maisy

The early afternoon sun beats down on the backyard as you stand a few steps from the pavilion, one hand shielding your eyes while you squint up at the string lights.

Jack, balanced on top of a chair, glances over at you. "Higher?"

You nod. " A little."

He raises the strand another inch.

You tilt your head, taking another step as you study it. "That's perfect."

He climbs down, brushing his hands together as he steps beside you.

The pavilion stands in the corner of the yard, a couple of tables stashed under it along with some chairs. White tablecloths flutter gently in the breeze, little jars of wildflowers scattered across the tables between empty serving platters waiting to be filled.

Jack had spent most of yesterday putting it all together, with the help of Robby, refusing to sit down for more than a few minutes at a time until everything looked just right.

"One more thing to cross off the list," he says.

You sigh. "Only twenty thousand more to go."

"Hey," he murmurs. His fingers find your chin, gently turning your head toward him. "Breathe. We've got this."

You take a slow breath as you look into his calm eyes. His thumb brushes along your jaw before he releases his grip.

"We need to get the drinks outside—they're ready in coolers inside the garage—but I'm gonna wait to bring them out. Otherwise, they'll get warm." His hand finds yours. "We'll fire the grill after the guests have arrived. Everything needed for that is either by the grill or in the fridge." He glances around the yard as his thumb brushes your knuckles absentmindedly. "What else do we need to do, honey?"

You take another breath, collecting your thoughts. His fingers squeeze yours gently. "Uh… The welcome drinks still need to be made. More chairs. Oh, and the snacks need to be plated and brought outside." Your gaze sweeps over the yard before finally dropping to yourself. "I also need to get ready."

Jack nods. "I've got the chairs and snacks—" He waves away your concern. "Robby'll be here any minute to help me."

Your brows pinch together. A flutter of nerves runs through you.

He steps closer, his expression softening. "You go get the drinks and yourself ready, okay? No stressing. This is supposed to be a fun day."

"Yeah… You're right."

"I usually am." He smirks and pinches your side gently. Your startled yelp dissolves into laughter before he catches your lips with his. His kiss is warm and eager, and you happily let him drag you closer.

"Ahem." Olivia's voice cuts through the moment from the open patio doors.

You freeze in Jack's arms but still allow him to steal one more kiss. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch her standing in the doorway, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"When I agreed to come by and help," she says, "I didn't realise that meant you two making out and me doing all the work."

"We are working," you reply.

"Mm." She doesn't look convinced.

You slip out of Jack's arms and turn towards her, gesturing to the pavilion. "Look."

"Very pretty," she concedes, "But I've been watching from the window. No one did any work the last ten minutes."

"Creep," you mutter.

"Please," she waves you off. "Somebody had to make sure you two actually got something done."

You stick your tongue out at her.

She rolls her eyes but can't hide the smile that tugs at her lips. "Come help me before I start looking through your closet for my sweater. I know you have it."

"It's my sweater," you shout as she disappears inside again. You turn back to Jack. "I'd better go."

He grins. "I didn't know your thieving streak went that far back."

"I didn't steal her sweater."

He shrugs as he steps closer. "Well. You keep stealing my hoodies, so the evidence—"

"It's not the same," you argue but still step into his arms again.

His face nears yours again. "Is that so?"

"Mm," you hum. You press a quick kiss to his lips, then spin out of his grip before he manages to hold on. You point at him from a few feet away. "Snacks. Chairs."

"Yes, ma'am." He gives you a mock salute.

You grin, shaking your head as you slip away to the kitchen.

The kitchen counters are a mess by the time you walk in. Half a dozen bottles clutter the island alongside empty bowls, bunches of mints, straws and more glasses than you remember owning.

Olivia is standing in the middle of the chaos, wooden spoon in hand as she stirs a huge bowl of punch.

She looks up when she hears you come in. "Finally."

"I didn't take that long," you say.

She sends you a look.

You nudge her shoulder as you pass her to wash your hands. "Cut me some slack. It's a special day."

"I'll cut you some slack after we finish these drinks." She shoves a lemon into your hand, the second after you've dried your hands, then points to the mountain of citrus fruits lining the counter. "You'd better start cutting if we wanna be done before the guests arrive."

Your eyes widen, lips turning downwards. "Damn."

"Yeah," she laughs. "You were the one who wanted to decorate the drinks."

"I regret that now," you murmur.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you work through the pile of fruit. Olivia begins pouring the punch into glasses, carefully finishing each one with slices of citrus and fresh berries.

Having Olivia here since yesterday has been your saving grace. She's so in tune with you that she knows exactly when to tease you and when to go easy. She's kept track of everything your frazzled mind has forgotten, stepping in to organise Robby and Jack whenever they needed direction. You honestly don't know what you'd have done without her.

"So," she says after a moment as she begins cutting strawberries. "How are you holding up?"

You shrug, reaching over to grab a watermelon. "I think I'm okay."

"Yeah?" She looks over at you.

You nod. You're nervous, yes—but underneath it all, you're excited. "I just want everyone to have a good time."

"Oh, trust me. They will," she assures you. "I honestly can't wait to see their faces."

You grin at her before turning your attention back to the cutting board. You cut the watermelon into bite-sized pieces, placing them in a bowl that Olivia brings you.

She leans against the counter next to you. "You know, I'm really happy for you. I know I've said it before, but—"

You blink, caught off guard by the emotion in her voice.

"I've seen you in relationships before, and yes, you were happy," she says, "but this is different. You're different."

"I am?"

"Yeah. It's a good different," she says, popping a strawberry into her mouth.

"Phew," you say, laughing.

She pushes her foot against your leg. "You know what I mean. I'm just—I'm happy for you."

You send her a soft smile. You do know what she means.

Because it is different.

You still work ridiculous hours. There are days when you barely see Jack because day shift needs help, and all you get of each other is a few minutes during handoff. Some mornings are nothing more than sleepy kisses over coffee before you crash. Some evenings are takeout on the couch because neither of you has the energy to cook.

It's so different from what you shared with previous boyfriends. It's also so much better.

It's not just the easy days. It's knowing when he needs his wheelchair and getting it without him having to ask. It's him reminding you that you've earned your job—that you're good at it—on the nights you can't believe it yourself. It's showing up for each other when there's nothing glamorous about it all.

You wouldn't change a thing about it.

"I'm happy, too," you admit quietly.

Olivia smiles as she steals a bit of watermelon. "Good. You deserve to be."

The room falls quiet for a moment as she helps you scoop all the fruit into different bowls.

"I was also," she says as she sets a bowl down, "wondering if the two of you have talked about…" She looks at you, wiggling her eyebrows. "You know."

You narrow your eyes at her. "We're barely married."

She scoffs, glancing down at the stone that glints off your finger. "I don't know anyone who's getting married twice."

You make a face at her.

"Besides, with the two of you, you never know."

"Oh, so that's how it is, huh?" You point a spoon at her. "What about you and Robby, then? How was the drive from the airport yesterday? Did you talk?"

She glares at you before lifting both hands in surrender. "Okay. Truce. You fight dirty."

"That's what I thought," you say, grinning smugly. You clap your hands as you look over the counter of finished drinks. "All done."

Olivia nods. "Just missing you, now."

You glance at your strawberry-patterned pyjamas. "I don't know—I feel like this screams 'Summer Barbeque' attire."

She huffs and grabs your arm to pull you with her. "You and Jack need to work on your jokes. He's been making the same ones all morning. We get it. It's not just a barbecue."

Through the open bedroom window, a muffled burst of laughter drifts in from outside. You don't say anything, but you notice the way Olivia's mouth pulls into a tiny smile at the sound of Robby.

She stands beside the chair she'd ordered you into, a makeup brush tucked between her fingers and an open eyeshadow palette balanced in her hand. She's already worked her magic on your hair, rearranging loose strands until every piece sits exactly where she wants it.

She sweeps a shimmer across your eyelids, tilting your head gently with her fingertips whenever she needs a better angle. It feels strangely familiar.

For a moment, you're back in college—sitting on her dorm room floor while she helped you get ready for parties. It's the same teasing, the same steady hands, the same feeling that she's got your back no matter what.

Twenty minutes later, she twists the lid back onto your lipstick. "Done," she says.

"Can I look?"

"Not yet." She steps over to her bag and returns with a pair of small blue pearl earrings. "Your something blue."

"Oh." You hadn't expected that. Warmth spreads through your chest as she helps you put them in. You catch her hand. "Thank you."

She just nods at you, then takes a step back. For several seconds, she just looks at you.

"Liv?"

Her smile wavers, and she blinks rapidly. "You look stunning." Her voice comes out softer than usual.

You swallow around the sudden tightness that has climbed up from your chest. Before either of you can get too emotional, she reaches for the dress hanging in the closet.

"C'mon. Let's get you into that dress before you make me cry."

You laugh softly as you step out of your pyjamas and into the dress. It's a white, flowy dress that you found a couple of weeks ago. It's simple enough that nobody would think twice about seeing you wear it to a summer barbecue, yet beautiful enough that it feels perfect for today. Olivia's fingers work quickly, tying the delicate bows on top of each shoulder before smoothing the fabric across your back.

When you look into her eyes, they're glistening. She blinks and smooths a wrinkle that isn't there.

"Hey, don't. You'll make me cry," you say.

"Don't you dare," she warns you. "I just spent ages doing your makeup."

"Well, you stop then," you argue, but your voice comes out hoarser than intended.

Olivia clears her throat and nods toward the mirror. "Go look."

You walk over to the full-length mirror. For a second, you just… stare. The woman looking back at you looks completely at peace. No pretending. No forcing a smile. She's just… happy.

Beside you, Olivia leans against the dresser.

"I…" You laugh softly, smoothing your hands down the fabric. "I actually look nice. Thank you."

She snorts. "Nice? You're drop-dead gorgeous."

You huff but don't disagree, turning to wrap your arms around her. She hugs you back just as tightly.

She lets you go after a moment. "Right. I should probably make myself look presentable." She nudges you toward the door. "Go make sure everything's ready outside."

"You sure?"

She nods. "I'll be out in a minute."

You step into the living room, heels clacking against the hardwood floor. The patio doors stand halfway open, carrying in bursts of conversation from outside as well as the scraping of chairs.

Just as you're about to head outside, the door slides fully open.

Jack steps into the house, a clean dish towel in one hand. He's changed into the navy polo you'd once casually mentioned brought out his hazel eyes.

He looks so handsome.

He takes one step, then looks up. Then he stops.

Completely.

The towel slips from his fingers onto the floor.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. His eyes travel over you slowly, lingering as though he's trying to memorise every detail.

Your smile turns shy. "Hi."

He doesn't answer. His throat works around a swallow. For a moment, he just looks at you.

"Jack?"

He blinks once, dragging a hand across his jaw. "…Hi."

You laugh softly. "Are you okay?"

He lets out a shaky breath, finally meeting your eyes. "I don't…" He shakes his head, sneaking another glance across your body. "I don't think I've ever seen anything as beautiful as you."

Heat blooms across your cheeks at the awe written so plainly across his face.

"You.." He laughs quietly to himself, still looking completely overwhelmed. "Sweetheart…" He shifts his weight uncertainly.

You close the distance. As your arms wrap over his shoulders, his hands find your waist automatically. "You really are trouble."

You grin. The nickname has followed you through almost every version of yourselves—colleagues, friends, something complicated in between, and now this.

Now love.

You lift a hand, brushing your thumb gently beneath one of his eyes. "Are you crying?"

He catches your hand, but instead of pulling it away, he presses it closer to his face. For a moment, you can see him considering a lie, but then a tear slips free and lands on your skin.

He closes his eyes. "…Maybe."

"Oh, honey." You laugh.

He laughs, too, and the sound is lighter than it usually is. He cups your face carefully, looking you deeply in the eye. "I can't believe you're mine."

You tilt your cheek into his hand, nuzzling closer. "Well, you'd better believe it soon, because I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." He kisses you softly. "I wouldn't be able to take it if you were."

Your lips part to answer, but Robby's voice booms through the open doors before you can.

"Abbot! Where should I put the chairs?"

Jack closes his eyes briefly. "…Give me ten seconds," he shouts back.

"You've already had ten!"

You giggle.

Jack sighs dramatically, but the smile gives him away. He presses one lingering kiss to your lips before he steps back. "I should probably go make sure he doesn't leave them all in one pile."

When he reaches the doors, he glances back, still grinning. Still looking at you with that expression that makes you feel like he can't quite believe you're standing there.

By the time you step back outside with the final tray of welcome drinks, the backyard is buzzing. Music drifts softly from the speakers, mixing with the chatter of half a dozen conversations. Coolers are already open, bottles clinking as people help themselves. The snack bowls are half empty, and the fruit platters already have generous gaps in them.

It's rare for healthcare workers to have time to eat without being interrupted, and judging by the speed the food is disappearing, everyone's making up for lost time.

"Oh, wow." Parker sidles up beside you, looking you up and down with an appreciative grin. "You clean up pretty well."

You laugh as you do a spin for her.

"Honestly," Trinity cuts in, reaching for a piece of watermelon. "Abbot better watch out. If he ever fumbles this, you let me know."

"Girl, get in line," Parker says, throwing her a sideways look.

You shake your head, laughing at them. You hand them both a drink.

Parker smiles. "What? I can't remember the last time I saw you out of scrubs. I'm allowed to appreciate it."

You hum, shrugging lightly. "Not that many chances to get all dressed up."

"I invited you out last week?" Trinity says.

"Okay," you concede. "Not that many days where I'm off and can get dressed up. Better?"

She scrunches her nose, but nods. Her gaze then drops to your hand where your engagement ring glints in the afternoon sunlight. She blinks. "Damn. Abbot's loaded."

You roll your eyes, but before you can answer her, Shen appears with a drink in hand. "I'm letting you know as a courtesy that I expect this to be a yearly tradition."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He shrugs, taking a sip. "Yeah. Good food. Good company, and nobody's calling me about a patient. Only thing missing is—"

"Coffee," Parker finishes with a groan.

"That's not what I was gonna say," he says, turning to her with an affronted look.

"Uh huh."

You smile as you watch them get into their usual bickering.

Before you can linger, someone catches your arm, and the next twenty minutes disappear in a blur.

A hug from a nurse you worked with in your surgical rotation. A quick conversation with one of your old pediatric attendings. A resident from the ICU stopping you just long enough to compliment your dress before getting distracted by someone calling their name.

The backyard feels impossibly full. Nurses, residents, attendings, people from departments you only crossed paths with during rotations—somehow they're all here now, laughing together like they've known each other for ages.

Most importantly, your people are spread all over the garden. Mel sits nearby with Frank, Dennis, Perlah and Princess, all waiting their turn to hold Donnie's baby. Dana stands near the grill with Robby, Jack and Lena. Lily catches you as she passes by with her boyfriend, squeezing your arm with a smile, before heading to the corner where the other nurses sit and chat.

Jack's friends from SWAT start arriving not long after. Introductions are fleeting but still warm, and Jack's face lights up as more of his teammates arrive.

Someone compliments the decorations. Someone else asks where you found the flowers. Two of Jack's teammates stop you to properly introduce themselves, explaining that they've heard so much about you. They also try to convince you to get Jack back on tasks, which he hasn't done since that day. You tell them politely that it's up to Jack, secretly grateful that he hasn't been back.

Somewhere between the drinks and the laughter and people filling the backyard, you realise how much bigger your life has become. From being the disappointment at home, the daughter that never could be enough, to being and working with people who think you're enough as you are.

For a moment, you just take it all in.

You catch Jack's eye as your gaze sweeps over the yard. He tilts his head, asking a silent question, and you nod. You walk steadily through the crowd toward him as he mutters something into Robby's ear.

Just as you step up onto the patio, Jack clinks his bottle, the clear ringing note carrying across the space. Conversations slowly begin to fade, heads turning to you. Jack's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close.

He clears his throat, his fingers tightening around your side for the briefest moment before relaxing again. "Thanks for coming, everyone. We know getting this many healthcare workers together on the same day is basically impossible. So…thank you for making it happen."

He takes a slightly deeper breath than usual as he glances around the yard. "Now, I know we called this our end-of-summer barbeque—"

You feel your heartbeat start to pick up. Jack's thumb strokes absentmindedly along your side, grounding you like he knows exactly what your nerves are doing.

"—but there was another reason we wanted everyone here."

Confused looks pass through the crowd.

"We've all heard the complaints," you say. "So…" You take a slow breath, a twinkle beginning to shine in your eye. "We figured we'd do something about it."

You can see Shen's frown deepening.

"We thought…maybe you'd all like to come to our wedding?"

For a moment, nobody reacts. Samira stares at you. Parker looks from you to Jack, then over at Dana, who's already smiling, clearly trying to figure out if everyone else knew something she didn't.

Trinity is the first to find her voice. "You're kidding."

And then it starts to click. The dress. The decorations. The way you and Jack had been acting about this 'party'. The realisation moves through the yard like a wave—then chaos erupts. It's a loud jumble of disbelief, laughter and cursing.

Shen is still trying to process what just happened. You catch Parker shaking her head at you, grinning wider than you've ever seen. Off to the side, Olivia is already recording the moment with a wide smile.

Robby steps forward beside the two of you after people begin to quiet down. He grins. "Shall we get to it?"

He gestures for people to move closer, and waits until everyone has settled, then he turns to look at you and Jack.

"So, I was one of the people complaining I didn't get to be there for the first wedding. I guess my nagging paid off because you asked me to officiate this one."

You smile.

Robby's smile softens. "I'm really glad you asked. But frankly, I would have been offended if you didn't—I've aged at least ten years because of you two."

"Okay." You hold up your hands as Robby laughs.

"It was worth it." He turns back to the crowd. "Because you two were always meant for each other."

"I've known Jack for a long time." He glances at him. "When I first met him, I honestly wasn't convinced anyone would ever be able to put up with him."

Jack glares at him.

Robby continues, nonetheless. "He works too much. Forgets to eat if no one reminds him. Also keeps insisting he doesn't need help when he very obviously does. Like earlier when he tried to carry seven ch—" Robby's voice catches as Jack puffs his shoulder.

Dana laughs loudly.

"Never mind." Robby's gaze shifts to you. "And then you came along." The teasing leaves his voice. "I've never seen him happier."

You glance at Jack. He's already looking at you.

"I've also never seen him so thoroughly outmatched."

Jack laughs.

"You keep him honest. You remind him to slow down. And somehow…" He smiles at you both. "…your craziness matches. You make each other better."

He turns back to you. "You were a pain in my ass when you were a resident. Headstrong. Unafraid. Always getting into trouble." He lifts a finger when your mouth opens to argue. "So damn argumentative. But you were also one of my best residents. So smart and brave. Always able to see things from a different perspective. We were lucky to have you."

You swallow.

"Now, Jack's the lucky one."

"Damn right," Jack murmurs.

Robby takes a slow breath. "So. Speaking as someone who's had a front-row seat to every stupid thing these two have done…" He looks from Jack to you. "I can't think of two people better suited for each other."

He lets the silence linger for a moment before clapping his hands together. "Right. I am, apparently, supposed to say something official." He reaches into his pocket and unfolds a piece of paper. "We're here today to join two people in matrimony—well, for the second time. We're here because marriage isn't just one day. It isn't just paperwork. It isn't even the vows you're about to hear."

He looks up. "It's every ordinary day that comes afterwards. It's the early mornings, the late nights, the takeaway dinners because you're too tired to cook. It's choosing each other over and over again. On the easy days, and especially on the hard days. Today isn't about starting your marriage. It's about celebrating it."

He folds the paper in half and slips it back into his pocket. "Now, I think that was enough from me." He looks between the two of you. "I believe you have something you'd like to say."

You nod and feel every gaze settle on you. Jack smiles, his eyes warm with reassurance.

You unfold your paper. "When we met…" You start, already laughing softly as you admit, "I tried really hard to find a reason not to like you."

Laughter sounds across the yard.

"But you just kept being nice and being ridiculously good at your job. And..." You glance at Jack as a grin spreads across your face. "Well...being really fucking hot."

Jack laughs.

"You've always been the person I looked for first. The person I wanted to tell things to. The person I wanted beside me after a difficult shift."

Your eyes don't leave his.

 "I used to think love was supposed to be the big moments. The ones people write stories about." You shake your head gently. "I was wrong. It's coffee waiting for me when I wake up after a night shift. It's the way you always know when I need a hug before I ask for one."

A smile tugs at your lips.

"It's you pretending not to notice when I steal your hoodies. It's arguing over what to order for dinner, knowing we'll end up sharing anyway. It's coming home and knowing you're there. It's laughing until we can't breathe because one of us said something stupid. It's every ordinary day somehow becoming extraordinary because you're in it."

You crinkle the paper between your fingers. "When everyone talks about soulmates..." You swallow. "I don't think they're talking about someone who completes you. I think they're talking about someone who makes you feel yourself completely."

You bite your lip. "That's what you've given me. Somewhere I never have to be anyone but myself. Somewhere that feels like home."

Jack's jaw tightens, blinking a bit more rapidly than usual.

"I know our story hasn't been... conventional." A few guests smile knowingly, assuming you're talking about the elopement they'd all heard about. Only Robby and Olivia nod with a truly knowing smile.

"But if I had the chance to do it all again...I'd do it. No hesitation."

You hear someone sniffle behind you. It sounds suspiciously much like Lena.

"I promise..." You reach for Jack's hand. "…to keep choosing you. When life is easy and when it isn't. I'll remind you to eat lunch."

Robby chuckles.

"I promise to tell you when you're being stubborn."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "When am I ever—"

You squeeze his hand, sending him a look, and he drops it. You laugh softly before continuing.

"I promise to celebrate every victory with you and help carry every burden. I promise to keep laughing with you. To keep dancing with you in the kitchen. To keep making this house our home."

"And lastly..." You smile through the tears gathering in your eyes. "I promise I'll never stop feeling lucky that somehow...after everything..." Your voice catches. "...I get to call you my husband. "

Jack lets out a shaky laugh, squeezing your hand tightly. Tears drip down his face, but he makes no effort to hide it.

"How am I meant to go after that?" he jokes, wiping his face.

He reaches into his jacket and slowly unfolds his own piece of paper. "Well..." He chuckles softly. "I should probably start by admitting I liked you straight away."

Everyone laughs as he takes a moment to gather himself.

"When people ask how we met, I usually give them the short version." He glances at you. "The real version is a lot messier and involves a surprising amount of paperwork."

You huff a quiet laugh.

"I don't think either of us expected any of this. I definitely didn't expect to fall in love." His voice softens. "But then you kept showing up. Every shift. Every conversation. Every bad day."

He shrugs lightly. "And somewhere along the way... you became the person I wanted beside me for all of it."

He folds the paper and slips it back inside his pocket, then reaches out and grabs your hands. "I like to pretend I have everything under control. I push away the things I don't want to think about. You've seen me at my worst… and yet, you stayed."

The words hit you harder than you expect.

"You love me despite it. Because of it." His voice catches. "And I don't think you realise what a gift that has been."

Now, it's your turn to cry.

"I've never met anyone who gives so much of themselves to other people. You worry about everyone. You carry everyone. You'll stay an hour after your shift ends because someone needs help. You'll pretend you're not exhausted because you don't want anyone else to worry."

He gives your hands a gentle squeeze. "I wish you could see yourself the way everyone else does." He pauses. "The way I do."

A tear drops down. Jack reaches up automatically, brushing it away with his thumb.

"You make every place feel like home." He smiles. "I don't care where we live. This house. A tiny apartment. Somewhere halfway across the country. As long as you're there... I'm home."

Robby sniffles, trying to be discreet but failing.

Jack smiles without looking away from you. "I promise..." He takes a steadying breath. "...to keep choosing us. Even when life gets busy. Especially when life gets busy. I promise to never stop flirting with you."

"Yeah, no kidding," Parker mutters.

Jack ignores her. "I promise to keep making coffee for you every day, because you still don't know how to use the machine."

You laugh.

He grins back. "I promise to hold your hand every chance I get. I promise to dance with you in the kitchen...Even though I can't dance."

"You really can't," you whisper.

"I promise to remind you that you don't have to carry the world on your own. You've got me now, too." His eyes search yours. "And I promise..." His voice breaks, and he laughs at himself. "...I promise I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you've made me."

You can barely see him through your tears.

Silence settles over the yard once more. No one speaks. No one moves. Looking around, you can't find a single dry eye.

Jack leans forward just enough for only you to hear. "I love you."

You smile. "I love you, too."

Robby quietly clears his throat, wiping discreetly at one eye. "I think..." He glances toward Olivia. "...it's time for the rings."

Olivia steps forward from where she'd been standing beside Bridget, carrying a small velvet box in both hands. She stops in front of the two of you with a warm smile. "I've been told these are important."

She opens the box. Nestled inside are two simple wedding bands. Nothing extravagant. Just the two rings you'd chosen together months ago, now engraved with two dates. Your fingers brush over the tiny inscription before you lift one from the box.

The date of the convention. And today.

Jack takes the second from her.

Olivia closes the empty box before looking between the two of you. "I love you both." The words are quiet enough that only the three of you really hear them.

You step forward and hug her. "Thank you."

She kisses your cheek, squeezes your hand once, and quietly rejoins the others. You barely hear Robby through the rush in your ears.

All you take in is the feeling as Jack reaches for your left hand. The gold catches the late afternoon sunlight as he holds it just above your fingertips.

He looks up, waiting, as though silently asking one last time.

You answer with a smile and a nod. Always. He slides the ring onto your finger smoothly.

You slide the ring onto his finger with slightly shaky hands. Jack's fingers fold into yours. He looks elated, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins at you,

You're married again.

The words "You may now kiss the bride" barely leave Robby's mouth before Jack surges forward.

For the next twenty minutes, you're fairly certain neither you nor Jack actually touch the ground. Applause, whistles and laughter erupt across the yard after the kiss. People talking over one another as they surge toward the two of you.

Dana reaches you first. She's crying before she even wraps her arms around you. "Oh, sweetheart."

You laugh into the hug. "I know."

"You sneaky little thing."

"We've been planning it for weeks."

She sighs. "I should've noticed."

"You really should have. You're losing your touch. "

"It won't happen again." She pulls back just enough to cup your face. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

"And your vows—" She stops, pressing her lips together as her eyes fill all over again. "You've built such a beautiful life."

"Oh no," you laugh. "Don't. You'll make me cry again."

"I'm trying."

You hug her again, feeling her laugh through the tears.

Parker is next. She shakes Jack's hand firmly before immediately pulling him into a hug anyway. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks."

She steps back, looking between the two of you. "You've done well."

Jack glances at you, unable to hide his smile. "I know."

She rolls her eyes, but it quickly softens into a grin. "The dress should've tipped me off."

You beam at her.

Shen steps up beside Parker. "I knew."

Parker raises an eyebrow. "You absolutely did not."

"I suspected it."

"Yeah, yeah." You laugh. "You can't take credit for this one, too."

After that, the congratulations blur together. Trinity nearly squeezes the air out of your lungs. Lily's eyes are already shining before she even reaches you, mumbling heartfelt congratulations. Perlah and Princess both admit they're impressed you managed to keep such a huge secret.

You just shrug. If only they knew.

Beside you, Jack is surrounded by his SWAT teammates. They clap him on the shoulders, pull him into hugs, and give him enough grief that his laugh carries all the way across the yard.

The conversations begin blending together after that. Someone starts arguing over who cried first. Trinity insists it was Robby. Robby loudly denies it, but video evidence is quickly produced, and he ends up conceding.

At some point, Dennis ends up standing on a chair, trying to organise everyone into something resembling a group photo while at least three people completely ignore him.

You don't move straight away. Instead, you watch.

Dana is already fussing over the food despite repeatedly being told to sit down. Parker has somehow accumulated a drink and three different appetisers. Lena is laughing so hard she has to wipe at her eyes while Vivi quietly shakes her head beside her. Across the yard, Jack catches your eye and smiles, then turns back to the grill.

Olivia quietly slips beside you while Dennis is still unsuccessfully trying to direct traffic. She doesn't say anything at first. She simply loops her arm through yours. You lean your head briefly against hers.

You laugh. "I don't think this is how weddings normally go."

Olivia follows your gaze. "No." She pauses. "I think yours is better."

Ten minutes later, as you're scanning the coolers to make sure there's still enough drinks, your hip gets nudged softly. Jack stands beside you with a plate in his hand.

"Eat."

You narrow your eyes. "Is that an order?"

"It's a request." He pushes the plate into your hands. "You've had approximately one strawberry and half a glass of spritz all afternoon."

"You've been monitoring my food intake?"

He shrugs. "I'm married to you."

"So?"

"So I know exactly how easy it is for you to forget."

You smile despite yourself. "Well, what about you?"

He lifts the plate he'd been hiding behind his back. His brow lifts. "Gotcha."

You scrunch your nose at him.

His smile softens. He turns your hand over, his thumb brushing slowly across your wedding band. For a long moment he simply looks at it. "This feels different."

It does.

"Everyone was here." You hadn't realised how much it would mean to share this part of your story with them. You lean over and kiss him. "I love you."

"I love you." His forehead rests against yours for a second. The hiss of the grill interrupts you.

"You should probably save dinner."

Jack sighs. He starts walking backwards. "I'll be back." He disappears into the crowd, greeting someone who immediately claps him on the shoulder. Still, he glances back one more time to send you a smile.

Jack has just finished rescuing a couple of burger patties from Robby's questionable supervision when the two of them find themselves alone by the grill. Well…as alone as either of them can be with fifty or so people scattered around the yard.

He puts the final patties on and closes the lid of the grill, resting the spatula on the plate next to it. "Almost done."

Your laughter carries across the yard, and Jack turns toward it without thinking. He finds you standing with Olivia, both of you laughing loudly. He smiles at the sight.

Robby crosses his arms next to him and follows his gaze. "They're something else when they're together."

"Tell me about it." Jack nods. Most of last night had been spent screaming in excitement about the following day, catching up on the latest gossip, and, of course, teasing Jack.

He loves it when Olivia is in town.

Tearing his eyes away from you, he flips the lid to turn the patties. "I don't think today's really sunk in yet."

"No?"

He turns back to look at you. "I never imagined…" He shakes his head, pulling Robby into a hug. "Thanks, man. For everything."

Robby nods, clapping his back twice. "Of course."

Jack clears his throat and moves to flip the final patties onto a plate. He closes the valve, waits for the lines to clear and then turns off the knobs. When he turns back, he finds that Robby is still looking across the yard.

You're laughing at something Parker says as you steal a sip of Olivia's drink. A second later, you splutter dramatically, and Olivia doubles over laughing at your expression.

The corner of Robby's mouth lifts before he seems to realise he's smiling.

Folding his arms across his chest, Jack nudges Robby's shoulder lightly with his own. "Careful."

"What?" Robby asks, still watching.

"She'll catch you staring."

Robby tears his gaze away a little too quickly. "I'm not staring." He reaches for the tongs, unaware that Jack has already turned off the grill.

Jack just raises an eyebrow. "If you say so."

It takes all of five seconds before Robby's eyes drift back again. The tongs hang between his fingers, forgotten again.

Jack chuckles.

Robby huffs. "You're no better."

"She's my wife," Jack says, unable to hide his grin. He slides the burger buns onto a platter before glancing sideways at Robby. "What are you two?"

Robby's jaw twitches. "Shut up."

The evening slips by almost without you noticing. As the sun sinks lower, the warm string lights begin to glow around the garden, casting everything in a softer light.

One conversation melts into the next as music drifts through the yard. The last of the burgers has disappeared, and most of the dessert has already been devoured.

You duck into the kitchen in search of more ice.

"So this is where you're hiding."

You look over your shoulder, finding Robby leaned against the doorframe. He's got an empty stack of bowls in his hands.

"Jack put you on clean-up duty?" You sit down to rummage through the fridge.

"Volunteered." He shrugs, stepping toward the kitchen.

"Who are you and what have you done with Michael Robinavitch?" you gasp.

"Ha. Ha." He sets the bowls down.

You laugh, pulling open another drawer. "I think we're officially out."

"Good."

You glance back at him. "Good?"

He nods. "Means people are having a good time."

You guess he's right. You close the fridge, standing up to lean against the counter. Neither of you moves to go back outside just yet.

From here you can still hear the party through the open patio doors—bursts of laughter, the clink of glasses, and soft music.

Robby leans against the island opposite you. His brown eyes trail over your face. "You belong here."

You blink. "What?"

"With us." He gestures toward the yard where most of the Pitt is having fun. "You're family."

Your throat tightens. This is everything you'd wanted for years without quite believing you'd ever have it. Before you can find the words, you step forward and wrap your arms around him.

Robby stiffens for only a heartbeat before hugging you just as tightly. He's never been particularly comfortable with emotions, but he's always shown how much he cares in quieter ways—in the hours he gives his patients, the way he looks after his staff, the loyalty he shows the people he loves.

When you step away, he clears his throat and moves for the patio door. Without looking back, he says quietly, a smile in his voice, "See you at work on Monday."

There are orange streaks in the sky when Jack finds you standing by yourself. People aren't gathered in one big group anymore. Instead, they're scattered wherever there's room—chairs pulled together, people leaning against tables, conversations stretching lazily into the evening. Some have left for work, others heading home to get some sleep before their day shifts. It's everything you hoped for.

Santos is halfway through a story that has Princess and Perlah laughing loudly. Mel sits next to Dennis, whispering follow-up questions that he tries to answer. Shen and Parker sit off to the side watching it all with an amused smile.

A little further away, you spot Olivia sitting with one of Jack's SWAT friends. She's laughing at something he says, while Robby pretends hard not to look in their direction. He keeps failing.

"What's so funny?" Jack asks. He holds out a glass of water for you.

You accept it gratefully, and nod your head to the right.

He follows your gaze. "Ah."

"Yeah."

"That's not the first time he's been staring at her."

"Oh?"

He nods. "He thinks he's being subtle."

You look back toward Robby. "He really isn't."

Jack laughs. He turns to face you fully as the song drifting through the speakers changes into something slower.

The last of the sunlight catches in his hazel eyes, making the green seem brighter than usual. He holds out his hand. "Dance with me."

"Here?"

"Why not?"

"There's no dance floor," you say, but step closer to him anyway.

He glances down at the grass beneath his feet. "Looks good enough to me."

You laugh, letting him take your drink and set it aside. He draws you closer until one hand settles naturally at your waist. The other stays wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. It isn't really dancing. Just the two of you swaying beneath the lights, more interested in being close than keeping time.

"Was it everything you wanted?" you ask.

"Even better," he says.

You look at him. His thumb traces slow circles against your back while the two of you sway.

"I love you." You've lost count of how many times you've said that tonight.

He presses his forehead against yours. "I love you, too, sweetheart."

Neither of you notice when another couple joins you. Then a second, and a third. At some point, Olivia stands, walking over to Robby and offering him her hand. He looks surprised for half a second, hesitant for another, but then smiles and takes it.

Little pockets of slow dancing appear all over the yard.

"I love this," you say. Your hands settle at the back of his neck, your fingers disappearing into the soft grey curls there.

"The dancing?"

"The people." You look around. "All of them."

Jack lifts his head to look around, then he quietly kisses the top of your head and continues swaying with you.

At last, when all the dessert is gone and most of the coolers have been emptied, guests gradually trickle out until only you, Jack, Robby, and Olivia remain.

You're collecting trays into neat piles while Jack stacks chairs nearby. To your left, Olivia stuffs paper plates into a rubbish bag as Robby makes his way around the garden, gathering empty bottles.

She catches your eye, and you raise an eyebrow, nodding subtly towards Robby. She shakes her head, eyes narrowing immediately.

You fight back a smile.

Looking around, there's still so much to be done. Cushions scattered across the lawn, empty glasses on every flat surface and enough washing up to keep you busy until morning. However, instead of tackling it now, you turn to Jack.

"Let's save this for tomorrow."

His eyes hone in on the mischievous twinkle in your eye, and he catches on quickly when he spots Olivia's glare. A slow smile appears on his face. "Yes. That sounds like a plan."

He turns toward Robby. "Couch's yours." He grins. "I hope it doesn't take out your back like it did last time."

Bait set. Now, it was up to Olivia to take it.

You laugh quietly, tugging him toward the door before either of you burns from the heat of their glares. You're almost at the threshold when he pulls you back.

"Wait. I've got one wedding tradition I'd quite like to keep." Without another word, he bends, slips one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, and lifts you clean off the ground.

You yelp, immediately laughing as your arms wrap around his neck. "Jack!"

"What?"

"I can walk."

His lips turn up at the corners. "Despite everything, so can I."

Jack ducks through the patio doors without so much as a stumble, and continues until he's inside the bedroom. Once inside, he lowers you carefully onto your feet.

He looks at you, his eyes soft. "Hi, wife."

You smile so widely your cheeks ache. "Hi, husband."

He steps closer. You're not sure who moves first, but your lips meet in a gentle kiss. You tug him with you toward the bed, your fingers reaching under his shirt to pull it up. He obeys without hesitation, lifting his arms to help.

"I need to take off my leg, honey." He reminds you when you try to push him down on the bed.

You kiss his cheek. "Let me."

He sits on the edge of the bed. You roll up his trouser leg before carefully unfastening his prosthetic. Pressing a kiss to the skin just above the scar, you set it beside the bedside table. He makes quick work of his pants, tossing them somewhere across the room.

Then he pulls you up. You climb onto his lap, your thighs settling on either side of his.

"God, this dress…" he murmurs as he begins sliding the straps down. He kisses your shoulder softly, trailing down to your collarbone. His fingers brush against heated skin, goosebumps fluttering in their path.

He presses another soft kiss to the skin just above your boob before the fabric slowly falls down, revealing your chest to him. With one hand, he guides the other side to join the pooling fabric at your waist.

You push your chest toward him, and he takes the hint without teasing. His mouth closes around one nipple, tongue swirling before he sucks lightly.

"Feels so…" you moan, holding onto his shoulders.

"Yeah?" he hums, lifting his head to look at you. Your lips find his neck, trailing kisses up and down, before nibbling lightly at his earlobe.

He pulls back. "I'm losing my mind, sweetheart. No more teasing. Are you ready or do I need to—"

You grab his fingers and pull them under your dress. He groans when he feels how soaked you are. "Christ. Where's your underwear?"

You gesture at the ground. "Took it off when you weren't looking." You grind down on his cock, and his hips lift at the sensation. "I'm ready."

"You sure?" He looks into your eyes. "I don't mind."

Tired of his talking, you reach down to free his cock. His head falls back down onto the mattress when you glide it against your folds. Then you sink down.

The dress pools around your thighs, hiding the spot where he disappears into you, but the slick that sounds around the room is unmistakable.

Jack's eyes grow darker. "Jesus. How'd I get so lucky?"

You grin.

"I mean it," he says, his hands tightening their grip on your waist. He punctuates the following words with separate thrusts. "Luckiest. Man. Alive."

A hand reaches up to cup your boob while the other trails down under the dress. His thumb finds your clit easily, putting just the correct amount of pressure on it that gets you gasping.

It doesn't take long to send you over the edge. Jack tries to stay steady through it, but the tightening grip around his cock proves too hard to resist. He comes with a long groan, thrusting himself deep into you.

You collapse against his chest. Both of you take a moment to regain normal breathing, his hands brushing soft patterns across your back.

"I'll go get you a washcloth," he murmurs into your hair.

"Just one more minute." You nestle closer, burrowing into his heat.

"One." He relents, pressing a soft and content kiss into your hair.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the smell of coffee. Its rich scent entangling with the clean scent of the duvet sheets. You don't open your eyes, but stay there, wrapped in warmth as memories of last night wash over you.

Lights. Drinks. Jack. Vows. The ring.

You twirl it around your finger, smiling into your pillow. You got married to Jack.

Again.

But this time it was even better than last time. This time you both meant to. This time he chose you.

Married on purpose sounds a lot better than accidentally.

You hear the quiet scrape of the bedroom door being pushed open. The familiar shuffle of Jack's slightly uneven gait. The thump as something gets set down on the bedside table and the clunk of something placed on the floor.

Then the mattress dips beside you. A warm hand brushes your hair away from your face before a soft kiss meets your forehead.

"Morning, wife."

You finally open your eyes. "Morning, husband."

Jack grins at you. Sleep has left his soft grey curls sticking up in every direction.

You grin back. "You made breakfast."

"I did," he says. He settles fully down beside you. "How are you feeling?"

"A little hungover…" You glance around the room. Sunlight spills through the half-open curtains. Your dress hangs over the chair, Jack's trousers lie abandoned in the corner, and the empty ring box still rests on the dresser. "But very happy."

His hand brushes your shoulder. "Good."

You sit up, taking the cup he holds out for you. "You?"

He looks down at his coffee, then at you. "I couldn't be better."

"Yeah?"

He nods and reaches for your hand. His thumb traces slowly over your wedding band. "I meant what I said last night."

"About making me coffee every day?"

He laughs softly. "That too. But also about being lucky."

"Well. I guess we're both pretty lucky." You hold your cup up. "To us."

He clinks his cup against yours. "To us."

"And to forever." You clink your cup against his again. "Oh, and to—"

He pinches your chin with his free hand. "How about we workshop it before we try again?"

You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.

He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible

The reply came almost instantly.

JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.

You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.

JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.

“What?”

“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”

“What?”

“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”

Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”

You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”

Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”

Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."

You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.

You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.

You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.

“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”

“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”

You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”

Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”

You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”

“Apparently so.”

You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.

Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.

“Hey.”

You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.

“What?” You asked warily.

Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”

Your brows knitted together.

“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.

At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.

And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.

“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.

You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.

Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.

Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.

“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”

By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.

“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Well I’ll be.”

That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.

“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.

“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”

“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”

“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.

He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.

"Someone has to."

Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.

“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.

"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.

“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.

“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"

Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"

"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."

McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”

You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.

“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”

You snorted. “Please.”

“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”

You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”

He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."

He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”

You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”

“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."

"No."

"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”

"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Wait let me guess.”

Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.

His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”

He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”

From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”

Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.

Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.

For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”

“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”

“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”

Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."

"He also has excellent aim."

"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."

And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.

"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.

“You’re happy?”

You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”

For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.

You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”

“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."

Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”

“Sloan.”

The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.

Mark's grin returned instantly.

“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

"A lot less hair since I last saw you."

Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”

Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.

Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”

“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”

McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”

“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.

Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”

The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."

Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.

“You two know eachother?”

“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.

“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.

Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”

You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.

“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“

“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."

Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."

“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”

Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.

You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.

He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”

Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.

You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.

“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.

Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.

You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.

When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.

For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.

By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.

“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”

You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”

Your eyes narrowed.

"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."

"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I hate all of you."

Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"

Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.

You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.

A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

He nodded. "You left out a few details."

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"

Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”

“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”

“You’re not.” You insisted.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”

“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.

Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.

"Jack."

"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”

You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.

“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”

Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.

“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”

His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”

“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”

The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”

“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”

His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”

Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.

He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.

“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”

You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”

Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”

You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”

Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”

Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Did you eat?”

You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”

Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”

“I will.”

“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”

“Of course.”

You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”

His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.

“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”

Jack raised a brow.

“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”

“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.

“I know I am.”

“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.

You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.

Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.

Through every exhausting hour of the night, he'd carried the image of you with him—your sleepy smile, the way his t-shirt would hang off one shoulder when you shifted beneath the blankets to make room for him.

He could almost feel it already: the warmth of the bed, the familiar weight of your head settling into the space between his shoulder and neck as if it had been made for you. Even half-asleep, your hand would find its way to his chest, your fingers tracing absent, comforting patterns against his skin.

It's all he's thinking about when he leaves the Pitt. It's all he's thinking about when he takes the fast way home, weaving through familiar streets with a tiredness settled deep in his bones. By the time he finally reaches his door and turns the key in the lock, he can almost feel it already.

It takes him a second to realise something's different.

The house isn't quiet like usual.

Jack hangs up his jacket to the sound of blaring music echoing down the hallway as a sweet smell drifts towards him. He slows when a softer voice joins in as he makes his way into the house.

It's yours.

Jack rounds the corner and leans against the doorway. From there, he can see you standing at the stove. You flip a pancake, then lift the spatula to your lips like a microphone, belting along completely unabashed.

His lips spread into a wide smile. For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just stands there and watches.

You're swaying slightly to the music, completely unaware he's there. One of his old t-shirts hangs off one shoulder, and there's a faint dusting of flour across your cheek.

God, he loves you.

The song ends, and he finally starts clapping. "That was a nice performance," he grins. "Almost better than the nightly ones."

You let out a startled yelp, nearly launching the spatula across the kitchen. "Jesus. What the fuck, Jack?"

His laugh comes out tired but genuine as he pushes away from the doorway and crosses the room. "Sorry."

You glare at him over your shoulder. "No, you're not."

"No," he agrees.

Your glare lasts all of three seconds before he reaches you. His hands settle automatically on your waist, thumbs brushing back and forth over your shirt. The ache in his leg is still there. The headache, too. But being close to you makes both seem a little quieter.

He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You try to stay annoyed, but your mouth twitches. "You're home early," you mumble.

"Thank god, I was." He wraps both arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder. "Would've missed the concert."

You groan.

"Encore?" he asks.

"I'm charging you for that."

"No husband discount?"

"No husband discount."

"Hm." His nose brushes your cheek, then your jaw, before he presses a lingering kiss beneath your ear. "I don't mind paying full price."

You finally turn in his arms, one hand settling against his chest. Now that you're standing face-to-face, there's no hiding how exhausted he is.

Your expression softens immediately. "Long day?"

"The longest." His forehead drops against yours. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The music continues quietly in the background while you smooth a hand through the hair at the back of his neck.

His arms tighten instinctively around your waist, and he lets more of his weight settle against you, holding you a little closer. Your hips sway gently together.

He closes his eyes. Home. This is home.

Then you gasp. "Oh, no." You twist around. "My pancake."

Smoke curls up from the pan. He watches as you rescue what is now essentially a hockey puck. You stare at it. He stares at it.

"It's a little crispy," he offers.

"It's charcoal."

"I like charcoal."

You snort. "You are such a liar." Jack grins as you point the spatula at him. "Go shower. I need to focus."

"Bossy."

"Jack."

He steals one last kiss anyway, quick and warm, then another because you smile halfway through the first one.

"Go."

"Going." His hand slides across your hip as he passes, giving you a gentle squeeze.

Behind him, he hears you start singing again before he's even reached the hallway. His smile follows him all the way to the bathroom. It isn't what he'd spent the last twelve hours imagining.

The drive from Pittsburgh to Cleveland takes just over two hours. Two hours trapped in a car with Jack in awkward silence. The radio had murmured softly in the background, but the tension between you was almost palpable, thick enough to cut.

Neither of you talked. Neither of you hummed along when a good song came on. You both just stayed silent—your body angled toward the passenger window, where you were still able to catch glimpses of Jack's fingers tightening periodically around the steering wheel.

The only words he managed to squeeze out during the entire ride were when you bent back to grab your bag from the backseat.

"Don't."

You'd frozen mid-motion.

"Sit up straight—you're gonna hurt yourself." His eyes had flickered to yours in the rearview mirror briefly, and you'd been so flustered that you hadn't even argued that your ribs barely hurt anymore. And when he'd stopped at the next red light and reached back for it himself, you'd only muttered a soft "thanks".

That marked the extent of your exchanges—practical concerns that felt so distant they barely registered.

But you're fine now—mostly. Enough to have moved back to your own room after Robby dropped this on you. Enough that you’ve decided it’s time to set Jack free. After this conference wraps up, you plan to present him with the divorce papers sitting neatly on your desk, just waiting for his signature.

One pen stroke and then he'd be free. Free to stop pretending. Free from this cage you've trapped him in.

The parking lot is already bustling with people when you pull in. Jack is out of the car before you can get your seatbelt off, popping open the trunk and grabbing both of your bags with ease.

"I can carry—" you start to say.

"I've got it," he cuts in, already walking toward the entrance.

You press your lips together, then follow him.

The conference is held at a hotel, the kind with huge glass doors, marble floors and chandeliers swinging above. Just another reminder of how the administration pours money into superficial perks rather than addressing the hospitals' actual needs.

Jack jerks his head toward a cosy seating area near the entrance, where plush couches surround coffee tables stacked with books. "Sit."

You don’t get the chance to protest or even offer to take the bags before he strides off to reception, both bags shifted comfortably into one hand. You can’t help but admire the flex of his forearm before shaking yourself back to reality.

With a quiet sigh, you sink into one of the cushions. You'd expected this weekend to hurt, but seeing just how annoyed he is that he has to be here with you hurts worse than you thought. Flicking through one of the coffee table books, you try to distract yourself while Olivia’s words echo in your mind: You’re reading this all wrong. I promise, just tell him how you feel.

Promises feel meaningless when faced with cold, hard facts.

"Let's go." Jack stops in front of you, watchful as you rise. You try to hide the slight wince when you do, but judging by the way his brows furrow, he notices. His hand reaches out, but he draws it back immediately.

He trails behind you to the elevators, and you step in with a few other people. He pushes the button for your floor, and then the silence continues. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of his tensed shoulders and the rigidity in his jaw.

It's the longest elevator ride of your life.

Jack sets off the second the doors open, leading you to a door where he swipes the key card hard. He steps inside, placing it in the power slot and the light flickers on.

You linger hesitantly by the door, confused as to why he hasn’t handed you your bag or the key card. "Is this mine or yours?" you ask.

Jack sighs, his back turned to you. "It's...ours."

"Oh." You're glad he isn't looking at you, or he would have seen your face fall. Yet another way you've made this weekend hell for him.

Robby had said to just show up to the reception and tell them your names—that the hospital had taken care of it—but something must have gone wrong. You know better than anyone how their systems can't be trusted.

Jack exhales sharply, dropping your bags onto the desk before turning to face you. "We're still married in the system, so they must've auto-booked us together," he explains, his voice tight.

"Oh." That’s all you manage to say again as you step fully into the room, closing the door behind you and taking in the surroundings: a desk, a closet, a bathroom, and a single bed. Great.

"I tried changing it," he says quickly, "but they're fully booked."

You nod, trying not to show him just how much that hurts to hear. Of course, he tried to change it. Of course, he doesn’t want to share a room with you.

Two more days and he's free.

Your gaze drifts helplessly back to the bed.

"I can sleep on the floor," he offers, clearing his throat.

"What?"

He shrugs stiffly.

"You don’t have to sleep on the floor." You frown. Were another few nights really that horrible that he'd prefer sleeping there? You bite your lip, stepping into the bathroom pretending to inspect it, but mostly to not see his face as you say, "It's fine. What's two more nights?"

Jack's silent for a moment, and you almost don't hear his "okay" over the sound of your heart cracking.

The first day at the conference passes by faster than Jack expects. A good thing, even if it does feel slightly bittersweet. Time alone with you is all he's wanted for months, but now that he has it, he doesn't know what to do with it.

Not when you've made it clear this past week that you want nothing to do with him. You've moved back to your own bed, and the hospital had forced you right back into sharing again—just like it had forced you into this whole thing in the first place.

Jack knows the end is near, and he's trying to give you space. But he can't help being pulled in by you—watching as you listen carefully to demonstrations, his hands hovering near you to keep the crowd from jostling your ribs.

Normally, he’s not a fan of this part of the conferences: the chaos, the noise, the sales reps tripping over each other to pitch their latest gadgets.

Today, he leans into it. He lets himself get trapped in twenty-minute demonstrations he doesn't care about. He asks unnecessary questions, picks up brochures he knows he won’t read, and lingers at displays his hospital would never consider—anything to keep his mind occupied and avoid fixating on you. Your sweet perfume still wraps around him, your accidental brushes against him still make his skin flush, and his heart still races whenever you glance his way.

And despite this distance between you, you're still looking out for him. You still notice how he subtly shifts to put more weight on his good leg, and even when he'd told you he was fine, intending to soldier on, it had only taken a stern glare from you for him to relent.

The foolish part of his heart can't help but hope that it means something more—that the way you look at him means more than it probably does. He's probably just seeing the reflection of his own hurt in your eyes because he knows you've been searching for a way out—bringing up getting a divorce, looking at apartments and distancing yourself again.

The way you'd reacted when he told you that you had to share a bed again only solidified it. So, even if it's the last thing he wants to do, he does his best to keep his distance like you want him to.

By dinner, though, the distance is harder to maintain when walking into the stupid hotel restaurant feels dangerously close to a date. The lighting is low and warm, reflections dancing off polished glasses as the waiter leads you to a four-person table.

He's trying not to stare at you or the lipstick you'd put on before leaving, but he's failing. His gaze keeps drifting to the soft curve of your cupid's bow and the way you nibble on your lower lip. When he forces himself to look away, it's only to trace the marks you left on your glass.

You both attempt awkward small talk about the conference, which feels like the safest topic, and his heart lifts a little when you laugh at his reminder of the sales rep who actually fell over in his eagerness to speak with you.

You twirl the stem of your glass, and he traces condensation around the rim of his glass when silence falls over the table again. Now and then, your eyes meet before darting away again.

It hurts that this is what it's come to. Jack still remembers the first time you went to dinner, back when this whole thing had just begun, and how gorgeous you had looked that night. The way you had smiled when he'd brought your flowers, how you had teased him all night—how much fun the two of you had had.

This couldn't be farther from that.

Just as he’s about to say something—anything—to reach out to you again, a shadow falls over the table.

"Excuse me, sir? Ma’am?" The waiter stands there looking at you both apologetically. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind sharing your table? We're fully booked, and I was told you know each other—"

Jack is prepared to say no, doesn't want people he supposedly knows to witness this, or to ruin his attempt at salvaging it, but before he can speak, a bright and jarring voice cuts in.

"Jack!"

His stomach drops as he recognises the voice, and he has to stop himself from grimacing. "Dr. Warren," he responds with a forced smile.

"Oh, Jack won’t mind," she chimes in cheerfully to the waiter before he can protest. Then her tone turns sugary sweet as she looks at him again. "Right?"

She's set him up perfectly, making it impossible to refuse her without causing a scene. He glances over at you, noticing how you're staring down at your plate, and with a resigned shake of his head, he replies, "Of course not."

Warren breezes past the waiter and pulls out the chair next to Jack. "Sit down, Turner."

Jack hadn’t even noticed the man until now. He’s tall with dark hair, young, and looking vaguely uncomfortable as he flashes Jack an apologetic smile before taking a seat next to you.

"Sorry to intrude on your dinner. I'm Jeremy," Turner says. Jack watches as you look up to greet him and sees both of your faces shift from confusion to recognition. "Wait—"

"Jeremy?"

"Is that you, Sleepy?" His face breaks into a stupid grin. Jack hates him instantly—mostly for the nickname but also for the way he manages to make you smile.

"Oh my god, don't call me that!" you groan, covering your face briefly.

Warren leans back into her chair, watching the exchange with curious eyes. Meanwhile, Jack feels a wave of nausea wash over him.

Turner leans in, bumping his shoulder against yours, and Jack has to grip his glass tighter to prevent himself from commenting on it. Why is he sitting that close? Why are you letting him?

"Wow, you look exactly the same! How long has it been—five, six years?"

"Something like that," you nod, then huff softly. "But I think my eye bags have definitely worsened since then."

"Ah," Turner chuckles. "Still living up to your nickname then, I see."

You glare at him, and he only smiles wider. And Jack—

He wants this man dead. Not literally—or well, not mostly. But when was the last time you'd laughed like that with him? When was the last time you looked at him like that? He'd thought Warren was going to be the worst part of this dinner, but Turner is quickly taking first place.

"So, how have you been—" Warren starts, turning her body toward Jack, attempting to start a conversation between just the two of them.

But Jack doesn't care. He cuts her off, "You two know each other?" He tries to sound casual as he looks at you, but he can feel his jaw tense up.

Warren frowns as Jack speaks over her, but all he sees is Turner, glowing at you.

"Yeah, we met in med school."

"Oh, how fun!" Warren chimes in. She turns to Jack again. "Jeremy just started at Presby—he's our newest attending."

Jack still isn't looking at her, only seeing the way you smile warmly at Turner as you congratulate him.

"Did you manage to keep that attending offer at PTMC?" Warren asks you with a pointed smile, and Jack notices your brow furrow slightly before you answer.

"I did."

"She's doing amazing," Jack offers, finally looking at Warren. "Still the best-performing doctor we have."

"Oh wow!" Turner says, and Jack can see you flush, tucking a hair behind your ear.

You deftly steer the conversation into general hospital topics, easily falling back into a rhythm with Turner. You share stories from med school and let inside jokes slip, leaving Jack to simmer quietly.

And while that's going on, Warren keeps shifting her chair closer to him. Her knee brushes against his, her hands keep squeezing his arm as she tries to sequester him into a separate conversation. He's pushed his chair as far away as he can to try and avoid her touch.

"I never thought I'd see you at one of these things again," she says lightly, taking a bite of her salad.

"No," he replies, taking a sip of his wine.

Warren's silent for a second, watching him. She's definitely clocked the weirdness between you. "You're more than welcome to come to Presby anytime you want," she says, then adds, "I’d love to show you around." The implication is clear as daylight, and Jack is stunned by her audacity.

Even if she feels the weirdness, the fact that she feels it appropriate to come onto him in front of you—his wife—is astonishing. He notices your shoulders tense slightly, but he convinces himself he’s imagining it because you’re still laughing with Turner.

"Oh, I've already been there."

Warren just shrugs, spearing another piece of salad with her fork, smiling at him with a knowing look. "Things might have changed."

Evidently satisfied with that, she turns to Turner and you. "So, how close were you two back in med school?"

Jack stills, his attention honing in on you and the way your eyes widen slightly.

"Uh—"

"We dated," Turner says.

Jack's vision blurs and the noise of the restaurant dulls as blood rushes in his ears.

"Briefly," you add immediately, glancing over at Jack before dropping your gaze again. "For like two weeks."

"Still broke my heart," Turner says dramatically.

You roll your eyes. "You dated Tiffany literally less than a week after."

Turner shrugs with a grin, and Jack can't decide which is worse—knowing he once dated you, that he didn’t value you enough to keep you, or that he so easily replaced you.

You laugh, and it doesn't look like you care that much about it, but Jack can't help the ugly feeling that curls in his stomach.

"You still out there breaking hearts?" Turner asks.

"She's my wife." Jack doesn't hesitate, wanting to lay his claim even if he doesn't have the right to.

Turner's expression shifts to one of surprise, followed by a wide smile. "Oh wow. Congrats!"

He sounds genuine, which somehow only makes Jack hate him even more.

"You must be real special if Sleepy decided to settle down."

You offer a tight smile, taking a long sip of your drink as Jack follows suit. Unable to stop himself, he asks, "So, what's up with the nickname?"

Turner bursts into laughter, while you groan and point a finger at him, "Don't."

"She fell asleep in a lecture once," he says, clearly enjoying the moment.

Warren laughs loudly and mutters with a smile, "That's not very professional."

Your expression tightens, but Turner either didn't hear or just chose to ignore it, as he continues, "Our professor actually stopped class to call her out."

"I was exhausted," you defend yourself.

"You also used to fall asleep during study sessions."

"It's not my fault that you guys insisted on studying until like three in the morning," you retort.

"Good thing that's over then," Jack comments.

You look over at him, surprised. "...Yeah," you say softly.

For the first time all night, it feels like it's just the two of you again.

Until Warren smiles cloyingly at you. "A good doctor never stops studying."

"Of course," you smile, letting your gaze drop down to your plate again.

Later, after awkward goodbyes and forced smiles, you and Jack retreat back to your hotel room. There's a sharp bitterness settling in your mouth, your stomach churning after having to watch Warren flirt—blatantly, in your eyes—with Jack, and him not doing anything about it.

He could at least have some decency to wait until you're not there. You're not even going to comment on her and how disrespectful she was. All you can focus on is the anger that simmers under your skin as you brush your teeth. The rush of frustration drowns out everything else as you wash your face, your breath uneven as you change into your pyjamas.

The only thing that had gotten you through that dinner was seeing Jeremy again—he'd been the perfect distraction, keeping your attention on him with tales from med school. But you'd still noticed how Warren kept touching Jack and how pointed her comments were when she did speak to you.

When you step out of the bathroom again, after taking a few deep breaths, you find Jack sitting on the edge of the bed in sweats and a t-shirt, glasses low on his nose as he scrolls through his phone.

You look away before it can stir something in your chest. "I'm done," you tell him as you slip under the covers, turning your back on him.

By the time he comes back, you've dimmed the lights except for the lamp on his side. You listen as he removes his prosthetic, the soft sound of cream squishing as he gently massages his leg. Part of you wants to help him, but you hesitate, unsure if he would welcome it.

You stay still as he slides under the covers and turns off the lamp. You wonder what he's thinking of—if he's relieved the first day is over or if he wishes he were here with Lily instead.

A minute passes, then another, only the sounds of your breathing filling the room. Out in the hallway, you can hear muted footsteps, quiet laughter and then—

A loud sound tears through the wall. A moan, to be more specific. Long, dramatic and almost definitely fake.

Your eyes widen as another sound permeates the wall, somehow even louder the second time. It continues in a flurry of noises.

"Oh my god," you whisper.

Jack lets out a short laugh through his nose. A smile tugs at your lips at that sound. You haven't heard him laugh in forever when it was just the two of you. Without thinking, you ask, "Do you think he knows?"

Another moan echoes, and Jack snorts. "No."

You laugh quietly into your pillow. "Poor man."

Jack huffs another soft laugh. "Poor woman, more like."

You glance at him, turning around without really meaning to. "What?"

He shifts, too, his body turning toward you. "If she feels the need to fake it like that," he nods toward the wall, "then she clearly hasn't been with men who know how to make a woman feel good."

"Oh, and you do?" Your voice is light, teasing him like these past weeks haven't happened. You freeze the second you register it.

Jack stills next to you.

Heat floods your face immediately. "Oh my god, forget I said that." You turn around quickly, pulling the blanket up to your chin as if it can cool the flush that's travelling upwards. It sounded like you were challenging him, like you were asking him to—

You squeeze your eyes shut.

The mattress shifts slightly behind you as Jack exhales softly. "You know," he says after a moment, "I'd like to think I'd figure it out."

"You do not have to answer that," you squeak. "I shouldn't have—I'm sorry."

He chuckles quietly, and after a moment of silence, he replies, "Goodnight, Trouble."

He doesn't like you crossed a line or like you've annoyed him—he sounds...gentle. You pretend not to notice the way he puts pressure on your nickname.

"...Goodnight, Jack."

Nothing from the second day really sticks in your memory. You sit through lectures, take notes, nod at the appropriate moments, but your brain keeps snagging on the same thing—over and over again.

How you woke up wrapped in Jack's arms. How warm he was, the weight of his arms, the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your neck, and—

God.

The feel of his cock against your ass. How, when you'd shifted, still half asleep, it had twitched against you.

You'd tried to ignore it all day. It wasn't on purpose—just biology—but your mind keeps trying to spin it. The cold shower you took was not enough to keep the flush away throughout the day.

Jack's acting like it didn't happen. Like he hadn't nearly jumped off the bed when he woke up and noticed it. That still hurts to think about.

The warm feeling immediately turns sour when you remember that—a feeling that only worsens when Warren and Jeremy run into you after the celebratory dinner is over and the room has been turned into a dance floor.

Warren barely even acknowledges you as she sidles up to Jack. You hate how she speaks to him, hate how you can't help noticing how she stands close to him, how she laughs when he jokes, how she keeps touching him.

Jack doesn't seem to mind, and it makes you wonder briefly if you've been wrong about Lily—that it wasn't necessarily her, it was just anyone but you.

Jeremy tries to keep a conversation going with you, but even he sees it. His eyes keep glancing from the way you glare down at your champagne flute to the way Warren is laughing. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile that asks if you're okay. You nod your head and force a smile back. You don’t need him to intervene; if Jack wanted to, he would.

He doesn't.

A sudden squeal from the microphone interrupts the chatter. "If there are any couples here tonight—or anyone hoping to be in one—head to the dance floor!"

Laughter ripples through the room as soft music begins playing.

You press your lips together, staring down at your drink. You plan to stay where you are.

"Wanna go—" Warren begins, and your chest aches. You can't stay here if he dances with her.

But Jack stays still, too, only to then reach his outstretched hand into your field of vision. "May I?"

You look up at him, surprised, but then realise it's just for show. Married couples dance. He can't exactly go off with Warren when there are people here whom you know. One last time pretending can't hurt, so you place your hand in his.

He leads you out onto the crowded dance floor and places a hand at your waist. The two of you step awkwardly, but somewhere between the music and the closeness, it stops. Your body remembers the shape of him, the rhythm, the ease of existing near him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, and the two of you sway gently. For the first time during this trip, you actually look at him. The lighting catches the green flecks in his eyes, his gaze locked on yours.

Your mouth goes dry, and you nervously bite your lip, almost willing to swear that his gaze drops down to it. Heat rushes up your neck.

You lean in closer, and he mirrors your movement.

"Can I—" he begins, and for a foolish second, you think he might kiss you. Then the room erupts into loud claps as the song ends, and your eyes snap open. You take a quick step back.

"I—I'll be right back," you stammer.

Jack frowns. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you nod quickly. "Just need to...pee!" You rush off before he can say anything else.

The bathroom is too bright and too quiet, though you're thankful no one is here to watch your spiral. You grip the sink tightly, exhaling harshly.

You need to get your shit together. Remember that this doesn't mean anything. It's a performance—he doesn't want you. No matter how much you can't help but keep hoping, even after the hallway, that he does.

You stay in there longer than you should. Splash water on your wrists, fix your lipstick, and try not to feel like you're sixteen years old again—stupid and foolish when it comes to love.

When you finally head back, you're not sure what you expected, but it wasn't seeing Jack and Warren laughing together. Her hand on his bicep, her head tilted backwards. You watch as she leans in, whispering something to him before heading over to the bar.

The hurt turns into anger as humiliation washes over you. He really doesn't care about your reputation or the fact that you'll forever be known for him straying.

You stride over to him.

"There you are—" he begins with a relieved smile.

You don't let him finish, leaning in to murmur to him. "I'm gonna go."

Jack blinks at you. "Why? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you huff, but he seems unconvinced, searching your face for answers.

He sets his glass down. "Okay, let's go."

Your brows knit together. "No, you stay." Your gaze shifts to Warren. "It looks like you're doing just fine without me anyway."

"What—"

You step back, sending him a forced smile that hurts. "Have fun." You begin to turn around, but then remember— "Oh, just text me if you need the room."

Before he can ask anything else, before you can embarrass yourself further and before he can notice the angry tears glistening in your eyes, you turn and walk away.

Jack stands frozen for several seconds after you leave, staring at the spot you just occupied, trying—yet failing—to wrap his head around what just happened. He’d been trying to shake off Warren ever since you went to the bathroom, and just when she finally decided to head to the bar, you appeared with that piercing glare.

It looks like you're doing fine without me anyway.

Your words replay in his head.

Text me if you need the room.

Said as if you expected him not to come back, or like you expected him to—

His stomach sinks. He pushes through the crowd, ignoring Warren’s calls, impatiently tapping his fingers against his arms as he waits for the elevator. When it finally reaches your floor, he rushes out, swiping his key card haphazardly.

As the door swings open, he immediately sees you pacing, making sharp turns from the bed to the desk and back again. Your heels are thrown off to the side carelessly.

He closes the door behind him softly. "What's going on?"

You stop at the desk, your back turned to him, and he notices your shoulders rising and falling with quick breaths. "Nothing. You can go back," you dismiss him with a wave of your hand. There's an anger in your tone he’s never heard before.

"Go back?" He doesn't understand why you think he would—you're clearly upset.

"To Warren. Or whoever."

"Why on earth would I do that?"

You huff a laugh, bitter and low. "Don't play dumb."

Jack takes a cautious step closer. "Tell me what's going on."

"I told you. Nothing."

"Well, it's clearly not nothing," he says, frustration creeping into his voice. He doesn't understand why you won't look at him or why you're pushing him away like this—like you can't stand him.

"Jack—" you sigh, glancing back for barely a second. It's enough for him to spot the frustration carved deep in your features.

"Sweetheart," he says softly. You remain silent, but he feels like he’s making progress. "Why did you say that? About the room?"

Whatever hope he had quickly dissipates as you rip your earrings out and fling them onto the desk. "You know."

"No," he says. "I really don't."

You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, turning to face him, your eyes blazing with fury. "Oh, please." You cross your arms defiantly. "She was all over you. And you just let her."

Jack doesn't pretend not to know who you're talking about. It's clear that it's Warren. He wants to make it clear that he has no interest in her, but in his surprise, all he can manage to say is, "She knows we're married."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Well...you're not. Not really. Not in the way that matters." Taking a step closer, you add, "And she clearly doesn’t care anyway, but if it matters to you, you can just tell her we’re in an open relationship."

Jack stares at you. "Is that what you want?"

Your expression twists instantly. "What?"

"Is that what you want?" he repeats, slower, taking a step forward, too.

Your laugh this time sounds bitter. "Who cares what I want? If you want this, go for it," you say, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. "Seriously. Have fun. I’ll leave."

Jack watches as you begin messily shoving things into your bag. Why is it that you keep saying things like this when you know what he feels for you? Are you just looking for a fight so you can leave?

Jack tightens his jaw. "And where exactly are you staying?"

You shrug.

"At Jeremy's?" he says, mocking the way you said it all evening. Soft and sweet and nauseating.

"Maybe...yeah," you snap, glaring at him. "He wouldn't flirt in front of the person he’s supposed to be married to."

Jack shakes his head in frustration. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why did you keep saying that?"

You throw a shirt down and spin toward him. "Because it's true and you know it." You step closer, and he mirrors your movement. "Just stop pretending."

You’re close enough now for him to see your hands shaking with anger.

"I know you regret this," you say, voice cracking as it rises in volume. "And it’s okay."

"What?"

"The least you can do," you continue, "is be honest about it."

"I don’t—" His pulse races, the blood rushing in his ears as he tries to catch up.

"Come on," you scoff. "You don’t have to pretend anymore."

"Pretend what?" He steps closer.

"That you didn't hate every second of this. That saying yes to me wasn’t the biggest mistake of your life."

"What are you talking about?"

"That you regret getting stuck in this marriage!"

"That's not true!"

You close your eyes briefly, looking utterly worn out. "Can we not do this? Please?"

There’s barely any space between you now. He can feel your uneven breaths, just as clearly as he can see them.

"I've got a viewing in a few days. If it looks good, then I'll be out of your hair soon." The words pummel into him, stealing his breath.

You continue like you haven't just broken his heart, "We can sign the divorce papers when we get back. It's been long enough now."

The pieces of his heart shatter into even finer shards. "What?"

You avoid his gaze. "You can finally be with the person you actually want to be with."

His brows pinch together. "Who?"

"Lily."

Jack stares at you, confused. "...Lily?"

You huff, anger bubbling back up. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't pretend you don’t know."

"I genuinely don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!"

"I've seen the way you talk about her," you tell him. "The way your face changes."

His brain feels like it’s malfunctioning. "You think I’m in love with Lily?"

"You seriously expect me to believe otherwise?"

"Yes, because that's insane."

"I’m not blind, Jack!" you snap, your voice cracking. "I love you, and you don't love me, and that's fine."

"You—" His voice comes out rough. "What?"

Your eyes widen, and you quickly look away. "...Let's just stop."

Jack's hand shoots out, grabbing hold of your wrist before you can turn away. "No." The word comes out fast. "That's not what I want."

His mind is spinning. You love him.

"Well, we can't always get what we want," you say quietly, sounding incredibly sad. You try to tug your wrist free, but he keeps his grip firm.

"Trouble—" Jack begins, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "You love me?" he asks quietly.

You love him.

"Jack," you interject.

He takes a step closer. "I don't understand why you’re still pulling away. Not when you know—“

"That’s exactly why!" you cut him off.

His laugh comes out strained. "Is it that horrible to be with me? To let me love you?"

You stare at him with wide eyes, but then you shake your head. "You don't love me."

"What?" he asks. But you knew? Didn't you?

"No, you’re upset," you say quickly. "Or you feel guilty, or—or you're trying to fix this because I said something embarrassing."

"You think this is pity? After everything?"

"I think you're a good person," you say quietly. "And I think you're trying not to hurt me."

"No."

"Jack—"

"You really think I'd do that?" he asks quietly.

You hesitate.

His laugh comes out sharp. He turns away for a moment, pressing both hands against his mouth, as if trying to hold it together. Because somehow this feels more devastating than everything else: worse than thinking you didn’t want him, worse than the apartment viewings, worse than the divorce papers.

You think he pitied you. That every moment between you had been an obligation.

"You think I stayed because I felt bad for you?" he asks.

"I...yeah," you murmur, and the words nearly take him out at the knees.

"Sweetheart," he says softly, and there’s something wrecked in the word now. "I don’t know how I fucked this up so badly."

"You think I wanted out?" he asks. "All this time?" He shakes his head hard before you can answer. "I have spent months trying not to love you."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

"I tried," he admits helplessly. "I tried so hard. And I failed."

Doubt still flickers across your face.

"Sweetheart. Please. I don't know how else to tell you."

You look down. "I just don't want you to say something you'll regret tomorrow."

"Regret?" he repeats quietly. That damn word haunts him.

You shrug helplessly, eyes glassy. "When this all settles," you say softly, "I don't want you to wake up and feel trapped again."

"Oh sweetheart," he murmurs, "I have done a lot of stupid shit that I regret, but loving you has never been one of them."

You still look doubtful.

Jack feels something hot and frantic curl in his chest. He doesn't know what to say to make you believe him, so he does the next best thing. He closes the gap between you, his hand cradling your jaw as he tilts your head back and kisses you. It isn't a soft or careful kiss like he'd imagined you'd share after he'd told you that—no, this is angry, frustration bleeding into every part of it.

You shove weakly at his chest, and he's ready to step back, but then your fingers close into a fist, tugging at his shirt and pulling him closer.

His lips press against yours again, devouring you as he crowds you into the desk. He loses himself in the feeling, barely noticing how he's lifted you onto the desk, how your legs have parted around him or how he's grinding into you.

All he can focus on is the way you breathe his name softly, the sweet sounds you make as he trails kisses down your neck, and how your fingers claw at his hair, his shoulders, his arms, urging him to come closer.

You love him.

It's an euphoric feeling—he almost feels like he's floating outside his body. The thought keeps hitting him over and over again, dizzying and intoxicating.

Jack pulls back to look you in the eye. "I love you." His thumb brushes your jaw gently and across your kiss-swollen lips. You kiss it softly, leaning your face into his touch.

"Do you understand? Not Lily. Not anyone else." He searches your eyes, desperate for you to grasp the depth of his feelings. You’re the only one who’s ever mattered. "I love you."

Your eyes start glistening again, but you nod. Relief fills his chest. "I thought you didn't—" Before he can say anything to reassure you again, you move forward, capturing his lips in another heated kiss. The force of it nearly tilts him backwards, and the way you giggle against his lips sends his heart fluttering.

Your legs pull him closer, and he finally notices how your dress has bunched up around your waist. He curses at the sight of your underwear, the sweet little bow that starkly contradicts the naughty way you're moving against him and the wetness that's slowly soaking his slacks.

"Fuck me," he groans, his fingers gripping onto your waist, helping you move. He's never been this hard before. He moves slowly, trailing his fingers down to your thighs, watching you carefully.

His chest rumbles lowly when he finally feels just how wet you are. He can't count on one—or even two—hands how much he's thought about doing this and reality is so much better.

"You really love me?" he asks quietly, still not quite able to believe it.

"Yeah," you whisper. "I always have."

He leans his forehead against yours, pieces of his heart mending with each kiss. He pushes the fabric aside, brushes his fingers softly through your wetness, circling your clit and listening as you moan sweetly for him. He swears he could cum from just this.

You're so soft. So sweet. So tight around his fingers. "You're gorgeous," he breathes, and he feels you squeeze around him. He catches on to that quickly, leaning in close so he can whisper to you. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. You're so wet. So perfect." He pulls his fingers in and out, relishing in the sounds he manages to pull from both your cunt and your mouth.

"Ja-ack," you gasp, and he can tell you're close.

"Be a good girl and cum for me," he says, pressing his other hand against your clit. The combined stimulation and his words push you over the edge, your legs shaking against him, your nails pressing hard into his arms. He doesn't mind, welcoming it and staying close until you begin pulling back.

He's never seen anyone as stunning as you. He watches as the glazed look in your eyes slowly subsides, and you come back to earth.

He still can't believe this is real. His thumb brushes softly against your jaw. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi," you murmur, a shy smile on your face. "That was—that was incredible."

It's like you know he'll tease you because you pull his face close, kissing him again. He could do this all the time. He hopes you'll let him.

He's so caught up in your kisses and making you feel good that he's forgotten about himself. It's only when your hands travel down his chest to his slacks and begin to palm him that he remembers.

You grin into the kiss at the groans he makes.

"Stop teasing," he begs, but doesn't move to change anything. He stands still as you find the zipper and begin pulling his slacks and boxer briefs down. He lets you take the lead, won't force you to do anything you don't want to—even if he's aching to feel your heat around him.

You pull him out, and then you stare down at his cock with a wide-eyed look. He can't help but tease you. "Don't tell me you've never seen one of these before?"

"Ha," you huff, slapping his chest. "It's just...big."

"You flatter me," he says, pride rushing through him. He's about to make another silly comment, but it evaporates the second you twist your hand.

"Fuck," he gasps when you pull him close, letting the head swipe through your wetness.

"I don't—" It takes all his strength to think clearly. "I don't have a condom."

"It's okay." You continue grinding against him.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you confirm, looking him deeply in the eye. Then you position him against your entrance and pull at his hips. He pushes forward slowly. Fuck. You're so tight. So warm.

He watches you carefully, ready to stop at the slightest hint of discomfort.

"Move, Jack," you beg him once the full length of him is inside. "Please."

Who is he to deny you? His hips snap forward, setting a steady pace. "I won't last long," he warns you.

You kiss him again, pulling him closer. Your gasps and moans are more than enough to send him over the edge, but he gathers all the strength he has. He reaches a hand down and finds your clit and waits until your eyes begin to glaze over and your legs shake again.

Only then does he let go of all restraint. His hips snap into you in a furious pace before he pulls away with a loud groan, spilling onto your cunt. He watches it drip down your thighs, his chest rising unevenly as he comes down from his high.

"That was—" he breathes out, locking eyes with you again. You nod, equally speechless. The two of you share a moment of silence before Jack springs into action, grabbing a towel to wipe you down.

He sends you away to pee and slips out of his clothes, leaving only his underwear on. His prosthetic lands next to the bed as he crawls under the covers, a wave of nervousness washing over him.

What if you regretted it? What if you didn't feel like that anyway?

You emerge from the bathroom, barely meeting his gaze, and Jack's stomach drops at the sight. His t-shirt from yesterday hangs on the chair, and he watches breathlessly as you put it on along with a fresh pair of panties. Then you settle in beside him, leaning into the crook of his neck with a smile, and he finally feels himself relax.

You don't regret it.

"I'm sorry," he says softly after a moment of breathing in your calming scent.

"For what?"

"For not telling you sooner." He exhales, tracing gentle patterns on your skin with his fingers. "I thought you knew. I thought you were pulling away because of that."

You pause to process his words, your head shaking firmly. "I'm sorry, too. I should've asked you instead of just assuming." You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. "I overheard you saying you regretted this, and that sent me spiralling. It didn't help that I thought you loved Lily."

Jack frowns. "When did I say that?"

"In the hallway. With Robby..."

He thinks back and realises, "Oh, sweetheart. That's not what I meant—I said I regretted it because I fell in love with you during it, and I couldn't stop it from happening despite knowing you didn't want me like that."

"I do—"

"I know," he interrupts gently. "I know that now." He squeezes your fingers and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your head. "And just to be clear—if you need to hear it again—I don’t love Lily. I love you."

He can feel the smile spreading across your face. "I love you, too."

He's grateful you're not looking at him because he must look silly grinning this widely. You press a kiss to his neck and then sigh contentedly.

"Guess I should've trusted Olivia," you murmur after a moment.

He chuckles, making a mental note to send her a thank-you gift for having his back without him knowing. "Robby, too."

You groan. "They're gonna be insufferable once they find out they were right."

Jack hums, his fingers dancing along your back. "We don't have to tell them right away."

"No?" You lean back slightly to look at him.

"We can keep this between us for a little bit, don't you think?" he says, his gaze dropping down your lips.

"Yeah," you breathe, your eyes darkening as your fingers gently tug at the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him close. Jack kisses you again. And again. And again.

He isn't sure how long he kisses you for, not that it really matters. All he knows is that it won't ever get better than this. He finally has his girl.