The first time you’d seen him had been only two days after you’d moved. You’d been undoing boxes in your kitchen, humming along to some music when you’d caught a glimpse of him through your window. His apartment was across the street from yours, on the same floor; perfectly positioned for you to watch as he’d stepped into the room, carrying a bowl of something you couldn’t recognize from this far out and dropping it onto a dining table which just so happened to be facing right out of his window and into yours.

And maybe it was a dramatic reinterpretation, but you could’ve sworn you’d stopped in your tracks, your music continuing on without you as your mouth had fallen open. With his wavy golden brown hair, strong jawline, and his “however many feet tall he was” figure, he could’ve rivaled a super model in terms of beauty. He certainly took the gold for the most handsome man you had ever seen with your own two eyes. And you hadn’t been able to help but stare as he’d sat down, scrolling his phone as he’d eaten his breakfast. The scene had been so mundane, it should have bored you instantly, and yet, you hadn't been able to look away. That was, until he had taken notice of that fact.

Without warning, he’d looked up, as though sensing your unwavering gaze, and for a brief, glorious moment, his eyes had locked with yours. After a second, which had felt much longer to your racing mind, he’d seemingly settled on giving you a small smile. And what had you done? You had run straight for the nearest room with a window through which he couldn’t see you.

And that was where you were now, frantically texting your friends as you replayed the interaction (if you could call it one) through your mind as many times as humanly possible, berating yourself for having possibly the worst reaction possible. Your cell phone suddenly buzzed in your hands, as your best friend’s picture lit up your screen. You accepted the call, immediately greeted by the sound of your best friend’s laughter.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just ran for it!” She said through laughter, not even bothering to properly greet you.

“Don’t make fun of me! My brain just short-circuited okay, you would understand if you saw how hot this guy was,” you replied, almost groaning in embarrassment as you replayed the moment in your head for the twentieth time.

“I wanna see!” She said excitedly.

“Girl, are you crazy?!” You exclaimed. “There’s no way I’m going back in there after that! Much less pointing a camera at his face!”

“Don’t be dramatic! Just put the phone up against your ear and keep talking to me. And hey, maybe he’ll just assume you ran to the other room to answer a phone call, rather than because he smiled at you,” your best friend suggested. And, damn it, maybe she was actually making sense for once.

“Damn it, okay fine,” you conceded, getting up and flipping your phone camera so that your friend could hopefully see your dreamboat of a neighbour. You slowly made your way back out into your kitchen, hoping you were coming across as casually as you were attempting to. “Can you see him?” You asked, mostly to keep up the illusion that you were on a phone call.

“I can barely see the top of his head dude, you gotta lower the phone,” your best friend replied. “And stop moving so damn much!”

“Oh because I’m gonna look so normal standing as still as a statue taking a phone call in the middle of my kitchen,” you replied sarcastically as you tried to subtly reposition your phone.

“Okay that’s perfect, don’t move!” Your friend said, evidently ignoring your previous comment. You heard her gasp dramatically. “Oh he is, fiiiine!” She said, dragging out the last word for dramatic effect.

“Alright, I’m going back into the other room now,” you replied sarcastically, though you were certainly planning on actually doing so.

“No, wait, stay here he is one hundred percent looking at you right now!” Your best friend all but screeched into your ear. Your first instinct was to turn and check if she was telling the truth, but you caught yourself, not wanting to embarrass yourself further.

“What should I do?” You whisper-shouted, as though he could've somehow heard you if you spoke too loudly.

“I don’t know girl, if you look at him are you going to run away again? Or are you gonna smile at him like a normal person?” She asked you, half sarcasm, half genuine concern. You pondered the question for much longer than you should have. “God, you are hopeless!” Your best friend said good-naturedly at your lack of a timely answer. 

“Just turn around like you’re still on the phone with me and just looking out your window, and if you catch his eye, smile, and then turn back toward something else, alright?” Your friend added, practically coaching you through this as if you were fifteen years old trying to get your crush’s attention. It was almost embarrassing. With a deep breath to hype yourself up, you turned slowly, just as your friend had instructed. Your eyes immediately gravitated towards him. He was still sitting in the same exact spot, though he had put his phone down now, and just as your friend had said, you had his full, undivided attention.

When he noticed your eyes were on him, he gave you a light smile, in an almost play-for-play rendition of your previous encounter, although you noticed his smile veered slightly towards a smirk this time around. Your lips curled into a tentative smile, your eyes locking with his, which you could now tell were probably brown, although you were a bit too far to tell for certain. You couldn’t tell for certain just how long had passed before your friend’s voice shocked you out of your dream-like state.

“If you’re still looking at him now would be the time to look away before it gets weird!” She exclaimed, and you were embarrassed to admit you had almost completely forgotten she was there. You mournfully tore your gaze away from his, walking off into another room in what you hoped was a casual way. After you had made your way back to the safety of your office room, which was the only room to not share a window with your neighbour, you lowered your phone back down so that you could see your friend again.

“Okay, how was that?” You asked, still somehow nervous although the interaction was over.

“Well, I couldn’t see anything babe, but it seems like you did a lot better than the first time!” She said humorously.

“God, you are never going to let that go, are you?” You said, groaning at the thought of your best friend bringing this incident up until you were both six feet deep.

For the following week or so, you continued catching occasional glimpses of the boy next door, as you had dubbed him, although you noticed, much to your chagrin, that he was often gone a few days at a time, seemingly abroad as you had noticed him leaving with a large suitcase on more than one occasion.

You had also managed to become more subtle in your admiration, because you hadn’t had another moment with him since that first day. Well, you hoped that was the case, because the alternative was that you’d freaked him out so bad on that first day that he was now actively ignoring you. You chose to believe it was the former, for your own self-esteem.

Today, you had decided to try your hand at baking meringues, considering one of your friends’ birthday was coming up. And it was much harder than you had expected. You had already all but ruined your first batch by adding in the sugar too quickly, and your second batch was currently settled in the oven. As you waited for your meringues to finish baking, you were half-mindedly reading a book, occasionally looking up and checking the time to make sure you didn’t overcook the meringues. 

On one such occasion of you looking up from your book, you had to do a double take. Because your neighbour was there, in his living room which you could see through the window. 

And he was not wearing a shirt. You almost dropped your book.

You at least had the decency to feel ashamed as your eyes ran across the smooth, muscled plan of his stomach, the perfectly defined muscles crowned with a light mattering of hair. You knew you were being weird; that you should look away because obviously he was perfectly allowed to be shirtless in his own home without having to worry about someone watching him through his window. And yet you couldn't look away, your cheeks burning up at the embarrassment of what you were doing. 

You should definitely look away before he noticed you staring, because that would be even more embarrassing that what you’d done the first time, and—

And he’d seen you.

This time you did drop the book, losing any and all excuses you could have hidden behind. You were so mortified, you had never felt your face go so hot before. You would have to move all over again, because there was no way you could ever show your face anywhere he might see it ever again. You slowly picked up the book, hoping, praying that he would be gone by the time you were back to eye level.

He wasn’t gone, of course. No, it was much, much worse.

He was laughing. The worst part was, it didn’t look like a mocking laugh either, it seemed soft, genuine, like this was the funniest thing in the world and he couldn’t even stop himself for the sake of decency. And despite your utter and complete mortification, you couldn’t help but smile at the display.

When his laughter finally died down, however, and his gaze met yours, he gave you a smug smile, and simply raised one eyebrow suggestively before making his way out of the room.

As soon as you knew he couldn’t see you anymore, you slid to the ground, your face buried in your hands. You were certain you had never blushed this hard in your life, and your face was burning hot to the touch. So hot in fact, that you could almost smell the burning. Wait what? How could you sme—

Your meringues. You had forgotten them. You rushed to the oven, turning it off, but it was too late, your second batch of meringues ruined as well.

With a sigh, you got out more of the necessary ingredients, ready for another attempt. Third time’s the charm, right? 

Walking into your kitchen in the morning, you performed your habitual “window check” whilst your coffee machine was running. He wasn’t there, although that wasn’t much of a surprise, as he seemed to often go for a run, or a gym session in the mornings. You internally cringed at your borderline stalker level knowledge of his routine.

As you were enjoying your breakfast, slowly sipping your coffee as you read a book, your phone pinged with a notification, letting you know the last of your boxes, which had gotten misplaced during your initial move-in, had finally made their way to your apartment. You begrudgingly made your way down to the lobby of your apartment building, not bothering to change out of your pajamas. However, no boxes awaited you in the lobby. Perplexed, you looked around, only to realize the boxes had been inexplicably left outside, and you mentally thanked yourself for deciding to come retrieve the boxes immediately, especially considering the darkened grey clouds rolling your way.

You stepped out to pick up the boxes, but ran into a slight problem. They were heavy. So heavy you could hardly lift them for more than a few seconds at a time, much less carry them all to the elevator and into your apartment. 

“Jeesus, did I pack a box of bricks or what?” You muttered to yourself as you considered the situation, staring down at your boxes. You were mortified to hear laughter sound from behind you, as your comment had clearly not been as quiet as you’d thought. Your mortification amplified tenfold as the source of the laughter was revealed. Of course, it had to be him.

“Need some help with that?” Your boy next door asked as he stopped in front of you. Your first thought was that his voice was deeper than you’d expected, and that he had an accent you didn’t recognize. Your brain short-circuited at the unexpected interaction with someone you genuinely believed you would never actually speak to. Much less someone who would willingly come up to you after the ogling incident, as you and your best friend had dubbed it after you'd filled her in on the events..

“Uh, I mean, I’m sure I can manage it,” you said, taking him in. He had clearly just returned from a run, because he was dressed in athleisure from head to toe, and drenched in sweat. And somehow he still looked so good? It wasn’t fair. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” you added for good measure.

“You’re no inconvenience,” he replied decisively, picking up the box in front of him as if it weighed nothing. You bent down to retrieve the second box, but the man stopped you with a hand on your arm, as he proceeded to somehow pick up both boxes at once whilst you could barely hold one.

“Well, I feel useless now,” you joked as you held the door open for him. “But thank you…” you trailed off, hoping he would provide his name to fill in the blank. He looked down at you curiously as you walked towards the elevators.

“Juraj,” he replied after a moment. The name sounded vaguely familiar, although you couldn't hazard a guess as to why; you were certain you had never met anyone with that name before.

“Where is that from?” You asked curiously, looking up at him as you signaled the elevator down. Your question seemed to amuse him, though you had no idea why that was.

“Slovakia,” he answered as the elevator pinged, signaling its arrival.

“Oh wow! What made you decide to come live in Montreal?” You asked as you both settled inside the elevator, and as you pressed the fifteenth floor button.

“Work,” he replied simply, as you were starting to gather that your boy next door, Juraj, was a man of few words. That, or he was getting annoyed with you. You didn’t press on, feeling self-conscious that he seemed to be growing tired of your questions. Once you reached your floor, you led him to your door, then, after getting your door open, held out your arms expectantly.

“I can take it from here,” you said in a tone that wasn't quite rude, but not necessarily as enthusiastic as it had been earlier. You were starting to worry you had completely ruined your shot with your boy next door, although you didn’t quite understand what had gone wrong. Maybe he had just remembered the ogling incident and realized he didn’t want to talk to you. You wouldn’t blame him. Juraj looked you up and down slowly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” He asked in amusement. You should have been offended, and yet you weren't. Because, for one, he was clearly right, and he knew that you both knew that. But also because he was making your brain short-circuit. How could his tone be so uninterested one moment that you’d almost been convinced he somehow hated you, yet sound so playful the next moment. “I came all this way, I should at least put them down where you need them,” he added, as if one look up and down hadn’t been more than enough to convince you.

“Okay, I guess that would be helpful,” you replied, moving backwards so that he could come inside your apartment. “You can leave them here,” you said, gesturing toward your kitchen counter. “It’s all stuff for my living room or kitchen, I think.” 

As if he needed to be showing off any more than he already had, Juraj came in, shifting both boxes into one hand, using the other to shut the door behind him, before setting the boxes down where you had indicated. You almost scoffed at how easy he was making it look, whilst you’d barely been able to lift one of the boxes. You opened one of the boxes, finding some of the frames and kick-knacks you’d wanted to use to decorate your living room.

“Perfect, I can finally finish decorating today,” you said to no one in particular as you sifted through the contents of the box.

“What, do you need an excuse to be in here so you can stare at me through the window again?” Juraj asked, and your heart lurched to a stop.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hiding your burning face in your hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just—” 

“Hey, it’s fine,” he said, cutting off your rambling. “People stare at me all the time. I’m used to it,” he added somewhat smugly.

“What, are all your other neighbours hoping you’ll walk by the window shirtless?” You asked sarcastically, though your face was still flushed, heart hammering. 

“Something like that,” he answered.

“Well, thank you really, I honestly don’t know how the hell I would’ve gotten those up on my own,” you said with a laugh, hoping to change the topic.

“My pleasure,” Juraj replied with a warm smile.

“Did you wanna stay and have something to drink?” You suggested, almost without thinking. “You must be parched,” you added.

“What, you think I can’t handle carrying two boxes up an elevator?” He replied cockily.

“No, I think you’ve more than proved that you can do that very easily,” you replied with a smile. “But it looked like you were already coming home from a run or something.”

The mood seemed to shift all of a sudden, Juraj’s smile faltering as if you had just reminded him of something important he’d forgotten about.

“Right. Sorry, I should really get home,” he said, almost urgently. “I should shower, you know,” he added hastily.

“Right, okay,” you answered dejectedly. “Well, thank you again, Juraj,” you added, reaching the front door. For a moment, Juraj stood there, as if he were going to say something more. Yet all that came out of his mouth was a muffled ‘bye’ as he hurried toward the elevators.

You weren’t ignoring him. That was what you told yourself anyway. You just weren't lingering on his presence anymore. Or, you were trying not to, at least. Because as much as it pained you to avoid staring at such a beautiful face, you weren't about to keep pining over somebody who had so explicitly rejected you when you’d offered him to stay.

So when you noticed him walk into his living room from the corner of your eye, you made sure to keep all your attention on the movie in front of you.

Which lasted all of twenty seconds. 

Because he was still there, in the very corner of your field of vision, and your curiosity was very good at getting the better of you. You shifted on the couch, positioning yourself still facing your television, but with a much better view of Juraj’s window. 

He was just standing there, looking right at you it seemed. And unfortunately, you hadn’t been as subtle as you’d thought, because he seemed to notice you looking at him immediately. Your gaze snapped back towards your television, your cheeks burning up at the embarrassment of having been caught looking. Why were you embarrassed when he was the one staring at you? Would he still be looking at you if you risked another glance now?

You found out the hard way that the answer to that question was yes. Even worse was that this time, Juraj was waving his arms, attempting to get your attention. There was no way you could pretend you hadn’t noticed him now. You gave him a small wave and an awkward smile, hoping he would go back to whatever it was he had been doing. That hope was immediately proven futile, because he stood there for a moment as you looked at him, looking as though whatever he’d been trying to do, he hadn’t planned anything further than step one: getting your attention. 

After a short moment, he held up a finger to you, mouthing something you couldn’t really make out, but could assume was something along the lines of be right back or stay right here, before he rushed out of the room. He came back just a few seconds later, holding up a piece of paper to the window.

What the…

You squinted your eyes, trying to make out the messily scrawled script in bright red marker.

‘Are you ignoring me? :(’

The drawn on frowny face almost made you crack a smile. Juraj’s face wearing the same exaggerated expression definitely made you crack one. You pondered the sign for a second. Would a guy who had firmly rejected you practically recreate a scene from the ‘You Belong With Me’ music video? Probably not.

You shook your head vehemently, mouthing an over-exaggerated ‘no’. You watched as Juraj’s frown turned into a smile. You watched as he quickly jotted something down on the other side of the piece of paper he was holding up, before flipping it around for you to read his next message.

‘But you don’t look at me anymore.’ the message read.

You paused your movie—not that you’d been paying much attention—and walked down to the room you’d converted into an office, grabbing some printer paper and some markers before making your way back to the living room. With a dark purple marker, you carefully wrote out your answer.

‘Didn’t think you’d want me to.’

His reply was immediate.

‘Why? :(’ 

Always with that damn frowny face.

‘Cause it was weird lol. And you left my apartment pretty quickly.’

‘Sorry :( I really did need to shower.’ 

You pondered his reply. To you, it had seemed far more hurried than a ‘fuck I have to shower’ moment when it had happened. But then again, would you have wanted to be sweaty in his apartment, meeting him properly for the first time? Not likely.

‘Alright, you’re forgiven’

‘So I was right, you were mad at me?’

As he held up that last message, the expression on his face gave away his amusement at the situation, and his smugness at having been proven right.

‘I’m sure you’d love to be right after all, huh?’ 

As he read that last message, Juraj nodded enthusiastically, which made you laugh.

‘I mean, I wasn’t mad, I just kinda thought you hated me lol.’

As he read this message however, Juraj shook his head vehemently, his eyebrows furrowed. He rapidly jotted down his next message.

‘I thought think you’re cute. And I was sweaty and gross.’

You smiled as you read that one, endeared by him taking the time to strike out the ‘thought’ to make sure you realized he still did find you cute. Knowing he found you cute also contributed to making you smile.

‘I think you’re cute too :) Even when you’re sweaty and not gross.’

‘I know ;)’

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly as he mimicked the winky smiley face cockily. You pondered for a moment on what to write next, before jotting down your phone number.

‘Maybe you could use that to ask me to meet up on a day where you’re not sweaty and gross?’

You added below it.

‘What, you don’t think the papers are romantic?’ 

His next message read, although you watched him grab his phone and supposedly punch in your phone number.

‘Maybe. But I’m gonna run out of paper soon.’

The next reply came through your phone.

Unknown Number: how does dinner on sunday sound? 

you: sounds perfect :)

you changed Unknown Number to “boy next door <3”

It felt odd to leave your home for a date, only to cross the street and walk into the opposing building. Juraj was waiting for you in the lobby of his building when you walked in, dressed in a black jacket, a white polo shirt and some black pants. His hair was combed back, showing off his beautiful face. As he noticed you walk in, his gaze flicked down, then back up, taking in your attire. His gaze met yours, and he smiled; a gesture you couldn’t help but return.

“Hi,” he said simply as you walked up to him. “You look beautiful.” 

“Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself,” you replied as he led you towards the elevators.

“Yeah?” He replied, looking down at his attire. “I almost thought you would like it better if I didn’t wear a shirt,” he added, comically wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Oh my god, you’re never going to let this go, are you,” you replied shamefully, though you chuckled out a laugh. As you both got into the elevator, he looked at you for a moment, as though he were seriously considering your statement.

“Nah,” he ended up replying. Once you’d reached his apartment, he held the door open for you, gesturing for you to go in first. It almost felt like déja vu, being inside of an apartment you had caught so many glimpses of through your window before. The apartment was clean; cleaner than you were used to seeing it, which was for your sake, you supposed. The dining table was set up neatly, with a vase filled with a few fresh flowers in the middle. You smiled giddily as Juraj led you to the table, even pulling your chair out for you.

“You didn’t have to do all of this,” you said with a small laugh. Juraj shrugged with an almost shy smile.

“Maybe, but I wanted to,” he replied simply. You watched as he returned with two plates of delicious looking pasta, which he set in front of each of you, before sitting down himself.

“Wow, did you make this?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he replied bashfully. “I usually just cook for myself, so, I hope it’s good.” You took that as your cue to dig in. You let out a hum of satisfaction as you savoured the taste. “Good?” He asked, looking at you with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

“So good, wow,” you replied, closing your eyes at the richness of the taste.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied. “Forgot the water, sorry,” he added after a moment, getting up and returning with a jug. But as he leaned down to pour you a glass of water, he severely misjudged the distance between him and the glass. And he instead found himself pouring the water right onto your lap. Thankfully, he had the immediate reflex of pulling back, but the damage was done.

“I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed. “God I’m such an idiot,” he added.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it! It’s just water, it’ll dry,” you replied, hoping to alleviate his obvious embarrassment. The expression on his face told you he still felt guilty, however.

“I’ll lend you some pants and put yours in the dryer, I’m so sorry. Again,” he said, getting up. You knew logically that at that point, you could’ve gone home and changed pants, and been back here within five minutes at most. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you got up and followed him into his room.

You watched as Juraj walked up to a dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and handing them to you.

“I hope this is okay,” he said, gesturing to the sweatpants. “They’re not very fancy, but they’re comfortable.”

“Seriously, thank you Juraj. And stop worrying about it,” you replied with a smile as Juraj stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him..

The room was decorated rather sparsely, which was in line with how the rest of his apartment was decorated. His bed, which was hastily made, and which took up the majority of the room bore a dark blue comforter and some grey pillows. Apart from the dresser from which Juraj had gotten the pants, the room also contained a small desk and a plush dark blue arm chair, which indicated the desk likely wasn’t used for work. The cream walls were unadorned, although in a corner stood a tall bookshelf which contained more picture frames than it did actual books.

After quickly shimmying on the sweatpants, you couldn’t help yourself but to approach the shelf, inspecting each photo. You quickly realized that many of the featured scenes revolved around hockey; a young boy, which you assumed was Juraj, in the middle of a hockey game, face focused and determined; or after a game with a medal around his neck, bright smile and flushed cheeks. Between the picture frames and the books, which looked so new you doubted they had ever been opened, laid a few small trophies, mostly in the shapes of pucks or hockey sticks.

A soft knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts?

“Are you okay?” Juraj’s muffled voice sounded through the door, and you realized you had been in his room far too long for someone who was just changing into sweatpants.

“Yeah, I’m good, sorry you can come in,” you replied, as you began making your way toward the door yourself. The door swung open, revealing a concerned looking Juraj. He seemed surprised to find you so close to the door, so close to him, and he looked down at you in surprise.

“Everything alright in here?” He asked again.

“Yeah, sorry, got distracted looking at your pictures,” you replied bashfully, generally gesturing towards the bookshelf. “Didn’t know you were so into hockey.”

“Oh,” he replied, dumbfounded. You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t seem to intend to do so.

“Sorry if that was personal,” you answered, now feeling self-conscious.

“No, it’s fine,” he answered after a moment. “I played a lot when I was younger. I really loved it,” he added carefully, as if weighing each word. “Still do.”

“Must be one of the nice parts of living in Montreal for you then, huh? I mean, I know you’re not from here, but the love for the Habs must be infectious,” you replied. Juraj looked down at you solemnly for a moment.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s the best city in the world for hockey. Everyone knows,” he replied, his gaze flickering across your face, seemingly searching for something, although you couldn’t guess what. “Do you like hockey?” He added after a moment.

“I mean, I wouldn’t really be a Montrealer if I said no, no would I?” You answered with a laugh. “But I honestly can’t say I’ve watched a game since we got eliminated in the finals a few years back,” you added with a laugh as you watched Juraj smile almost absent-mindedly. “We any good this year?” You added.

“Yeah,” Juraj answered simply. “Probably making the playoffs,” he added then quickly continued, “We should probably go back to eat if we don’t want the pasta to get cold.”

“Yes, right, lead the way!” You replied, following him out of the room. The rest of the date went off without a hitch, the conversation flowing so naturally anyone would have thought you’d known each other for years. It was surprising how comfortable you’d become with him so quickly, and after discussing both your lives and interests at length, you found yourself curled up on the couch with Juraj, watching an episode of ‘Love is Blind’ with a blanket covering the TV so that you could play along with the contestants. It felt ridiculously stupid, but then again, that had been the point, and you were both having a great time of it. However, you eventually noticed your eyelids getting heavier, and your head leaning upon Juraj’s shoulder.

“I think I need to get you home soon, huh, sleeping beauty,” Juraj said as he noticed your shift in demeanor. You looked up at him with an exaggerated pout, which made him laugh.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” you conceded, yawning as you got up and collected your purse, even having to lean on Juraj for support as you slipped your shoes back on. The walk home was far too quick for your liking, even as Juraj accompanied you all the way to your door, despite your assurances that it wasn’t necessary. When you finally reached your apartment door, you turned around toward Juraj, looking up at him.

“I had a really great time, thank you,” you said, smiling widely. It seemed you couldn’t stop doing that tonight.

“Me too,” Juraj replied. “Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” You laughed. “You’re the one who planned everything!”

“Well, I could thank you for giving me another chance after I was so rude. Or for pretending my pasta was that amazing,” he replied with a playful smirk you’d come to associate with him.

“It was amazing,” you replied laughing. Juraj looked at you with a raised brow as if he didn’t completely believe you. “I’m serious! Why would I lie to you!”

“Hmm, maybe you’re just trying to get on my good side so I let you see me shirtless again,” he replied teasingly.

“Oh my god, you’re incorrigible!” You answered, still laughing, though more softly now. Your eyes widened as Juraj stepped closer and you locked gazes. The previously playful mood shifted to something more serious as he brought his hand up to cup your face, his touch so gentle it was barely there.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked earnestly, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes,” you all but sighed, leaning your head towards him. His lips were soft, and you immediately found yourself melting into the gentleness of the kiss, hand coming up to rest upon his chest. And as soon as it had started, it was over. Juraj pulled away from you, smiling, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were dusted a light pink colour.

“Gooddnight,” he said simply.

“Goodnight,” you replied with a giddy smile, watching him disappear down the hall before getting inside your own apartment, the smile completely glued to your lips. You completed your nightly routine as if in a daze, replaying the events of the night in your mind. What broke you out of your trance was the sound of your phone buzzing. You opened it to find two unread messages; one from your best friend asking you how the date went, and another from Juraj.

boy next door <3: you forgot your pants at my place😬

You laughed at the choice of emoji, before typing in a quick reply.

you: and I still have your sweatpants… oops

you: i guess that means we’re gonna have to see each other again

His reply came almost immediately.

boy next door <3: oh no what a shame

boy next door <3: sooo when’s the next time you’re free? ;)

A few months later, you were still holding on to those sweatpants. Not because you hadn’t seen Juraj again, but the contrary, in fact. The first time you’d seen each other again after that, you had genuinely forgotten to bring back his pants, although he’d returned yours.

The second time, you had folded up the sweatpants neatly and put them in your tote bag, yet that fact completely slipped your mind the moment you had walked in and seen Juraj with that usual cocky smile on his face. You were already back home by the time you’d remembered that they’d been in your bag the whole time.

The third time, the date had been at your own apartment, and although you’d handed them back to him the moment he’d walked in, so as to not forget to give them to him again, he had set them down, and forgotten to pick them back up on his way out.

When Juraj unexpectedly stopped by your apartment the next time, wanting to see you before he left on a worktrip, you were caught unaware, and you had been wearing his sweatpants. 

“Are those my sweatpants?” He had asked as you’d opened the door.

“Maybe…” You’d replied bashfully. 

“You’re wearing my sweatpants?” He’d repeated in an amused tone.

“What, they’re comfortable!” You had replied. At that point, he had just told you you should keep them.

You were now a few weeks, and a few dates later than that, Juraj having just left your apartment after a similar ‘pre-worktrip date’. Although he was often gone, you always made sure to text or call everyday, despite not having a clear label to your relationship yet.

boy next door <3: i miss you :(

You smiled as the message popped up on your screen.

you: you left like two hours ago

boy next door <3: still miss you 

you: miss you too <3

my girl ♥️: miss you too <3

Juraj smiled down at your message, looking at his phone like a teenager with their first crush. He really did miss you already, which had him thinking this away game would be torturous.

“What’s got you smiling at your phone like that, man?” Arber asked from beside him on the plane, peering at his phone. Juraj pressed the button to close his phone instinctively, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Wow, ‘my girl’, huh? You weren’t even gonna tell me you had a girlfriend?” Arber asked teasingly.

“Who has a girlfriend?” Cole said immediately, his head whipping up from his phone immediately at the sound of information he could be nosy about. Juraj groaned, throwing his head back as Kaiden and Nick, who had been having a discussion beside Cole also turned around at the commotion Cole was making.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Juraj said stoically.

“Nah, you just have a contact on your phone called ‘my girl’ who texts you saying she misses you,” Arber said with a shit-eating grin, digging Juraj’s grave further.

“How long have you been seeing her?” Kaiden asked, ignoring Juraj’s obvious unwillingness to discuss the topic. He looked around and found all four of his friends staring at him intently, clearly eager to learn more. He sighed deeply.

“Like, three or four months?” Juraj answered.

“Damn, that long? Why haven’t we met her dude?” Cole asked in exaggerated bitterness.

“You should invite her to a game,” Nick suggested in a far more reasonable tone.

“She uh… doesn’t know I play hockey?” Juraj answered, his tone questioning, as though it sounded impossible to him too. “I mean, she knows I play hockey, she just doesn’t know I’m in the NHL…” He added, as though that made the concept sound any less ridiculous than it was. You had been seeing each other for four months, and he hadn’t built up the nerve to tell you what he did for a living. Meanwhile, he knew everything about your worklife. He knew he was being selfish by not telling you. And yet, here he was. His teammates stared at him in stupefaction.

“How the fuck does she not know that?” Arber inquired.

“Well she says she hasn’t watched since the Habs got eliminated in the cup finals…” Juraj said, letting his teammates put two and two together: you had stopped watching just before Juraj had been drafted. And that fact had given him the bright idea to just… not tell you that he wasn’t just a guy who liked hockey, but a guy who played hockey professionally. Who played for your city’s beloved team.

“And you didn’t tell her…?” Kaiden said, trailing off questioningly.

“I don’t know, I’m dumb okay?” Juraj replied, running his hands down his face. His friends laughed. “It was our first date and I wanted to see how it went before telling her. And then it kind of didn’t come up again, and it was nice just being like a regular guy with her, you know?” He added. Saying it out loud made him realize it was true. He liked how things were with you: you were comfortable with each other, you could be silly together, and you could also be serious when the moment asked for it. And there was no pressure of not living up to the image you might have of him in your head.

“Dude, if she doesn’t watch hockey I doubt she would act much different with you after finding out who you are. She probably won’t care,” Nick answered, the only one being actually helpful in this conversation.

“I guess,” Juraj replied, pondering the idea. “But now she’ll be mad I didn’t tell her before,” he realized out loud, putting his head in his hands.

“Well, nothing you can do about that now, buddy,” Arber replied, tapping Juraj on the back in mock sympathy.

“Sooo, you got any pictures of her or what?” Cole asked after a loaded moment of silence.

Yes, it was definitely going to be a torturous few days.

You didn’t know exactly how you had found yourself here, sat on a couch squeezed in between two of your friends. 

It had started with Juraj leaving for a worktrip that morning. As usual, you had spent the previous night together, and although it was always bittersweet when Juraj had to leave, he had seemed particularly antsy that night.

“Everything okay, baby?” You had asked him whilst cuddling on his bed, you reading a book, and him playing videogames. He had mentioned that he enjoyed playing video games to relax, which you had found hilarious, considering half the games he played seemed like some of the most stressful, adrenaline pumping games you could imagine. And that night, even the games couldn’t loosen his tense posture.

“Yeah, why?” he’d asked briskly, completely unaware of how stressed out he’d looked with his furrowed brows and tensed up shoulders. You had waited for a break in his game before setting down your book, bringing your hands up to his shoulders and rubbing gently. The tension immediately seemed to dissipate from them as his shoulders loosened under your touch.

“What’s got you so tense?” You’d asked, continuing the impromptu massage as Juraj turned off his game. 

“I don’t know,” he’d replied, though you’d been able to tell there was more to it. “Work. I hate leaving you all the time,” he’d finally added, taking one of your hands off of his shoulder, and bringing it up to his lips, leaving a chaste kiss on your knuckles, keeping your finger interlaced You had still been able to tell he hadn’t been telling you everything, but you hadn’t wanted to push him when he was clearly so upset. So you’d left it at that, and when you’d woken up this morning, he’d already been gone.

You had texted him all day, of course, ranging from funny posts you’d thought he’d like, to sweet messages telling him you missed him. Even through text, you could feel he’d still been feeling antsy: not replying to you as quickly as usual, and not giving you as long of answers as usual. All you could do was hope you hadn’t done anything to upset him, and that it really was just this work trip stressing him out.

That was how you had found yourself alone on a Sunday night, in need of something to distract you from the pit in your stomach anytime you thought about Juraj. And that was how you had found yourself texting a few friends to find yourself something to do, and had been invited to watch a hockey game at a friend’s apartment.

So here you now sat, surrounded with friends, and friends of friends, who all seemed to be adorned with some level of Montreal Canadiens paraphernalia.

“Damn, I need to up my game apparently, how are you all super into hockey except for me?” You said as one of your friends handed you a drink.

“Girl, the real question is how have you gone so long without paying attention to hockey?!” Your friend, who sat to your right, asked. You shrugged. “Well, your world is about to be rocked, babe,” she added, everyone settling onto the various couches and seats which faced the TV as the puck dropped.

It felt odd at first, hearing all of your friends react and discuss the game in such technical terms, whilst you had no idea where the puck was half of the time. You thankfully remembered some of the basic rules, but often didn’t understand why penalties were or weren’t called. Thankfully, your friends were about as passionate about the game as it gets, and enthusiastically answered all of your questions. 

And as much as you appreciated and enjoyed the process, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander away from the game more times than you would dare to admit. Despite being here to keep your mind off Juraj, watching the sport you knew he loved only made your mind drift back to him. You waited until the intermission to excuse yourself, not wanting to be rude, and took your phone out. Your thumb hovered over Juraj’s contact for a moment, before pressing on the phone icon beside it. You held the phone up to your ear as it rang once, twice, then abruptly stopped. You pulled the phone away from your ear in confusion as you watched a few text notifications roll in.

boy next door <3: sorry i cant call now

boy next door <3: meeting

You knew Juraj usually worked pretty late even when he was on his work trips, although you were surprised he was still in a meeting this late.

boy next door <3: is everything okay?

you: yeah sorry, didn’t mean to bother you i didn't think you’d be in a meeting

you: just wanted to see ur face and to tell you im thinking of you :) can’t wait til ur back

The message was left on ‘seen’ for a moment longer than usual, and you began thinking Juraj had had to put his phone away when the typing bubble popped up.

boy next door <3: thank you for that. i miss you so much 

boy next door <3: gotta go, talk later ♥️

The conversation, though short, had assuaged your worry, and left you feeling much lighter as you regained your seat on the couch before the second period began. About halfway into the period though, the pizza your friends had ordered arrived, and you offered to go pick it up considering you were the least invested in the game of the group. By the time you had returned and served everyone, the period was almost over, the game now led by the opposing team, 2-1. When the opposing team was penalized with only about a minute left to the period, you could feel the atmosphere shift in the room, your friends watching on with bated breath as the players passed the puck back and forth, a few of your friends letting out the occasion ‘just shoot!’.

And then, with only twenty seconds remaining—

“And Juraj Slafkovský, scoooores!” The announcer’s voice boomed as the goal horn blared. Around you, your friends erupted in cheers, although it seemed to all happen in slow motion to you as your eyes remained glued on the TV screen; as the shot panned to a close up of the player who had just scored the game-tying goal. On Juraj, your Juraj, being engulfed by his teammates who cheered for him. You could feel your heart drop to the very bottom of your stomach, your mouth agape as you continued looking at his own disbelieving face.

Juraj, your boy next door, the man you had been seeing for four months now. Was an NHL player. And he hadn't told you.

It all made sense now, his frequent ‘work trips’, why his name had seemed slightly familiar upon meeting him, his insistence on staying at either of your apartments rather than going out for dates, all of those childhood pictures of him playing hockey. But why hadn’t he wanted you to know? What should have been a happy moment was soured by the question stubbornly echoing through your mind. Did he not trust you? Did he not see a future with you? Suddenly, your mutual decision to keep your relationship unlabelled came to bite you. Because now, you didn’t feel certain of anything at all.

As soon as the second intermission began, you got up, muttering something about needing some fresh air before hurrying onto the balcony, hastily closing the door behind you muffling the noise of your friends’ excited chatter. The chill wind nipped at your cheeks, numbing them as you absentmindedly scrolled through your text messages with Juraj, looking for something you knew you wouldn’t find. A reason why he wouldn't have told you.

You closed your phone, looking up at the buildings in front of you. Through every other window, you could see the familiar light of TV screens, all flashing in unison as the game broadcast replayed Juraj’s goal, almost mocking you. The entire city of Montreal had gotten to watch him on their screens every other night for months. Everyone knew him. Except you, apparently.

You didn’t know exactly how long you stayed out there, watching the game through somebody else’s window, watching Juraj score again, watching strangers cheer him on. When the third period ended in a tie, sending the game into overtime, you decided to head home.

The bus was empty, its quiet hum both soothing you and allowing your thoughts to spiral again. The ride was short, and you had decided you wanted to finish watching the game after all. The moment you walked into your apartment, you threw yourself down on your couch, turning the TV on just as the game was starting again. Just in time to watch Juraj score a third and final time tonight. You watched his face disappear as his teammates swarmed him, turning your head towards his apartment, as though he would be there. But of course, the apartment was dark and empty.

The text came about an hour later.

boy next door <3: hey are you still up?

You pondered your options. You could always leave it on ‘delivered’, pretend you were asleep; leave the problem for future you. But you would have to face him eventually. Even if you knew you didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone, you couldn’t very well ignore him for the next two days. Could you lie to him and pretend everything was fine for those two days as well though? Why not? He had lied to you for months, came the nagging voice at the back of your mind, anger and hurt gripping your heart.

You knew you should just pretend you were asleep.

You knew it was a bad idea to talk to him now whilst the wound was still so fresh.

You called him anyways. 

The phone barely rang for a few short seconds before Juraj picked up, his widely smiling face filling up your screen. The sight should have filled you with relief after how worried you had been about him. Instead, you felt almost sick. How could he smile at you like that whilst keeping something so important from you?

“Hey,” his deep voice resounded through your phone’s speaker. “Were you about to go to bed?”

“No, I just got home actually,” you said, unable to stop yourself as the bitter words began tumbling out. “I was watching hockey at a friend’s place,” you added, venom dripping from your tone. You watched his smile fade as he took in your words, and you immediately felt horrible for telling him like this. The static of your phone’s speaker filled the dark room as Juraj stared at you through the screen, speechless.

“I was gonna tell you, I swear,” he finally said.

“Were you? ‘Cause it feels like you’ve had plenty of opportunities. Like that time I asked you about those pictures of you playing hockey, or whenever I talked to you about my job. Or how about any of the times you’ve had to leave for a ‘work trip’?” You spat. You watched as the expression on his face turned into one of guilt. “God, I feel like such an idiot! Do you know how it feels to find out the rest of the world apparently knew more about your–” you cut yourself off, the word ‘boyfriend’ staying stuck in your throat. Because he wasn’t your boyfriend, that much was clear now. “That so many people knew everything about you, whilst I knew nothing?” You choked up, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“That’s not true. Please, baby, I’m sorry. We should talk about this in person,” Juraj said, his expression pained.

“Yeah, we should,” you replied, voice monotone. “Just didn’t think I could lie to your face for two days,” you added, knowing you were going too far. “Unlike you apparently.”

“Come on, that’s not fair,” Juraj said, his tone desperate. You laughed humourlessly.

“Yeah, maybe not. Don’t think you’re the authority on that though,” you replied dryly.

“Just give me a chance to explain,” he pleaded, his brows furrowed and eyes wide, as though he was just now realizing how badly he had messed up.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied. “Just… maybe let’s keep our distance before then.” Juraj looked at you pleadingly through the screen, visibly swallowing deeply.

“Okay, if that’s what you want. I…” he trailed off, looking away for a moment. “I’ll see you Wednesday.” 

You ended the call without another word, staring across the room in silence. You didn’t know exactly how long you sat there, numbly staring at nothing, but you eventually made your way to your bedroom, changing into an old shirt and Juraj’s sweatpants before falling into your bed, falling asleep as tears silently rolled down your face.

boy next door <3: just landed

boy next door <3: when can i see you

Just as you had requested, Juraj hadn’t tried contacting you in the two days since that last conversation.

And it had been miserable. On that first day, you had barely been able to get anything done. You’d know it would be bad for you, but you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from looking him up: first reading through his wikipedia page, then scrolling his Instagram account, then the Montreal Canadiens’ Instagram account, then watched interview after interview on YouTube until you had to all but throw your phone out of the window to stop yourself from continuing to spiral.

On the second day, you had called your best friend, begging her to come stay with you for the day to stop yourself from wallowing in your own self-pity again. She had arrived half an hour later with two spoons and a tub of ice cream, which you’d proceeded to eat through as you’d recounted the situation to her.

“Oh honey,” she had said after you’d finished the story.

“I just don’t understand what I did wrong,” you’d replied, bursting into tears at your friend’s compassionate tone. She’d pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back as you had let yourself actually sob for the first time since everything had gone down.

“You did nothing wrong honey,” your best friend had replied soothingly. “This guy is clearly an idiot.”

“He is,” you’d laughed through sobs. “But fuck, I think I’m in love with him,” you had added, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Fuck, you did love him.

Your best friend had stayed with you after that, both even watching the game together, which had unfortunately not gone as well as the previous one, the team losing, and Juraj scoring no goals this time. As you had watched him through the occasional close up glimpses of his face on the screen, you’d noticed he’d seemed distracted, your heart squeezing at the notion.

Now, the next morning, it seemed the first thing he had done upon landing was to text you.

you: i’m home all day

You left your reply at that

boy next door <3: i’ll be here in one hour

Fifty-four minutes later, you heard a knock at your door. You opened the door, revealing an exhausted looking Juraj, dark bags under his eyes, still dressed in the sweatpants and Canadiens hoodie you assumed he’d been wearing on the plane. You doubted you looked any better yourself, wearing his sweatpants and a plain tank top, not having bothered to do your hair. You wordlessly let him in, closing the door behind him. 

“Okay, before you say anything, just let me explain,” he started, turning around to face you.

“Go ahead,” you said quietly.

“Okay,” he said shakily, rubbing his hands down his legs. “You’re upset. And you’re right to be upset because I screwed up really bad. I was being selfish by not telling you, I know that,” he sighed, running a hand over his early beginnings of a beard. “But the reason I didn’t tell you wasn’t that I didn't trust you, or something like that. It’s because when I meet people, they always think they already know me just because they watch me play hockey on TV. And they always have expectations about me. But you didn’t, because you didn’t know me at all,” he continued. “So when you saw the pictures in my room and asked me about hockey, I panicked, because I really liked you, and I really liked how simple it was between us. I didn’t want you to go home and look me up online, because it would've made the next date weird.”

You inwardly cringed, because wasn’t that exactly what you had done? You couldn’t really blame him for that.

“I understand that,” you started carefully. “But we’ve been dating, or whatever the fuck it is we are to each other, for four months! And the fact that you didn’t tell me in those four months makes me think I was taking this way more seriously than you were, and that you don’t actually want a real relationship with me,” you added, voice shaking at how much vulnerability you were showing him so soon after he had betrayed your trust. But you knew that if there was any chance of salvaging whatever you had with Juraj, you would have to be far more vulnerable than you had been before. He was wrong for lying to you, but the fact that you had never dared discuss the status of your relationship was definitely part of what went horribly wrong.

“No, no, that’s not true,” Juraj immediately replied, muttering something in Slovak. “It’s just, it was so easy with you. And I didn’t want to ruin that, and then the longer it went, the more it felt like I missed the time that I should've told you. And I knew you would be upset when I told you, and I was so scared of losing you… I didn’t know what to do anymore,” he said hurriedly, his arms waving about as he made his points. You looked up at him as he finished talking, his arms dropping beside him as he stared back at you intensely. “But I do want a real relationship with you, if that’s what you want too. God, my teammates have been making fun of me for not having the balls to properly ask you out for weeks now.”

“Your teammates know about me?” You asked with a slight smile.

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “They can’t mind their own business. They make fun of me for being so in love that I can’t put my phone down.” Your breath caught in your throat at the word.

“Are you?” You asked

“Am I what?” He answered

“In love,” you said softly. He looked down at you, a tenderness you had never seen in his eyes before.

“I guess I am, yeah,” he replied, more nervous than you had ever seen him. “I’m in love with you,” he added for good measure, his eyes searching yours. For a long moment, you just stared up at him, taking in the admission. He was in love with you. A tempest of emotions surged through you: exhilaration making your heart race, disbelief at the fact that he felt the same way you did, but also fear. Fear that he wasn’t being truthful, that he was keeping something from you again. But in the end, the feeling that won out was the love you held for him in return. You had known coming into this conversation that if you wanted this relationship to work, you would have to do something very hard: trust him again despite how hurt you had been. And you were ready to do that, for him.

“Well, I’m still mad at you,” was your first reply, watching Juraj’s face drop for a moment. “But it’s a good thing I’m in love with you too then,” you added, a smile curling your lips. 

You watched as the words hit him, his face splitting into an even wider smile than yours. In a moment, he was right in front of you, hands cupping your cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, smile still wide.

“Of course,” you replied, smiling into his lips as he kissed you like he never wanted to let you go.

Robby says you’re “perky”, but a cross-reference with Dana gleans that only means you’re insusceptible to the constant storm cloud he’s graciously bestowed onto everyone around him since PittFest. 

Since Adamson, if Jack has to put a finer point on it. But that's beside the point. 

The point is: sunshine fits you well. It has less to do with your bright, warm disposition, and more with your consistent, disarming earnestness. 

You're a direct communicator in the same way Abbot is, truly meaning everything you say. The only difference is the true, genuine brightness that glows around you. 

Confident in your diagnoses without being cocky about it, effortlessly funny at the appropriate times, serious and focused at others. You're a competent doctor. Your patients love you. The nurses and MAs and RTs love you. Hell, in the past three weeks, you've even gotten a couple smiles out of Ellis. Ellis. 

It rubs him the wrong way, spreading hot over his skin like a rash whenever you're around. 

A sheep doesn’t flock with the wolves. A flower doesn’t bloom in the tundra. And sunshine doesn't belong on the night shift.

You're already leaning against a desk at Central, chatting with Lena and Dana, when Abbot strides into the Pitt. He passes the conversation on his way to the lockers. 

"We miss you on the day shift, kid," Dana nudges your shoulder with hers as she taps away at the tablet in her hand. 

"Well, you can't have her back," Lena protests, shooting you a wink. "Sunshine brightens up The Dark Side." 

Abbot resists the urge to roll his eyes, forcing a polite nod in greeting when Dana catches his eye. 

He manages to shove his backpack into his locket before getting sucked into a conversation with Robby and Santos about a patient. Jack absorbs the information, a gnarly broken leg in North 20 awaiting an OR, but his eyes flick to where you're approaching. 

Your default is always some form of a content, softened expression. The gentle lines of your face open and inviting, paired with steady, insightful eyes, taking in everything around you in a hypervigilance that stems from years of practice in the ED. 

"Dr. Abbot, Robby," you nod with a pleasant informality to your attendings, then tug Santos away about another patient awaiting shift handoff.

Now alone with his brother-in-arms, Robby places his hands on his hips. 

"How's she doing adjusting to nights?" He asks, following Jack's gaze to where it lingers on your open body language in conversation with Santos. 

"No problems yet," Abbot shrugs, breaking his gaze off of you. 

Robby's smile lines crease his face. The bemused, all-knowing huff doesn't go unnoticed.

"Somethin' you wanna say?" Abbot tugs up the long sleeves of his undershirt to his elbows. 

The entertained expression stretches across Robby's face as he gives a noncommittal shake of his head. "No, man, I just notice the way you look at her, is all. You think you can hide it but you forget I have special Abbot glasses." He taps his index finger against his temple. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jack snaps his gaze to his friend, crossing his arms over his chest and widening his stance. "I don't have a problem with her." 

"I didn't say you had a problem with her."

"So then what the hell does that mean? You 'notice the way I look at her'?" 

Robby tilts his head inward, the distance closing between them by a fraction of an inch. He lowers his voice. "She sees right through you, brother, and you can't stand it. You think I can't notice when you've taken a liking to someone?" 

Abbot's scoff reeks of forced nonchalance. Most of the time he doesn't mind Robby's holier-than-thou bullshit, especially when it's not directed at him. "I haven't taken a liking to her. Jesus, dude, you need to see more than these four walls every once in a while." 

What's annoying is that Robby isn't wrong. Under the unsettling, gnawing feeling in his stomach he gets each time you present a case, run a code, hell, crack a joke with the nurses, is a peculiar, growing attraction. 

It's a cocktail of dread and annoyance, since he knows he could never have you. Throw in a splash of self-isolation and a garnish of twenty-five years of coping mechanisms, and you've got yourself a par-tay.

If you were someone he'd met outside of the hospital —which isn't likely, to be fair— he'd flirt and be done with it. 

But it's the way your eyes seem to cut through all his guardrails, the soft, yellow t-shirt you sometimes wear under your scrubs and how it brightens the sterile colors of the ER, the irrefutable, selfless empathy that radiates off of you with each patient. 

He could give in, open himself up to you. It would be so simple, but so, so stupid. All of it snowballs into something Jack feels, but can't stand to admit to himself, let alone Robby: he likes you.

Plus, underneath all the nuanced resentment, he thinks you're really pretty. It's fucking annoying. 

Robby just stares at him, expecting…what? Some kind of confession during shift change? 

Jack doesn't confront it like he knows he should, instead deciding for a smooth patient handoff. "Whatever, dude. Tell me about this family in Pedes." 

Patients are transitioned to night shift in the next hour, but you end up spending the first quarter of your shift in triage with a med student. Lots of sutures, EKGs, a couple of persistent coughs. All fairly run-of-the-mill, much to your surprise. 

There's one patient you sent from triage to an open bed that you're particularly concerned about, so you send the med student off to help with a dislocated shoulder before heading back into the fray. 

By the hub, you catch Dr. Abbot. "Hey, can I present to you?" You ask, leaning against the counter and tapping your fingers against it.

He looks up from his tablet, and hums in an almost indifferent response. 

"Mr. Klesiak, forty-five-year-old man, came in complaining of consistent chest pain over the past two weeks. EKG and labs came back positive for a mild heart attack, but his husband died four months ago in a car accident. He burst into tears just talking about it. It's been really difficult for him to adjust to his new normal, without his person," you frown, then add, "I think it lines up with takotsubo cardiomyopathy." 

Abbot looks up from his tablet, doubt scribbled all over his face. "Broken heart syndrome?" he asks, a brow arched derisively. He looks like he might actually laugh.

You've noticed Dr. Abbot's dubiousness towards you the past few weeks and taken it mostly in stride. He doesn't do much to try and hide it, though you're pretty sure you could read his emotions like a magazine. 

Everyone seems to think Dr. Jack Abbot is some self-actualized, adrenaline junkie, mystery man, but you don't see him that way. Between his tenure as a night shift attending and his side hustle playing medic for the SWAT team, his picture is crystal clear to you. 

He needs to be needed. He doesn't like being perceived any other way than the image he's carefully crafted: the zen, rule-breaking, untouchable attending of the night. He doles out the pieces of himself he's comfortable sharing, and packs up the rest. 

It's not a weakness, not when you do the same thing. Your bright disposition towards your patients comes naturally, but you've got your own demons. They taught you to notice these kinds of things, to be hyper-empathetic. It makes you a good doctor. 

It means you're a unique kind of perceptive. And you're pretty sure Abbot hates that about you. 

"Yeah," you respond, firm in your diagnosis. "What, you think that's wrong?" 

Abbot pulls the patient's chart up on his tablet, avoiding your eyes. "It's possible, I guess," he shrugs, a casual dismissal. "I just think it's a little outlandish. I mean, did you call for a cardiology consult?" 

"I wanted to see what you thought first."

This stumps Jack for some reason. As your attending, it's right that you check with him on critical patients, but Mr. Klesiak seems as typical of a heart attack patient as they come. The waning part of his patience wins out. 

"Just call cardiology," he looks up at you like it's stupidly simple. Like you're stupid for not treating it simply. 

As he starts to move past, you sidestep him, sharply studying his eyes.

"Did I do something wrong, Dr. Abbot?" you ask. The honorific rolls roughly off your tongue, the sound shooting straight to Abbot's cock. 

"We've barely crossed paths this whole shift," Abbot states plainly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

"That's not what I asked," your voice jabs at him, teetering on the edge of snapping. "You switch from ignoring me for most of the shift to going behind me and double-checking my work."

"I'm supposed to double-check your work. I'm your attending."

"Yeah, and I'm an R3," you bite back, frustratedly shoving a strand of hair out of your face. "I can diagnose noncritical injuries and illnesses without approval. So, did I do something wrong?" 

Abbot blinks. He's only heard you speak this way during a trauma. Your feathers never get ruffled. The corner of his mouth quirks up, intrigued at this side of you he's slowly peeling back. "No, sunshine, you didn't do anything wrong," he grinds out, his voice a crackling fireplace, one errant piece of ash away from catching. 

He says your nickname like it's derogatory. Like it disgusts him to even form the word.

You square your shoulders, hurt flickering in your eyes involuntarily. Jack clocks it, realizing then that he might see you just as much as you see him. 

And god, isn't that just as unnerving? 

"Well, I'll just try to stay out of your way, then, Dr. Abbot," you huff dryly, shaking your head before turning on your heel to call cardiology. 

Over the next couple of hours, the Pitt has a short lull, and then a sudden influx of patients. A string of accidents involving a drunk driver on the freeway attributes to several ambulance dropoffs, even a trauma brought down from the helipad. 

It's awful, all the destruction one person's poor decision to drive drunk has caused. There's several broken ribs, a woman who will likely be a paraplegic for the rest of her life, then the worst of it all. 

A boy, seventeen years old, who just got his driver's license. He took his eight-year-old sister to a twenty-four hour drugstore to get ice cream, and on their way back home, the drunk driver veered into the opposite lane of traffic and collided with them head-on. 

The little girl died on impact. 

The boy, Mason, sobbed the entire time you performed his physical. Besides a few cuts and scrapes, and a possible concussion, he was physically unharmed. Your heightened empathy crushed against your chest like a hydraulic press, pushing, pushing, pushing, but you managed to maintain composure so you could help Mason through the shock. 

He just kept whipsering his little sister's name, over and over, even as you went with him to CT. You stayed out in the hall, then escorted him back down to the Pitt to discharge and hand him off to his parents. 

As you watch them leave out through the waiting room, your chin shakes in an uncontrollable quiver. A sob threatens to burst out of you, so you make a beeline for Central, where your bottle of water sits by your workstation. 

"Why'd you go with Mason Bellings to CT?" Abbot materializes before you can get to your water. 

You jump, whipping around to find Abbot craning his neck down at you. The ER's calmed down in the two hours since the traumas started rolling in, the beeping more steady than erratic. 

You swallow the sob. "He just lost his little sister," you force the words past the massive, obstructive stone in your throat. No wrapping anything with a nice little bow like you sometimes do. "And his parents were still at the crash site. He needed somebody." 

"You need to let Kiara handle situations like that," Abbot's jaw flexes. "Or a nurse. You have four other patients on your caseload right now." 

"They're all stable," you protest, frowning at him. "I was gone for fifteen minutes. I asked Lena to keep an eye out."

His eyes bore into yours. Normally hazel, but chilled into an almost rock hard slate in this light. You don't usually challenge an authority figure, not unless it's something critical, but you're not backing down from this one. 

"Lena's a charge nurse, not your patients' babysitter," Abbot's gravelly voice tumbles out with the jagged edges of a shattered mirror. The slight, almost impercetible twitch in his jaw contradicts his words. "You do not leave this emergency department unless it's for a critical patient." 

"What is your problem with me?" You throw up your hands, suddenly raising your voice at your attending before you can think better of it. 

"I never said I had a problem with you," he says coldly, the lack of surprise at your outburst only serving to irritate you further. 

"You don't fucking have to!" You shout. Eyes all over the Pitt soon turn to you. "You leapfrog between singling me out or pretending I don't exist for a twelve-hour shift. And you've been doing it for three weeks! Do you know how fucking demoralizing that is?" 

Abbot leans forward, transitioning to a hushed hiss through his teeth. "Ambulance bay," he demands, nodding to the double doors behind you. The authority on his voice chills your blood. "Now." 

You lead the way, not bothering to glance behind you. The familiar drop of his footsteps is enough to know. 

The night air is brisk, even for four in the morning, making the empty ambulance bay even more of a ghost town. 

You march all the way to the wall where Dana takes her smoke breaks, crossing your arms over your chest. 

God, the way your hip juts out is enough to send Jack into cardiac arrest. 

Robby's play at Dr. Phil earlier sent him into a slow spiral, a swirl of mixed emotions coursing through his body this whole shift. He had to shove down thoughts of you when resuscitating a patient earlier, and you slid by him to bag. He had to feign doubt instead of interest with your cardiac patient. And now, this. 

He isn't just picking on you, not this time. You really can't leave the ER during a barrage of traumas. 

He gives you the chance to say something, because it looks like you might, but you just glare at him, stewing as the rage inside you reaches a peak. He's never seen you like this. Maybe you are built for the night shift. 

"You cannot speak to me like that," Abbot's calm slams against his vocal chords like a wild animal in a cage, testing his limits. "If we have an issue, we can talk it out, but you do not lash out at anyone like that, let alone your attending. Do you understand?" 

You're testing his limits, you think. 

You wad all your anger up into a tightly compressed, crinkled ball, then shove into the pit of your stomach. "Fine. Are we done here?" 

"As a matter of fact, we're not. We're gonna stand out here until you can get your shit together." 

"You don't treat Ellis like this," A sardonic laugh rattles out. "O-or Shen, or anybody else."

A challenge, Jack thinks, as he clocks the gold flecks in your eyes, giving new meaning to the nickname sunshine. He swallows the truth. 

"Everyone has an adjustment period when they switch to nights. Don't take it personally." 

"Oh, cut the bullshit," you step up to him, and against every warning bell screaming in your head not to, jab your index finger his chest. "You have some kind of a personal problem with me, Dr, Abbot." Jab. "So I do take it personally." Jab. "And if it's something that will make me a better doctor, you're obligated to tell me." Another jab. 

Jack takes each of your sharp pokes, into the space between his shoulder and his collar bone, right above his heart. He closes his eyes, forcing a breath, forcing himself to stay calm, before speaking.

"Your focus drifts," his voice is a low rumble. A lie. Under duress. To end this conversation as quickly as possible. To keep from shoving you against the concrete wall. To keep from grabbing you by the wrists and pinning them above your head. "You're overconfident." Lie. "You're not adjusting well. I don't think you're cut out for nights." Lie. Lie. All of it, a lie. 

His controlled energy, the steady tone in which he delivers all these untrue facts, boil your blood. All of it, the whole shift, has finally hit its apex. 

"Bullshit," you hiss through your teeth, squaring up with him. You don't even realize your finger is still pressed into his chest. It quakes where it rests, immune to the warm, thumping heart beneath it. "This is about me and some sort of issue you have with me being on your service. You don't take me seriously, you don't trust me, you treat me like I'm incompetent—"

"You're very competent." 

"Then why don't you treat me like it?" Your voice raises higher, and you turn pink at the embarrassment, the anger of it all. 

With the blue-black of the Pittsburgh night behind you, your eyes glint with the silver of threatening tears. Jack hates this. He hates that his calm demeanor turns into something ugly and unfeeling around you. Collected becomes stoic. Control turns into apathy. 

This isn't him. This isn't the man he's spent fifteen years in therapy to become. 

It's a balancing act, because he can't be the same man with you that he is with everyone else. You're too fluent in his language. 

He didn't think anybody else spoke it. 

He hates that he's done this to you. Turned into this person, this special wildcard that only gets dealt to you.

"Look," he releases a pressure-cooker sigh, desperately trying to ignore the pressure of your finger over his heart. "It's been a rough shift. Why don't you go—"

"Don't tell me to go home," you jeer. 

"Jesus Christ. I don't know what to do with you," his resolve falters, a piece of him jutting out. 

This crack in the facade, this jagged piece of him finally breaking through, throws you off guard. The hammering in your angry, wrecked heart comes to a screeching halt. You realize then how close you are to him, to your attending, your boss. And that your finger still presses into his chest. 

You take a wary step back, then start to retract your hand. 

Abbot's hand catches you before you can. Around your wrist with a gentleness that freezes your feet in place. 

Jack presses his index and middle finger into your radial pulse. It's thrumming. Those delicate, elegantly long fingers are shaking. Some god who makes a game out of torturing him made your fingers perfect. Fuck. 

"You don't have to do anything with me," your breath shudders through you as Dr. Abbot cradles your hand over the exact spot you were jabbing him. 

A baby bird, he thinks, as he guides your knuckles open, flattening over his heart. "I'm sorry I've been so hard on you," his voice creaks and cracks. His Adam's apple bobs. "I didn't mean all that stuff I said. You're an excellent doctor. But you really can't leave the ER during a crisis. And you really can't speak to me like that." 

The words hit you like a flash thunderstorm. You nod. It's a hasty movement, followed by a sniff and a rogue tear. "I won't do it again," you whisper, so you won't cry. "Mason… he just needed somebody. He didn't have anybody." 

"Yeah, we know what that's like, don't we, sunshine?" Abbot's lips murmur, soft as a prayer. His fingers curl over yours. 

His heartbeat is steady, calming. His words rip blankets off the parts of you that are painted the same color as his. 

This close, you notice so many things about Abbot you never had before. The moonlight turns the grey and brown hairs along his jaw into silver and bronze. His tongue pushes against his upper lip before he speaks. There's a softness in him you hadn't recognized; or, maybe you had, but you couldn't admit it to yourself. 

"I don't need to go home," you reiterate with a wobbly chin. 

"I won't make you," he exhales, then moves his hand to your shoulder to tug you to him. 

He feels like he's hiking up a treacherous hill. One wrong step and he'll plummet to disaster. But, god help him, when you give in to his silent offer and press your face into his cotton t-shirt, he thinks this is a pretty damn good hill to die on. 

Abbot holds you to him with one hand on your shoulder, the other rubbing careful, attentive circles between your shoulder blades. The sharpness stabbing at your sinuses finally gives way to tears, relief mixing with the exhaustion.

You don't know what this means besides the unspoken treatise between the two of you. A mutual acknowledgement, you think, that you understand each other on a level deeper than you thought possible. 

"It's been a rough shift," Abbot's voice rumbles low. It vibrates where your ear meets his chest. The soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt warms your cheek. He smells like hand sanitizer and laundry detergent and cedar. "And I think we understand each other a little too well." 

"Yeah," you agree, meek and weary, but accepting the comfort he provides. 

"We'll get through it together, though, yeah?" He continues to slide his palm along your back. You know you need to check on your patients, you know there are much more pressing, life-or-death matters happening inside. But you can't quite peel away from him just yet. 

This is the most assured comfort you think you've ever received in your life. 

"Okay," you agree quietly. 

You pull back from Jack's chest, and he immediately misses the weight of you. "Feel better?" He asks, arching a brow with clinical interest. 

"Yeah," you sniff, then wipe at your nose with the end of your sleeve. "Does this mean you're gonna be nice to me now?" 

"Define nice," Abbot's lip quirks up in that sideways half-smirk you've seen, but never been on the receiving end of. 

"Not a dick," is your blatant reply. 

A sharp laugh from Abbot, then a nod. "Yeah, sunshine, I won't be a dick anymore." He says, then brushes the cap of your shoulder with his hand. 

It's a new, unnerving space you've entered together. Compatriots instead of adversaries. An attending who hugs you in the ambulance bay instead of questioning your decision-making. 

"And you want me here? On nights, with you?" You can't hold yourself back from asking, from needing the clarity, from pushing a little further than you probably should. 

Jack says your first name, then reaches out to touch you. He hesitates, hovering between his body and yours, unsure if it's allowed. If the hug was just a one-off. Your eyes flick to his hand, then up at him. Then, the smallest dip of your chin. Permission. 

With a focused, intentional, physician's precision, he tucks a fallen piece of hair behind your ear. Slides his knuckle across the back of your earlobe as his hand recedes. 

You blink at him slowly, warming at the idea of his touching you other places, too. 

"And I want you here," Jack confirms as you revert to your own personal space, and you become a mentor and student once again. Strangely enough, it's the steadiest he's ever sounded.