rot

The double doors hissed open as a man swept in, draped in an expensive charcoal suit that was just wrinkled enough to suggest a long lunch that had devolved into several rounds of scotch. The scent of high-end whiskey trailed behind him like a physical wake, clashing sharply with the sterile, antiseptic air. He didn’t wait to be called; he marched straight to the triage desk, his lip curling at the sight of the linoleum floors.

“I’ve been waiting ten minutes,” he snapped, his voice booming across the quiet area. He adjusted his silk tie with a sneer. “Do you know who I am?”

Ellis didn’t look up from her monitor. Her fingers moved with practiced efficiency as she reached for a blood pressure cuff. “I don’t,” she said, her voice flat. “But I do know your blood alcohol content is likely higher than your IQ right now. Arm, please.”

He scoffed, yanking his arm back. “I don’t sit in waiting rooms with... these people. Move me to the front of the line. One call from me, and I can personally ensure the massive donation my company is about to make to this hospital disappears. I am from Ardentis Holdings.”

Ellis paused. Just for a second. She finally looked up, her eyebrows migrating toward her hairline. “Ardentis Holdings? Really?”

“Does that name sound familiar now?” he sneered. “I suggest you start acting faster.”

Ellis didn't look intimidated. If anything, she looked like she’d just found a very interesting bug on the sidewalk. She turned toward the doorway and called out, “Jack, could you come here for a second? We have a... VIP.”

Jack stepped into the room, his expression the picture of clinical boredom. He scanned the chart briefly before his eyes settled on the drunk man in the expensive suit. “Problem?”

“This gentleman is asking for priority treatment,” Ellis said, a small, dangerous smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “He says he’s from Ardentis Holdings.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, but it wasn't the groveling respect the patient was looking for. It was more like mild amusement.

“Oh,” Jack said, tilting his head. “My wife works there.”

The man let out a short, bark-like laugh. He looked Jack up and down—from his sensible shoes to his stethoscope—with pure disdain. “Your wife? What does she do, handle the filing? Clean the breakroom?”

Jack didn't flinch. “Y/N,” he said simply. “Do you know her?”

The man snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Know her? She’s the CEO of Ardentis Holdings. She’s the most powerful woman in the sector. And you’re telling me you’re married to her?” He laughed again, a wet, arrogant sound. “Please. In what universe?”

Without a word, Jack pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped the screen once and set it on the counter, angling it toward the man. The call connected almost instantly.

“Yeah?” Your voice came through the speaker—crisp, authoritative, and clearly focused on a dozen other things.

Jack leaned against the counter, looking completely relaxed. “Hey. Quick question. Do you happen to know a manager who is currently in my ER?”

There was a brief, sharp silence on the other end. “I know which one isn't at the board meeting he's supposed to be at,” you said, your voice dropping an octave. “He told my assistant he had a family emergency. Why?”

Jack turned the phone slightly, the camera capturing the man’s face.

The man went from flushed red to a ghostly, sickly white in three seconds flat. The smugness evaporated, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated terror. He was looking straight at his boss—and she was looking back.

“Oh,” you said quietly. It wasn't a shout. It was worse. It was the sound of a closing door. “Did you forget this meeting only happened because of your mistakes?”

“Ma’am,” he stammered, his voice cracking as he tried to straighten his wrinkled suit. “Ma’am, there’s been a massive misunderstanding—”

“He also mentioned,” Ellis piped up from the corner, “that he could cancel the company’s donation if we didn't give him special treatment.”

“Did he?” you asked. The air in the room seemed to turn to ice. “Be in HR at nine a.m. tomorrow. Don't bother bringing your briefcase.”

The man sat paralyzed, his world crumbling into the glowing screen. Before Jack could pull the phone away, your voice drifted through the speaker one last time.

“Oh, and Jack?”

Jack brought the phone back to his face, his expression softening instantly. “Yup.”

“Since I’ve already found someone to take the blame,” you said, your tone losing its icy edge for something warm and intimate, “I’m coming home as soon as I can.”

A rare, genuine smile broke across Jack’s face. “Can’t wait,” he murmured, ending the call.

The man stared, breathless. He had seen you dismantle boardrooms with a single glance, but he had never heard the "shark" speak with such gentleness—let alone to an E.R. doctor.

The call ended with a definitive click.

Jack slipped the phone into his pocket, his face returning to clinical boredom as he clicked his pen. “Let’s finish your vitals.”

“Well,” Ellis said, breaking the quiet with a satisfied sigh. “That solved triage. You’re back to being a ‘Level 4’ priority. Sit tight.”

The man didn’t argue. He sat perfectly still, eyes fixed on the floor, while Jack checked his vitals with methodical precision.

“…How did you even meet her?” he muttered after several minutes, his voice small and defeated. “She’s a shark. She’s always working. No one gets close to her.”

Jack paused for a fraction of a second, his pen hovering over the paper. “She’s stubborn,” Jack said quietly. “A workaholic.”

He clicked his pen.

“So am I.”

********

Flashback

The first time Jack met you.

The ER was unusually quiet. Jack was at the station, flipping through charts, when a nurse waved him over. "Got a walk-in. Abdominal pain," she noted. Jack nodded and stepped into the exam room.

You were sitting on the bed, one hand pressed lightly against your stomach. Your posture remained rigid, as if you were refusing to acknowledge the discomfort. Jack glanced from your face to the clipboard. "What do we have here?"

"Stomachache," you replied, exhaling slowly. "Probably gastric. I don’t have medicine at home."

"Probably?" he echoed, snapping on his gloves. He stepped into your personal space, calm and focused. "When did it start?"

"A few days ago."

"Pain level?"

"Manageable."

He raised a brow. "That’s not a number."

You gave him a dry look. "Fine. Five."

Jack didn’t push, but his hands were already moving. "Any nausea? Vomiting?"

"A little nausea. No vomiting."

He pressed lightly on your abdomen. "Tell me if it hurts."

It did. Your fingers tightened against the bedsheet, but you didn't make a sound. Jack’s eyes flicked to your hands—he noticed. He always noticed. "You work?" he asked, continuing the exam.

"Yeah. Office work."

"Hours?"

"Flexible."

He glanced up, meeting your eyes. "That usually means long."

A small, weary smile touched your lips. "I work better at night."

Jack let out a quiet breath, a faint smile mirroring yours. "Same. Night shift."

The ease of the gesture caught you off guard. "...So you get it," you murmured.

"I do." He stepped back, pulling off his gloves. "And you rest during the day?"

"Yes," you answered, perhaps a second too fast.

Jack didn’t call you out. He just looked at you for a moment longer than necessary—not judging, just noting the truth you were hiding. "Alright. Sounds like gastritis, maybe an early ulcer. It can be serious if you keep ignoring it."

He began writing on a prescription pad. "I’ll give you something to reduce the acid. But you need to eat regularly. And actually rest."

"I'll try," you said, though the words felt hollow.

"You don't sound convincing," Jack remarked, handing you the paper.

You looked at him properly then, curious. "Are you always like this with your patients?"

"Only when I think they’ll come back," he replied.

A beat of silence passed between you. You slid off the bed slowly, smoothing your clothes. "I won't."

"Hope you're right."

You reached for the prescription, your fingers brushing his for a brief, unintentional second. The air in the small room suddenly felt heavy.

"Thanks, doctor," you said, stepping toward the door.

"Abbott," he corrected quietly. "Jack Abbott."

After you left. He never thought this first meeting could lead to another. 

The second time Jack met you

Same week. Different day.

Jack stepped into the exam room and stopped for half a second, the chart already in his hand. “You again.”

You were already sitting on the bed, one hand pressed to your stomach, your posture still stubbornly straight. “Don’t sound too excited, doctor.”

“I told you to follow the plan,” he said, his voice dropping into that calm, authoritative register.

“I did.”

Jack gave you a long, skeptical look as he pulled on fresh gloves. “No, you didn’t.”

You exhaled, shifting slightly to get comfortable. The movement cost you—a sharp flicker of discomfort that made your breath hitch—and he caught it. He always did.

“When did the pain get worse?” he asked, moving into your personal space.

“Last night.”

“Pain level.”

You hesitated, looking at the sterile white tiles of the floor. “…Seven.”

He didn’t comment, but his jaw tightened. “Lie back.”

You did as you were told. He pressed gently along your abdomen, his touch clinical yet oddly grounding. You flinched this time—not a subtle movement—and his hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing.

“Still eating irregularly?” he asked, his focus entirely on the exam.

“Yes.”

“Sleeping?”

“A little.”

He exhaled through his nose, a sound of quiet frustration. He straightened up, snapping his gloves off. The movement pulled the fabric of his scrubs tight across his chest and forearms, revealing the quiet strength in his veins. It was annoyingly noticeable. You found yourself looking away first, clearing your throat.

“You need labs and imaging,” Jack said. “Blood work, and I want a CT scan. Now.”

You frowned. “That sounds excessive for a stomachache.”

“It’s not,” he replied calmly. “Your symptoms are progressing, and I’m not interested in guessing.”

“I just need stronger meds.”

He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. The posture was casual, but his eyes were sharp. “Is your boss the problem? We see a lot of patients who are scared to take time off because of a demanding superior.”

Shen, passing by the open door, leaned in with a helpful nod. “We can advocate for you if that’s the case. No job is worth a perforated gut.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the genuine concern. “Oh—no. It’s not like that. It’s… complicated.”

Jack didn’t move. “Complicated how?”

You exhaled, the weight of the company and the board meetings suddenly feeling very heavy. “…Family business.”

Something shifted in Jack’s expression. It wasn’t sympathy—he didn't seem like the type to offer pity—but it was a cold, hard understanding that this wasn't just about a paycheck.

Time passed in a blur of needles and the sterile hum of the CT machine. When Jack finally returned with the results, he didn't sit down. He didn't soften the blow.

“You have a peptic ulcer,” he said. “And it’s worsening. If this continues, it will bleed or perforate.”

A beat of heavy silence followed.

“You need surgery.”

You shook your head immediately, the instinct to protect your position at the firm overriding the pain. “Not now.”

Jack’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened. “It’s not optional.”

“I can’t,” you said, your voice firmer, your eyes locking onto his. “I can’t risk my position. Not this week.”

Jack studied you, his gaze tracing the lines of exhaustion and defiance on your face. “If you delay this, it gets worse. The recovery gets longer. The risk gets higher.”

The irritation rose in your chest because he was right, and you hated being managed. “I’ll hold it,” you said, your voice tight. “Dr. Jack Abbott.”

That made him pause. Not because of the refusal, but because of the way his name sounded coming from you—a mix of a challenge and an acknowledgement.

Jack nodded once. “Then you’ll be back,” he said.

You didn't rebuke him. You couldn't, because deep down, you felt the truth in his words.

As you walked out of the Pitt, clutching your side, Shen watched your retreating figure. He turned to Jack, scratching his head. “Where does she even work? I wonder what kind of evil boss she has to be that terrified of taking a sick day.”

Jack didn’t answer. He just watched the doors close behind you, his thumb tracing the edge of your chart. “The worst kind,” he murmured to himself. “The kind that doesn't know when to stop.”

The third time Jack met you 

A sharp screech of tires shredded the night. Inside the pit, Mateo and Shen sprinted toward the sound while Jack stayed focused, his hands moving with surgical precision over a teenager’s arm.

Outside, a sleek black sedan was skewed across the ambulance bay. Your assistant, Greg, scrambled out and threw open the rear door. "Please, help her!"

You were slumped against the leather, knuckles white as you clutched your abdomen. When Shen reached for you, your eyes flickered open, hazy with pain. "Just... an injection," you whispered, the words strained. "I need to get back."

"You again?" Shen muttered, recognizing you. Mateo shook his head, already pulling out a wheelchair. "We can’t treat you in a car. Let's move."

Inside, the ER hummed to life. Vitals were taken, IVs started. Shen palpated your stomach, his expression darkening. "Pain level, one to ten?"

"Ten," you choked out, your usual composure shattered.

"We need a CT scan immediately," Shen said.

You looked up, eyes wide with genuine fear. "How long? I... I have a meeting. I just need to stop the hurting." You weren't barking orders anymore; you were desperate. "Please, just tell me if I can leave."

Greg hovered at the curtain, his voice trembling. "Boss, the paracetamol didn't work. You can't just keep going like this."

You didn’t look at either of them. Your gaze was fixed on the ceiling, your voice low and dangerously clear. “If I don’t get the results fast,” you said, “I will drive that car out of here myself.” A heavy pause hung in the air. Then, your eyes flicked to Greg. “And I’ll fire you before I hit the exit.”

There was an awkward moment. Shen didn’t waste time and went outside. “Abbott, I need you.”

Jack peeled off his gloves, his expression neutral. “What’s up?”

“Your gastritis patient is back,” Shen said, already mid-stride toward the trauma bay. “Same one. Still stubborn, still refusing surgery.”

Jack exhaled, a shadow of frustration crossing his face. Of course it was you. He followed, but Shen glanced back, a strange look in his eye. “I think you’ll be surprised by who she actually is.”

They reached the door where Mateo stood waiting, tapping a video on his phone. He held it up—a TikTok clip of fast cuts and aggressive headlines featuring your face. “The one percent,” Mateo said. “Executive Director of Ardentis Holdings.”

“Now I get the stress,” Shen muttered.

“It’s not just the job,” Mateo added, lowering his voice. “Succession rumors. Apparently, her father wants to hand the empire to his mistress.”

“It’s not a rumor,” a voice cut in. Greg stepped forward, looking frayed. “It’s happening. That’s why she won't stop.”

Jack remained silent, absorbing the information. He wasn't looking at the headlines; he was looking at the clinical reality. “Does she eat?”

Greg let out a dry, hollow breath. “Crackers and coffee. Maybe once a day if I’m lucky.”

“Sleep?”

“Barely.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. The damage finally made sense—it wasn't just an illness; it was a slow-motion collapse.

“Please talk to her, Doctor,” Greg pleaded. “I practically had to kidnap her to get her here.”

“Didn’t she just threaten to fire you?” Shen asked, raising a brow.

“She says that every Tuesday,” Greg waved it off. “I’m the only one who can deal with her.”

Ellis approached then, the CT results gripped in her hand. She handed the films to Jack. He scanned them once, then again, his focus narrowing until the rest of the room faded away.

“Yeah,” Jack said, his voice dropping into a grave, final register. “She needs surgery. Right now.”

A heavy silence fell over the group.

“Who’s telling her?” Shen asked, looking around.

No one spoke. They all just looked at Jack. He handed the chart back to Ellis, his expression hardening into the one he used when a patient’s life was on the line.

“Of course,” he said.

He reached out and pushed the door open.

*******

Jack stepped into the trauma bay. You were lying back now, looking smaller than you had in the car. You were paler than before, a light sheen of sweat across your temples. One hand was still clamped over your abdomen, your knuckles white with tension.

You looked at him immediately, your gaze sharp even through the haze of agony. “What’s the result, doc?”

Jack didn't tower over you. He pulled a chair closer and sat down—not rushed, not distant. Just steady. “You need surgery,” he said. “Appendectomy. Today.”

“I’ll accept the surgery,” you said, your breath coming in tight hitches. “But can it be postponed until next week? There’s a project I need to finish. A board meeting I can't miss.”

Jack leaned forward slightly, his forearms resting on his knees. “Look,” he said calmly, “I know about the internal conflict in your company.”

Your eyes narrowed. “My noisy assistant.”

“You need this surgery now,” Jack continued, ignoring the deflection. “If you delay it, it will rupture. Then recovery won’t be one week of light work.”

You held his gaze, trying to find a loophole. “How long?”

“Up to three months,” he said. “Especially considering you haven’t been eating properly or sleeping. Your body is running on fumes.”

You let out a quiet scoff, though the movement clearly cost you. “Eight hours of sleep is for weaklings,” you rasped. “I can’t lose everything to that mistress. If I’m not there, she wins.”

On the monitor, your heart rate spiked. The beeping picked up pace, a frantic rhythm echoing your internal panic. Your grip on your abdomen tightened as another wave of pain hit, sharper and more demanding than the last.

Jack moved immediately. “Alright,” he said, his voice dropping into a soothing, authoritative register. “Easy.”

He reached for the IV line, his hands moving with practiced grace. He adjusted the flow and added a medication to the line—controlled, precise. “A small dose of morphine,” he said. “This will take the edge off.”

As the drug entered your system, the world seemed to soften at the edges. You exhaled slowly, your shoulders finally dropping an inch. Silence settled between you for a long second.

Then, Jack spoke again.

“He’s an idiot.”

You blinked, the morphine making the words feel like they were coming from far away. “…Who?”

“Your dad,” Jack said, as matter-of-factly as if he were reading a lab report. “You’re clearly the better choice for the company. Safer than whoever he’s trying to put in. Any doctor can see you’ve put your life into that place.”

“Huh…”The comment caught you completely off guard. No hesitation. No platitudes. Just the truth, delivered by a man who didn't even know who your father was. Ruthless and heartless even to his own daughter. 

For the first time, the corporate mask cracked. It wasn't weakness that showed through, but a raw, startled realization. You almost laughed, but the movement pulled at your side, so you stopped, your breath catching in your throat.

“…Thanks,” you whispered instead, a small, genuine smile forming despite the circumstances.

Jack’s expression softened, just a fraction. “Yeah. Does she have the same mind for it that you do?” Jack asked, his tone casual, though his eyes remained sharp. “The mistress. Is she as smart as you?”

You let out a sharp, derisive scoff, “Yeah, right. The only way she made it into the executive suite was because she slept her way through the board. Strategy isn't exactly her forte.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. You have the brain. She doesn't.” he assured you that weirdly work on you “You could win the battle with your eyes closed.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” you murmured, your voice losing its defensive edge.

He straightened up, returning to his professional posture. “So, for the surgery—I need your consent. Do you want to proceed?”

You looked at him. Really looked this time. Not at the white coat or the stethoscope, but at the steady man sitting in the plastic chair.

“Fix me up, doctor.” you kinda dragging the doctor because you want to know his name. “I trust you.” 

That words was enough. Jack stood up, checked the monitors one last time, and stepped out of the room.

Greg was waiting right outside the door, pacing a hole into the floor. He stopped the moment Jack appeared. “Did she... did she agree? Did she want the surgery?”

Jack didn't stop walking toward the scrub sinks, but he gave a single, definitive nod. “Yup.”

Greg let out a breath so long it sounded like a deflating balloon. “Thank goodness.”

The fourth time Jack met you

By the time Jack made his way upstairs, the chaos of the ER had faded into the quieter rhythm of recovery floors. He hadn’t planned to come, or at least that’s what he told himself, but he still stopped outside your room.

The door wasn’t fully closed, and your voice slipped through, steady but impatient. “Greg, give me the laptop.”

“No,” Greg said, unusually firm. “Post-op orders. You just had surgery. You’re not working.”

A brief silence followed, the kind that meant you were deciding whether to argue or override him. Jack pushed the door open before you could.

You were propped up against the pillows, pale but composed, IV line taped to your arm. Even after surgery, you looked like you were still in control. Your eyes shifted to him, and for a second, you said nothing.

“You should be resting,” Jack said, glancing at the monitor, then back at you. “Eat, sleep, repeat. That’s how you recover faster.”

You went quiet.

Greg blinked. “See? I told you.”

Jack ignored him. His focus stayed on you. “You pushed too far,” he said, calm but firm. “Ulcers don’t get that bad overnight. Next time, you stop earlier.”

“There won’t be a next time,” you replied.

“Good.”

A pause settled between you.

“And don’t lose,” he added.

Your brows knit slightly. “Lose to what?”

“The pressure. Your father. The mistress.” His gaze stayed steady. “I put my bet on you.”

That caught you off guard.

“A bet?”

“Are you going to win or not?”

You leaned back, studying him. “Is this a challenge?”

He didn’t answer. Just checked his watch.

“My shift’s over. Focus on recovering.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, “I don’t like losing bets.”

He walked out like it was nothing.

The room felt quieter after he left. Greg lingered nearby, watching you like he was waiting for you to snap back and ask for the laptop again.

You didn’t.

You stayed where you were, one hand resting lightly over the bandage, your eyes still on the door he had just walked through.

A bet.

You let out a slow breath, then finally glanced at Greg. “Did he just challenge me?”

Greg gave a small shrug. “I guess?”

A faint smile pulled at your lips, almost against your will. “Oh, I’m going to show him.”

You adjusted your blanket to go back to sleep. "Send gifts to the doctors who handled my case in the ER," you commanded, your professional tone back in place.

Greg nodded, tapping into his tablet. "Yes, boss. Of course. All of them?"

You didn't look at him. "All of them."

A beat of silence followed. "And make sure it’s appropriate," you added. "Nothing over the top, but let them know the quality of care was... noted."

"Understood." Greg hesitated, his stylus hovering over the screen. "...Do you want to include Dr. Abbott separately? Maybe something personal?"

"No," you said, your voice steady. "Make it the same as the others."

Few days later, the discharge papers were signed. The hospital room, once a sanctuary of quiet, now felt too small, too restrictive. You stood by the window, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that felt like armor. You straightened your sleeves, the familiar weight of your old life settling back onto your shoulders.

"Can I leave tonight instead?" you asked, checking your watch. "The evening air is better for travel."

Greg checked the itinerary. "If we want to land in Sweden and get ahead of her before the morning session, we really need to be on the afternoon flight."

You hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second, your fingers brushed the edge of the hospital bed—the place where you’d actually found a moment of peace.

"...Fine," you conceded.

Greg glanced at you, then added with a mischievous tilt of his head, "You know, if you want... I could probably get his number. For follow-up questions. Medical ones."

You turned your head sharply, your eyes narrowing. "Shut up, Greg."

"Yes, boss." But there was a hint of a smile he couldn't quite hide as he grabbed your bags.

As you stepped out of the room and headed toward the elevator, you didn't look back at the trauma bay or the quiet halls. But as you walked, your pace slowed—just a fraction. You weren't rushing. You weren't vibrating with the need to be somewhere else.

For the first time in a very long while, you weren't thinking about the company. Not entirely. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a steady, low voice lingered, grounding you.

Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

Back in the ER, the frantic energy of the night shift had smoothed out into the steady, mechanical rhythm of a Tuesday morning. The monitors hummed, footsteps squeaked against the polished linoleum, and the air smelled of fresh floor wax and stale coffee.

Shen looked up from a clipboard as Jack walked in, shrugging off his heavy jacket to reveal his scrub top.

“Your patient got discharged this morning,” Shen said, his voice carrying a teasing lilt.

Jack paused, one arm still caught in his sleeve. He hesitated for only half a second before continuing. “Hmm?”

“The princess of Ardentis Holdings,” Shen smirked, leaning back against the nurse's station. “Left in a motorcade about two hours ago.”

Jack let out a quiet breath, finally draping his jacket over the back of a chair and reaching for the chart rack. “She’s not a princess,” he muttered, his voice low and distracted.

Shen didn’t bother to argue the technicality; the smirk remained firmly in place.

“We got really good food the whole time she was here,” Ellis chimed in, leaning her elbows on the counter. There was a faint, satisfied look on her face. “Catering from places I can’t even afford to look at. The day shift was absolutely jealous of us.”

Mateo nodded in fervent agreement. “I had a lobster roll for a ‘snack’ at 3:00 a.m. I don’t think I can go back to vending machine granola bars, Jack.”

Jack flipped through a chart, his expression entirely unimpressed. “So that’s what you took from this case. A refined palate for seafood?”

Ellis shrugged, unbothered. “I’m just saying. High-standard patient, high-standard perks.”

“Don’t tell me you guys are hoping she comes back,” Jack said, glancing up briefly from his paperwork, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Ellis and Mateo exchanged a quick, knowing look before both letting out a chuckle.

“Not like that, doc,” Mateo said, holding up his hands in mock surrender as he began to back away toward a trauma bay.

“Relax, Doctor Abbott,” Ellis added with a wink, heading off to check on a fresh admission. “The drama was just a nice break from the usual drunks.”

Shen, however, stayed. He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice so it didn't carry across the pit.

“…Don’t you?” Shen asked.

Jack looked at him, one brow slowly crawling toward his hairline. “Don’t I what?”

Before Jack could press him, Mateo suddenly reappeared, his phone already out and glowing. “There’s an update,” he said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Next week will be the decision. Swedish investors. Board control. It’s all going down right now.”

Jack frowned slightly, his pen pausing over a prescription pad. “How do you even know all of this, Mateo? Don't you have patients?”

Mateo rolled his eyes, as if the answer were obvious. “I follow an account. ‘The 0.1%.’ They track people like her—the moves, the scandals, the power shifts. It’s better than any soap opera.”

Jack didn’t comment. He just picked up his pen again, tapping it rhythmically once, twice against the edge of the metal clipboard. He looked back down at his work, his face a mask of clinical indifference.

“…So?” Jack asked quietly.

Mateo looked up, surprised by the prompt. Jack met his eyes, his expression as calm and steady as the day they’d met.

“Tell me when it’s decided,” Jack said, his voice barely audible over the hum of the ER.

A small, stunned pause followed. Mateo blinked once, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Tell me who wins,” Jack added.

Mateo’s grin widened into a triumphant beam. “Yes, sir.”

The fifth time Jack met you

A few months later, the room was bathed in the glow of a hundred crystal chandeliers.

Soft gold lighting bounced off champagne flutes and silk gowns. It was a sea of people dressed in the kind of tailored luxury that signaled true power. Conversations were layered, voices kept to a practiced, elegant hum over the quiet swell of a string quartet. This wasn’t just a victory party; it was a statement.

The war was over. The board was yours, and the mistress had been removed—cleanly, efficiently, and without a single drop of blood spilled on the corporate carpet.

You stood at the center of the room, a glass of vintage sparkling water in your hand. You were calm, composed, and entirely untouchable.

Lilly, your closest friend and director of marketing, looped her arm through yours, a triumphant grin on her face. “You really did it. You actually pulled it off.”

You took a slow, deliberate sip. “Of course I did.”

Lilly laughed, ready to make a toast, but suddenly her posture stiffened. Her hand dropped to her stomach, her fingers digging into the expensive fabric of her dress.

“…Okay,” she whispered, her face draining of color. “That’s not good.”

You turned immediately, your focus shifting from the room to her in a heartbeat. “What’s wrong?”

She forced a tight smile, though her grip on your arm was becoming a vice. “Probably just the new diet. It’s brutal.”

You weren’t convinced. You had seen this look before—the pale sweat, the shallow breathing. You were already shaking your head. “We’re going to the ER.”

“What? No—this is your night,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “The things we do for beauty, right?”

“Greg,” you called out, your voice low but carrying that unmistakable edge of command. “Prepare the car.”

“I have medicine in my bag—” Lilly started.

“No,” you cut her off, already guiding her toward the side exit. “We’re going. Now.”

Greg, who had been hovering nearby with a watchful eye, squinted at Lilly. He looked from her to you, a slow, knowing expression crossing his face. “…Suspicious,” he muttered under his breath.

“Shut up, Greg,” Lilly groaned, leaning heavily into you as the pain spiked.

“Yeah,” you added, pushing through the heavy oak doors. “Shut up, Greg.”

The ER doors hissed open with that familiar, pneumatic sound.

The smell was the same—antiseptic and floor wax. The lighting was the same—stark and uncompromising. But this time, the reason was different.

Shen looked up from the nurse's station and immediately a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Oh. The queen is back.”

You frowned, not missing the irony. “What?”

“I’m dying here,” Lilly groaned beside you, her head lolling against your shoulder.

You pointed at her without a moment’s hesitation. “Stomach pain. High stress. New diet. Fix her.”

Shen was already moving, grabbing a wheelchair. “Of course it is. It’s always the diet.”

The machinery of the hospital picked up speed around you. Vitals were taken, questions were barked out, and Lilly was whisked toward a trauma bay. Then, the curtains parted, and Jack stepped in.

He looked exactly as he had months ago—sleeves rolled up, stethoscope around his neck, an expression of unshakable, quiet focus. He didn't react to your designer gown or the fact that you looked like you’d just stepped off a magazine cover. To him, you were just a person in a room.

“Ellis, IV line. Matteo, get me labs. Let’s not assume it’s the diet until we see the blood work,” Jack said, his hands already moving to assess Lilly’s condition.

“Yes, doctor,” Ellis replied.

Within seconds, the team had Lilly stabilized and moving toward imaging. The chaos receded, the curtains were pulled, and suddenly, the room felt much larger.

It was just you and him.

Jack pulled off his gloves, tossing them into the bin with a flick of his wrist. He turned to you properly, leaning back against the metal counter. A brief, quiet pause stretched between you.

“You look great,” he said. It wasn't a line. It was a clinical observation, delivered with a hint of genuine warmth.

You held his gaze, feeling the tension of the last few months finally start to ebb away. “Thank you.”

Another beat passed.

“Oh,” Jack added, as if it had just occurred to him. “And congrats. You won the battle.”

You tilted your head slightly, a flicker of amusement in your eyes as you remembered. “Right. So that means you won the bet too?”

“Yup.”

A real smile almost formed. “Glad I didn’t make you lose.” You paused, then added, “How did you even know?”

Jack shrugged lightly, leaning one shoulder against the counter, completely at ease. “Hard to miss,” he said, his voice dropping into that steady tone you remembered.

“After all… you were my patient.”

With a small nod, he pushed himself off the counter and walked toward the trauma bay, already shifting his focus to the next case.

You stayed where you were, silk gown catching the harsh fluorescent light, watching him leave. His movements were calm, unhurried, like none of the chaos around him mattered. Like your world didn’t touch his at all.

Without thinking, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, your gaze lingering on the doorway long after he disappeared.

Across the room, Lilly, still half-sprawled on the bed but far more awake now, exchanged a slow, knowing look with Greg.

They nodded at the same time.

“Yeah,” Lilly muttered, voice weak but satisfied. “I knew it.”

Greg adjusted his glasses, completely in agreement. “Exactly.”

The sixth time Jack met you 

A few weeks later, the ER felt different.

It was cooler. Literally. Even the patients were shocked and unprepared with the coldness. 

Mateo walked through the double doors, froze directly under a ceiling vent, and closed his eyes. He looked like a man who had just found religion.

“Is that... actual air conditioning?” he breathed, the faint hum of a powerful, brand-new HVAC system purring above him.

Ellis didn’t even bother to look up from her paperwork, though the lack of sweat on her brow spoke volumes. “Don’t question a miracle, Mateo. Just enjoy the fact that we aren't melting into our scrubs anymore.”

Shen leaned back in his chair, a rare, relaxed posture for a Tuesday afternoon. “The waiting room, too. Finally, No more broken chairs or flickering lights.”

Robby walked in, hands shoved deep into his pockets, glancing around at the subtle but expensive upgrades. The walls were freshly painted, the floors gleamed with a high-grade finish, and the equipment at the triage station was top-of-the-line.

“Donations came through,” Robby said casually, though his eyes were dancing with a certain knowing light.

Mateo smirked, finally stepping away from the vent. “Yeah. We know who.”

No one said your name. They didn’t need to. The precision of the renovation, the efficiency of the delivery, and the sheer quality of the materials had your signature written all over it.

Robby’s gaze shifted across the room, landing on Jack. As usual, Jack was leaning against the counter, focused on a chart as if the world hadn't just been upgraded around him.

Robby walked over and leaned against the opposite side of the desk. “We should thank her.”

Jack didn’t look up. “You’re the Head of E.R, Robby. You can.”

Robby shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “No. It’s you who should thank her.”

That made Jack pause. Just for a second. The pen in his hand stilled over the paper. He slowly raised his head, his expression as unreadable as ever. “…Why me?”

Robby gave him a long, pointed look. “Don’t pretend you don’t know, Jack.”

Jack closed the chart. Slowly. Methodically. “I don’t.”

Robby let out a quiet breath, a sound somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. “Yeah,” he said, tapping the counter before walking away. “You do.”

Later that night, a rare, quiet moment descended upon the pit. The rush of the evening had bled out into a midnight lull.

Jack stepped out into the crisp night air to clear his head, but his gaze was immediately pulled to the parking lot. The black luxury sedan was back, and Greg was leaning against the hood. Greg caught Jack’s eye and gave a small, meaningful nod toward the hospital lobby.

He headed back inside, his boots echoing on the newly polished floors. He found you standing in the center of the lobby, head tilted back as you oversaw the progress of the renovation you had funded.

He approached, his steps unhurried and steady. “You’re doing inspections now?”

You turned toward him, showing no surprise at his sudden appearance. “Just making sure it works.”

His gaze flicked briefly to the new vents above—the ones currently pumping perfectly chilled, sterile air into the wing—then settled back on you. “It does.”

A beat of silence followed, the kind that usually felt awkward in a hospital but felt different between the two of you. “You didn’t have to do this,” he added, his voice a low rumble.

You held his gaze, your expression as calm and unreadable as ever. “It’s called gratitude, Dr. Abbott.”

Gosh. Every time his name slipped from your lips, it sent a sharp, electric tingle racing down his spine. He cleared his throat. “For the hospital?”

“For the people in it,” you corrected him. You took a half-step closer, the professional distance beginning to blur. “You helped me. And you helped my friend. Consider this a closing of the account.”

Jack studied you for a long second, his head tilted slightly as if he were deciding whether to accept that answer or look for the one you weren't saying. The silence that settled between you wasn't empty; it was close, heavy with the shared history of that frantic night in the ER.

“You’ve been eating properly?” he asked suddenly, falling back into the role of the doctor, though his eyes suggested he was looking for more than just a medical update.

You exhaled a light, weary breath. Of course he would bring it back to that. “Yes. Greg is a professional micromanager.”

“And sleeping?”

The question caused a pause. You shifted your weight slightly, your gaze drifting toward the darkened windows for a fraction of a second before returning to his steady, unblinking eyes. The air between you tightened, the hum of the new AC the only sound in the quiet lobby.

“I have trouble sleeping,” you said.

That got his attention. Jack’s eyes lifted from the chart, settling on you with quiet, undivided focus. “Since when?”

“Since a long time ago.” You tilted your head slightly, watching him. “Probably because my bed is too cold. Maybe you could fix that.”

Something in his expression shifted. He wasn't surprised or even particularly amused; he was just suddenly, intensely aware. “Cold bed,” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. His gaze didn’t leave yours. “You're saying that’s the problem?”

“It’s one of them.” Your chin lifted a fraction, meeting his scrutiny.

He studied you for a long second, then gave a small nod, accepting the answer without pushing. “You don’t look like someone who waits around for problems to fix themselves,” he noted.

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Instead, it seemed to tighten the space between you, pulling the air taut. You crossed your arms slowly, the movement deliberate this time. “Then what would you suggest, doctor?”

Jack didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, steady and measuring, as if calculating a dose. “Warm shower,” he said finally. “Magnesium. No phone thirty minutes before bed.”

Your brow lifted. “That’s it?”

“That’s what works.”

You tilted your head, still watching him, refusing to let him off the hook. “And if I’m still not tired?”

There was a brief, heavy pause. His gaze dropped for a second, tracing the line of your throat before returning to your face. “You should have someone who makes you stop,” he said, his voice calm and certain. “Someone who drags you to bed.”

The words landed heavier than they should have. You felt it in the sudden hitch of your pulse. “Do you give that advice to all your patients?” you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper.

He shook his head once. “No.” He let the word hang there for a beat. “Just you.”

He turned slightly, acting as if he were done, as if the line had already been crossed and he wasn’t going to linger on the edge. “If it’s still a problem,” he added almost casually, “you know who to call.”

You watched him, the sharp edges of your corporate persona shifting into something softer, more intrigued. “I didn’t know you had this in you.”

That made him glance back, looking just over his shoulder. “You don’t know much about me yet.” He paused, his eyes dark. “But you could.”

Now he turned fully, stepping closer. He wasn't near enough to touch, but he was close enough to change the atmosphere between you. “There’s a bar down the street,” he said. “If you want to fix the sleep issue properly.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing your face. “You’re skipping your shift?”

His mouth curved, just a little. “I’m stepping out.” He took another step, his voice dropping into a low, private register. “I’m not letting the biggest donor of this hospital go home alone and pretend she’s fine.”

It wasn’t a tease. It was a statement of pure intention. You held his gaze for a second longer, the weight of the night and the hospital falling away, before letting a small smile slip through.

“Lead the way, Dr. Abbott.”

Since that night, it didn’t stay just one night.

What started as something simple turned into a pattern neither of you questioned. You showed up after his shifts. He started expecting you there. Some nights you waited in the car, some nights you walked straight into the ER like you belonged there.

People noticed. The quiet way you stood near him. The way he always looked up when you entered, even in the middle of work.

You stopped going home alone. He stopped leaving without you.

Somewhere along the way, it became natural.

you don’t know whether to accept or not at first. you and samira have been beyond annoyed by baran’s constant insistence that the two of you keep quiet about your relationship, or at least that you be less conspicuous. you imagine that drinks might turn into another attempt at one of those warnings, or a way to break the news of some blow to one of your careers.

something pulls you to accept, though. you have to, just to see what she wants. because despite everything, or perhaps because of it, you feel pulled to her.

you don’t bring it up to samira right away. you have never talked about polyamory before, it’s never been something on your radar because there has never been anyone else on your radar. you have been happy in your relationship and you wouldn’t break up with samira for anyone or anything — even baran, who you meet at the bar with your girlfriend that night and have to pretend you’re not attracted to, and that your gaze isn’t constantly dipping down to the sharp neckline of baran’s black dress.

samira notices. you’re not as subtle as you think you are, especially after a drink. she pulls you into the bathroom and asks you what the fuck you’re doing, why you’re eyeing your boss like that — and then she asks if you would be mad if she told you she’s been doing the same all night.

you go back out into the bar. you are more united now, you’re on the same page, and baran can tell. she sets the direction for where things are headed, but she lets the two of you determine how far it goes.

she doesn’t expect you to take her home that night. she had hoped for it, but she thought that samira specifically would consider it too bold and quickly paced of a move — apparently she takes more risks when she is with you.

baran is softer with you than samira is. there is a hunger that you always feel so potently with samira, in the roughness she grabs and pulls you to her with and the firmness of her hands on your body. but with baran, it is different — you are held lightly enough that you lean into every point of contact like you need her hands on you in order to keep breathing. and you never beg for samira but for baran you start, because you think you might scream if she keeps reaching her hand between your thighs only to ghost just barely over you while samira stands behind you against the wall and sucks marks onto your neck.

“you can be patient,” baran tells you. it’s an order, one you would open your mouth to protest if not for the way she drags her fingers to your clit and presses them against it gently, enough to make your breath catch. “let me take my time with you,” she continues, and then dips a finger into you.

it’s samira who asks later if baran wants to fuck you with the strap-on. you both expect her to say yes, but she doesn’t — she says she wants to feel you come on her fingers, the way your walls tighten around her, and if you want to ride something then you can ride her thigh so she can feel the way you soak it. that is what you agree on, because samira wants make herself come with a vibrator in her hand while she watches you get fucked by her boss right next to her.

baran makes you wait to come until samira does. despite all of your moaning and begging, she stays firm in her resolve, flexing the muscles of her leg suddenly to make you gasp. she reminds you that right now you’re meant to be seen, that you need to be good and have some self control, which she already knows that you lack.

you want to tell her that maybe she is the one lacking self control, considering she’s gotten herself into bed with two of her coworkers, but you don’t think that would get you anywhere.

—

—

—

the pitt taglist: @slutforabbyanderson @babyblueb3ll @thursdayygrrrl @postflash @poseiden12345 @bobbybeyonce @azishimi @chaithetics

Lupe smiles knowingly, turning to press the E.D doors open.

You whisper a quiet thanks before moving to enter the fluorescent lit room. It smells just like it did the first time you came here, only now it's not a medical emergency. A hint of metal hides underneath the pungent anti-septic cleaner. It reminds you to watch where you step, or you might ruin your new Uggs.

As you round the corner to the nurses station, you shrug off your hood and raise your sunglasses to lay snugly against your hair. Immediately, you're met with a familiar face.

Shen chokes on his coffee, coughing out your name in between coughs. The tips of his ears glow red as he smacks at his chest. He's still getting used to the whole Abbot-dating-a-pop-star thing.

"What are you doing here?" He tries, and fails, to act as nonchalant as possible. "Need me to grab Jack?" He's halfway on his feet before you urge him to pause.

"Actually, no. You're just the person I was looking for."

He points a finger at himself in disbelief, "Me? Me as in John Shen?"

"Is there another Dunkin' Donuts lover in the PTMC that I'm not aware of? Because I only brought a gift for one and I really don't need the bad publi—oh my god!"

Shen wraps his arms around you tightly before you can wheeze out the rest of your sentence. "Are you for real? Am I being Punk'd?" His eyes dart around the room frantically checking to make sure there isn't a hidden camera crew in Trauma 2.

Shaking your head, you separate from his grasp to lean down and retrieve a comically large kiss-shaped container from the white paper gift bag you brought in. From a patient's perspective, it looks like Shen is being handed the keys to the city by the way he's covering his mouth. For Shen, it just about feels like that, too.

"I had some PR for my new drink come in and while it's adorable, I don't think Jack would appreciate this as much as you would," you explain. Shen opens the container like it contains buried treasure. You almost expect a golden light to shine from the package. "It's nothing too crazy, just a cup and a collectible cocktail shaker."

"I'm protecting this with my life," He promises seriously. Shen closes the box and holds it close to his chest whispering, "God, I'm so glad you fell and Jack had to perform a hip reduction," almost in prayer.

"I'm gonna take that as a thank you..?"

Dana, who is currently updating bed assignments, chuckles from her station a few feet away. Her blue eyes hold a tired weight in them as her claw clip is barely hanging on for dear life.

Considering it's 3 hours past day shift she looks better than you would expect someone after a now 15 hour shift.

"What are we thanking Shen for?" A gruff voice cuts in from behind you.

A smile forms before you can help it, a bubbling excitement forming in the pit of your stomach at the sound of his voice. John barely has the time to wipe the tears forming in his eyes before composing himself in front of his colleague. Slowly, you turn around to face your boyfriend like you just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

Jack's eyebrows raise slightly, head flinching backwards as his brain catches up to the sight of you. By the looks of it, it's been one hell of a shift, and he's only on hour three. Jack's grip around the stethoscope tightens as he takes a cautious step forward. His eyes travel up and down your frame as he searches for any reason why you need to be in the ED.

"Surprise? I was just here to drop off a PR gift for John." You gesture to where Shen should be, only to find him gone. Somewhere in the distance you hear him call out for Ellis to stay away from his gift. "Also to bring the _nightcrawler_s some treats. I baked some banana bread muffins after my shoot this morning."

Reaching back into the white bag, you pull out a plastic container decorated in an assortment of stickers. The aroma is already wafting through the air from where you crack open the lid to offer Jack a good look. You offer the container to him, hoping to watch him try one before you leave.

Jack's lips press into a tight smile, taking the muffins from your hands before placing them next to him on the counter. "I'll have one later."

Oh.

Out of the comer of your eye, you watch as Perlah and Princess exchange side eyed glances. You feel yourself deflate at his rejection, eyes switching between the abandoned container and Jack's uneasy stance.

He can't keep still, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. You know his leg must be killing him, the ED being an endless pit of patients that have him running from case to case. A part of you feels relieved that maybe his attitude right now isn't because of you.

"Abbot, motorcycle accident incoming in 3," Dana interrupts. Her voice slices through the tension like a warm knife through butter.

Jack nods, "Okay let's get ready in Trauma 1." Before he can get too far he pauses, and almost as an afterthought, he leans down to give you the chastest of cheek kisses. "Gotta go, I'll text you later okay?"

You bounce on your heels to shake off the feeling of embarrassment as you watch your boyfriend join Mateo by the ambulance bay. You watch as he gives him a fist bump as they wait for the incoming patient, energy already 50% more than what he was sparing you.

Dana gives you a sidelong glance before sliding the container towards herself, "Abbot doesn't want one now but I do. You came at the right time hon, I haven't had real food since 3 pm." Unceremoniously, she pulls the pink wrapper off before biting out a large chunk.

You smile, grateful that some of your pride was saved from having to walk out of the ED without enjoying your gesture. Dana hums in delight as she finishes her other half, neatly folding the wrapper together before throwing it in the mini trash can beside her.

"10/10. No notes, doll," she praises. "Abbot will be lucky to have one if they're not all gone in an hour."

You wave off her comment with a soft smile, "There's more at my place. I'm a little selfish when it comes to banana bread." Popping the hood back over your head, you slide the sunglasses back down before saying goodbye.

It's not until you're seated back in your car that you let the heat crawl up your neck. Should you have called him before coming in? Is it embarrassing to have your girlfriend come in to drop off muffins like a PTA mom?

At least Shen and Dana were happy to see me. John damn near spun me around.

You chalk up Jack's weird mood to him entering the ED to a frenzied mess after day shift had to deal with a five car pileup. You watch the news while baking, okay? You tell yourself he's just being kind, that his silence is him not wanting to air out his frustrations on you.

You check your phone for any notifications, exhaling when you read one from your manager, Sophie.

What did lover boy have to say about your world famous banana bread muffins?

You shut off your phone, trying to save at least a fraction of the good mood you were in earlier.

It stings only a little.

You tell yourself it's going to be a good day.

No studio time today, no meetings, no festival prep. Just you, your iced coffee, and your dinner plans with Jack later.

You had your schedule blocked off specifically for tonight. It's been exactly 6 months since you two started dating seriously. Everything has been almost perfect—aside from the small muffin hiccup that happened a week ago.

You totally let that go.

Okay, maybe you're still kinda bitter about it. But when he came to yours after his shift the next morning, he obliged when you offered to feed him one before he crashed in bed. The only thing keeping you from holding a grudge was the fact that he basically moaned when he finally tried one.

And that he ate 4 more when he woke up.

So now, you're sat on your bathroom counter top attempting to draw on a winged liner without screwing up and starting over. Your speaker in the corner fills the bathroom with r&b music, causing you to harmonize throughout the process.

Glancing down to where your phone rests near its charger, you frown when you realize Jack still hasn't responded. You texted him 30 minutes ago if he was on his way from the PTMC—his shift as a SWAT medic turning into a surprise day shift at the hospital after a shooting took place nearby. Your green text looking back at you as it failed to deliver regularly.

That was the last update he sent you before his phone died. You had a minor panic attack when he said he was in a shooting and got grazed by a fucking bullet, but there wasn't much you could do until seeing him in person.

You tell yourself not to panic as the time draws closer for you to leave.

He's a man. He could come back 30 min before your reservation and all he would need to do is shower and rub some pomade through his hair before he's ready— so sick and twisted now that you think of that.

It's just unlike him. He runs a tight program in and out of the hospital, not keen on being late to anything ever since he left the military. There's an itch to call Robby and ask if Jack's alright or if you need to come over there and patch him up yourself. You're not that close to him, only having his number 'in case of an emergency' like Jack said.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you pause your music and press on his contact. It rings for what feels like forever before finally connecting, a low sniffle breaking through the static before Robby clears his throat.

"What's up?" His voice is raw—like he swallowed gravel.

Concerned more than ever you sit up further, "I think I should be asking you that, is everything good?"

A humorless laugh cuts through, "You don't wanna fucking know, kid. It's been a shit show."

"No kidding. Is Jack there with you?" By the sound of it, maybe Jack should be there for Robby. You can almost picture him pacing an empty room as you talk to him.

"He left an hour ago. Went to grab a beer with his cop buddies before going home." There's a pregnant pause as the line goes quiet. "…Is there something wrong?"

You bite your lip hard—so hard that it leaves a metallic taste on your tongue. "Nope. I just hadn't heard word from him and—you know what? I actually have to go Robby but thanks for answering."

You end the call with a click before Robby can respond, letting the phone clatter beside you on the counter. Silently, you toss your makeup back into your travel case as you clean up the bathroom.

It's so stupid, you think. You should have seen it coming. The longer time in between texts, the going back to his own place instead of yours after a shift, the way he keeps you arms length from his close circle at the PTMC.

He didn't mind when you followed back Shen, Ellis, even Whitaker_, the man who saves edits of you on his phone_, on Instagram. But God forbid you joke about going on a double date with Robby and his new girlfriend. Jack physically cringed at the suggestion, laughing it off like you suggested going down to visit the Titanic.

You thought it would be different this time. That these past 6 months proved that not every relationship you publicize will burn in a fiery blaze.

Changing into an old college tee and sweats, you debate on going to the kitchen and drinking straight out of the wine bottle or rotting in bed. You feel restless, like if you don't scream or run around your house you might combust.

Your phone lights up on the nightstand, Sophie's face taking over your screen. Not the best time for a business call. You answer regardless, knowing she's probably tracking your location and wondering why you're still at home.

"What do you want, Soph."

She hisses on the other side, "Ouch. Not even a hello, how are you?" When you don't respond, she presses further. "I saw you haven't left for your reservation, everything okay?" Right on the money.

"Consider it cancelled. Jack apparently went out with his SWAT friends without telling me after getting grazed by a bullet." You laugh bitterly, "I guess I'm not exciting enough."

"Don't say that about yourself. If anything he's just old and had a lapse in memory," she chastises.

It earns a chuckle from you before you disagree, "First they're too young and immature to take me seriously and now they're too old to remember me. I really know how to pick 'em."

"Hush, do you need me to come over there and beat his ass when he gets back?" Sophie offers. She's joking of course, but something tells you she would do it if you asked. "Or we can watch 50 Shades of Grey and take a drink each time we cringe? I just don't want you to be alone."

"I don't feel like getting plastered tonight. And don't worry about me, I'll find something to do." Your eyes fall onto the keyboard piano in the corner of your room. "I'll call you later, love you Soph." You end the call after she reluctantly answers back a goodbye.

Now, you're no Shakespeare, but sometimes a song comes to mind and you just need to put it out there before it leaves your mind. Whipping out your notebook and pen, you start playing with chords. Your voice leads the lyrics—your pen following behind to write down hurriedly like they might get lost.

You finish the song in 20 minutes . Admittedly, it's a lighthearted song. One that not only draws from your experience with Jack, but also from the many failed boyfriends before him. Emotions you thought you were done feeling.

Sophie texts you for an update, and it kills you that every time your phone dings you're expecting it to be him. With a defeated sigh, you shut it off completely.

You're halfway into a shitty Lean Cuisine when your front door opens with a harsh whoosh. You don't bother looking up when frantic footsteps approach the kitchen, choosing to lazily blow on the steaming lasagna in front of you.

As the heavy footsteps get closer, they slow— like how Steve Irwin would approach a crocodile. You don't face him when he says your name, finding the bottom of the plastic tray quite interesting.

"Hope your little 'guys night' was fun," you remark listlessly. You jab at a piece of lasagna with your fork.

"Baby I—"

You cut him off sharply.

"Strangely enough, I let it go when you told me to drop the idea of you being in my music video, I thought you were embarrassed to act or— whatever the issue was."

Your grip tights around the fork.

"I let the double date thing go, too. Thought you just hated spending time with Robby outside of work." You finally look at him for the first time today, "… But that's not it, is it?"

You take in his appearance, how his face is a bit flushed and how there's sweat staining the arms of his shirt. No doubt he's had a bad night, and you hate to have to have this conversation after today's events. But if you go to bed pretending it's alright you think you might completely break in two.

"Do I— are you embarrassed of me?" You spit the words out like they burn.

Jack stills like you knocked the air out of him. “…You think I’m embarrassed of you?” he repeats after you—like he’s trying to hear it the way you do.

You huff out a humorless laugh, pushing your barely-touched tray away. “I mean, I think bailing on a date to go drink beers with your cop friends after being shot at says a lot about where your priorities are."

Shoving the bar stool back, you move to stand in front of him. "If this," you point between the two of you, "isn't fun for you anymore, then tell me Jack. Because I'm sick and tired of being led on again and again."

You go to shove past him before his hand reaches to grab your wrist gently. "I'm sorry—my phone died and I—," he shakes his head as if he knows that it sounds like bullshit to your ears, "I know tonight was inexcusable. I know that."

His jaw tightens as he tries to work the lump in his throat down. "And I know it's not just tonight. The video, Robby, the— I've been keeping you away from everything and I told myself I'm helping you—"

"Helping me with what?"

"—with when one day you wake up and realize that you don't want this," he chokes out, voice going hoarse as he drops your hand to run his own over his face.

You falter backwards— his admission piercing your chest like a scalpel. You watch as he takes a second to find his words before continuing.

"I don't know how to do this," he says, and he sounds genuinely lost in a way that Jack never lets himself sound. "I don't know how to be with someone like you and not—" He exhales hard through his nose. "I love you. And I love you too much to let you waste your time with someone like me so I just—"

"You pushed me away," your heart is like a pounding drum in your ears. "How am I supposed to know how you feel if you don't tell me."

"Yeah." His voice drops. "And I'm not sure how I can make it up to you, but I'll spend the rest of my life trying if I have to." His eyes follow as yours avoid him at all costs.

A beat goes by. Then two. And after the silence has hung in the air too long, Jack is contemplating on whether to turn away and leave before he has to watch you ask him to. It might actually kill him.

Looking up at the ceiling, you exhale loudly. Tears line your eyes—a complete juxtaposition to the tired laugh you give. "You have such a funny way of showing it." You walk closer, hand coming to direct his gaze to you.

"I know," he says quietly, "my therapist says I'm a piece of work." His hand comes up to cover yours where it rests on his jaw. "I'm sorry."

You let out a wry laugh as you search his face for a long moment — the tension in his brow, the way his hair looks like he's ran through it a million times. You feel bad, but also at ease to know he wasn't acting this way because he didn't care.

"You're such an idiot," you whisper. A tear escapes before you can stop it. "I love you too, you know. I wish I could have told you under better circumstances."

Something in his face breaks open. Like he's been holding his breath for six months and just now remembered how to let it go.

He pulls you in before you can say anything else, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapping around your waist like he's afraid you might take it back. You feel his exhale warm against your hair.

"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry I let you feel like you aren't a priority. And for everything else I've done earlier. "

You press your face into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Don't do it again."

His lips find your forehead and stay there. "Never, I promise."

He was going to take you out anyway, but this deal assured that there wouldn't be that awkward dance with the bill. Hell, you both made more than enough. But Jack was always adamant that you never spent too much on him. What he didn't know was that you paid for him to fly out first class, making sure that he had ample room to take off his prosthetic.

Jack watches as you patter barefoot down the entry way into the living room. "You wanna settle in on the couch? I'm gonna snag a bottle of wine from the back." You stumble a little on your way, the two glasses you had at dinner taking effect.

He hums, taking in how you the room feels. There wasn't much time to soak it in before hand, instead choosing to get reacquainted, but now he can dissect how each piece reflects the person you are.

There's a catch-all tray on the coffee table full of vintage matches, random board games stuffed under the TV console, and some 80's movie posters on the wall that are translated into French. He takes a seat on your plush green couch, debating on if he should've offered to help you get the bottle of wine.

A minute later, you're walking into the living room with two glasses and a red wine bottle. "Only the finest for my special guest this evening."

"This evening? Was there someone else here this morning?"

"Hmph— yeah right, if you wanna call Sophie a special guest. She's more like a pain in my ass these days." You scoff, allowing the wine to pour way more than what's considered a standard glass.

Jack gently stops you, "Woah, looks like someone has plans for tonight."

"And what if I do? Are you gonna stop me?" A breathy laugh escapes your lips as you place the bottle down and slowly climb next to him on the sofa.

You're so close that Jack has to remind himself to breathe. He can't help but stare as you lean into him, eyes half-lidded from wine and the stress of work. The lipstick you chose specifically for tonight is half-gone, having smeared off somewhere in between leaving dinner and now.

"Never. I'll do whatever you want."

You gently shove at his chest, giggling at how earnest his words are and the puppy dog eyes that follow. He tilts his head, gaze softening as you reach to play with stray curls at the nape of his neck.

For a second, it's quiet. It's not usual for you both to have a minute alone like this, where he isn't an ED attending and you aren't on stage or red carpets. Being able to see him in person is rare in itself.

You finish what's left in your glass, letting it hit the coffee table with a sharp clink. Jack looks at his full glass puzzled, then back to your empty one that's now sitting on the table.

"Hey, why did you pour so much in mine if you were only having a little?"

You push his glass closer to his lips, urging him to take a sip as you wink. "Because you need to be on my level for later tonight. ….And maybe because I have something to ask you."

Jack nods into his glass, encouraging you to continue. You watch in amusement as he takes 3 large gulps from his glass. It barely makes a dent.

"Well, you know how I have to film tomorrow?" God, you wish you had whatever they gave you in the hospital the first time you met so you could actually get the words out. "I was kinda hoping you would be in the music video? Just a small cameo!"

You brace yourself for the immediate no. For him to tell you to keep dreaming because he wouldn't be caught dead—

"Okay, is that it?" He raises his eyebrows, seemingly unimpressed by your question. "It's not like you're gonna have me in sequins, right?"

You blink owlishly. "N-no! You're just gonna be a cop who's looking for the intruder, me, after I break into a house."

"Nothing I'm too unfamiliar with. Let me guess, it's for House Tour?" There's a few sips of wine left in his glass, but he chooses to place it alongside your empty one in favor of being able to hold you instead.

You reach to cup his cheek, "Aww, look who's a superfan knowing my discography now. Dennis has a run for his money."

Jack turns his head slightly to bite at your hand playfully. You squeal, pulling back your hand before he grabs you and fully embraces you as you wiggle in his grasp. His breath smells like red wine and mint, his cologne permeating through.

"Only because you told me it was about me after you released it." He knows that's not the whole truth. During his drives to and from the hospital he plays your albums, letting your voice belt in the car when you aren't free to call him on the phone. Also, he can't let Shen know you better.

You gasp in faux shock, "Is that so?" You start giggling again when his fingers move along your sides. You can't look him in the eyes without wanting to smother him in affection.

"You're telling me someone else is coming inside?" He presses.

You manage to escape his grasp, moving to run away before he can catch you. Your ploy works, because soon enough you both have abandoned the wine in the living room to chase each other upstairs. He's at your heels when you reach a palm out to halt him in his tracks. He cocks an eyebrow, waiting to see why you decided to stop so suddenly.

Slowly, you unzip the side of your dress and shimmy out of it until it hits the floor with a soft thud. It's now just you and your lingerie set against one fully clothed doctor. You kick it to the side, turning to open the door to your bedroom.

Jack is sure his heart has stopped beating. Or maybe he's now lightheaded because every drop of blood has rushed from his head to his dick. All he knows is that he's so grateful that Shen offered to pick up his shifts this week.

"Are you coming in or what?"

The excuse for the apartment was that it was centered in between major cities like NYC and Chicago, making it easier to take a pit stop in between touring. You just wrapped up the final stops, choosing to settle down in Pittsburgh before preparing for Lollapalooza.

It's dark out by the time you reach the penthouse, your fingers fumbling with the keycard as you swipe it to unlock the door. With a huff, you drop your tote bag on the entryway table. Slipping your keys onto the nearby hook you hear some metal clashing in the kitchen.

That's odd.

Your manager was at her own home, the cleaning staff should be gone at this hour, and Jack didn't text you that he would be over. You tried calling him during your free time at the studio, needing some relief after writing songs about your exes all day, but instead of answering he sent a text. Something about needing to check up on a SWAT buddy who was recently injured.

Slowly stepping forward, you peek your head around the corner of the kitchen. There in grey sweatpants and a navy blue tee is Jack Abbot, your boyfriend (officially as of a month ago). He's bent over the stove stirring a boiling pot, hands softly fanning the steam from his face. After he looks satisfied, he turns back to where a cheese grater is perched on a cutting board to his left. His phone is charging on the island, along with his wallet and keys that include your apartment key card.

Letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding, you lean against the marble counter top watching the muscles in his arms strain against his shirt as he grates a block of cheese. "To what do I owe this sight?"

Jack startles, hands halting mid-grate, "Didn't think you'd be back so soon." He moves back to the stove where the pot of boiling water threatens to foam over the top. "Was planning on surprising you after you got back from the studio," he replied.

"Is it my birthday?" You smile, eyes tracking him as he moves to strain the pot over the sink. "You didn't have to go through the trouble of making dinner."

"I wanted to," he replies easily. As if it's something as simple as folding laundry.

Comfortable silence follows, the hum of the stove vent filling the empty space. He works diligently, as if cooking pasta is as second natured as a tracheostomy. It feels awfully domestic, coming home to Jack cooking in his lounge wear as you scroll through business emails.

Jack taps the wooden spoon on the rim of the pot, "Dinner's ready."

"What's on the menu Chef Abbot?" You giggle, pulling yourself up to sit on the counter.

"Carbonara. We both need a comfort meal," he dips his finger in the sauce, "Open."

Obediently you comply, lips wrapping around his index finger. You gaze up at him through your lashes, swirling your tongue around his finger before letting go with a pop. Something about him cooking dinner unprovoked makes you want to devour him whole.

He raises his eyebrows, "Good?"

"Very."

He hums, moving to grab plates from the cabinet as he prepares both of your meals. You can tell by how he's avoiding eye contact that your little stunt proved to be fruitful. He's trying to be polite and not ruin you before dinner.

You hop off the counter, maneuvering around the kitchen to set the place mats on the island. Your apartment is still in the works, furniture needing to be assembled in various rooms. Jack stops you, a small tsk escaping his lips.

"Eating in the dining room tonight." He jerks his head towards the mentioned room.

"The IKEA guy hasn't come to assemble the table yet, though."

"Didn't need him to," he shrugs offhandedly, "I did it."

You falter, snapping your head up to make sure you heard him correctly.

Jack notices, cautiously meeting your gaze. "…Is that okay?"

You trail behind him into the dining room, "Of course, baby. It's just that feel bad that you did all of this for me." You admire the new table for a second before placing the mats and two wine glasses down. It's perfectly assembled, clean from any mess that might have occurred while putting it together.

"Don't worry about it, honey," he says before placing the plates down gently. He has no clue what affect his voice is doing to you right now. Or he does, and he's good at hiding it.

Biting your lip, you rest your hands around his shoulders, "Do I get to know what's for dessert?"

Jack looks down, wetting his lips before replying, "I'm looking at it."

Jack has been getting stares all day.

He's used to it by now. He's dating the biggest pop star in the country, he's not blind to the fact that he's recognized by more and more patients. Today, it's different from the attention he got back when he was circulating online after the concert.

It's … awkward?

At first he didn't notice anything unusual, he walked in normally for his shift, backpack slung over one shoulder as he waved to Dana. She nodded back tiredly, handing him charts he needed to look over for handoffs.

Nothing too out of the ordinary.

During rounds he notices Javadi intensely staring at the floor, her face flushing when Jack calls on her to present the patient to him. She gapes, mouth open, looking at him before immediately looking back to the patient.

"Right uh— this is Marcus Jones, 22-year-old male. Came in about an hour ago after a non-contact injury to the right knee during a basketball game. He had immediate pain and swelling, and couldn't bear weight. His vitals are stable but we're suspicious that it could be tears—" her eyes widen, "a tear, I mean a tear. ACL or meniscus due to his x-ray coming back free of fractures."

Jack nods, moving forward to the next room.

Weird.

Then while he was logging charts on the computer, he notices Whitaker, who was working a double, with his eyes halfway closed while he finished up his own charting. Poor Dennis was about to face plant into the keyboard before Jack is in front of him snapping his fingers.

"Whitaker, wakey wakey."

Dennis sits up quickly, looking up at him with nothing but fear. "Sorry, Dr. Abbot it's just—I didn't get a chance to stop by the gas station and get an energy drink—actually, sorry, I know that's not an excuse—"

"Relax," Jack cuts him off, "Just try not to doze off while working on a patient." He points towards the staff room, "Go take a 15."

"Dr. Abbot really I'm fi—"

"Go. You need it."

Dennis stands, looking like a kicked puppy as he trudges to the staff room. Lena looks over at him, straightening the stack of papers in her hands.

"Look at you, such a responsible guy," she smirks.

Jack shrugs, "It's my job. Wouldn't want him snoozing during a thoracotomy because he couldn't pick up a Redbull."

Lena hums, returning to cleaning up the files in front of her. Just as the department has grown quiet, well as quiet as it can get, Shen bustles down the hallway loudly.

"Jack! My man," Shen claps. Surprisingly, it's the first time he's bumped into him tonight.

"Shen, it's too early in the shift man."

"It's 2 am. And you seem pretty unenthusiastic for a guy who just had a song drop about him," he remarked.

Jack pauses, "What are you talking about?"

Shen gasps, holding a hand to his chest. "You didn't listen to your girlfriend's new song as soon as it dropped?"

"Shit, I forgot it was tonight. She's been promoting out in L.A this week so I lost track of time." He examines the way Shen lights up in excitement, "What do you mean it's about me?"

Here's the thing. Jack knew you were finishing up your album, and that there may or may not be a song that was inspired by him. But each time he pressed for more, you would shut him up with a kiss or a new topic to distract him. He hates to admit how easy it is for you to get your way.

"Listen for yourself," Shen suggests, wiggling his eyebrows before shoving his earbuds in Jack's palm.

And listen he did.

It's 2 minutes and 40 seconds of torture. Not because he hates it. Never that. But because now he's pretty sure he needs to lock himself in the supply closet before he can face the night shift crew again.

It all makes sense. Why Javadi fumbled presenting to him, why Lena called him a responsible guy, and how every alert patient he's encountered today has looked at him like he's a gazelle and they're a lion.

He pulls out his phone, clicking on your message thread that's pinned at the top.

A warning would have been nice. Shen and Ellis are never going to let me hear the end of this.

It's barely past midnight on the west coast, so after a few minutes your text bubble appears.

Sorry baby :D It would have ruined the surprise ! Have you watched the music video yet…?

You attach two eyes looking sideways. He furrows his brows.

Music video??

All you reply back with is a kiss emoji. And then after some typing bubbles appear and reappear, a water droplet emoji.

Of course, as soon as he opens up YouTube your video is the first thing recommended. He takes one good look at the thumbnail before sighing.

He's going to need another 15 in the supply closet.

You were nice enough to send enough tickets for the 3 night shift attendings who were on scene when you arrived, but unfortunatly that means that not all of them can bail on the hospital to come to your show. Jack did the polite thing and offered to work so Shen and Ellis, who were actual fans, could go.

They shut that idea down quick.

"She didn't call me the hot ass doctor, man," John laughed.

Jack shook his head, "She was looped up on morphine, John."

"All I know is that they emailed you, not us. And she's not high off her ass anymore," Ellis countered. She smacks her iPad down, "You're going."

"Better get to listening," John says as he throws a tangled mess of earbuds over Jack's shoulder.

So now here he was, clad in a crisp black tee and some dark wash jeans, among the sea of teenage girls and disgruntles boyfriends. Watching as girls in cowboy hats and boots take pictures in the arena.

Jack is more surprised at the fact that Trinity wasn't as excited as he thought she was going to be when he invited them. In fact, Dennis was the one who almost hyperventilated. He almost passed out when Jack told them he had tickets to the sold out show, and he then had to take a 15 minute breather in the staff room after being told they were VIP.

A picture of him sipping on an apple juice carton is still haunting the day shift group chat.

Jack pulls out his phone, squinting as he moves it away from his face, "Santos, can you show them the tickets? I don't know how to work it."

"Sure, gramps." She snatches the phone from his grasp, fidgeting with his phone before the barcode appears.

He gives her a pointed glare, one that says be careful I'm still your attending.

Dennis bounces on his feet all the way through the arena, seemingly in awe and anticipation. "Hey, did the tickets mention how close we are? I brought my disposable camera," he smiles cheerfully.

Before he can get out a reply, Trinity motions for the phone in an effort to not waste time watching him try and find it himself. Her eyebrows furrow as she reads the ticket, zooming in and out to make sure she's seeing right. "It just says VIP Guest, it doesn't say a seat or anything."

Jack grabs the phone back, and sure enough, she's right. "Let's just ask someone who works here."

VIP Guest really means VIP huh.

There's a reason the tickets didn't have a seat. The reason being that the three of them are now standing in between the front row and stage, right where security is. They could pull themselves on stage if they tried hard enough.

Dennis had to whip out his mini fan to keep from fainting.

Trinity took a picture of him again. Captioning it "Fuckleberry's about to cream his pants."

Jack is sweating. Like enough sweat that it looks like he just finished coding a patient at the PTMC. He thought he was going to be able to come to the show, send a thank you email, and go on with his life.

The truth is you made him nervous.

You came into the E.R. looking like nothing short of a goddess, and the flirty comments you made didn't help either. He had to keep his thoughts innocent as he adjusted your joint back in place, looking anywhere else besides where your skirt ended near his grip. Aside from your looks, he could tell you were sincere and kind-hearted person. He heard from the hospital rumor-mill that you came back the next day to visit the peds floor and say hi to some fans.

Essentially, he was fucked.

Which is why the thought of you being so close again is sending him into overdrive. He's afraid he might have to picture a dying patient in his mind so he doesn't grow hard watching you perform in that little outfit again. He heard "Bed Chem" once and had to stop halfway to take a cold shower. He's brought out of his thoughts when Dennis screams as the lights begin to dim.

No time to run and hide now.

It's refreshing to be back onstage after the weekend you had. You spent the past two days icing your leg and praying that you don't make a fool of yourself again when Pittsburgh N2 rolls around.

The adrenaline usually does all the work for you, keeping you from second-guessing yourself as you let the energy of the arena consume you. If you make a mistake, you just smile and keep the show going with a laugh. If anything, it'll make for a funny compilation on YouTube.

Your prayers seem to go answered as the show goes off without a hitch. The blood in your veins is pumping a million miles an hour with each song, and it definitely has nothing to do with the silver-fox attending watching from in front of barricade.

It takes the strength of all your ancestors to not stare directly at him for each song, a challenge so hard that you have to mentally remind yourself to not bite your lip when you do make eye contact.

You allow yourself to indulge in his attention outwardly for one song.

"Pittsburgh, I see some really attractive people in the audience," you fan yourself dramatically, "…my heart is racing. Girls come out here I need some help."

From behind, two of your dancers join your side ready to begin the next set. One has a special set of pink fuzzy handcuffs.

"Girls, look at that man," you bite your lip as you finally point out the object of your desires.

Jack Abbot.

Blue and red lights start flashing while police sirens whine from the stage. The tour camera quick to pull up his face on the large screens in front. At first, he thinks he's having a stroke. But then you're leaning down, biting your lips in an attempt to hide your laughter.

Trinity is almost on the ground, keeling over gasping for air as she pulls up her camera to document this moment.

Dennis keeps looking from the screen then back to his attending. His mouth floundering open and closed. He's jealous.

"I think I need a doctor, what's your name?"

Still in a state of disbelief, he manages to get out, "Jack." He feels like he needs a drink. Or two.

"Are you a doctor, Jack?" Oh you're evil.

He nods, "Dr. Abbot," arms coming to cross in front of himself. He's sure the whistles and barking from behind aren't for him. Not until he hears a woman nearby scream "HE'S FINE AS SHIT!"

Turning towards your backup dancer, you take the pair of handcuffs from her, "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to arrest you for being too hot Dr. Abbot." You giggle as you toss him the cuffs, watching as he catches them with one hand easily.

A hand at the back of your long skirt signals the next bit,"Doctor, you're so hot that my clothes are just falling off my body!" With that, your long skirt drops to the floor revealing the same type of set you wore in the E.R. Stepping out of the heap on the floor, your legs are now exposed in your shiny tights, making the crowd scream.

Jack is really hoping that the camera is only catching his upper half right now.

Faking a cough, you sigh, "I think I'm coming down with something, do you know mouth-to-mouth?"

"I can teach you," he replies, surprising himself with his own boldness.

While the audience may think you're joking, in reality you actually do need to fan the heat away from your face. The intro to 'Juno' starts, and you realize you can't sit here and flirt with him the whole show.

"Come find me after the show then, Dr. Abbot," you wink. "This one's for you."

With that, the opening verse starts and thunderous squealing shakes the arena. Jack doesn't know what to do with himself, not sure if he should be mortified that his residents are fangirling on the side, or if he should take up your offer and find you later. Throughout the song you keep finding his gaze, and each time you do you exaggerate the lyrics into the mic.

Dennis slaps his shoulder repeatedly, "Look, look this is the best part! At each stop she does a different position!" He's already grabbing both Abbot and Santos towards the edge of the walkway. Fuck it, he's VIP he can do what he wants. They're smack dab in the center when you sing.

"Wanna try out some freaky positions…"

The crowd quiets, everyone on the edge of their seat as they anticipate tonight's position. You lay onto your back, left leg bent down while your right leg is lifted in the air. You catch Jack's stare, winking before continuing, "Have you ever tried this one?"

Jack has to go to the bathroom after.

You bow with your dancers, watching confetti fall while you wave to the audience, blowing kisses to the front row, before turning to walk up the stairs on your prop "home" on stage to exit. The lights begin to dim and as you reach the last step, your platform boot slips, sending you tumbling upwards and onto your hip where the edge of the stair ends.

The "ooh" from the crowd that can still see you fall was more than enough to knock your ego down a few pegs. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your manager hurridly approaching.

Nothing else is circulating in your brain except for the fact that your hip hurts. Almost numbingly.

"Shit!" You exclaim as you attempt to move your right leg.

"Are you alright?" Your manager finally comes to your aid, urging someone in her headset to call 911.

You try and move up again, "Ah!— no I can't even put weight on my side."

A crew member approaches, letting you both know an ambulance is 3 minutes away. He looks pale, watching with wide eyes as you groan from the floor. He scurries when he sees the state your leg is in. Which is never a good sign.

"That doesn't look good." Looking down, you see your right leg at a very awkward angle,"Did I already break my hip in my 20s?" A bead of sweat trails across your forehead from both performing and the pain.

"We'll figure it out when we get to the hospital," your manager soothes. She gets the EMT's attention when they finally arrive, stretcher ready for you. You can already sense the excitement from them, one EMT checking for his phone.

"Sophie?" you ask turning towards your manager, "try and make it discreet please." The last thing you need is a tabloid cover of you in the back of an ambulance with the title ESPRESSO STAR TAKES A FALL.

She's holding her headset close to her ear, grimace on her face, "… About that."

The one thing you're grateful for is that you didn't need lights and sirens for the ride to the E.R.

However that doesn't really stop paparazzi from causing a scene wherever you go. You're only able to see where you are after the paramedics wheel you past the frenzy of flashing lights and into the hospital.

It looks fairly busy, doctors and nurses looking down at their charts as they breeze from room to room. It makes you feel silly, you're sure someone in the waiting room is having a heart attack meanwhile you tripped on some stairs. The rhinestoned two-piece you're wearing adds salt to the wound, too. You stick out like a sore thumb in the colorless room.

The paramedic in charge starts listing your name and age to a nearby nurse, "…she fell on some stairs while on stage, BP is 117/78, pulse 92, unable to move her right hip at all."

The redhead nods then looks at the mob outside the ambulance bay doors, raising an eyebrow at the EMT, "What's with the frenzy outside?"

"Holy shit."

You turn to look at a new face, a doctor with an almost empty dunkin' coffee in his hand, as he freezes from where he was dropping off his ipad. He fumbles with his drink, looking for a way to not look like a fish out of water.

"Shen, c'mon let's go," the nurse claps, ushering him to take your case out of the med bay.

"Right—okay trauma 2 is open, let's get her situated now," Dr. Shen states, directing the group into the secluded room. "And Lena?," he motions to the commotion blocking the very crucial ambulance bay, "call for security. A lot of them."

In a moment, there's a lot of talking happening around you that you can't even begin to comprehend. You're being lifted off the stretcher and onto an actual bed, and the pain hits you tenfold. "Fuck ow," you cry out.

Dr. Shen lets out a nervous breath before saying your name, "Did you hit your head at all during the fall? Any nausea or dizziness?" He opens up your eyelids gently with his fingers, flashing a pen light between both. "Equal and reactive," he calls out.

"No, I just fell onto my side. Can't move my leg without wanting to die," you moan.

"Push 4 of morphine," He orders.

You nod tiredly, "Mhm, yeah push that." The relief is almost immediate, the pain in your hip slowly easing as the morhphine hits your IV.

Two more people rush into the room, blue gloves snapped on before you could say hello. You're only able to see a woman as she steps in front of where your head is lolled to the side. "What's going on here—woah," the woman says. She stops herself for a second, surveying the room to see if anyone else is seeing the most talked about pop star at the moment in the trauma bed,"You're-that's—"

"Yep. I know. We'll talk about it in the break room after, Dr.Ellis," Dr. Shen chirps, this is the most exciting thing to walk through the doors since a Brad Pitt look alike got hit by an e-bike.

"The only thing we should be discussing is our patient," a new voice adds, although he does let out a low hum at the sight of you. "How'd you take a tumble tonight?"

You know an attractive voice when you hear one.

You lift your head up as much as the morphine will let you, lazily eyeing the room until you spot him. He's older, emanating authority as he takes note of your vitals. Dark grey curls, rough stubble, biceps so large that you want to eat sushi off of them. Fuck.

"Um, leaving the stage, it was dark and I slipped," you point towards your sparkly boots, "thanks to—um, these bad boys." It comes out more sluggish than you hoped.

He chuckles, his hands coming to survey any external damage on your leg, "Yeah that'll do it." He looks up at Shen, "No CT, her leg is internally rotated, pain when moving. Posterior hip dislocation." His fingers travel up to where your skirt is bunched up around your hip.

You think you hear the heart monitor start speeding up. You groan again.

"Is the morphine not helping?" Dr. Shen asks as he checks the monitors, ready to order for the nurse to push more.

You blink lazily, murmuring out a "No, I just look like a mess in front of this hot ass doctor." What you said doesn't register until a few seconds later, but you're too tired to care. The room is silent for a moment, nothing but beeping and the faint chatter outside keeping the room from being completely quiet.

Dr. Ellis chortles before sliding off her gloves, "I think you got this one, Abbot. Come find me after miss espresso is done, Shen."

Dr. Abbot clears his throat, "Okay, let's get ready to do the Captain Morgan technique for hip reduction." Maybe it's the morphine, but his cheeks look like they have a pink hue to them.

Dr. Shen places a stool by the bed next to his colleague, "This is gonna be uncomfortable, but you'll feel better in no time." He grasps onto you firmly, giving Dr. Abbot a nod, "Stabilizing her pelvis."

You snort, pointing at your new crush as he places his foot to get better leverage on the bed. "He can stabilize my pelvis anytime," you whisper.

"What was that?" Dr. Abbot asks, watching as Dr. Shen turns nearly purple from trying to hold in his laughter. This was so going in the group chat.

Damn, that was supposed to be an inside thought.

You don't respond as every nerve in your body is electrified when he places his hands firmly on your leg, lifting it up and nearly bending it over his shoulder. You let out a shaky exhale because it's not everyday that a hot doctor is spreading your legs to relocate your hip.

"Ready?" He asks, mainly towards Dr. Shen, but you don't miss the way his eyes meet yours as he takes a deep breath in, hands kneading at your thigh.

Dr. Shen was right, this is uncomfortable, but more so the fact that now you're incredibly more turned on than in pain at the moment. You want to laugh realizing how ridiculous this would look to anyone walking by the transparent doors. Rhinestone boot thrown over the shoulder of the rugged attending doctor in the PTMC.

"Ready, Abbot."

He nods, pressing his weight down into the side of your hip, waiting for it to click back into place. At the satisfying POP! of your hip, he releases his grip, allowing your leg to finally move freely. He watches you flop your leg into a normal position, satisfied grin taking over.

You sigh at the instant release, no longer immobilzed by the joint. "I will say," wiggling your hips to regain feeling, "I've never tried that one before."

At that, Dr. Shen can no longer hold in his laughter as practically cries out. He's leaning down on the edge of the computer, full hysterics consuming him. When he's semi-done, he wipes stray tears from his eyes, "This is why you're my favorite artist."

Before you can thank him for the much needed flattery, the trauma doors swing open again, but this time it's Sophie who rushes in. She looks exhausted, L.L Bean tote about to fall off her shoulders as she reaches to grab your hand.

"Oh thank god, are you okay?" She looks to both doctors for any sort of confirmation that you are perfectly in tact, "Is she alright now?" Sophie turns back to you, hands coming onto your face to examine you up close. You feel like a rag doll with everyone throwing you around.

Dr. Abbot stands with his hands behind his back next to Dr.Shen, eyes tracing your figure as subtle as he can. Which isn't subtle at all. "Dislocated hip, did a quick manuever to put it back into place so she should be okay to go home after we give you the discharge papers," he nods at you before adding, "… She's also a little high off of some morphine we gave her for her pain."

"Soph don't worry, I'm fine," you smile. You try throwing her a low-key wink, but it ends up coming out very cartoonish, "I was in great hands."

Her eyes glance over to Dr. Abbot,who is having a hard time not getting flustered at your comments, and then back to you. By the one comment she has witnessed, she knows she's going to have you at her hotel door in the morning ready to knock back a few mimosas to forget what happened in the E.R tonight.

"Wait! Sophie before we go we haveee to give them tickets to my next show," you point at Shen, "…he's a huge fan and he basically helped save the tour."

Dr. Shen looks like he could faint. Or vomit. One of them will happen sooner or later.

You look at Dr. Abbot, mouth opening before you can stop, "…Make sure the sexy doctor gets one, too."

Sophie looks embarrassed for you, one hand rubbing at her temple because she hopes this man doesn't have a wife. Or at the very least a daughter that listens to you. She's about to dismiss you, blame your words on the drugs or that you're running off of 4 hours of sleep when Abbot smiles.

He throws his non-sterile gloves in the trash, opening the door with his back as he steps out and nods,"See you at the show."

“Adrian, I left an orgy to go on a date with you, your phone number is written in blue sharpie on my arm. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to see you again on another date.” 

“Oh,” he said, eyes wide behind his glasses as he took in her expression. She was being genuine, she actually wanted him. 

The past three months had become the best of his life. They went to the arcade, to the movies, to dinner. They would walk around holding hands and Adrian would beam at her like he was having the time of his life - and he was. There was just a small little problem. 

They hadn’t had sex. 

Previously Adrian had operated after the three date rule, if he could ever get a third date. But their third date came and passed with no intention of actually having sex. Adrian wouldn’t even mind if they never had sex, he knew it would increase their bond, but if she never wanted to he would be fine with that. Anything to just be by her side.

But now, six months into dating, things were starting to feel tense. Not in a bad way. Just every glance, every smile, every touch set his entire body on fire, and he was running out of ways of dealing with it. 

“Dude, you met at an orgy, pretty sure she’s not saving it for marriage,” Chris said leaning back at his desk, hands crossed over his stomach as Adrian perched on top of Chris’ desk after spending the past thirty minutes sharing his dilemma. He sighed looking at his shoes as he kicked his feet slightly out. 

“Just because she was at the orgy doesn’t mean she wants to have sex with me,” he repeated for probably the tenth time to Chris. 

“Vig, you guys have been together for like a year now, I don’t think-”

“It’s been six months, not a year,” Adrian corrected. 

“Same dif, I’m just saying I feel like you’re at the point where you can just talk to her. Ask her if she wants to fuck,” Chris said, shrugging. 

“But what if when I ask her she feels pressured into saying yes? I don’t want her to have sex with me just because she thinks that’s what I want or what I’m ‘owed’ or whatever. I want her to want me,” he said, his body feeling heavy as he was still lost in the best decision to make. He didn’t want to ruin what they had now, but what if by not talking about it he was ruining their relationship. 

It was really too much for him and he beat himself up the whole evening as he made his way to her apartment. It had become a Thursday ritual for the two; movie night turned into Adrian spending the night since she lived closer to Checkmate than where his mom lives. 

However this time, when Adrian knocked on his door he was met with her, biting her lip and in a pair of skimpy pajamas that Adrian hadn’t seen before. 

“Hey, holy shit you look good. When did you get that?” Adrian said, smiling at her, unable to take his eyes off her legs. His smile grew when she let out a small laugh, one of her hands went to his chin, lifting his gaze onto her smiling face. 

“Do you think maybe you could help me with something in my room?” she asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Adrian blinked. He wouldn’t necessarily say he was handy or really helpful, but if she needed something he would at the very least try. 

“Yeah, of course. Lead the way,” he said nodding towards her bedroom, as she turned around slowly leading Adrian towards her room. Her bare feet padded through the apartment as Adrian smiled, rushing to lock the door and take off his own shoes and jacket before following her. “Do you need me to build something or fix something? Because without instructions I’m not sure how well I can fix something.” 

The moment he was in her room she pounced. Adrian let out a sharp gasp as she shoved him onto the bed and was quick to straddle him. He was so stunned he didn’t even fight back, just looked up at her with wide eyes behind his glasses. 

“Hey, uhhh what’s going on?” he said with a chuckle, and she tilted her head and furrowed her brows. 

“I’m trying to fuck you,” she said and he watched her confidence flicker. “Unless that’s something you don’t want.” 

“No, fuck, please. I want to fuck you so bad,” he said, and she let out a light laugh as she pressed more weight on his lap, grinding slightly against him. His hands twisted themselves in her sheets as he threw his head back. He was vaguely aware of the heat crawling up his body, he was sure his face and neck was turning a blotchy shade of red, but he didn’t care. He especially stopped caring when her fingers went through his hair, tugging slightly. 

“Then why haven’t you?” she purred out lightly, and Adrian’s eyes snapped to hers. 

“I just wanted to respect you! Like, just because we met at an orgy doesn’t mean you have to put out or fuck me! I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or make you want to leave,” Adrian huffed out as she pressed down harder on his lap with a laugh. Adrian whimpered as he felt his jeans get impossibly tight, he tried to press down on the bed, so she wouldn’t know he was already fighting an erection at the simplest touch, but by the smile on her face it was too late. 

She knew and she loved it. 

“Adrian, we met at an orgy I could’ve fucked anyone there, but I wanted you. Adrian, I want you now. Don’t you want me?” she purred out, pulling his shirt off his head and he let her, his head slamming back on her soft bed once free. He watched his shirt go flying across her bedroom as she smiled down at him, eyes drinking in his bare chest. God everything with her was just so easy. So right. 

So…instinctual. 

“Yes,” he panted. “Fuck, I want you.” 

“How bad,” she said, smirking above him as he whined. Throwing his head back as he fought the immediate urge to complain. “Come on Adrian, I know you jerked off to me in the bathroom, just tell me how much you want me,” she said, leaning down so her words ghosted over Adrian’s ear. Her breath was warm and caused him to shiver.   

“So fucking bad, holy shit. Ever since that first orgy I literally have not been able to think of anyone else. I feel like a fucking Victorian pervert whenever I see your ankle or your shirt lifts up or when you lean over and I can see your bra. Especially your teal one, I think you just wear that to tease me and-”

“I do,” she said smiling as she took off her own shirt, revealing the very bra Adrian frequently fantasized about. 

“You were planning this,” he asks, more an observation than question as she lets out a delightful giggle. 

“I’ve been trying to plan this for the past six months, dummy.” 

“Here, let me-” Adrian started his hands flying to the zipper of his jeans, ready to wiggle out of them to get any millimeter closer to her he could get. He felt lucky she was in skimpy pajamas. They wouldn’t need much maneuvering at all for him to finally slip inside her. 

“No,” she said softly but firmly and Adrian’s whole body freezed. His eyes went from her chest to her face. His hands stayed hovering slightly over her side where her pajamas had just started to pull up, revealing soft flesh he had been oh so eager to touch. “You have to keep those on,” she purred and Adrian tilted his head. 

“But if I keep my jeans on, I won’t-”

“Be able to fuck me? Adrian you jacked off to me the second time we met, you’re not going to get to fuck me right away,” she said laughing and Adrian fought a smile on his own lips trying to make sense of what she wanted from him. “You’ve got to earn this.” 

“So, you want me to…in my pants?” 

“Yes,” she said, a grin growing as she arched her back to get more in his face. Her hips doing a slow circle over his lap with just enough pressure for him to feel it but not do anything about it. 

“But…I’ll be all sticky and I don’t want to shower here if I don’t have clean clothes because what’s the point of showering if I’m just going to put on the same clothes,” he said wrinkling his nose. 

“I’ll clean you up,” she hummed as she finally met him for a kiss, one that was slower than Adrian expected. Especially considering what happened next. 

In one quick swoop she pressed hard on his lap, one of her hands falling right next to Adrian’s head to keep herself balanced and the other one found its way into his hair. He let out a groan as she gave his hair a sharp tug before she sloppily kissed his open mouth, his bottom lip getting caught between hers as she gave a hard suck. Adrian couldn’t help the way his hips jerked up. She giggled against him but kept her pressure consistent, essentially humping him as he tried to meet her thrusts, but he was losing his goddamn mind. 

He was not a virgin by any stretch of the word, but sex was always just a task. A way to bond with the people he cared about and sure it was pleasurable, but pleasure was never the purpose. 

However, this was more than just pleasure. This was something Adrian could’ve never dreamed of, even in his hottest fantasies of them they were simple or closer to what could’ve happened if he wasn’t so nervous at the orgy. 

“F-fuck,” he breathed out, as she continued. Moving down from his lips to his neck, his hands found their way from her waist up her back. He tried to focus on unhooking her bra, but the way she was pressed against him giving up was the best he could do to make sure he didn’t already cum in his pants. 

“Need help?” she teased as he pulled at the back strap of the teal bra, careful to not let it snap against her skin. 

“No, no,” he grumpled before slightly tugging her bra up, freeing her tits but the teal garment was still on her body. The sight alone had Adrian shivering as his thumbs brushed against her nipples. He wondered if she would wear more teal clothing. “Problem solved.”

“You’re a real genius, pretty boy,” she said with no hint of sarcasm and he cried out. Her words and freed tits were enough to send him over the edge as he panted. 

“Don’t talk like that or I’ll cum,” he grunted as he focused on trying to move his hips to match her pace, but he was desperately losing control.

“But that’s what I want, baby. Don’t you want to give me what I want,” she teased and he gasped out, his straining cock releasing in his pants. Her eyes immediately went from his face to his jeans, smiling at the slight wet spot. “You did such a good job, Ade,” she cooed and he smiled at her. 

His brain was still putty as she pulled back fully from him, still on her knees on the bed as her hands flew to his zipper. He barely had a moment to breathe before she was yanking his pants off his body. 

“What-” he barely had time to sputter before her tongue was on him and like she promised she started licking up his spilled cum. He’s gasping and crying almost immediately, having virtually no time to come down for his first high only to be subjected to what he had to assume was the second best feeling in the world - her mouth. 

His mind was so foggy he could barely understand her movements as she focused on cleaning him up and in the process - get himself worked up again. He let out a loud moan as she let out a hum around his cock, clearly pleased that after barely a few minutes of work he was already erect. 

“God you have a good refraction. Why haven’t we fucked before?” she whined, hand on the base of his cock as gave the tip a little kitten lick. 

“I…fuck…I told you I wanted to respect your choice to not have sex with someone you met at an orgy,” he said crying out as she continued her slow handjob mixed with little licks and kisses. Clearly not trying to make him cum, just to torture him for a little longer. 

“Well, I’m going to fuck you now,” she said simply as she moved once again to be over Adrian’s lap, his pants and underwear still around his knees. He practically came right then and there when he watched her pull her pajama shorts out of the way just enough to sink down on him. He managed to regain some composure, just enough for his hands to go flying to her waist to hold her balanced while his eyes went back to her tits, still partially held up by her teal bra. “And then later, I want to test out just how good that refraction rate is,” she said with a moan as she clenched around him the moment she bottomed out. 

“Oh god,” he whimpered as he watched her begin to bounce up and down, his hand quickly forcing its way into her pants as he furiously began rubbing her clit. He’s rewarded with the sweetest sound he’s ever heard coming from her mouth, followed up by the singular thought that her pussy was truly the best feeling in the world. 

The sex was messy and sloppy and Adrian couldn’t believe it was happening. Not that he thought they’d never fuck, it’s just her confidence compared to his was insane and not something he was every use to, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. He knew they met at an orgy so there was probably a degree of debauchery he should’ve expected, but it’s so much better than he could ever imagine. 

“Fuck,” she cried as she sped up and Adrian gasped out as he came inside her, barely having any time to think as she kept going. Adrian kept moving his hand hard and fast till she let out a particularly sharp cry before collapsing on top of him, with him still inside her. He let out a laugh as she licked his chest slightly and his hands went to her back to hold her against him.

“Fuck, Adrian. I can’t believe you didn’t fuck anyone at the orgy, complete waste of talent,” she said her body resting on top of his with a sigh. Their clothes partially on both of them, but she made no move to get naked or even have him pull out. 

“You did like 98% of that,” he panted out, wiggling slightly causing her to moan and clench around him. “Plus you were the only one I wanted to fuck there.” 

“Hmm, you’re the only one I wanted to fuck too,” she said lightly and he smiled, holding her tightly against him. Normally he wasn’t one for soft touches let alone someone else's skin resting on his, but to him she felt like just an extension of him, someone who belonged with him. 

“Does this mean we’ll have sex more now?” he asked finally after a beat, wondering where this step led their relationship. “Because if that was the last time we had sex that’s fine, I just want to cherish it regardless.” 

“Fuck, give me two minutes and I’ll be ready to go again, Ade,” she said with a laugh as she finally pulled herself off of him. He groaned as he watched his spent leak out of her as she ran out of the room towards her bathroom. “Besides! I have some lingerie I wanted to show you too! We’re not done here yet!” 

Yeah, it was going to be a good day for both of them. 

__

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He almost wished he had his Vigilante notebook to take some notes. There were some interesting social activities occurring that Adrian couldn’t wait to google about later at the library.  

He also found himself digging through the bowl of car keys to look at (and judge) everyone’s keychains, since no one was paying any attention to him. His favorite was someone who had a little duck on their keys, with the runner up being a keychain that was also a squishy fidget toy. Although Adrian had a hard time believing that someone could fit the toy in their pocket, kind of making it an unreasonable key chain. 

“What are you looking at?” A woman’s voice comes from behind him. He turned around to see another fully nude partygoer, but where he expected her to be upset or mad at him for digging through other peoples property she looked…intrigued. Like she was more curious about the keys than the fact he was probably breaking social norms (but he thought it was dumb that there was even a way to break social norms at an orgy). 

“I was comparing everyone’s keychains,” he said slowly. He watched her with careful eyes as she joined him, bare shoulders pressed lightly together as she dug through the keys with him. Holding a few up to get a closer look at them, it made something stir in Adrian’s stomach as a smile played on his lips.  

“Most of these are pretty lame,” she said holding up a set of keys with no key chain and Adrian nodded. There were, unfortunately, way too many keys without a keychain. Adrian wasn’t even sure how people were even going to find their keys to begin with once the night was over. 

“Only like eight of them have keychains and of that eight only like three are cool,” he agreed, watching her expression, almost waiting for her to give up and walk away, but she nodded as she pursed her lips looking over the keys. 

“The one with the Chococat keychain is pretty cool,” she said and Adrian smiled, bumping her shoulder again in a surprising amount of confidence. Normally a girl would not last this long talking to Adrian, let alone talking to him while also naked. 

“I agree! If I were to rank all these it would probably be these or the ones with the rubber duck, but I love Chococat, he’s one of the most underrated Sanrio characters by far,” he said matter of factly. She looked at him, and Adrian couldn't help the smile on his own face.

“Oh, he’s great! Do you play Hello Kitty Island Adventure?” she asked, turning to him with a huge smile. 

“Of course! I have it on my switch, I’ve gotten almost all the Gudatama pictures!” Adrian said proudly, putting his hands on his hip as she laughed. 

“That’s pretty impressive, I feel like an idiot I just got the beanstalk to grow in the meadow,” she said, and Adrian shook his head. 

“No, I feel like there’s so many hidden things in that game and people just write it off because it’s Hello Kitty, it’s a very serious game,” he argued, and she nodded. 

“I agree, it’s got a lot of layers to it,” she said and Adrian watched her pull out the keys with the rubber duck, smiling wide. “Well, I have to get going, but maybe I’ll see you at the next one of these?” 

“Yeah, yeah for sure!” he stuttered, already trying to make a plan on how to get Chris to let him come to the next orgy. There was already a part of Adrian trying to figure out what to say to her next time to keep her talking for longer. 

“Oh wait! I’m Adrian by the way!” he said, catching her hand before she could get too far from him. She smiled and whispered her name as she slipped out of his grasp. His lips twitched as he repeated the name with a smile. 

Luckily, his behavior didn’t seem to cause too much distress because Chris just shrugged, and since he didn’t get any complaints about Adrian being weird he told him the next one would be in a couple of weeks. 

He had spent the whole two weeks trying to decide what to do. He ramped up his infrequent self care up to every morning and night, utilizing lotion, leave-in conditioner, and pimple patches in the same way he assumed middle school girls did. He even tried some of those cooling eye patches for his under eyes but all that did was make his eyes feel wet. 

Once the day rolled around, Adrian took probably the longest shower of his life and showed up at Chris’ almost a full hour early. 

“Just don’t be weird as people are walking in, okay dude?” Chris said, and Adrian nodded, pursing his lips. 

“Got it, don’t be weird! Just sit on the couch naked as people walk in!” he said with a loose smile, and Chris frowned. 

“Jesus Christ,” Chris muttered as he got up. Normally Adrian would pout at the fact Chris was leaving him to talk to someone else, but right now he just couldn’t wait for her to stroll through the door and if he was talking to Chris then he could possibly miss her. 

And that was the very last thing he wanted.

Luckily he didn’t have to wait long because shortly after the start time she came strolling in. Adrian immediately stood up, but kept his mouth shut as he watched her head to the guest room to get undressed. 

It was in that less than five minutes between her getting undressed and finding Adrian that he thought he was going to be sick. He suddenly felt like a creeper, even if they did agree to talk to each other at the next orgy that didn’t necessarily mean this one. For all he knew she was a regular at all the local orgies and meant it more as a “I’ll see you when I see you” and not as a “See you in two weeks!” 

“Hey, Adrian,” she said and Adrian jumped as he turned around to find her already naked and smiling at him. He smiled as he took in her expression, she looked genuinely happy to see him.

“Hey, you’re back!” he said quickly, laughing nervously. She tilted her head and giggled slightly, looking strangely bashful in the middle of the orgy. 

“So, what are you planning on doing this time?” she asked. “I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the same key situation,” she said, and Adrian took a moment to realize that she wasn’t making fun of him, she wasn’t joking, she genuinely was interested in what his plan was for the orgy. 

“Oh, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I was probably going to look at people’s clothing choices, try to match clothes to people,” Adrian said pointing towards the guest room, and she pursed her lips before nodding and leading them towards the room. Adrian followed behind her happily like a lost duckling. 

They both had the decency to not pick up the clothes and actually rummage through them but most were folded up nice and sat on various furniture in the old room, giving the two plenty to look at. 

“Can I guess which is yours?” she asked him, looking over her shoulder at Adrian who was standing in the doorway. 

“Sure, but I seriously doubt you’ll-”

“This suburban dad chic polo,” she interrupted, pointing at Adrian's teal shirt that was sitting folded on the edge of the bed. He felt his face heat up at the immediate call out.  

“What! How did you know that?” he asked, walking over to inspect his shirt thinking maybe his name was on the tag or something, but he couldn’t find anything that gave him away. 

“I don’t know, I think it’s the glasses. This fit just makes sense to me. Suburban dad chic for a suburban chic guy,” she said with a smirk. 

“I don’t dress suburban chic!” he defended, and she moved to hold up his shirt against her naked body. Adrian fought every single dirty thought crossing his mind, it wouldn’t be completely weird to pop a boner at an orgy, but something about popping one in this moment worried Adrian. “Okay, maybe a little bit like a suburban dad.” 

She laughed, clenching his shirt, and Adrian shuffled his body slightly, hoping she didn’t notice the change in his body.

“Well, lucky you, I think suburban dad chic is hot,” she said, folding his shirt back up and he already decided he was never washing that shirt again. He wanted her fingerprints on his clothes forever. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, your Dahmer glasses really do it for me,” she teased gently and Adrian frowned. 

“Wait, are you being sarcastic?” he said, shuffling and looking away slightly waiting for the sting of rejection, maybe he had been reading too much into their first interaction. 

“Surprisingly no, somehow you really make the look work,” she said gesturing to Adrian and he subconsciously tensed his body under her gaze. “I mean look at you, sure you’re wirier but you’re sculpted by the Greeks.” 

Adrian was focused on the way her eyes flickered all over his body, taking in every scar, every freckle, every hair. He had never felt so exposed, but the way she was looking…it didn’t feel like it was a bad exposure, it felt…hot. 

He couldn’t help himself, imagining her hands where her eyes were. How warm they would be across his body, the pressure, the feeling of it even in his imagination was intoxicating. 

A little too intoxicating. 

It’s followed by a smirk, her looking at him through her eyelashes and his quick look down. 

He had a boner and since he was naked, there was absolutely no adjusting to save himself. He knew that she had noticed by the glint in her eyes. 

“I HAVE TO GO TAKE CARE OF THIS BYE!” he yelled, snapping them both out of the moment as he ran out of the room and practically throwing himself into the bathroom. 

When he came back out, he was satisfied with the fact that he was now boner-less and confident she wouldn't think he was a total pervert for having a boner in the middle of their conversation. Adrian was however significantly less satisfied that now coming out of the bathroom he couldn’t find her anywhere. He knew she had left when he didn't see her keys anymore. 

He felt deflated, almost defeated. He ruined whatever the two had before it could even get started. All because of his stupid body. 

He spent the next week begging and performing way too many favors for Chris to secure another invite. One more orgy to prove that he could be normal with her and maybe even score her number. So he was determined to try at least one more time. But Chris was hesitant, claiming that Adrian “jacking it” in his bathroom was weird, especially at an orgy. Adrian disagreed, but he still had to do favors in order to be invited again. 

Really gross favors. 

Adrian didn’t even do his own laundry (outside of his Vigilante stuff) so it didn’t take him long for him to get sick of cleaning Chris’ clothes. 

Some of those stains, even Adrian didn’t want to talk to Chris about it. 

But he powered through it, did every chore asked and then some and Chris finally let Adrian come to the next orgy. Which, he had to wait a whole month for it to roll around and the whole time he worried that she wouldn’t be there. That maybe he completely scared her away and it’s what he would deserve considering how perverted he was.

The third orgy, Adrian was practically vibrating, but he soon found himself lost. 

He looked and looked, but she wasn’t there. He checked every room, every surface, every girl he saw checking to see if it was her. It wasn’t and Chris wasn’t even sure who was inviting her so there was no way for him to really figure out where she was. 

Knowing her first name, had a rubber duck on her keys, and went to orgies didn’t tell him enough to figure out much else. Plus overall, Adrian was trying to stalk less. 

But the one lucky thing about her not showing was that Adrian kept enough to himself or maybe Chris just felt bad for Adrian that he told him he could come to the next orgy with the reminder that Adrian wasn’t normally invited to these and that he couldn’t keep coming to them all. Chris kept telling him that space was healthy, Adrian thought as long they were in separate rooms that should count as not being together, but Adrian knew better to pick a fight when Chris was doing him a solid. 

A solid that Adrian decided would be the last one. Either she would be at the orgy or not and Adrian needed to accept that.The fourth orgy, Adrian swore it would be his last. If she was there, great, if not, Adrian was exhausted from all these strange social interactions. 

Adrian was starting to miss the times where he was the only one who was weird. And the times he didn’t have to do Chris’ laundry. 

He wasn’t paying much attention, people had been filing in for the past hour. Most were already naked and grinding on someone else but Adrian stayed pressed to the wall, watching people with a lazy look.

“Hey, you,” her voice cut through his thoughts as his head snapped towards her. She was looking at him with a small smile, eyes locked on his. 

“Hey! I missed you last month,” he said, bumping his shoulder against hers. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling too well. Thought it was better to sit it out than to risk it,” she said, shrugging and Adrian nodded, clicking his tongue slightly. “How much did you miss me?” she asked, her voice lifted with a soft tease. 

“I’m not sure how to clarify how much I missed you, what’s the scale on that?” he asked. 

“Well, did you jack off in the bathroom thinking about me again?” she said, leaning even more into him and Adrian felt his skin warm under her touch just like in his imagination. 

“Not last time, but I did the time before that,” he answered honestly and her smile grew, seeming satisfied with that answer. 

“Good to know, well I was sorry to miss you last week,” she said. “I went to text you and realized I didn’t have your number.” 

“I could definitely give you that if you want, Chris has a pen around here somewhere.” Adrian said, immediately walking into the kitchen in search of a pen, she followed behind him with a sweet giggle. He searched a few of Chris’ junk drawers until he came across a blue sharpie, he gestured for her arm which she immediately gave to him. 

She smiled as he took careful time to write each digit, clean enough so there would be no question on what it said. His hand not writing was holding her arm up, his thumb rubbing small subconscious circles on her warm bare skin. 

“Do you want to go on a date sometime,” he blurted out, eyes nervously taking in her body hoping he isn’t coming across too much like a creep. At least not anymore of a creep than already being at an orgy not having sex was and holding her arm. “A date with clothes already on, not like a different person’s orgy to meet at.” 

“A date with clothes on?” she asked, smiling up at him and he felt a red flush crawl up his body. Her eyes were on him, but like usual they didn’t dip below his chest. Which he respected and tried to do the same (he failed). 

“Yeah, honestly my favorite part of sex is taking off the other person’s clothes, ya know? Like it’s like your birthday and you’re unwrapping a present, it’s great and the dumbest part of these orgies. That and I’m not a huge fan when people touch my ass, it’s just a butt it shouldn’t be that exciting. Not that your ass doesn’t excite me though! It’s just different when it’s my ass, if that makes sense.” He rambled almost non stop, knowing that once he stopped that meant he would get his answer on if she actually liked him or if all of this had just been pity. 

“I don’t know, can you wear something that still shows off your biceps? I don’t think I could survive talking to you without getting to imagine biting them the whole time.” Adrian immediately looked at his arm and flexed it slightly, taking in the way the bicep moved. He hummed in agreement and nodded. 

“I think I can do that, but really?” he asked, feeling more bashful over this than actually being naked and she punched his shoulder playfully, finally pulling her arms away. Adrian leaned back with the hit as one of his hands flew to the spot she hit to mock being hurt, her grin got wider at Adrian playing along. 

“Adrian, I’m coming to these orgies and not getting fucked because I’m too busy talking to you. This whole time I’ve thought you were cool and wanted to get to know you. Yes, I’d really like to go on a date with you,” she insisted, and Adrian’s throat bobbed. 

“That’s…well I only kept coming back because I wanted to see you again,” Adrian said honestly and she smiled. 

“Well it sounds like we might be overdue for that date then, huh?” she asked, her hand reaching out for Adrian’s which he quickly gave to her with a smile. He turned his head slightly as he watched her lace her fingers with his. 

“You’re right, we should’ve left for this date five minutes ago,” Adrian joked, but she pulled him along towards the room where everyone stored their clothes. 

“That’s what I’m saying. Hurry get dressed,” she said as she let go of his hand and started getting dressed. He watched her slowly, smiling as she slid on her underwear and into her pants. Somehow, getting hotter to Adrian as she put on more clothes. 

Although he couldn’t wait to truly unwrap her later.

_______________________

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“here she goes again y’all,” one of your friends sighs dramatically, to which the others follow with giggles of their own. they know that you can go on and on about your partner. they’ve heard all of it before.

you grin and roll your eyes, rubbing the cleansing wipe over your lips, removing the light pink gloss you had on. you’re all giddy as you recall what satoru has done and given to you this evening. you’ve been pampered—spoiled rotten.

“hey! don’t blame me,” you retort with a chuckle. your friends laugh and urge you to go on since they’re only joking. the stories you tell are always either adorable or heartwarming, and thus they’re happy to listen. plus, debriefing you on your love life is free entertainment.

it’s not unusual for you to stray from the main story. you ramble about the restaurant you’ve visited, the pretty green scenery you’ve walked past, the museum you’ve visited, the way satoru paid for everything and how he made sure to pick activities you’re interested.

you get an occasional ‘aww’ or ‘cuteee’ when you mention your boyfriend’s loving gestures. from the enormous bouquet of flowers he’s gotten you, to the fact that he carried you back into his apartment the moment you told him your feet were hurting.

walking in heels wasn’t the smart move you thought it was, though luckily you had a thoughtful lover by your side.

“he’s just so handsome ‘n stuff. god—“ you squeal, not even bothering to dampen your excitement. you hide your face behind your hands for a split second, gaining a few fan girling squeaks from your friends as well. they’re happy that you’re being treated like deserved.

you don’t hear the door of the bedroom open since you’re too busy gushing about satoru. you’re focused on your small pocket mirror, careful not to forget a spot on your face. you notice that your friends have gone quiet, but you don’t question it.

“his gentle personality is honestly such a turn-on,” you mumble as you rub off the concealer from under your eyes, “and his subtle yet possessive touches? phew, don’t get me started.”

you continue to babble on about how hot satoru is when he gets mad, unable to point out a flaw.

you’re about to comment on your friends’ sudden silence when a hand lands on your shoulder. you freeze and finally make eye contact with no one other than satoru—hovering over you from behind. he’s smiling down at you and mumbles a quick, ‘hey, baby’, before kissing your forehead.

you try to explain the situation, yet have no idea where to start. you can hear a friend of yours snickering and another faintly whisper an ‘oh, girl. . .’

before you have the ability to get another word out, satoru cuts you off, waving at your front camera for a second. his smile reaches his eyes and his dimples show;

“hey ladies, mind if i steal my girl from you?” satoru asks as he puts an arm around you. he places his cheek against yours, awaiting an answer. your friends are left speechless at the sudden turn of events.

the white-haired man appears extremely good on screen. he’s basically blessing them with his handsome looks. the towel hanging over his head indicates that he just came out of a fresh shower. there’s a visible vein running down his neck—nearly bulging out of the skin—as if satoru’s holding himself back.

once your friends snap out of their daze, they greet satoru and nod, exchanging quick ‘see you later’s. your boyfriend thanks them with another one of his charming smiles. he waves at the camera again, “bye bye, thank you.”

the call ends and the bedroom falls quiet. you stare at your screen which fades to black, completely dumbfounded. you quickly sit up—your mind a chaotic mess full of thoughts.

“satoru, i uhm, i didn’t know—“ you attempt to form an explanation, though you realise that it’s likely futile. satoru’s probably heard every word that left your mouth. you look up at him, your voice a quiet whisper, “how much did you hear?”

the sorcerer grins. he’s so enamored with you; everything you do is adorable. he grabs your hands and holds then into his larger ones—thumbs gently rubbing your skin. he pulls them up to his lips so he could place chaste kisses on your knuckles.

“everything, princess,” satoru hums, rotating your hands to place kisses on the inside of your wrists. there’s a subtle blush on his cheeks that even reaches his ears.

no matter how calm and collected he may seem, he’s still but a complete sucker to your love, “talking about me to your little friends, hm? how cute.”

a shiver runs down your spine. you feel your tummy turn as you’re slowly guided onto your back. multiple kisses cover your body—from head to toe—like a canvas getting painted on. satoru’s taking his sweet time, admiring the art that’s your physique.

every piece of clothing that comes off is a step closer to the grande revelation. the masterpiece that is you. moving from one empty spot—filling it with his kisses—to another. sighs of content leave your lover’s mouth with each reveal, as if he hasn’t seen the sight of your naked body before.

“does this turn you on, baby? my ‘subtle touches’?” satoru mutters against your breasts, remembering your earlier words.

his blue eyes stare up at you through his white lashes. not wearing his blindfold may overstimulate him due to his abilities, but he’ll risk anything if it’s to admire you the best he can.

he chuckles when you nod. your boyfriend kisses your hard nipples—taking his time to swirl his tongue around both of them just to feel your back arch off the mattress. your hands holding onto him for life is extremely thrilling.

“it turns me on too,” satoru confesses quietly. his slender fingers reach the hem of your panties, “you turn me on so fuckin’ much.”

your breath hitches when your underwear gets tossed somewhere across the room. you’re dripping, obviously. there’s no way you couldn’t get turned on by the way satoru’s been worshipping your entire being.

you can also see the effect you have on him; he’s sweating. the vein on his neck seems to grow more visible when your cunt is revealed to him.

“there she is,” satoru grins in satisfaction. he seems to be in a daze for a second before he regains composure.

he looks at you for a quick check, needing to know if he has your consent before he continues. the moment you nod, your lover separates your legs.

you sniff and try to hide your embarrassed expression behind a hand. satoru’s quick to pin your wrist above your head so you wouldn’t have the chance to do any of that.

“keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he leans in to place a swift kiss on your lips.

“mhm,” you nod after returning the peck. the white-haired man utters a small ‘thank you’ and undoes his sweatpants with his free hand. he fumbles with his boxers—unable to keep himself from trembling in pleasure from the view alone.

your small body underneath him is a sight he’ll never get tired of. that face of yours morphing into one of pleasure whenever you’re intimate is one of his favorite things to witness. thus why the missionary is his go to position.

“c’mon,” satoru kisses your cheek as he manages to pull his erected cock out of his underwear. it’s standing tall, the tip pointing right at the place it wants to be buried at—your wet, warm and inviting pussy, “you were so loud when talking with y’r friends ‘n now you’ve gone quiet on me.”

satoru pouts, “it’s not fair. i wanna hear my princess too.”

you almost choke on your spit because of how whiny yet demanding satoru sounds. you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, firmly holding your hand down above your head. you’re still flustered by the entire situation. you open your mouth as tears gather in your eyes, “i’m sorry, i’m jus— ngh!”

you can’t even get your words out. the lewd feeling of satoru rubbing his tip between your folds completely catches you off guard. he grins, as if he planned on doing that the moment you tried to speak. he’s such a tease.

“shh, shh, i know,” satoru coos mockingly, acting like he’s not doing it on purpose. you can’t blame the man; he’s been rock hard ever since he heard you praise him so openly through the phone. your lovely voice speaking so highly of him was driving him nuts.

you’re so appreciative for all he’s doing and it makes the sorcerer want to spoil you even more. to give you the love and affection you deserve because of how precious you are—even if you don’t realise it.

he wants to give you more. more, more, more.

without thinking, satoru pushes his cock right through your tight cunt. he shudders at the sight of your poor, small pussy struggling to take his fat dick. he can’t hurt you, he knows. especially with the amount of times the bulbous head of his cock nearly bruised your cervix.

though, it’s difficult not to go all out. you’re so accepting of everything he does—satoru can see that by the way your eyes stare at him. it’s all love. the light reflecting in your pupils makes them sparkle beautifully.

he cusses under his breath, “y’re so pretty, baby. fuck, fuck, fuck. y’re making it so hard.”

satoru tries his best not to plunge his cock all the way to the hilt. he reaches halfway with each thrust, the thwacking sound increasing by the second. your legs automatically wrap around his waist and your fingers squeeze his.

“toruuu, fmhh, so big,” you babble, the drool forming in the corners of your lips threatening to drip down your chin. each soft yet firm thrust seems to resonate within you, evoking a sense of pleasurable contentment.

satoru lets out a haughty chuckle at the sight of you going cockdrunk already. he’s still trying to hold his urges back by focusing on your satisfaction alone.

“i’ll give you something else to brag ‘bout to y’r friends,” he pants with a confident smirk, kissing your jawline as he ruts into you,

you’re embarrassed by your current predicament. despite that, you find yourself enjoying every consequence that your actions have caused. your moans echo in satoru’s ears, each slap of your bodies connecting sounding twice as loud.

his thick cock is stretching you out so well. your cunt is working overtime to make space for every inch. your boyfriend gently bites your bottom lip, his breath faltering when you clench around him in response.

“‘re ya gonna tell them?” satoru asks through a guttural moan. his hips move non-stop, aiming to please you until you lose your mind. he’ll live up to the expectations set no matter what.

he kisses the swell of your breasts, “are ya gonna tell ‘em how you let your ‘lovely’ boyfriend fuck you like this? how y’re a complete slut for his cock?”

you don’t know how to react to his dirty talk. it’s getting you wetter, that’s for sure. your thighs shake around his waist and your tummy feels like it’s doing flips.

satoru doesn’t leave it there, “gonna tell them about how good i fill you up, yeah? dirty little girl telling all her friends about our private life, tsk tsk.”

it’s overwhelming. the sudden increase in dirty talk makes you want to cum on spot. you feel like you’re being degraded, however satoru’s touches make you feel appreciated and loved. his hand holding yours above your head never leaves you—a sign that this is still him making love to you.

“am—am not gonna,” you hiccup. the words simply roll of your tongue without much thought. you’re mindlessly responding to your lover.

“am not gonna tell them anything,” you continue before cutting yourself off with a string of whiny moans when satoru plays with your clit.

satoru shakes his head, increasing the pressure and speed in which he’s pumping into you. he loves the view of you being so helpless—succumbing to the pleasure he’s granting you.

“sureeee, i believe you,” your boyfriend snickers and pushes his pulsing cock in further. his tone is soft but condescending, “i’ll trust my princess to keep her mouth shut for me.”

you’re getting so close. your nails dig into his skin and your noises get louder. you’re right on the edge of euphoria. the clit stimulation along with the feeling of being filled to the brim is enough to make you see stars.

satoru nods at your desperate whimpers that alarm him that you’re close to climax. “i got you, baby. cum f’me—i got you,” he places sloppy kisses all over your face and rams his cock in and out of you in a stronger rhythm. there’s nothing satoru wants to do in this world more than to flood your insides with his cum.

his cock doesn’t stop prodding at your sweet spots and it’s making you approach that peak; the peak of pleasure that’s going to push you over the edge. you hold tightly onto your lover and he doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace.

“it’s okay, do it f’me,” satoru encourages you once again through a husky whisper.

you’re thankful that you have such an attentive partner. he can go from teasing you to comforting you and it’s the most reassuring thing ever. you’ve never had a man hold you so intimately while he’s balls deep into you.

“g’nna cum,” a strangled moan leaves your throat when you try to speak. your chests are pressed together and your heartbeats match—like the perfect pair you are. satoru feels his balls clench with an aching feeling, needing to release every last drop they have stored into your tiny cunt.

just thinking about the way you were bragging about him again, is enough.

“take it—fuuuckk—take it all, baby,” the white-haired man takes a deep breath in and can’t help but bury his entire dick inside of you, that one last thrust making you yelp.

you reach your climaxes at the exact same time. your fluids mix as you feel satoru’s thick spurts of cum coat your insides a sticky white. your body spasms and your boyfriend instantly soothes you by rubbing your back. his own legs are trembling a little, but you’re far more important.

you don’t utter a word and simply focus on regaining your energy. all that you can say are incoherent babbles. “easy,” satoru kisses the corners of your eyes and relishes in the fact that he’s fucked you full of his cum. it’s a reminder of just how much he loves you.

a few encouraging words and hugs later and you’ve calmed down. you don’t fully grasp the reality of the situation until the adrenaline and other hormones drop down to a normal level.

you’re suddenly reminded by your previous words and this time, you succeed in hiding your face into the crook of satoru’s neck.

it’s certain that he’s greatly enjoyed overhearing you talk about him to your friends, but it’s still a somewhat embarrassing memory you wish to forget. “not a word, please. jus act like you haven’t heard anything,” you mumble quietly now that you’ve come down from your high.

satoru laughs softly. he can’t help but tease you after that—it’s a given. you’re still so caught up on what happened and it’s endearing.

however, satoru wouldn’t be him if he didn’t tease you about your little comments. without pulling out, he tilts his head back and stares down at you with a faint grin, “do i have to act like i haven’t fucked you silly just now too?”

“satoru!”

Behind the counter, you can’t disguise the way your mouth drops. Gaze dropping to the already prepared drinks sitting on the serving tray. “Oh.”

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding, I’m so sorry. I was kidding.” His hands on the edges of the tray, stopping you from dragging it back to your side of the counter space.

“No, I mean, you can try something new if you—”

“Oh, I absolutely don’t want to. I’m a creature of habit.”

Ellis, who’s already claimed their table, laughs. “Shen, buddy.”

“I’m sorry,” Shen says again, but he’s grinning like it’s the best prank he’s ever initiated.

You shake your head. “You know, I don’t think you are. But I’ll accept it.”

Shen beams. You think he winks at you, but you’re pretty sure that’s just you and your wishful thinking.

Abbot slides in next to him, tapping his card against the EFTPOS machine. “Thank you. Sorry about him.”

“Thank you. Enjoy.” You wave them off.

Their table stays quiet for the first 15 minutes as they always do, unwinding from their shift in companionable silence.

You keep working, and as it passes 8 AM, they leave, as they always do. The three of them don’t come every day, but it’s close enough that you’ve learned their orders and names.

You’ve never quite breached the wall of hospitality you’ve upheld, but something changes after Shen’s stunt.

Three days later, they’re back again, albeit later than seven. The tinkling of the bell signalling their arrival after the morning rush. They probably had to put in some overtime, if the tired way they shuffle through the cafe door is of any indication.

You tell them you’ll be a moment, and they sit at their usual table while you work on their order. When you’re done, you walk to them, balancing the serving plate.

“Whoa, what’s this?” Ellis’ hand on yours, stopping the trajectory of your hand after you set her latte down.

You falter, staring at her hand. The hand that’s touching yours. “What’s what?”

Her thumb brushes over the dark smudge below your knuckles. Voice lowering, “Did you get hurt?”

Movement from the other two, attention snapping onto you.

“Oh. No—it’s paint.” Flexing your fingers in her hold. It hadn’t come off in the shower, or through your rigorous hand washing, and you’d forgotten about it.

“You paint?”

“Yeah. I wanted some new pieces for my wall.” You gesture the serving tray towards the wall of small canvas pieces you’ve hung up. Because Ellis is still holding your other hand. Whatever. That’s normal. You don’t need to freak out about it.

“You painted those?”

“I did, yes.”

Ellis lets go, pushing out of her chair, walking over to inspect the pieces closely. “Damn. You got talent.”

“Ah—thank you.” You’re both relieved she let go, but mourning the loss of contact. Fingers closing around the tray you’re holding, now in both hands.

“How much for one?” Abbot cranes his neck, studying them from where he’s sat.

“They’re—I did them for fun. I’m not selling them.” You’re shaking your head as you chuckle, attention falling onto Abbot.

“I’m serious. Name your price. I could do with a few pieces in my place.”

“Ugh, look at the big shot attending, with his big attending money,” Shen says, rolling his eyes.

“You’re an attending too—”

“I’m not trying to buy a painting—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just jealous of my big attending brain because you didn’t think of it first—”

“Shut up,” Shen sniffs, shoving Abbot’s shoulder. “Hey, I think the pedes floor in the Pitt were talking about wanting a makeover.”

“They were. You should put your name in for it,” Abbot says to you.

“The—I’m sorry, the what?” You blink, looking between the two of them.

“Hospital. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Pitt for short, since PTMC is still a mouthful.”

Ellis is back. She bumps her shoulder against yours gently. “We could probably update our pedes room too. You’d get to see us in our element if you’re down in the ER.”

Abbot’s face does something complicated at the mention of the pedes room.

“Yeah, that’d be a good idea,” Shen says.

“I can’t—I just do this for fun.”

“They’ve got the vision. They just need the artists.” Leaning into Abbot’s shoulder, Shen holds his phone out to you. “Put in your name and number, and I’ll pass it onto… admin? Or whoever handles this.”

You stare at his phone. Long enough that he starts wiggling it in your direction.

“C’mon.”

You gingerly take his phone, inputting your details. Missing the way Ellis shoots Shen a look, rolling her eyes at the completely smug grin on his face.

Abbot elbows him, despite not seeing the expression. He’s sure he can feel it, though.

“Great,” Abbot says, when you hand Shen his phone back. “So we’ll get to see more of you, then.”

“Yes, we will.” Ellis’ hand on the small of your back as she passes behind you, taking her seat again.

Your mind feels blank. You’re saved by the bell ringing, a couple entering. You scurry behind the counter with a quick thank you to the doctors.

“You lose the kids in the divorce?” A warm smile when Abbot steps towards the counter.

Abbot chuckles, shaking his head. “Is that what they said?”

The morning consisted of only Ellis and Shen. Of course you noticed that Abbot wasn’t there. Ellis informed you it was Abbot’s day off—perks of being a senior attending. Shen, the little shit that you’re learning he is, told you that he was going to tell Abbot that he was sorely missed by their favourite barista.

“No, but I’ve got an active imagination that can fill in the blanks. The usual for your day off, Dr Abbot?”

“Yeah. And it’s—just Jack.” He’s come in at a time when the cafe’s quiet. No other customers around. He watches you fill the portafilter with ground coffee. Tap it out, flatten it with the puck. “You hear back from admin yet?”

“No, not yet.” You’re not expecting anything, really.

“Hey, I got it on good authority they’ve got the contracts ready.”

“Thanks for the insider knowledge.” You incline your head, smiling as you affix the portafilter to the machine. Press the button for the shot. Mug underneath.

“You planning on closing up when you’re in there?”

Steaming the milk. “Don’t think I can. Cafe’s too new. Still trying to find my feet.”

“You’re still going to open?”

“Place isn’t going to run itself.”

Jack makes a displeased noise, but doesn’t say anything more on it. He takes his usual seat, despite the table being empty of its usual occupants. Saucer, then mug on top. You walk it over to him.

You take down one of your older paintings from the wall. A sunset you replicated. The image still resides on your phone, a memory captured in time. Set yourself by his table. “Here.”

He stares at it. Then drags his gaze up to you. “I thought you said you weren’t selling it.”

“I’m not selling it. I’m gifting it.”

“No, I can’t just take—”

“Please.”

Jack falls quiet. “Okay.” Carefully takes the canvas from you, studies your brush strokes.

“Thank you,” you say. Then you’re back behind the counter as another customer walks in.

It’s not until after he leaves, and you’re cleaning up the tables, do you notice the two $100 bills tucked under his saucer.

A week later, you receive an email from the PTMC’s Administration team about your expression of interest when you’re in your kitchen, testing out a new recipe for brownies.

Then, incoming texts from a new number:

check your emails :) oh it’s john shen btw :)) night shift dr regular with abbot and parker

You stare at both the email and texts for hours.

Why the hell not? You respond to the email. And to Shen, you text back a simple thank you to which he responds with another smiley face.

The next time you see them in the cafe, you set down three plates of bagels at their table. “I’m testing out something new.”

“You made these?” Ellis asks.You nod.She pulls out the chair next to her. “Sit.”

“I need to—”

“You’ve been on your feet all day,” Abbot says.

“It’s my job.”

“Oh, you’re too cool to hang out with us?” Shen pokes.

“No,” you sigh, knowing this is a losing battle. They’re ganging up on you, and you’re weak willed against them.

You take the seat next to Ellis as they chatter, pivoting from hospital speak.