the girl on the moon

and that’s exactly why this—whatever this is—has to stay between you.

you’ve built your life in these halls. day shift nurse, always moving, always checking in twice. dana keeps you grounded, having grown along side her with your uncle robby who watches out for you like he always has. you love him for it.

which is why he absolutely cannot find out about you and jack.

not yet.

so you keep it small. quick smiles. passing touches that could mean nothing to anyone else. conversations that end just a little too soon.

you’re careful.

mostly.

it’s late in your shift when it happens—a rare lull, a quiet stretch of hallway with no one around. you lean back against the wall, letting out a slow breath.

“you should take a break,” jack says as he steps closer. you glance at him, a hint of a smile forming. “you sound like dana.”

“dana’s right.” jack wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

“heh, don’t tell her that,” you mutter, but you don’t move away. his expression softens in a way no one else ever really sees. “your secret’s safe with me.”

“that’s what i’m worried about,” you say, lighter than you feel.

the moment stretches—warm, fragile, a little dangerous. you know better than to do this at work, anyone could pop their head down the hall but you dont step away.

neither does he.

the kiss is quick, soft. you both let out a little sigh when you kiss as a way to say this kiss is everything.

“are you kidding me?”

your heart drops.

you pull apart instantly, turning toward the voice you’d hoped not to hear.

robby.

he stands at the end of the hall, staring at the two of you like the world just shifted in a way he does not approve of. “robby—” you start.

“no. no, absolutely not.” he runs a hand through his hair, already pacing. “jack? jack? this is what’s been going on?”

you wince. there goes the secret. “i was going to tell you,” jack says, steady as ever.

“when?” robby fires back. “after the wedding?” jack rolls his eyes at that one.

“uncle robby—”

he points at you, firm but not harsh. “you. stay right there. i'm not done being mad.” you cross your arms, trying very hard not to smile, because somehow this is exactly how you imagined this going.

he turns back to jack, lowering his voice but not his intensity. “i trust you with my patients. that does not automatically mean i trust you with her.”

“i understand,” jack replies.

“do you?” robby steps closer. “because if anything—anything—happens that hurts her—”

“it won’t.” jack says quietly, but there’s no hesitation in it.

you feel that more than you expect.

robby looks between you—really looks this time—and something shifts. The frustration doesn’t disappear, but it softens just enough. “i don’t like this,” he admits.

“i figured,” jack says.

robby exhales, long and reluctant. “but… i’ll try to live with it.” you can’t help it—you smile. “that’s basically your version of approval.”

“don't push it,” he mutters, though there’s less bite to it now.

then he fixes jack with one last look. “you hurt her, you answer to me. not as a colleague.” a beat. “as family.”

jack nods. “understood.”

robby lingers a second longer, shaking his head before walking off, muttering under his breath. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “well… that could’ve been worse.”

jack glances at you, a quiet huff of laughter escaping. “could it?”

you bump his arm lightly. “hey. you survived the over protective uncle talk.”

jack scoffs “barely. i thought he was going to take my other leg.”

your hand brushes his again—this time you don’t pull away so fast.

the secret’s out now.

his brow furrows slightly. “it reminds me what kind of person you are,” you continue. “how deeply you love. how fully you commit to the people who matter to you.”

his expression softens.

“it reminds me that loving someone doesn’t just disappear because they’re gone.” you step a little closer. “and honestly?” your thumb brushes over his knuckles. “i feel honored to have a place in your heart alongside her.”

his breath catches slightly.

“you loved her,” you say. “you built a life with her. she’s part of who you are.” your voice softens further. “why would i ever want you to erase that?”

for a moment, he just stares at you. like he’s trying to process what you’ve said.

“i don’t want to replace her, jack.”

his jaw shifts. “that was never—”

“i know,” you cut in gently. “and i’m not replacing her either.” you smile a little. “if anything, seeing your ring reminds me that you chose to love me while still carrying that love for her. that says more about your heart than anything else ever could.”

his eyes glisten slightly.

you can see it—the emotion he’s trying not to show too openly.

“you really mean that,” he says quietly.

“i do.”

his fingers tighten around yours.

“i like that she’s part of this,” you admit. “part of us.”

he lets out a slow breath, shaking his head just slightly like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “you’re something else,” he murmurs.

you smile. “i’ve also been meaning to talk to you about something.”

that gets a small laugh out of him. “should i be worried?”

“probably.”

he raises an eyebrow.

“i think you should put pictures back up.”

he blinks. “pictures?”

“from your first marriage.”

his expression shifts immediately—surprised, almost hesitant.

“you don’t have to say that.”

“i’m not saying it because i think i have to.”

you move closer still, your free hand settling against his chest. “she’s part of your story. probably more than i ever will be.”

his mouth opens immediately. “don’t say that.”

“you know what i mean.” you smile softly. “she helped shape the man i fell in love with.”

that lands hard—you can see it in his face.

“pretending she didn’t exist feels wrong.” you tilt your head slightly. “i’d rather honor her with you.”

he’s completely quiet now. so you keep going.

“birthday cupcake every year.”

that one makes him blink. “what?”

you grin. “one cupcake. one candle.”

he stares.

“we celebrate her. quietly. just us.”

his eyes shine openly now, all that careful restraint slipping. “you’d do that?”

“of course.” your thumb brushes lightly along his jaw “she mattered to you. that means she matters.”

for a second, he can’t seem to speak. then his hand comes up to cradle your face, his touch careful—almost reverent.

“come here,” he murmurs. he kisses you softly.

slowly. with so much feeling behind it that your chest aches. when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “you have no idea what that means to me.”

“i think i do.”

he smiles then—small, emotional, completely real. after a moment, he glances down at his hand.

“what if…” he starts.

you wait.

“what if i wore it on my right hand?”

you smile instantly. “i’d like that.”

he slips away for a moment, heading toward the bedroom. when he comes back, the ring is back where it belongs—just shifted.

right hand. still there. still part of him.

you reach for it immediately, brushing your thumb over the band before looking back up at him. “perfect.”

jack’s expression softens. then he leans down and kisses you again, smiling against your lips.

and months later, on a quiet evening, the two of you sit at the kitchen table with a single cupcake between you.

one candle flickering softly.

a framed photo nearby.

his hand finds yours as the flame dances. and somehow, it doesn’t feel like looking backward.

You send him a half smile, as the embarrassment still remains in your system. 

While heat rises to your cheeks, feeling flushed…

Whether that was from your dog’s overly friendly behaviour, the little jog or simply due to the fact that this man was incredibly handsome. 

…That was something you decided was an answer you weren’t willing to admit. 

The way his brows curved, to the hazel of his eyes, soft with a depth that seemed as endless as the sky. 

To the strands of silver that simply made his features pop. 

The slight stubble that followed the line of his jaw. 

To the broadness of his shoulders. The look of a man who had borne the weight of life’s troubles. 

Despite all that, he stood tall. 

Proud. 

Strong. 

With the posture of someone who had yet let life’s woes get the better of them.

He was certainly a sight to see.

…And vaguely familiar?

“What’s his name?” 

Blinking out of your daze you respond, “Oh, his name’s Bailey.” 

Before adding with a small laugh, “Cause he soothes the soul just like an irish cream”

The way his lip quirked, to the velvety chuckle that slipped from his lips. 

It had ignited a spark within you.

“Was that intentional?”

With a small snort you nod, as your fingers card through the soft fur while Bailey wagged his tail with a happy smile. 

“Oh, very much so,” you said before adding, “Again, I am sorry you got jumped by my dog”

“Like I said it’s ok,” He sends you a smile, “A nice little pick me up–Oh, I’m Jack”

He extends his hand, while your hand slips into his. 

Hands firm and soft all at once as grasps yours.

And just perhaps. 

His hold lingers for just a few moments more. 

Breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. The familiarity of your hand folded into his. 

Seemingly frozen in a moment of time as he properly has the chance to take you in. 

You offer him a smile as you say your name. 

Before continuing to blurt out, “Bailey tends to just go up to people when he thinks they’re down, or having a bit of a rough day–he’s a little intuitive that way”

Jack nods while he pulls back his hand, placing them in his pockets instead. 

Your explanation - the idea that he was having a rough day…hitting a little too close to home for his comfort. 

“Smart dog”

“He does a pretty good job at faking it,” you lightly joke, while Bailey looks up at you as if knowing what you were saying before plodding back beside Jack, nudging at his leg. “Seems he likes you”

“I’m flattered,” Jack says as he crouches down to pat Bailey once more, 

You admire him as he softens around Bailey. 

How easy it felt. 

Comfortable. 

He lifts his eyes to meet your gaze. Narrowing ever so slightly, “You work at PTMC right?”

Your brows raise, a little surprised.

Ever just the slightest bit worried. Mouth agape, unsure about how to answer. 

“Oh–not a stalker promise, I just, think that I’ve seen you around there. I work in the ER” He rushes to explain. 

Clutching your chest you let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, “Phew, thought I was going to have to make Bailey fight for me”

The chuckle that resonated from his chest. To the glint in his eyes. 

There was something magnetic about him. 

Pulling you into his orbit. 

“I should probably let you go, I’m sure you’ve got places to be,” he says politely. 

“Oh, yeah,” your eyes flick down to your watch, as much as you would’ve loved to find an excuse to keep talking - time was definitely slipping away, “I’ll see you around, Jack” 

“It was nice meeting you,” With one last scratch around Bailey’s ear, “You too, Bailey” 

You clip Bailey’s leash back on before waving once more to Jack, as you murmur, “Come on Bailey”

Jack stays still for a moment, just watching your retreating figure. 

You might not have known it. 

But Bailey’s impromptu greeting with Jack, had soothed something within him. Had settled his heart, had quelled his mind. 

You were right it seemed. Bailey certainly helped to soothe the soul. Just like a chilled glass of Bailey’s.

The slight smile on his face remains, even as he continues his walk, soaking in the fresh air before he inevitably needs to go home and sleep before tonight’s shift. 

…

Late one evening.

…Better described as incredibly early one morning. 

Jack rounds a corner to find you, a small frown stretched across your lips with the faintest of disgruntled complaints leaving your mouth, punctuated with a solid whack to the vending machine. 

“What did the vending machine do to you to deserve that?” He asked, with an amused arch of his brow. 

Whilst you fish out your little pick me up from the machine, you tilt your head up to meet his eyes. 

“Oh, hey,” the annoyance upon your face melts away as recognition flashes across your eyes, “Jack, right?” 

Standing up from your crouched position, you lean against the machine.  

He nods whilst a smile spreads across his face unconsciously, “Yeah, and it was Y/N? – obviously no Bailey today”

“Not quite hospital appropriate,” you remarked. 

Whilst he joked, “The dog or the drink?”

Laughing softly from his words, you replied, a little impressed, “You’ve got a sharp memory”

He shrugs, as though it were no big deal, “It helps when there’s a cute dog and a nice smile involved,” he flatters you. 

“Smooth talker, eh?” you tease. 

The velvety richness of his chuckle, settles within you. A warmth curling in your heart from the sound. 

Before you can talk any more, a faint buzz emanates from your hip. 

Eyes flicking down, a reluctance creeping in you. 

“Oh, that’s me,” you hold back the saddened sigh before looking up to meet his eyes, feet beginning to move, “I better be off before Emery comes looking for me–”

He offers you the slightest of waves. 

And just as you round the corner, before dipping out of sight you call out once more with a little wink, “I’ll see you around” 

In fleeting moments you would both share a quick hello. 

Barely passing by. 

Barely able to get more than a handful of minutes with him. And while Jack might not have admitted it aloud. 

Each time he wandered through the park, he would keep his eyes peeled for the cheerful dog – he would keep an eye out for your dazzling smile. 

Rarely getting the opportunity to see you in the hospital. 

While Jack would be knee deep in cases amidst the stress of the pitt. 

You would be wrangling all that came with being a scrub nurse in surgery – both those that were planned ahead and impromptu. 

But these brief moments were always so short. 

Far too short for Jack’s liking. 

Each time you left his company, he simply longed for the next moment you’d meet again. Craving to learn more about you. 

Hoping for more than just these brief passing moments. 

For more than this dance around what if?

…

The night had made you feel weary. 

Bleary eyed, with limbs feeling heavy – aching. 

The stark white fluorescence of the hospital halls doing nothing but irritate your growing headache. 

Bag slung over your shoulder. 

Unable to leave. 

To go home. 

So instead you go up. 

Pushing against the heavy set door whilst you wander out onto the rooftop. 

The crisp morning air enveloping you completely. Powdery blue hue cast upon the horizon. The swirling depths of the midnight sky, now long since faded. As the glowing sun begins to brighten the sky. 

The way it gently casts over the horizon as the city awakens. 

So polarising as it refreshes you. 

Letting your bag slip to the floor you lean against the railing. 

Eyes drifting close as you breathe in and out. 

Small puffs escaping your lips as it swirls in the cool air. 

Chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. 

Your peace disturbed as the squeak of the door echoes across the rooftop. Glancing back for a second before turning your attention back out towards the skyline. 

The small scuffle of footsteps adding to the serene soundscape of the early morning. 

Jack settles beside you. 

Quiet. 

Letting the peace settle between you both. 

Overcome with a soothing sense of calm. A calm that both of you had desperately needed. 

You reach down to your bag, clasping onto your thermos, as you unscrew the cap. Without evening asking you pass him a small cup. 

Poured into it was the very chamomile tea you had thought to brew before coming up here. 

The steam rising into the air, its aroma faintly floral. 

Tranquil. 

The words falling from your lips unprompted, but not unwelcomed, “I love it up here at this time of day. Being above it all–away from it all…it's just so peaceful–wouldn’t you agree?” 

He hums in agreement, shoulders still rigid. Still a little on edge from the events of the night. Sipping carefully from the little cup. Letting the tea trickle down his throat. 

“…the fresh air, the rising sun. I think it's the secret to keeping sane,” you add softly. 

 He nods, “Helps to switch off”

“Yeah,” you mumble out. 

Both of your minds a million miles away, and yet. So grateful that neither of you were alone right now…

“Rough shift?” he asked. 

“Isn’t it always?” 

Something in the air shifted. 

For however many minutes you spent up there with him. 

The silence was soothing. Comforting. Reassuring. 

Not pressing. 

Not suffocating or uncomfortable. 

No. 

Somehow. 

For some reason. Having Jack simply there beside you, helped rest your restless mind. 

Whilst the mere fact you were barely inches from him, had eased the clouded thoughts that had plagued him. 

You were each other’s sense of clarity…

It was a feeling as refreshing as the crisp morning air. 

Both simply gaze out towards the features of the skyline, from the houses, to the trees in the park, to the people that go about their day…

“Do you think this could be something?” Jack had said. The question that had burned in the back of his brain since the moment he had first met you. 

Since the moment your dog Bailey had bounded up to him. 

Shuffling slightly, he feels your arm gently bump into his. As you close the gap. 

“Do you want it to be something?” 

Nerves seep into your stomach. While you bite the inside of your cheek. 

Hoping. 

Longing. 

That this all hadn’t been some silly idea you had conjured up in your mind. 

“Yes,” his response was so clear. So forthright. With no room for hesitance. No room for doubt. 

Your lips curl up into a smile. 

You reach a hand out, whilst his intertwines with your fingers, gentle and soft despite the calloused skin of his hard. 

“Then yes, I’d like that” 

Finally turning to look at him, only to find him gazing at you already. Eyes creasing at the corners whilst he smiles at you. Eyes tracing the features of your face as it glows beneath the angelic lighting. 

He tugs you closer, bodies flush against one another. 

His warm breath fans across your cheeks, a heat creeping up your neck. Flushed beneath his unwavering gaze. 

Breathless from the way he looks at you. 

As though you were all that existed. 

Leaning in, tentative, careful. 

Any trepidation melts away as your lips meet his. The rough chapped texture gliding against yours. His hand slips from yours before reaching up to rest against your jaw, tilting your head, a sigh escaping your lips. 

Pulling back, just barely a whisper away from him. 

You mumble softly, “How does a walk in the park with Bailey and some breakfast sound?”

Leaning his forehead against yours. 

Those soulful deep brown eyes peering into yours, his lips curling into a smile. 

“Sounds perfect”

Who could’ve suspected that your dog Bailey, who had a knack for comforting those in their murkiest of thoughts. 

Also had a knack for match making…

He was certainly a good boy. 

Your eyes search for Jack’s. The way that with just one look he sets your racing heart to rest. Sets your mind at ease. 

In his eyes. 

You could see a future. 

Filled with excitement. With steadiness. With love.

A future of early morning walks through the park, arm in arm with Jack. Whilst Bailey pads alongside you both. 

Pointing out things that amused you. Being able to feel light even after heavy shifts. Developing your own little inside jokes. 

Picking up on the things that made him smile, the things that made him laugh. 

While Jack noticed all the things that made your eyes sparkle. 

A future of settling to sleep side by side. 

His strong arms wrapping around you. Pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, before trailing a path down across the curve of your face, before settling to glide across your lips. 

Murmuring softly, the words rolling off his tongue so smoothly, “I love you”

“Love you, too,” Sighing in his hold, beginning to feel drowsy. Melting into his arms, as you shuffle closer to him.

Only to be pushed apart when Bailey appears nuzzling his nose against your cheek, before settling in the space between you and Jack. 

Jack huffs out a small laugh, deep and warm, rumbling from his chest. 

His hand brushes against Bailey’s fur, “Ok, good boy,” While Bailey shifts to nuzzle his head against Jack’s hand, before curling up at the end of your bed. 

Smiling softly, you readjust once more to slide back into Jack’s arms. 

Sleep enveloping you three completely. 

Soundly. 

Jack never knew he would be able to rediscover peace. Not until he had met you, and your sweet dog. 

Soothing him down to his very soul…

…

Jack enters the bedroom, supported by his crutches, eyes knitted in confusion as he moves things around. Eyes searching. On the hunt. 

Before calling out with a sigh, “Hey, sweetheart, have you seen my foot?” 

“No,” you called back from the bathroom, “Where’d you last have it?” 

He frowns from your response, he could’ve sworn he left it by the bed…or was it by the door–it didn’t matter. 

What mattered, was that it wasn’t anywhere he could think of. 

“It’s not where I left it”

“What do you mean? Do you think it walked off without you?” You questioned, whilst you failed to stifle the laughter from your own joke.

Jack’s lips twist into a small frown, before melting away as he hears your melodic laugh. 

He sighs. 

Trying to wrack his brain. 

For any inkling, any thought as to where his prosthetic could be. 

Before he could turn to leave. 

He's stuck in place. 

Stunned by the image that enters his sights…

In comes Bailey. 

Simply trodding in, and in his mouth–

“Bailey–” Jack begins to say. 

And at that moment. You come out of the bathroom welcomed by the sight of Jack standing in the bedroom with his crutches. 

And just before him. 

Sat Bailey. 

Head cocked. Eyes peering up at Jack. Tail wagging happily beneath his attention. 

But in his mouth. 

Gripped by his canines, was the very foot that Jack was looking for. 

You bite your lip, amused by the scene. 

Whilst Jack leans down, a little awkwardly, plucking the prosthetic from Bailey’s mouth, who whines softly. With the slightest roll of his eyes, Jack scratches behind Bailey’s ear to soothe him. 

A chuckle resonating from his chest. You shift to walk over taking Jack’s crutches from him as he sits down to attach his foot. 

“Good job Bailey,” you said dotingly. Before looking over to Jack, “I’ll have to add that to his list of skills–finds distressed docs in parks and finds prosthetic legs”

Bailey lets out a bark, as though agreeing with your words. 

“Does that include finding you a boyfriend?” Jack remarks with a smirk. 

Whilst you saunter over to him, his arms curling around your waist, tugging you into him as he gazes up at you, “Maybe” 

Your hands come to cup his cheeks, fingers gently caressing over his light stubble before resting at the base of his scalp, threading through his soft curls. 

Your head ducking down to meet his lips, sweet and soft. 

He melts into you. Devoting every ounce of love he had for you into the kiss. 

No matter how brief, or how long the kisses were. 

You could always count on them being intensely rich from the love he harboured for you. 

Pulling back, he rests his head against your chest. 

Grounding himself from the steady rhythmic beating of your heart. 

“You hear that?” 

“Hm?” he hums in response, entranced by your heartbeat. 

“That’s my heart beating for you”

The laugh bubbles out of him in an instant, “That was so not smooth”

You click your tongue, lightly slapping his arm, “And who are you to judge, Mr Dancing through the darkness, hmm?” you quipped. 

He groans, head burying into your shoulder. 

“I can’t believe Robby told you that”

“Plenty more where that came from”

“He’s a liar,” he retaliates. 

To which you only laugh with a small shake of your head, ducking down slightly to press a kiss to his head. 

“So was he lying when he said you were absolutely head over heels in love with me and totally wanted to marry me one day?” you teased. 

Mumbling out reluctantly, “...Maybe he’s not always a liar…”

“If it helps, I’m head over heels in love with you too, and would totally marry you one day,” you whisper softly. The words, simple and sincere. 

“That’s good to know, sweetheart,” he smiles. 

And in his mind the very ring he had tucked away in the bottom of his sock drawer makes an appearance, The band delicate as the diamonds sparkle. 

He hadn’t planned it all out just yet. 

But he knew for certain that he wanted to slip the ring onto your finger. 

A symbol that his love for you was everlasting. 

That he would be by your side through it all. 

He repeats a little softer, “Good to know”

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. This was inspired by me enjoying a glass of Bailey’s Irish Cream, I thought it would be a little fun joke. And who doesn’t love a meet cute via a gorgeous dog?? Just a little soft sweetness for Jack (he deserves the mundane peace of it all!) Let me know what you thought ✨ Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 For more Jack Abbot Works check out my series below! Such as my Dr Jack Abbot x Reader Who Would've Thought series here💖 Or my fic Based on Waitress the Musical, Dr Jack Abbot x Waitress!Reader Sugar, Butter, Flour series 🥧 Or for a lil bit of hurt with eventual comfort check out Jack and the reader create a bond through being widowers, I Know You're Hurting series Find My Pitt Masterlist here

Six years of marriage, and somehow the love between you and Jack only kept growing stronger.

Maybe it started on your second anniversary, when you sat beside him in that tiny examination room, fingers intertwined while the doctor smiled and told you both the news.

Twins.

You still remembered the way Jack looked at you that day. Completely speechless. His eyes had turned glassy almost instantly, his hand gripping yours so tightly as if he was terrified this was all just a dream.

After everything he had lost before every heartbreak, every lonely night, every moment he thought life had already taken too much from him and there you were. And now, two babies growing inside you.

He had laughed and cried at the same time, leaning down to kiss your forehead over and over.

“Two?” he whispered in disbelief. “We’re having two babies?”

From that day on, Jack changed in the softest ways possible.

He started calling himself “Daddy” long before the twins were even born.

“Daddy’s talking to you both,” he’d say while resting his head against your stomach after exhausting ER shifts.

And you?

You became “Mommy” naturally. Effortlessly.

Especially once the twins were born.

The house was never quiet anymore. Tiny footsteps, endless giggles, toys scattered everywhere, and Jack an exhausted emergency doctor still somehow finding enough energy to crawl around the floor playing dinosaurs with the twins at midnight.

And honestly? You barely called him “Jack” anymore.

It felt strange on your tongue.

To you, he was honey, love, daddy, babe; anything but his actual name. The only time “Jack Abbott” fully came out of your mouth was when you were genuinely angry at him, which thankfully didn’t happen often.

So one night, after Jack left for another night shift at the ER, you were in the bathroom carefully doing your skincare routine when the twins padded into your bedroom wearing matching pajamas.

Like always, they wanted to sleep with you whenever their daddy worked overnight.

One climbed onto the bed while the other stood beside you, watching you apply moisturizer with intense curiosity.

Then suddenly

“Mommy?”

“Hm?”

“Is Daddy’s name Jack?”

You blinked at him through the mirror before smiling softly. “Yes, sweetheart. Daddy’s name is Jack Abbott.”

The other twin immediately gasped dramatically from the bed.

“JACK ABBOTT!” he shouted loudly, clearly delighted by this discovery.

You burst into laughter instantly.

“Yes,” you said, trying not to laugh too hard. “But you both call him Daddy, okay? He’s Daddy for you.”

The twins nodded obediently.

For about three seconds.

Then they both started whispering to each other on the bed, giggling suspiciously while glancing at one another like they had just invented the funniest joke in the world.

You narrowed your eyes at them.

“What are you planning?”

“Nothingggg,” they answered together far too innocently.

You should’ve known right then.

The next morning felt normal.

Jack came home from the hospital exhausted but smiling softly the second he saw you in the kitchen. He leaned down automatically to kiss your cheek while wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Morning, Mommy.”

“Morning, Daddy.”

Completely normal.

He even brought the twins’ favorite donuts on the way home like he always did after night shifts.

Nothing seemed wrong.

Until daycare pickup.

You were in the kitchen preparing lunch when the front door opened.

The twins rushed inside first, laughing uncontrollably.

And behind them was Jack.

Sulking.

Actually sulking.

His lips were pushed into the deepest pout imaginable, brows furrowed while he carried the twins’ tiny backpacks over one shoulder.

You stared at him in confusion.

“What?” you asked, pulling off your apron. “What happened?”

No answer.

Jack walked dramatically toward the couch and sat down with his arms crossed like an offended child.

The twins immediately climbed all over him, still giggling.

“We’re sorry, Daddy,” they both said at the same time between laughter.

Jack only huffed.

You looked between all three of them, trying not to laugh already.

“Okay… what did they do?”

One twin buried his face into Jack’s shoulder while laughing.

The other pointed at him proudly.

“We called him Jack Abbott!”

That was it.

You pressed your lips together instantly.

Apparently, during pickup, the twins had run toward Jack screaming—

“JACK ABBOTT!”

Right in the middle of the daycare hallway.

And when Jack crouched down in absolute confusion, they kept doing it over and over.

“Hi, Jack Abbott!”

“Carry me, Jack Abbott!”

“Look at me, Jack Abbott!”

Meanwhile, the teachers were apparently trying very hard not to laugh.

Jack had stared at them in betrayal.

“No,” he told them firmly while picking them up. “I’m Daddy. Daddy, twins.”

But that only made it worse.

Because the twins found his reaction hilarious.

So the entire walk home became

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“…Jack Abbott.”

And then uncontrollable laughter.

Now on the couch, Jack looked genuinely offended as the twins hugged him tightly.

“We said sorryyy,” one whined.

“You hurt Daddy’s feelings,” Jack muttered dramatically.

“You’re not Jack Abbott?”

“I am,” he sighed. “But not to you two. I’m Daddy.”

The twins looked at each other seriously for a moment before nodding.

“Okay, Daddy.”

Jack finally softened a little.

Then one of them grinned mischievously and whispered loudly,

“Okay… Daddy Jack Abbott.”

You lost it immediately, laughing so hard you had to grab the kitchen counter for support.

Jack looked absolutely betrayed.

“Mommy!” he complained while the twins collapsed into giggles again.

And honestly?

Watching your husband pout while your twins teased him mercilessly might’ve been one of the cutest things you had ever seen.

you glare at him from where you’re sprawled dramatically across the couch in shorts and one of his old loose fitting t-shirts. “if you say electrolytes one more time, i’m leaving you.”

“you can’t. it’s too hot outside.”

annoyingly, he’s right.

he’s spent the entire day implementing increasingly ridiculous survival strategies. curtains closed to block sunlight. damp washcloths in the freezer. homemade iced tea. strategically placing a fan in front of a bowl of ice like some kind of exhausted scientist.

and worst of all? all of it actually works.

“you’ve thought about this way too much,” you mumble as he presses a cold bottle of water against the back of your neck.

he shrugs. “heat stroke cases go up every summer.”

“romantic.”

“i contain multitudes.”

by nighttime, the temperature barely drops.

you’re both lying in bed on top of the sheets, trying not to move because movement somehow makes it worse. jack’s hair is damp from another cold shower, his t-shirt abandoned somewhere on the floor hours ago.

you hear him sigh beside you before he rolls closer automatically, half-asleep and seeking you out of habit.

the second his arm touches your waist, you immediately squirm away. “absolutely not.”

his eyes crack open. “rude.”

“you are a human furnace.”

“i’m just trying to cuddle my girlfriend.”

“you’re trying to kill me.”

he groans and flops onto his back dramatically. “this heat wave is destroying our relationship.”

“survival first.”

“wow.” jack scoffs.

you point weakly at him from across the mattress. “stay on your side before i start hissing at you.”

he snorts tiredly. “noted.”

the next afternoon, you come home expecting another miserable day of sweating through existence.

instead—

cold air hits your face the second you open the door. you stop dead in the entryway.

“…jack?” you call out.

from somewhere down the hall, he calls, “living room.”

you follow the sound and find him kneeling beside a brand-new portable ac unit, screwdriver still in hand, hair messy, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

you stare at the machine. then at him.

“did you install air conditioning?”

“i did.”

“today?”

“i had a post-shift moment of clarity.”

you blink at him in disbelief before immediately walking straight into the stream of cold air with an emotional sigh.

jack laughs softly from behind you. “there it is.”

“i could kiss you right now.”

“could?”

you turn toward him, already crossing the room. “doctor jack abbot,” you say solemnly, grabbing his face with both hands, “you’re the love of my life.”

he grins as you kiss him, cool air humming softly around the apartment for the first time all week.

and now there was a puppy in your bathroom.

a very tiny puppy. a very dirty puppy. a very skinny puppy.

a puppy that had looked at you with huge brown eyes and immediately destroyed your ability to make rational decisions.

so now you’d spent the entire night cleaning him up, feeding him tiny portions of food left over in the fridge, googling what was safe for the pup to eat, and trying to convince yourself that jack wouldn’t be upset.

or at least not too upset.

the front door unlocked just after seven in the morning.

your stomach dropped. jack was home.

you were still sitting on the couch in yesterday’s clothes, running entirely on caffeine and poor decisions.

the second he walked inside, he frowned. “why are you awake?”

you immediately looked anywhere but at him. “couldn’t sleep.” you stuttered out quick.

jack narrowed his eyes. doctor eyes. the same eyes that caught every lie told in the emergency department. unfortunately for you, they worked at home too. “you look guilty.”

you scoffed. “i’m just tired.”

“you look guilty and tired.” he kicked off his shoes. “what happened?”

“nothing happened. what makes you think that?” you defenced back.

“something happened.”

you smiled weakly.

he sighed.

“how much trouble am i about to be in?”

“define trouble.”

jack groaned. “oh no.” he pointed at you. “what did you do?”

“i didn’t do anything.”

before he could respond—

woof!

both of you froze.

the tiny bark came from the bathroom. jack slowly turned his head. then looked back at you. then toward the bathroom again. then back at you.

“…what was that?”

you considered lying.

you lasted approximately one second. “…a dog.”

jack closed his eyes. “you found a dog.”

“well technically the dog found me.”

“that’s not how dogs work.”

another bark echoed through the apartment. followed by a tiny scratching sound against the bathroom door.

jack pinched the bridge of his nose.

you stood. “before you say anything—”

“that’s never a promising start.”

“—he was abandoned.”

jack immediately opened one eye.

you continued. “he was cold.”

the other eye opened. “and hungry.”

his expression softened despite himself.

you knew it would.

jack could pretend to be grumpy all he wanted, but he spent twelve hours a day saving people for a living. he had the softest heart of anyone you’d ever met.

you disappeared into the bathroom before he could argue further. a moment later, you emerged carrying the beagle puppy.

the puppy looked ridiculously small wrapped in a towel.

one floppy ear. oversized paws. sleepy brown eyes.

the second jack saw him, his face did something. not much. just enough.

that tiny shift that meant he was already losing the battle. “he’s cute,” he admitted.

victory. you grinned.

the puppy, however, had his own priorities. the second you crouched near the couch, the little beagle scrambled from your arms.

straight toward jack.

jack blinked. “oh.”

the puppy climbed directly into his lap. like he’d been doing it his entire life.

tiny tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggled. you watched in delight as jack looked down at the puppy.

the puppy looked up at jack. and that was it. gone. completely smitten. jack was finished.

the puppy pressed his nose against jack’s hand. jack immediately scratched behind one floppy ear. the puppy practically melted.

“oh my god,” you whispered.

jack didn’t even hear you. “hey, buddy.”

the puppy licked his thumb. jack smiled. an actual smile. the soft one. the one that made you fall in love with him. the one that meant you were absolutely bringing this animal home forever.

you pointed accusingly. “there it is.”

“what?”

“that face.”

jack glanced up. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

the puppy promptly curled up against his chest and fell asleep.

you laughed. jack looked back down at the tiny sleeping beagle. then sighed. a long, defeated sigh.

“…we should probably schedule a vet appointment.”

your grin widened. “jack.”

“don’t.”

“jack.”

he rolled his eyes. “fine.”

you practically launched yourself at him.

the puppy remained asleep through the entire thing.

You notice that ever since he left for that conference he has started to wear short sleeves often, or if he was wearing something long-sleeved, he’ll roll it up to his forearms.

Is this his way to get your affection? Yes, yes it is.

Jack can’t find the words to verbally express his need for your touch without sounding like a perverted old man. He doesn’t want you to read his intentions wrong.

So he hopes you’ll catch the signal he’s giving. His male peacock behavior or so to speak…

You’re sitting on the couch beside him watching a random movie that was recommended to you when all of a sudden he just dumps his forearm on your lap.

You look at him for a second dumbfounded at the sudden weight on your lap, he stares back at you with those hazel eyes while wiggling his forearm against your thighs.

It looks like a fish flopping when it’s out of the water, you can’t help but laugh at his silly antics “Do you want me to rub your forearm?”

“Finally took you long enough, I was doing my mating dance all week,” he chuckles, it was cut short however when you finally place those nimble fingers on his forearm.

“Oh, I noticed,” you coo as your index finger traces the veins that wrap around his forearm.

In certain angles it is prominent enough for you to feel the indents, you love to rub and press on the squishy lines and he loves the feeling of it, the attention you’re giving to every line.

The delicate taps on each indent, god he loves it when you do that. He keeps his eyes trained on your face, staring at those soft lips curving upwards into a smile.

God, he wants to kiss you senseless.

“You were wearing short-sleeved shirts in this cold weather, you were practically throwing your arms to me,” you tease, he pouts, rubbing his soft curls against your cheek.

“So why didn’t you do anything?” he scoffs, it hurts his ego that his girl is not impressed by his physique.

He knew he had attractive arms. He often gets compliments for his biceps and forearms. Of course, you complimented him several times, but it is never enough.

He needs the daily reassurance y’know.

And not by some patients he treats, or a lady that walks past him. It has to be by his woman.

The whole time you weren’t squeezing his arm or at least touching them drove him nuts, why did you out of all people act like you’re not tempted by them?

“I mean I didn’t know you actually wanted me to touch, I thought you were just flexing those muscles,” you lie.

Of course, you know Jack and his need for compliments, it’s cute to see this older man huff and puff when you act disinterested.

“For you to touch them, obviously,” he glares at you.

“And compliment them, I mean c’mon,” he flex so you can see his veins bulging, girls like that right?

At this point, he might have to come clean about focusing on his biceps and forearms when he works out so you can have a lot of space to play with…

“Here’s the attention you so desperately seek, Jack,” you hold his wrist, your struggle to circle it entirely with your hand as you rub circles across the freckled surface.

You cinch your other hand around his upper forearm, squeezing it gently. You can see him light up like a kid on Christmas, cute.

He’s smug now that he has your attention. The woman of his dreams, the love of his life, “Thank you very much, I’d like a kiss too if possible,” he asks.

“Wow you’re demanding,” you smile, your thumb now massaging his palm.

“Damn straight, c’mon give your poor old man a kiss,” he leans in closer, his forehead now touching yours.

He feels at home now, here with you.

He leans closer lips almost touching yours, “You know what they say the older they get the needier they’ll become,” he mutters.

But you want to play the game longer, so you lift his hand and kiss his palm with your eyes held onto his.

“That’s cute, but you know where to kiss, honey,” he huffs, his knuckles caressing your cheek. The kisses don’t seem to stop, small pecks here and there alternating between each fingertip.

“Oh, you didn’t specify the exact location,” your smart mouth, oh he loves it so much. You love to tease and he loves to be teased, match made in heaven, no?

“C’mhere you little rascal,” he cups your cheek with one hand before finally taking what he desperately needed from you, a kiss.

And of course, your hands are all over him. He chuckles when he feels your hand curved against his throat, where it belongs. Then he smiles when his lips meet yours, his thumb caressing your jaw as he deepens the kiss.

Finally, he has satiated his craving.

Jack does not look concerned. He never looks concerned in the way other people do, not outwardly, not with that small level of panic that you are used to reading and accommodating. His calm runs deeper than that, something steadier and harder earned. He just watches the door, head slightly tilted, as if listening past the noise.

“Sounds like he’s got opinions,” he says.

“That’s putting it lightly.” You push the door open before you can hesitate again. “Romeo, shut up.”

The barking spikes at the sight of Jack. It is immediate and visceral. Romeo plants himself a few feet back, ears raised, teeth bared in a way that is far too dramatic for a miniature schnauzer with a brown bow-tie collar and yet somehow still intimidating. You feel the familiar curl of embarrassment twist low in your stomach, heat rising up your neck.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, forcing a laugh that does not quite land. “This is what I meant. He’s an asshole.”

There is a script for this, one you have learned the hard way. You apologise. You explain. You promise it will settle. You reassure them that he is all noise, that he has never actually bitten anyone, that he just needs time. Then you watch them withdraw anyway, slow and subtle, the beginning of distance already taking shape.

You brace for it now, but Jack just steps inside.

Not cautiously, not with exaggerated care, just normally, like there isn’t a tiny, fluffy maniac barking up at him. He shuts the door behind him with a quiet click and stands there for a moment, letting Romeo bark himself hoarse without reacting to it. No sharp movements, no attempt to reach out, no irritation flickering across his face.

You frown, thrown off your usual script. “Huh. Most men don’t make it through the door,” you say.

“Most men don’t know how to be patient,” Jack replies with a scoff.

Romeo does not stop barking, but something in the rhythm changes. Less frantic. More evaluative. You can see it, the way his head tilts slightly, the way his eyes track Jack rather than just react to him.

You fold your arms, tension still coiled tight in your chest. “He hates men.”

“Does he?” It is not a question, despite what it sounds like. Jack glances down at him, expression unreadable in that quiet way of his. “Or does he hate something else?”

You open your mouth to answer and then close it again. It is easier to say Romeo hates men than it is to explain the rest of it.

The way he used to hide behind your legs when voices got too loud. The way he would bark himself into exhaustion whenever someone overstayed their welcome, as if he understood before you did that something was wrong. The way he never, not once, warmed to anyone you dated before, as if he could smell the parts of them you kept trying to ignore.

“He’s never liked anyone I’ve brought home,” you say instead, softer now.

Jack hums, crouching down slowly, wincing at the strain, but deliberate in every movement. He does not reach out. He just lowers himself to Romeo’s level and waits, forearms resting loosely on his thighs.

“Fair enough,” he says. “I’m not just anyone, luckily.”

There is something about the way he says it that settles under your ribs, warm and unsettling all at once.

Romeo’s barking falters. It does not stop completely, but it drops in volume, turning into something more uncertain, more questioning. He edges forward a fraction, nose twitching, still wary but no longer on the offensive. You stare.

“That’s new,” you murmur.

“Mm.” Jack does not look at you. His focus stays on Romeo, steady and unhurried. “He’s just figuring me out.”

“You’re being sized up. He might eat you.”

“I’ve dealt with worse.”

A huff of laughter escapes you before you can stop it, the tension in your chest loosening just slightly. It feels strange, this shift, this unexpected ease settling into a situation you had already written off as stressful.

Romeo takes another step forward. Then another.

You watch, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, as he closes the distance entirely and sniffs at Jack’s knee, quick and cautious. There is a pause, a beat of stillness where anything could happen.

Jack does not move. Not even when Romeo’s nose brushes against the seam of his jeans, not even when the dog huffs softly, considering.

“Go on,” you whisper, more to yourself than to either of them.

Romeo sneezes. Then, in a move so abrupt it almost makes you laugh, he sits down. Just… sits.

The barking stops. The silence that follows feels louder than anything that came before it.

Jack glances up at you then, one eyebrow lifting ever so slightly. There is something dangerously close to amusement in his eyes, something that tugs at the corner of his mouth in a way that feels unfairly smug.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“I might be.”

Romeo leans forward and licks Jack’s hand. You feel it in your chest, sharp and sudden, like something cracking open.

“That is—” You break off, shaking your head. “He doesn’t do that.”

“Apparently he does,” Jack says.

There is no gloating in his voice, not exactly. It is quieter than that, more contained, but you know him well enough now to hear it anyway, that thread of satisfaction woven carefully through his tone.

“You’re insufferable,” you tell him.

“Give it a minute,” he replies. “I can get worse.”

Romeo shifts closer, pressing himself against Jack’s leg as if he has known him for years rather than seconds. His tail starts wagging, tentative at first and then with growing confidence, the earlier hostility completely forgotten.

You feel something twist in your chest again, but it is not tension this time. It is something softer. Something more dangerous.

“He’s never done that,” you say, quieter now.

Jack’s gaze flicks back to you, the smugness fading just enough to make room for something gentler. “Maybe he’s got good instincts.”

You let out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall as the reality of it settles in.

Romeo, your fiercely loyal, man-hating little guard dog, is currently leaning into Jack like he belongs there. Like he has always belonged there. The thought lands heavier than you expect.

You look at Jack, really look at him, at the quiet steadiness of him, the way he has not tried to force anything, has not taken more than what was given. There is something achingly familiar in it, something that mirrors the way he has been with you from the start. Patient. Careful. Unassuming in a way that somehow matters more than anything louder ever could.

Your throat tightens. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you manage.

“Too late, baby,” he says, and this time the smile is unmistakable.

You roll your eyes, but it lacks any real bite. Because the truth of it is sitting right there in front of you, tail wagging and utterly content. Romeo likes him. And that feels like far more than it should.

There is a strange sort of quiet that follows.

Not the absence of noise, because Romeo is still there, still making small pleased whines as he noses insistently at Jack’s hand, still shifting his weight like he cannot quite get close enough, but the absence of what you had prepared yourself for. No tension. No careful monitoring of distance. No apology forming on your tongue every time the dog moves. You do not quite know what to do with it.

Jack scratches lightly behind Romeo’s ear, measured and unhurried, like he is aware of how easily this could have gone the other way and is not interested in pushing his luck. The dog melts into it, leaning harder, eyes softening in a way you have only ever seen when it is just the two of you at the end of a long day.

It does something unsettling to your chest. “He’s a traitor,” you say, though there is no heat in it.

Jack glances up at you, hand still moving in slow, absent strokes. “Or he’s got standards.”

You snort despite yourself. “That’s not helping your case.”

“I’m not making a case.” His gaze drops back to Romeo, expression easing into something softer than you are used to seeing at work, where everything about him is sharpened by urgency and held together by control. “He’s already decided.”

The words land heavier than they should. You push yourself off the wall, needing to move, to ground yourself in something physical before your thoughts start running ahead of you. “Don’t read too much into it. He also once tried to befriend a man who dropped a hot dog on the pavement.”

“Did it work?”

“The man or the hot dog?”

Jack’s mouth twitches. “Either.”

“The hot dog,” you admit. “The man got barked at for breathing too loud.”

“Reassuring.”

You hover for a second, watching them, the ease of it, the way Romeo has completely abandoned his usual suspicion. It feels like witnessing something quietly significant, something you cannot quite put into words without making it sound bigger than it is allowed to be.

Your home has seen versions of this before.

Different faces. Different voices. The same eventual outcome. Romeo barking. You apologising. Someone leaving a little sooner than planned, a little less certain than when they arrived.

You have learned not to expect anything else.

“Come on,” you say, turning towards the kitchen. “I’ll make tea.”

“Sounds good.”

You take a few steps before realising he is not following. You look back. Jack is still sat on the floor, and Romeo is still pressed against him, entirely unwilling to let him go. There is something almost ridiculous about it, the way your fiercely independent dog has decided, within minutes, that this man is his person.

“Romeo,” you call. “Leave him.”

He does not move.

Jack huffs out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh. “I think I’m being held hostage.”

“You can extract yourself,” you say. “He’s not that strong.”

“I’m aware.” There is a pause, a brief flicker of something thoughtful crossing his face. “I just don’t want to move, really.”

Your stomach flips in a way that is deeply inconvenient. You turn back to the kitchen before he can see it, focusing on the familiar routine of filling the kettle, setting it on the hob, anything to give your hands something to do. The normality of it should be grounding. It is not.

You can hear them from where you stand, the soft shuffle of movement, the quiet murmur of Jack’s voice as he says something low you cannot quite make out. Romeo responds with a pleased little huff, the sound carrying easily down the short hallway.

It feels intimate in a way you had not prepared for.

Not just him being here, not just the shift in your space, but this, the way something you have always kept separate is folding in on itself without resistance.

You grip the edge of the counter a little tighter than necessary. It should not matter this much. It is just a dog. It is just a man your dog happens to like.

Except it is not just that, and you know it.

You have spent years trusting Romeo’s instincts more than your own when it comes to people, letting his reactions confirm what you already suspect but do not want to admit. He has been right more often than not.

Right about the ones who pushed too hard. Right about the ones who stayed too long. Right about the ones who made you feel small in ways you could not quite articulate at the time. He has never been wrong.

The kettle whistles sharply, dragging you back. You turn off the hob, exhaling slowly as you reach for the mugs. Your hands feel steadier now, the simple familiarity of the task easing some of the tightness in your chest.

By the time you step back into the living room, you have almost convinced yourself it is nothing. Then you see them again. Jack has shifted, sitting properly now with his back against the sofa, one leg stretched out, the other bent. Romeo is in his lap, head resting against his thigh, completely at ease. Completely at home.

You stop in the doorway. Something in your chest pulls, sharp and aching and warm all at once.

Jack looks up at the sound of your movement, eyes finding yours immediately. There is a question there, quiet and unspoken, like he is checking in without making a point of it.

You swallow. “Tea,” you say, holding up the mugs slightly as if that explains anything.

“My sweet little lifesaver.”

You cross the room, setting one down carefully on the coffee table before lowering yourself onto the sofa, leaving a small, instinctive gap between you. It feels necessary, even now, even with everything that has already shifted.

Jack notices. He always notices. He does not comment on it, does not close the distance, does not do anything except take the mug and murmur a quiet thanks. The restraint of it settles something restless in your chest, even as it makes something else ache.

Romeo lifts his head, glancing between you both, as if assessing the situation.

“Don’t you dare,” you mutter.

He ignores you. Of course he does. With zero hesitation, Romeo climbs up, wedging himself between you and Jack with all the determination of a dog who has decided he knows best. He circles once, twice, and then settles, pressing into both of you at once like he is bridging a gap you are not quite ready to close yourself.

You stare at him. Jack exhales softly, something almost like a laugh catching in his throat.

“Subtle,” he says.

“He’s never subtle,” you reply, though your voice has gone quieter, something in it unsteady.

You are very aware of the way your arm is now brushing against Jack’s, of the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your sleeve, of how easy it would be to just lean.

You do not. You sit there, very still, as Romeo sighs contentedly between you, utterly convinced he has solved a problem that only exists because of you.

Jack takes a slow sip of his tea. “He didn’t like the others,” he says after a moment, not looking at you.

It is not a question. You shake your head anyway. “No.”

“Any of them?”

“No.”

A pause. “Right.”

There is no judgement in it, no probing curiosity, just a quiet acknowledgement. It should make it easier to breathe. It does not.

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve, eyes fixed on the movement of your fingers. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little bit,” he admits.

You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“You said that already.”

“I mean it this time.”

That earns you a proper smile, brief but real, softening the harder edges of his expression in a way that still catches you off guard, even now.

“He’s got good taste,” Jack says.

You huff. “That’s debatable.”

“Feels pretty solid to me.”

You roll your eyes, but it lacks any real force. Because underneath it, beneath the teasing and the deflection and the careful distance you are still trying to maintain, there is something else taking root.

It settles slowly, almost reluctantly, threading its way through the familiar caution you carry, easing into spaces that have been closed off for longer than you care to admit.

You look at Romeo, at the way he is so completely at ease, and then at Jack, at the steady presence of him, the way he has not tried to claim anything that has not been offered. Your chest tightens. This feels different. That is the problem. You are not entirely sure what to do with the difference.

It shifts again later, in a way that feels smaller on the surface and far more dangerous underneath.

You are halfway through telling him something inconsequential, some story from work that does not really go anywhere, when you realise you have stopped watching Romeo. That, more than anything, is what unsettles you.

There is always a part of your attention reserved for the dog when someone new is in your space, always a low-level awareness of where he is, what he is doing, whether you need to intervene, apologise, manage. It has become instinct, something ingrained so deeply you no longer notice it most of the time.

Except now it is gone. You notice the absence of it like a missing step on the stairs. Your words falter, trailing off mid-sentence as the realisation catches up with you. Jack’s gaze lifts from where it had been resting loosely on your hands, attentive even when you are rambling, quiet in a way that makes it easy to keep talking.

“You alright?” he asks.

You nod automatically, even as your eyes flick down. Romeo is asleep. Properly asleep, not the light doze he usually slips into when there is someone unfamiliar nearby, not the half-alert rest where his ears twitch at every small sound. He is out, completely and utterly, curled against Jack’s side like this is the most natural place in the world to be.

You stare at him. Something in your chest pulls tight, then tighter still.

“This is so weird,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Jack follows your gaze, taking in the sight with a quiet sort of understanding that makes your throat feel dry.

“Feels like a good sign,” he says.

It should be. It is. That is what makes it so difficult to sit with. You drag your eyes away, focusing instead on the faint pattern of wear on your coffee table, the small scratches and marks that have built up over time. It is easier than looking at what is right in front of you, easier than letting yourself fully register what it means.

“Or he’s exhausted himself by being so dramatic,” you offer, grasping for something lighter.

“Could be that.” His tone suggests he does not believe it.

You pick at the same loose thread on your sleeve, pulling it a little too hard this time until it snaps. The sudden give of it feels louder than it should, the small sound cutting through the quiet of the room.

Jack’s eyes flick back to you. “You’re miles away,” he says.

You huff out a breath, something caught between a laugh and something more strained. “Just thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Shut up.” There is no bite to it. There rarely is with him.

Silence settles again, softer this time, less uncertain than before. It wraps around you both, around the steady rhythm of Romeo’s breathing, around the faint clink of ceramic as you set your mug down on the table.

You feel it building, the weight of something you have been carefully not saying, pressing against the inside of your ribs.

It comes out anyway. “He has never liked anyone before,” you say quietly.

Jack does not interrupt.

You swallow, forcing yourself to keep going even as your instinct tells you to pull back, to make a joke, to deflect.

“Not just in a ‘he barked a bit’ way. Properly didn’t like them. Wouldn’t go near them, wouldn’t settle if they were here. It was always… tense.”

You risk a glance at him. Jack is watching you, not with that clinical attentiveness he has at work, not with the careful neutrality he uses when things get difficult, but with something softer, something that feels like it is just for you. It makes it harder to look away.

“I used to think he was just difficult,” you admit. “Or jealous, maybe. It was easier than considering he might be right.”

Jack’s expression shifts, something subtle but significant. “About them,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah.”

The word sits heavy between you. There is a lot you are not saying, a lot you do not need to. The shape of it is there anyway, in the spaces between your words, in the way your shoulders have drawn in slightly, in the careful neutrality you are trying and failing to maintain.

Jack exhales slowly. “He’s not wrong about me, you know,” he says.

It catches you off guard enough that you actually look at him properly, a small frown pulling at your brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not exactly low maintenance,” he replies, tone even, almost too even. “I come with my own set of complications.”

There it is. The quiet honesty of it, offered without fanfare, without expectation. You recognise it for what it is, the same kind of careful truth he gives you in pieces, never more than you can hold at once.

You shake your head, a small, instinctive movement. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His gaze does not waver. “Yeah.”

Something in your chest aches. You shift slightly, the movement bringing you a fraction closer without fully closing the space. It feels deliberate and not at all at the same time.

“I’m not saying you’re perfect,” you say, voice softer now. “That would be ridiculous.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

You almost smile.

“I’m saying he’s never been this… calm with anyone. Not like this. Not straight away. It’s usually a whole thing. Takes weeks, sometimes.”

Jack glances down at Romeo, who remains blissfully unaware of the conversation happening over his head. “Maybe I got lucky,” he says.

You shake your head again, more certain this time. “He doesn’t do luck.”

“Then what does he do?”

You hesitate. The answer feels too big, too revealing, like it will shift something if you say it out loud.

“He reads people,” you say finally. “Better than I do, most of the time.”

Jack is quiet for a moment. Then, very gently, “You give him a lot of credit.”

“He’s earned it.”

“And you haven’t?”

The question lands softly and still manages to knock the breath from your lungs.

You look at him, really look at him, at the steadiness of him, the quiet persistence, the way he has stayed without pushing, has listened without trying to fix things you are not ready to have fixed. Your throat tightens.

“That’s not the point,” you say, though it comes out weaker than you intend.

“Feels like it might be.”

You exhale slowly, your gaze dropping back to Romeo, to the rise and fall of his small body, the complete trust in the way he has settled.

“I trust him,” you say.

It is not a complete answer. Jack does not push for one. “Alright,” he says simply.

The acceptance of it settles something restless in your chest, even as it leaves other things exposed, things you are not entirely ready to examine too closely. You sit with it for a moment, the quiet stretching out, comfortable and not at the same time.

Then, almost without thinking, you let your hand drift down, fingers brushing lightly against Romeo’s back. He stirs, just slightly, but does not wake. Your hand stills there, resting against him.

Jack’s arm shifts a fraction as well, the movement small but enough that your fingers brush against his for the briefest second. It is nothing. It is everything.

You do not pull away immediately. Neither does he.

The contact is light, barely there, but it sends something warm and unsettling curling through your chest, something that feels suspiciously like the beginning of a decision you have been avoiding.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. “This doesn’t mean he gets to be smug about it,” you say, voice quieter now.

Jack huffs out a soft laugh. “Too late for that.”

You glance at him, catching the faint trace of it, the restrained satisfaction he is trying and failing to hide. “You’re unbearable.”

“Only a bit.”

“More than a bit.”

He tilts his head, considering. “Worth it?”

The question is light. The answer is not. You look at him, at the man sitting in your space like he has always been meant to be there, at the dog who has decided the same thing without hesitation, and you feel it settle, slow and certain, beneath the fear and the caution and the habits you have built to keep yourself safe. Different. Still different. But maybe not in a way that needs to be resisted.

Your chest tightens, then eases, like something finally giving way. “Yeah,” you say, softer than anything you have said all evening. “Hopefully.”

Jack does not smile properly at that, not in a way that draws attention to itself. It is smaller. Quieter. But it is there. And this time, when Romeo shifts in his sleep and presses further into both of you, you do not move away at all.

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