuckles. "I'm glad it was with you."

Once your taxi pulls up, you feel like lying and claiming you never called for it. But you have no choice, Jack's got work and you're under strict doctors orders (Doctor Jack Abbot) to rest and enjoy your one weekend off. 

"Text me when you get home." He says, shutting the taxi door with you on the other side, painfully. "And, swing by the hospital if you have any more wine. We may need to get you on a saline drip." You laugh way too loudly in the enclosed space of the cab. You hold the wine bottle by the neck, showing it off. 

"Goodnight Jack." You say elbow resting on the sill of the rolled down window, smiling up at him. Jack. Not Doctor, just Jack. 

You're phone vibrates in your pocket a few minutes down the road into the silent cab ride. The notification disrupts your staring out the window with a smile that was starting to hurt your cheeks. You figure it must be Jack, way too worried about you commuting home alone and already checking in, but it's not.

“Thank you.” Jess preened. “I’m glowing. Look at me. Post-orgasmic radiance.” She tilted her face toward the neon Bud Light sign like it was a mirror. Then her expression softened into something more pointed. “Speaking of which… you still having your little problem with men?”

You froze mid-wipe. “Jess—”

“What problem?”

Eddie’s voice cut across the bar, casual as anything. He didn’t even turn around at first, just kept lining up the Jack and the Jim like he hadn’t been listening the entire time. When he finally glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow was already arched high under the messy fall of his hair. He always looked unfairly good—black band tee stretched across his shoulders, silver rings flashing every time he moved, that perpetual half-smirk that made it hard to tell if he was about to roast you or flirt with you. Probably both.

Jess didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you know. Her problem.” She jerked a thumb in your direction. “She’s never came from a dude before.”

The bottle of whiskey in Eddie’s hand paused halfway to the shelf.

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “Jesus Christ, Jess—”

“What?” she said, all wide-eyed innocence. “It’s not like it’s a secret. You’ve told me like six times. And he’s right there. He’s basically part of the furniture at this point.”

Eddie set the bottle down with deliberate care and turned fully, resting his forearms on the bar. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Never?” he repeated, voice low and amused and way too interested. “Like… ever? Not even the accidental ones? The ‘oops I moved wrong and something happened’ variety?”

Heat crawled up your neck. “Can we not—”

“Nope,” Jess said cheerfully. “We’re airing it out. Self-awareness is in bitch.”

Eddie tilted his head, studying you like you were a particularly fascinating puzzle. The long hair, the rings, the faint scar through his eyebrow—everything about him was unfairly magnetic, and he knew it. He’d always known it. The way his eyes lingered a half-second too long when you reached for the top-shelf bottles. The way yours did the same when he stretched to change the lights over the pool table.

“Huh,” he said eventually. “That’s… tragic. Actually tragic. Like Greek tragedy levels of tragic.”

You glared at him. “It’s not tragic.”

“It is,” he insisted, deadpan. “You’re twenty-one. Peak prime. And you’re walking around out here unsatisfied like it’s some kind of personality trait. That’s criminal. Someone should fix that.”

Jess grinned. “See? He gets it.”

“I get nothing,” you muttered, scrubbing harder at a non-existent spot on the wood. “And for the record, it’s not like guys haven’t tried. They’re just… bad at it. Or distracted. Or weirdly determined to go for the Olympic gold in thrusting while forgetting the rest of the body exists.”

Eddie made a soft, wounded sound. “Ouch. Collectively roasting half the male population. Bold.”

“Deserved,” you shot back.

He leaned in a little, elbows sliding closer across the bar. The metal of his rings clicked against the wood. “So what you’re saying is… every single guy who’s ever had the privilege has been mid at best.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“And none of them managed to, y’know—” he made a vague, elegant gesture with one hand, rings flashing, “—get the job done.”

Jess was delighted. “God, this is better than daytime TV.”

You pointed the rag at her. “You started this.”

“And I’m thriving.”

Eddie ignored her completely, eyes still locked on yours. There was something sharp and curious under the teasing now. Something that made your stomach pull tight.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very interesting.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you’re taking notes for later.”

His grin spread slow and wicked. “Baby, I’ve been taking notes for months. This is just the first time the subject’s come up in conversation.”

Jess actually clapped. “Oh my god.”

You felt your face go hot. “Eddie—”

He straightened up, palms raised in mock surrender, but the smirk never left. “Hey. Just saying. If the bar’s this dead every afternoon, maybe we should start a support group. I can lead the hands on portion of the presentation.”

You threw the wet rag at his chest. He caught it one-handed without even flinching, laughing under his breath as the damp fabric slapped against his shirt.

“You’re the worst,” you told him.

“And yet,” he said, tossing the rag back onto the bar between you, “you keep looking.”

Jess made a delighted little noise and stage-whispered, “I live for this shift.”

Eddie just winked at you—slow, deliberate—and turned back to the bottles like he hadn’t just set the entire afternoon on fire.

The next two hours crawled by in that special brand of dead-bar purgatory where every glass you washed felt like a personal insult. A couple of regulars drifted in, ordered cheap beer, and left again. Jess kept shooting you meaningful looks every time Eddie got within ten feet, which was constantly, because the universe had decided you two were stuck on the same side of the bar for the rest of the shift.

He waited until Jess disappeared into the back to change a keg before he started.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and conversational as he dried a pint glass with unnecessary care. “Pop quiz time. You ever come from oral? Like, someone actually knowing what they’re doing down there.”

You nearly dropped the bottle of vodka you were restocking. “Eddie.”

“What? Scientific inquiry. I like to learn.” He tapped his temple with one ringed finger. “Answer the question.”

You glanced toward the empty booths, then back at him. “No. Not really. It’s usually… fine. Then they get bored or their jaw starts hurting and they switch to something else.”

He made a soft, wounded sound like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “Christ. The bar is in hell. Next question—missionary. Ever gotten there that way?”

“No.”

“Doggy?”

“Eddie—”

“Answer.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Once I thought I was close. Then he asked if I was okay because I went quiet and the whole thing died.”

Eddie actually stopped drying the glass. He stared at you for a second, then set it down very carefully. “I’m going to need a list of names. Ban them from the bar. They're never allowed in your presence again.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m invested,” he corrected, leaning a hip against the counter. The afternoon light caught on the silver at his knuckles. “Okay, reverse cowgirl. Ever tried that one?”

You gave him a flat look. “You’re just listing positions now.”

“It’s a thorough survey. I’m a thorough guy.” His mouth curved. “What about when you’re on top and you actually get to control the angle?”

Heat crawled up the back of your neck. “Still no.”

“Against a wall?”

“No.”

“Bent over something?”

“Eddie, oh my god.”

He held up both hands, rings flashing, but he was grinning like a man who’d just found a new favorite hobby. “Okay, okay. Solo work. You can get yourself there, right?”

You hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. That’s… the only reliable method, honestly.”

Something shifted in his expression—still playful, still teasing, but there was a new sharpness underneath it. Like he’d just filed that particular answer into a mental drawer labeled Important.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “So the equipment works. The operators just suck.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

He reached past you for a clean stack of coasters, close enough that you caught the faint scent of leather and stale tobacco. His voice dropped even lower. “How do you do it, then? Fingers? Toys? Pillow humping like a teenager?”

You shoved a coaster into his chest. “I’m not answering that.”

“Coward.”

“Voyeur.”

“Guilty.” He caught the coaster before it fell and spun it between his fingers. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll just have to hypothesize.” He tilted his head, studying you with that same intense focus he’d given the whiskey bottles earlier. “I’m guessing fingers. Two, maybe three. Slow at first, then faster when you get close. You go quiet. Bite your lip. That soft little sound you make when you’re frustrated with the register? Probably the same one.”

Your face went hot enough to fry an egg. “You are unbelievable.”

“I’m observant.” He flicked the coaster onto the bar with a soft clack. “And currently constructing a very detailed theory about what it would take to fix this tragic situation.”

You turned away to grab a new bottle of well tequila, mostly so he wouldn’t see the way your mouth wanted to smile. “You’re plotting.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re thirty-six. Shouldn’t you be plotting, I don’t know, retirement or something?”

Eddie barked a laugh. “Baby, I’m in my prime. And right now my prime is extremely focused on the fact that you’ve never been properly ruined by another person and that is a personal offense to me as a man who takes pride in his work.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Your work.”

“I’m a multi-talented individual.” He winked, slow and filthy. “Bartending is just the day job.”

Jess chose that exact moment to reappear from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at the two of you—Eddie’s smug expression, your flushed face—and grinned like Christmas had come early.

“Oh, this is gonna be a great closing shift,” she announced.

Eddie just hummed, turning back to the glasses with the air of a man who had all the time in the world and a very specific plan forming behind those dark eyes.

The night stretched on like it had a personal grudge.

By eight the place finally woke up—college kids with fake IDs, regulars who lived three stools down from alcoholism, a table of guys who kept trying to get Jess’s number and failing spectacularly. You and Eddie moved around each other like you’d been doing it for years, hips brushing when the space got tight, fingers grazing when you both reached for the same bottle. Every time it happened he shot you a look that said noted, and every time you pretended not to notice.

He waited until you were both stuck behind the bar during a rush to lean in close, voice low under the music.

“So when you’re alone,” he said, pouring three shots of Jameson without looking, “how long does it usually take?”

You nearly over-poured the vodka in your hand. “I’m not answering that while I’m making someone a vodka soda.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Eddie.”

He slid the shots down the bar with a practiced flick of his wrist and turned just enough that his mouth was near your ear. “I’m building a timeline. Important data. Is it a ten-minute situation or a ‘I’ve got the apartment to myself for an hour’ situation?”

You shouldered him back an inch. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet you’re still answering.”

“I’m not.”

“You will.”

By eleven the crowd thinned enough that Jess could handle the floor alone. That left the two of you restocking the back bar, bodies close in the narrow space between the ice well and the speed rack. Eddie handed you bottles one by one, rings clicking against glass, and every time your fingers touched he held on a second longer than necessary.

“Okay, new category,” he said, passing you the triple sec. “Toys. Yes or no.”

You set the bottle down harder than you meant to. “I’m going to kill you.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s a none of your business.”

He grinned, slow and sharp. “So yes. What kind? The little bullet ones that die after six months or the fancy ones with remote controls that costs like two weeks pay?”

You stared at him. “How do you even know about those?”

“I have lived a full and varied life, sweetheart.” He leaned past you to grab a fresh stack of napkins, chest brushing your shoulder. “Also I have internet access. Shocking, I know.”

“You’re still this much of a menace. That’s actually impressive.”

“Thank you. I try.” He paused, then added, quieter, “You go quiet when you’re close, don’t you? Even by yourself. I’ve seen the way you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re concentrating on the register. Same energy.”

Your face went hot again. “Stop studying me like I’m a lab rat.”

“Can’t. You’re the most interesting thing in this entire shitty bar.”

Midnight came and went. The last wave of drunks stumbled out around one-thirty. Jess clocked out early with a pointed “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” and a look that promised interrogation tomorrow. That left just the two of you closing—chairs up, floors mopped, registers counted in the weirdly intimate quiet of a bar after hours.

Eddie wiped down the last section of the counter while you counted the till. He waited until you were halfway through the twenties before he spoke again.

“Last question of the night. Promise.”

You didn’t look up. “You’re a liar.”

“Probably. But still.” He tossed the rag into the bin and came to lean against the register, arms crossed, watching you. “If someone actually knew what they were doing—knew exactly how to get you there and refused to stop until it happened—do you think you could?”

You paused with a stack of bills in your hand. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the back the ice machine kicked on with a loud clatter.

“I don’t know,” you said finally. “Maybe.”

Eddie’s mouth curved, soft and dangerous all at once. “Good answer.”

You finished the count in silence after that, the weight of his attention sitting warm against the side of your face. When the drawer finally balanced you locked it and straightened, rolling your shoulders. Your feet ached. Your lower back ached. It had been a long-ass day in every possible way.

Eddie was already shrugging into his leather jacket, hair a mess from running his hands through it all night. He held the door open for you as you both stepped out into the cool 2 a.m. air.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, like he hadn’t spent the last nine hours conducting a very public interrogation about your sex life.

You locked the door behind you and turned to face him under the streetlight. “You’re not done with the questions, are you?”

He smiled—slow, crooked, full of intent. “Not even close.”

The next day Eddie walked in looking like he’d made an actual effort, and it threw you off so hard you nearly dropped the stack of clean glasses you were carrying.

He’d clearly showered. The usual faint haze of cigarette smoke and bar soap that clung to him was gone, replaced by something warmer, cleaner—like cedar and maybe sage? underneath. His hair was still long and messy, but it looked deliberate this time, pushed back from his face like he’d actually run a comb through it. Black jeans, a soft worn black shirt that fit a little too well across the shoulders, and those same silver rings. He looked… intentional.

Jess noticed first. She mouthed what the fuck at you from across the bar the second his back was turned.

You just shook your head and tried not to stare.

He didn’t launch into the interrogation the second the shift started. That was the weirdest part. No pop quiz. No filthy little comments under his breath every time you bent down for a bottle. He just… worked. Smooth, quiet, efficient. When the bar got busy he moved around you like he’d memorized the shape of your body in the space, hand settling briefly at the small of your back when he needed to slip past, voice low and easy when he called out drink orders.

It should have been a relief.

It felt like standing too close to an open flame.

You floated through the night in a strange, charged quiet. Every time your eyes met across the bar something tight pulled low in your stomach. He caught you looking more than once and just smiled—small, private, like the two of you were sharing a secret no one else was in on.

Closing came faster than it should have.

Jess clocked out with a pointed look and a whispered “text me if you die” that made you want to throw a lime at her head. Then it was just the two of you again, stacking chairs in the low light, the jukebox finally silent.

Eddie wiped his hands on a towel and glanced over.

“You wanna come smoke?”

The question was casual. The way he said it wasn’t.

You usually said yes. Half the time after closing the two of you ended up on the back steps sharing a joint and talking shit about customers until the sky started getting light. Tonight the air between you felt thicker. Like the question meant something else entirely.

You still said, “Yeah. Okay.”

He nodded once, like he’d expected that answer, and grabbed his jacket.

You followed him out to the employee lot after locking up. His van was the same beat-up black thing it had always been, but even that felt different under the streetlights. He unlocked the passenger side for you without a word, then climbed in himself. The engine rumbled to life. Neither of you spoke for the first few minutes of the drive.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was loaded.

Eddie’s place was a small rented home ten minutes from the bar, the kind of place that looked like it had seen better decades. He parked in the cracked driveway and killed the engine. For a second he just sat there, hands on the wheel, staring at the dark porch like he was deciding something.

Then he looked over at you.

“You good?”

You nodded. Your pulse was doing something stupid in your throat. “Yeah.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, almost to himself. “Cool. C’mon.”

You followed him up the steps. The porch light was out. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside so you could walk in first. The living room smelled like him—leather, weed, stale cigarettes. A couple of amps in the corner. Records stacked in uneven piles. A couch that had definitely seen better days.

Eddie tossed his keys on the side table and shrugged out of his jacket. The clean scent of whatever he’d put on earlier drifted toward you again.

He glanced over his shoulder, that same small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You wanna sit outside or in here?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavier than it should have been.

You met his eyes.

You nodded toward the dark backyard. “Outside.”

Eddie grinned like you’d given him the exact answer he wanted and jerked his head for you to follow. The backyard was small and overgrown, a couple of mismatched plastic chairs near the fence and a milk crate that clearly doubled as a table. He dropped into one of the chairs with a satisfied groan and pulled a little tin from his pocket.

“Got some really good shit tonight,” he said, already breaking up a dense little nug between his fingers. “Friend of a friend. Sticky. Smells like a forest fucked a skunk and they both loved it.”

You snorted and took the other chair. “Poetic.”

“I try.” He packed the bowl with practiced ease, silver rings flashing under the porch light that barely reached this far. When he lit it the first hit made him cough once, sharp, then he laughed and held it out to you. “Careful. This one sneaks up.”

You took it. The smoke was thick and sweet and immediately made your head feel softer around the edges. You passed it back and watched him take another hit, the way his throat moved when he held it in.

A few quiet exhales later you tipped your head, studying him.

“What’s up with the get-up today, by the way?”

Eddie blinked, all faux innocence. “What get-up?”

“Don’t play dumb. You smelled different. Looked different. Like you actually owned a bottle of real cologne instead of just rolling in whatever was on the floor of the van.”

He waved a hand, smoke curling around his fingers. “I showered. Revolutionary concept, I know. Sometimes the hair gets washed. Sometimes the shirt isn’t the same one I wore three days in a row. It’s called being a functional adult.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious. Zero effort. Pure coincidence.”

You took another hit and exhaled slowly, watching him over the rim of the bowl. “Well… I liked it.”

The change was instant. His whole posture shifted—shoulders loosening, that slow, pleased grin spreading across his face like you’d just handed him a trophy. He sat up a little straighter, eyes bright even in the dark.

“Yeah?” he said, voice warmer. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to. You walked in smelling like you had somewhere better to be.”

Eddie laughed under his breath, low and a little giddy, and ran a hand through his hair like he couldn’t help himself. “Shit. Okay. Noted. I’ll keep that in the rotation then.”

You passed the bowl back, lips curving. “I like normal you too, though. The regular version. The one who smells like your van and talks too much and leaves guitar picks in the tip jar.”

He went quiet for a second, turning the bowl between his fingers. When he looked at you again the playfulness was still there, but something heavier sat underneath it.

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice rougher now. “I just wanted you to notice the effort. Because if I ever get my hands on you…” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours. “I want you to know there’s gonna be full effort there too. No half-assing it. No getting bored halfway through. I’m talking dedicated. Thorough. The kind of focus that makes you forget your own name for a little while.”

The air between you went tight.

You raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, and let a small, challenging smile pull at your mouth.

“That a promise or just talk?”

Eddie stared at you for a long second. Then he laughed—quiet, almost disbelieving—and shook his head like you’d just dared him to jump off a roof.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice full of dark delight. “You’re gonna regret asking me that.”

Eddie set the bowl down on the milk crate with a soft clink, still grinning like you’d just handed him the best idea he’d ever heard. Before you could even process the shift in his expression he was out of the chair and in front of you, hands already sliding under your thighs.

“Wait—Eddie—”

Too late. He hauled you up in one smooth, practiced motion and tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. The world tilted. Your hands flew to his back for balance as he started walking toward the house, one arm locked firm around the backs of your legs.

“Eddie, put me down—” you laughed, smacking the solid muscle of his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole, oh my god—”

“Mm. Keep talking. It’s cute.” His free hand settled on the back of your thigh, fingers spreading possessively as he carried you up the porch steps and through the open door. “Been thinking about doing this since you told me no one’s ever gotten you there properly. Figured I’d start with the logistics.”

You twisted, trying to push yourself up enough to see where you were going, still laughing. “Logistics? You’re manhandling me—”

The sharp, open-handed smack landed right across your ass.

The sound cracked through the quiet house.

You went completely still.

The laughter died in your throat. Heat flooded low and fast, a sudden, traitorous pulse between your legs that made your breath catch. Your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. You didn’t make a sound.

Eddie stopped walking.

You felt the way his whole body went alert underneath you—the slight pause, the way his hand stayed right where it had landed, palm warm against the sting he’d just left.

“…Oh,” he said, voice dropping into something darker and deeply pleased. “There it is.”

He adjusted his grip and kept walking, slower now, like he was savoring every step. You could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again.

“You went quiet real fast, sweetheart. That little problem of yours just get a whole lot more interesting?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your face was burning and the ache between your legs had gone from nothing to urgent in the span of one single slap.

Eddie carried you down the short hallway and into a bedroom that smelled like the real him. He bent and deposited you onto the mattress with surprising care, letting you slide down his body until you were sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at him.

He stayed close. Close enough that you had to tip your head back. One of his hands was still resting on your waist like he hadn’t fully decided to let go yet.

His eyes were darker than they’d been outside. The playful edge was still there, but it was sharper now. Focused.

“Yeah,” he murmured, thumb stroking once over your hip. “I saw that. Felt it too. You clenched up the second my hand landed.” He tilted his head, studying your face with open, hungry curiosity. “Interesting reaction for someone who’s never come with another person. Almost like your body already knows something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.”

He leaned in just enough that his next words brushed warm against your mouth.

“We’re gonna fix that.”

Eddie stayed right there between your knees, looking down at you like he’d already decided how the rest of the night was going to go. His hand was still warm on your waist, thumb tracing idle little arcs against the fabric of your shirt.

“Alright,” he said, voice light but serious underneath. “Before I do anything irreversible—you got a safeword?”

You blinked up at him, then huffed a soft laugh. “Jesus. You’re old. I’ve never needed one.”

His mouth twitched. “Charming. Really making me feel great about the age gap right now.”

“I’m just saying. Never came up.”

“Well it’s coming up now.” He reached past you, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it further up the bed like he was already planning ahead. “Pineapple. That’s the word. You say pineapple, everything stops. No questions, no attitude, I back off immediately. Clear?”

You stared at him for a second, then broke into a genuine laugh. “Pineapple? That’s the best you could do?”

“It’s memorable. And you’re not gonna forget it when you’re—”

You didn’t get to hear the rest of the sentence.

His hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he closed them in a firm, controlled fist. The pull wasn’t rough—just deliberate enough to tip your head back so you had no choice but to look straight at him. The sudden shift in control sent another low pulse of heat straight between your legs.

Eddie’s eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up. His voice came out quieter. Rougher.

“How do you like it?”

The question sat heavy between you. You swallowed. Your scalp tingled where he held you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. Honest. A little breathless. “No one’s ever… asked. Or stuck around long enough to figure it out.”

Something dark and satisfied moved through his expression. He leaned in closer, the grip in your hair keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Then you’re getting the whole experience,” he murmured. “Every version. Hard. Slow. Filthy. Whatever makes that pretty little problem of yours finally give up.”

He closed the last inch and kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was deep and immediate, mouth open, the kind of kiss that felt like a claim. His free hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting you further into it while the one in your hair stayed locked, holding you in place as he licked into your mouth like he’d been thinking about it for weeks. You made a small sound against his lips and he answered it with a low hum, pressing closer until your knees had to part wider around his hips.

When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his voice was wrecked already.

“Yeah,” he said against your mouth. “We’re gonna take our time with this.”

Eddie kissed you down into the mattress like he’d been holding himself back and finally ran out of reasons to. The weight of him settled over you. His mouth never left yours for long, only breaking long enough for both of you to drag in air before he was back, deeper, hungrier.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt at the same time his found yours.

Fabric got shoved up between frantic kisses. You both laughed once against each other’s mouths when your arms got tangled, then the shirts were gone—his tossed somewhere toward the floor, yours pulled carefully over your head so he didn’t catch it on your hair. The second your bare skin met the cooler air of the room, Eddie went still.

His eyes dropped.

The tattoos you’d kept hidden under work shirts and bar aprons sat dark against your skin—delicate lines and soft shading that only showed when the fabric came off. He stared like he’d just been handed something private and important.

“Fuck,” he breathed. One hand hovered, then settled lightly over the ink on your ribs, thumb tracing the edge of a design. “You’ve been walking around with these under those little black tanks this whole time and never said a word?”

You felt heat climb your throat. “Didn’t come up.”

“It’s coming up now.” His voice had gone lower, almost reverent. He leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the center of your chest, right between your breasts, then another a little higher. The metal of his rings was cool against your side as his hand slid up.

He paused there, mouth still brushing your skin, and looked up at you through his lashes.

“Can I take this off?” His fingers rested at the back clasp of your bra, waiting. Not moving until you answered.

You nodded.

Eddie kissed the same spot on your chest once more—soft, almost grateful—before he reached behind you. The clasp gave easily under his fingers, like he’d done it a hundred times and still treated it like it mattered. He drew the straps down your arms slowly, letting the fabric fall away, and sat back just enough to look.

The way his expression changed was quiet and thorough. No teasing. No smirk. Just open, focused appreciation as his gaze moved over you.

“Look at you,” he murmured. One hand came up to cup the side of your breast, thumb stroking once beneath it like he was learning the shape. “Hiding all this under work clothes every night. Perfect fucking girl. Trying so hard not to let anyone see.”

He leaned back down and pressed a slower kiss to the soft curve of one breast, then the other, voice still gentle against your skin.

“Gonna take my time looking at every single thing you’ve been keeping to yourself.”

He stayed right there, mouth and hands devoted to your breasts like he had nowhere else in the world to be. Soft, open kisses trailed across the full curves, lingering under the weight of them where the skin was most sensitive. His tongue flicked once over a nipple before he closed his lips around it and sucked—gentle at first, then deeper when your back arched. The whole time he talked, voice low and warm against your skin.

“So responsive,” he murmured, switching to the other side. “Look at the way you push up into my mouth. You’ve been starving for someone to just… stay here and worship these for a while.” Another slow suck, a quiet hum of approval when you made a soft sound. “Perfect tits. So fucking perfect.”

You were soaked.

You could feel it—heat and slickness gathering between your legs until your underwear clung uncomfortably. You didn’t think you’d ever gotten this wet before. Not from kissing. Not from anything. Every drag of his tongue, every quiet, filthy-sweet word made the ache worse.

Eddie kissed lower, across the soft skin just beneath your breasts, then lifted his head. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed careful.

“Can I take these off?” His fingers rested at the button of your jeans, waiting.

You nodded.

He popped the button and drew the zipper down slowly. You lifted your hips so he could work the denim down your legs and toss it aside. The second the cool air hit you, his gaze dropped—and locked onto the dark, obvious wet patch soaking through the center of your underwear.

His whole body went still.

You watched the thick outline of his cock twitch hard against the front of his jeans, straining against the fabric like it was trying to get to you on its own.

Eddie exhaled a rough, almost pained sound. “Jesus Christ.”

You swallowed, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “Fair is fair. Take yours off too.”

He didn’t argue. He stood just long enough to shove his jeans down and kick them away, leaving him in dark boxer briefs that did almost nothing to hide him. The outline was obscene—long, thick, heavy against his thigh, the head clearly defined where it pressed against the cotton. Even confined like that he looked massive.

Your mouth went a little dry.

“Holy shit,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.

Eddie glanced down at himself, then back at you, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his mouth even as his voice stayed soft.

“Yeah,” he said, climbing back over you. “We’re gonna take this real slow, sweetheart. I’m gonna need you nice and open for me.” His hand settled on your hip, thumb stroking the edge of your soaked underwear. “But first I’m gonna make sure this pretty little problem of yours never stands a chance.”

Eddie kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, like he was trying to pour every filthy intention he had into your mouth. You couldn’t help the way your hips rolled up against him, seeking friction, grinding the soaked center of your underwear against the hard line of his cock. The second you did it he groaned into the kiss, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh and hold you there for a second longer.

Then he pulled back.

“Greedy,” he murmured against your lips, almost fond. “Alright. I hear you.”

He started kissing down.

Your chest first—lingering again on the soft undersides of your breasts, tongue tracing the curves he’d already learned—then lower, across the plane of your stomach. Every open-mouthed press of his lips made your muscles jump. He nuzzled the soft skin just above the waistband of your underwear and exhaled like the scent of how wet you were was doing something to him.

You lifted your hips without being asked. Together you worked the soaked fabric down your legs until it was gone. The second you were bare, Eddie went quiet.

He sat back on his heels between your thighs and just looked.

His hands settled on the insides of your knees and slowly pushed them wider, eyes locked on the slick, flushed mess of your cunt. You were so wet it was almost embarrassing—glistening along your folds, dripping down toward the sheets. He stared like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“Fucking perfect,” he said, voice low and rough with sincerity. “Look at you. All pretty and shiny and soaked just from me playing with your tits. You’re beautiful like this.” His thumbs stroked higher along your inner thighs. “I’m gonna take such good care of you. Promise.”

Then he dove in.

No teasing. He flattened his tongue and dragged it through your center in one long, filthy stripe, collecting everything you’d made for him. The sound he made was almost pained—hungry and relieved all at once—before he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked.

Your whole body arched.

Eddie hummed against you like the taste of you was exactly what he’d been after all night, and settled in like he planned to stay there for a very long time.

He started slow—long, flat strokes of his tongue from the bottom of your cunt all the way up to your clit, gathering every bit of slick that had already collected there. The sound was wet and filthy every time he dragged through you. He hummed low in his chest like the taste of you was something he wanted to memorize.

“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he murmured against your folds, voice already rough. “So wet for me already. Been dripping since I smacked that pretty ass, haven’t you?”

His hands stayed firm on your inner thighs, holding you open exactly how he wanted. When he focused on your clit he did it with devastating patience—soft, circling licks that barely gave you pressure, then firmer ones that made your hips twitch. Every time your thighs tried to close he just pressed them wider and kept going.

You were already shaking.

Eddie noticed. Of course he did. He lifted his mouth just enough to speak, lips shiny, eyes dark and focused.

“That’s it. Let me feel it. You’re allowed to get loud, sweetheart. Nobody’s here but me.” He dipped back down and sucked your clit between his lips, gentle at first, then harder when your back arched. “Good girl. So sensitive. I can feel you throbbing on my tongue.”

He worked you in waves. Soft and teasing until you were rolling your hips up against his mouth, then deeper—tongue pushing inside you in slow, filthy thrusts while his nose pressed against your clit. The wet sounds filled the room. Your hands found his hair and twisted, not sure if you were trying to pull him closer or survive it.

Eddie groaned like he loved the sting.

“There you go,” he praised, voice muffled against you. “Use me. Grind on my face if you need to. I’ve got you.” He sealed his mouth back over your clit and sucked in a steady, relentless rhythm while two fingers finally slid inside you—curving, searching, pressing up into that spot that made your vision blur. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me already. So tight. So needy. Gonna make this little cunt come so hard for me.”

He didn’t rush the build.

Every time you got close he eased off just enough to keep you hovering—switching to broad, messy licks, kissing the insides of your thighs, murmuring soft filthy things against your skin about how pretty you looked spread open and dripping for him. Then he’d return to your clit with single-minded focus, fingers working you open, tongue relentless.

Your stomach started tightening. The pleasure turned sharp and overwhelming. You could hear how wet you were—slick sounds every time his fingers moved, every time his mouth sealed over you again.

“Eddie—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he said immediately, voice low and certain. He doubled down, sucking harder, fingers curling in steady, perfect strokes. “You’re right there. I can feel it. Let it happen. Give it to me.”

The orgasm hit like a wave you couldn’t stop.

Your whole body locked. A broken, high sound tore out of you as the pleasure crashed through—your cunt pulsing hard around his fingers, slick gushing out of you in warm, uncontrollable pulses that coated his mouth and chin and dripped down onto the sheets. Eddie moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted and kept going through it, licking you through every spurt, every tremor, drinking you down like he was starving for it.

He only slowed when your thighs started shaking too hard to stay open.

Even then he didn’t pull away completely. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your oversensitive clit, your folds, the dripping mess he’d made of you, voice wrecked and reverent.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured against your cunt. “Look at that. Fucking beautiful. You came so hard you made a mess of me.” He licked a slow stripe through the wetness still dripping from you and groaned.

Eddie sat up just long enough to shove his boxer briefs down and kick them off the bed. His cock sprang free—a heavy thump against his stomach. After everything he’d just done to you, he looked almost painfully hard.

He crawled back over you and kissed you deep.

You tasted yourself on his mouth immediately—sharp and sweet and filthy. The knowledge that he’d just had his face buried between your legs made your stomach flip all over again. He licked into your mouth like he wanted you to taste how hard you’d come for him, one hand braced beside your head, the other stroking slowly along your side.

When he pulled back, his voice was quieter. Careful.

“Still sure you want this?” His eyes searched yours. “I already made you come. We can stop here if you need to. No pressure.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You reached up, grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him down into another kiss—harder this time, open-mouthed and certain. Your other hand slid down between your bodies and wrapped around the thick length of him. He was so hot against your palm, so heavy, the skin soft over the rigid hardness underneath. Eddie groaned into your mouth like the simple touch of your hand almost undid him.

“Okay,” he rasped against your lips. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

He reached down and wrapped his own hand around his cock, guiding the broad head through the soaked mess of your cunt. The first drag of him against your oversensitive clit made your hips jerk. He did it again—slower—slicking himself up with everything you’d already given him, the fat head catching against your entrance every time he passed over it.

You were so wet the sound was obscene.

Eddie braced himself on one forearm and looked down between your bodies, watching the way the blunt head of his cock pressed against you. His breathing had gone uneven.

“Gonna go slow,” he promised, voice strained. “You’re tight as hell and I’m not exactly small. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He pushed.

The stretch was immediate and intense—thick pressure that forced you open around him inch by careful inch. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the way your body had to give to take him. Your mouth fell open on a broken sound. Eddie’s forehead dropped against yours, a low, punched-out groan spilling out of him as the head finally slipped inside.

“Fuck—look at that,” he breathed, hips trembling with the effort of holding still. “Taking me so well already. You’re soaking my cock baby girl.”

He gave you another inch. Then another. The burn of the stretch mixed with the leftover sensitivity from your orgasm until your thighs were shaking around his hips. You could feel how deep he was already getting, the heavy weight of him filling you in a way nothing else ever had.

Eddie kissed the corner of your mouth, sweet even as his voice went filthy.

“That’s it. Just like that. Let me in, sweetheart. Gonna fill this pretty cunt up until you forget anyone else ever tried.”

“Move,” you whispered.

Eddie exhaled like he’d been waiting for permission. He drew his hips back slowly—just an inch or two—then pushed back in just as carefully. The thick slide of him forced another soft sound out of your throat. You felt everything. Every ridge. Every subtle pulse of his cock as he sank deeper. The way your walls had to stretch and flutter around the heavy girth of him just to take it.

He kept the pace almost gentle.

Long, controlled strokes that let you feel the full drag of him pulling out and the slow, relentless push back in until he bottomed out against you. His forehead stayed pressed to yours. His voice never stopped.

“That’s it,” he murmured, breath warm against your mouth. “Feel how full you are. Taking all of me like you were made for it. S' tight. S' perfect around my cock.” Another slow thrust. Your fingers dug into his shoulders. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Letting me open you up.”

The sweetness of it almost undid you more than the stretch.

Every praise landed low in your stomach. Every careful roll of his hips sent sparks up your spine. You could feel how wet you still were—slick sounds filling the quiet room every time he sank back in. But the longer he stayed that measured and deep, the more something restless started building under your skin.

You needed more.

Deeper. Harder. Something that matched the ache he’d already put in you.

Eddie must have felt the way your hips started chasing him, because he pulled back just enough to look at your face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed soft.

“I know,” he said. “I can feel you getting greedy again sweetheart.”

He sat back on his knees, still buried inside you, and hooked his hands behind your knees. In one smooth motion he pushed your legs up and open, folding you nearly in half until your thighs pressed against your own chest. The new angle made him sink impossibly deeper on the next slow thrust. You gasped—sharp and high—as the thick head of him pressed against something that made your vision spark.

Eddie groaned low in his throat and held the position, hips rolling in the same unhurried rhythm, only now every stroke dragged against that deeper, more intense place inside you.

“There we go,” he praised, voice rough with restraint. “That’s what you needed, huh? Deeper?” He thrust in again—slow, deliberate, grinding against the end of you. “All folded up and still sucking me in. Perfect girl. Just keep breathing for me. I’ve got you.”

He never sped up.

He just kept fucking you deep and steady, sweet words spilling out of him the entire time, like he had no intention of stopping until he’d ruined you completely.

Your voice broke on a high, frustrated sound.

“Eddie—please—harder. I need it harder, I can’t—”

He didn’t make you beg twice.

The second the plea left your mouth his whole demeanor shifted. The careful restraint he’d been holding onto snapped. His grip on the backs of your thighs tightened and he started fucking you properly—long, powerful strokes that drove him deep enough to punch the air out of your lungs every time his hips met yours. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the room. Your body jolted up the mattress with every thrust until he dragged you back down by the hips and kept going.

“Anything,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Anything you want. You need it harder? It’s yours. Need me deeper? Take it.” He snapped his hips in harder, the thick length of him dragging against that spot inside you on every stroke until your eyes rolled. “Fuck—listen to you. Whining for my cock like you were made for it. I’ve got you. Gonna give you everything.”

The intensity crashed over you too fast to stop.

Your second orgasm hit with almost no warning—sharp and overwhelming, your cunt clamping down around him in hard, rhythmic pulses as pleasure ripped through you. You cried out, nails digging into his arms, thighs shaking violently in his grip while you came on his cock alone. The wet rush of it made every thrust louder, messier. Eddie groaned like he could feel every flutter and kept fucking you through it, never slowing, praising you the whole time in a broken stream of words.

“That’s it—come on my cock, just like that. Fucking beautiful. You’re soaking me. Squeezing me so tight I can barely move. Good girl. Perfect fucking girl.”

He only eased up when the aftershocks left you trembling and oversensitive.

You could still feel how hard he was inside you—thick and throbbing, nowhere near finished. The realization made something determined spark low in your stomach. You reached up and pushed weakly at his chest.

“Want to ride you,” you managed, voice hoarse. “Please. Let me.”

Eddie went still. His eyes searched your face, dark and concerned even as his cock twitched deep inside you.

“You sure?” he asked, already breathing hard. “You just came twice. You’re shaking. We can slow down—”

“I’m sure.” You held his gaze, stubborn and flushed and still pulsing around him. “I want to. Let me.”

Something hungry and soft moved through his expression all at once. He carefully pulled out of you—both of you hissing at the sudden emptiness—then rolled onto his back in one smooth motion. His cock lay heavy and glistening against his stomach— pulsing.

He looked up at you, hands already settling on your waist as you straddled him.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and rough with restraint. “It’s yours. Take whatever you need.”

You braced one hand on his chest and reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around the thick base of him. He was still soaked from you—slick and hot against your palm. You lined him up and sank down slowly.

The stretch punched a broken sound out of your throat. Even after everything, taking him from this angle felt deeper, heavier. You had to work yourself down inch by inch, thighs trembling, until you were finally seated flush against him with his cock buried to the hilt. Your head dropped forward. Eddie’s hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking soft circles like he was grounding you.

You swallowed, voice already shaky.

“What do you like?”

His eyes were almost black looking up at you. A breathless little laugh left him.

“Anything that makes this pretty cunt of yours cream all over me,” he said, rough and honest. “You want to grind slow and deep until you’re shaking? I’ll lie here and take every second of it. You want to bounce on my cock like a desperate little slut until your legs give out? I’ll hold you up and thank you for the privilege. Use me. Ruin yourself on me. I’m yours.”

So you did.

You started rolling your hips—slow at first, grinding him deep so every movement dragged against that spot inside you that made your stomach tighten. The wet sound of it was filthy. Eddie groaned under you, head tipping back against the pillow, hands sliding up to cup your breasts as you moved. You found a rhythm and stuck to it, lifting up until only the thick head remained inside you before sinking back down and taking every inch again.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, voice strained and filthy. “Stretching that tight little hole around my cock. I can feel you fluttering every time you bottom out. So wet you’re dripping down my balls. That’s it. Fuck yourself on me. Show me how badly you needed to get filled.”

Your thighs started burning sooner than you wanted. The deeper angle made every bounce more intense, the stretch relentless, pleasure building sharp and overwhelming all over again. You kept going anyway—determined—until your legs began to shake so hard you could barely lift yourself. A frustrated little sound slipped out of you.

Eddie felt it immediately.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped.

His hands locked hard around your waist. In the next breath he planted his feet on the mattress and started fucking up into you—powerful, upward thrusts that drove his cock deep enough to punch broken moans out of your mouth every time. The new rhythm was relentless. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room as he slammed up into your soaked cunt, using his grip on your hips to pull you down to meet every stroke.

“That’s it—take every fucking inch,” he snarled, eyes locked on where he disappeared inside you. “Sit on my cock and let me ruin you. This greedy little cunt is sucking me in so deep I can feel it in my spine. Dripping down my stomach like a slut who finally got what she needed.” He thrust up harder, the force of it making your tits bounce. “You feel that? That’s me splitting you open. This is what was missing every time some useless asshole couldn’t make you come. A real cock. A man who knows how to use it.”

Your arms gave out. You collapsed forward onto his chest, face buried against his neck, while he kept pounding up into you without mercy—praise and filthy encouragement spilling out of him in a continuous, wrecked stream.

“Come on. Squeeze me. Cream all over this cock while I fuck you stupid. You’re taking me so well I can barely think. Perfect fucking girl. My perfect fucking girl. Gonna keep this up until you forget how to walk straight.”

Eddie kept fucking up into you in hard, relentless strokes, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your body jolted with every thrust. He was so deep it felt like he was rearranging you from the inside.

His voice came out rough against your ear.

“Touch yourself. Play with that pretty clit while I fuck you. I want to feel you gush on my cock again.”

Your hand slid down between your bodies without hesitation. The second your fingers found your clit—swollen and oversensitive—you cried out. The dual sensation was almost too much: the thick, brutal drag of his cock splitting you open on every upward thrust and the tight circles you rubbed over your clit. Slick coated your fingers immediately. You were so wet it was obscene.

Eddie groaned like he could feel the way your cunt fluttered harder around him the second you started touching yourself.

“That’s it. Good girl. Rub that clit for me. Make a mess. I want to feel you soak my cock.” He snapped his hips up harder, the force of it punching broken, high sounds out of your throat. “Fuck—you’re gripping me so tight. This greedy little cunt doesn’t want to let me go. Come on. Give it to me. Third time’s the charm, sweetheart. Ruin yourself.”

The orgasm tore through you violently.

Your whole body locked up. A broken sob left your mouth as you came hard—cunt clamping down in strong, rhythmic pulses while a fresh gush of wetness flooded out of you around his cock. It was messy, uncontrollable, soaking his stomach, his hips, the sheets beneath you in a warm rush that just kept coming with every thrust he forced through it. The wet sounds turned filthy and loud. You shook apart on top of him, fingers still moving weakly over your clit as the pleasure dragged on and on.

Eddie cursed low and filthy, fucking you through every spurt until your thighs were trembling too hard to stay upright.

He didn’t stop moving, but his rhythm turned slightly more erratic—hips stuttering as he chased his own edge. His hands gripped your waist hard enough to bruise.

“Where do you want it?” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Tell me. Mouth, tits, stomach—where?”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes, still pulsing around him, still dripping.

“Inside me.”

Something raw and hungry flashed across his face.

“Fuck—okay. Anything you want.”

He pulled you down flush against him and buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he finally let go. A long, guttural groan tore out of his chest as he came—hot, thick pulses flooding your cunt in heavy spurts. You could feel every throb, every rope of it painting you deep inside. He kept you locked there, hips pressed tight, cock twitching as he emptied everything he had into you with broken, filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

“Take it—take every drop. Filling this perfect cunt up. Made for this. Made to take my cum.” His forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. “Fucking perfect. You’re perfect.”

He stayed buried deep as the last aftershocks faded, still pulsing weakly inside you, holding you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

You collapsed onto his chest like every bone in your body had given up at once.

Eddie stayed inside you for a few more long seconds, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back while the other cradled the back of your head. His heartbeat hammered under your ear. When he finally moved, he did it carefully—rolling you both onto your sides, then easing out of you with a soft, wet sound that made you flinch. You felt the immediate rush of his cum starting to leak out of you and made a small, incoherent noise against the pillow.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and slipped out of bed. You heard the soft sounds of him moving around the dark room—drawer opening, water running in the bathroom—before he came back with a warm washcloth. The mattress dipped as he climbed back in.

Eddie was gentle about it. He wiped between your legs with slow, careful strokes, cleaning up the mess the two of you had made without any teasing. When he finished he tossed the cloth toward the hamper and stretched out beside you, pulling you in until your head was on his chest and one of his arms was locked securely around your waist.

You were barely able to form words. Your body felt heavy and loose and thoroughly used. Every muscle hummed with leftover sparks. You managed a soft, exhausted sound against his skin and that was about it.

Eddie let the quiet sit for a while, fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine. Then, eventually, the familiar edge of amusement crept back into his voice.

“…So.”

You made a questioning noise that didn’t quite become a word.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly trying and failing to sound casual, “for someone who claimed she’d never come from a dude before, you just came two times on my cock and gushed all over my face like it was your job. I’m feeling pretty fucking proud of myself right now.”

You managed a weak, breathless little laugh against his chest.

“There she is,” he said, sounding deeply satisfied. “Thought I broke you for a second.” His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking behind your ear. “You good? Need water? A trophy? I’m open to suggestions.”

You pinched his side weakly. Your voice came out rough and quiet.

“Shut up.”

“Can’t. I’m having a moment. Do you understand the historical significance of what just happened in this bed? I should call Jess. Let her know the little problem has been thoroughly, scientifically solved.”

You groaned into his chest. “If you call Jess I will actually kill you.”

Eddie laughed—low and warm and completely unrepentant—and pulled you closer, tucking the blankets up around both of you.

“Fine. No phone calls. But I reserve the right to be unbearably smug about this for at least a week.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, voice dropping softer even as the teasing stayed. “You did so good for me. Seriously.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue.

You just let him hold you, the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, while the last of the aftershocks faded and the witty, insufferable version of him settled back in like he’d never left.

Two days later the bar was dead again—same sticky counters, same half-hearted jukebox, same mid-afternoon quiet that made the whole place feel like it was holding its breath.

Eddie had been insufferable since the second he walked in.

He didn’t say anything outright. He didn’t have to. It was in the way he moved around you—closer than usual, hand lingering at the small of your back every time he slipped past, that permanent little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was replaying the entire night on a loop. Every time you caught his eye across the bar he just raised an eyebrow, slow and filthy, and went back to polishing a glass like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire understanding of sex in his shitty little bungalow.

Jess lasted maybe forty minutes before she cracked.

She leaned across the bar while Eddie was restocking the back, voice low and delighted. “Okay. What the fuck happened.”

You kept wiping the same clean section of counter. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. He’s been floating around like he invented the orgasm and you keep turning the color of a stop sign every time he looks at you. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.”

Eddie chose that exact moment to reappear, carrying a case of beer like it weighed nothing. He set it down, glanced between the two of you, and the smirk widened.

“Talking about me?” he asked, all faux innocence.

Jess pointed at him. “You. Explain why you’re walking around like— like that."

Eddie leaned his elbows on the bar right next to you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. He smelled like the same cologne from the other night. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’m just in a good mood. Weather’s nice. Tips were decent yesterday. Life is beautiful.”

You shot him a warning look. He ignored it completely.

Jess’s eyes narrowed, bouncing between the two of you. Then something clicked. Her mouth fell open.

“Oh my god.”

“Jess—” you started.

“You didn’t.”

Eddie examined his rings like they were suddenly fascinating. “Didn’t what?”

“You fixed the little problem,” she said, voice climbing with glee. “You actually fixed it. Look at her face. Look at your face. Holy shit.”

You dropped the rag and pointed at both of them. “We are not talking about this.”

Jess clasped her hands under her chin. “I need every detail. Immediately. Was it good? Was it life-changing? How many times did you—”

“I will quit,” you said flatly.

Eddie made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. “Y’know, I’m happy to provide a full report if she’s too shy. In the interest of science. And friendship. And the betterment of women everywhere who’ve been suffering under subpar—”

You shoved his shoulder hard enough that he laughed and had to catch himself on the bar.

“Do not.”

He held up both hands, still grinning like the cat that got everything it ever wanted. “Offer stands. Jess, you just say the word and I’ll give you the entire play by play. ”

Jess looked like Christmas had come early. “I’m listening.”

You grabbed the rag again and turned away, face burning, but you couldn’t quite hide the smile pulling at your mouth.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, loud enough for only you to catch the undertone, “I’m available for follow-up research whenever you want.”

The bar stayed dead for the rest of the shift.

Somehow that felt exactly right.

Your hands are threading through his hair, and Eddie’s sliding lower on your waist. Both of you tangled in each other’s arms, intoxicating one another with the chaos that made you you.

Eddie pulled away first, his forehead leaning onto yours.

“We should skinny dip next time,” he grinned, eyes sparkling like it was the best idea he’d ever had.

You snorted, smacking his shoulder lightly, sending water splashing across his face. “You’re such a perv, Munson.”

He laughed, shaking his head, water dripping from his curls. “Perv? Please. I didn’t know it was a crime to want to be close to my royal highness.” He bowed his head dramatically, voice dripping with mock theatrics.

“Being nude in Lovers Lake at midnight would definitely make the town happy,” you shot back, a smile spreading onto your lips. “I bet the sheriff would love catching us out past curfew.”

Eddie’s grin widened, eyes glinting. “Then let him. I’ll tell him it was all my fault. Freak’s honor.”

The kiss that followed was rough and soft all at once. Yet the grin spread across Eddie's face, unmistakably bringing out a smile of your own.

--------------------

The strong smell of sweat over the weak, cheap cologne that hung on to the players. Eddie Munson hung around the entrance of the gym, back flushed against the door he saw you sitting on the bleachers while the game went on. His gaze locked on you, unrelenting, holding you in a trance. You tried not to show the way your insides were putty and how you secretly adored being under his gaze.

You hated how you knew that Eddie strived to be seen by you. The way he would worship you behind closed doors, how you loved every moment with him, no matter how secret it had to be. the glances, the glares, the smirks, the eye rolls. All part of a constructed game of pride, both of you clawing and fighting to stay on top.

Eddie hated the “social hierarchy” of Hawkins High. He hated how you played into it, hated how you sought approval even when you swore you didn’t.

You hated Eddie’s rebellion against it. You knew if he ever tried to fit in, he’d lose what made him Eddie. You would have never gone for Eddie or paid him mind if he played into this stupid game. But you also hated how exhausting it was to defend him, snarling at Jason, telling his friends to back off, watching fights break out, which always led to him losing and being left black and blue. You hated how reckless he was, how little he seemed to care about himself. Whether it was his grades, or risking it all to sell, or even risking it all to not let one of Jason's friends one up him. You knew Eddie went out of his way to take the beatings for his friends, and it all caused more stress on you.

You loved him, Eddie just seemed to be a magnet for trouble. The trouble coming from his simple existence and his lack of self-care.

And then there was Chrissy. Sweet, soft Chrissy Cunningham. She defended him gently, where as you defended him with all guns on the table. She was everything you weren’t: gentle, forgiving, kind. At least when it came to Eddie, the contrast between you two became apparent.

She would defend him so softly in front of everyone, while you were biting at his defense. Chrissy was what you can call the embodiment of gentleness.

Your jaw clenched at the thought. You hadn’t noticed you were still holding Eddie’s gaze until Brianna tugged your arm. Chrissy whispered something about needing to leave mid-game. You frowned. Why would Chrissy leave now?

You looked back just in time to see Eddie push off the door, opening it wide for her. Chrissy shot him a soft smile, and Eddie threw one back. Your stomach twisted, jealousy burning hot. Eddie’s grin dropped slightly when he caught the scowl on your face. You trusted Munson, you really did, but after he and Chrissy struck a deal, they seemed to be getting closer and closer.

You were going to murder Munson.

Or at least you would if you didn't love the stupid freak.

He knew what he was doing. He could sense it. You never spoke of your jealousy, but Eddie wasn’t stupid. He loved rattling you, loved seeing how far you’d bend before snapping. He wanted you to come forward and, for once, see a crack in your composure, not directed at his lack of self-care but at your actual emotions and feelings. He wanted to know if you felt as deeply as he did when he couldn't have you in front of everyone, while the people he hated most stayed around you at all times.

--

You walked out of the gym, the parking lot of Hawkins high long empty now. Outside, the night breeze bit at your legs and arms. The gym bag you held helped to no avail bite off the cold. You scanned the cars, hoping to see the run-down van. The broken rattly van that Eddie refused to get rid of.

A small smile formed as you thought back to the door that he would fight to open on the passenger side, where you would normally occupy. Always a gentleman.

Yet the van was nowhere in sight, and you bit your lip, frustration settling in your gut. You let out a breath and started your way up the road. Walking home, it was.

The walk was quiet, your Walkman forgotten on your bed, the forest pathway stretching endlessly into the night. The woods pressed in around you, shadows heavy, an eerie chill settling in your gut. Each step felt louder than it should, nerves crawling over your skin.

.You heard the sudden rumble of an engine, tearing down the road like a madman. your pulse jummped,excitment rising depite yourself, eddie loved speeding in his stupid van.

The car slowed. You turned, a smile fighting its way onto your face, one you refused to let Munson see. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much joy and relief it brought you, even with jealousy gnawing at your chest.

But as your eyes caught the headlights, the smile faltered, joy draining instantly. It wasn’t Eddie.

It wasn't eddies crazed van, it was Billy Hargroves stupid Camero. Your stomach dropped at the realization. you'd heard about Billy Hargrove from a multitude of people, some good, some bad. You had heard about his temper, his love for drinking and his constant smoking. Locker room whispers about how he was good in bed, girls giggling over his tight jeans.

The thought made your jaw tighten. You turned back around, refusing to linger, and continued walking.

“Where you going this late?” his voice called from the car.

The Camaro caught up with you, continuing forward, matching your pace.

“Do you need a ride or something? It’s a pretty far walk.” Your pace continued constant.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” his voice turned stern.

You swallowed. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m just heading home.”

He smiled, looking you up and down. “And where’s home?” You bit your lip, refusing to respond.

“Come on, I’m feeling extra generous tonight. I promise I don’t bite.”

He moved the car so that it blocked the road ahead. “Get in, sweetheart. I’m not leaving.”

“I promise, I don’t bite. Now get in.”

Billy didn’t seem his usual self, his tone softer than expected, a cigarette hanging from his lips. You noticed a faint bruise on the side of his face.

“I don’t know you,” you said flatly.

“Well, I don’t know you either, sweetheart. Yet here I am, helping. It’s cold outside, and I know that skirt isn’t doing anything to cover you. Get in. I’m not asking again.”

With that, you climbed into the car. Billy sped off, laughing, your fingernails curling into your palms at the speed. You could feel the crescent moons forming on your palms. Eddie never drove this badly, not when you were in the van with him.

“So, what’s got your panties in a twist?” he asked, cigarette balanced between his lips.

“Nothing,” you muttered.

“You always this uptight and bitchy?” he pressed, smoke exhaling from his lungs.

You noticed him pull into a barely lit gas station, a small panic rising in your chest. “Billy, I don’t-”

“Relax, I just need to buy more cigarettes,” he muttered, stepping out and slightly slamming the car door.

You sighed, sitting uncomfortably in the passenger seat, the back of your foot aching where your cheer shoes had begun to bruise from the long walk. You stared out the window, jealousy and frustration settling heavy in your chest. Suddenly, every inch of clothing felt unbearable, the socks creasing against your skin, the fabric of your shirt clinging wrong. You hated it all. And you hated Eddie for not picking you up, even though you’d secretly hoped he would.

He wasn't obligated to, but you hoped.

Then, headlights cut through the dim lot. A van pulled into the rundown gas station. Your breath caught as you recognized it instantly, Eddie’s rattling van.

Wild curls spilled out as he climbed from the driver’s side, laughing in his stupid, shameless way. He made his way theatrically to the passenger side, performing an exaggerated bow. From it, Chrissy Cunningham stepped out, a shy smile on her face.

Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The universe had to be fucking with you.

--

eddie had seen the way you stred across the court, a small guilt settling into his stomahc. the truth was, eddie loved you, almost violently obssed with you. he would bend at your will wheneber you wanted, no matter how hard he tried to play it off.

His thoughts snapped out of it when Chrissy Cunningham made her wayover. a faint smile grzed his features, but his eyes immediately flicked back to you. he caught the scowl, the clench of your jaw, and sent you a tight lipped smile before leaving.

He was going to hear about it. Not directly, but in the little ways you always let him know, the microaggressions, the sharp snaps, the cold remarks. Maybe you’d tell him you didn’t care, maybe you’d push him away, but he knew how it would end. He’d kiss you, listen until the anger drained, and you’d both fall back.

Eddie knew you hated this arrangement. Both of you were hard headed, but never enough to truly hate each other, never enough to stay apart. It was always the same: too prideful to let your walls down, too intoxicated with each other to let go.

god he knew what awaited him. he hated how you wouldn't leave the hierarchy that despised him, but Eddie wasn't stupid. He understood why you stayed, he knew how your parents would react, how hard you worked to accomplish your dreams, and how every ounce of effort was poured into making something of yourself.

Eddie also knew you hated the way he wasted his potential, his lack of care for himself. Every fight, every snarl, every shove, every pull, it was all part of the vicious cycle. You both promised to let go, but always ended up back together, whether wrapped in each other’s arms or tangled between the sheets.

He knew he was yours. Always yours. No doubt in his mind. But Eddie couldn’t say the same about you. He knew you wanted him, yearned for him, burned for him, but he couldn’t see why. He couldn’t understand why someone like you would choose someone like him.

Eddie knew he loved you. He knew you did everything to keep him safe. Yet in his own way, he loved his self-sabotage. He believed you were too good, too far above him, and that it was only a matter of time before you ended up with someone above his level.

In a way, Eddie thought you were trying to force him into the perfect person you wanted. But deep down, he knew you cared about him, and only pushed him for his benefit, not yours. It wasn’t selfish, it wasn’t about appearances. Still, Eddie sometimes didn’t want to be better. He felt he couldn’t amount to it, couldn’t fit the idea of “better” that you longed for.

Eddie pulled himself out of his head as he walked with Chrissy toward his van, his flamboyant persona slipping back into place.

“So, what shall your poison be today?” he grinned, opening the door and practically jumping into the driver’s seat, his lunchbox sliding from the back.

“We’ve got all these options… or are we seeking our evil grass?”

Chrissy chuckled lightly. “I think I’ll stick to the soft stuff, Eds.”

Eddie sighed dramatically, throwing his head back. “Fine. No adventures of Ms. Cunningham tonight.”

Time slipped away without Eddie noticing. He had driven Chrissy out for a smoke, and she talked about Jason, all about how crappy he was.

“Y/N has been in a bit of a mood lately with all the picking, though,” Chrissy said casually. Eddie’s attention sparked.

“What could have possibly wounded the queen bee?” Eddie asked in his theatrics, taking a drag from his cigarette, smoke curling around his smirk.

“I think it’s a boy… or Jason bugging her. She’s been snapping at the guys a lot, especially over fights or beating on people. I think she might secretly like you.”

She said it so casually that Eddie froze, lips pursed, waiting for her to continue.

“I mean, she gives me hard stares when I do it. I try not to notice, though. Jason got into an argument about how he had to have a short dick and makes up for it by being an ass to people, especially you. She sticks up for you a lot. I don’t think anyone’s noticed but me.”

“I tried talking to her the other day, and she snapped at me.”

“Sounds like her highness herself,” Eddie muttered, masking the flicker of hope with sarcasm.

Chrissy chuckled softly, shaking her head. She liked talking to Eddie; he was a breath of fresh air. He was free.

It became dark before they knew it. Eddie panicked at the realization.

“Shit. What time does your game thing end?”

Chrissy looked down at the delicate watch on her wrist. “It ended maybe half an hour ago.”

Eddie winced, silently cursing himself.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Chrissy, ever sweet, noticed. “Everything okay, Eds?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry... we need to pass by the school really quick, okay?”

Chrissy gave him an odd look but only nodded, smiling faintly. Eddie sped into the school parking lot, seeing everyone gone.

“Shit.”

Chrissy shot him a worried glance, biting her lip softly. Maybe something had gone wrong.

Eddie looked down at the steering wheel and noticed the almost empty line on the gas gauge.

“Shit,” he muttered. He needed to make the most of this, maybe buy you your favourite snack, some chocolate, and head to your house after dropping Chrissy off.

“Our next stop shall be the sacred shop of mystical treats and gas,” he announced theatrically. “If that’s okay?”

Chrissy laughed. “Okay, Eds.”

Chrissy smiled. Eddie had to fix this.

------

Their laughter up to the entrance of the store rang through your ears. God, this was torture. Where the hell was Hargrove?

As Eddie opened the door, he came face to face with Billy. Eddie, ever the performer, stepped aside with a mock bow, his theatrics dripping from every gesture. His eyes, however, followed Billy closely.

Billy tossed his stuff carelessly into the back seat and drove away like a madman. Eddie’s brows furrowed, unease twisting in his gut. For a split second, he thought he saw you in the passenger seat. His stomach tightened, breath catching, but he wasn’t sure.

--

“So, where is this house you were so eager for?” Billy asked, voice sharp.

“I need a break.” You dug through your bag on the floor, pulling out a joint Eddie had given you earlier, for when you felt extra bold and adventurous.

“Hey- not smoking that shit in my car.”

You looked at him. “Then pull over. I’m getting off.”

“Or,” he smirked, “you can wait and share. We’ll hit a little spot, hang out, and you can tell me what’s got your knickers in a twist.”

“No. I think I’m getting off.” The car sped up.

“Billy, I’m serious. This is kidnapping. Stop being an ass and let me out.”

The arguing was useless. He snapped back, and you snapped at him, the tension dangerous. Your eyes caught the road a few blocks from your house, far from any homes, perfect for disappearing.

“Get out.” He killed the engine.

He lit the blunt in your hand, and you took a drag. Billy leaned against his Camaro.

“So, what’s got the royal bitch in a mood?”

“Back off, Hargrove. Not right now, okay?”

“No. I want to know.”

“It’s nothing. Drop it.”

“Come on, it’s the least you could do for the ride."

" I’m sharing my weed," you snapped.

" Just talk, Jesus.”

You sighed, smoke leaving your lungs. Maybe it was the high, maybe desperation, but you told Billy everything. The on-and-off, the sex, the kissing, the “I love yous,” the fights, the pushing, the pulling, all of it.

“Really? Munson?” He took a drag, holding the smoke in his lungs.

“Don’t you shove him and shit? All that petty crap you girls do when you’re trying to be a pain?”

“He talks shit, too, okay? He yells it to the world, calls me names in front of everyone. It’s mutual, Hargrove, not one-sided.”

“So you guys just fuck it out? Is it like foreplay for you?”

You grimaced but couldn’t help laughing.

“No. I actually care about him. Sadly. Like, really care. We always promise it’s the last time, but we go back to each other. Some deranged cycle. He’s with Cunningham right now, though.” Your nose scrunched at the thought.

Billy passed the blunt.

“Well, I’m pretty sure Munson saw you in my car, if that helps.”

You sighed. It didn’t help. You knew Eddie and his antics; you could already feel the fight brewing.

“You better not tell anyone we fuck, Hargrove. I mean it.”

“You’re too caught up in the freak to even let me kiss you. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re a cunt. A vicious bitch at that.”

------------

Eddie waited. It had been nearly an hour since he dropped Chrissy off. He parked his van a block down and climbed through your window, snacks and apologies ready. He sat on your bed, looking around the room. He rehearsed his apology anxiety spiking within him.

Worry started gnawing at him. Were you walking? Was it really you with Hargrove? His thoughts spiraled, impatience and agitation creeping in. He hadn’t meant for him and Chrissy to be out long, it was just supposed to be unwinding and a sale.

It had only been a week or two since you both had called it quits again, but you’d already kissed and made out in his van a week ago, fixing things in your own messy way.

Anxiety prickled at his spine. The jabbing roar of an engine cut through the silence. Eddie peeked out the window and froze, you were stepping out of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro.

His jaw locked, tongue running over his teeth, insecurity spiking hard. He saw you flip Billy off as the car sped away, saw the sigh leave your chest as you made your way in, gym bag slung at your side.

The anger, the anxiety, the guilt, the apology, all of it bubbled inside him. He could feel how it would snap, how it would turn ugly if he didn’t get control.

---

The house was dark, your feet ached, everything felt heavy and lighter all at once. Your chest sank, shoulders rounding under exhaustion, the thought of Eddie not showing up pressing harder than the walk itself.

You made your way up the stairs.

Your door was closed, but when you stepped inside, a figure sat waiting. A startled sound almost escaped your chest, until you saw the wild curls.

He was on your bed, the lamp flickering on. Eddie stared at you long and hard.

He took in your appearance, the tired eyes, the bitter look, the faint scent of marijuana clinging to you. His scowl deepened. You sighed when you saw him.

You sat on the bed, pulling off your shoes, blisters forming at the back. Eddie’s eyes softened at the sight, but you refused to break the silence.

“So… Hargrove now?” His voice was bitter, accusatory.

“Don’t start, Eddie. I’m not in the mood.” You peeled off your socks.

“I was over here rehearsing apologies for my screw-up, but there you were with Hargrove.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t leave to be with my dream girl, the princess of Hawkins- did I, Eddie?” You let out a humorless chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s rich. Switch it up on me.”

He shook his head, dragging a hand down his face.

“Eddie, you left with Cunningham. You left me stranded knowing my parents weren’t home. You do understand how far my house is from school, right?”

“I didn’t mean for that, okay? I went to get your favorite snacks, spent the whole time thinking of how to make it up to you.”

“Okay, Eddie.” Your eyes felt tired, your heart heavy.

“Okay? That’s it?” His hands moved as he spoke, frustration spilling. He stood, pacing.

“Fine. Did you get in her pants, since you apparently want me to know every detail about you and Cunningham?” you snapped.

“Real rich coming from you. You were with Hargrove.”

“Eddie, I didn’t do it on purpose. If you weren’t so busy snuggling up to Chrissy, maybe I would’ve gotten home to be with you like I planned. But no, no, you insist on shoving things in my face.”

“I’m not sleeping with Chrissy. I don’t even like her that way.”

“Okay, Eddie.”

“Okay? Really, okay again?”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m jealous, that I’m hurt, that I just want us to be okay without arguing?”

“What do you want me to say, Eddie? I defend you, I fight for you, and you’re over here taking and taking. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Eddie stared. “I want us to be together. But every time we’re okay, you always find something better in some way. In school, in clubs, in people”

“Eddie, I love you. And if you can’t see that, you’ve got bigger issues.”

“You don’t want to date, don’t switch it up on me.”

“Eddie, I would date you in a heartbeat. You just hate yourself too much to realize when people care about you.”

“Oh, okay. Real rich coming from you, talking about self-hatred. You hang out with people you hate just to make yourself feel better.”

“I’m trying to move forward, Eddie. That’s not fair. Just because you refuse to grow, refuse to do something for yourself that doesn’t involve sabotaging everything, doesn’t mean you should hold me to your standard.” Your voice wavered, tears threatening to drop from your eyes.

it had turned to screaming, voices colliding, accusations flying across the room. Back and fourth, a game both played too well.

It always found its way, the cycle, the chaos, the venom wrapped in love. Because both of you loved each other, that much you knew.

And maybe, just maybe, loving each other wasn’t always enough.

Because love isn’t always enough.

“Eddie…” He kept going on about how he didn’t mean to, how it all blew up for no reason.

“Eddie.” Your voice was quiet.

He sighed, frustrated, but his features softened when he saw the fight leaving your face.

“Can we just not right now? I wanted to spend today with you. I’m not ashamed of you the way you think I am. I don’t want you to change, I just want you to care about yourself. And whether you want Chrissy or me, I can’t decide that for you. But I’m tired, Eddie. I’m sad, and I’m hurt.”

You swallowed as tears fell, your lip quivering, emotions breaking through against your will.

“Please leave. I really can’t right now. I want to shower and sleep. My feet are blistering, and I just want my bed.”

Eddie saw how tired you were, guilt crawling up his gut. His instincts screamed at him to hug you, to comfort you in every way he could. He wished he could cure it all with kisses and stupid words that once made you smile. He wanted to make it better, to see that grin you gave when he said something ridiculous.

Eddie wanted to hold you close, kiss the crown of your head, and promise you’d get through this together, because you always did. He knew you more intimately than he knew himself sometimes, and you knew him better than anyone else. It felt like he was losing you with every passing second.

He realized now what you felt was exhaustion. His jealousy had flared at the worst time. He knew you didn’t want Hargrove, the only reason you were with him was because Eddie wasn't there, not because you wanted to shove it in his face. He realized it wasn't a petty fight.

Eddie’s stomach twisted. He just wanted it to be better. He wanted you to feel better. His own eyes began to water.

“Sweetheart, I’m-” He stepped toward you, but you stepped away, shaking your head as tears fell.

“Go home. Please.” Your voice sounded broken. Eddie knew this wasn’t just about the ride or Chrissy. He knew it was one too many screw-ups, piling up until you couldn’t carry them anymore. He knew you tried. He knew you’d be with him in a heartbeat if only he could see what you saw.

Eddie swallowed, nodding. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll drive by… or call.”

You didn’t answer, only sniffled, standing in the middle of the room. Eddie left, shutting the door behind him.

Walking down the stairs felt heavy. With each step, he realized more, his wrongs, your wrongs. The issue always being that he cared too little, and you cared too much for him.

He was going to fix it. No one could take your place. and the thought of even trying or being with anyone else hurt.

--------------------------------------------------

It had been two months. Graduation loomed just a month away.

You’d seen Eddie around school. He looked tired. Sometimes he waved, sometimes he just stared while talking with his friends. You’d drift your eyes away… or hold his gaze for a few beats longer than usual.

He hadn’t called the next day.

Eddie thought the whole drive home after the fight, replaying it until his head spun. He collapsed into bed without even taking his clothes off. He was left with his thoughts, the image of you with someone else ate at him. He told himself maybe you’d both run your course. And that it was for the better.

But then, he wanted to change his mind. Because it didn’t feel right. He wanted to see you smile, he wanted to see it even if it meant leaving. He decided you deserved happiness, maybe for good this time. You deserved that, and so much more.

You tried to talk to him once, and only once, in that stretch of silence. It was during one of his campaigns, his friends crowded around the table. After practice, you stepped inside the auditorium. Eddie saw you and winced. He stood awkwardly and said maybe you two shouldn’t drag it out any longer, that, despite the wonderful moments, it wasn’t worth hurting you.

And that’s how it ended.

You grew quieter around Jason and his friends. The cheer team no longer felt like comfort or cover. Eddie had been right, you hung around people you hated just to build yourself up.

You occasionally talked to Hargrove. Not friends, not really, but you both understood you could say things to each other. You still thought of him as a shitty person, but knew there was softness buried deep. He thought of you as a stuck‑up bitch with a hard exterior and soft insides.

Chrissy noticed. She was ever so observant. She saw the shift in you during practices, the unhappiness you carried. She saw Eddie, sad and distracted, and it drove her mad, not understanding what was apparently hurting you both so deeply.

One day at lunch, she made her way toward Eddie. Everyone stared. Jason sneered, commenting on what she was doing, going to the freak, had she lost it? He stood, ready to beat Eddie down.

Chrissy snapped. Her voice rang out, sharp and trembling, cutting through the cafeteria noise.

“Jason, stop! You’re being an asshole.”

Everyone stared. Jason froze, stunned that Chrissy Cunningham, quiet, sweet Chrissy, had raised her voice.

She swallowed hard, her shy nature fighting against the fire in her chest.

“He’s smart, he’s kind, and he’s my friend. You don’t get to treat him like garbage just because you think you can.”

The cafeteria went silent. Jason sneered, but Chrissy stood her ground, cheeks flushed, hands trembling.

Eddie looked startled, almost disbelieving, as Chrissy turned toward him. Her voice softened, but her eyes stayed steady.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

Everyone stared. She swallowed, her shy nature fighting against the fire in her chest. Eddie looked startled. Chrissy turned to him and asked if they could talk.

You didn’t know what was happening. You only saw them walk out of the cafeteria. The bitter thought settled in your mind, maybe that was why it ended.

You looked back at your food, ignoring the gossip swirling around the table.

“So what’s gotten into you, Eddie?” Chrissy asked, worry lacing her voice.

“What do you mean?” Eddie muttered.

“Everything’s changed. I’ve noticed you staring at Y/N. She’s been all over the place lately. No one notices but me. Well… everyone notices her. She drifts, she snaps at people when she isn’t with Hargrove.”

Eddie felt guilt. He knew he’d been the cause.

“I just… I messed up.”

And then it all came out. Eddie told her about you, how you’d been seeing each other for a year, how it started with late‑night talks, the walks, the kissing, the dates, the hangouts. How he let you into every crevice of his life, and how you let him into yours.

Chrissy listened, quiet but steady.

“You’re passing your classes. You’re graduating this year. You’re getting a job. I can help you.”

Eddie looked at her, confused.

“She wants you to care about yourself the way she cares about you. So do it. Then talk to her. Try to get her back. Because clearly both of you are suffering, and it’s killing you both.”

With that, Eddie decided he would get you back. He just needed to better himself first. That’s what the two months of silence had been for. And that’s what the month leading into graduation would be about.

--------

The camera flashed, the light bothering your eyes, a smile painted on your face. Your mother insisted on more pictures despite the hundreds she had taken already.

“Mom, we still have the rest of the day,” you laughed softly.

“You just grew up so fast. Now stand over there for another picture.”

The day blurred after that. You sat in the field, classmates laughing or crying as the speeches continued. You smiled. Everything felt so bittersweet.

You looked to the stands, saw your mom cheering and waving, a smile tugging at your features. Your eyes moving against the crowd. A few rows down, you spotted Wayne. Your brain halted for a moment.

Your brows furrowed as names were called left and right, until one made your heart leap.

“Edward Munson.”

Your head snapped toward the stands. There he was, Eddie Munson, wild curls tucked under his cap, gown draped awkwardly, grinning in all his glory. Your smile widened despite everything. He looked around the crowd until his eyes found yours. His grin stretched further as he lifted his diploma high.

Wayne’s cheering rang out as Eddie turned, showing it off proudly.

Finally, your name was called. Your pulse picked up as you walked across the stage. You saw your family, your mom, and then the crowd. Billy Hargrove clapped but rolled his eyes teasingly. And then there was Eddie, cheering louder than anyone, the biggest grin on his face. Your heart skipped a beat. This was it, this closed high school forever.

Tear‑eyed goodbyes on the field, families meeting graduates. Your mom stayed behind, giving you time with your friends, if only she knew.

“So, graduate,” Hargrove strolled over.

“Yeah, who knew you’d manage? I thought you were too busy showing off your ass to the school,” you teased.

“One of my many talents,” he rolled his eyes.

He gave you a quick hug. “Congratulations.” His gaze lingered.

“What?” you asked, brows furrowed.

“I think someone wants to congratulate you.” With that, Billy walked away toward a red‑haired girl.

You stood confused. You didn’t think anyone cared enough to come up to you.

“All these tears, as if we don’t live in the same town and have a whole summer ahead,” Eddie’s voice came casually from beside you, though his fingers fiddled with his rings.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, nothing more emotional than not seeing each other in school but running into each other at the mall. Truly heinous way to go.”

You turned to him, smiling. “You made it. I knew you could.” Your eyes glossed, you were proud of him, truly proud. Maybe you had never been so proud of someone before as in this moment.

“I did it,” he said softly, looking down.

“And look at you. You made it too,” he added, eyes flicking to your cap and gown.

“Yeah, I did.” A smile tugged at your lips.

“Listen, I-”

“Y/N! Oh my baby, you finally graduated!” Your mom’s voice cut through, pulling your eyes away from Eddie’s intense stare.

She hugged you tightly, words spilling out. Over her shoulder, you caught Eddie’s smile, proud, tender, watching someone else love you the way he did.

Eddie felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Wayne, pride written all over his face. Wayne pulled him into a hug, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Your mom insisted on a picture of both of you. You stood awkwardly side by side.

“Oh, stop it, you two,” she scolded, signaling for you to hug.

And you did, pulling each other into a side embrace, smiling for the camera as the flash went off.

You turned to him, your stomach twisting at the goodbye.

“I’ll see you around, Eddie,” you said as your mom started toward the car.

---------

The Hawkins summer was already beating you down, and it was barely the first day.

The day after graduation, everything felt bittersweet. You secretly fangirled at the fact that Eddie had spoken to you, proud of his achievement. Whether he made it with or without you, you were still proud.

The afternoon sun settled heavy, your shorts doing little to relieve the heat, when a knock came at the door. You made your way down, confusion lacing your featues.

You opened it, greeted by wild curls, a nervous smile, and Eddie Munson waiting.

He held flowers. A small bouquet clutched in ring‑littered hands.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing.

“Eddie… I didn’t expect you.” Your heart raced in your chest.

“Yeah, yeah. These are for you.” He held the flowers out awkwardly. You furrowed your brows but took them anyway, your fingers brushing his, electricity sparking up your arm, your pulse quickening.

He cleared his throat. “I love you.”

The words tumbled out quickly, unexpected, a spontaneous symphony to your ears.

“What?” Confusion laced your tone.

“I said I love you. I love you so much. I wanted to prove I could be something, that I could care the way you cared. Because I love you. I never want to let go of you. I can’t live without your temper, your sarcasm, the way you roll your eyes at my jokes.” His breath was uneven, every word spilling out raw.

Your face froze. Your rib cage felt on the verge of breaking.

“These past few months have been hell. Every day I thought of you. I’d see you smile, but I wanted it to be for me. If you let me, I won’t screw up anymore. I’ll keep fixing things, keep working toward something. Because I love you. And I’ve never loved anyone like this.” His eyes glossed, his confession consuming him.

He stared at you, eyes burning, yearning.

In a swift movement, you pulled him in, face pressed to his chest as you embraced him tight.

“I love you,” you mumbled into his shirt.

“I love you so much, Munson.”

Eddie pulled you back just enough to grab your face and kiss you.

The kiss was long, sweet, tender, beautiful. Every emotion, the anger, the love, the ache, all encapsulated in a single kiss. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, until laughter broke you apart.

“We can go to the lake and catch up. As my girlfriend this time.”

“Is nudity the catch?” you teased, the joke reminding you of your last time together.

“No catch. Just you and me.”

The drive was spent in laughter. The flowers were left in a vase, the van rumbling to life.

Eddie laughed as you stripped off your shorts and shirt, racing him into the lake. The cold water splashed against your skin, goosebumps rising in the summer heat.

“Shit, that’s cold!” Eddie complained, chasing after you. He grabbed your waist, turning you toward him.

“I got you, sweetheart. And I’m not letting go this time.” He leaned in for a kiss, only to be met with water as you splashed him.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” He flung water back at you, laughter echoing across the lake.

The afternoon was spent in that cycle, splashing, laughing, kissing.

“That was the last time I was ever letting you go,” His eyes softening.

“I love you, Eds,” sincerity lacing your tone.

He kissed you again, water embracing you both, the sun long gone. The worries of the world forgotten.

Because in that moment, it was just you and him.

And no one could take that from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's impossible, Nancy. Utterly and completely impossible."

You let your forehead fall dramatically against the cafeteria table with a soft thunk, your tray rattling beneath the impact. Across from you, Nancy barely looked up from the sad excuse for a school lunch she was methodically picking apart. 

This wasn't the first time she'd listened to you spiral about your parents, and judging by the unimpressed look on her face, she doubted it'd be the last.

"Oh, will you stop whining?" she said, stabbing at a few peas with her plastic fork. "They cannot be that bad."

You lifted your head just enough to shoot her a look. "They're dictators."

"They're parents."

"They're prison wardens with a mortgage."

Nancy rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. "You are so dramatic."

"Says the girl whose mother once grounded her for getting a B-plus."

"That was one time."

"And she still brings it up."

Nancy couldn't exactly argue with that. With a sigh, she abandoned the mystery meat on her tray altogether and leaned back in her seat, folding her arms as she studied you. 

You looked genuinely stressed, far more stressed than someone who'd only been dating a guy for a couple of months should've been.

"Darren's in college," you muttered, absentmindedly peeling the label off your milk carton. "He's already got one strike against him. Then there's the fact that he's older than me, which is strike two. By the time they actually meet him, they're going to have convinced themselves he's some twenty-five-year-old biker with a criminal record who's dragging me into a life of organized crime."

Nancy let out an amused snort. "You know that's not true."

"I know that's not true," you groaned. "But they don’t."

"You know what your issue is?"

You narrowed your eyes. "I've got several."

"You haven't given them anyone to compare Darren to."

"...What?"

"They've got nothing to measure him against." She gestured with her fork as if the answer were obvious. "You're terrified to introduce him because, in their minds, he's going to become the blueprint."

You blinked. "I don't follow."

Nancy leaned forward, lowering her voice despite the fact that nobody around you was paying the slightest bit of attention.

"You need to introduce them to someone worse first."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "...Worse?"

"Someone so unbelievably incompatible, so ridiculous, so catastrophically wrong for you..." A slow grin spread across her face. "That when they finally meet Darren, he'll look like the most respectable man on the planet."

You stared at her. "Nancy..."

"I'm serious."

"You want me to fake-date someone my parents would despise?"

"I want you to let them think you're dating someone they'd despise."

Silence. Then, almost against your own will, you felt the gears in your head begin to turn.

"...That's actually..."

"I know."

"...Kind of genius."

Nancy's smile widened. "I know."

Just as you were about to ask the far more important question: who on earth could possibly fit that description?...a familiar voice suddenly echoed across the cafeteria.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The two of you turned instinctively toward the source. "Oh, Christ," Nancy muttered.

Across the room, standing on top of one of the cafeteria benches as though he were addressing a crowd of thousands instead of a room full of teenagers trying to eat lunch, Eddie Munson threw his arms dramatically into the air.

"I would once again like to address the blatant discrimination against the Hawkins High Hellfire Club—"

You looked at Nancy, and Nancy looked at you, neither of you saying a word.

"...Him?" you asked slowly.

Nancy's grin returned. "Oh, definitely him."

“...Shit.” You mumbled under your breath. Before you could overthink it, you pushed your chair back from the table. The legs scraped loudly against the linoleum floor. 

Taking one steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and started weaving your way through the maze of lunch tables toward the growing crowd surrounding Eddie's latest performance.

"Wait—" Nancy hurried after you. "I wasn't expecting you to do it right now."

"If I don't do it now," you muttered over your shoulder, "I'm going to lose my nerve."

"Right."

By the time the two of you reached the edge of the crowd, Eddie was still going strong.

"—and furthermore, if Hawkins High truly believes forcing Hellfire to relocate every other week is somehow constitutional—"

You exchanged one last glance with Nancy, so she gave you a tiny nod. Go.

Swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat, you carefully stepped through the cluster of students until you were standing close enough to reach him.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself…you gave the sleeve of his jacket a gentle tug. The effect was immediate, causing Eddie to stop midsentence.

"...constitutional ri—" His words died in his throat. 

Slowly, almost cautiously, he looked down, and there you were. For a brief moment, he genuinely wondered if he'd imagined you. Because girls like you didn't usually interrupt his lunchtime speeches.

Hell, girls like you usually walked around him. He knew exactly who you were, of course. Everyone did.

You were one of those people whose name seemed to carry itself through the halls without any effort. Honor roll. Friends with Nancy Wheeler. Pretty enough that half the boys in school had, at one point or another, convinced themselves they had a chance before reality quickly corrected them.

You carried yourself with a quiet sort of confidence that made you seem untouchable. Not in a snobbish way, but in the way stars looked untouchable from Earth.

And now...you were standing in front of him. His brain, normally overflowing with smart remarks and sarcastic comebacks, came to a screeching halt. Eddie blinked once, then twice.

"...Uh..." He cleared his throat. "...Hi."

"Hi." You offered him a nervous smile, suddenly far less certain about marching over here than you'd been thirty seconds ago.

"Eddie," you began, tilting your head back slightly to meet his eyes. "Can we... uh... talk to you?"

His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "...Me?"

"In private," you added quickly, gesturing toward the audience that had practically doubled in size now that the two of you had approached him. More than a few people had abandoned their lunches entirely in favor of shamelessly eavesdropping.

Eddie glanced over your shoulder at the crowd.

 "...I..." He rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to process whatever bizarre alternate universe he'd apparently wandered into. "...Yeah."

A crooked grin finally found its way onto his face. "Yeah, I think I can pencil you in."

Without another word, he hopped down from the cafeteria bench with an exaggerated flourish, dusted imaginary dirt from his jeans, and threw a dramatic glance toward the rest of Hellfire.

"Boys," he announced solemnly, "the revolution will have to wait." He shot you an almost sheepish smile as he caught up beside you.

"So..." His curiosity was practically radiating off him now. "...Lead the way."

The three of you didn't stop walking until the cafeteria noise had faded into little more than a dull echo behind you. The hallway sat blissfully empty during lunch period, save for the occasional locker slamming shut somewhere in the distance.

Eddie rocked back on the heels of his sneakers, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans before glancing between the two of you.

"So..." he drawled, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Am I being recruited into a cult, or are you guys finally here to tell me I've won some sort of popularity contest?"

Nancy snorted. "Neither."

"Damn."

She exchanged a quick look with you before deciding to rip the bandage off.

"So, uh..." she started. "Eddie... how would you feel about being a fake boyfriend?"

Eddie blinked. "...Come again?"

"A fake boyfriend."

He frowned, eyes drifting toward Nancy. "...Wait."

"Aren't you and Byers still together?" His eyebrows knitted together in genuine confusion. "I mean..." He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Sure, you're cool and all, Wheeler, but I kinda respect the guy."

Nancy stared at him for exactly half a second before letting out an exasperated groan.

"Oh, my God." She smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Not for me."

Eddie rubbed his arm dramatically. "Ow."

"For her," Nancy clarified, throwing both hands toward you like a game show host revealing the grand prize.

His head snapped in your direction so quickly you were surprised he didn't give himself whiplash. "...Her?"

You gave him an awkward little wave. "Hi."

"You..." he said slowly, pointing at you as if he needed to make absolutely certain everyone was talking about the same person. "...want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?"

"I know how insane that sounds."

"No, no." He held up both hands. "I'm just making sure I didn't hit my head getting off that cafeteria bench."

Nancy folded her arms. "Well?"

Eddie's bewildered expression slowly melted into one of pure curiosity. “I’m intrigued. What does this entail?”

You sigh, rocking on your heels. “Basically, I’ve been seeing this college boy, Darren. I’ve never ever been allowed to date, so I haven’t had a boyfriend yet. And considering he’s already in college, my parents would be uber pissed and never let it happen. So Nancy came up with this plan—”

“That you go out with me, your parents think he’s the golden boy, is that it?” He interrupts.

You pause abruptly, suddenly coming to the realization of how messed up and flat-out mean this all sounds. 

“No— uh, shit, yeah, kinda. I’m sorry, this was such a bad idea. Forget I even asked—”

“Woah woah woah, I’m not saying no. I’m all for sticking it to the man or whatever. Just, what do I have to do? Movie dates and rides home?”

“I mean, yeah, kinda. We’d have to be together in every aspect. You know how people in this town love to talk. We have to sell it, y’know?”

Eddie's grin only grew wider.

"So..." He tilted his head. "We're talking the full boyfriend package."

You nodded sheepishly. "Pretty much."

He let out a low whistle. "Movie dates."

"Mhm."

"Walking you home."

"Probably."

"Holding your hand?"

You could feel warmth creeping into your cheeks. "...If people are around."

He hummed thoughtfully, stroking his chin like he was negotiating a business deal worth millions.

"...You realize," he said, unable to suppress the grin threatening to split his face in two, "if we're gonna sell this..."

He leaned in just a fraction. "...I'm gonna have to be the greatest fake boyfriend Hawkins has ever seen."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Oh?" Eddie asked, feigning offense. "You underestimate my dedication to the craft."

"I think I underestimate your ego."

"That's fair."

Nancy glanced between the two of you, already regretting how well you seemed to bounce off each other.

"So..." she interjected. "When exactly were you planning on starting this little social experiment?"

You looked back at Eddie. "Tomorrow."

His eyebrows shot up. "...Tomorrow?"

"My parents drop me off every morning."

"And?"

"And tomorrow..." A small smile tugged at your lips. "They won't have to."

The next morning started like any other. Alarm at 6:30 on the dot, shower, brush your hair and teeth, do your makeup, pick an outfit, and head downstairs for breakfast.

Your mother was in her usual spot in the kitchen, making the same eggs and whole-wheat toast. Your father sat at the head of the table, glasses low on his nose as he read the newspaper, mug of coffee steaming next to him.

“Morning, Hun,” he hummed. “We have to stop at the post office before school today. I gotta mail out my case notes.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Dad.” You said nervously. “I, uh, have a ride today.”

“Oh, did Nancy finally get her car fixed?” Your mother chimed in.

“Oh, uh, yeah, but…it’s not Nancy. Eddie’s actually picking me up.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your father slowly folded up his newspaper and placed it on the counter. “Eddie? As in, Eddie Munson, Eddie?”

You winced. "...Yeah."

Your mother blinked. "The young man with the... leather?"

You almost laughed. "I think it's denim."

"The one with the chains?"

"...Probably."

"The long hair?"

"...Yes."

"The Hellfire Club?"

"...Yes."

"The one who's in detention every other Tuesday?"

You sighed. "...That's the one."

Your father leaned back in his chair, studying you with an expression that was somehow calmer than yelling would've been.

"And..." He clasped his hands together. "...Why, exactly, is Eddie Munson picking my daughter up for school?"

Your heart hammered against your ribs. “Because we’ve been…seeing eachother.”

Absolute, unwavering silence followed. Your mother and father exchanged looks before answering in unison:

"...What?"

You cleared your throat. "Eddie and I have been... seeing each other."

Your mother's wooden spatula slipped from her fingers, clattering against the stovetop. Your father stared at you as though you'd just announced you were dropping out of school to join the circus.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "I must've misheard you."

You forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "You didn't."

"Since..." your mother began carefully, "...since when?"

"A little while."

"A little while?" your father echoed.

You nodded. "Mhm."

"And you neglected to mention this because..."

"I knew you'd react like this."

"We're reacting because you just informed us that you're dating Eddie Munson."

"I know."

You opened your mouth to argue more, but before you could, a loud, unmistakable rumble echoed from outside. It sounded like someone had awakened a dying dragon in your driveway.

All three of you turned toward the front window. The familiar roar of an aging engine settled into a rattling idle.

Your father slowly stood from the table. "...Is that him?"

As if on cue: Honk. One short beep, then another.

Your eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

From somewhere outside came a voice that carried far too well through the quiet neighborhood. "Take your time, sweetheart!"

You whipped around toward the window in horror. "Oh, my God."

Your father walked over first, carefully pulling back the curtain with two fingers. Your mother joined him a second later.

"...Harold," she whispered.

"I see him."

"He brought flowers."

Your stomach dropped. Flowers? That wasn't part of the plan. Slowly, you walked toward the window yourself, peering over your father's shoulder. There, parked halfway into the driveway in the unmistakable rust-speckled Munson van, was Eddie.

He'd traded his usual leather jacket for his battle vest over a black T-shirt, his sunglasses perched on top of his head despite it barely being eight in the morning. And, resting casually against the side of the van like he'd rehearsed it in a mirror...

...was the single ugliest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen. Half of them looked dead, one of them might've been plastic. There was definitely baby's breath sticking out at an angle it wasn't meant to.

The second your eyes met his through the window, his face lit up. He flashed the biggest, cockiest grin imaginable before lifting the bouquet high into the air with an exaggerated little flourish. Then he gave you an enthusiastic wave.

Your father slowly let the curtain fall shut, and he turned to face you. "...He's brought you funeral flowers."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "...I think they're supposed to be carnations."

You let out a slow, defeated sigh. "...I'll be home after school."

Neither of your parents responded. Your father simply stood with his arms folded across his chest, while your mother wore the same expression she'd had ever since the words Eddie Munson had left your mouth. It was somewhere between confusion and preparing for the worst.

Grabbing your backpack from beside the front door, you slipped your shoes on and reached for the handle. "Love you," you offered hopefully.

Your mother managed a weak smile. "...Love you too."

Your father nodded once. "We'll... talk tonight."

You swallowed. "...Sounds good."

The second the front door swung open, Eddie spotted you. He straightened from where he'd been leaning against the van, tucked the pitiful excuse for a bouquet behind his back with an almost comical flourish, and plastered on the biggest smile you'd ever seen.

"There she is!"

You had to physically stop yourself from laughing. He walked toward you with the confidence of someone arriving at prom instead of a suburban driveway at seven-thirty in the morning.

"Good morning, beautiful."

Beautiful? You'd known Eddie for less than twenty-four hours, and he was already improvising.

He stopped in front of you, producing the bouquet from behind his back like a magician revealing his greatest trick.

"For my lovely lady."

You looked down. They were somehow even uglier up close. One carnation had snapped clean in half.

"...You bought these?"

"I rescued them."

"From...?"

"The clearance bucket outside Melvald's."

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. 

"They were seventy-five percent off."

"How romantic."

"I know."

You accepted the bouquet, shaking your head. "They're hideous."

"I picked the worst ones."

"I can tell."

"Proud of me?"

"...A little."

His grin widened. "Excellent."

Then, before you had time to react, he reached out, brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face with surprising gentleness…and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. It was quick, sweet, and almost innocent.

But if anyone happened to be watching from inside, it looked incredibly convincing. Your eyes widened ever so slightly. When he pulled away, he leaned in just enough to whisper: 

"...Sorry."

You blinked. "For what?"

"I panicked."

"...You panic by kissing people?"

"Apparently."

Before you could answer, the front door creaked open behind you. Both of your parents stepped onto the porch.

Eddie immediately turned, the picture of charm. "Mr. and Mrs!," he called cheerfully, raising a hand in greeting. "Pleasure to finally meet you."

Your father looked him up and down. "...Is it?"

Eddie didn't miss a beat. "It certainly is for me, sir."

"So..." your father began slowly. "You're Eddie."

"The one and only."

"I've heard... things."

Eddie rested a hand dramatically over his heart. "I'm hoping only the good ones."

"I sincerely doubt they were."

"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully. "...Probably."

You could actually see your father's brain trying to determine whether Eddie was genuinely this odd or simply putting on a performance. Spoiler alert: it was both.

"So," your father continued, "you're driving my daughter to school."

"I am."

"You'll obey the speed limit."

"Absolutely."

"No reckless driving."

"Never."

"No funny business."

Eddie frowned slightly. "...Define funny."

You closed your eyes. "Eddie..."

"What?" he asked innocently. "I'm asking for clarification."

Your father's expression remained perfectly flat. "You know exactly what I mean."

Eddie's own smile softened. "I do."

Then, for the first time since he'd arrived, he answered without a trace of sarcasm. "I'll get her there safely, sir."

The sincerity in his voice caught everyone a little off guard; hell, even your father seemed surprised. After a moment, he gave one curt nod.

"I expect you will."

"I will."

With that, Eddie walked around to the passenger side of the van and pulled the door open with an exaggerated bow. "Your chariot awaits."

You rolled your eyes. "What a gentleman."

"I have my moments."

Climbing into the passenger seat, you waited until he rounded the front of the van and slid into the driver's seat before the two of you looked at one another. There was exactly half a second of silence, then you burst into laughter.

Eddie looked over, trying and failing to suppress his own smile. "...What's so funny?"

"You."

"Me?"

"You kissed my forehead!"

"You said we had to sell it."

"I did not say before eight in the morning!"

"You never specified business hours."

You laughed harder. "And those flowers?"

He gasped dramatically. "They cost me a dollar twenty-five."

"They looked like they'd already attended a funeral."

"They did."

You stared at him. "...What?"

"I may or may not have bought them from the cemetery."

Your jaw dropped. "Eddie!"

"I'm kidding!"

"...Were you?"

"...Mostly."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I have made the biggest mistake of my entire life."

He shifted the van into gear, a smug grin settling onto his face. "Oh, sweetheart."

The engine rumbled to life. "We're only on day one."

The drive to school had only been the beginning. Once Eddie committed to something, it quickly became apparent that he didn't know how to do it halfway.

The second the first bell rang, he'd slung his backpack over one shoulder and casually fallen into step beside you as though the two of you had been doing it for years.

"History first?" he'd asked.

"Mhm."

"Excellent."

You'd expected him to walk you halfway there, maybe to the end of the hallway. Instead, he'd walked you all the way to your classroom, leaned casually against the doorframe while you gathered your books, and smiled down at you.

"I'll see you after second period."

"...You know my schedule?"

He'd pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from his pocket. "Made a copy."

You stared. "...When?"

"Nancy."

You looked over your shoulder at her, so Nancy simply shrugged. "He asked."

"You gave it to him?"

"He was very persuasive."

Eddie tucked the paper back into his vest. "I'm an actor, sweetheart. Continuity is everything."

Sure enough, the moment second period ended, he was already waiting outside your classroom. Then again after third. Then fourth. By lunchtime, the entire school had noticed.

Girls whispered when you walked past. Basketball players openly stared. Freshmen practically dove out of Eddie's way when he slipped an arm lazily over your shoulders while walking through the hallway.

If anyone had doubted the relationship that morning, they certainly didn't anymore. Which was exactly why you found yourself carrying your lunch tray toward the Hellfire table instead of your usual seat beside Nancy.

You stopped dead in your tracks. "...People are going to think I've lost my mind."

Eddie looked up from unwrapping his sandwich. "They already think that."

"...Helpful."

He scooted over and pulled up a chair for you. "C'mon."

With a resigned sigh, you slid in beside him. Almost immediately, the rest of Hellfire fell silent. Gareth looked at Jeff. Jeff looked at Mike. Mike looked at Dustin. Dustin's eyes darted between you and Eddie so fast you were surprised they didn't get stuck.

"...Holy shit," Gareth muttered.

"It's real," Jeff whispered.

Eddie looked offended. "You doubted me?"

"We doubted her."

You couldn't even blame them. A few minutes later, Nancy and Jonathan wandered over, trays in hand.

"Mind if we join?" Jonathan asked.

"Please do," you replied. "I need normal people."

Eddie gasped dramatically.

By the final bell, your social battery had all but evaporated. Being the center of attention all day was exhausting. You were halfway through stuffing books into your locker when Nancy appeared beside you.

"So..." she began.

You looked up.

"I think Phase One was a success."

"You think?"

"I've already heard three different people say they 'always knew' you and Eddie had chemistry."

You groaned. "People are unbelievable."

"They're bored."

"Fair."

Jonathan joined the two of you, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Speaking of bored..."

Nancy suddenly snapped her fingers. "Oh!"

She looked between you and Eddie. "I almost forgot."

"What?"

"The drive-in's doing a horror double feature tomorrow night."

Eddie perked up immediately. "...Seriously?"

Jonathan nodded. "I drove past this morning."

"They're showing The Evil Dead and A Nightmare on Elm Street."

Eddie's jaw practically hit the floor. "No way."

"Way."

"They never play good movies."

"I know."

Nancy smiled. "Jonathan wanted to go..."

Jonathan looked over at her. "...Did I?"

"You do now."

He chuckled. "I guess I do."

She turned back toward you and Eddie. "You guys should come."

You blinked.

"As..." She wiggled her eyebrows. "...A couple."

You looked instinctively toward Eddie.

"A public date," he mused. "Excellent for maintaining the illusion."

Nancy laughed. "See? He's getting it."

"Oh, he got it the second he showed up with cemetery flowers."

"They weren't cemetery flowers," Eddie defended.

"They were discount flowers."

"There's a difference."

Jonathan smiled, shaking his head. "So..."

He looked between the two of you. "Tomorrow night?"

You glanced at Eddie, and he gave a tiny shrug. "I'm free."

"...Yeah." You nodded. "I think we'd like that."

The following evening arrived far quicker than you would've liked. Somewhere between surviving an entire day of whispers at school and convincing your mother that, yes, you really were just going to the drive-in with "friends," the reality of the situation had begun to settle in.

You were going on your first date. Granted, it was fake. But somehow that only made your stomach twist even more.

After changing into a pair of jeans, one of your favorite sweaters, and throwing on a light coat for the chilly October air, you gave yourself one final look in the hallway mirror.

"Ready?" your mother called from downstairs.

"As I'll ever be."

The words had barely left your mouth when the doorbell rang. Your father looked up from his armchair.

"That'll be him." You exchanged a quick glance with your mother before making your way toward the front door, only for your father to beat you there. "I'll get it."

The door swung open, and standing on the porch was Eddie.

His curls had clearly been tamed…well, as much as Eddie Munson's curls could ever be tamed.

He'd swapped his usual ripped Hellfire shirt for a plain black waffle long-sleeved shirt. His jeans were still ripped, his boots still scuffed, and there were just as many rings decorating his fingers as always.

He'd made an effort, in the most Eddie way possible.

The moment he saw your father, he straightened. "Evening, sir."

Your father regarded him carefully. "...Munson."

"Eddie works."

Your father didn't smile. "I'm sure it does."

You quickly slipped between them before things could somehow become awkwarder than they already were. "Hi."

The second Eddie looked at you, his entire expression softened. "...Wow."

You felt heat creep into your cheeks. "What?"

"You..." He smiled to himself before shaking his head. "You look really nice."

"...Thanks."

Your father cleared his throat, and Eddie immediately remembered where he was. 

"Right." He clasped his hands behind his back almost like a soldier awaiting inspection. "So..." 

Your father folded his arms. "So."

"I understand we're going to the drive-in."

"We are."

"And I understand Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler will be there."

"They will."

"Good."

"You'll have her home by eleven."

Eddie nodded immediately. "Absolutely."

"If plans change, she calls."

"Of course."

"If that van breaks down—"

"It won't."

Your father raised an eyebrow. "It might."

"...It might."

"And if it does?"

"I'll call."

"You won't let her walk home alone."

"I wouldn't let her walk across the parking lot alone."

Your father's posture eased... just a fraction. "Good."

He stepped aside. "You kids have fun."

"We will, sir."

As you stepped off the porch, Eddie quietly reached for your hand. You glanced down at your intertwined fingers before looking back up at him.

He leaned over just enough to murmur, "...Audience."

You looked back toward the front window, and sure enough, your parents were watching through the curtains. "...Right."

The drive itself was surprisingly easy. The windows were cracked just enough to let the cool autumn air drift through the van while some old rock station played quietly over the speakers.

You talked about school. About Gareth somehow managing to fail another chemistry quiz. About Dustin insisting he'd seen a UFO behind Family Video. By the time the glowing marquee for the Hawkins Drive-In appeared in the distance, you'd almost forgotten this wasn't real.

Eddie paid for both of your tickets before steering toward the back row.

You frowned. "...Shouldn't we park closer?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

He killed the engine before hopping out of the driver's seat. "C'mere."

Curiosity getting the better of you, you followed him around to the back of the van. He swung the rear doors open with both hands.

"...Ta-da."

You stopped walking. "...Eddie."

The inside of the van looked nothing like you'd expected.

The back seats had been folded flat, replaced with what looked like every blanket he owned layered over an old mattress pad. Pillows were piled against the sides, making a little nest beneath a strand of warm white battery-powered string lights he'd somehow managed to drape across the ceiling.

There were even two lawn chairs folded neatly in the corner in case you wanted to sit outside instead.

"...What..."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "So..."

You climbed a little closer, running your hand across one of the impossibly soft blankets. "You did all this?"

He shrugged like it was no big deal. "I figured drive-ins are more fun when you're comfortable."

Your eyes wandered farther; a little cooler sat tucked against the wall. Curious, you opened it. Inside were glass bottles of Coke, your favorite cherry licorice, peanut M&M's, movie theater butter popcorn. Even the little strawberry candies you'd absentmindedly mentioned liking while sitting at lunch two days ago.

You looked back at him. "...How do you even know all of this?"

"You told Gareth those strawberry candies reminded you of your grandma."

You blinked. "...You remembered that?"

"Sure."

Still speechless, you reached into the back again.

"...Is this..." You pulled out a folded gray sweatshirt. "...Mine?"

"Nah." He laughed. "It's mine."

You looked at him, confused.

"It's supposed to get cold later."

"So?"

"So..." He looked at you like the answer was obvious. "You complained yesterday that you always underestimate how cold October gets."

"...I did."

"So I brought an extra sweatshirt."

You stared at him. "Eddie..."

For the first time since you'd met him, he actually looked a little shy. "What?"

"I thought this was supposed to be fake."

"It is."

"You didn't have to do..." You gestured helplessly toward the cozy little setup he'd somehow built in the back of the van. "...all of this."

A grin slowly spread across his face. "Oh."

He leaned casually against the open door. "...This?"

You nodded, and he shrugged. "Fake boyfriend package."

You laughed. "No."

"What?"

"This is way above the fake boyfriend package."

He feigned offense. "You wound me."

"Eddie."

"I'm serious."

He pointed into the van. "Blankets."

Another finger. "Snacks."

Another. "Emergency sweatshirt."

He spread both hands proudly. "I'm providing a premium service here."

You laughed so hard you had to grab the side of the van to steady yourself. "I'm going to have to leave you a five-star review."

"Damn right you are."

Then, quieter, his grin softening into something far less performative.  

"I just..." He looked over the little setup. "...Figured if we're pretending to date..."

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "...You should get at least one really good date out of it."

The drive-in ended up being surprisingly perfect. Neither of you paid much attention to the first movie.

Instead, the two of you spent most of it making sarcastic commentary under your breath, sharing popcorn, and arguing over whether The Evil Dead was genuinely terrifying or just "creative low-budget filmmaking," as Eddie insisted.

By the second feature, the October air had turned considerably colder. Without saying a word, Eddie reached behind him, grabbed the sweatshirt he'd packed, and draped it over your shoulders before you even had the chance to complain.

You'd rolled your eyes as he'd simply grinned. "Premium service."

By the time the credits rolled, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

True to his word, Eddie pulled into your driveway at exactly 10:50, ten whole minutes before your curfew. Your father was already waiting on the porch, arms crossed, watching.

Eddie climbed out first, walking around to open your door before helping you step down from the van with an exaggerated flourish. "Milady."

You curtsied dramatically. "Thank you, kind sir."

He placed a hand over his heart. "My pleasure."

Your father watched the exchange carefully as the two of you walked toward the porch. "You made good time."

Eddie nodded. "Told you I would."

Your father checked his watch. "...You're early."

"I figured ten minutes was a safe buffer."

"...Smart."

It wasn't exactly praise. But coming from your father, it was pretty damn close.

"Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Eddie."

You glanced between them. "...Goodnight."

As you headed inside, you couldn't help but notice your father watching Eddie climb back into the van.

Your mother appeared beside him. "So?"

He kept his eyes on the driveway. "...He was respectful."

You nearly tripped over your own feet. Respectful? From your father? Maybe hell really had frozen over.

One fake date somehow became two, then three. Then somewhere along the line, the lines started blurring.

Eddie still picked you up for school almost every morning. He still walked you to every class. He'd started carrying your books without asking. Holding doors open. Stealing fries off your lunch tray despite insisting he "didn't want any."

You'd retaliated by drinking half his chocolate milk whenever he looked away. A silent war had begun that neither of you intended to lose.

The town, of course, ate it up. Mrs. Thompson at Melvald's gave the two of you a knowing smile every time you stopped in after school. The librarian had started saving romance novels "for the young couple." Even Principal Higgins had caught Eddie kissing the top of your head outside English one afternoon.

Instead of detention, he'd simply sighed. "Keep it appropriate, Munson."

"Always do."

The moment Higgins rounded the corner, Eddie looked down at you. "...That counted, right?"

You laughed. "I think we sold it."

"Excellent."

The phone calls hadn't been part of the plan. It started because Eddie called one evening to ask if your father had "bought the hand-holding today."

That conversation lasted fifteen minutes. The next night became thirty. By Friday, the two of you had somehow spent nearly two hours talking about everything and absolutely nothing.

Favorite movies. Childhood stories. Music. Why Garfield was objectively the funniest comic strip ever printed.

You'd started waiting for the sound of your phone ringing around nine every night. And like clockwork, you’d always answered.

Before long, pretending started feeling easy and dangerously comfortable. Sometimes you'd catch yourself laughing before Eddie even finished the joke. 

Sometimes he'd bring you your favorite soda without asking. Sometimes he'd absentmindedly reach for your hand crossing a parking lot before either of you remembered there wasn't actually anyone around to witness it.

Neither of you acknowledged those moments; you simply kept the "bit" going.

"So." Jonathan leaned back in his cafeteria chair one afternoon, looking around the table. "I heard something."

Nancy looked up from her sandwich. "...Should we be worried?"

"Probably."

Eddie nodded approvingly. "I like where this is going."

Jonathan ignored him. "My friend at community college said there's a party this Saturday."

That immediately caught everyone's attention. "A college party?" Nancy asked.

Jonathan nodded. "Apparently one of the fraternities is throwing a Halloween thing."

You, Nancy, and Eddie exchanged glances. None of you had been to a college party before. Jonathan noticed the exchange and smiled.

"I was thinking..." He pointed between the two of you. "You guys should come."

Nancy perked up immediately. "Oh my God, yes."

"It'd be fun," Jonathan continued. "Nobody there knows either of you, so there's no pressure. Just music, some booze..." He shrugged. "Besides, Darren goes there, doesn't he?"

Your stomach flipped. "...Yeah."

Jonathan smiled. "Perfect."

Nancy's eyes widened as the implications dawned on her. "Oh."

"Oh."

Nancy was the first one to put the pieces together. Her eyes widened as she looked between you and Eddie. "...Wait."

You glanced over.

"If your parents think Eddie's taking you..." She pointed toward Jonathan. "...Then they'll have absolutely no problem letting you go."

You nodded absentmindedly. "...I guess."

Jonathan shrugged. "And if Darren happens to be there..."

The name hit you like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over your head.

Darren. Right.

For a brief, almost embarrassing moment, you'd forgotten. Not forgotten him, exactly. Just forgotten that he was the entire reason any of this had started.

Your mind flashed back to the phone call you'd had with him a few nights earlier. The conversation had been nice, comfortable even.  He'd asked how school was going. You'd told him "good." He'd told you about a biology exam. You'd wished him luck.

Then, before hanging up, you'd mentioned you couldn't talk much longer because Eddie was supposed to call in a few minutes. Only after you'd said it had you realized how naturally the words had come out.

You blinked. "...Oh."

Eddie noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. "What?"

You looked back at the table. "...Nothing."

Jonathan continued, oblivious. "He'll probably be there somewhere."

“Yeah…” You said, sinking into your seat. "Probably."

By the time the night of the party rolled around, you were equal parts nervous and excited. The excitement, however, had very little to do with the party itself. It had everything to do with the ridiculous argument you'd had with Eddie three nights prior.

"If we're going," he'd said over the phone, "we're wearing matching costumes."

You'd laughed. "No."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"We're a couple."

"A fake couple."

"A distinction with very little importance."

You'd groaned into the receiver. "Eddie..."

"We have to sell it."

"We're already selling it."

"No, sweetheart." You could practically hear the grin in his voice. "We're raising the bar."

Which explained why you were currently standing in front of your bedroom mirror wearing a black, studded mini dress layered over a fishnet top, ripped tights, and heavy combat boots. A spiked choker sat snug around your neck.

Your hair had been teased and left wild, half-pinned back with a chain clip Eddie had insisted on adding himself earlier.

“Needs more attitude,” he’d said, concentrating like he was defusing a bomb.

You’d called it ridiculous; he’d called it perfect.

A knock sounded downstairs.

"He's here!" your mother called.

You grabbed your leather jacket, shrugging it on as you hurried downstairs. The second you rounded the corner into the foyer, Eddie looked up and promptly forgot how to speak.

Gone were the ripped jeans and Hellfire tee. Instead, he wore black skinny jeans, a sleeveless band tee layered under a distressed denim vest covered in patches, and heavy boots that looked like they’d seen more than one mosh pit.

Eddie had somehow managed to style his own hair into a wild, voluminous mess of teased curls and waves, half of it pulled back with a chain and leather wrap, the rest spilling around his face like he’d stepped straight out of a metal album cover.

A few strands fell into his eyes, but he didn’t brush them away. He just stared at you.

"...Holy shit."

You smiled. "What?"

"You..." He shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t quite process it. "You actually did it."

"You look like you belong in a band."

"I do belong in a band."

"You belong in a very loud band."

He grinned, stepping closer. "You look..." His voice softened just slightly. "...Really good."

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. "You don’t look so bad yourself."

Your father chose that exact moment to clear his throat. The two of you jumped apart as though you'd been caught committing a crime.

"Evening, Eddie."

"Sir..."

Your father looked him over. "...Interesting costume."

Eddie glanced down at himself. "Thanks."

"You know..." Your father folded his arms. "...People in bands tend to make questionable life choices."

Eddie nodded seriously. "Yeah, I’ve heard that. I’m trying to keep my record clean tonight, sir."

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of your father’s mouth.

"So," your father continued, "college party."

"Yes, sir."

"You understand there’ll be drinking."

"There probably will be."

"You won’t be."

"No, sir."

"You’ll make sure she isn’t."

"I will."

"And if anything feels off..."

"We leave." He finishes.

Your father studied him for another second before nodding. "...Midnight."

"We’ll be back before then."

He looked toward you. "Phone?"

You held it up.

"Wallet?"

You patted your pocket.

"Keys?"

Eddie jingled them.

"...Have fun."

The fraternity house was impossible to miss. Music thumped loudly enough to rattle the windows while clusters of college students spilled across the front lawn, laughing beneath strings of orange lights and fake cobwebs. The moment the four of you stepped out of the van, heads turned.

Jonathan leaned toward Nancy. "...I think they win."

Nancy smiled. "They absolutely win."

One college girl walking past pointed excitedly. "Oh, my God!" She laughed. “Sharron and Ozzie!"

Eddie immediately slid an arm around your shoulders. "See?" he murmured. "Worth it."

"...Debatable."

Inside, the house was somehow even louder. A surprising number of people in ripped band tees and eyeliner that looked suspiciously rushed. You spent the first hour simply existing.

You danced exactly once, mostly because Eddie refused to accept no for an answer.

"You have two options," he'd informed you.

"Dance..." He held out one hand. "...Or I throw a fit in this living room."

"...Those aren't good options."

"They absolutely are."

You’d taken his hand before he embarrassed both of you. Nancy had laughed so hard she’d nearly spilled her drink. You were having genuine amounts of fun, almost enough to make you forget why you were there in the first place.

"I'm gonna find the bathroom," you announced after another song ended.

Finding the bathroom proved far easier than finding your way back. You’d barely stepped into the upstairs hallway before a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

"...Babe?"

Your heart skipped, and slowly, you turned around. "Darren?"

He smiled, equally surprised. "I thought Jonathan said you might be coming."

"I almost didn't."

He laughed. "I didn't think I'd actually run into you."

"So..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You look nice."

You smiled politely. "Thanks. You too."

His eyes drifted over your costume. "...Metal?"

"Mhm."

"Cute."

"So..." he asked carefully. "How've you been?"

Meanwhile downstairs, Eddie checked his watch. "Huh."

Jonathan looked over. "What?"

"She's been gone a while."

Nancy frowned. "...You're right."

"I'll go find her."

"You know where the bathroom is?"

"I'll figure it out."

He checked one door, and then another.

Then, "...Oh."

His footsteps stopped because halfway down the hall stood you. Laughing, talking with a guy: college-aged, a little taller than him, and standing much closer than Eddie would've liked.

Darren. Of course. This was literally the entire reason any of this existed. 

His grip around his cup tightened as he watched Darren smile at something you said and watched you smile back. 

What had he expected? That you’d forget about the guy you’ve been trying so hard to introduce to your parents?

That this fake relationship had somehow...He cut the thought off before it finished. The cup slipped through his fingers, and it clinked softly against the floor.

Your head whipped toward the sound. "Eddie?"

Your eyes had met then, and he stared at you solemnly for a second before shaking his head and scurrying away. 

"Eddie!" 

You looked back at Darren only long enough to offer an apologetic smile. "I'm... I'm sorry. I have to go."

Before he could answer, you were already hurrying after the retreating figure, disappearing down the staircase.

“Eddie! Hey…Jesus Christ, you walk fast—Fuck, hey!”

You finally caught his wrist just as he pushed through the front door of the fraternity house; the October air hit both of you immediately.

"Eddie."

He stopped walking, and for a second, you swore he'd turn around. He didn't. Instead, he let out a slow breath through his nose, staring out at the sea of cars parked along the lawn.

"...You should go back inside."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I was literally coming to find you."

"No." He laughed once, humorlessly. "You were talking to Darren."

"I was saying hello."

"Mhm."

"Eddie."

He finally turned around then, his eyes glossy. He wasn’t crying, not yet, but somewhere dangerously close. "You don't have to explain yourself."

"What?"

"You don't owe me an explanation."

"I wasn't trying to—"

"No." He shook his head. "Seriously."

He laughed a short and almost bitter laugh.  "You don't."

You frowned. "You're my—"

He cut you off. "Fake boyfriend. 

“You were talking to the guy you actually like." He shrugged. "I get it."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"No—"

"I was just..." He rubbed both hands over his face before letting out another disbelieving laugh. "Jesus Christ."

His shoulders slumped. "What the hell did I think was gonna happen?"

"Eddie..."

"What?" he asked, throwing one hand into the air. "That I actually convinced myself the prettiest girl in Hawkins High was gonna wake up one morning and decide she wanted me?"

He wasn't looking at you anymore; his gaze was fixed beyond your shoulder, talking more to himself than to you.

"I'm the fucking freak."

"Eddie—"

"And somewhere along the way..." He shook his head. "I forgot."

You stepped closer. "You forgot what?"

"That this..." He gestured between the two of you. "...was never real. You know what the worst part is?"

"Eddie..."

"I started believing it. I started believing all the stupid little things."

He counted them off on his fingers. "The phone calls. The drive-in. You stealing my fries. You laughing at my dumb jokes."

He laughed again. "I started thinking..." He stopped himself. "No."

"Eddie, finish that sentence."

"I started thinking maybe..." His jaw tightened. "Maybe you actually enjoyed being around me."

"I do."

"You have to."

"No."

"You literally have to!" he exclaimed, his voice finally rising. "That's the whole deal!"

"I don't."

"You don't?"

"I don't have to."

He blinked as you took another step forward. "I call you because I want to."

He stared.

"I laugh because you're funny. I go to the record store with you because I like going. With you."

"Eddie..." You swallowed. "I would've kept talking to Darren for maybe another minute."

You gestured toward the house. "I chased after you. Like, I've barely thought about Darren this entire month."

Those words surprised both of you, mainly because you hadn't meant to say them out loud.

"I..." You frowned. "I don't know when that happened."

"Eddie..."

He looked away. "I really don't want you to say something just because you feel bad."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

He let out another dry laugh, shaking his head. "You don't have to spare my feelings."

"I'm not trying to spare your feelings, you idiot!"

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you searched for the right words. "I don't know how else to say this."

"You don't have to say anything."

"Yes, I do."

"Eddie..." Your voice softened. "I like you."

He smiled sadly. "I know."

"No." You shook your head. "I don't think you do."

He frowned.

"I like you. Like..."

You let out a nervous laugh, one hand coming up to rub the back of your neck. "Like, I genuinely like you."

He froze so much so that you could almost see the sentence replaying itself in his head. "...What?"

"I like you."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"You don't."

"I really, really do."

He stared at you as though you'd started speaking another language. "You came up with this whole fake dating thing because of Darren."

"I know."

"You wanted me to make him look better."

"I know."

"You've been trying to introduce him to your parents for weeks."

"I know."

"So..." He gave another confused laugh. "How the hell does this happen?"

You laughed through the tears threatening to form. "I don't know."

"I think..." You looked down at your shoes before meeting his eyes again.

"I think it happened somewhere between you showing up with those horrible flowers..."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"...And remembering my favorite candy."

You smiled weakly. "And the drive-in. And the phone calls. And you walking me to every class. You remembered all the little things I said without me ever asking you to."

"You made pretending feel so easy that..." You shook your head. "...I forgot we were pretending."

His lips parted. "I almost forgot Darren existed."

The admission hung in the cool night air.

"I went the entire time without thinking about him once." You laughed softly to yourself. "And then Jonathan mentioned the college party..."

You shrugged helplessly. "...And I realized I'd spent more time wondering what costume we would wear rather than seeing Darren."

"So..." You offered him the smallest, most nervous smile he'd ever seen.

"I guess somewhere along the way..."

You reached down and gently took his hand. "...I stopped fake dating you."

He looked down at your intertwined fingers, then back up at you. "...You're serious."

You nodded. "I've never been more serious."

He smiled so wide it almost looked painful. "...Guess I'm gonna have to start putting in some real boyfriend effort now, huh?"

“Should I be afraid to find out what that entails?”

“Oh yeah. Very much so.”

me giggling and kicking my feet at how cute ts is

since ik you all far too well and love adding more projects for myself...

taglist:

Trailing your eyes along the generous swell of his stretch mark-laden belly—which you painted a slick trail along just a couple of hours ago with your fluttering cunt—you lick your lips at the sight and consider the prospect of sacrificing a few extra hours of sleep in exchange for another mind-bending orgasm.

Then again, Robby's been wanting to take things a bit slower the last few times you've been in bed together. A fact which is beginning to make you feel the least bit antsy for the favor of being fucked deep and hard into the mattress like he used to only a month ago.

Maybe it's too much on his back.

"And we agreed nothing long-term," he states.

Lifting your head, his brown eyes flit between yours.

"We did," you respond in agreement. Not that two months is really that to you, but you suppose everyone has their own metric by which they measure time by.

"Maybe tonight we, uh..." he sighs and scrubs a hand down his face; over the coarse brown and silver trimmings of his beard. "We quit while we're ahead."

You deflate. So much for another orgasm...

You're pretty sure you have fresh batteries in the junk drawer at home, though. A vibrator and Twitter porn will have to do just as well for tonight, you suppose.

"Alright!" you chirp with a gentle smile. "See you at work tomorrow, Robby."

Turning back to the door, you press the handle down with a swift click, leaving him standing alone at the threshold.

Watching as you toss your things into the passenger seat of your vehicle before climbing into the driver's side and peeling out of his driveway—some unfamiliar pop tune blaring from your radio as you rumble away—Robby finds himself at a loss for words.

When he pushes the front door closed, an unsatisfied feeling settles deep into his chest at just how well you took things. "Alright!"

That's it? That's all he gets?

No "Oh, are you sure?" Or "Did I do something wrong?" Not even a single tear shimmered in your fiery eyes in disappointment. Nope, just "Alright!"

Quietly grumbling to himself in discontentment, Robby pads back to the bedroom and slams the door shut before wrenching soiled sheets from the bed with a curse.

Where Robby would typically keep you close to his side like you're glued to it, he's instead kept you at arm's-length all day. Including when you were treating a case of anaphylactic shock together somewhere in the afternoon, during which he hardly glanced twice in your direction. It wasn't for a lack of wanting to, though—like a damn itch he needs to scratch—but Robby knows that if he does, it'll only lead to an open wound he won't have the first clue as to how to get closed again.

So as a distraction, he buries himself in work—as per his usual unhealthily avoidant coping mechanism—while the hours flit by and the sun begins to wane outside before finally dipping behind towering buildings, much like the hand of a clock, signaling that it's time to head home.

Your mouth waters at the scent of something meaty and delicious. "C'mon, Abbot," you whine. Hefting your backpack onto your shoulders, you turn to face him. "At least take it into the employee lounge so I'm not subjected to it."

Lips lined with silver stubble curve into a grin. "Maybe psychological torture was the point, kiddo."

Rolling your eyes sarcastically, you press your locker shut and study the logo on the side of the bag he's about to set inside his own. "Really? Applebee's? You know it's one of my favorites."

Swinging his head in your direction, he reaches into the oversized brown paper bag and produces a tempting container of Bavarian-style soft pretzels.

You take a step forward—your eyes now the size of saucers—and half think to reach greedily for it while chanting the mantra of gimme, gimme, gimme, but refrain.

Extending it toward you, Jack presses the to-go box to your chest. "Go on."

You keep your hands at your sides and swallow down pooling saliva. "No, I can't take your—"

"Got 'em for you," he explains. "Those," he grunts before diving deeper. "And this."

When a cheeseburger appears, you smile and squeal excitedly. "You're sure?"

He chuckles. "I am. Got myself a steak and a side of green beans. Figured you'd be starving by the time I got here."

Gently taking both containers, you clutch them to your chest with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Jack. You really didn't need to..." You throw a look over your shoulder—to your backpack which your wallet lies inside a zipped compartment of. "How much do I owe you?"

He blows a raspberry. "You know better than that. Just eat and enjoy."

Bounding onto your tiptoes, you press a quick kiss to his cheek before turning to head out. Sooner you get home, the sooner you can dig in.

Only once you're well out of sight does Robby round the corner of the wall he was previously hiding behind. "Dinner, huh?"

Closing his go bag securely away, Jack turns to Robby. "Just something quick and easy for her. It's only food, Mike."

Tucking his hands away into the soft pockets of his hoody, Robby shrugs. "No, it's fine. We're, uh..." he huffs a humorless laugh. "It's done. As of last night. Called things quits."

Jack raises a brow of surprise. Though, he can't really say he's shocked. He's been counting down the days, and this one came right on time.

He doesn't need to ask whose decision it was.

"She seemed okay to me. Didn't take it too hard, then?" he questions, folding his arms behind him—the paper bag knocking against his calves when he does so.

Robby nods with raised brows. "Yeah. No, she's been good today. Hasn't brought it up at all."

Somewhat to his chagrin...

Jack purses his lips and nods. "Good to hear."

And even better to know.

Slapping a hand over Robby's shoulder, Jack heads in the direction of the employee lounge so he can get to work on downing his own dinner before nightshift starts. "See you in the morning."

"Yeah," is Robby's simple one-word reply.

He frowns at the seemingly renewed pep in Abbot's step that's been missing since Robby took you into his bed.

He knew the vet was displeased when Robby made you his next person of interest—in terms of sexual partners—just two months ago, but he backed off and kept his distance out of respect, which the daytime attending appreciated. Now, however... It's dinner tonight and probably breakfast with a damn Tiffany necklace to accompany tomorrow.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, Robby considers venturing upstairs to see if Noelle is still around, but ultimately opts against it—refusing to acknowledge that it's because there's only one woman he wants coming home with him right now so he can get a straightforward physical release.

Whatever.

Time will do its thing like always, and he'll be onto the next one before long with you left far in the rearview.

Not that he's ever been much of a fan of the genre, but as Robby listens to the obnoxious sound of bombastic pop music drifting through your rolled-up car window, he grits his teeth.

Whatever happened to Heart, Pat Benatar, or Bonnie Tyler? Not this modern shit that sounds like a damn car accident. And first thing in the morning? Clearly no consideration for others and the prospect of giving them a damn splitting headache all before 7 o'clock. And of course you're singing along with a radiant smile.

Rolling his eyes toward the bruised purple sky, Robby groans a guttural growl of irritation before turning in the direction of the hospital on a booted heel.

"Morning, honey," Jack greets quietly, with a pleasant smile that causes his crow's feet to wrinkle charmingly around his eyes.

Gripping either end of your stethoscope, you turn to meet him. "Hey there."

When something crinkles behind him, your lips tilt into a smirk. "What might that be?"

He shrugs playfully. "Have no idea what you're talking about."

Leaning all your weight onto one foot, you attempt to glimpse whatever he's hiding by leaning heavily to the side, but your plans are foiled when he turns to shield it from your view.

"Oh, I definitely smell food again," you mumble before jumping in an attempt to round on him, but Jack's reflexes are faster when he presses his back to the lockers.

Throwing your head back in frustration, you moan and he chuckles in response. "You really want it?"

Dropping your chin, you bob your head. "Pleeease," you drawl while batting your lashes.

Jack removes one of his arms from behind his back and taps his cheek with an index finger, indicating the required payment. You sigh, but with a cheeky grin to accompany before you step forward and press a lingering kiss to weathered skin that smells sharply of minty aftershave.

A paper bag is then pressed to your belly which you don't waste a moment in tearing into.

"Breakfast burrito," Jack states as your hand wraps around the warm wrapper it's encased in.

Pulling it free, you get to work on peeling damp paper away from the provided meal. "Thank you," you say with quiet appreciation. "You really don't need to do things like this for me, though. I don't want you going out of your way, okay?"

He raises a shoulder. "I Doordashed something for myself a little bit ago. Thought why not, since I knew you were coming in."

Biting into scrambled egg and cheese, you chew thoughtfully for a moment. "This was sweet of you, Jack."

Reaching forward, he runs a calloused palm down your arm. "Don't mention it, kiddo." Clearing his throat, he slips his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. "So, I heard that you and Ro—"

"Bring anything for your best friend?"

Jack clenches his jaw when Robby starts down the hall the two of you did have all to yourselves only a moment ago. "No. Sorry, brother. Tomorrow?"

Robby slides his arms around your shoulders, then tugs you back against his chest as you stare at Jack with wide eyes of confusion. "Gimme a bite, baby," Robby mutters.

"I got it for her," Jack deadpans displeasingly.

Robby snorts. "It's alright. We've shared way more than saliva."

Were Jack not already leaned against something solid, he'd be stumbling back in shocked response to his friend's distasteful candor. He's garnered quite the reputation around the hospital over the years, but has always remained anything but forthcoming when it comes to discussions of his female companions, even with him. So this is an unexpected change in character, to say the least.

Holding the burrito up above your shoulder while keeping your eyes on Jack with a regretful look painted across their irises, Robby dips his head and takes a hearty bite before leaning back and chewing. "'S good," he grunts before swallowing. "Thank you, sweetheart," he finishes with a peck atop your head. "Once you finish up, come find me. I want your help on this first case."

You nod. "Okay."

Robby's palm lingers against your hip momentarily before he reluctantly steps away, leaving you and Jack in each other's sole company again.

Stepping forward, Abbot crosses his arms defensively. "Did the two of you—"

You fervently shake your head before he can even finish that question. "No. Night before last he ended things. You're as taken aback as I am."

A frown tugs at his lips. "I thought it was just..." he swipes the heel of his palm awkwardly across his cheek. "Sex."

"It was," you confirm with a nod. "Just... Physical, carnal release." Your cheeks heat. "We both understood at the beginning and all the way through that it would never be anything more. I was happy with that arrangement."

"So you don't think he's having second thoughts? That that wasn't plain as day jealousy just now?"

You take another bite of your burrito, wanting to finish it before it gets cold. "I think he can have boundary issues... At times."

Jack bites back a laugh. "Oh, you think?"

You keep the story of him attempting to go through your locked phone one night when you accidentally fell asleep—instead of going straight home after the two of you got done fucking like you usually did—to yourself. Lucky for him, you'd been far too groggy and out of it to chew him out properly like you otherwise would've, had you been wide awake when it happened.

Or the night maybe a week and a half ago when he got all whiney when you demanded he either run out and pick up a box of condoms or have them delivered to the front door, otherwise you were going home.

He really tried his hand at making you out to be the one who was overreacting while you sat on the edge of the bed, repeatedly telling him go get them, go get them, go get them before he finally threw his hands up in a fit of curse words and stomped out of the bedroom and into the bathroom where—big surprise!—he just so happened to find a spare one in the medicine cabinet.

Whatever. It's in the past. The time for friends with benefits is over and you're onto other things. Or... Will be, anyway, when you have the time to figure something out.

Tinder is a rather unappetizing idea, but something about beggars and choosing...

You sigh. "I gotta get to work. But thank you for the food again. I really do appreciate it, Jack."

Cupping the back of your head, he presses an affectionate kiss to the bridge of your nose, earning him a bubbly giggle in response. "You're welcome, honey."

One night I was bored in bed

And stalked you on the internet

Stirring a crumbled granola bar into a cup of creamy yogurt, you swing your hips from side-to-side before licking the tip of the spoon clean.

It's feminine intuition

Park is just headed for the elevators when an attractive feminine form catches his attention from the corner of his eye. Turning back around, he plants himself in the threshold of the ED's employee lounge with crossed arms while an amused smirk crawls across thin lips.

'Cause I always had a vision of us standing like this

All pressed up in the bathroom line

Swallowing a bite of your stirred snack, you turn to the sink where a roll of paper towels rest, then promptly stumble back with a hand planted over your pounding heart when you see that you're being watched by a pair of unfamiliar eyes.

Yanking your headphones down to your neck, you set your food on the countertop and exhale a ragged breath. "God, you scared me."

A plucked brow merely twitches in response.

"Were you just... Standing there watching me?"

Leaning a muscular shoulder against the doorframe, Park trails his eyes from your tennis shoes that're adorned with floral blooms sprouting from the stitching to your pretty young face. "You always spend your breaks putting on performances like that?"

You blink dumbly. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

He snorts derisively, followed by extending a hand. "Dr. Brendon Park. Orthopedic surgeon," he states with emphasis.

"Uh huh," is your less than enthusiastic reply. "Y/N. Fourth year resident."

His grip is firm—bordering nearly on squeezing—but the contact is over just as soon as it began after one definitive shake is granted. "Might have to spend more time down here if the answer's yes."

Male chauvinist asshole.

You retrieve your yogurt again. "Nice to meet you."

Taking a step forward, you eye the narrowly allotted gap between him and the other side of the doorway, which isn't nearly enough room for you to squeeze through. When he turns, you eagerly step past—the crown of your shoulder brushing against his chest when you do so—before heading in the direction of the ambulance bay so you can finish eating in peace.

Brendon watches you go with eyes trained squarely on your ass.

If this were a cartoon, steam would be blowing from Robby's ears, but you'd never know it from the calm disposition he portrays when he greets the younger doctor. "Park."

He nods to your retreating form. "She single?"

An intrusive image of Brendon's head being shoved through one of the trauma bay's glass walls flits through Robby's mind unwelcomely. "Not sure," he lies. "Think she might've just gotten out of something, but I couldn't tell you a lot about it."

"Was it serious, do you know?" he inquires casually.

Robby grinds his teeth. "You know how the grapevine works—like playing a game of telephone, so take it with a grain of salt—but, yeah, I guess feelings were exchanged."

Even if they were apparently one-sided.

He hums in interest. "Don't always mind a chase. Seems like she might be worth one." Turning, he grants Robby a nod. "Thanks."

The senior attending keeps his mouth firmly shut, watching as Brendon finishes his walk to the elevators while thinking to himself that he has no idea what the hell he's asking for. A chase. He told himself the same damn thing only a couple months ago and look at the position it's put him in.

Once Park is out of sight, Robby goes after you—absolutely fucking fuming when he does.

"What was that about?" barks Robby, now advancing in your direction.

You only somewhat acknowledge him from the brick half-wall you're seated atop—otherwise occupied with mindlessly scrolling through social media while finishing your snack. "Huh?"

Crossing his arms in a humph, he levels you with a glare. "You could do with looking at me when I'm speaking to you."

Locking your mobile device, you lift your head and smile sweetly. "Sorry, Rob. What was what about?"

Somehow, the oblivious expression painted across your glowing features only serves to further light a fire under his ass. "The exchange between you and Park," he spits.

You shrug. "I was mixing up my yogurt. He was watching me."

He glowers from beneath heavy brows. "Watching you shake your ass for the whole of the ED to see, seemed to me."

Your sunny disposition is quickly overcast by a cover of dark, heavy clouds ready to break into a fit of lightening strikes if he keeps pressing the issue. "I didn't ask for an audience," you snip. "I was simply enjoying my music while taking a quick break."

He shakes his head, causing the chain of his gold necklace to glint against the overhead sun. "Well, going forward here at work you could try practicing a little self-respect. It'd go a long way."

Swinging your legs over the edge of the wall, you dig your nails into solid concrete. "Sounds to me like this is beginning to border on some sort of victim-blaming nonsense."

Robby chuckles incredulously. "Victim?" He leans forward onto the balls of his feet. "I'm sorry. Victim of what, exactly?"

"You, apparently," you scoff. "And whatever this conversation is turning into. Which, from your tone and the look on your face, seems to be an argument."

His hackles raise. "Is this you trying to get back at me because I cut things off?"

You choke back a laugh. "Excuse me?" you stare up at him with an open-mouthed smile, sure he can't be serious.

He sneers at your apparent inability to take the matter fucking serious. "Jack, then Park. Seems to me like you're making the rounds."

"First of all," you snap, causing Robby to take a small step back—he never did care for when you got a temper with him; typically preferring to fuck it out of you until you were a contentedly babbling mess coming around his cock with a smile. "I didn't even know who Park was until like two minutes ago when he introduced himself. And I can tell you with the utmost certainty—from that brief interaction alone—that he couldn't be any further from my type. Not that it's any of your business." Standing, you shove your phone into your pocket. "Secondly, Jack and I have always flirted. It's not exactly a well-kept secret."

He raises a brow. Bending at the knees to meet you at eye-level, Robby squints suspiciously. "You don't think that's the least bit cruel? Leading on a widower like that?"

You tuck your hands into your pockets to keep from slapping the smug look off his face. "We did it before you and I, and are clearly continuing the tradition after. It makes the day go by faster and the workday the least bit more bearable."

Which he should know, given the parade of women he's gone through around here.

Standing at full height again, Robby snorts in disbelief. "So it has nothing to do with the fact that he's my best friend?" he questions doubtfully.

You inhale a deep, calming breath. "As I just said, it's something we've done for years, Robby. Years." You quirk your head curiously to the side. "Is there something you'd like to say to me? Or can I enjoy the rest of my yogurt in peace and quiet—the whole reason I came out here to begin with?"

Hands planted firmly on his hips, Robby chews the inside of his cheek until the the metallic taste of blood pools on his tongue. With a roll of his eyes, he turns and heads back inside without another word.

Plopping back down, you scream quietly in the back of your throat before retrieving your now lukewarm snack. Frowning down at a honeybee who's now crawling across a melted chocolate chip, you shoo the creature away before tossing the cup into the trashcan behind you.

Steering clear of Robby for the remainder of your shift, you silently pray that tomorrow will be a brighter day.

Had you known he would behave this way, you never would've carried on with him in the first place. The last thing you want is for the ED to grow into a toxic workplace. Not that it's from a lack of you trying to keep the peace by being a normal, well-adjusted adult who's returned to treating Robby the way you always have—including when the two of you were screwing—but the fact seems to only be setting him off instead of putting him at-ease, as was your intention: that your work relationship remains unchanged, that is.

Absolutely beat by the end of the day, you manage to dip out early—just missing Abbot by ten minutes when he pulls in and you're already on your way home.

It pleases Robby, however, that the pair of you fail to have a chance to talk again tonight.

He wants a resident that he can dote on? He has plenty of them on nightshift. Hell, he can take any from dayshift that he wants if it'll get him to back the hell off of you once more.

Given how tired Robby is this evening, it's for the best, lest he fly into a fit of rage again when he sees Abbot wink at or give you another to-go container.

Sure, it's only been a couple of days, but lack of the utter relief he found daily between your legs and in your mouth—as well as the loss of being able to curl himself around you afterward while talking your damn ear off as he vented endlessly about work as his head rested between your soft breasts and you played with his hair, or when you would straddle his back in just one of his t-shirts while kneading the knots from it—has put him on-edge.

His hand can do in a pinch, but... It isn't soft and warm like you, nor does it quietly whimper as he comes undone in its arms.

Robby thought he wanted—like he always does—to get himself out sooner rather than later, but for the first time, he's regretting it.

At least with Janey, he didn't have to see her every day after he broke things off and shattered not just her heart, but Jake's as well.

A fact he still feels guilty about.

And Noelle... Well, she works on another floor, so contact between them is rare and fleeting. Maybe a nod in the hall or a quick "How are you?" is all he has to concern himself with every once in a blue moon.

But you? Everything that initially drew him in is now getting under his skin like a damn parasitic infection that he can't seem to rid himself of no matter how many measures he takes to do so.

Your easy-going nature and bubbly personality he found sweet. Perfect facets for a short-term fling. Your libido was a hell of a lot higher than his, but it only served to make him feel all the more desired. Now, however, with the rose-tinted glasses halfway removed, he sees that he wasn't quite as special as he first thought. He clearly could've been anyone, as it now turns out.

You just wanted something warm and hard to fill your... Needs.

He operates the way he does—dealing strictly in casual relationships—because it puts him in control. Of the coming and going, the how and why of when it ends... But this instance has thrown him fully off-kilter.

Because you just don't seem to care. In fact, in the ambulance bay, you were coming off as if it bothered you that he did.

Damn brat.

He has half a mind to pile on the work so high you can't even see the top. But that would surely earn him a one-way ticket to HR. Something he begrudgingly acknowledges he'd deserve for such assholish behavior.

With a sigh, he gathers his things, vowing to get his head screwed on straight before he blows his life to pieces all over a piece of ass.

He cringes on his way out for thinking of you like that.

Filing in alongside the afternoon rush, Noelle makes an appearance at the ED's hub, looking for none other than her past flame. She's well-aware that it's none of her concern, but if what she overheard upstairs a handful of days ago was indeed untrue, she'd like to have as much confirmed by the source before she goes correcting other people's ignorantly made statements.

Spotting the man in question standing tall at a computer cart, she heads in Robby's direction with quietly clicking heels.

"Heard from a little birdy that you've been seeing a resident." Crossing slender arms clad in a perfectly pressed suit jacket, she tilts her head to the side, sending silky black hair cascading over a shoulder. "Robby, please tell me that isn't true."

Keeping his eyes on the monitor in front of him, he snickers while the back of his neck warms. They've not spoken in weeks and this is what she presents him with as conversation material? "Alright, it isn't true."

She shakes her head with a disapproving look. "Really? Robby, I thought you were smarter than that."

Assuming a casual stance with hands tucked away into his pockets, he glances past her to where you sit charting but a handful of feet away. "It's not a big deal." Robby looks at Noelle again and shrugs. "It's over now anyway."

"May I ask whom?" she inquires politely.

He can't stop himself from looking at you again. Finally, you lift your head and he doesn't miss a beat. Sliding a hand down Noelle's arm, Robby barks an overly dramatic laugh. "You may, but I don't find myself obliged to answer."

When you greet him with a toothy smile, accompanied by two thumbs up and nod toward Noelle—as if you're encouraging him to make a fucking move—he drops the hand back down to his side with a feeling of defeat swelling up in his chest.

He'd like to carve it out with a scalpel.

Slowly turning her head out of curiosity, Noelle studies you with drawn brows. "Well, I suppose you don't have to now. She's certainly young enough." Returning her attentions to the chief of the ED, she folds her arms coolly behind her. "Are you aware that it's over?"

Now crossing his arms, Robby rocks back on his heels. "I'm sorry?"

Noelle grants him a knowing look. "You can hardly keep your eyes off of her."

Sarcastically rolling them, Robby locks the computer before heading to a patient room that lies behind where you presently sit. "S'cuse me."

Sighing to herself, Noelle debates momentarily before following behind. Stopping in front of the desk you occupy, she slides her forearms atop it and offers you her hand. "I don't think we've had the pleasure. Noelle Hastings."

Your mind whirring into a state of overdrive, you begin thinking of a way to be a good wingman for Robby, but after his actions from yesterday, you find him the least bit undeserving of such kind efforts. Wrapping your hand around hers, you give Noelle a firm shake. "Y/N," you quip with a happy smile.

Folding her manicured hands together, she leans forward. "I hope this doesn't come off as inappropriate... But out of a sense of morbid curiosity, I was wondering if you'd be opposed to sharing notes?"

"Notes?" you ask ignorantly.

"Well..." Noelle's lips tilt into a nearly imperceptible grin, like she's considering whether to go on with finishing her sentence. "Like his apparent inability to sleep without the TV on," she elaborates with a playfully scrunched nose. "Not that I experienced it but maybe twice since he's always so eager to usher you out the door once you're properly dressed. Heaven forbid he partake in a bit of pillow-talk," she says with a chuckle.

Eyes flitting to the room behind you, Noelle continues. "Sleeping with it on in the background was impossible for me." Her attentions return to you then. "He ever tell you why he does it? I mean, I have my theories, but..."

You slide now sweaty palms over the thighs of your scrub pants. Affable as you may be, gossip tends to make your stomach twist uncomfortably when it's presented. You don't enjoy lying, but she'll be none the wiser as to whether you're returning her honesty with the truth.

"I can't attest to it since I never stayed the night. Never could sleep in a bed that wasn't my own," you commentate with a laugh. "Vacations as a kid were a nightmare since hotels scared me."

The reality of it is, is that apart from the night with the phone incident, any other time you slept over was at Robby's behest. He'd stare up at you with these wide, pleading eyes while quietly whispering "please stay" as he clutched tenderly at your hand. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, you almost always agreed, despite it being against your mutually agreed to set of rules.

Once you were lain back in bed with the covers thrown over you, he'd scoop you into his arms and pull himself against the length of your body before burying his face between your breasts and closing his eyes.

Didn't take long after that for him to fall asleep.

She hums pensively. "Certainly is one for privacy, though, right? Couldn't believe how defensive he got the night I went looking in his medicine cabinet for a single bandage."

Is she positive you're both discussing the same man? From nearly week one Robby assured you that nothing was off-limits in his house. Hell, he actually encouraged you to make yourself at home during the handful of times you stopped by on the weekend for a quickie in-between running errands.

Never did take him up on such an offer, though. His space was his and yours was yours. Not that he ever came over.

Speaking of the medicine cabinet specifically, there had been an evening maybe three weeks ago when he told you to look in it while he was busy relieving himself in the toilet beside where you stood at the sink. When you popped it open, you weren't really sure what you were supposed to be looking for, until he nodded at a still packaged toothbrush. "Just incase," he'd remarked with a wink. "Figured you could put it next to mine in the cup there on the counter."

It didn't see much use in the end, though.

You don't know it, but Robby still hasn't tossed it.

Awkwardly clearing your throat, you swivel your mouse and the computer screen bleeds back to life. "I don't mean any offense, Noelle, because it's been nice talking to and meeting someone new, but I don't like to, um... Kiss and tell, for lack of a better term."

If Robby doesn't have as much respect for you, that's on him. You know your character.

"Oh." She leans back. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

You wave your hands in a panic. "Oh, no, you didn't! I guess like anyone, Robby's a complicated man. I can agree on that account, at least."

She smiles. "That he is. Well," she says, now turning on her heel. "I'll let you get back to work then."

He was hurt initially when Noelle started in on disclosing his private behavior—worried it would lessen your opinion of him from wherever it currently stands at—but when you lied in order to shield him and the affection he tried to shower you with... It warmed his heart.

Robby had thought more of her than that. That she was more mature; seasoned when it came to concealing the details of an ex's private life like any middle-aged individual.

He was wrong.

Peeking at you from behind a patterned curtain, Robby's lips tug into a faint smile, appreciative of your discretion. And he hopes...protectiveness over what you had.

Admiring the swell of your backside and the outline of a pair of floral panties from where you're bent over trying to retrieve the Sharpie you dropped, Jesse stretches a rubber band between both of his index fingers before firing.

"Ow!" Clapping a hand over your ass cheek, you about-face and scowl at your offender. "You're such a pain in my ass, Jesse."

He grins. "Literally this time."

Were his glasses not resting on the bridge of his nose, Robby wouldn't have believed his eyes just now. So now it's not just one, or two, but three men that're vying for your fucking attention? Who's next, then? Shen? Mateo? Might as well just form a damn line at this point!

Crumpling a sheet of paper into a ball, you toss it at his head, but sorely miss when he rounds the end of the nurse's station with his head thrown back in a mocking laugh. You're just considering rifling through his desk drawer to steal a snack or a hard to obtain stationary item when your eyes meet with Robby's steely gaze.

With his lips drawn into a taught line and his nostrils flared, you shrink into yourself, like a child ashamed that she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He shakes his head in disapproval before returning to the tablet propped up against his bent knee.

Throwing yourself down into a cushioned rolling chair, you switch on a computer to finish up your end of the day charting—far too aware of his nearby presence. Such a party-pooper.

Hopping onto your bed, you position the head of your plastic hairbrush above your mouth and belt the lyrics You're looking like an angel on the walls of Versailles as Olivia Rodrigo blares from the bluetooth speaker in the living room.

The most alive I've ever been, you cry while swinging your hips from one side to other, but kiss me and I might drop dead!

Falling onto the mattress, you bounce, then hang your head off the foot of it while kicking your legs excitedly in the air. Pisces and a Gemini, but I think we might go really nice together!

Robby can't sleep. No matter how much he tosses and turns, nor how many times he fluffs the pillow he's holding close to his chest which still smells of you—he'll do laundry this weekend, dammit; he has too much on his plate already to be worried about fucking sheets—rest refuses to find him.

Rolling onto his back, Robby stares up at a dark, lofty ceiling while stewing in anger aimed at none other than himself.

He wants to blame you—has tried to the last few days—but the fault lies solely with him as to his predicament of perpetual bachelorhood. Can he really blame any of the others for being so taken with you? He has been since you were but a doe-eyed med student, so he obviously understands the crushes they're all harboring, even if he wishes otherwise.

Maybe he's kidding himself by thinking the two of you ever had a chance at anything more, had he not broken things off.

When he presented you with the idea of quick, easy sex, you leapt at the opportunity, and it almost unsettled him how easily you went along with the typical set of rules he always keeps in place, so as to retain a healthy amount of metaphorical distance between himself and whoever his chosen sexual partner for the next month or two is.

Perhaps part of him had been secretly hoping you'd object—would complain about how you wanted to snuggle on the couch, hold hands while walking into work, and go on cute little dates to local diners. Instead, it seems he had finally met his match in the detachment department.

You were actually worse than him about it.

Robby wondered at one time if that was what made him pine for your attention before long: because you were trying to play hard to get, which only spurred him on all the more. But no, it's just your personality, apparently.

Makes for good doctoring, at least.

You're not entirely mercurial and free-flowing, though. Anytime he asked you to stay... You would. That was what made him fall, he thinks: the nights he spent curled around you, safe in your arms while he rested peacefully against your breast.

Before you, every night was an hour long battle—if not longer—in terms of getting to sleep. But with you? The sound of your softly thumping heart always sent him dozing off after only a matter of minutes.

He slept like a damn baby where you were concerned.

And there was the way you'd play with his hair when his head would be resting in your lap after a long day as he read aloud to you, or the stupid trivia gameshows the two of you would watch in bed, debating the answers to ridiculous questions before a buzzer proved you both wrong.

Being in your company was just...easy. It didn't give him anxiety about the future or instill him with fear of the unknown. For once, he was finally able to live in the moment.

And no, he didn't require the TV to be on while he slept next to you because being wrapped in your arms equaled a quiet head. You're quite the contradiction yourself, speaking of. A free spirit with a nurturing side.

Sighing, Robby yanks his phone off the nightstand and dials.

He lets it ring damn near a dozen times before finally ending the call—his head now swimming with visions of Park pounding away inside of you, or Jesse fondling your ass while your own intimate escapades become long forgotten as he's replaced with another younger model.

Blinking wet lashes, Robby sets his jaw and sniffles quietly. He supposes this is what he deserves: a taste of his own medicine for once.

Was only a matter of time before karma came knocking.

With the shower now heating up in the bathroom, you plunk down in the middle of your bed and begin scrolling through unread notifications. When you see a missed called from Robby, your heart lurches.

Uh oh, is something happening at the hospital? He didn't leave a message, so hopefully not.

Best call him back, though, to make sure.

"Hey!" you beam when he promptly answers "Sorry I missed your call earlier, I didn't hear it. What's up?"

Your shirt is eschewed and hanging off of one shoulder, your skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and your chest is rapidly rising and falling in a clear effort to catch your breath.

Not to mention the mess of bedding found just behind you.

Is that a damn shower he hears running in the background?

Robby's ears perk up at the sound of a man's voice coming from a room away which immediately sets his blood to fucking boiling.

Turning to the side with an arched brow, your face screws into an expression of confusion.

What? Your little one-night stand already crying for you from the other room?

"Nothing," Robby hisses while you're still turned away. "It was an accident."

Staring at your mussed reflection on a now dark screen, you sigh then toss the device aside before pushing off the bed and padding into the bathroom to change whatever God-awful dad rock has come onto Spotify.

Whatever was the cause for Robby's attitude isn't your problem right now. Or ever, really. Your apartment is finally nice and clean, as are you about to be before long, and there's leftover Chinese food in the fridge.

For once, everything feels peaceful again.

Removing your sweat-stained t-shirt, you toss it into the laundry hamper before stepping beneath a cascade of steaming water.

"Good morning," you say warmly while greeting Robby with a sunny disposition.

He only hums in response, choosing to keep his eyes trained on the inside of his locker rather than bidding you the same pleasantry.

Wrapping your stethoscope around your neck, you pluck a ballpoint pen from the middle shelf and tuck it into your pocket.

"Looked like you got quite the workout last night," Robby grumbles quietly.

Clicking your locker shut, you chuckle. "Oh, yeah, the best cardio," you reply sardonically—deciding not to mention how you started squealing when a sticky cobweb got stuck to your face. "I'm gonna go check the board. Let me know if you need any help today!"

Watching as you walk away, it's all Robby can do not to flip the bird at the back of your head. How can you be so cocky about it? It isn't normal for someone to be this happy all the time.

Are you on something?

He never got that impression before, but supposes it makes sense.

Perhaps he should take a peek in your chart. Finding out that Langdon was hooked on benzos was bad enough. To discover that you had to get high in order to lie beneath him... He doesn't know whether he could tolerate the knowledge.

Not even lunch from a nearby sandwich shop managed to improve Robby's mood. He can't keep on with this headspace. It's not fair to you, the staff of the ED, or any patients who he could potentially end up taking his frustrations out on when someone inevitably refuses to listen to sage medical advice.

A glass door slides shut behind Robby, casting the exam room you're wrapping things up in in silence. "Can I at least ask who?" he asks gently, not wanting to intrude if he's not welcome to.

He understands that he isn't entitled to anything here, including answers if you choose not to give them. Your affairs are your affairs and they have nothing to do with him.

It's not right him acting otherwise.

It'll only lead to you feeling uneasy around him and that's the last thing he would ever want.

Your education comes first.

Glancing to him, you cup your hand beneath a sanitizer dispenser. "Who what?"

He studies you from beneath long lashes. "Last night. Who you were with when you called me back."

Uh... Why does he think there was someone in your apartment with you?

Wait.

Did he see something on camera? A chill crawls up your back. "I was alone. Why do you think otherwise?" you ask hesitantly.

His brows furrow. "I heard the shower. And another man's voice. C'mon, sweetheart, I might be old, but I'm not stupid. Not to mention the—the state you were in."

Rubbing the sanitizer into both your palms and along the backs of your hands, you take a step forward. "I was warming it up. I'd just gotten done cleaning my apartment right before you called. Well... I cleaned my apartment, then sort of ran around singing pop music and putting on my own personal concert with a hairbrush," you admit sheepishly. "As for the voice, it was some awful rock station Spotify picked out. God knows why."

He takes it back. He's both old and stupid.

"You were alone."

"Just me and Olivia Rodrigo," you confirm with a nod.

He raises a brow, to which you bat a hand in response. "Singer."

"Ah," Robby replies with a nod.

Submerging your hands in your shirt pockets, you cock your head to the side. "Why do you ask?"

Moment of truth.

Robby sighs. "I was jealous. I have been this whole week and I've been making you pay for it." He presses his lips into a thin smile. "I'm sorry."

You give him a once-over with a scrutinizing gaze. "So, are things going to return to normal now?" You lean your hip against the exam table. "Or are you going to pout when Abbot gives me a piece of gum?"

Robby considers for a moment while watching the hustle and bustle of the ED on the other side of the door. "Maybe I made a mistake."

Your brows knit closely together. "What do you mean?"

Studying the laces of his boots, he shrugs with a dismissive shake of his head. "Calling it off. Letting you go. Not asking for more." He lifts his chin. "All the above."

"Are you saying you want to continue hooking up?" You question with a cocked head.

You don't know how keen you are on that idea with how tiresome he's been the last handful of days—it'd be akin to rewarding bad behavior without an ounce of consequences being paid for it—but a warm body is admittedly a considerable improvement over a silicone toy.

Running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck, Robby digs his fingertips into freckled skin. "No. I mean..." he sucks his teeth. "I'd want sexual intimacy, yes, but more than that. I want us to be together."

The last sentence was spoken so quickly and quietly that it was barely an octave above a whisper. Nevertheless, you heard him.

"Like a relationship?" you inquire with crossed arms.

He nods.

You've had him in bed—inside of you—but not even then did he looks so soft and small and vulnerable. Almost boyish with the way he's rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. It's kind of cute, really.

So shy.

Coming to stand in front of him, you pull one of his hands toward you and wrap each of your own around it. "Okay."

Robby's head lifts so swiftly that something pops in the back of his neck. "Okay?" he repeats with a lilted tone of surprise.

"I have one rule, though. Or...an understanding, anyway, that needs to be agreed upon."

Cupping the side of your neck with a warm, heavy palm, Robby brushes his thumb along the underside of your jaw. "I'm all ears, sweetheart."

"You get one shot at this," you state point-blank. "And I don't mean we're not allowed to argue or have disagreements or lose our tempers on occasion. That's bound to happen; it's a normal part of any relationship. What I do mean is that if your commitment issues manifest a few weeks or months from now and you start thinking about running, that's it. I won't allow you to treat my life like a revolving door."

As if plenty of others aren't trying to pass through it, he muses. Sliding his palm down to the crown of your shoulder, he gives it a gentle squeeze. "So just like that you're mine?"

You nod and your stethoscope nearly slips off of you with the motion. "Yes."

His lips tug into a displeased frown. "So... I ask you to start sleeping with me and you do. I call it quits and you couldn't seem to care less. I come back groveling, and you hardly bat an eye before telling me okay to being together. I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it's hard to take this seriously when you seem to just go along with wherever the wind blows you."

You can feel the vein in the middle of your forehead swelling up to size. "Did you expect me to get down on my hands and knees while begging you not to leave me? You said it was over and that was that. I'm not pleading with someone to stick around who has no interest in it. I think more of myself than that."

Not to mention that he's way too old to be playing these sorts of head games...

He'll never admit it, but the pride you seem to have in yourself he finds the least bit threatening to his ego. But it's also a turn-on, if he's being completely honest with himself. "Just hard to feel like an exception when it's coming off like I could be anybody. Abbot, Park, Jesse. What makes me different?"

From the way he runs the ED with an iron fist, you'd never think him so insecure.

It makes you wanna pinch his cheeks. Or slap one.

"Like I said about Park, I don't like him. Period. As for Jesse... Yes, we've joked around every now and again, but I honestly think of him more as a brother. Whether he shares that sentiment is his own business."

"And Jack?" Robby presses.

Removing his hand from where it's slid down your arm, you splay his fingers apart and lightly squeeze his fourth one. "He still wears his ring." Lifting your head, you gaze into Robby's eyes. "They didn't... Fall out of love or go through a nasty divorce. She died while he was still in love with her," you explain with the utmost care. "I can't ever hope to compete with that. His ring would serve as a constant reminder of what I have to try and live up to: impossible standards I could never even attempt to meet."

He nearly asks you what if Abbot stopped wearing it, but supposes it's a moot point. For right now, he does. End of story.

Craning his head down to meet you halfway, you tilt your own back and smile when his lips brushes against yours. "My girl," Robby murmurs before closing the breathy gap between you with a kiss.

"You like that?" you ask breathlessly. Lifting your hips, you slide down the considerable length of him and he utters a quiet curse.

Slapping a hand against your ass cheek, Robby watches with appreciation as the plump skin ripples like water before digging his fingers into the meat of your hips again. "Told you it feels better without a condom."

You roll your eyes, but with him seated behind you, he's unable to see it. "Don't really feel much of a difference myself, but—"

"Fuck, feels so much better on my end," Robby moans.

Straightening, you begin bouncing on it with a repeated wet plap, plap, plap while toying with your pebbled nipples.

"Turn around, sweetheart," he mutters; his hands sliding up your stomach and brushing along the underside of your soft breasts. "So I can look at you."

Lifting off his hard cock, Robby fists himself in his hand as you spin around. Guiding his swollen, leaking tip back between your slick, fluttering walls, he moans pleasurably when your cunt swallows his girthy length again until the shaft disappears entirely.

You love the way he stretches you open so deliciously.

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you cup the back of his head in your other palm before pulling his face between your sweaty breasts. "C'mere, baby," you coo affectionately.

His dick stirs and you snicker softly. Leaning his head back, you flick the tip of your tongue across his lips. "You gonna come inside me? Huh?"

Robby blinks wide eyes of pleasant surprise. "You'll let me?"

You grin. "I want you to," you reply with a faux pout. "I'm not getting off it until you do." Crushing your lips to his, your tongues tangle together in a battle for dominance.

Rapidly rocking your hips until a familiar bang, bang, bang of the headboard can be heard, you break away, then reposition your lips next to his ear. "You're such a good boy."

He shudders, so you drag the lobe of his ear gently between your teeth. "Come for me, baby. Come for mama."

Slapping a hand over your ass and squeezing hard enough to leave a bruised print, Robby bends his knees before hammering away between your pulsating walls. "O-oh fuck," he stammers. "I'm s-so fuckin'—"

"That's it," you sigh encouragingly. "Y-you're almost there. A little more."

Biting down on your shoulder, he chokes back a muffled growl. His whole body seizes while his cock twitches and spurts inside of you in-between long, deep, filling thrusts.

"Good boy," you gasp happily. "Oh my God, that's such a good boy."

Pressing your lips to the crown of his head, you ride out your high—flexing your walls around his emptying cock as your own orgasm ascends to its pique, leaving you a mess of babbling, praiseful words as you cling to Robby, tracing your tongue along his naked, salty skin while you do.

Gazing up at Robby from where your chin is resting against the back of a hand you've planted atop his hairy chest, you smile when he does.

He's been doing so for the last almost half an hour while tracing lazy circles along your naked hip. "That good, huh?" you ask with a laugh.

He rolls his head from side to side. "Just happy," he rumbles.

You press a damp kiss to his stubbled cheek before toying with his necklace. "Can I ask you something?"

He smirk morphs into a contended grin. "Anything."

"Not to bring another person into bed with us, but... Noelle and I spoke the other day. I don't know if you were aware."

Bending an arm behind his head, he nods. "I was. Heard most of it."

Eavesdropper...

"Why were you so different with her? Or... With me?"

It's been eating at you, truthfully.

He chews his lip for a moment in thought. "It's not that she did or didn't do something. I mean, I had nothing against her being around. She just... She didn't make me laugh. I felt like when I was with her—and maybe this was just me—that I couldn't step out of my role as chief, even when I was here in my own home. I struggled to let my guard down or relax. There was this need to be in serious "adult mode" 24/7." He tilts his head to the side. "There wasn't any vulnerability."

You lift a brow. "Thought you preferred that?"

He sighs and readjusts the pillow tucked against the crook of his neck. "Thought I did too. 'Til you came along."

You curl your fingers into the coarse hair smattered across his chest. "Is it because you think more highly of her than me? So you felt a need to impress by being—as you say—serious? That because I'm younger, I'm just the fun squeeze toy to keep around?"

Finally he finds a crack in your perfect sunshine façade. He rocks his head from side to side. "No. Was just a difference in personality. We all have various faces we wear. With different people, during different occasions... With her, I was Michael Robinavitch, chief attending of PTMC's ED. With you, I can just be me."

Not that he's wholly sure who that is most days now, but he hopes at your side, he can finally start to figure it out.

Cupping his cheek, you press a kiss to his lips. "I know exactly who you are."

A curious brow curves upwards.

"Sweet boy," you simper.

He huffs a laugh.

Turning onto his side, Robby pulls you flush against his weighty belly. "I'll be whatever you want me to be, sweetheart."

Nancy Wheeler's basement had become less of a room and more of a second address for all of you sometime around freshman year. Nobody had officially decided it; it had simply happened.

Steve claimed it was because Nancy's basement had the nicest couch. Robin argued it was because Karen Wheeler inevitably wandered downstairs every hour with a plate of something she'd baked "because growing teenagers need to eat."

Jonathan insisted it was because nobody ever bothered them there. Ted, on the other hand, maintained it was because the six of you were personally plotting to drive up his electric bill.

You suspected the truth was some combination of all four. By now, the furniture had permanent indents from where everyone always sat.

Steve occupied the armchair like he paid rent. Robin had somehow claimed the carpet as her spot, despite there being plenty of seating available.

Jonathan leaned against the wood-paneled wall with a camera resting beside him, quietly watching the rest of you carry on.

Nancy was halfway through her chemistry homework, somehow capable of participating in three conversations while balancing a textbook across crossed legs.

Eddie had been draped upside down over the couch for the better part of twenty minutes, his head hanging over the edge while his hair brushed the carpet.

"I think all the blood has rushed to your brain," Robin observed.

He blinked at her from his upside-down position. "Bold of you to assume there was any in there to begin with."

Steve reached over and smacked the bottom of one of Eddie's boots. "You gonna sit like a normal human being?"

"I tried being normal once," Eddie answered dramatically. "Worst six minutes of my life."

You snorted quietly from where you sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the couch, absentmindedly flipping through one of Jonathan's photography magazines. The sound caught Eddie's attention immediately.

His head tilted just enough for him to look at you upside down. "What?"

"What, what?"

"You laughed."

"I did."

"So something I said was funny."

"I wouldn't go that far."

He gasped, clutching dramatically at his chest despite gravity making the gesture look ridiculous. "You wound me."

"You'll recover."

"I don't know..."

"You seem resilient."

"I've had seventeen near-death experiences today."

Robin didn't even glance up from painting her nails. "Existing isn't a near-death experience."

"It is when Steve Harrington keeps hitting me."

"I 'hit' your shoe."

"It could've been my face."

"It wasn't."

"It could've been."

You finally looked over the edge of the magazine. "For someone who plays a barbarian every Saturday, you complain an awful lot."

His grin spread immediately.

"What?" You scoffed, tilting your head. 

"You’re a bully."

"I am not a bully."

Nancy looked up from her homework. "You absolutely are."

"Oh, come on."

Steve pointed toward you without hesitation. "You made Eddie cry in fourth grade."

"I corrected his spelling."

"You told me," Eddie interrupted, sitting upright now, "'maybe if you spent less time drawing dragons and more time paying attention, you'd know how to spell Wednesday.'"

You frowned. "...I was right."

"You embarrassed me."

"You spelled it Wensday."

"It has too many silent letters!"

"It has one."

"Exactly."

Everyone laughed except Eddie, who looked personally victimized by the English language. "I still think that's excessive."

"You know," Jonathan added thoughtfully, "I don't think she's ever apologized."

"For being correct?"

"For making him cry."

"I didn't cry."

Steve looked at him. "You absolutely cried."

"I had allergies."

"In October?"

"There was... dust."

Robin rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't get stuck. "Dust made you cry because the pretty girl corrected your spelling."

"I was nine."

"You would've cried yesterday."

"I would've done no such thing."

You folded the magazine shut and leaned back against the couch cushions. "You definitely would've."

Eddie opened his mouth, closed it again, and pointed a finger at you. "You know what your problem is?"

"I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"You've always been mean to me."

"I've always been honest with you."

"That's somehow worse."

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth despite yourself. "You'll live."

"I might not."

"You've survived twenty years."

"Nineteen."

"Close enough."

"You don't even know how old I am."

"I know exactly how old you are."

"Oh?"

"You remind me every August that you're older than me for two weeks."

"...That's because it's important."

"It isn't."

"It is."

"It absolutely isn't."

"It gives me seniority."

You rolled your eyes and sighed, returning to Johnathan’s magazine. The basement fell into one of those easy silences after that, everyone returning to their respective task, with small, nonsensical comments and giggles breaking the silence. 

Eddie, however, was still looking at you. He'd been doing that more lately.

You finally caught him. "What?"

"Hm?"

"You're staring."

"I wasn't."

"You are literally staring."

"I was thinking."

"Dangerous."

He ignored that. "I just..." He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking far less confident than he had thirty seconds earlier. "I don't know."

"What don't you know?"

He shrugged. "I was just thinking you're..." His eyes met yours for a split second before darting somewhere over your shoulder. "...really pretty."

The room went painfully quiet. Robin's grin was practically so wide her cheeks could explode.  Eddie himself looked like he'd only just realized the words had actually left his mouth.

"...Wow," he muttered to himself.

You stared at him. "...What?"

"I didn't..." He scratched the back of his neck harder now. "That came out way smoother in my head."

Robin made a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like she was trying not to laugh.

Steve wasn't trying. "Dude."

Eddie pointed accusingly at him. "Don't."

"You called her beautiful."

"I said pretty."

"You called her pretty."

"I know what I said!"

Nancy covered her smile behind her hand. You, meanwhile, were still looking at Eddie with an expression somewhere between amused and bewildered.

"You've seen me almost every day for fifteen years."

"I know."

"So..."

"So..." he echoed weakly.

"What changed?"

His eyes flicked toward the ceiling as though the answer might've been written there. "I don't know."

Robin completely lost it. "Oh my God," she wheezed. "He's actually malfunctioning."

"I'm not malfunctioning."

"You blue-screened."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Before Eddie could dig himself any deeper into the hole he'd created, footsteps echoed across the kitchen upstairs. Karen Wheeler's voice floated down the basement stairs before she did.

"I made brownies! If you kids don't come eat them while they're warm, Ted certainly will."

Ted's voice followed from somewhere in the living room. "I heard that."

"It was meant for you, dear."

The entire basement erupted into motion. Steve was already halfway to the stairs as Robin shoved past him. You stood, brushing imaginary dust from your jeans before glancing back toward the couch.

Eddie was still sitting there, still looking at you, still pink around the ears. You turned to him and flashed a quick smile.

"I think you're pretty too." Then you walked upstairs.

Behind you, Steve stopped dead on the staircase. "...Did she just—"

Robin grabbed his arm before he could turn around. "Nope."

"But—"

"Nope."

"They're finally—"

"Nope."

Eddie remained frozen on the couch for another five full seconds before a grin so impossibly wide spread across his face that even Jonathan, lingering at the bottom of the stairs, couldn't help but shake his head.

"...Took you long enough," he muttered as he followed everyone upstairs. Eddie, of course, was too busy staring after you to hear him.

The walk between your house and Eddie's took approximately twenty-three seconds. Twenty-five if you stopped to pet Mrs. Henderson's cat. Thirty if Eddie had left one of his bikes in the middle of the shared side yard again. Tonight, it took twenty-seven.

You hopped over the rusted chain that separated your backyards more for tradition than necessity, cutting across the worn patch of grass that had served as your personal highway since elementary school.

Wayne's truck was already parked beside the trailer, the porch light glowing warm against the summer dusk, and through the open living room window you could hear the unmistakable sound of a baseball game playing far louder than anyone was actually watching it.

Wayne looked up from his recliner the moment you stepped inside, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he flipped through the newspaper.

"Evenin', kid."

"Hi, Wayne."

He nodded toward the hallway. "He's been pacing for twenty minutes."

"I have not!" Eddie shouted from his bedroom.

Wayne didn't even raise his voice. "You've walked a trench through my carpet."

"...Maybe a little."

You fought back a smile. "Can I?"

Wayne waved a hand toward the hallway without looking up from the paper. "You know where he is."

The bedroom door was already halfway open by the time you reached it.

Eddie was exactly where Wayne said he'd be, walking slow circles around his room with a cassette case in one hand and absolutely no idea what he was doing with it. He looked up when you leaned against the doorframe.

"Oh."

"Hi."

"...Hi."

"You pacing?"

"No."

You looked deliberately toward the floor. "Huh."

"What?"

"I could've sworn your carpet had little footprints in it."

He sighed. “Yeah, I was.”

You stepped into the room, nudging the door closed behind you with your foot before settling onto the edge of his bed like you'd done a thousand times before.

Eddie stayed standing for another few seconds before awkwardly dropping into his desk chair backward, folding his arms across the backrest.

Finally, Eddie cleared his throat. "So..."

"So."

"I'm... uh..."

"You called me pretty."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "...Yeah."

"You know everyone looked at you like you'd announced you were joining the circus."

"I noticed."

"I thought Steve was gonna choke."

"He almost did."

You looked around his room absentmindedly, taking in the same Iron Maiden poster that had hung on his wall since sophomore year, the cluttered desk covered in campaign notes, the guitar leaning in the corner.

"You know," you said eventually, "I've been thinking."

His eyebrows lifted. "...That can't be good."

"I don't think it is."

"Oh."

You folded your hands in your lap. "I like you."

He blinked. "...Okay."

"I mean..." You shrugged. "I like you."

Another blink. "...Okay."

"You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not."

"No?"

"No."

"How long have you known?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "...Couple years."

You stared at him. "...Couple years?"

"I wasn't exactly thrilled about it."

"You've liked me for years?"

"I mean..." He gestured vaguely around the room. "Have you... looked at yourself?"

You laughed. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

He looked almost embarrassed saying it. "I've liked you since... I don't know. Sophomore year? Maybe freshman year? Somewhere around there."

"And you never said anything?"

He looked at you like you'd asked the dumbest question imaginable. "I figured you knew."

"...Eddie."

"What?"

"I did not know."

"You climbed through my bedroom window at midnight because you 'couldn't sleep' after prom."

"I couldn't."

"You spent Valentine's Day watching horror movies with me."

"I hate Valentine's Day."

"You stole my jacket."

"I was cold."

"You still have it."

"It fits."

He stared at you. "You really didn't know?"

You frowned. "I thought... I don't know. I thought that's just... us."

"It was."

"...Oh."

"...Yeah."

You nodded slowly. "Huh."

"Huh?"

"I think..." You rubbed your palms over your jeans. "...I think I've liked you for a while too."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

"Mhm."

"Like..."

"A while."

"...Oh."

Then you sighed dramatically. "This is stupid."

"What is?"

You looked directly at him. "We've known each other since we were six."

"Five."

"Five."

"We've had dinner together like... a thousand times."

"Probably."

"My parents assume you're eating at our house three nights a week."

"They make really good meatloaf."

"You kissed me on the forehead when I got my wisdom teeth out."

"You were crying."

"I was drugged."

"You were really crying."

"I don't remember."

"You called me your favorite person."

"I was drugged."

"You also called me pretty."

"I was drugged."

He smiled. "I noticed a pattern."

You smiled back before shaking your head.

"My point is..." You leaned back on your hands. "...we're already basically dating."

His face scrunched. "...Are we?"

"I mean... think about it."

He did. "...Huh."

"We spend every day together."

"Mhm."

"We know each other's parents."

"Yeah."

"We've held hands."

"Accidentally."

"Not every time."

"...Fair."

"You've fallen asleep on my shoulder."

"You've fallen asleep on mine."

"I've worn your clothes."

"You steal my clothes."

"I borrow them."

"You permanently borrow them."

"So..." You lifted one shoulder. "I think we should just... finally do what everyone expects us to do."

His expression softened. "...What's that?"

"Go out."

The silence was so long you were convinced it was because his brain had completely abandoned him. 

"...Yeah."

You waited as he nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah."

Another nod. "No, yeah."

"Eddie."

"No, yeah, totally."

You laughed. "I'm serious."

"I know!"

"No, you don't."

"I do!"

"You sound like you forgot how words work."

"I..." He paused. "...I might've."

"So..." he said after a moment.

"So."

"...You're my girlfriend?"

You tilted your head. "I was hoping."

His grin was immediate. "...Cool."

"...Cool?"

"I mean..." He rubbed both hands over his jeans. "Really cool."

"You've got a way with words."

"I've always said that."

"You absolutely have not."

"No."

"...No."

Then you stood, crossed the short distance between you, and reached down to take his hand. His fingers laced into yours almost immediately. You gave his hand a gentle tug toward the bedroom door.

"C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

"My house."

"...Why?"

"My dad's probably watching TV."

"...Okay?"

"I want to tell him we're dating."

Eddie's entire body stopped moving.

"...Tonight?"

"Mhm."

"...Your dad?"

"Mhm."

"...The one who owns a shotgun?"

You smiled sweetly. "Mhm."

"...Can we maybe date for, like..." He swallowed. "...Twenty-four hours first?"

You laughed so hard you had to lean against the hallway wall, and from the living room Wayne lowered his newspaper just enough to call out without even looking.

"Told you she'd scare you first."

"I am not scared!" Eddie shouted back.

Wayne hummed. "Sure, son."

By Saturday afternoon, Nancy's basement looked exactly as it always did after everyone had been there for more than an hour.

Empty soda cans littered the coffee table, someone's jacket had been abandoned on the back of the couch, and a deck of cards sat scattered across the carpet after Robin declared Go Fish "psychological warfare" and refused to finish the game. 

Steve had somehow become trapped in a debate with Jonathan over whether Bruce Springsteen was overrated, Nancy had long since stopped pretending to read the chapter open in front of her, and Eddie had claimed nearly the entire couch for himself, lying across it like a Victorian woman with the flu.

"You know," Robin said, tossing a pretzel into her mouth, "I don't think I've ever seen someone relax as aggressively as you."

"I'm conserving energy."

"For what?"

"My next nap."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You've been here three hours."

"And?"

"You've done nothing."

"I resent that."

Eddie held up the comic book resting on his chest. "I've turned at least seventeen pages."

"You've read three."

"I reread the good parts."

Nancy finally snapped her textbook shut. "My mom wants to know if we're still going into town."

Robin immediately perked up. "The record store?"

"And Family Video."

Steve nodded. "I need to return a tape before Keith starts charging me."

"You mean before he lectures you for forty-five minutes?"

"Same thing."

Jonathan stood first, stretching his arms over his head. "I'm in."

Robin was already halfway up. "Shotgun."

"There are six of us."

"I said what I said."

Everyone began collecting jackets and car keys, the room filling with the familiar shuffle of people who had spent enough time together to move like a single unit.

Everyone except Eddie. He hadn't moved, not even a little. He simply adjusted the comic book higher on his chest and sighed dramatically.

"You guys have fun."

Steve stopped. "...You're not coming?"

"Nah."

"Why?"

"I'm comfortable."

Robin blinked. "...That's your reason?"

"It's a pretty good one."

Nancy folded her arms. "Eddie."

"I'm serious."

"You've been asking to go to the record store all week."

"I was younger then."

"It was Tuesday."

"I've changed."

"You haven't changed in seventy-two hours."

"I've grown."

Robin threw one of the couch pillows at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his face. He didn't even bother catching it.

"You all go ahead," he mumbled into the cushion. "Tell the outside world I said hello."

Steve frowned. "You are unbelievably lazy."

"I'm energy efficient."

"You're impossible."

"I'm comfortable."

Steve looked toward you. "You wanna tell him?"

You'd been standing by the stairs quietly pulling your denim jacket over your shoulders, watching the exchange with an expression that suggested you'd seen this exact performance approximately four hundred times before.

You zipped the jacket halfway before looking over at Eddie. "Eddie."

He didn't answer.

"Eddie."

"...Hm?"

"We're going."

"I know."

"You are too."

He let out the most dramatic sigh anyone had ever heard before cracking one eye open. "I don't know..."

You simply stared at him, tilting your head sweetly enough to make your eyes do the thing he says could “convince any man to admit to a crime he didn’t commit.”

Eddie stared back until your chin dipped, and his eyes widened. He hopped up with extreme force. 

"Yes, ma'am."

In one fluid motion, he swung both legs off the couch, stood up, grabbed his leather jacket from the armrest, shoved his feet into his sneakers, snatched his van keys, and was standing beside you before anyone else had even processed what had happened.

"I am ready."

Robin looked between the two of you, then turned to Steve. "Did..."

Steve nodded.

"He just..."

Jonathan couldn't hide his smile.

"...Wow."

Nancy shook her head, laughing under her breath. "I've been telling you."

Eddie frowned. "What?"

Robin pointed accusingly. "I spent ten minutes trying to convince you."

"Mhm."

"Steve tried."

"Mhm."

"Nancy tried."

"Mhm."

"You ignored every single one of us."

"Mhm."

She pointed toward you. "She says two words—"

"And suddenly it's 'Yes, ma'am,' and you're putting your shoes on?"

He looked genuinely confused. "...Well..."

Robin threw both hands in the air. "Why?"

Eddie blinked. "...She asked."

Robin slowly looked back at Eddie. "I could tell you to jump off a bridge."

"I wouldn't."

Steve pointed at you. "But if she told you—"

Eddie thought about it. "...I'd at least ask how high."

The Hawkins quarry looked different in the evening.

The water reflected streaks of orange and pink from the setting sun, cicadas buzzed lazily somewhere in the trees, and the old plaid blanket beneath you had become less of somewhere to sit and more of something the two of you had gradually shoved into a tangled pile while arguing about absolutely nothing.

"...You're cheating."

Eddie looked scandalized. "I am not cheating."

"You absolutely are."

"I resent that accusation."

"You changed the rules halfway through."

"I evolved the rules."

"You lost."

"I adapted."

"You lost."

"I strategically repositioned."

"You lost."

He pointed at you. "You're impossible."

"You knew that before you asked me out."

"I thought dating you might make you nicer."

"You thought wrong."

"I did."

You grinned triumphantly before reaching over and snatching the deck of cards out of his hand.

"Hey!"

"No evidence."

"You can't just steal the cards!"

"I literally just did."

He lunged for them. You laughed, scrambling backward across the blanket as he reached over your shoulder.

"Oh, no you don't—"

His fingers brushed your wrist, so you twisted away. "Eddie!"

"Give 'em back!"

"You don't deserve them!"

"I absolutely deserve them!"

"You cheated!"

"I innovated!"

"You cheated!"

He caught your forearm, trying to pry the cards from your grip, so you immediately shoved back.

"Oh, we're wrestling now?" he laughed.

"You started it."

"I absolutely did."

You planted both hands on his shoulders and gave him one solid push. Completely caught off guard, Eddie toppled backward onto the blanket with a surprised "Whoa!"

You didn't hesitate. You followed him down, laughing the entire way before planting a knee beside his hip and pinning one of his wrists against the blanket in victory.

"There."

He blinked up at you. "...Well."

"You done cheating?"

"I wasn't cheating."

"You were."

"I disagree."

"You don't get to disagree."

He glanced down at the hand holding his wrist, then back up at you.

A slow grin spread across his face. "You know..."

Your eyes narrowed immediately. "...What?"

"I'm trying really hard to keep arguing with you..."

"But?"

"...The more you pin me down..." He tilted his head innocently. "...the harder it is to remember what we were arguing about."

You stared at him for exactly half a second before rolling your eyes so dramatically it almost hurt. "Oh, my God."

"I'm serious."

"No, you're flirting because you're losing."

"I'm multitasking."

"You are unbelievable."

"I'm resourceful."

"You are absolutely insufferable."

"And yet..." His smile softened just a little. "...you climbed into my lap anyway."

You looked down. At some point during your attempt to win the world's most pointless wrestling match, you had, in fact, ended up sitting squarely across his waist.

"...That wasn't intentional."

"Mhm."

"It wasn't."

"I totally believe you."

"I don't like your tone."

"I like yours."

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, and finally released his wrist. The second you did, he reached up. Not to flip you over or continue the wrestling match, but simply to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"There."

"What?"

"It was bothering me."

"You've become incredibly distracting since we started dating."

He smiled. "I've actually always been distracted."

"By what?"

He looked at you like the answer was obvious. "You."

For once, you didn't have a sarcastic comeback. You just smiled, shook your head, and lightly flicked him on the forehead. "Dork."

"Takes one to know one."

"I suppose it does."

He laughed quietly before taking your hand and lacing his fingers through yours.

"...You know," he said after a moment, "I'm still counting this as a win."

You raised an eyebrow. "You were literally pinned to the ground."

"Emotionally?"

"You also lost emotionally."

"...Rude."

"Accurate."

"I liked you better when you were only mean to me as friends."

"I wasn't mean."

“Right, you weren’t.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. "There."

"What was that for?"

"You admitted I was right."

He smiled to himself. "...Worth it."

The basement that Saturday afternoon had grown exceptionally quiet, which only left Steve’s mind to wander. A grin slowly spread across his face as he looked across the room at Eddie, who was busy trying to tune a guitar that absolutely refused to cooperate.

"...Hey, Munson."

Eddie didn't look up. "Hm?"

"You remember what you told us Tuesday?"

Silence, then, "...No."

Steve's grin widened. "Really?"

"...Should I?"

Robin looked between the two of them. "Oh no."

Jonathan sighed into his coffee. "I know that look."

Steve leaned back in his chair. "You told us you had a dream about Miss October."

Eddie froze, completely. The guitar string gave a pathetic twang.

"...Steve."

"What?"

"...Don't."

"What? It was funny."

You looked up from the book you'd been pretending to read. "...Miss October?"

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. "...It wasn't..."

Steve was already laughing. "Oh, it absolutely was."

You tilted your head toward Eddie. "Huh."

"...Honey."

"So, you dreaming about calendar girls now?"

"I wasn't—"

"Mhm."

"It wasn't like that."

"Mhm."

"I don't appreciate that 'mhm.'"

"I didn't say anything."

"You said everything."

You nodded thoughtfully. "So that's interesting."

Eddie looked horrified. "Interesting?"

"Mhm."

"I don't like where this is going."

"You have wandering eyes."

"I have never wandered a day in my life."

"You literally wandered into a dream."

"I can't control my subconscious!"

"You seem awfully defensive."

"I'm being attacked!"

Steve pointed at you. "She's got you there."

"I don't need added commentary anymore. Thanks, Steve."

You folded your arms, trying, and failing, not to smile. "So..."

"So?"

"Should I be worried about Miss October?"

Eddie stared at you for a long second. Then he sighed dramatically, set the guitar aside, and stood. He walked the few steps over until he was right in front of you. He pointed a finger toward Steve.

"You left out the ending."

Steve frowned. "...Did I?"

"You did."

"What ending?"

Eddie looked back at you, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. "I told him Miss October walked up to me."

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"And she smiled."

"Convenient."

"And then she asked if I wanted to leave with her."

Steve blinked. "...I don't remember that part."

"'Cause you interrupted me."

Robin snorted. "Continue."

Eddie puffed out his chest with all the confidence of a man who was making this up as he went. "And I looked her dead in the eye..."

He paused for dramatic effect before casually slipping an arm around your shoulders.

"...and I said, 'Dream on, Miss October.'"

He nodded toward you. "...I'm her man."

You looked up at Eddie before shaking your head with a smile you couldn't quite hide. "...That was unbelievably corny."

He grinned. "...Did it work?"

You let him wait exactly three seconds. Then you leaned up and kissed his cheek. "It was close."

Steve groaned loudly. "Oh, come on!"

“Gross!” Robin exclaimed. 

Eddie grinned at the crowd triumphantly before kissing you once more on the cheek, then padding over to his forgotten guitar like he’d won the lottery. 

visual representation of me fighting my brain to come up with more, but I simply couldn't.

hope you all enjoyed<3333

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He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.

Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.

But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.

He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.

So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.

He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe. 

Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.

He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?

As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?

He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”

He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought. 

Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.

But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now. 

At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.

He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.

Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”

Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.

He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.

It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.

He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.

The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body. 

Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.

But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation. 

It’s a Match!

On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.

You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.

How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”

Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.

Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.

You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away. 

How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.

His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.

His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically. 

You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before. 

It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”

It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”

Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.

Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.

Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:

It’s a Match!

Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.

“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.

He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think. 

A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”

Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match. 

Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.

It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.

His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.

Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.

You: hii :)

Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.

You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.

He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.

Another message came through a minute later.

You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha

Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.

Robby: hey yeah, I saw it listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird

He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work. 

You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.

Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.

Robby: Sorry about the confusion  i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this. 

You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.  but hey, we all have our moments i guess

Robby: i’m not the type this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.

You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder

Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.

Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?

You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious

He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?

Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?

You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know,  you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though

Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that

You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise

Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.

But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.

Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.

You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice

He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight

You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be but still finding you here is a nice change :)

Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down

You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is

Robby: fair enough. your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?

You: haha yeah well  i like older men

Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?

No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.

Robby: It’s okay to have preferences  everyone does.

You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.

Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

Robby: makes sense i usually go for women closer to my stage of life we have more in common that way

You: do age gaps bother you?

Robby: in what way?

You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?

Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.

You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?

Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me but usually around my age

He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.

He typed before he could second-guess himself.

Robby: how much older are we talking anyway? the men you usually like i mean.

Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.

You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)

Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.

He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?  or is it mostly the older crowd?

You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.

Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.

You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)

Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.

He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.

Robby: Nothing to apologize for honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected

You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance

Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you

You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest

Robby: Really? that can’t be right  you’re selling yourself short.

You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot

The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.

All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.

Robby: thanks i guess you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl 

The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.

You: good girl? 😏

Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird just a figure of speech i suppose.

You: should i call you daddy then? ;)

Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.

The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.

You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol

Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

Robby: Don’t worry about it i know it was a joke, no harm done

You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke 

He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.

Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.

You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight

Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep early shift tomorrow and all

You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something

The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.

Robby: that would be very inappropriate i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross

You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now

You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting. 

Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow

You: nah i’m pretty sure i can

Robby: No.

You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.

He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying. 

Robby: what do you mean?

You: sexting, duh

He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.

Robby: that’s basically the same thing.

You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.

Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.

This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.

But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.

Robby: what do you want me to say?

You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot  

He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought

Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?

The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.

You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?

Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch. 

Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed

You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(

He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.

You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do

You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.

Robby: i  feel stupid doing this.

You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself

Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.

Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?

You: yessss that was so much better. keep going

If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.

Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?

You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver. 

You: yes. they’re open

Robby: Perfect i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are

As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.

You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.

Robby: that’s my girl  now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me

You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.

You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.

Robby: fuck i knew you would be i want you to circle your clit for me now Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need i’d take my time, taste every inch of you

Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.

Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me

You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please

Robby: Good now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening

When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles. 

Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit

Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.

You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please

Robby: you were the one who told me to do this 

You: i know i did. but it’s not enough send me your address

He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.

Robby: what for?  you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?

You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.

Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.

Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride. 

You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.

You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there

You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.

You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.

But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.

Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.

He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you. 

Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”

Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach. 

As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively. 

The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress. 

The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.

“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts. 

From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.

The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.

The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.

Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.

You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.

“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”

You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.

“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub. 

He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”

Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.

Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”

He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”

You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.

The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit. 

His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth. 

He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”

“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips. 

Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed. 

Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”

You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher. 

Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher. 

“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”

The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”

You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.

You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.

Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”

You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants. 

“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust. 

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.

“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”

He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”

Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.

“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.

Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”

He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”

He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”

The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.

You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.

A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.

You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”

Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.

Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.

After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”

You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.

A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.

The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”

He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.

The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.

As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”

You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”

You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”

You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.

“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.

Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.

And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.

His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.

With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.

“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.

“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”

You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”

You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.

“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”

By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”

He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”

You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”

Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”

Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.

Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”

Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.

God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.

You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”

At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you. 

The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”

With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.

You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.

There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”

He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”

The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.

“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”

He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”

You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.

A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.

If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.

I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.

Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷

Interrupted again. "Can't handle the workload anymore, for one. And with power grids going down left and right, it's only a matter of time before we're next. It's right outside our doors; all you have to do is step outside to hear the artillery fire. People would rather—" He shrugs—a gesture that's accompanied by another sigh. "I'm doing as much as I can, and plan to continue doing so until the last second. As for what comes after?"

Robby runs a trembling hand through unkempt hair. The bags beneath his eyes appear as heavy as the invisible weight bearing down upon his broad shoulders—a sight which causes your heart to squeeze painfully.

He hasn't been this bad since Covid.

You were taught to never get attached to your subjects, but he and Jack were different. That, or you made them as much when you started spending ample amounts of time with them outside of working hours. When you left PTMC in the rearview after your assignment was through, your heart ached for them in their absence.

So when the president remained in office for an unconstitutional third term and war began, there was only one place you wanted to be.

"I have no idea what the fuck I'm gonna do," Robby spits. "It's not like there's any safe place left to go. If another hospital will take me... God knows every medical establishment can use all the help they can get right now."

You chew your lip thoughtfully for a moment and watch as personnel clad in dark-colored scrubs run back and forth while body after bleeding body gets rolled in.

"I know some people," you state. "Last we talked, their plan was Washington." Returning your attention to Robby again, you take a small step forward. Reaching for one of his hands, you twine your fingers between his. "Come with me."

Cupping his cheek, you search soft pools of brown pleadingly. "Maybe we can meet them on the road."

"Hey, kiddo." Joel gives you a pat on the knee, then seats himself beside you on a faded metal bleacher. When he extends a plastic water bottle, you take it with a quiet thanks. "You doing alright?"

Unscrewing the cap, you drain a third of the lukewarm liquid before answering. "Are any of us?"

Resting his forearms atop his thighs, Joel huffs a quiet laugh. "Stupid question." Silently watching people mill about, he tilts his head to the side; toward you. "So, war journalism now, huh? What happened to hospital galas and rich philanthropists walking red carpets?"

Hanging your head between your shoulders, you sarcastically swing it in his direction. "Think those days are over, don't you? For awhile, anyway." You lean back. "When Lee called and told me your all's plan, I just made a choice. Well, my first one was to go to PTMC to try and... Document—I guess—what frontline workers were dealing with, same as I did during Covid. But by the time I got there, they had three days left on the clock until the lights were to be shut off. And it's not like this is my first rodeo, y'know?"

Joel nods. "Fair enough." He squints against the beaming overhead sun. "Saw one myself that..." Exhaling slowly, he tries again. "It had a whole wing blown off by C-4," he says with a grimace.

Your mind paints a picture you're more than okay with you not having actually been there to see.

"So," he chirps. "You and the doctor. What's the story there?"

Thankful for the change of subject, you snort. "There isn't one. Not really. Like I said: Covid. And like you said: galas." You gesture to Jack, who's presently leaned back against a tank with crossed arms while he converses with Robby. "They've known each other for years and years. Jack, the soldier, that is, is a doctor too. Not long after the fighting started, he left to do what he could; to help. Robby didn't know what else to do with himself with the hospital being closed, so I offered for him to come along for the ride."

You force a smile and meet Joel's eyes. "To Old Dominion."

"Next stop, D.C.," he quips.

"You really think he's there?" you question doubtfully. "I mean, yeah, maybe he technically is, but it's not like any one soldier will be able to just waltz into the Oval Office to perform an execution. They've probably got him sequestered away in a bunker somewhere."

Joel takes a sip of his water. "Might be the case. And if it is," he stands, "somebody'll know where. City's only defended by radical splinter cells at this point. And with what they've got coming, the Loyalists won't last much longer."

"She seems bizarrely at home here," Robby remarks while observing you acutely from afar.

Jack watches you tightly hug the middle-aged blonde journalist he's yet to become acquainted with. After you brush stray tears from your cheeks, you smile at the younger one and shake her hand.

He'd heard something about one of their riding companions getting caught in the line-of-fire, and wonders then if you knew him well. From the tears, he assumes so.

Studying Robby from beneath his lashes, Jack attempts to gauge whether he's doing as well as he claims to be. "Makes two of us. You?"

Clamping a hand over the back of his neck, Robby rolls his eyes. "Told you I'm fine. I know how to compartmentalize." He eyes Joel warily. "Maybe too well."

Jack purses his lips. "This and Covid are two wildly different things, Mike."

Scrubbing his hands down his face, Robby sighs exhaustively. "What do you wanna know, Jack? Do you want to hear about the bodies we saw swinging from an overhead pass? Or, I dunno, how about the smoking heap of a car with a booster seat in the back that was still fucking occupied by a burnt corpse? That make you happy to know about? Is that what you wanted?!" he shouts irritatedly—a sound which draws unsuspecting stares from nearby spectators.

He doesn't mention how you photographed the former, and that the action horrified him because he failed to understand your lack of tact. But he supposes it's your self-imposed job now: documenting the atrocities this war has wrought so the world can never forget.

As if it seems to give much of a shit as it is.

Jack's brows draw together—bowing slightly at the graying ends in concern. "Yeah, it is. Bottling this shit up isn't good for anybody."

He barks a laugh. "The two of you are!"

"Because we're familiar with war, Robby. She and I—"

"She isn't," he interjects. "So I don't know where the hell you're getting that from."

"Y/N was in Iraq a few years ago, documenting the work Doctors Without Borders was doing there," Jack supplies. "We talked about it one day, after my shift ended."

Robby flinches. "Why wouldn't she have told me that?"

Jack rests steady a palm atop Robby's shoulder. "She just wanted someone to confide in; somebody who'd understand the shit she saw, the nightmares that came from it, and how she was struggling. So I listened, and she did the same for me."

Robby shakes his head and glances back to Jack's olive green tent. "I'm beat." He takes a step back and Jack's hand slips away. "Think I'll just lie down for awhile."

Now he feels on the outs, Jack assumes. Between you and him, you're each familiar with the cost of war, whereas Robby is utterly unfamiliar, apart from whatever he's seen on screen or read in books and articles. "Still daylight out," he mutters disappointedly.

He's only just got here, so Jack had hoped for a bit more time to talk...

"Just for a couple hours." Taking a step in that direction, he half turns back to Jack on his heel. "Lucky you thought to bring it."

"You know me," he calls after him. "Gotta have my go bag. I'm prepared, if nothing else."

At least Robby stocked up on medical supplies—most of which he stole from PTMC when he made the decision at the last minute to tag along like you offered.

It's come in handy more times than he cares to admit.

"Where'd he venture off to?" you ask curiously.

Offering you a granola bar from his MRE, Jack nods in the direction of his tent. "I would say it was to actually grab some rest like he claimed, but I think the real reason is because he feels out of place here."

Peeling the crinkled plastic wrapper open, you regard him with a raised brow.

"You know him," he says while digging into a packet of cold ravioli with a plastic spoon. "Always Mr. Reliable at work. But now that he's out of his depth, and surrounded by strangers who're used to the circumstances..."

You'd taken inventory of it on the way here: how he grew increasingly quiet as the miles passed, and the scenery became all the more gruesome. You hadn't been sure of what to say to coax him back out of his shell, so you didn't say much of anything at all.

Now, you think you perhaps should've. But he's also never been much of a talker. Not when it comes to trauma, that is. You learned as much during Covid when you repeatedly attempted to interview him and only got brief "not nows" in response.

"Should we go talk to him?" you question before taking a bite of the snack you've been given.

What you wouldn't give for a cheeseburger right now with all the fixings—including the toppings you dislike—coupled with a large fry loaded with salt and a cold milkshake to top it all off.

Jack shakes his head. "No. Just give him some space for right now. If Robby feels crowded, he'll snap." After downing a spoonful of ravioli, he chews, swallows, then speaks again. "Told him about your time in Iraq. Think it hurt him—that he was unaware of it."

One more reason for him to feel the odd one out...

"I mean, it's not like I saw any actual fighting. I just documented the healing side of things."

He shrugs a shoulder, then swipes away a bead of sweat from his saturated hairline. "Still. It's how you know them, right?"

"Just Lee," you explain while eying his combat boots. "The younger woman apparently tagged along with them back in New York, whereas Joel and I met a couple times during Covid. There were these journalistic functions we both attended and had drinks afterward." You take another bite. "He works for Reuters."

"And the gentleman who died?" Jack questions gently.

"Sammy. He worked for The New York Times. Lee was closest to him." Glancing away from Jack, you blink back building tears. "He was her and Joel's mentor."

Jack's lips tug into a frown. "I'm sorry."

You take a drink of your rapidly emptying water bottle. "Me too."

Unexpectedly, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against the wealth of his sturdy chest. "Glad you're here, though. Both of you." He gives you a peck on top of the head. "I think you and I knowing large swathes of people got to him. Sure, he knows us, but we know others."

Inhaling the musky scent of sweat and pungent gunpowder which cling to him, your eyes flutter closed.

You feel so very weary.

"We're all together now; safe. At least for the time being. If he gets up in a bit, maybe we can both try to talk to him like I said. Or... Get him to talk to us."

Jack nods in agreement. "Maybe."

"$300 for a cheese sandwich?" you hiss in disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Lee rests a knee over an ankle. "They were a lot more interested when I told them I meant Canadian."

Jack lets out a low whistle. "Guess we're partly to blame for it: collapse of the US dollar."

Joel shakes his head and waves a hand in his direction. "Would've happened either way. Military spending was to be expected."

"Might just finally be paying off," Jack replies. "Pun not intended," he finishes with upturned palms meant to signal innocence.

Lee directs her attention behind you. "Looks like we're going to need another seat."

Glancing over your shoulder, you watch as Robby silently approaches with hands tucked into the pockets of his zip-up hoody. You promptly stand and gesture to the plastic chair you've just vacated. "Evening, sleepy head. You can take mine if you want."

He forces a small smile and shakes his head. "It's alright. I can stand."

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, when he sees Joel considering the overturned bucket he's fashioned into a makeshift chair, he knocks his head to the side. "On second thought..." Robby quickly sits, then tugs you into his lap by your hips, which he circles with his arms.

Throwing one of your own around his shoulders, you submerge your fingers in the overgrown hair at the nape of his neck and gently massage. "You get some sleep?"

He nods. "A bit."

Robby bows his head sheepishly, then trails his eyes along each of your fellow reporters. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Can I ask," you begin while turning to Lee. "What happened... With Sammy?"

"Fucking fascists," grumbles Joel. "They... You never met 'em, but they shot two of our other friends too: Tony and Bohai. Was a paramilitary group," he says, finally launching into explanation. "They had this... Mass grave. Asked all of us one-by-one where we were from, and if you gave any answer other than a US state..."

You brows furrow. "But Sammy was from here."

"He ran them over," Lee interrupts quietly. "Came in full speed ahead in our SUV. They opened fire. He got hit."

You tighten your fingers in the hood of Robby's jacket. "I'm so sorry."

"You wanna tell 'em about Christmas Town?" Joel asks with a chuckle—the change of subject an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

Robby runs a hand up your back, then rests his cheek against your breast.

"There was a sniper," Lee sighs. "Held up in some brick mansion. Guess they were just trying to keep people away. There was already a couple men there trying to fight back, and they won."

The group grows quiet, so Lee folds her arms. "Sorry. I'm better behind the camera. It's why someone else writes the articles."

"You would've liked the small town we passed through," Joel remarks.

Jessie speaks up then. "It was, like, completely untouched."

"Like driving into a time capsule before all of this started," Joel expounds. "If you had no access to the world outside the city limits—no TV, radio, internet—you'd never know that there was a war on."

"How the hell'd they manage that?" Jack prods curiously.

"Chose not to fight," Jessie explains. "If you don't go looking for trouble, then I guess—"

"Yeah, but how long before looters decide to take them for all they're worth?" you utter cautiously. "Places like that... It won't last. I mean, I hope it does, but..."

Silence again.

"Sorry, man, here we are going back and forth while you haven't gotten a word in edgewise," Joel remarks while looking at Robby.

He shifts beneath you, then pulls you impossibly closer. "Suppose I feel out of my depth here. Like I'm sitting with the big leagues while I'm part of the—not even minor—but little league, I guess."

"No, man, you're a doctor. You're out there saving lives while the rest of us—"

"Are either taking them," Jack mumbles. "Or documenting as much happening."

You turn slightly from atop Robby's thigh and press a tender kiss to his forehead. "There is just as much of a need for healers as there is for soldiers," you quietly assure him.

Lying his head in the crook between your breast and bicep, Robby studies your fellow journalists. "So, how do you all know each other? Anything to do with your time in Iraq?" Robby asks with a squeeze of your waist.

"I told him," Jack whispers while leaning over.

Maybe you should've yourself, but at the time, during Covid, he was already dealing with enough of his own grief. He didn't need yours too.

"That's how we do," Lee confirms—gesturing between the two of you with a pointed finger. "But you and Joel met during Covid, right?"

You nod. "Was this whole Spotlight on Frontline Workers thing."

"We ran into each other at a couple expos," Joel concurs with a smile.

"That all it was?" Robby questions suspiciously. "Work thing?"

Lips tugging into a playful smirk, Joel hunches forward. "You don't have to worry." His eyes flit to you. "We never got around to dinner."

Not that it hasn't gotten to him, but a civil war isn't what finally sends Robby into a huff. No, it's another man's light flirting, who he's only just met.

The three of you now sequestered away inside Jack's tent, you find that there's not much breathing room—Robby's sour mood causing the air to feel all the more charged.

At least there's privacy with the flaps being mostly closed. Jack decided to leave them each pinned slightly back, so as to allow a bit of fresh air inside, though, thankfully.

You'd give your left arm for a shower. Or a bath—including one that someone else has already dirtied before you.

Creature comforts becoming habit, etcetera.

"You should take the cot," Jack says with a jerk of his head to the right where it stands on small metal legs.

Tugging your shirt up and over your head, you toss it in the corner, opting to sleep in a sports bra tonight as an attempted reprieve from the heat. "No, Jack, you're the soldier here. You need your rest far more than someone who's working from behind a camera lens."

"Honey—"

"Why don't we all just sleep on the floor together?" Robby suggests.

When you and Jack turn to look in his direction, he shrinks into himself. "Sorry." He shrugs off his hoody and folds it into a ball. "I'm just..."

Robby sniffles, his chin wobbles, and then he yanks you against his soft chest like a security blanket. "I'm so fuckin' scared," he sobs into your shoulder.

And finally the dam breaks.

"We all are, Robby," Jack reassures him while you quietly shoosh his ragged cries of exhaustion. "But we're together now, so that has to count for something."

Pressing himself against Robby's back, he wraps his arms around both of you. "By tomorrow night, with any luck, he'll be fucking dead. And this will all be over."

You all three opted for the floor in the end. Jack is pressed against Robby's back with fingers twined between his own while you otherwise have a leg hooked over his hip. His face is shoved between your breasts, and his cock buried inside of you while his pudgy belly rests heavily between your thighs.

You wanted to give him this so he could feel safely surrounded tonight.

You all didn't have sex—you and Jack both offered it; something you know has been a long time coming—but Robby was too frazzled, and all of you too exhausted to bother giving something so intimate your all, like it properly deserves.

So here you nakedly lie instead, drifting off to the soothing sound of crickets and cicadas, praying that what Jack said earlier soon comes to fruition.