lejos de ti

you don’t even hear the door open.

“hey,” jack says, voice low, casual, like he always does. “i’m heading out.” and it clicks—too late for you to do anything about it. chat explodes instantly.

who was THAT

VOICE???

hold on,,,, pause lol rewind that plz

you freeze for half a second, brain short-circuiting, before forcing a laugh that comes out just a little too tight. “uh—nothing, ignore that.” and then, like the universe hates you specifically, three familiar names pop up almost at once.

javadi: oh no way whitaker: LMAOOOOOOO santos: … you’ve got to be kidding me

your stomach drops, because they know that voice. they also work with him, they also, hear him every other day. there is absolutely no way... you scramble, talking faster now, words tripping over each other. “guys—guys don’t start—”

javadi: was that ABBOT??? whitaker: ain’t no way you’re hiding JACK ABBOT on stream santos: you’re done omg. it’s over for you.

your face burns even if your cam isn’t fully showing it. “you’re literally making things up right now.” from behind you, jack pauses. you can feel it; the way he’s still there, just out of frame again. he’s clocked the shift and the tension in your shoulders. “…everything okay?” he asks, quieter now.

chat loses it once more and if the situation wasn't awkward, you could have laughed at their reactions.

HE SPOKE AGAIN ... ZADDY

HELLO???

DROP THE CAMERA ANGLE RIGHT NOW

and now those three are relentless in your chat.

whitaker: yeah jack, everything’s GREAT actually javadi: didn’t know you were busy like that 👀 santos: you wanna tell chat or should we?

you press your hands over your face for a second, groaning. “oh my god, you guys are the worst.”

and jack (jack who has been piecing it together in real time) finally steps a little closer, enough that his presence shifts the light, enough that chat can feel him even if they can’t fully see him. “…chat?” he repeats, a little amused now, a little dangerous, like he’s catching on fast.

you peek through your fingers at the monitor, at the flood of messages, at the usernames you recognize, and then over your shoulder at him. there’s a beat where everything hangs. and then you sigh, defeated, voice softer, more honest than it’s ever been on stream.

“…hi. yeah. so. this is exactly what it looks like.”

jack huffs out the smallest laugh behind you low, almost proud and the chat absolutely erupts as the secret you guarded so carefully just… dissolves in real time.

you just can't wait to get back to work the next day and hear it all from your three evil minion coworkers. great.

taglist ﹏ @userhotd @i-t0ld-ya @stargral @grimsonandclover @irysque @clementinestars @allegedlygrandmoth @nozhdyved @elenacarey @alexxavicry @gelotime @kathh01 @jclolz22 @hisfavoriteweepingangel @bluberrychampagne @bluestrd @coochiemama3000 @eepwtf @ravensreadingrecs @uptowngirl-loveshughie @jiminie-08 @iheartrosalia @cxlt-lamb1 @heldbycas @avasarchve @chronic-fangirl-222 @filthgf @blessorte @blushhbambi @antlerlove @cosmosnkaz @flwer555 @voidsuites @qardasngan @aerangi @if4tmn @agustd202204 @loverofmine99 @deansdeer @fangirlcentral1 @archxve @pervyangelz @222col @saint-ligeia @tealee @mimisitaugu @scouser-villanelle ( to be added )

LOSER!ART… who’s not really a loser in the looks department— thank god for him getting his braces off and swapping thick-framed glasses for contacts— but still falls into the archetype nonetheless. he plays his music too loud in the school parking lot, he doesn’t fall for the various cliques and their social drama, and keeps to himself whenever he and patrick aren’t glued to the hip. decent grades, but has little motivation for anything that isn’t his drum kit, his skateboard, or his video games. his guidance counselor loves to remind him that he’d have more options besides the local community college if he’d just apply himself more.

LOSER!ART… who used to play tennis but gave it up the minute he began high school, despite his father’s complaints about him having the skill to go pro. he was never playing it for himself, anyway; his parents had signed him up for lessons once he had the necessary hand-eye coordination, though having patrick suffering along with him was always a plus. the school tennis coach used to hound him to join the team back in freshman and sophomore year, but finally took the hint after art tossed a tennis ball at his head. he’d had detention for at least a month, then... worth it, though!

LOSER!ART… who can always be seen wearing either his signature red snapback or a beanie (depending on how cold it gets). the baggier the jeans, the better. loose band tees layered over thermals when it’s cold, or solo when it’s not. he lives exclusively in black converse that he’ll wear until there’s holes in the rubber soles, even if patrick claims vans are the better skate shoe. if he doesn’t have his wired headphones in his ears, they’re most likely dangling from one of his jeans pockets or from the collar of his shirt.

LOSER!ART… who would spend his entire life in his garage sat at his drum kit if he could. something about playing— hitting something and making art instead of destroying it, maybe— soothes something in his soul. hey, it’s better than hitting a ball with a racket (or hurling the damn thing at his father’s head).

LOSER!ART… who wouldn’t have given mean girl!reader the time of day if it weren’t for him finding her car pulled over with a flat during spring break. after pulling over his van in front of her much-nicer range rover— would’ve guessed it was her daddy’s if it weren’t for the hot-pink wrap on it— he’d waved off her huffing to pull out her spare and begin swapping it over. he may be aloof, but his grandma didn’t teach him to be rude— especially to women. by the time the tire’s swapped, they both look at one another a bit differently than they did before… and if mean girl!reader starts leaving notes in his locker once break’s over… loser!art’ll play along.

LOSER!ART… who loves mean girl!reader, even if she’s a pain in his ass. while she makes him work for her attention and quick to take it away if he doesn’t go along with her wishes, loser!art knows there’s more to the girl beneath the makeup and pink shield she’s built for herself— and every chance he gets to chip away at that cover, he’ll take it in a heartbeat.

꩜ aloof ꩜ smartass ꩜ honest ꩜ nonchalant ꩜ crafty ꩜ loud thinker ꩜ witty ꩜ patient ꩜ lives in the moment ꩜ loyal ꩜ rule-breaker ꩜ lame ꩜

MEAN GIRL!READER... who’s always been a bit spoiled. born with a silver spoon in her mouth, if she so much as blinked towards something as a baby, she got it. if she cried, she was picked up and held immediately. if she smiled, her parents moved heaven and earth to make sure she kept smiling. it was much easier to keep her happy than it was to cheer her up from a bad mood. needless to say… it’s very hard for them to tell her no when all she’s heard as a kid is yes, yes, yes. maybe that’s why the transition between elementary to middle school was so jarring; being bossy and demanding is only cute for so long, and definitely not when you’ve got your first pimple and lost all your baby teeth.

MEAN GIRL!READER... whose bossy and demanding traits only heightened once she became aware of the social hierarchy at school. you either got picked on people or got picked on, but she never allowed herself to accept that the latter was an option. it came to her as easily as breathing did, though she wasn’t so sure that she was glad about that or not. either way, it makes climbing the social ranks easy when you’re feared and the transition from middle to high school so, so much easier.

MEAN GIRL!READER... who loves anything that’s pink, lacy, and soft. if it’s not designer, then she doesn’t want it. lots of camisoles, lots of skirts, and a full makeup routine that she’s nearly perfected. she has a bag for every outfit— but if she doesn’t, then she’ll buy a new one. her walk-in closet is currently teeming with the clothes her father brought her from his most-recent trip to paris, but she still hasn’t unpacked everything from his milan trip last month. at the end of the day, appearances matter; all it takes is one hair being out of place or a smudge of makeup being somewhere it shouldn’t to be plastered all over the high school secrets website she and her clique run by lunch.

MEAN GIRL!READER... who, underneath all the bite and bravado, is deeply insecure. maybe it heightened in middle school, or maybe she’s always been that scared little girl wondering if who she was was enough; either way, she’s worked too hard to let herself fall now. graduation’s only a few months away, and all she has to do is play the part of the perfect student and queen bee until she crosses that stage with her diploma in-hand. just a few more months… then she can work on figuring out who she really is (or who she wants to be).

MEAN GIRL!READER... who wouldn’t have given loser!art the time of day if it weren’t for him helping her with a flat tire during spring break. triple a’s not answering and her parents are across the pond for the next three days, leaving her stranded with none of the skills necessary to fix said tire (she was not getting her hands dirty. no way). while she didn’t make it easy for loser!art to help with all her lamenting and complaining, they both look at one another a bit differently than they before the tire was swapped. his kindness in her time of need sticks with mean girl!reader… so when spring break ends, she makes first contact with the boy who barely faltered under her calculating gaze. waiting for the guy to make the first move was so last year— if she wanted something (or someone), she needed to get it (him) herself.

MEAN GIRL!READER... who loves loser!art despite the many, many fronts she puts up between them. they’re not so much of an accurate reflection of herself than they are shields to ward off those with bad intentions; she’s met plenty of people who have only wanted to get into her inner circle for the social perks, not true companionship. a lesser-willed person might’ve crumbled under all of mean girl!reader’s rules and conditions for a relationship, but loser!art’s holding in there for the time being. maybe it’s the real thing… but in the meantime, mean girl!reader’s still playing hard-to-get. besides, what was the point of being queen bee if she didn’t utilize all the eyes and ears she had around campus to spy on him?

꩜ snippy ꩜ needy ꩜ mean ꩜ keen ꩜ nitpicky ꩜ in vogue ꩜ dramatic ꩜ insecure ꩜ three steps ahead ꩜ bossy ꩜ unbothered ꩜ guarded ꩜

shoutout to my anon who suggested this… will be writing a blurb at some point but thought i’d introduce these two first!!! love you guys 💗💗💗

knight!patrick x royalty!reader… touch only when duty allows it; and even then, sparingly. adjusting armor straps, steadying a wrist while mounting a horse, a hand briefly at the small of their back to guide them through a crowd. the restraint makes every touch feel monumental and afterward, they both pretend it meant nothing.

knight!patrick x royalty!reader… share jokes that belong only to them. references to childhood mischief, half-smiles that no one else understands. courtiers notice the warmth, but never the depth. they’ve learned how to keep their intimacy disguised as familiarity.

knight!patrick x royalty!reader… take care of each other’s wounds in quiet ways: patrick shields them from rumors, intercepts harsh words before they reach royal ears. royalty!reader makes sure he’s fed after long patrols, that his horse is stabled properly, that his injuries are seen to even when he insists they don’t matter.

knight!patrick x royalty!reader… share grief without naming it. sometimes they sit together in silence; on battlements, in gardens, in empty halls after feasts—and neither asks what the other is thinking. they already know. the sadness is mutual, familiar, almost comforting in its constancy.

knight!patrick x royalty!reader… are fiercely proud of each other. patrick watches them rule with fairness and courage, and it fills him with something dangerously close to joy. royalty!reader watches him command respect among knights, steady and unyielding, and feels their chest tighten. they celebrate each other in private, where no one can mistake it for longing.

knight!patrick x royalty!reader… love in futures that never arrive. patrick imagines a life where he lays down his sword and walks beside them without distance. royalty!reader imagines a realm where choosing him wouldn’t fracture everything they’ve sworn to protect. they never share these thoughts and they exist only as parallel dreams.

knight!patrick x royalty!reader… love each other in the safest way they know how: by staying.

Jack doesn’t talk about it. It being multiple things. But it’s just easier to lump it all together and leave it alone. Whatever it is, anyway (losing his wife, losing his leg in combat).

Individualizing these situations makes them real. Yes, they’re real anyway. But separating them instead of just lumping them together makes them real right now. They’re not just events that took place at one time in the past. The effects of these experiences still haunt Jack. They’re still part of his life, whether he likes it or not.

He doesn’t like it, in case you were wondering.

Losing part of his leg was difficult enough. The loss, on top of the memories of what he saw in combat, were too much sometimes. It took time and effort to heal and regain some semblance of normalcy after the incident. The phantom pain comes and goes, even after all this time. He still doesn’t talk about his prosthetic with people. He’s not sure if he ever will; it’s not really a normal topic of conversation, after all.

Losing his wife was harder. The hardest thing he’s ever had to go through, actually. He didn’t have anyone to lean on. Sure, there was Robby. Even Dana, too. But nothing was close to the kind of comfort his wife provided him with. After coming home from combat, after an episode, after a panic attack, after a rough shift. No one could reach him like she did. And now she’s gone. No one will ever be like her— Jack is pretty certain of that.

Four days after she passed, they’d run out of milk. Jack forced himself to go to the grocery store, and the experience was worse than he was anticipating. It felt like everyone who saw him could see right through him and knew his story. They knew that he had lost part of his leg; they knew he had just lost his wife. They knew that he felt broken inside. They knew he was struggling to even get out of bed every single morning.

No one knew anything that had happened to him, of course. But that wasn’t how it felt. Not before he left his house, not while he was at the store, not afterwards. It just felt like his heart was on display for everyone to see.

Jack grieves his leg; an actual piece of him, gone. But he also grieves for his wife. His heart lost a piece of itself, and that’s something he can’t ever get back. Sure, it’s not tangible like his leg, but the pain is just as real. The loss is just as real. If anything, it hurts more than losing his leg. But both losses manage to haunt him, no matter how much time passes by.

He goes to therapy every week. He hated it at first, mainly because the idea of talking to a stranger about his feelings and grief and sorrow and anguish and heartache and–

It’s safe to say, it took a while before he was willing to go. When he realized nothing he did himself made him feel better, he decided to give it a chance. That’s one of his strengths; he’s willing to admit when he’s wrong and give something (or someone) a chance when they’re really deserving of it.

His therapist told him he “finds comfort in the darkness.” That’s one of the main reasons he works the night shift. The darkness is all around him, and it consumes him. Not just him, either, but everyone and everything.

The darkness doesn’t have any expectations. It doesn’t ask you to conform to what society deems as normal. The darkness lets you exist as you are, and that’s what Jack likes about it. He can just… be.

“I think I finally understand why we keep coming back now. It’s in our DNA. It’s what we do; we can’t help it. We’re the bees that protect the hive.”

That’s what he told Robby when he was having his existential crisis after his prolonged shift due to the PittFest traumas. It wasn’t even just the long shift. It was PittFest itself. But he was trying to comfort Robby. Well, as best as he could, anyway. His form of comforting isn’t always the most effective, but he tries. 

That’s one of the best things about Jack. He tries. Even when it’s hard, he tries. Even when he doesn’t want to, he tries. Even when he’s ready to give up, he tries. 

It’s not like quitting is something he really knows, anyway. He didn’t even want to be discharged when he lost his leg; thought it wasn’t fair or right. He thought he didn’t deserve to catch a break like that. He was supposed to be out there saving soldiers who had actually been wounded in combat, not getting wounded himself. 

But he found that sliver of hope– that purpose at PTMC, helping people just like he did before. But this time, the chaos was more under control. There was more of a steady routine. Well, as much of a routine as an emergency department physician could have. Either way, the Pitt is what he leaned on when he was going through hard times after his wife’s passing. That and his therapy.

It’s in Jack’s DNA to protect others. It’s in his DNA to help others in need. His job gives him the sense of purpose that was lost when he came home from his service missing part of his right leg. The purpose that he lost along with his wife. The kind of purpose that you think you only find once in life.

Grief is one of those things that’s silent but deadly. For the most part, at least. Sometimes, grief is the loudest thing. It’s the beat of his heart and the drumming in his ears after a long shift. It’s the thump his prosthesis makes when it hits the ground. It’s the way his bones ache, whether he’s worked a shift or not. It’s the way his soul yearns for the woman he’ll never see again. It’s in the way he still wears his wedding ring, despite it being six years since she passed. It’s in the way he’ll never be the same man he was two decades ago.

He’ll never forget what Dana once told him; “grief is just love with no place to go.” She definitely read that somewhere and thought to plagiarize some stranger, Jack decided. Despite his initial reluctance to accept her words, he knew deep down that she was right. This grief that he lives with… it exists because he has all this unshared love that has nowhere to go anymore. 

★ … IT’S BEEN A hell of a day, to say the very least. cassie’s been on her feet since seven, hustling all around the pitt like a woman on a mission (saving lives, that is). normally, she’d be content to stay right in the line of action— catching any incoming patients from the ambulance bay or whoever was whisked in from triage with a more serious condition— but today… today is not one of those days.

she’s on her second pair of scrubs, the coffee in the break room tastes even worse than usual, and since it’s been warm all week their cases of intense heatstroke and the like have been through the roof. that’s not even counting that her apartment super’s been slow to fix the a/c in her unit, leaving cassie in a perpetually-sweaty state of misery. for the amount that she pays in rent she should be rioting in her landlord’s email, but cassie’s not so sure she wants to risk pissing the old guy off. it’d been a miracle that he’d approved her for the unit with her history, and she’s not trying to find another one on such-short notice with harrison coming over this weekend. chad would never let her hear the end of it.

so when robby delegates her to triage, cassie goes quietly and willingly after a tired eye roll and a scowl. maybe he was taking some rare pity on her, or maybe he was trying not to scare off any of the patients currently in her bay of the er; either way, she’s somewhat grateful to spend her last hour handling less-intense cases and having a breather before heading home. if only it were that simple.

★ … “ALL RIGHT, IT sounds like we’ve got an ankle sprain—” cassie’s eyes nearly bulge out of her sockets when she looks up from her chart, clearly thrown when she notices not only your son at the bedside, but also you on the bed. clearly, you’re just as thrown— if not embarrassed— judging from the way your face mirrors her own. neither of you can do anything other than gape at one other like fish until your son breaks the brief silence.

“hi, ms. mckay,” luke hums from his chair, giving her a soft smile before occupying himself again with a game on your phone. both of you blink again in shared surprise, but cassie manages to snap out of it and resemble something close to a functioning human.

“hi, honey,” cassie’s eyes flit between you and your son before she focuses on the former, brushing some of the hair sticking to her forehead away with a tired smile. “hey.”

“… hi, cassie,” you murmur, sitting up a bit straighter on the hospital bed as you shift your purse to the ground. “i didn’t realize this was your hospital. i thought you worked at westbridge.”

cassie shakes her head. “no… but clearly, now you know that.”

she’s not sure why her heart’s still beating erratically in her chest while she looks over your chart again, but she’s chalking it up to you being harrison’s friend’s mom— not because she likes you.

because she does, and who wouldn’t? not when you’ve taken the boys for after-school ice cream a few times and welcomed her with open arms when she’d volunteered for the middle school’s food drive during the holidays. all the other pta moms were quick to keep her at arm’s length when her ankle monitor peeked out from beneath her jeans, but you’d warmed to her immediately.

maybe she sees herself in you; a young single mother, doing your best to keep it all together for the sake of your kid when things were anything but simple. granted, you aren’t a former addict or co-parenting with an irritating ex like chad like cassie is, but all that you to do be involved in your son’s life is commendable. it’s a miracle that you can handle it all.

★ … MAYBE THAT’S WHY it’s all come to a head— or rather, a foot— seeing as that you’d hurt yourself playing soccer in the park with your son. with context clues like the grass stains on your jeans and the soccer ball under luke’s chair, cassie didn’t need much else to deduce what exactly happened.

“i’m normally not so clumsy,” you tell cassie, watching carefully as she gently probes and assesses your ankle. “luke and i kick the ball around all the time, but i swear that the root i tripped on came out of nowhere. i hope they take care of the field before they start up games in the spring.”

“you’re telling me,” cassie hums, periodically looking up at you while she rotates your ankle in her hands. “the last thing we need is anyone else doing the same thing and tearing their acl. yikes.”

luke looks up from your phone then, his brows raised in worry while he glances between you and cassie. “mom tore her acl?”

“no, baby—”

“no, no,” cassie cuts in, the both of you sharing a weak laugh, “your mom’s acl is fine, sweetheart. she wouldn’t be able to put weight on her leg if she tore it.”

luke takes a moment to ponder this new information, clearly conflicted as he glances down at your knee. “… okay.”

“it’s just my ankle,” you tell him again, and you reach to squeeze his shoulder. “and i’m sure dr. mckay is going to do all she can to make sure i’m alright.”

cassie nods in agreement. “like i said earlier, i think it’s just a sprain,” she replies while still cradling your ankle. with another gentle motion, she rotates it side-to-side slowly. “does this hurt?”

you shake your head. “not really,” you reply, only to wince a bit when she moves it up-and-down. “okay, then, yes. but other than that no.”

humming at that, cassie inspects your ankle again before pulling away. “… i’m going to call this a sprain,” she says finally, slipping off her gloves so she can make more notes in your chart. “you’ve got good range of motion, little bruising and swelling… you’re going to need to keep off of it for a couple days or so, icing, compression, and elevating it.”

you nod, relief apparent in your expression. “thank god… that’s gonna suck for work, but thank you, cassie.”

“no problem.” standing up from her chair, she tosses her gloves into the nearby trash and pulls back the privacy curtain with a smile. “i’m going to get you a brace, some info on the rice method, and a couple other things, then i’ll be back.”

★ … ONCE YOUR BRACE is on, cassie does everything she can to make sure you have all the info you need before she sends you out of the er— you’re more than prepared with your discharge instructions, extra bandages and ice packs, and you’d had to wave off her offer of stronger pain meds.

“if you do need any pain killers, anything over-the-counter should be fine,” she explains while you and luke get ready to leave, “but don’t hesitate to reach out if it doesn’t start getting better. the last thing we need is for this to become a proper break— i’d never hear the end of it.”

you laugh at that, nodding as you slip your purse over your shoulder. “i will, i promise,” you assure her as you help luke slip on his backpack. “my pain tolerance is decent, but i will let you know if i need something a bit stronger.”

“good.” the conversation lulls for a bit, but the last thing cassie expects is for you to hug her. “oh–”

“sorry, i’m just all over the place,” you laugh, the flush from earlier rising back to your cheeks as you tuck luke under your arm. “i’ll see you soon, though– give you and chad some time off and let the boys hang at my place.”

“yeah, yeah… definitely.” with a nod she leads the both of you back towards the waiting room. “... maybe you and i should get together soon, too,” she adds carefully, watching you as she pauses at the door, “i don’t drink, but i’d love to do coffee or something. if that sounds okay–”

“i’d love that,” you tell her, and cassie feels the pounding in her chest lighten at your earnesty. “it’s a date.” if cassie’s jaw hits the floor, neither you or luke are the wiser; other than a wave and a quick “bye, ms. mckay!” from your son, you two head back into the sea of future patients and leave her to handle her internal panic alone. god, she needed to get laid. or a reality check. probably both.

★ … “ALL GOOD OVER here?” a voice asks from behind cassie, and cassie’s quick to stiffen in her chair and look up from her charting. 

“yes,” she sighs, swiping her bangs away from her clammy forehead. “yes. i was just finishing up with a patient earlier. finishing up some last-minute charts.” after some more tapping at her screen, mckay rises and moves to return her tablet to the nurses’ station.

samira’s brows raise at that, more out of curiosity than anything else. “shift change happened about 45-minutes ago,” she reports, and she follows cassie back to the lockers once they clear up any last-minute details. “trying logging some overtime?”

“not intentionally,” cassie sighs. with a look to her fellow resident, she slips off her stethoscope and begins to pack her bag. “but i probably should’ve passed off to someone else, but i’m glad i didn’t… at least i got to mooch off the a/c here for a bit longer. my apartment’s one is out-of-commission until further notice.”

“jeez,” samira mutters with a furrowed brow. “i wouldn’t wish this heatwave on my worst enemy.”

“agreed.” mckay shuts the door to her locker after another moment, passing samira with a tired wave. “see you tomorrow.”

“see you.” mohan watches cassie leave with interest, and her earlier curiosity resurfaces as she moves to catch up. “she was cute, you know. you two seemed friendly.”

cassie scoffs, though she makes a point to not look samira’s way while they move down the hallway. “i’m not doing this right now.”

“not doing what?”

“good-bye, samira!”

cassie mckay… mama… i love the dark hair from this season but her s1 look is honestly everything. the perfect physical representation of her mental state being all over the place. me too girl. also i Will get you laid girl let me help you out! volunteering as tribute 😋 part 2? maybe??? let me know lmfao

He wasn’t like that anymore. It didn’t happen overnight, though. Not that you would’ve noticed. It was subtle, slow. Piece by piece. He moved in with Santos and started eating properly now that he was properly housed. Started learning to speak up instead of standing quietly, learned to keep steady and calm when performing CPR. He didn’t grow to be arrogant, and his ego never inflated much (if at all); he just grew to be more confident in himself and in his work. More certain of himself and the choices he made. He still gets nervous, but who doesn’t in the hospital you two work in? Even the attendings have their moments. 

But now it's your first day shift back. The night shift is transitioning off, and you showed up a bit earlier than needed to gain your bearings and get used to working in broad daylight again. You had been sitting at one of the many computers in the hub, catching up with Javadi, a warm smile on your face as the two of you spoke after months without a proper moment to catch up.

“So why did you even end up switching over in the first place?” She asked softly, eyes tracking your movements as you shed your jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair, and just shrugging slightly. “Thought I’d learn better with the night shift people. Turns out I was right. Abbot is quite the teacher.” You murmur in reply, giving her another smile as you sank back down into the chair, badging in to the computer.

“Do you have any-” She started to speak before abruptly being cut off, your head lifting from the computer at the pause, before a small smile graced your lips when you saw Dennis standing there. “You’re back on day shift?” He spoke, clearing his throat and fixing a few of the curls that rested on his forehead. “Uh… It’s nice. Nice to see you again. Fully, you know. Not for… not for thirty seconds during shift changes.” He chuckled, fixing his scrubs as if to better his appearance while you were looking at him. 

You smile just a bit more before nodding, standing carefully and taking a tablet from Ellis as she walked past, gazing down at it. “Yup. Uh, back. In the flesh.” You say, giving him another not-so-graceful smile before clearing your throat awkwardly, motioning to the tablet. “Going to…” You trailed off, your gaze flicking about the hub before walking off when Santos caught your eye, picking your steps up a bit to catch up with her before she walked too far off. 

“What did you do to him?” You mumbled, a snicker almost immediately slipping out as she followed your gaze before going back to the chart in her hands. “What? Our farm boy? He moved in with me, and I started feeding him real food, not sandwiches off the hospital cart. Took him to where I get my hair done, too. Plus, I think he bought a gym membership now that he gets paid. Wasn’t all my doing.” She hummed, grinning when she caught your gaze still on Dennis as the two of you walked side by side to check on the nightshift handoffs. “You got the hots for Huckleberry now? You two would be cute.” She hummed, nudging you with her elbow before she walked off when the two of you reached her patient’s room.

~

You spent the majority of your shift avoiding Dennis, because one glance and you were easily reverting into the shy medical student you had been only a few months prior. Blushing like a child, getting flustered, and quickly turning away only to bump into something and embarrass yourself further. You were sitting in the hub yet again at a computer, fingers quietly flying across the keyboard as you spent some time catching up on the few charts you had. You glanced up, however, when a pair of fingers tapped the counter right above where your computer was, letting out a quiet noise before giving Dennis a small, albeit nervous smile.

“Hi.” You say quietly, watching him give a small nod in reply. He was hesitant, that much was clear, but it was also progress from Dennis ten months ago, who wouldn’t have even thought to approach you, so much as ask what he was steadily working himself up to. He tapped his fingers one more time before finally speaking, voice soft and low. “Do you want to go get dinner tonight? As… as friends. Or,” He paused, shaking his head and smiling a little. “No, actually. As a date.” He corrected softly, fixing his watch as a way to fidget without doing so too outwardly, as he waited patiently for a reaction or a response from you.

You blink, staring for a moment to make sure you were hearing properly before nodding slowly. “Yeah, yeah. I’d like that.” You finally managed to speak up quietly. “I’m on a three on, three off so we can go on Tuesday.” You say, watching as he nods before giving the countertop a full palm pat a couple of times and standing up straight. “Yeah. Tuesday. I’ll talk to you later about the details,” He spoke, walking off as the ER doors open and in came yet another trauma.

You watched him go before exhaling with a chuckle, rubbing at your flushed cheeks before going back to typing. “You’re blushing. Like, badly.” Ogilvie, one of the newer med students, spoke as he leaned against the counter where Dennis had just been standing, staring down at you and arching his brows. “Kind of embarrassing if you ask me.” He hummed, reaching just past you to snatch a tablet to use before following behind Dennis like he had been doing all day. 

~

Tuesday evening rolled around quicker than you thought it would be. You fussed over your outfit for about two hours before Samira finally helped you pick one, and you were now sitting across from Dennis at the restaurant he had picked. Something nice, casual. Nothing too fancy but perfect for a first date. It was nice, too, to finally catch up. He was speaking softly about something he had gotten to see during the day shift as he watched you sip on whatever you had ordered to drink, smiling just a little before hiding it behind his glass.

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for months now.” He said after a while, setting his fork down carefully and leaning back. “You just switched shifts so abruptly, and our days off never seemed to line up. I’m glad we’re here tonight, though. Really glad.” He added the last part a bit softer, matching your smile as you nodded and wiped your hands off carefully, shifting and taking a moment to look and admire him before speaking up.

“You look good, you know. You have to know that.” You laughed, crossing your legs and clasping your hands together, watching his smile grow a bit flustered. “I mean, I’m serious. Your hair… you’re not so pale anymore.. You’re..” You exhale, shaking your head. “You look good, Dennis.” You finally settled on and repeated, nodding and resting your hands in your lap as he thanked you, discreetly flagging the waiter down before looking back at you.

“Means a lot coming from you. I mean, a couple of people have complimented my hair, but it just… yeah, it means a lot.” He said softly as he smiled, carefully taking the check and thanking the waiter, tucking his card neatly into the checkbook, and handing it back. “You and Samira live close, yeah? Let me walk you back.” He said softly as he slid his wallet into his pocket when the waiter came back, standing up and offering a hand to you, taking it gently and helping you up and out of your chair before pushing it in behind you, leaving the restaurant. 

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, but not awkward. A few shared words here, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist, palm warm against your side as you enjoyed each other’s company. You stepped into the elevator once at your complex, quietly pressing the button and exhaling gently, relaxing fully into his grip for the first time all night, your head coming to rest back lightly against his bicep.

The doors parted and arrived on your floor quicker than you wanted them to, leading Dennis down the hallway to your apartment door before motioning to it just slightly. “I would invite you in, but Samira’s still home.” You offered softly as you gazed at him, eyes gently tracing over his face as you watched him nod, stepping a bit closer to you and resting his hands on your waist hesitantly, almost as if he was suddenly scared to touch you.

“It’s okay.” He spoke softly as he nodded, gently pulling you closer to him as his hands slowly rested fully against the skin there. “I had a really nice time tonight.” He spoke softly, thumbs brushing against the waistband of your bottoms slowly, lips parting momentarily as he thought of something to say before closing again, sucking in a small breath before giving you a small smile. “Can I wrap this night up properly? Give you a kiss?” He asked quietly, watching as you nodded before smiling and exhaling a nervous breath. 

He brought a hand to the back of your neck and cupped it gently before leaning down. He pressed his lips to yours, softly at first, before scooting closer when he felt you reciprocating, adding a bit of pressure as his hand moved from the back of your neck to the base of your skull. The two of you stood there for a moment with Dennis kissing you oh so softly, almost reverently in a way, before abruptly pulling apart when Samira yanked the front door open, a grin on her face as she looked between the two of you. “Hm. Did I interrupt something?” She grinned, tilting her head.

A breathy chuckle escapes you as you pull away from Dennis, clearing your throat. “I uh, I will see you at work in a few days.” You say softly, watching him as he nods, smiling a little. “Goodnight then.” You mumble, shoving Samira lightly as you go into the apartment, waving to Dennis and watching as he leaves. “Goodnight. I’ll see you soon.” He hummed as he gave you a small wave in return, a satisfied grin on his face as he walked to the elevator. You turn to Samira, a frown on your face. “Seriously?” You huff gently, shaking your head as she laughs and shrugs.

“Couldn’t have you two getting too carried away on a first date. This isn’t some soap opera.” She hummed, following you to the living area for the debrief and every juicy detail you planned to spill. She was your roommate, after all. Nosy and wanting all of the details.  

Then he went to jail. For being sixteen seconds late to Baz driving off, and being caught with a tote bag of money and one too many guns.

Three years went by with Pope in a jail cell, and you carried on with life as it was at the Cody compound, but without him. He somehow got out three years early on “good behavior,” he told you the day he came back a few weeks ago. Told you he reigned in his anger, made a buddy, and just kept his head down in hopes they would let him out early. But he was… off, these days. Which is saying something for a man like Pope.

You’d wake up to him missing from your shared bed only to find him out by the pool, or maybe quietly hovering in the living room as if he had been sleepwalking and didn’t remember bringing himself out there. But he was awake. Everytime. His staring had gotten a bit worse from what you remember, too. Eyes always lingering on someone, intense and unblinking. There was a newfound tension in his shoulders, a new stiffness to his posture. A new aversion to things that used to not bother him as much. The handwashing came back, too, and worse than ever.

It was late when you stepped into the bedroom that night, exhaling as you set aside a used towel from your shower before pausing when you saw Pope sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at a wall. “Andrew…?” You murmur, feet barely making any sound as you pad over the wood floors to stand beside him, watching as he tenses up at the feeling of your hand landing on his shoulder before meeting his gaze when he lifts it to you. “Smurf’s been sneaking meds into my food.” He spoke as he stared at you, still unblinking even now. “Didn’t… I didn’t even realize till they almost brought me back to Folsom today because I failed a drug test. Did you know?” He spoke, gaze going from the floor to you again, still blank though there was a furrow between his brows now.

“Did you know Smurf was forcing me to take my meds? When she knows I hate taking them? When she knows I could’ve been sent back to jail?” He asked again, standing slowly as you shook your head and raised your hand ever so slightly in a placating gesture. “Andrew, I would’ve done something if I knew.” You mumble softly, watching as he ran a frustrated hand through his cropped hair. 

“Dumped ‘em down the sink. I’m done taking them.” He spoke as he stared down at you. “She thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not. I’m done taking them, I’m not going back to Folsom.” He mumbled, brushing past you and leaving the room without allowing you to argue with his sentiment, though you both knew you wouldn’t. You exhale for a moment as you stand there before just shaking your head, watching him go, since you knew he needed a moment to get it off his chest and then a moment to breathe.

The wandering around the compound, the staring, and the handwashing all got a bit more intense after Pope made a show of throwing the meds away in front of Smurf so she knew not to push it anymore. Not to push him like that anymore. A bit of yelling, some shattered glasses thrown at Smurf, and the pills being shoved down the sink later, she finally understood his point. For now, at least, since she always had to have a hold over her sons in some form.

You had been sleeping in your shared bed before waking up slightly when you felt someone staring at you, exhaling as you shifted to find Pope sitting up and staring over you, his gaze shifting to acknowledge you were now awake. “Andrew, you should be sleeping.” You mumble, voice rough with sleep as you sit up on an elbow, looking up at him.

“Do I creep you out?” He mumbled as he looked down at you, still unblinking, still blank, and waiting quietly for an answer before speaking again without waiting anymore. “I creep Craig and Deran out. Probably creep J out too, Smurf, even.” He spoke, eyes scanning your face as if gauging your reply to his words. “So, do I creep you out?” He repeated, watching as you slowly took in his words in your sleep-addled brain before shaking your head, inhaling tiredly as you sat up fully and clicked a lamp on.

“No, you don’t creep me out.” You finally murmur. “And, Andrew, I didn’t know about the meds. You have to believe me when I say that.” You say, watching as he finally blinks, processing everything you were telling him. “But no, you don’t creep me out. Haven’t since I met you when I was eight.” You say quietly, shifting to look at him a bit better. “You…” A soft sigh separated your statements as you thought of what to say to keep him reassured, at least for the night, so he would sleep. “It doesn’t matter what your family thinks about you. Everyone here has their own issues to worry about.” You finally mumble softly. “Smurf needs to get her properties in check, Craig needs to get his problem with that girl and her family settled, and Deran… is Deran.” You say, shifting a bit to accompany him as he scoots closer.

“I know it sucks, I know your family sucks, but that’s why you have me. That’s why I stick around, so you know if all else fails, you have at least one person to turn to. You could never creep me out, Andrew. I’m always here for you.” You murmur, fingers slowly coming to rest on his scalp as his head lies against your collarbone, listening to you speak and your heartbeat as you speak, his fist curling into the sheets as he nods slowly. “I’d never think of you as a freak or… or a creep. You’re Andrew, to me. Always have been, always will be. Just that. Andrew.” You finally quiet down, thumb rubbing at his cheekbone as he visibly settles down in your grasp, quietly staring at the wall ahead of the pair of you before speaking up, shifting slightly to look up at you as he spoke, his voice a gentle murmur in the night. 

“Good enough for me.”

★ … IT ALWAYS STARTS with a text, something like “come upstairs” sent with little-to-no explanation and one-too-many emojis (though one emoji is always too much with robby). you’d think that you would’ve learned by now that robby doesn’t entertain your games without some kind of insight or hint, but it’s become a habit at this point to leave him in the dark. besides— it’s more fun to keep him guessing.

robby 💘 (11:36 am) and why am i coming upstairs?

god. if you could throttle the man through your phone screen, you would. throttle him, kiss his forehead, and send him back into the bowels of the pitt with a smile on your face. in that exact order. you’d also think that he’d know that it’d be easier if he just told you no; there’d be no excuse to pester him further.

you (11:38 am) cute baby

you (11:38 am) cute babies, plural. and you get to see me!

the three dots bounce on the screen for a while, which you assume is do to whatever resident or nurse shoving their notes in his face for a consult– or, if he’s really unlucky, he’s elbow-deep in some kind of triage.

robby 💘 (11:41 am) busy

a pause.

robby 💘 (11:41 am) can it wait?

you (11:43 am) just say you’re coming up for a consult. or take your lunch. hurry!

you can hear his sigh even with him multiple floors down from labor and delivery, though you know you’ve won this round. you know from dana that the er’s been unusually slow all morning; surely, he can sneak away for a few minutes without everything falling apart. even if it did, at least l&d’s only three floors up from the pitt.

robby 💘 (11:45 am) on my way up.

smiling triumphantly, you tuck your phone back into your scrubs and move towards the nicu’s entrance to meet him. thank god for dana evans and her continued support of yours and robby’s on-the-clock rendezvous. 

★ … “DANA HELPED PLAN this, didn’t she?” is the first thing that leaves robby’s mouth once disembarking the elevator, one of his thick brows raised in suspicion. 

“maybe,” you hum back. you don’t give robby time to dwell on his charge nurse scheming against him, and immediately pull him towards the nursery instead. “i wouldn’t bother you if i knew you were actually busy, michael.”

robby’s face flushes somewhat at his given name, smiling sheepish at one of the pediatricians  that spots the both of you barreling down the hallway. michael always did sound differently coming from your mouth.

“i know,” he sighs, quick to catch up to you as his hand slides away from yours and to the small of your back. “... i never should have given you her number, huh?”

you just shrug. “i would’ve gotten it anyway, with or without you.”

“i’m sure you would’ve.”

the two of you pause in front of the nursery’s window, peering in at the rows of newborns bundled up and fighting various stages of sleep. you then point to a baby in the corner, smiling as the nurse inside gets her comfortable in the bassinet. “charlie’s finally able to spend the night in here. finally got her weight and numbers up.”

robby smiles, watching as said baby yawns and wriggles in her blanket. “congratulations to charlotte, then.”

“charlie and matthew– he’s going home this evening as soon as his mom’s cleared.”

the man beside you sighs again, only this time out of relief instead of exasperation. a glance at the info card on matthew’s bassinet reveals the surname wilson, the same one that one of his patients had earlier in the week. the mother had a fall before she was brought in, and while she’d only spent a short amount of time in the er before being transported up to l&d, she’d been shaken up enough to stick in robby’s mind afterwards. 

“... i’m glad she’s doing okay,” he sighs again, understanding your insistence from earlier now that he was looking right at the reason, “her and matthew.”

“i thought you’d want to know,” you explain, voice gentle as you watch robby continue to stare into the nursery. “i know they gave you a scare the other day. fighters, the both of them.”

robby nods silently, scrubbing a hand over his beard as he lets out another breath of relief. “that’s an understatement.” the man shifts on his feet again before looking down at you with gratitude.

“besides, seeing cute things is supposed to help relieve stress,” you add, peering up at him with a smile. “is it working?”

robby chuckles, shaking his head as he heads back to the elevator bay. “you’re too much.”

“you love me!”

★ … “YOU HAVE FUN on your field trip?” dana calls from the desk the moment robby comes into view. she wears her amusement proudly, even when the senior attending levels her with his own annoyed expression. “figured a trip upstairs would do you good– for the babies and the missus.”

“you two need to cut it out,” he replies, but the displeasure in his voice’s clearly feigned as he scrubs his hands with hand sanitizer. he takes the offered tablet from another passing nurse to review the updates in the presented chart. “i can’t be worrying about your scheming and games all while i’m in someone’s chest cavity.”

“like you’re in chest cavities left and right,” the nurse scoffs, “live a little, and give your girl some credit. she’s only trying to cheer your stubborn ass up.”

“and i appreciate it, i really do,” robby replies, making a few marks on the chart and handing it off again. “but i can handle things–”

“don’t know how she deals with that at home.” dana shakes her head again and goes back to the paperwork in front of her. “you’re a puzzle, robinavitch.”

“right back at you,” he calls back. robby moves to go do a quick round of the er, only to reach into his back pocket for his buzzing phone.

you (12:35 pm) thank you for humoring me i love you

you (12:36 pm) also one of the moms in the ward said you had a nice ass. just passing the news along

you (12:36 pm) too bad it’s mine 😈

a snort escapes robby before he can stop it, but he’s not so sure that he minds the others gawking at him like he’s crazy. the pitt can handle their most serious of doctors smiling for a moment or two.

with a shout sounding from the ambulance bay, robby quickly sends back one last text before rushing off to step in on their case of the day.

robby 💘 (12:38 pm) i love you too. see you later

i will eventually elaborate more on neonatologist!reader… me and eve need to cook some more on that lol. thank u for reading!

“IF YOU WOULDN’T mind introducing yourself for the tape, ma’am.”

clark clicks a button on his voice recorder before setting it between both of you, pushing his glasses back up his nose with a boyish grin. it’s quiet in this part of the public library; the two of you are tucked away in the corner of the north wing to not disturb other patrons and maintain privacy at the same time.

“it’s just a formality,” clark explains while grabbing a pen from his work bag and opening his notebook to a fresh sheet of paper. “don’t overthink it. just be yourself.”

be yourself. the concept alone makes you want to laugh— and maybe cry— whenever you mull over it; the idea that someone could just be themselves when doing something. that they didn’t have to pretend to be more confident, less afraid, or change aspects of themselves to mask their true selves from the world around them. that was a luxury you could never afford.

but you murmur your name for the recording anyway, giving clark your own subdued smile as you shift in your chair. “i’m still new to this,” you admit, “in-person interviews, at least. you’ll have to forgive me if i’m a little jumpy.”

you hope it comes off as charming; the fleeting stares, the soft-spoken tone, the overall shy temperament. all things your agency— metropolis modeling management— has been curating for you since signing you months ago. “keep the people guessing,” your manager had told you before one of your first interviews, smoothing out whatever getup they’d shoved you into for the press junket, “give them something, but not everything. it’ll keep them wanting more.”

and they do want more— more eyes to whatever campaign of yours is being fed to the masses (you’re not sure if it’s currently a perfume ad or a new shoe collection). either way, it feels like there’s more people who know your name and face every day. not your real face, of course, but something close enough to it for them to recognize. you’re not entirely sure that even you have seen your true face in the past year or so.

what does a reporter like clark look for in a person? you wonder, watching the giant of a man with interest as he continues to set up. you sit up a bit straighter in your chair, expression as you subtly give yourself a few more inches of height. hmm.

clark’s none the wiser, clearly since he smiles at your attempt to break the ice instead of squinting at you like you’d grown another head (that always scared everyone like the phrase suggests). no, the reporter merely shakes his head as he smooths out his notepad and gets his pen ready.

“it’s okay,” he reassures you with that inherent friendliness in his eyes, “funnily enough, this is new to me too.”

your brow furrows a little, your newly-adjusted posture deflating as your shoulders hunch. “… new to writing for a newspaper?”

“oh— no,” he clarifies, eyes widening comically behind his thick-rimmed frames, “writing for the pop-culture column. it’s more my coworker’s forte.”

cat had been pretty devastated that she hadn’t secured the interview with you, but she’d conceded to perry’s decision after he stuck her on chasing a potential story involving maxwell lord. and while clark had been upset for the opposite reason, he’d found that the perspective perry was angling for was more his style. your sudden skyrocketing to success needed more than just a brief exploration into your background and some speculation about what it took to get to where you are now. no, perry seemed to want a glimpse into the model that had taken metropolis by storm; in your words, no one else’s.

“oh,” you hum, and you sit up straighter in your chair. the couple inches from before shoot back up your spine with you feeling more at ease again. “i guess we’re both out of our elements, then.” and clark can’t help but nod in agreement.

“i guess we are.” with a quick glance to his voice recorder to ensure it’s working without issue, clark clears his throat and reaches for his pen. “alright, then… how long have you been modeling for?”

right into it, huh? you recover quickly with your own feigned cough and smile. “a few years, now,” you say while reaching for your water. while you sip from the bottle, you broaden the width of your shoulders just enough to be different but not immediately noticeable. this was usually when people started noticing your little “party trick.”

“ i’ve only been with my current agency for ten months, i believe. i’m still fairly new to the triple m family.”

“new to triple m…” clark’s quick to follow along with his notes, his pen flying across the yellow pages of his notepad while he occasionally peers over the thick rims of his glasses at you. and just like before, he gives nothing away that suggests he notices the subtle changes you’re undergoing right across from him. interesting.

“they’re known for being a difficult agency to model for, let alone sign with,” he says instead, his tone inquisitive in a way that makes you grin; he's so focused on getting his story that he’s not even picking up on you shifting right before his eyes. “what do you think made you stand out from the rest of your peers?”

you go blank at such a question, trying to remember your media training and what would sound better than simply saying “being a metahuman.” that’s the last thing that needs to be posted anywhere— something like “oh, yeah, i can shapeshift into anyone i want whenever i want!”— let alone the biggest newspaper in the city.

“… i wish i knew,” you say as you shrug and adjust in your chair, “if i could see into the heads of the scouting department, all i’ll say is that i would’ve been a triple m girl a longgg time ago.” you feel better about the answer when clark chuckles with you, and the lingering anxiety bubbling within you continues to ebb away.“well, having a sense of humor probably doesn’t hurt,” clark suggests while writing, “i’ve heard that audition rooms and sets can be stressful with all the bright lights and strict schedules. being able to crack a joke now and then probably helps to lighten the mood.”

you shrug again. “sure, but i wouldn’t say i’m funny. i guess that i know how read a room— read people. always have.”

“really? how so?”

your lips purse as you think, your eyes meeting clark’s as he waits for your answer. “i don’t know… you learn to pick up on things when you grow up in gotham,” you supply, “what people want, what they need, and how you fit into that.” taking him in carefully, you exhale through your nose as you work to shift the tone of your arms— just enough to make the sleeves of your shirt fit snugger. was he really this clueless? “it’s a dog-eat-dog world, unfortunately.”

a world that chewed up those who went against the grain and spit them back out; gotham was known for being unkind to all of its inhabitants, whether they were born in the dark reaches of crime alley or raised in the nicest burroughs of the city. bruce wayne of all people was living proof of that.

clark nods. “sure, of course,” he agrees readily, though you’re not sure whether it’s because he truly does or if he’s just appeasing you. you don’t dwell on it too much since clark is quick to thumb through his notes and continue on like the girl in front of him hasn’t changed at all since sitting down. huh. “… would you say that you’ve had support during this period of time? i’d say anyone in your shoes would feel some kind of stress going from being relatively unknown to an overnight success. it’d be completely understandable.”

you just blink. the easiest thing to say would be yes, or something along the lines of answering affirmatively and shifting the conversation to something else. you’re not entirely keen on roping your family into this life— only god knows how hard you’ve had to work to keep your abilities alone a secret— and the thought of anything affecting the quiet life your parents have built for themselves makes your stomach ache.

but you don’t just say yes, because for whatever reason clark kent cuts through all the walls you’ve spent years building up and fortifying to keep even the most well-intention person out. something about him exudes warmth, safety— trust. he hasn’t even bat an eye at your shifting this entire interview, and whether it’s because he’s missed it entirely or he’s just ignoring it doesn’t matter so much anymore. he’s looking past the surface and whatever image you’re trying to sell him; he’s in way deeper than that now.

and if you wonder how well he treats his friends and loved ones if he’s treating you so kindly as a stranger… that’s for you to ruminate on later. they all must be so, so lucky.

“i do,” you admit eventually, smiling a bit to yourself as you swallow away the aching feeling in your throat, “my parents. they… they’ve been supportive from the moment i said i wanted this, even when it was just a dream and nothing else.”

clark momentarily looks up from his notepad when you pause, but he only motions for you to continue.

“they’ve always been like that, though,” you sigh, allowing yourself to shift back to whatever your baseline was when you walked into the library 45 minutes ago, “not once have they ever made me feel like what i wanted was ridiculous, even when they could’ve.”

and maybe they should’ve, considering the whole point of your parents choosing gotham of all places to live beyond financial reasons was to stay under the radar, but that’s not the point. instead, it’s acknowledging to yourself— and clark, indirectly— that your parents’ choices and the sacrifices they made were all so you could dream when they couldn’t. just because they’d kept their heads down didn’t mean you had to as well.

“… they just understood,” you whisper, meeting his eye again as you smile wistfully. there’s a warm feeling in your chest now, one that sits right over your heart as you speak. “that’s why i work so hard, because i can’t waste this opportunity i’ve been given.”

clark nods, his smile turning fond as he writes in that neat scrawl of his. “and that’s why it feels like you’re everywhere,” he jokes as his pen flits over the lined paper, “i reckon you’re taking advantage of every offer of work that comes your way.”

“you could say that.”

“then i’d guess that leaves little time for rest and time off. the next few months for you are busy— it sounds like you’ll have some campaign and magazine shoots on top of gotham’s humanitarian ball in december.” clark’s brow furrows as he looks at you again. “isn’t it a little… much?”

“rome wasn’t built in a day,” you say, trying to play off the underlying concern in his voice. nothing that he’s saying is news to you; your parents had said the same thing when you’d told them the holidays might get cut short depending on your january itinerary.

clark hums. “but it burned in one,” he replies as an afterthought. the words alone make your stomach twist, though it’s more from his ability to see you for more than just the model he’d set out to interview today. “i’ve heard that all work and no play makes jack a dull boy.”

the phrase draws another quiet laugh from you, though your smile feels bittersweet as you shrug. “like i said,” as you reach for your water again, “i’m still figuring it out. there’s probably still room for some trial and error until i find the right niche.”

once again, you’re not sure if clark’s nodding is meant to be in agreement or to appease you, but you hope it’s the former now. you’ll dwell on it plenty tonight when you’re getting ready for bed in the dark. “i’m sure there is.”

“right.” shuffling once more, you ignore the pang in your chest and refocus. “was there anything else you wanted to ask?” you’re grateful clark picks up on the change in subject and flits over his notes again.

“let’s see, how about this last magazine cover shoot with…”

…

it’s a front-page story; fully-expected, even with your agent lamenting to you over the phone about how the daily planet should’ve used a different photo of you for the last half hour. you drone her out with your coffeemaker’s hissing while it concocts whatever monstrosity of a drink you’ve decided to consume this morning. it’s too early to deal with whining with no caffeine buzzing through your veins.

however, it’s the article itself that throws you for a loop. you’d expected something quick and sharp that tied everything you’d said into a neat little bow of a summary for the general public to read on their morning commutes. no, instead it’s a full-fledged piece on your sudden rise to stardom all while still trying to hold onto the person you’d been before.

“THERE’S MORE TO TRIPLE M’S NEWEST MODEL THAN MEETS THE EYE” is a lot for the waking eye to process so early in the morning, but it’s nothing compared to “she lives out the dreams her parents never had a chance to explore, and yet, she still worries about the rug being pulled out from under her. maybe that’s just a general concern of an up-and-coming model, or maybe it’s her unique fear of ‘wasting’ chances that only come around once in a lifetime.”

it’s too much… or maybe it’s only right to be seen for once in your life— even if it is by a reporter you’ve just met. you mumble a half-hearted goodbye to your agent before hanging up, leaving your apartment silent now that her rambling’s done.

with another quick skim of the article, you can’t help the smile that rises to your lips once you finish.

“either way, there’s something special about the model every woman wants to be. blink twice, and you just might miss it.”

you only laugh. blink twice indeed— they might just miss the shapeshifting taking place right in front of them.

easing back into long-form stuff… first writing piece of 2026… thank you for being here and entertaining my ideas. love you all SO much! shapeshifter!reader my beloved… sorry if this uploaded weird i had to copy-paste from google docs onto the mobile app Lo Siento