♱m00m7x♱

But more than that, you had a crush on Pope. You were pretty sure he knew what you were doing when you always came over, but he never called you out on it.

You slowly slid the terrace door open, careful not to make too much noise, and you slipped inside. You could already spot Pope, standing at the kitchen counter with his back to you. You bit your lip when you saw his choice of dark button up. You always did like his button ups.

You were about to announce yourself, let him know you were there, when you saw him stare at his palm. He hadn't even noticed you from his peripheral vision, which was saying something because Pope was usually so aware of everything around him.

You stepped closer, about to say something, when you noticed that his hand was scorching red. Red, like he'd just touched the pan next to him while it was still hot and burned his entire palm, red.

"Andrew?" you said carefully, despite your raging worry, you tried to remain calm because he seemed completely out of it. The burn looked really bad.

His head snapped up toward you, and for a second, his eyes looked blank, but then he blinked, and his gaze focused on you.

He quickly turned his back to you, reaching for a cloth and wrapping it around his hand. "Lena's in her room. Pretending to sleep," he said, his tone flat, as he lowered the temperature under the pan.

You dropped the plushies onto the table and walked toward him before you could stop yourself. He was already wiping down the counter, obsessively cleaning and trying to keep himself busy.

He turned just as you finally approached him, and for a moment, you both just stood there staring at each other, neither of you saying anything. And then you looked down at his palm, reaching for it.

You saw him flinch back for a second, but then he stopped, and he let you touch his arm. Your fingers wrapped around his elbow and you raised his arm toward you, bringing his hand closer so you could see it better. Your other hand came up to carefully unwrap the cloth he had put around it.

You bit your tongue when you saw the burn. It was worse than you'd expected. The burn covered his entire palm, spreading up his fingers and down toward his wrist. You could tell it hurt just by looking at it. And you knew, deep down in your gut, that he'd done it on purpose.

You looked up and met his hazel eyes, which were already staring down at you with that intense gaze he always had. You knew exactly what he was doing by staring at you like this. Testing you. He knew what he'd done and he knew you knew, and he was waiting to see if you'd call him out on it.

You decided against saying anything. It wouldn't help anyway.

"I'll help you take care of this," you mumbled quietly.

Pope didn't say anything. He just let you do it, his hand compliant in yours as you gently set the cloth away.

You reached for the sink, turning on the cold water and waiting for it to get properly cool. The sound of the water filled the quiet kitchen. "You'll have to stay like this for at least ten minutes," you said quietly. "Running cold water over it for ten to fifteen minutes helps reduce the swelling and keeps the burn from getting worse."

You paused, tilting your head slightly to catch his eye, waiting to see if he was ready for you to put his hand under the water. He just looked at you for a moment and then he did it wordlessly.

You kept your fingers wrapped around his wrist. "Don't use ice, by the way," you said, your voice casual, like you were just making conversation. "Ice is bad for burns. It restricts the blood vessels and can actually make the damage worse." You kept talking, explaining why water was important, why ice was bad and all the while, Pope just stared at you.

It was late, and he'd been hoping for you to finally show up. He'd been telling himself you weren't going to come, that you had better things to do than spend your evenings with him and that maybe you'd finally gotten tired of him.

He'd missed you a lot, more than he could ever say out loud. You tried to show up at least three times a week at night, and you were the highlight of his day. You were the reason he got through his days, the reason he managed to drag himself out of bed in the morning, knowing that at the end of the day, he'd see you, was what kept him going.

And you looked as pretty as ever as you softly turned his hand under the water. You had your hair free, no braids or anything, just falling around your shoulders. It was cold today, which was why he was rather concerned about your outfit. You didn't have a jacket on you, just some thin shirt that couldn't possibly be keeping you warm. He could see the goosebumps on your arms and the way you shivered slightly every now and then.

"Where's your jacket?" he spoke over the sound of the water.

You brushed a finger gently over his fingertips, checking the temperature of his skin. "Home," you mumbled distracted, squinting at his fingers. It was still red, but the water was helping. "Does it hurt?" you asked, your eyes still fixed on his palm, but you didn't get an answer right away. You glanced up and were met with Pope's naked stare, so you turned away again.

He didn't like that worried look on you. It made him feel guilty, made him wish he could take back whatever he had done that had put that expression on your face. So he forced himself to speak.

"Doesn't hurt."

It had hurt earlier, when he'd forced himself to keep pressing his hand on the hot pot. He'd needed it to hurt.

You glanced at his hand before glancing at the clock on the oven. "I'll be right back," you said quietly. "Keep it under water." You glanced at him, and he could see the worry still lingering in your eyes. You seemed reluctant to leave him alone, but you let go of his hand anyway, and Pope dropped his eyes back to the water, watching the water flow over his damaged skin.

You quickly grabbed the plushies from the table, and Pope couldn't help but notice how you'd put a bow around them, clearly made by you. You'd clearly put in the effort to make it look like a fun present for Lena.

In the process, you started taking off your shoes, hopping on one foot awkwardly as you balanced the plushies against your chest. At that, you shot him an apologetic look. You knew he hated dirt and you'd been, so caught up in the sight of his burn that you'd just walked in with your shoes on. But he didn't say anything, he just followed you with his eyes silently until you disappeared into Lena's room.

He didn't hear you say anything, so he figured Lena had finally fallen asleep. She'd insisted she wasn't tired for hours, that she wanted to stay up and watch cartoons. He was glad to know that she was finally resting.

He stayed the way you wanted him to. He stared at his red hand, watching the water cascade over his damaged skin. It was getting better.

He wasn't sure he liked the pain of his palm getting milder. That was the whole point, wasn't it? He'd done it for the pain and now he had nothing? The emptiness was already starting to creep back in and he could feel himself slipping.

When you came back, you had aloe vera gel and some small bandages with you. "Don't know why Baz has this, but it'll help," you said quietly as you finally turned off the water. The sudden silence was relieving and Pope felt his shoulders fall down finally now that the noise was gone.

You seemed relieved he'd listened to you, a soft exhale escaping your lips as you turned to face him fully. You tilted his hand gently with a concentrated look on your face.

Meanwhile, Pope stared at you again. You looked really pretty.

He hated how there wasn't a smile on your face, usually there always was. Every time you hung out with Lena, you'd help him clean up the kitchen afterward, and he'd listen to you chatter on about your day. He'd occasionally say something, but now there was nothing. It felt wrong and Pope felt uncomfortable in his skin.

But at least you were touching him. Your fingers were still wrapped around his wrist, and he could feel the warmth and softness of your skin against his.

"Let's sit on the couch," you mumbled. You grabbed his other hand and pulled him with you, and he let you lead him there.

He settled down and you sat down there right beside him. The proximity was almost too much. Your thigh pressed against his and your shoulder brushed his. He wanted to stay like this forever.

You grabbed his injured hand and put it on your thigh and he had to look away for a moment to compose himself.

You stared at his palm for a long moment before looking at him, a slightly embarrassed expression on your face. "Any idea how much of this gel I'm supposed to use?" you smiled softly. There it was.

He glanced down at his red palm. "Should be just one thin layer," he said quietly. He noticed how much you were leaning in to see his palm your face so close to his that he could practically see his reflection in your eyes. "Just enough to cover the burn. Any more and it won't absorb properly."

"Okay," you mumbled, and then you grabbed the gel and applied it gently to your fingertip. Pope tilted his head, wondering how on earth you were able to see with your hair in the way. It kept falling forward and you kept having to push it back behind your ear only for it to fall forward again.

So he just reached for your hair. His fingers brushed against the soft strands and you lifted your head immediately, staring at him in confusion. But he didn't say anything, he just grabbed it gently, managing to gather it all with one hand and hold it away from your face.

"So you can see," he said, staring back at you as his fingers brushed against the nape of your neck.

You opened your mouth to say something before closing it again. "Right. Thank you," you mumbled, looking away flustered.

He then watched you as you applied a thin layer over his palm. The gel was cool and you were right. It felt so much better and with your hair in his hand and your shoulder touching his, better didn't feel so bad right now.

If feeling better included you, he might not fear it so much anymore.

Once you were done, you set the bottle aside on the coffee table. Pope dropped his hand, watching as your hair fell all over your shoulders again. His fingers tingled slightly from where he'd been holding it, and he flexed them, already missing the feel of those soft strands between his fingers.

You grabbed tissues and cleaned your fingertip, wiping away the excess gel before tossing the tissue onto the table, missing Pope's slight frown. Then you glanced at his hand again.

"Good?" you asked softly and he nodded in response.

You then grabbed the bandage you had already gotten earlier and quickly wrapped it around his hand. You did it oh so perfectly, it was the same way he'd done it to his brothers so many times over the years.

"Tight?" you asked, your eyes still fixed on his hand, and he shook his head.

You set everything away and leaned back on the couch, staring at nothing in front of you. Pope took back his palm to his lap, resting it on his thigh. He glanced outside, at the dark sky through the window, and then back at you.

"It's late. You shouldn't drive back," he said quietly.

You brushed a hand over your face, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm. "Yeah. Long work day."

Pope's eyebrows furrowed. He hated when you talked about work, and you knew he hated it. He hated the way you'd come home with tired eyes and the way you'd talk about bosses who didn't appreciate you.

"You don't have to work. I can give you the money for everything you need." He'd said this before, more times than he could count. It was a conversation you've had almost every single day. He had more money than he knew what to do with and the thought of you slaving away at some job that didn't appreciate you made him want to burn the whole place down.

"Andrew," you said quietly, and that single word was enough. He pressed his lips tight together as he leaned back too, his eyes fixed on the way you pressed your knees tight together. It wasn't like the usual times, where you'd watch something on TV together and you'd softly clink your knee against his.

"Baz won't be here the entire week," he wasn't sure why he was telling you this, but he wanted you to know that you could come over without worrying about running into him.

You glanced at him, leaning your head against the couch behind you as you turned your head toward him. "Good," you said, and Pope felt his mouth twitch at that.

You were such a sweet girl, but you never quite hid your dislike for his brother. He found it entertaining. He knew why, and he knew it stemmed from a good and caring place, so he never felt the need to defend his brother to you. You weren't mean to Baz either, just a tad hostile, and Pope secretly appreciated that you had the guts to stand your ground.

Pope looked down at his bandage, closing his hand and opening it again. It hurt, and he knew it wasn't a good idea, but he did it anyway. There had to be some purpose to why he'd burned his hand. He couldn't just have it stop. But obviously you didn't let that happen.

Wordlessly, you put your hand into his. You lifted it gently from his lap and placed it in yours. He stopped moving it immediately, letting it rest there as you brushed a fingertip over the bandage.

He watched you, not bothering to hide his stare whatsoever. One of the small lights was shining on you and he could see how spaced out you were. It reminded him of himself and of all the times he'd stared at nothing. And he didn't like that. He hated hated hated it.

So he spoke the words that had been desperate to escape all night. "No one will ever have a kid with me," he said, his voice emotionless, like he was talking about the weather.

Your head snapped up at that, your eyes widening as they darted across his face. "What?" you said sounding genuinely confused. But there was also genuine terror in your voice because what a horrible thing to say about yourself and believe.

"Baz said it," was all he said, his voice still flat as he stared at you to know what you actually thought. He didn't want empty platitudes or meaningless reassurances. He wanted the truth and he would only get that by looking at your face.

You opened your mouth and closed it again, your brain scrambling for the right words. Your hand tightened on his palm, almost giving him the pain he'd been craving earlier but then you realized what you were doing and you loosened your grip.

"Your brother might be the biggest jerk I've ever known in my life," you finally said, and Pope couldn't help the small smile that formed on his face. You'd never been this direct about your hatred towards Baz. "He sucks," you added and the bluntness of it made the small smile on his face twitch wider. "He's a terrible person and he says terrible things, and none of them are true."

And then you met his eyes properly. "And he's a liar. Every word that comes out of his mouth is a lie, and you know it. You know he just says things to tear them down and to make himself feel better."

Pope stared at you, his hazel eyes studying yours, trying to find the lie he believed was there. He didn't let much emotion show on his face, but you didn't look away. It was Pope who finally looked away first, which didn't happen very often.

You stared at his side profile and then tapped his bandaged hand lightly, drawing his attention back to you. "Hey, i'm here with you, aren't I?"

He met your eyes again, not saying anything.

"You're here taking care of Lena. Not Baz. You're here making her food. Not Baz. You're the one who picked her up from school. Not Baz," you said quietly as you held his stare. "You're the one who stays up with her when she has nightmares. You're the one who plays with her and makes her laugh and reads her bedtime stories. Not Baz."

You paused, swallowing hard, your hand still resting gently over his bandaged one. "You're a better dad to Lena than Baz will ever be," your voice cracking slightly.

As he kept looking at you, you pushed yourself to hold eye contact. "You start taking Lena to the park more regularly and the moms will start throwing themselves at you when they see how good you are to her," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. "They'll be lining up to get your attention. You'll have to fight them off with Lena."

His lips twitched at that and it made your heart flutter.

"Don't listen to him," you said, and there was so much contempt for his brother, that he found it endearing. "Don't listen to a single word that comes out of his mouth. You're too good for that."

Pope stayed quiet as his eyes drifted to the coffee table. He stared at your tissue for a while before looking back at you. "You think someone would want me?" he would never dream of asking a vulnerable question like this to anyone else, but you.

You didn't even hesitate. "I know someone would want you."

You watched him as he fixed himself again against the back of the couch. His eyes wandered far away and you could see him trying to decide if he believed any of it. You brushed a finger over his hand, as you waited for any reaction whatsoever.

"Thank you," he finally said quietly.

You looked at him and smiled softly. "You don't have to thank me for pointing out the obvious," you said softly, leaning back so your shoulder pressed hard against his. You knocked your knees against his. "Any kid would be lucky to have you as their dad, and any woman would be lucky to have you as the father of her kids."

You said that part quietly and then you looked away. You could feel your cheeks warming and you focused on the bandage on his hand. Pope watched you for a long moment, drinking in the sight of you, and then his fingers lightly reached upward until he tapped the back of your hand.

You looked up, your eyes meeting his and he didn't say anything. He just stared at you and you stared back, and you knew what he wanted to see. His nose twitched at what he saw. He was great at reading facial expressions, too good sometimes.

You let him see that you'd be one of those people who would consider themselves lucky to have him as the father to her kids. You watched the realization flash across his face and you dropped your eyes immediately.

When you dropped your head to his shoulder, you felt his sigh of relief and you smiled to yourself.

Eventually, you felt his arm shift, and then his hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his fingers curling gently around the curve of it. You leaned into it, letting him know it was okay, and his fingers tightened slightly, pulling you just a little bit closer.

"You should get some sleep," he murmured. "I'll get you some blankets."

“You’re joking.”

You wince. “No.”

“Kidding.”

“No.”

“This is actually what it’s like in here?”

You step inside anyway, dropping your keys into the bowl by the door. The heat settles over your shoulders immediately. You have become so used to it that part of you barely notices anymore.

Jack notices. “Jesus Christ.” The door shuts behind him. You hear him exhale, and then you hear him exhale again. “You live like this?”

The embarrassment arrives before you can stop it. Not because the flat is untidy. It isn’t. Not because there’s anything particularly wrong with it. You just suddenly become aware that somebody else is seeing the reality of it. The awkward little coping mechanisms. The things that seem normal until somebody from outside witnesses them.

“It’s not usually this bad,” you mumble.

Jack raises an eyebrow. The expression alone tells you he doesn’t believe that for a second.

After twelve hours at work, neither of you have much energy left. The shift has settled heavily into your bones. Usually, by this point in the evening, you would be alone. You would drag yourself upstairs, change clothes, attempt to cool down, and spend the next several hours trying not to think about how exhausted you are.

Having Jack here changes the shape of the evening entirely. It should feel awkward. The relationship is still new enough that some part of you occasionally waits for awkwardness to appear.

Instead, you mostly feel relieved.

Jack sets your bag down beside the sofa. The movement is so casual that your chest aches a little. You had not asked him to carry it. He had simply picked it up when you left the hospital and refused to hand it back.

“You need a fan.”

“I have a fan.”

Jack follows your gaze. The fan occupies its usual place in the corner of the living room. It rattles faintly. One side vibrates more enthusiastically than the other. The noise it produces sounds less like cooling equipment and more like a pensioner clearing their throat.

Jack stares at it, then at you, then back at the fan. “Honey, I don’t think that counts. It isn’t even rotating.”

“It works.”

“It sounds like it’s filing a complaint.”

You laugh despite yourself. The sound catches you off guard. Everything has felt difficult recently. The heat. The lack of sleep. The endless cycle of work and recovery and work again. Laughing feels surprisingly nice.

Jack notices. His expression softens immediately. That softness still affects you more than it should.

People see confidence when they look at him. They see somebody capable and charming and endlessly self-assured.

You see the man who quietly remembers your coffee order. The man who checks whether you’ve eaten. The man currently looking around your overheated apartment as though he’s distraught that you live in such conditions.

You move towards the kitchen. The routine is instinctive by now. Freezer. Tap. Tea towel.

“What are you doing?”

The question follows you. You don’t answer, not immediately. Jack appears in the doorway just in time to watch you unfold a frozen tea towel.

You run it beneath cold water, then you drape it around the back of your neck. The relief arrives so quickly that your eyes close. A quiet sigh escapes before you can stop it. When you open your eyes again, Jack is staring. His expression suggests he has just witnessed something deeply upsetting.

“What?”

“You keep frozen towels in your freezer.”

“Yes.”

“Multiple towels?” You hesitate. Jack points accusingly. “Multiple towels.”

The embarrassment creeping up your neck becomes significantly worse. “Maybe.”

“Oh my God.”

“It’s practical.”

“You’ve adapted.”

The laugh that escapes him makes you roll your eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

Unfortunately for both of you, the ritual is not finished. You cross the kitchen and retrieve a large bowl. Jack watches suspiciously. You fill it with ice. His eyes narrow. Then he follows you back into the living room, where you place the bowl directly in front of the fan. The rattling machine immediately begins blowing cooler air across the room.

Jack stares. You try very hard not to look pleased with yourself. “You’ve made your own air conditioning?”

“Exactly. Good trick, isn’t it?”

“No. Absolutely not. This is some sort of fucked up survival documentary.”

“It works.”

His hand slides across his face. The sight is so ridiculous that your shoulders shake with laughter. You expect him to keep teasing. Instead, his expression gradually changes. The amusement fades first. Concern settles in its place.

The shift is subtle enough that somebody else might miss it. You don’t.

Jack glances around the flat again. The open windows, the fan, the bowl of ice, the frozen towel around your shoulders. The tiredness hanging from every movement you make.

“You haven’t been sleeping properly.”

The observation lands gently. You look away. Your relationship is still new enough that being looked after feels strange sometimes. Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

The words are quiet. No frustration or judgement, just simple certainty. You focus very hard on adjusting the towel. Jack waits. The silence stretches. You know he isn’t going to push, and that somehow makes it harder. Eventually you shrug.

“Gets a bit warm at night.”

“A bit?” His disbelief is immediate. The corner of your mouth twitches. Jack shakes his head. Then he points towards the front door. “Get your stuff.”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“You’re staying at mine.”

The answer arrives so quickly it feels rehearsed. You stare at him. Jack stares right back. The determination in his expression makes nervous warmth bloom somewhere beneath your ribs.

“Jack.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard my argument.”

“I don’t need to.”

“I live here.”

“I know, honey. It’s tragic.” You laugh despite yourself. Jack’s mouth twitches. Encouraged, he steps closer. The distance between you disappears with embarrassing ease.

“I’ve got air conditioning.” You roll your eyes. “Every room.”

“Please stop.”

“A swimming pool.”

You hate how persuasive that sounds. The hesitation must show on your face because satisfaction immediately appears in his expression. Not smugness, but something softer. Something warmer. Like he already knows you’re considering it and that he has won.

Your chest does an annoying little flutter. Jack reaches for your hand. The gesture is simple. Easy. His fingers slide between yours naturally. You still notice every second of it.

The exhaustion weighing you down all evening suddenly feels heavier. The thought of another night in this flat feels worse. The thought of spending the evening with him feels impossibly appealing.

You look down at your joined hands, then towards the rattling fan and the melting bowl of ice. A reluctant smile appears before you can stop it.

“One night.”

Jack’s grin arrives immediately. You are suddenly very aware that one night is exactly what you said the last time you stayed over.

The drive to Jack’s house is quiet in the comfortable way that seems to happen more often these days. Early on, you had worried about silence. Worried that you would run out of things to say. Worried that your tendency to retreat into yourself after long shifts would eventually become frustrating for somebody as naturally social as Jack.

Instead, he has somehow made room for it.

You spend half the journey staring out of the window and the other half trying not to fall asleep. Jack keeps one hand on the steering wheel and occasionally glances across to make sure you’re still awake.

The second time he catches you fighting a yawn, he laughs. “You’ve got about ten minutes left until you can sleep as much as you want, sweetheart.”

“I’m awake.”

His smile lingers for the rest of the journey.

By the time you pull into his driveway, your body feels heavy with tiredness. The heat hasn’t helped. Neither has the shift. Every muscle aches with the familiar exhaustion that comes after a day spent constantly moving, constantly thinking, constantly responding to somebody else’s emergency.

You follow him to the front door. The moment he opens it, cool air spills into the evening. The relief is immediate. Your shoulders drop before you can stop them. The tension sitting between your shoulder blades eases. Even your breathing feels easier somehow.

Jack notices, and a quiet look of satisfaction crosses his face as you step inside. You hate that he’s right. You hate it even more because part of you feels ridiculously grateful.

The house smells faintly of laundry detergent and whatever Jack cooked yesterday. Nothing fancy. Nothing particularly distinctive. Just lived-in. The sort of smell that belongs to somewhere safe.

You slip your shoes off by the door and immediately feel awkward about how comfortable you are here, though not because Jack has ever done anything to make you uncomfortable. Quite the opposite.

The problem is that every time he includes you in his life so naturally, some shy and uncertain part of you still doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

Jack disappears upstairs with your bag. You wander into the living room. The temperature alone feels miraculous. You lower yourself onto the sofa. The cushions sink slightly beneath your weight. For the first time all day, your body stops bracing against something.

A few moments later, Jack returns. Something grey lands in your lap. You look down at a sweatshirt, Jack’s sweatshirt. The one you’ve stolen often enough that you’re surprised he still bothers pretending it belongs to him.

“I’m not cold.”

“You will be.”

Your argument dies immediately. Jack’s smile widens. The traitor, always knowing what you need before you know. You pull the sweatshirt over your head, watching as the sleeves cover half your hands and taking in how the fabric smells faintly of him.

Something embarrassingly soft settles in your chest.

Jack watches the entire process. The look on his face becomes dangerous.

“Don’t say it.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“You were.”

His laugh follows you as you curl further into the sofa. A strange sort of peace settles over the room afterwards. The television remains off. Neither of you seems particularly interested in filling the silence.

You talk a little about work mostly, sharing stories from the shift. The sort of conversations that make no sense to anybody outside healthcare but somehow become funny when shared with somebody who understands exactly what you mean.

At some point your shoulder ends up against his. Then your head drops to his shoulder. Then, without either of you consciously deciding it, you’re curled against his side.

The progression feels so natural that you barely notice it happening. Jack’s arm settles around you. Your eyes close. The steady rise and fall of his breathing becomes impossible to ignore.

Exhaustion creeps up on you slowly. The air conditioning hums somewhere in the background. The sofa is comfortable. Jack’s hand begins moving absent-mindedly in gentle strokes against your upper arm. The combination is fatal.

“You falling asleep?” The question sounds distant.

“No.” Your voice emerges slightly slurred.

Jack laughs quietly. The vibration carries through his chest. You feel it where your cheek rests against him.

“You are, honey.”

“I’m listening to you.”

“You just stopped responding for two minutes.”

You consider defending yourself. Unfortunately that sounds like a lot of work. Sleep wins.

The next thing you know, sunlight has shifted. For several moments, you remain caught between dreaming and waking. Warm, comfortable, and safe. Awareness returns gradually. The weight around your waist. The steady heartbeat beneath your ear. The hand resting lightly against your side.

Jack.

Your eyes open. Embarrassment arrives instantly. At some point during the nap, the two of you have become tangled together. One of your hands is curled into the front of his t-shirt. His arm remains firmly around you.

Your face grows warm. The reaction is ridiculous. You’ve been dating for months. That doesn’t stop it.

You attempt to move. The arm around your waist tightens slightly.

“No.” The word is rough with sleep. You freeze. Jack hasn’t even opened his eyes. His voice emerges again a few seconds later. “Stay there.”

A nervous smile pulls at your mouth. “You fell asleep.”

“Mhm.”

The response makes you laugh. Finally, he opens his eyes, and the fondness in them hits you with the same force it always does. No matter how often it happens, you never seem prepared for it. His gaze lingers for a moment. Not intense or scrutinising, just affectionate. The sort of look that makes you feel strangely fragile, like all of your feelings are sitting somewhere obvious.

“You sleep alright?”

You nod, though the truth is that you cannot remember the last time a nap felt that restful. Jack smiles a slow, pleased sort of smile. It’s the kind of smile that appears whenever he thinks he’s taken care of you successfully. You know that look by now.

A little while later, he disappears upstairs to change. When he returns, he’s carrying a towel over one shoulder. “Pool?”

You stare. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“No.”

The answer is immediate. You should probably be surprised. You’re not.

The pool glitters beneath the late afternoon sun. Heat still hangs in the air outside, though nowhere near as oppressive as it felt earlier.

Jack sits on one of the loungers while you lower yourself into the water, clad in a swimsuit Jack had conveniently bought ‘just in case’ you came over when it was hot outside.

Only after a moment do you realise he’s removing his prosthesis. The movement is familiar, and you have seen him do it before. The first time had made you nervous, mostly because you hadn’t known what was appropriate. Whether to offer help or to look away. Whether acknowledging it would somehow make things awkward.

Jack had solved the problem himself by treating it exactly as what it was. Normal. Now you simply shift closer and hold out your hand when he passes it over.

“Thanks.” You rest it carefully beside his towel. A minute later he slides into the water.

The grin that appears on his face tells you everything. “Better?”

You groan. “Don’t.”

“Better?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

You splash water towards him. His laughter echoes across the garden. The sound settles somewhere warm inside your chest. For a while, neither of you talk about much. You float. You swim. You enjoy the simple relief of cool water against sun-warmed skin.

Eventually you find yourselves leaning against the side of the pool together. Jack’s shoulder brushes yours. His hand drifts towards yours beneath the surface. Your fingers lace together automatically. The gesture feels small, yet familiar. Intimate in a way grand declarations never seem to be.

The afternoon sunlight dances across the water around you. For the first time all week, you aren’t thinking about work. For the first time all week, you aren’t thinking about the heat.

You’re only thinking about how nice it feels to be here with him.

By the time you climb out of the pool, your hair is damp, your skin feels pleasantly cool for the first time in days, and the heavy exhaustion that had been dragging at you since the end of your shift has softened into something manageable.

Jack retrieves his prosthesis while you gather towels. He sits on the edge of the lounger, drying off while you hand him the things he needs without either of you really discussing it. Early in the relationship, you would have worried about getting it wrong. Now it simply feels like another small way of looking after each other. The sort of thing that happens naturally when somebody becomes important.

You are both changed and back downstairs when the first message arrives.

Dana: On the way.

A second appears before you’ve even finished reading it.

Robby: Dana drives like a criminal.

Dana: Shut up.

A third follows.

Trinity: bringing snacks!

Jack glances at the screen over your shoulder. “We should probably start getting ready.”

“We?”

“You’re helping.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m a guest.”

“Nope.”

The answer comes so quickly that it catches you off guard. Something flickers across his expression. Warm and certain, like the idea of you thinking anything different had genuinely never occurred to him.

“You stopped being a guest a while ago.”

Your stomach promptly forgets how to function. Jack seems entirely unaware of the effect he’s had, or perhaps he’s aware and choosing not to acknowledge it. Both possibilities feel dangerous.

You end up helping anyway. Partly because saying no feels impossible, but also because moving around the kitchen with him turns out to be strangely enjoyable.

Jack works with easy confidence. You spend most of your time passing things over, opening cupboards, fetching ingredients and trying very hard not to stare whenever he reaches around you.

The kitchen isn’t particularly large, and neither is your ability to behave normally around somebody you’re dating. Several times you nearly walk directly into him, and the third time it happens, his hands settle instinctively on your waist to steady you. Heat rushes immediately into your face.

Jack smiles, though it isn’t teasing. Just deathly fond. That somehow makes it worse.

By the time the doorbell rings, the garden is ready. Food waits on platters. Drinks sit in ice-filled tubs. The barbecue is heating up outside.

Dana arrives first, carrying enough food to suggest she believes supermarkets may cease to exist overnight. Robby follows behind her with a bag of buns tucked beneath one arm.

Mel and Langdon appear shortly afterwards. Dennis and Trinity arrive together. Samira enters carrying drinks and immediately begins discussing something work-related before she’s even taken her shoes off.

Within twenty minutes, the house feels completely different. Louder. Busier. Full.

Normally, this would be the point where nerves begin creeping in. You have never particularly enjoyed being the centre of attention. Large groups often leave you feeling like you’re trying to keep pace with a conversation that started before you arrived.

Tonight feels easier, maybe because these people already know you, and because you’ve met them enough times now. Or, maybe, it’s because Jack never strays very far.

His hand brushes your back as he passes behind you. His shoulder nudges yours while you’re standing beside the drinks table. Little moments. Tiny things. Each one grounding, making it easier to relax.

The evening settles into a comfortable rhythm. The entire thing feels like chaos, but it is comfortable chaos. The kind that comes from people genuinely liking one another.

You find yourself smiling more than usual, and speaking more than usual too. Not much. Just enough that Jack notices.

You are halfway through a conversation with Samira when you happen to glance across the garden and catch him watching you. The expression on his face makes your chest tighten unexpectedly. Pride, not the loud kind, but something quieter, as though seeing you happy matters to him.

The realisation leaves you oddly emotional. You look away first. The alternative feels dangerous.

Later, once food has been eaten and the evening begins slipping towards night, people spread out across the garden in smaller groups. String lights glow overhead. Music drifts softly from a speaker somewhere near the house. The air remains warm, though no longer unbearable.

You end up curled into one corner of the outdoor sofa. Jack sits beside you. Close enough that your knees touch and so that every so often his arm brushes yours. The conversation nearby fades into background noise. For a few moments, neither of you says anything.

You simply sit together. The silence feels nice. Then Jack glances towards the house.

“You know…”

The words immediately make you suspicious. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh no. Don’t hurt yourself.”

His laughter escapes instantly. “I have good ideas.”

“Debatable.”

The smile he gives you is entirely too pleased, and your stomach performs an irritating little flip. Jack gestures vaguely towards the house.

“The spare room’s still empty.”

You narrow your eyes. Jack’s expression remains completely innocent. You don’t believe it for a second.

“Right.”

“Could probably do something with it.”

“Mhm.”

“Seems a waste otherwise.”

You bite back a smile. The corner of his mouth twitches. The two of you sit in silence for another moment. Then his hand quietly finds yours, warm fingers sliding between yours. The simple familiarity of it makes your chest ache.

You are not ready to move in together. Not yet. The relationship is still growing. Still becoming something. The thought doesn’t scare you the way it might have once.

That surprises you.

Months ago, the idea would have sent you running. Now it simply feels distant, a possibility sitting somewhere on the horizon.

Jack squeezes your hand lightly. No pressure. No expectation. Just warmth. The sort he gives freely.

Around the garden, laughter erupts from one of Robby’s stories. Dana immediately accuses him of exaggerating. Trinity agrees. Mel disagrees. Dennis looks exhausted. Samira is laughing too hard to contribute. Langdon appears to be reconsidering every life choice that led him here.

The sight makes you smile. Jack notices, and his gaze shifts towards you. For a second, the noise around you seems to fade.

Not completely. Just enough.

You think about the apartment waiting for you across town. The rattling fan, the bowls of ice, the frozen towels.

You think about this instead.

About cool air and afternoon naps. About somebody carrying your bag without being asked. About hands finding yours automatically. About never having to question whether you’re wanted.

Jack lifts your joined hands and presses a brief kiss against your knuckles. The gesture is so casual that nobody else notices. Your heart nearly stops anyway.

“You alright?” he asks quietly.

You nod. The answer feels too big to explain properly. Loved, perhaps, though the word still feels fragile enough that you hesitate to touch it.

Jack smiles. The expression settles something inside you.

Around you, the evening continues exactly as before. Friends talking. Music drifting through the garden. The smell of barbecue lingering in the warm summer air.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, there is nothing demanding your attention.

There is only this. There is only a borrowed sweatshirt waiting upstairs, a house that already feels strangely familiar, and a man sitting beside you with your hand tucked securely in his.

The rest can wait until morning.

— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !

ALL PITT MEN: @malindacath @superlegend216 @sapphire882 @challengers4ev @hazydespair @hallecarey1 @teenwolfbitches28 @imabapical @sleepylunarwolf @lacy1986 @thehockeynerd30 @teardropcup @staygoldsquatchling02 @typicalkhani @ibleednavyandorange

You were at the gurney in an instance, Robby joining the herd in the pushing of the bed. It took you less than a second to see through the bag in the neck and the blood and the uniform to recognise the one on the gurney. “Hiro? What happened?”

“Warehouse robbery gone wrong,” said Jack with almost absent of mind. He said the words and promptly seemed to realise who he was talking to and looked up- at you- again. “You're working today?”

“Oh no, I just hang around in hopes of seeing you in unfiorm.”

Next to you, Robby chuckled and beyond Jack you gave quick greeting to your laughing buddies, clad in SWAT uniform.

You were what could be called, a floater.

By all educational means you were a doctor and a damn good one too. You had every certificate you needed and all the flying colours you could get. You just didn't have a permanent job. You were a sub. You worked mainly at PTMC and on the field but had been known to go to the dark side, a.k.a, Presby.

“Okay, on my count,” you begin. “One, two, three-”

You helped lift him over to the bed.

“Did you intubate him?” you asked,

“Yeah, under active fire,” said Jack.

You looked at Jack. Sweat on his forehead, flecks of grey hair sticking to him and the shirt under his army vest hung lose. He was dishevelled in away romance characters presented on books covers. To lure you in. “You were shot?”

“Shot at.”

“You need to be looked at?”

“No. I'm fine.” His lips were pursed, focus on Hiro.

“Did you see the chords when you intubated?” asked Robby, floating around the two of you as Jack refused to leave Hiro's side and you stayed by Abbot. He'd seen it a dozen times before. A disaster where there was one, there was the other.

There was the occasions he'd hand over to Jack, go home, sleep and come back to find Jack had called in you. You who was always ready to go at the first buzz of your pager. Wherever it was, whatever you had to do. And Robby would look through the patients that night, check the board and understand they hadn't really needed your help all that much.

Jack had.

Now, Robby saw the way you looked at Jack and had seen the gap that existed between the two of you.

“Yeah, I did but it was hard to miss when I cleared them.”

Jack reached and you watched as he stretched, wincing at the pull in his shoulder.

“You should get that looked at,” you told him.

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.”

There was a small roll of the eyes as Jack's gaze rose to meet yours through his goggles. There was almost a tiny hint of a smirk- your favourite kind but it disappeared as soon as it appeared.

“Yeah, c'mon Abbot!” said Charlie, calling from the back of his room where he stood with Diaz, two of the SWAT officers you were most frequent with. “Let doc work you up.”

You chuckled low to yourself, trying to catch Jack's eyes to share the joke but he looked away, his jaw clenching.

So, he wasn't in the joking mood.

“Alright, fellas, out!” leaving the wounded's side you ushered them out in spite of their protests and their giddy, hopeful optimism that Officer Hiro would pull through. “We'll let you know any changes, out!”

You pulled on a gown and cleared a way over.

“Demanding,” said Robby.

“You should hear me in the bedroom,” you teased with a wink.

Over on the other side you caught a small click from Jack's tongue. A disapproval voiced loud enough for others to hear.

You grasped the ultrasound wand from the nurse, circling it around the wound at Hiro's neck while Jack pulled away the gauze he'd packed, carefully minding you. “Good lung sliding, no pneumo-”

The last gauze peeled away in a bloody mess and a rope of blood shot out directly at you for vengeance.

“Geez- woah!”

“Pumper!” you announced, clamping your hand over the wound.

The streak of red cut through the skin on your neck, your gown and the doctors coat you liked to wear just like they did in tv shows. You had a draw full of them at home for instances like that.

“Hey, hey,” Jack was at your side quick as you loomed over the body. “Move back, get yourself cleaned up.”

“I can handle a little blood, Abbot.”

“I know that but-”

“- this is a transected trachea now-”

There was little else time to worry about blood on your gown and coat when the intubation was pulled out, the hole in his throat open.

There was a lot people said about you, with words and looks alike but none of which passed you or bothered you. You knew some thought you abrash and loud, you were, you knew it true. On the field the teams you worked with always thought you as one of them, 'one of the guys' but damn it- you were a good doctor.

You ordered everything correctly, you took them and worked them without so much as a blink and Robby stood behind you approving of everything you did.

It was one of the reasons he always called you in.

“Well done, good breaths sounds, stats are up: in the nineties,” approved Robby.

Jack hummed, pulling off his gloves as you all backed away. “Not bad.”

Your carried your smirk with you and over to him. “Is that the great Jack Abbot stamp of approval?”

“You know I think you're good at you're job,” he said, plainly.

You did know that. You knew that Jack admired your skills. He was one of the only ones who'd seen your skills on the field when sometimes all you had left in your kit was the dregs from other procedures or in the hospital when everything was pristine. He'd worked closest to you, probably out of everyone in either one of your jobs.

But there was always something about Jack that kept him far away. He was always a man that was so calm, which in the the face of conflict wasn't a bad call. Yet, it was the quiet moments in between- the way his footfall would slow to match yours, or the glances he'd steal at you half way across the ward, or the extra snacks he'd pack that had you searching rooms for him, checking shifts to see if you'd be around him.

Then when you were, Jack pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, acted like he wanted to be anywhere else sometimes than at your side.

He was a complicated man. Annoyingly that's what added to your attraction- and everyone knew it.

Once the two of you told Officer Charlie and Diaz that Hiro was stable enough to be taken to surgery you followed after Jack.

“You sure you don't want me to look at that shoulder for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, it's fine,” he excused.

“Don't want the paperwork?”

“Something like that,” said Jack, still shifting around in pain as he tried to roll his shoulder out.

“Okay, okay, but get it looked at!” you called off, ready to shed your coat or at least try and rub off some of Hiro's blood.

There was a mutter from Jack before he went another way.

You looked back to him once, watching as he walked off with a small limp that probably wasn't detectable to anyone that didn't analyse him like you did. It was a brutal sort of thing, SWAT, and with Abbot's sleep schedule you knew it was only worse. Eight- maybe ten hour shifts for so little sleep to get thrown back into the fire- literally. You wondered how he did it.

And, why.

Jack flexed out his shoulder at the press of the q-tip to his back.

He meant it, the wound really wasn't that bad. It had grazed through his clothes and vest but still hit just enough to leave an angry welt and bruising. He was content to hide away and sort it himself if it weren't for the fact he couldn't reach.

Then Samira Mohan walked by and offered her help. He was already tired, annoyed that those punks had thought it a good idea to rob a warehouse in the middle of the day, already worried about Hiro and his recovery. Then- there was you, with your snarky comments while saving his life, not batting a lash at the blood that got splattered on you in the mean time and still having time to flirt with Robby.

And prancing around in this scrub pants that were surely just a bit too tight.

Jack was wound up, which was why he admitted surrender and allowed Mohan to clean out his wound.

“Why do you do this?” she'd asked.

Jack had folded his arms over his chest, suddenly very aware he was shirtless in front of her. “My therapist says I need a hobby. I suck at golf.”

She hummed. “Funny.”

“Thank you.”

He made conversation to be polite, asking about the fellowships he knew others were already applying for. Crus had been telling him about them and he knew Mohan was searching to.

They were chatting was all when Robby walked by, looking in to check.

He frowned when he saw Mohan and Abbot, pausing in his fly by with a hand in the door way.

Jack watched as Robby looked around again at the ward, undoubtedly searching for you.

“We're almost finished up here,” said Mohan.

Robby held up his hands. “I didn't say anything,” he said, leaning in the doorway. He passed Jack a nod. “You good?”

“Getting there, thanks to Doctor Mohan's capable hands.” Jack kept his eyes averted from Robby as if he'd done something wrong. He hadn't. He'd told you the wound didn't need looking at because he was going to handle it.

Robby looked at him the sort of way he looked at patients when he knew they were lying about their scale of pain. “Can you give us a second?”

Just as Jack was about to push himself up Samira moved behind him.

“Er, yeah, sure. No problem,” she said, pulling off her gloves and listing off post-care instructions from instinct. “Keep it clean and the dressing fresh.”

“Can do, Doctor Mohan. Thank you.”

Robby stepped out of the way for Mohan before walking in, staring at Jack with his hands in his pockets.

Jack found his shirt discarded on the floor and pulled it over him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Clearly,” said Jack.

“Are you avoiding her, now?”

Jack didn't need to ask who he was talking about and Robby didn't need to specify. “Course not.”

“Did she do something?”

“No.”

“So what was all that? Back in trauma?” asked Robby. His eyes were beady, waiting to pick up on any shift in Jack or anything that might betray him. But Robby wore his heart on his sleeve. He might think he doesn't or thinks he's good at hiding such emotions away but Jack and everyone else sees them anyhow.

Jack had his heart buried deep down. “I dunno, man,” he huffed, ignoring the burning sensation as he pulled his shirt back over him. “Maybe I just didn't feel like joking around when my buddy was bleeding out on the table.”

Robby shook his head, eyes creasing. “People bleed out all the time.”

Jacks lips pursed as he worked on tucking his shirt back into his pants. Anything to keep him occupied and averted from Robby’s knowing gaze.

“I haven’t seen you this worked up since you first met her,” he teased.

“Now I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abbot grumbled.

Robby chuckled low in his throat, leaning back on the wall comfortable like he was watching his favourite show. “When two consenting adults like each other very much-”

“I don’t,” said Jack, abrupt. “I don’t… like her.”

“Jack, c’mon-”

Jack turned to Robby. He considered his confusion. Sure, you were a great doctor and even better on the field. Something about the chaos seemed to focus you, bringing out your best self. You were funny, even at the worse times.

“She’s not it for me,” he said, trying to mean those words.

Your smile first thing in the morning didn’t warm him. The fact you knew his coffee order after only two days of working together didn’t make him feel special. You were incredibly intelligent. Beautiful.

Jack twisted and turned around his wedding band.

Robby watched, heaving a sigh. “Brother…”

Jack couldn’t keep you in his heart when his dead wife still held a place there. It wasn’t fair to you.

“She’s not it, Robby.”

“And why not?” He asked, pushing and prodding against his bag of lies like he knew he was carrying it.

“She’s different- we’re two different. You know with my- with my wife we worked. She wasn’t a doctor, she didn’t throw her life away on field missions. She wasn’t… she wasn’t ruthless, she was soft. Perfect for me.”

He pressed down against the metal band branding him.

“You’re not gonna give yourself a chance to be happy because she’s not like your wife?” Asked Robby.

Jack glanced back at him. “I know what works for me. I can’t be with someone as loud or… bash. She’s-she’s brutal, you know.”

Robby nodded but there was a furrow between his brows. “We all have our own ways of dealing with things.”

“Her way is drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there’s no healthy habits there,” argued Jack. Why he was arguing about you with Robby he didn’t know. Why he was defending himself with words that fell like led on his tongue he had no idea.

“Okay,” said Robby in a way that marked defeat.

But Jack didn’t believe what he was saying. He heard himself and frowned. “And I don’t even think she’s a person who could settle down. Hmm, I mean look at her job? She’s constantly in between them.”

“She’s a sub, that’s what she does-”

“- scared of commitment,” corrected Jack.

Robby scoffed out a laugh of disbelief. “Okay, you’re in a mood or something.” He pushed himself from the wall.

“No, I’m not,” he argued a little too quick and a little too harsh to be okay with what he was saying. “She’s a good person she’s just not my person. You know she-she doesn’t even like flowers, who doesn’t like flowers?”

“She’s more than a good person, Jack,” said Robby with an air of defeat about him. With one last look back to Jack he left, closing the door gently behind him.

In the seconds the door was open Jack sort a peek out. You were at the nurses desk, leaning over a tablet, the blue glow illuminating you. There was a troubled look to your face, scrunching your brows and marring your usual unflappable gaze. Jack almost wanted to see the chart himself and ask what was bothering you, but he knew you never told him, only ever let it be yourself that saw your problems.

Another thing he couldn’t stand. You’d never ask for help.

Even if, Jack couldn’t admit it out loud, he’d help without an invitation too.

You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised, yet doctors ran on hope. Without hope trauma rooms became morgues and body’s became empty vessels. You’d built hope into your system, kept somewhere between your heart and stomach.

That’s why you felt it plummet.

She’s not it for me.

There was no intention to listen in on a conversation that clearly you weren’t supposed to know about. You'd just been passing by when you heard your name from Jacks mouth. That was enough to stop you in place. If your feet weren't frozen you would have moved, made yourself busy or call up to surgery to check on Hiro.

But as Jack went on your heart plummeted.

She's brutal.

It wasn't until you heard Robby defend you that you moved away, hiding with your back to the exam room and hunching over a tablet that held no chart.

You'd always assumed Jack was just harder to crack then some of the other SWAT guys. You could read most of them within days, know their moods from a glance. You'd never been able to read Jack and maybe it was because he didn't want to be known by you.

You thought seeing Hiro with a hole in his neck would be the worst thing of the day but you caught your reflection in the black screen of the tablet and resented the way things blurred around you.

She's not it for me.

“Hey-” Robby was behind you and you tucked your head into your chest. His hand squeezed your shoulder. “Central twelve when you have a chance.”

“You got it, boss.” Luckily your voice remained steady despite the waver in your throat.

Robby gave a nod and left you to it.

Had Jack had hatred for you since you knew him and just never said a word? Did you do something for him to harbour these feelings?

Besides from not being his wife.

The door closed again and on instinct you looked over your shoulder, catching Jack adjusting his belt. He looked up and found your gaze, offering you a pulled smile.

It was like every other smile he'd ever given you.

You'd been so blind with affection to not see it. What a fool.

You couldn't even pull your lips back up, you just walked away.

Weeks went by in flashes of sleepless nights and lonely days.

The sick and injured didn't wait for you to get over yourself, instead they helped.

You offered yourself like a lamb to the slaughter in Presby and even Westbridge. You pulled doubles, catching small naps in any empty exam room or on-call room you could find. You started to learn staff names when you'd never cared before.

A group of nurses at Westbridge even invited you out for drinks.

“Drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there's no healthy habits there” you remembered Jack's voice and declined their invitation.

When SWAT called you had an excuse. A plumber was coming around... you were re-modelling; suddenly your apartment was going through half a dozen makeovers and all your childhood friends were visiting.

“You know you're not a very good liar,” Diaz had said when he called you for a drink and you declined. That day you were taking your mom's dog to the vet (your mom was a cat person and in another state)

Your apartment became a cave and you became a shell of yourself, un-ironically listening to the high school musical soundtrack and crying.

And still you couldn't find it in yourself to be angry at Jack. Of course he wouldn't want you- he had a wife. And a memory of that wife to keep him walm. What could he do with you? If you weren't his type, you weren't his type. If it was just that maybe you could have moved on.

But he didn't like you as a person and that stung more.

You didn't know how long it had been since you were last at PTMC, only long enough that you started to scramble corridors in your mind and forget what some of the nurses sounded like.

“We have a mass casualty event,” said Robby on the phone one Sunday morning. His voice sounded different, but you supposed time played tricks on your memory. “School bus incident. You in?”

You were in pyjamas at home, some crappy tv on low. “I'll have to check, Presby might need me.”

Robby scoffed down the line. “Have they called yet?”

“Well, no-”

“Then get your ass over here.”

“Robby-”

“Please, please get your ass over here,” he said down the line, sighing heavily. “I.... I could really use another set of hands.”

Robby didn't say please. Ever. So how could you say no.

Within the hour you were dressed an,d thrown into the anarchy.

You got through the ambulance doors, was thrown a gown and got to work. You didn't even see Robby to let him know you were there, you just found Langdon and worked beside him.

“I need some help over here!” yelled out a paramedic.

At once you and Langdon were at her side, pushing along the gurney.

“Kid, fracted tib-fib, pupils mid range and sluggish- couldn't get a line we had to intubate.”

“Dana what's open?” called out Langdon.

“Room in trauma one!”

Mass casualty meant trauma rooms doubled up, pushed up against either wall. Mass casualty meant extra hands called in- like you. Still, when you pushed through the door and found Jack's eyes look up you spared half a second in apprehension.

“You're here,” was all he said.

You didn't know what to say. There was some snarky comment on the tip of your tongue as you settled the boy in the corner but you remembered you weren't supposed to be that person.

Jack didn't like that person.

“Yeah, in the flesh,” replied Frank instead.

“Chest trauma on the right!” you assessed. “We need an X-ray in here.”

“X-ray's backed up,” Jack called from where he hovered over another patient.

“Then get me an ultrasound!” you called out. “Push five migs of epi down the tube and hang a unit of O-neg on the rapid infuser.”

“BP'S eighty over fifty, pulse is at one-twelve!” called out Princess.

You felt someone bump in your shoulder and knew by inhale it was Jack. He was close at your side, pulling off and on another pair of gloves.

“What have you got?” he asked.

It wasn't instinct to move away from him. It was practised control that had you swapping sides with Frank, practically pushing him into Jack.

“Chest trauma to the right, he's tacky,” he explained quickly.

You pulled out your stethoscope, listening closely. “His breathing's stridor, I need a thoracotomy tray!”

“A thoracotomy?” asked Jack, voice oddly quiet in the trauma as if it was whispered just next to you. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I'm a good doctor, if I'm nothing else,” you bit out, swinging your stethoscope back around your neck. You weren't going to allow yourself to fall back into old habits, of questioning what Jack didn't like so much about you. You focused on the un-conscious boy under the mercy of your hands. You ordered the right tools, made the cut neat and precise, pushing more pain relief.

“Any tamponade?” asked Jack.

You checked the boys blood pressure. “No, pericardium's dry.”

“Okay, start an-”

“- start an internal massage-”

You and Jack said at the same time.

Frank seemed stuck in headlights before he reached through the incision in the boys chest and slowly started to work the heart.

“Pulse?”

“Barely.”

Jack frowned, looking over at your work. “Cross clamp the aorta, and push another mig of antropine.”

“I need suction!”

“Got anything for surgery?” asked a new voice, Doctor Walsh checking between the patients in the room.

“Oh no, we've brought the OR down to us,” said Jack.

Doctor Walsh rounded, catching the suction and the message of the heart. “Are you doing a thoracotomy right now?”

“Don't look at me,” said Jack, surrendering.

Before anyone could argue with you, question your capability you snapped out. “I know what I'm doing!”

Jack was silent, Frank smirked and Walsh rose a brow.

“Clamped,” said Princess.

“Someone push in another of antropine and get another unit of blood in,” you ordered.

There was a sudden buzzing as all eyes averted to the monitor.

“He's going into V-fib!”

You wiped your bloody and gloved hands down your gown. “Okay, I need internal panels!”

They were handed to you and Jack rushed to your side.

“You want me to-” he started but you already had the panels in hand and were ordering their charge.

“Charge to thirty! Clear!”

Like you were cupping the heart with your own hands you nudged the panels on either side and shocked. There were little miracles sometimes in the ED and with a bus full of school children you needed miracles.

“There! He's stable!” said Princess.

“We've got a girl coming in, needs stabalising and an ortho consult!” said Lena, throwing the door open. It seemed everyone had been called in.

“I'll take this guy, don't want you getting all the credit,” smirked Walsh as she and the team wheeled out the boy. She looked back at you, almost waiting for you to say more- some funny joke or flirtatious tease.

You only waved past her to get the young girl into the room.

Everyone in the room looked at you as you honed in on the next casualty, ignoring the pang in your heart at Jack's gaze.

When the girl for ortho came in you could only work on stabilising her before Park the Shark descended and took her up, assuring the bag was on ice. He gave you a less ten friendly look. Seemingly Jack wasn't the only one who couldn't stand you.

The hours ticked by in bodies of different kids, in shades of blood and traumas. By the time you got outside for some fresh air it was night and one lonely ambulance sat with you.

You were catching your breath when you heard the doors slide open and shut again. You imagined it was someone else wanting some peace and air, or a paramedic heading back out on the road.

“You were impressive in there,” said Jack, coming to stand next to you. There was a large enough gap that another body could have fit there.

“Thank you.”

He gave one short nod. “Robby call you in?”

“Yeah.”

“Same here,” he said, not that you'd asked. “You know, Hiro's doing well.”

You paled in the night. Lost in your own self-loathing you hadn't even asked about Hiro, or gone to see him. You'd heard he was okay when he dropped a message from the ICU but that was as far as it got. “Oh yeah, I know, I heard.”

“What, from the guys?”

You nodded, lips pursing as you crossed your arms over your chest in the light chill.

“You know they told me you haven't been around much,” said Abbot. “I've noticed it too. We all went to Larry's the other night, your invitation get lost?”

Was it a test? Was it a joke to him?

“No, I just didn't want to drink. Trying to cut down, it's not so healthy,” you said, kicking one foot in front of the other.

“One or two's not bad,” he said. “Couple of us are gonna grab a beer once this is all over. You joining us? Usual spot.”

She's brutal, you know.

You looked to him first. He was already looking at you, eyes creased like he was trying to see through you. It was real and earnest and making his words from weeks ago hurt even more.

“No thanks, Jack.” You almost reached to his shoulder but thought better of it.

Heading back in seemed the safer option.

Jack turned when you did. “Noody's seen you for weeks-”

“- I've been busy-”

“- except those nurses in Presby, they see you all the time apparently-”

“- they've been busy, they've called me in-”

“- I called you three times last week, you didn't answer-”

“- I didn't think you'd want me.” It was about the only honest thing you'd said in weeks. Your trainers squeaked on the ground just before the hospital, the automatic doors ready to welcome you back.

Jack was at your side, close enough you could see the lines of confusion in his face. “Why would you think that?”

You tried to think of a quick excuse but every word died prematurely in your throat. You chocked on them.

“Hey-hey-” Jacks hand fell to your back, soothing it in calming rubs.

You allowed yourself to bask in one circular motion of his hand and your back before you stepped away, backing up from the doors that slid shut again on instant.

“What’s going on?” Asked Jack, following in your steps.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Jack made a disgruntled noise. “C’mon, talk to me.”

He let you think about what to say, stewing in silence where your mind became alive with everything he’d said, with every terrible thing you’d already thought about yourself. You imagined every time you’d cracked a joke that was maybe too perverse. You tried to picture Jacks face but came out blank. Was it loathing? Contempt?

Your voice betrayed you with a shake as you spoke again. “I do like flowers.”

“Huh?”

You wiped at your eyes and turned to him. “I like flowers,” you said, stronger. “Nobody’s ever brought me flowers but I- I like them.”

For anyone else it would’ve took time to click. They’d have stood there, looking at you like you’d gone mad, spewing out words that out of context meant nothing.

But Jack was not just any other clueless guy. He was the guy who always packed left overs and left them in the fridge, he always cooked enough to make sure he’d have left overs. He was the sort that always checked in on pedes patients and made sure they had enough colourful bandages for them.

Jack knew what you were saying immediately. His jaw tensed. “I- I shouldn't have said that.”

“You said a lot of things,” you said, holding yourself tighter. “Sounded like you meant them.”

He gulped. “I didn't mean-”

“-what, for me to hear it?”

“No, I didn't mean for what I said to come out as- as bad,” he said.

“Well it didn't come out as shining praise either.” You turned from him, looking out to the building and lights. Somewhere n the distance a siren wailed.

“Robby- Robby was saying things, teasing, I just waned to shut him up.”

You chuckled with loathing. “No you didn't. It's okay, Jack, you don't have to like me, I just wish you didn't make it seem like you did.”

“Hey!” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He was without a scrub top and his t-shirt clad to his biceps, his muscles flexing as his jaw worked. “I do like you.”

You rolled your eyes. “No you don't.”

“I do-I do-” Jack grabbed the top of your arms, stopping you from walking away. His grip was tight, not enough to bruise but enough to beg you not to leave. “I do like you.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does, it does.” Jack crouched enough in his knees to get a look at your face that you kept trying to turn away from him.

“You know the worst thing is? It's that I know,” you uttered, voice quiet. You didn't trust yourself to shout- even if you really wanted to- in fear your voice cracked, humiliatingly.

Jack's eyes softened, his thumb drawing up and down in comfort. “Know what?”

“I know that I can be a lot. I go out with the guys, I drink, I make jokes when things get bad because what else am I supposed to do? Cry? Let the grief of the job swallow me up?”

“No. No, of course not,” he said, lips pulled down.

You hated that you still wanted to make him smile. “I could keep a job if I wanted to but I like meeting the people-”

“- I know, I know you do-”

“- and now I'm here defending myself to a guy who probably doesn't even want to hear it!” Trying to turn in Jack's hold was feeble, his grip was strong and he moved with you.

“You don't have to defend yourself, you have nothing to defend!”

“You know what the worst part is?”

Jack shook his head, waiting.

“It's the guy you liked and admired the most seeing everything you hate about yourself and hating you for it too.”

Jack flinched as of you'd slapped him. The chill in the air grew colder around you and all the light from the dim glow of the lamps shrunk away, leaving you and Jack in a self-made darkness. You felt his grip weaken and savoured the feel of him a moment longer.

It was only when you couldn't stomach it anymore that you retreated back into work.

Jack had fucked up.

There was no easy way of putting it. There was no clinical way of looking at it, no diagnosis to give other than he had fucked up.

He'd never heard himself speak and hated the sound of his own voice. Never caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror with tired eyes and a pale expression and loath to see the sight. When he looked at himself, all he saw was your own face heart-broken. When he heard himself talking he remembered everything he'd said.

He could have blamed it on the pain in his shoulder, the worry over Hiro, the lack of sleep he'd been struggling with for days but he had a therapist for all that. You didn't deserve that burden.

He was un-focused the following week in work. Patient satisfaction was at an all time low with him. He'd opened up to his SWAT buddies over a self-pitying pint and had been shunned.

“What's your problem?” Charlie had said, two beers deep and a haze over his eyes. “She's a fucking saint. She'd lay down her life for any one of us- what the fuck man?”

“She won't return my calls,” Jack told them. “Can you just... just call her?”

They'd refused, with good reason.

He'd tried texting his apology. He'd tried calling you in but he found from a contact at Westbridge you'd been covering nights while their attending was on holiday.

It was a brash decision to call in to PTMC and tell them he'd be late, he was running an errand. Nobody questioned him.

Westbridge was darker than the hospital he was used t, built up on top of each other but they were no less busy than himself. Patients were lined up in corridors and there was hardly a seat left in chairs when he walked through.

“Can I help you?” asked the nurse at reception, eyeing Jack and the bouquet of flowers he held.

He said he was looking for you.

“She's in a trauma right now, can I take a message?”

“Can you tell her Ja-Jack's here.” For a moment he debated lying, saying it was Robby wanting to see you, or maybe you didn't want to see Robby either. Deceit wasn't going to be his friend.

Jack waited and tried not to look around, tried not to let himself get caught in the heavy bustle of another hospital as he waited for you. He ignored the coughing from the waiting room that definitely sounded like it would require a chest CT.

There was a crash of doors and he caught sight of you rushing out, protective goggles over your eyes and bloodied gown clad to you.

“Jack, what is it? Are you okay?” your eyes were frantic, searching him.

Ah. Of course you'd think something had happened. When you hear someone's in the hospital it's very rarely to just say hi. “I realise I should've specified,” said Jack, rubbing the back of his knuckle against his brow. “I just- I wanted to see you. And give you these.”

Sensing this was a conversation she definitely wanted to be around for yet probably wouldn't be allowed to, the nurse at reception left the two of you to it and Jack sat the flowers down on the counter in-between you.

You eyed the shades of red roses, of yellow tulips, the violet of the iris and the pink of the peony.

“I didn't know what you liked so, I kind of got one of everything,” he said, sighing to himself. He should have got two of every flower the florist had on hand. “I didn't get Lilies, the lady at the shop said it's a show of death and sunflowers aren't in season, apparently.”

“They're very nice, thank you,” you said.

“They come with an I'm sorry:” said Jack. “I'm sorry.”

You wet your lips and pursed them, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

Jack looked down to his boots. “It's not, I know it's not, nothing I said is okay and I didn't mean it.”

You didn't say anything at that, only taking in a quivering breath.

He ignored the irritation in his prosthetic as he crouched to catch your gaze. Jack wasn't used to having to search for your gaze, usually he always found it already on him. He only realised how much he valued finding you in the middle of the storm when you wouldn't look at him.

“I didn't mean it,” he enunciated every word, begging you to hear them.

Your gaze studied around Westbridge, hoping for a distraction.

“I messed up, it's on me. It's not you.”

“The classic it's not you, it's me?” you dismissed.

Jack winced. It was cliché, damn him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He watched as your fingers brushed over a flower petal, picking it off like plucking a string on a guitar. He felt his heart pound in his chest.

“Can I get back to work now?” you asked, gently.

What was he thinking? Turning up to where you were tying to do some good. Where you were doing good- it was what you did. Did he expect the flowers to fix everything? No. Only he could. But he'd grovel, he'd beg, he'd crawl after you for the rest of his miserable life and do it all while building you a rose garden.

He'd do all of that for one minute of your eyes on his.

“Just promise you'll come back. To the Pitt. Whole place is going to crap without you.” He tried to joke but it was a pathetic thing.

“Okay. Yeah.” Your shoulders lifted in in-difference.

“And don't ignore the guys. They're going out for drinks tomorrow night. I won't be there. They all pretty much think I'm a dick anyway.”

There was a glimpse of a smile.

Jack played on. “I'm a total, total dick, a jerk!”

An elderly lady being escorted by with a nurse and an IV trailing her paused and glanced his way.

“Sorry,” he uttered.

You hid your chuckled behind your mouth but he caught a second of it.

It was enough for now.

Your name was called down the corridor.

“He's in V-tach!” a nurse announced before disappearing again.

“Go,” said Jack, taking himself out of the equation. “Just, please. Don't be a stranger.”

Jack wasn't lying when he said the place was going to crap without you. How they managed on shifts without your charm to work fretting family and friends down, or your terrible singing in between exams he didn't know.

Walking through the ambulance doors for his shift there was already paramedics pushing an empty and slightly blood stained gurney back into their rig. There was a crowd of elderly patients in beds and gowns left at the side and phones were ringing, drilling into his eardrums.

“Where the hell is she?” barked Robby, spotting Jack and no you.

Jack dumped his bag at the counter. “What happened here?”

“Nursing home caught fire, now where is she? We're swamped her, I thought you were going to get her and bring her back?”

Jack grumbled, frowning at the counter. “She's busy at West.”

“West? God-” Robby groaned, looking around the place and cursing. “Listen, I don't care what you have to do to make it up to her, buy her a florist, give her a ring, get down on your knees, I don't fucking care- I need her here.”

“You think I don't?” Jack snapped.

Robby eyed him, hand clenched on the counter. “Tell her the truth-”

“-Robby-”

“-no, you tell her you didn't mean a damn thing you said. That you were scared loving someone that isn't your wife.”

Glass. Jack was made of glass. If Robby could see through him so clearly why couldn't you? Why couldn't you see the truth? That Jack liked you, liked you more than he'd liked anyone. That loving you meant leaving the life he lived with his wife behind, yet carrying a part of her with him always. He didn't want to do that to you. He didn't want to make you live with a ghost or carry his grief. There were days where it was too hard for him to handle.

Robby sighed. “You think she'd want you to be happy?”

A muscle in Jack's neck tensed as he went to nod but was held back by himself.

“Talk to her,” said Robby clamping him on the shoulder quickly before disappearing.

Hiding away wasn't going to solve anything. That's what Robby said to you in a desperate plea to get you back to helping him out with shifts.

Truth was you weren't hiding away... as much.

Drinks with the guys had been hours of them telling you Jack was wrong, after Jack had exposed himself to them, laying the situation on the table. As promised, he wasn't there but every conversation revolved around him so much so it felt like he was at your side. You defended Jack when they argued against him. You told them you knew you were loud at times, maybe you shouldn't joke around as much as you did.

They'd laughed, thinking it was a joke itself.

They told you not to change.

It was hard not to. Every time you heard yourself get loud or get a look from people at the other table your instinct was to shrink. When Diaz tripped on the curb out the bar you laughed instead of helping him and was left with your own guilt when you got home.

Un-learning habits was hard. Learning to live with them was harder.

You started with baby steps. A day shift here, a day shift there, by hand-offs you were always gone. Yet, in the staff lounge there sat a fresh bouquet of flowers every morning. As soon as they started to wilt another fresh bunch was placed over night.

Nothing was said. Nothing ever had to be.

“Shen's out, food poisoning,” said Robby over the phone another day. “You know I wouldn't ask if there was no otherway.”

Which was how you ended up working a night shift. The first in months.

Jack's eyes lit up as you walked in, it was impossible not to notice. The only eyes to rival his sparkle was Lena's when she saw you.

It was the sort of night that held your attention. That roped you in and demanded you listened. Not overly busy but not quiet enough to cause you and Jack to be held captive in the same room. Only seconds passed in hallways when he looked like he was going to say something before being called away, taunt in the neck and gripping his stethoscope for the life of him.

“Am I going to need surgery?” asked the young boy in five who you were examining. A nasty accident in his dad's garage ended up with a laceration to the foot.

“Not surgery but a couple stitches to bring the skin back together, and you're gonna have to stay off your feet for a while,” you said.

The boys eyes grew wide in joy. “So, no school?”

You chuckled as his mom pinched his shoulder playfully. “Well, I can't be the deciding factor on that, I'm afraid.”

You put in the orders for stitches.

“Is it gonna hurt?” asked the boy, shrinking back in his bed.

“We're gonna numb you up so you don't feel anything,” you assured. “Tell you what, I have a secret stash of candy that I only share with my favourite patients, how's that sound, you want something?”

The boy tried not to be too eager in his nodding but it took less than two second for him to grin.

You didn't expect anyone in the lounge when you went in search for candy usually lying around.

Jack was hunched over the table, pulling out the dying flowers and arranging fresh ones. He stopped when you walked in, the door closing gently behind you. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I was just... maintenance,” he mumbled.

You nodded along, a thick awkwardness engulfing the two of you. “Maintenance... yeah... sure...”

You moved around him, keeping a good distance around the space of him like he was a poisonous snake. The cabinet was high up, the tin an old sewing one where you hid your most precious protein bars and sugar packed candy.

“Here, I can-”

His body was sturdy against the back of you as he reached up for the tin. Few select people were allowed to know about its contents and Jack was on of the first ones you trusted. He raised his arm and you watched the freckles along his arm move and ripple. Upon inhale you took a deep breath of lingering cologne, mixed with the hearty sterile hand wash of the ED.

Jack's own head tilted down and your heard him inhale, deeply.

The tin fell into your hand.

Jack stared down. “Oh- er, there.”

“Thanks.”

It was about all the conversation you got with Jack your shift was over. The morning was just breaking through the clouds at six, bringing with it a down pour. You'd already punched out, handed off your patients to McKay and was left standing under the small awning of the ambulance bay, trying to out wait the rain.

It took ten minutes for Jack to follow you out.

“You heading out?” he asked, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yeah. I'm just waiting for my uber.”

Jack frowned. “What happened to your car?”

“It's in the garage.”

“Well... I can give you a lift,” he suggested.

The rain hammered down harder above you, steady streams falling from the awning to at your feet. As discreet as possible you checked the location on you uber. Just around the corner. In the rain it had taken longer.

“No, it's okay, you don't have to.”

“I'd like to,” said Jack, stepping closer. “I'd like a chance to talk to you. To tell you everything that I meant by my words.”

You'd almost hoped you could carry on as you were: extremely avoidant.

“You don't have to, Jack.”

“I do- I do!” he insisted, hands out in front of him as if desperate to grasp you. He held himself back. “Please let me.”

Stomaching more of his words, whether it be excuses as to what he meant to say or just doubling down and insisting what he said was true. You didn't think you were strong enough for either.

Your phone buzzed in hand as a slick back black car pulled up, window rolling down and calling your name.

“No, wait-wait!” said Jack, holding a hand up to you with all the authority of an attending still on duty.

“Jack, what are you-” You were struck in place, watching him lean through the window, rain dampening his shirt as he un-folded a few bills and handed them to the driver.

“We don't need you know, sorry man,” Jack mumbled.

Your jaw hung open as you stepped out into the rain, bottom of your scrub pants dampening at once. “What?”

The driver tutted. “I still want me five star review!” He drove off quickly, splashing the two of you as he went.

“Oh- serious?” Jack gritted. “Now I wish I hadn't given him such a tip.”

The puddles of rain were seeping into your trainers as you walked off, out of the way of ambulances and cars, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

“Wait! Wait!” Jack called after you, boots slapping in the water. He all but jumped in front of you, stumbling lightly at the shift in his bad leg. “Wait.”

“I don't know what else you want to say to me, Jack?”

“Nothing I say can excuse what I said-”

“-so why try?”

“Because it's killing me being like this!” he snapped. The rain was pouring down, falling down his cheeks and nose. “It's killing me to look for your smile and not see it. It's killing me to hear a joke and you not laugh. Everything I said, it-it re-plays in my head and I'm sorry.”

“I know you are, Jack, I just need time!”

“I'll give you time,” he said. “I'll give you anything you need. But just let me say one thing. You owe me nothing, I'm begging you.”

To prove a point Jack crouched, starting to get down on his knees, hands already clenched together. To spare you the embarrassment and him the ache in his leg you tugged him back up.

He stared at you, breathless. He was as drenched as you, the both of your scrubs stuck to you.

“I haven't loved anyone since my wife,” said Jack. “I haven't tried, I didn't want to try. I was... not happy, but content to just carry on with her here-” he curled a fist at his chest. “And then you... and I couldn't not feel anything for you. I tried- I really tried.”

“Okay. You tried. I get it,” you mumbled.

“But I started to love you and I hated myself for it. It felt like I was betraying her by wanting someone else. By wanting you. And I did- I do want you. Every terrible joke you made, Jesus, I couldn't laugh in front of patients and their families. When you go out drinking with us and the guys in our team and you sing karaoke badly-”

“Excuse me?”

Jack winced. “I mean great, great karaoke.”

You chuckled.

“I can't take back the fact you're different from my wife, you are, but I don't think that's a bad thing- it's not. Because I still love you. I love that you're loud, I love that you draw attention to yourself as soon as you walk into a room, my attention is always on you anyway,” he smiled, sadly. It was the kind of smile a lover would give as they watched the love of their life leave them. “I shouldn't have made my grief your problem. I shouldn't have hated myself for feeling love again and I shouldn't have tried to convince myself hating you. I mean, that was just- just impossible.”

You looked down to your trainers, seeing the darkening colour where the water soaked in. “I've loved you for so long now, Jack.”

He waited, catching his breath, for more.

You looked up at him. “I'm sorry. About your wife. I can't imagine how hard it is for you. But I don't want to fall in love with a man who constantly advertises me next to his wife.”

Jack nodded, looking down.

The rain was probably helpful, hiding any tears you'd give away.

“I love you, separate to how I love my wife. And I loved her, I did. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life dead inside. Be on my death bed when I'm eighty looking back at all the times I should've kissed you.”

His words pulled at your heart, your feelings that you'd been burying deep inside clashing together inside of you.

“By the time you're eighty, I'll be like, in my sixties?” you said.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And looking to settle down.”

Jack laughed, and you laughed and for a second that was almost enough. The rain had made the grey in his hair darker, almost making him look younger. “I'm not saying I won't fuck up, I probably will, I have a therapist for a reason.”

“Therapy is good,” you said.

Jack's eyes were lighting up slowly with every teasing comment you made. Something akin to hope flickered between the two of you. “But I will never draw comparison to you and my wife. I'll never make you feel like second choice. I'll never dump my grief onto you. If you just give me one chance, just one chance at making this right.”

As sorry's went... as love confessions went.

“I'm scared what it means to love you, Jack,” you said, slowly, feeling the words around your mouth.

“I know, I know,” Jack reached over, clumsily brushing back your damp hair from your cheeks. In spite of the rain, his skin was still soft and hot on you. “I am too.”

You searched his eyes before whispering. “Can I kiss you?”

He smirked a little. “No.”

Your heart dropped.

Jack's hands tilted your head back before you could tuck yourself away. “Can I kiss you?”

His lips were slick and wet from rain but no less sort after from you. He didn't push or prod for more, he just laid his lips against yours with enough pressure for you to know he was there. For you to always remember he was there.

You could have stayed like that for hours, practically standing on each others toes as your own hands came up to clutch his biceps, fingertips digging into his freckles.

You pulled away only when you needed to catch your breath.

Jack's lips chased yours, body tumbling into you slightly as his eyes took seconds to open like coming out from a dream.

You ran your hands up his shoulders. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes and soaked in the words.

“Will you let me?” you asked.

“Always,” he promised.

Everyone’s eyes were trained on the center of the coffee table, their pupils spinning in frantic circles to see where the tip would end up.

The bottle spun fast, the unopened beer sloshing around inside and making it spin faster. It wobbled, slowed, then came to a lazy stop with the neck pointing straight at…

Jeff.

The whole room snapped to attention.

Eyes darted between you and him frantically, trying to gauge reactions the best they could. Jeff’s wide, unblinking gaze locked onto you from his spot on the couch, that jagged smile lazy for half a second before it cracked into something bigger.

Ben punched his shoulder hard. “Ha!”

Jeff didn’t even flinch. Instead he looked straight over at Tim with the greediest, most cocky grin you’d ever seen on him. His mental instability was always lurking under that cocky front, but right now it was shining through bright and ugly, all sharp teeth and wild eyes and the ego of a much larger man.

“Ohhh, Timmy,” Jeff drawled, his voice wet with feigned sympathy. “Tough break, man. Maybe next round you can watch from the sidelines like a good cuck.”

Tim’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Brian just exhaled through his nose, his arms still crossed.

Jeff pushed himself up with a dramatic stretch, his joints popping loud enough to hear over the low music. He snatched the half-empty vodka bottle he and Ben had been nursing earlier, took a quick swig, then tucked it under his arm.

“Alright, princess,” he grinned, turning that manic grin on you. “Up and at ‘em.”

He grabbed your wrist and hauled you up from your seat before you could protest. You stumbled into his chest for a second, the smell of cheap vodka and smoke hitting you all at once as Jeff wrapped his arm around your back and hauled you closer.

“Jeff—wait, hold on,” you started, trying to dig your heels in and push off his chest. “This is stupid. I’m not—”

“Really?” he laughed, already tugging you toward the hallway. “You gonna be a sore loser already?”

You bickered the whole way. “You’re such an asshole. Can you not be a cocky asshole one time?”

“Me? Never,” he shot back, still grinning like a lunatic. “You’re such a prude. C’mon, it’s just seven minutes. Don’t act like you’re scared of little old me.”

Some of the others were whooping and catcalling—Toby trying his best to whistle. But others stayed quiet. Tim’s glare was heavy enough to feel on the back of your neck. Brian watched with a tight jaw. The whole ordeal was uncomfortable.

Ben cranked the music up a notch, the gritty sound filling the living room again as Jeff dragged you down the short hallway toward the supply closet.

Jeff hauled you down the short hallway, his grip insistent around your wrist, his boots scuffing the old floorboards. The storage closet sat at the very end on the right, but it was nothing special, just a cramped little room the mansion had never bothered to clean out properly.

He yanked the door open without ceremony. Inside was pure darkness, coats hanging messily on the rod, stacks of dusty boxes, random junk piled on the floor that smelled like mothballs and mildew.

You hesitated at the threshold, your stomach twisting. “Jeff, wait—”

One firm shove between your shoulder blades sends you stumbling forward into the black. Your foot caught on something solid—a box, maybe—and you nearly pitched face-first before his hand shot out and grabbed your arm, hauling you upright with a rough laugh.

“Easy there.”

The door pulls shut behind him, cutting off the lights and the low chatter from the living room. Complete darkness swallowed everything. The music outside dulled to a distant, muffled thump, like it was happening in another house entirely. This tiny space suddenly felt like its own little world—hot, close, and way too quiet except for the sound of both of you breathing.

You couldn’t see a damn thing.

“Jeff,” you barked, your voice sharper than you meant. “Turn on the light. There’s a bulb in here, it’s above your head.”

He didn’t answer, he just stood there, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off of him.

You reached out blindly, your hands landing square on his chest. The fabric of his hoodie was warm and solid, your fingers landing on the zipper. Underneath, you felt the steady, fast thump of his heart.

Jeff let out a laugh before you. “Damn, eager already? We’ve only been in here ten seconds.”

Your face burned. You shoved him hard in the chest. “Shut up and turn the light on, asshole.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, still sounding way too pleased with himself. “You’re so touchy.”

You heard him reach up and fumble for the pull chain. A second later the single bare bulb clicked on overhead with a static buzz. Weak yellow light flooded the cramped closet, throwing long shadows across the hanging coats and stacked boxes.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to see.

You’d been seeing Jeff all night, but now in the close proximity, it was impossible not to notice all the distinct details about him.

Jeff stood barely a foot away, his longer black hair messy and sticking to his face in some places from sweat. The cut on his lip was still raw and glistening a little, but his grin was as wide and cocky as ever, the carved corners pulling tight around the dimples of his cheeks. His pale eyes were locked onto yours, those pupils bright with that wild, erratic energy that always seemed to simmer just under his skin and pop out at the worst moments. 

He was wearing his zip up hoodie, because when wasn’t he? The thing was littered with stains and tears in the sewing, but it fit him perfectly—in size and personality. What was new was the thick belt that hung low on his hip over his dark wash jeans, something you’d see in 2000’s emo culture and probably think was cool if this idiot wasn’t wearing it. But paired with his thick, black combat boots and black painted fingernails, Jeff looked just the part of some stupid emo boy with an ego much too big for his lean stature. 

The muffled music pulsed through the walls like a distant heartbeat. Outside, the others were probably already timing this, laughing or bickering or placing bets. In here, though, it felt strangely separate—like the rest of the mansion had faded away and it was just the two of you in this dusty, too-small space.

Jeff leaned one shoulder against the stack of boxes. He hauled the vodka bottle out from under his arm, brought it to his mouth, and took a quick, messy swallow. A drop escaped the corner of his split lip and slid down his chin before he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

He was trying so hard to look casual—his stature, his face, even the way he was trying to slow his breathing and even his tone—but you could see right through it. His fingers were gripping the bottle a little too tight, his breathing was just a touch too fast. The big, loud Jeff everyone knew was cranked up to eleven right now, all ego and swagger, because the second that mask slipped even an inch you’d see how nervous he actually was and he’d probably have to kill you for it.

He lowered the bottle and grinned at you.

“So,” he said, “we gonna stand here like idiots the whole time, or you finally gonna admit you’ve been waiting for a chance to get me alone?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You rehearse that in the mirror?”

He laughed, but it came out a little too loud. “C’mon, don’t act all shy now. I saw the way you were looking at me earlier when you were playing nurse with that beer bottle. Bet you liked having your hands on me.”

“God, you’re full of shit,” you muttered, shifting your weight. The coats behind you brushed against your back. “You’re nervous as hell and it’s showing.”

Jeff’s grin faltered for half a second before he forced it wider. “Nervous? Please. You were about to break down on your way in here.” He took another swig from the bottle, then pointed it at you. “You’re the one who’s all stiff. What’s the matter? Scared I’m gonna do something you might actually like?”

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a short laugh. “You know what’s funny? You talk so much shit, but the second the door closed you started chugging that vodka like it’s liquid courage. How many swigs is that now? Three?”

That one nicked him.

Jeff’s expression darkened fast. The cocky mask cracked, and the mean slipped out before he could stop it. “Fuck you,” he scowled. “At least I’m not some stuck-up little bitch pretending I’m too good for the rest of us. If you didn’t want to be in here you could’ve just started cleaning like the prude you are.”

The words hung heavy in the tight space.

You lifted your chin and looked him dead in the eye. “There it is. There’s the real Jeff. Can’t keep the asshole act up for more than two minutes without showing how insecure you are, huh?”

He just stared at you, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek with irritation.

You softened your tone just enough to tease. “It’s kinda cute, actually. Big bad Jeff Woods getting all nervous because he’s stuck in a closet with me.”

You really need to learn to not antagonize him.

Jeff shoved the vodka bottle onto a shelf beside him with a clatter and grabbed the front of your shirt, hauling you forward so suddenly you stumbled right into him. Your chest bumped his, your faces inches apart. You could smell the sharp bite of vodka on his breath.

“Try again,” he muttered, his eyes bright and wild as he huffed.

You didn’t pull away. Instead you wrinkled your nose and gave him a smile. “You reek.”

Jeff blinked a couple times. The mean edge melted off as quickly as it had come, replaced by that familiar smile. He held you there for a second longer, then reached past you with his free hand, grabbed the bottle, and took another long drink without breaking eye contact.

“Like I said—” you started, about to tear him up further.

But while he still had a fistful of your shirt, he tugged you forward just one more inch, close enough that your knees bumped his. Without warning, he lifted the bottle toward your lips.

You shook your head fast, wrinkling your nose. “No way. You and Ben probably pissed in that thing.”

Jeff’s grin sharpened. He let go of your shirt only to slide his hand up and grab your jaw instead, his fingers pressing into your cheeks with just enough force to force your mouth open. His grip was rough, his thumb digging into the soft spot under your chin and making you feel like a fish.

“Quit being a fucking baby,” he muttered, staring directly at your lips. “You’re way too anxious right now. This’ll loosen you up, make you all docile and sweet for me instead of this ego you’ve got going on.”

You stared straight into his pale eyes, trying to read for any ulterior motive or sick joke. For a second neither of you moved. Then you tilted your head back just slightly, giving in and letting your lips part wider.

Jeff’s smile widened with satisfaction. He tipped the bottle and poured the vodka straight into your mouth. The liquor was awful—burning hot and tasting like paint thinner and acid. It scorched down your throat in cheap, fiery gulps. His fingers stayed on your jaw the whole time, brushing along your skin as you swallowed, keeping your mouth open until he decided you’d had enough.

It took you hitting him on the chest before he snapped out of it.

When he finally pulled the bottle away, he was smiling—genuinely this time, the carved lines of his mouth pulling tight around gleaming teeth. He let go of your jaw and used the pad of his thumb to wipe the stray drops from your lower lip.

“There we go,” he murmured, mocking a pouty face. “Not so tense anymore, huh?”

The burn lingered in your chest and stomach, spreading warm and fuzzy through your limbs. The single bulb overhead made everything feel hazy and too bright at the same time. Jeff was still right there, inches away, one hand loosely resting on your shoulder now that he’d released your jaw. His breathing had evened out a little, but that nervous energy was still humming under his skin—you could feel it in the way his fingers flexed against you.

A small cough escaped you, eyes watering slightly as the heat spread through your chest and stomach through to your fingertips.

It hit you then—you hadn’t been keeping track of time at all. How long had you been in here? Three minutes? Four? Longer? The muffled music made it impossible to guess, and the warm buzz from the vodka that was starting in your head wasn’t helping.

While you were busy trying to calculate, Jeff’s thumb slowly swiped across the side of your neck, pressing lightly against your racing pulse. The touch snapped you back to the present. You locked eyes with him again.

He was staring at your neck, his gaze heavy and fixated, like he was listening to the blood rushing under your skin. The single bulb made the shadows under his eyes deeper, made his skin look even more rough, but you could still see the flush creeping up his pale cheeks. He felt warm too—too warm for it to just be the alcohol.

Your hand was still resting on his chest from earlier. Without thinking, you pushed him back just a little, enough to create a sliver of space between you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice quieter than you expected.

Jeff didn’t move his hand. He just blinked slowly, that cocky mask flickering.

“Nothing,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes. “Liar.”

He let out a short laugh. The mean edge from earlier was gone, replaced by something almost boyish and nervous underneath all the asshole. For a moment the two of you just looked at each other—really looked—his pale eyes locked on yours, his face an unfamiliar expression of calm.

“You’re being weird,” you finally said, the words coming out softer than they should have.

Jeff’s grin returned, small and crooked. “But you’re not stopping me.”

The air between you felt thicker now, warmer. Your gaze dropped to his mouth for a second, noting where his lips split off into jagged openings in his cheeks, before flicking back up to his eyes. He did the same, his eyes tracing your lips, then back to your eyes, then down again. Back and forth. Back and forth.

He leaned in just a fraction, not enough to close the distance, but enough that you could feel his breath against your skin when he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me to stop then.”

You couldn’t.

Or maybe you just didn’t want to.

The distinction blurred somewhere between the burn of the cheap vodka and the way Jeff’s thumb kept stroking slow circles over your pulse like he was memorizing it.

Fuck it. It wasn’t the alcohol.

You were turned on as hell, heat pooling low in your stomach, making your breath come shorter and your awareness grow weaker.

Your fingers curled tight into the front of his hoodie, gripping the fabric to keep you steady. Jeff’s eyes flicked down to your mouth one last time. Then he reached over and set the vodka bottle on the shelf without ever taking his eyes off of yours.

For half a second you just looked at each other, finalizing your mind.

Then it snapped.

Jeff’s hands came up fast, one sliding to the back of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist. He pushed you back until your shoulders hit the wall behind you, the coats rustling loudly in the cramped space. The impact was urgent. His body followed immediately, pressing flush against yours.

His mouth found your neck first.

Hot, open-mouthed kisses dragged up the side of your throat, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. He sucked at your pulse, then higher, until his lips finally crashed into yours.

The kiss was hungry, messy, and desperate from the start.

Jeff kissed like he fought, all teeth and tongue and no holding back. His lips snagged hard against yours, his hand pushing your head further against his to kiss you deeper. You kissed him back just as hard, one hand still fisted in his hoodie while the other slid up to grip the back of his neck, your fingers threading into his messy black hair.

He made a low, hungry sound against your mouth, almost like laughing, like he couldn’t believe you were actually letting him do this. His hips pressed closer, pinning you more firmly to the wall as one of his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, his palm flaring hot against the skin of your lower back.

Jeff pulled back just enough to grin against your mouth. “You’re a terrible kisser.”

You laughed into the next kiss, nipping at his bottom lip hard enough to make him hiss. “Sorry. You’ve just got such a loud mouth, it’s hard to work with.”

He growled, but it turned into a low chuckle as he kissed you harder, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to shut you up. “Shut the hell up. It’s hard to kiss you if you keep bitchin’ at me.”

“Can’t help it,” you shot back, biting his lip again, “you’re so fucking annoying. It’s unfair.”

“Annoying? That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He laughed darkly, pressing you tighter to the wall, one hand sliding up your side. “Keep talking dirty to me.”

The hypocrisy hit you hard even as you kept kissing him—how the two of you spent half your time aggravating each other, throwing insults like punches, making everyone else roll their eyes… but the second the door closed and it was just the two of you, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. It was stupid. It was juvenile. And right now you didn’t care.

Jeff’s hand crept higher under your shirt, fingers brushing the edge of your bra, clearly trying to push further.

You shoved him back with both hands, laughing as he stumbled into the opposite wall of coats and boxes. He caught himself, panting, his chest heaving under that stained white hoodie.

You were laughing too now, a little more tipsy than before, the vodka making everything feel funnier than it really was. You covered your face with both hands, cringing at yourself. “Oh my god, what the fuck are we doing?”

Jeff didn’t let you hide for long.

He closed the space again in one step, peeling your hands away from your face. His grip was surprisingly careful as he looked you straight in the eyes, his wide-eyed gaze intense for how close you were. For a moment you just stared at each other.

Then he took your wrists and slowly guided your arms up, draping them around his shoulders. His hands dropped to your hips, his fingers digging in just enough to pull you flush against him again.

“Stop thinking so much,” he murmured, his voice rough as he spoke, his forehead almost resting against yours. “We’ve got like three minutes left. Don’t waste ‘em.”

He leaned in slowly this time, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

You kissed him again. And again. Again. Your arms stayed looped around his neck, your fingers playing with the messy hair at his nape. Jeff’s hands rested heavy on your hips, his thumbs brushing lazy circles onto your hip bones.

But, with all the reassurance Jeff had just given you on time, came swooping away the minute you heard loud, sudden yelling from down the hall.

He always had been very unreliable.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!”

The door handle rattled violently. Before either of you could react properly, the closet door was yanked open, flooding the small space with brighter light from the hallway.

You and Jeff shoved apart at the same time, stumbling back into opposite walls in a scurry. Your face burned, so you knew Jeff was probably panicking himself.

Nina and Ben were crammed in the doorway and laughing their asses off.

“Oh my god!” Nina howled, doubling over. “Look at your faces!”

Ben was practically crying with laughter, one hand clutching the doorframe. “Holy shit, you two look like you just got caught stealing. Jeff’s all red—wait—Jeff’s embarrassed!”

Jeff snarled and lunged forward, shoving Ben hard enough to slam him into the opposite hallway wall. “Fuck off!”

Ben just cackled harder, bouncing back like it didn’t even hurt. Nina darted in and threw an arm around your shoulders, hugging you sideways while whooping right in your ear.

“Finally! I knew it! You’ve been flirting alllllll night.”

You were mortified, trying to shrug her off while your cheeks stayed on fire. “Nina—shut up—”

“No way! You’ve got lipstick—wait, no, your lips are just swollen. Even better!”

Jeff was still grumbling and shoving at Ben as the two of them half-wrestled down the hallway. Nina kept her arm locked around you, dragging you along while teasing nonstop.

“Bet you didn’t even make it the full seven minutes. Did he try the whole ‘I’m just gonna be really mean and hope you can tell I’m flirting’ thing?”

By the time you all spilled back into the living room, the embarrassment was in full bloom. The group had already moved on without you. Someone had cleared a decent patch of table space, and now they were all sitting in a loose circle playing cards. Nat was clearly winning—her pile of chips (or whatever random junk they were betting with) was massive, and she had the smuggest little smirk on her face, her legs lazily kicked over Toby’s lap.

Toby looked up first and let out a loud, stuttering laugh. “There th-they are! How was h-he-heaven?”

You cringed.

Tim and Brian both glanced over. Tim’s expression was unreadable. Brian just raised an eyebrow, but you could tell he was fighting a smile.

You dropped down into an open spot on the floor, trying to act normal. Jeff flung himself into the seat directly across from you, sprawling his legs out. He was still breathing a little hard, but the second he sat down his eyes locked onto you.

And he wouldn’t stop staring.

Every time you looked up from your cards that were shoved into your hand, his pale gaze was waiting. He kept licking the split in his lip like he could still taste you there. When Nina leaned over to whisper something filthy in your ear, Jeff’s grin only widened, like he knew exactly what she was saying.

The next round started almost immediately.

Someone slapped the (now empty) beer bottle back onto the coffee table. Toby gave it a lazy spin with two fingers. It twirled fast, then slowed, finally landing on Nina.

Toby’s head jerked up. “Oh hell—”

Nina let out a delighted squeal and grabbed his hand, already dragging him toward the hallway closet. “C’mon, pretty boy!”

The rest of the group whooped and catcalled as the closet door slammed shut behind them. Within seconds everyone had shifted back into the card game like nothing had happened, chips (and random stolen trinkets) clacking as Nat still smugly raked in her winnings.

You, however, were still riding the warm, fuzzy buzz from the vodka and everything moments ago. Your face felt too hot, your lips still tingled, and every time you glanced up, Jeff was staring at you from across the circle with that same hungry, cocky look.

You needed air. Or water. Or anything that wasn’t this room and all of these people who definitely looked like they knew exactly what happened.

You cleared your throat and stood up. “I’m gonna grab a snack real quick. Anyone want anything?”

A couple vague murmurs answered you, but no one really paid attention. You slipped out of the living room and hurried down the hall toward the kitchen, your heart still beating a little too fast.

The kitchen was quieter, the mess from earlier still everywhere but at least the lights were dimmer. You went straight to the sink, grabbed a clean-ish glass, and started filling it with water, trying to cool down.

Not even two minutes later, you heard the soft scuff of boots behind you.

Jeff slunk around the corner with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, that nasty crooked grin already in place. He leaned one hip against the island counter, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Well, well,” he drawled, keeping his voice low enough that the music from the other room drowned him out to anyone but you. “Escaping? Thought we were having fun back there.”

You kept your back to him for a second, taking a sip of water to steady yourself. The cheap vodka still burned pleasantly in your stomach, making everything feel loose and warm, but also clouding your judgement.

Jeff pushed off the counter and wandered closer, stopping just behind you. Close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him again.

“You gonna pretend that didn’t happen?” he asked, tilting his head. His fingers brushed the small of your back, making your skin prickle pleasantly. “Because I sure as hell ain’t.”

He paused, then added with a chuckle, “Your lips are still red.”

You turned around to face him, arms crossing tight over your chest as you tried to look unimpressed.

“Shut up, Jeff.”

He didn’t. Because when does he ever?

He stepped closer, crowding you against the counter without actually touching you yet.

“Aww, c’mon. Don’t get all shy on me now,” he teased. “You were pretty eager earlier. Hell, you were gripping my hoodie so hard I thought you were gonna rip it off me.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to deflect even as your face heated up again. “It was the vodka.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back, leaning in so his face was only inches from yours. “Vodka didn’t make you shove your tongue down my throat. That was all you, sweetheart.”

He lifted one hand slowly, cupping the side of your jaw with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, and damn it—you melted. Your arms uncrossed on their own as you stared up at him, caught in those pale, wild eyes. The cocky mask was still there, but underneath it you could see the nervous flicker, the way he was trying so hard to keep control of this moment.

Jeff’s smile softened into something greedier. He tilted his head and started leaning in for another kiss.

You stopped him with a hand flat against his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart under your palm.

“Not here,” you whispered.

He paused, his lips hovering just above yours. “Nobody’s gonna see,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “They’re all busy with their other shit. Toby and Nina are probably already going at it. No one’s paying attention.”

You glanced over his shoulder, checking the hallway. It was empty. The living room was completely out of view from this angle, but you could hear just muffled laughter and the occasional clack of cards drifting down the hall. No one was coming.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

You fisted the front of his hoodie and yanked him forward, crashing your mouth against his in a rough, hungry kiss. Jeff made a surprised sound that quickly turned into a groan as he kissed you back just as hard.

He pushed you backward until your lower back hit the edge of the counter. One of his hands braced on the countertop beside you while the other slid to your waist, gripping tight and pulling your hips flush against his. 

Jeff broke the kiss just long enough to mutter against your lips, “That’s more like it.”

Your fingers tangled tighter into his messy black hair, gripping the strands as you kissed him harder. Jeff made a low, appreciative sound against your mouth, but he clearly wasn’t satisfied with just kissing anymore.

His hands started roaming, sliding up your sides, mapping your waist, your ribs, your back. The touches made your head spin, heat rushing through you in waves, making you plain dizzy.

Then his hands settled on your ribs, his thumbs stroking upward.

…Until they brushed the underside of your chest.

You gasped sharply into his mouth.

Jeff froze, his breaths coming fast and hot against your lips. For a second you both stayed perfectly still, your hearts hammering in cadence.

Then, carefully, he swiped his thumbs again, higher this time.

A louder gasp slipped out of you.

He pulled back just enough to look at your face, his pale eyes dark and looming under the dim kitchen light. Your cheeks were burning red, and you could feel the flush spreading down your neck.

Jeff didn’t say anything. He just watched you for a heartbeat, then slowly slid his hands higher until he was palming your tits fully, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through your shirt.

You groaned, eyes squeezing shut from pure embarrassment even as your body arched into his touch.

“Fuck…” you breathed through with a shaky voice.

Jeff leaned in again, his lips finding the side of your neck. He kissed there first, then started sucking gently, his teeth nipping just enough to make you shiver. All the while his hands kept working, squeezing and palming your chest with that same hungry confidence, his thumbs circling slowly over your nipples.

His mouth moved higher, sucking a mark right below your ear as he pressed his body closer, his hips pinning you firmly against the counter.

You could feel him through his ugly jeans.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he muttered against your skin, voice all smug and giddy, but there was that nervous edge underneath it, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were letting him do this. “Look at you… you’re so red.”

His eyes roamed over you.

“And your neck too—all the way down.” He hooked a finger into the collar of your shirt and tugged it to the side, exposing more of your shoulder. “Shit, even your shoulders are flushed.”

He let out a chuckle, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

“I wonder how far down it goes…”

Before you could answer, Jeff shifted his weight and slid one leg between yours, pressing his thigh firmly up against your center. The sudden pressure made you hiss sharply, your hips twitching forward on instinct.

“Jeff—” you hissed, “be quiet—”

He smiled against your neck, that crooked grin pressed to your skin as he rocked his thigh slowly, giving you just enough friction to make your head spin.

“Why?” he whispered, clearly delighted with himself. “You embarrassed? Or are you just worried everyone’s gonna hear how pretty you sound when you’re turned on?”

You were aching now, heat pooling heavy between your legs, the cheap vodka and the adrenaline making everything feel too intense. Your fingers tightened in his hair as you tried to catch your breath.

“We should just go to my room,” you managed, your voice a lot shakier than you’d like. “Right now.”

Jeff pulled back slightly so he could look at you again, still grinding his thigh against you. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide.

“No can do, sweetheart,” he said. “To get to the stairs we’d have to walk right past the living room. They’d all see us. They’d know exactly where we’re going… and exactly what we’re about to do.”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he added, almost sweetly,

“And I don’t think you want them hearing you when I finally get my hands on you, do you?”

His thigh pressed up harder and you had to sink your teeth into your lip to stop from whining.

You shook your head in response, your fingers gripping his arm tight and your heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat.

Jeff’s hands slid down your waist slowly until his fingers reached the button of your jeans. Your breath caught sharply as he popped it open with a bit of fiddling, then dragged the zipper down. The sound felt way too loud in the muffled thump of music only one room away.

“You’ll have to be quiet,” he murmured against your ear. “Think you can manage that?”

Your eyes kept darting between his gaze and his hand as it slipped inside your jeans. Your pulse was thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Every few seconds your gaze darted nervously toward the hallway, half-expecting someone to walk in any second.

Nobody came.

You looked back at him, your breath shaky. “Hurry up.”

He snapped your jeans open wider and shoved his hand straight into your panties. At the same time, he crowded you backward into the corner of the island, using his body to block any view from the hallway. His chest pressed against your shoulder, shielding you completely.

He kissed your cheek, almost sweetly, right as his fingers pushed past the fabric and slid between your ridiculously soaked folds.

You both groaned at the same time.

“Fuck…” Jeff breathed, his forehead dropping against your temple. His voice was strained, almost reverent. “You’re so fucking wet already.”

His fingers moved slowly at first, gliding through the slick heat, exploring this uncharted territory. Your legs spread wider on instinct to give him more room, one knee bumping the cabinet beside you. You gripped the front of his hoodie with both hands, white-knuckling it trying to stay upright as pleasure shot through you.

Jeff’s free hand came around your back, holding you steady against him while two fingers eventually found and circled your clit, then dipped lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up again. He kept his face close to yours, occasionally pressing open-mouthed kisses to your cheek and jaw.

“Quiet,” he reminded you in a whisper, even though he was the one letting out soft, ragged sounds every time his fingers moved through your wetness. “Don’t want the whole house hearing how good I’m making you feel, do you? Especially not Timothy.”

You glared at him, which only received an amused smile in return.

His fingers pressed more firmly, rubbing slow, hard circles right where it made your eyes begin to roll, making your hips twitch forward into his touch.

You buried your face in his shoulder, biting down on the fabric of his hoodie to muffle the sounds threatening to spill out. 

“Shit… that’s it,” he whispered into your ear. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”

His fingers slid away from your clit, trailing down until they pressed against your entrance. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

You gasped as he slowly pushed one finger inside you, the stretch sudden and foreign. Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct.

“Open them,” he murmured, almost anxiously. “Look at me.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his as he carefully added a second finger. The feeling made your breath hitch, your hips rolling forward into his hand.

Jeff started pumping them slowly at first, deep and slow, letting you feel every inch as he worked you open. The wet, slick sound of his fingers moving inside you was barely masked by the distant noise from the living room.

You could hear yelling and laughter echoing down the hall—probably Nina and Toby about to finish up their turn in the closet. Any minute now someone could come looking for snacks or wonder where the two of you had disappeared to. The thought sent a sharp thrill through you, making everything feel so risky.

But god, it felt so fucking good.

Jeff curled his fingers just right, pressing against your warm insides and making your knees weak and buckle in a little. You gasped sharply, and he immediately leaned in, licking into your mouth to swallow the whine that tried to escape. He kissed you quickly, drinking down every soft moan and broken sound as he fucked you with his fingers, the heel of his palm doing wonders as it pressed against your clit.

“You’re gonna have to tell me when you’re close,” he huffed, his fingers never slowing. “Because I’m not stopping until you’re cumming all over my fingers. Got it?”

You managed a shaky “Yeah,” barely more than a whisper.

Jeff’s lips curled into a grin against your cheek. “Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re so fucking wet… it’s dripping all over my hand.”

“It feels so good,” you breathed, your hips rolling into his hand before you could stop yourself. “We shouldn’t be doing this—”

“Then why aren’t you stopping me?” he shot back, but his fingers never lost their rhythm. He curled them again, pressing perfectly until your voice came out shrill and broken. He watched your face the whole time with his eyes narrowed and focused, reading every flutter of your lashes, every twitch of your mouth, every sharp little inhale.

He was being such an ass with his words, but his hands were careful. Precise. He adjusted the angle slightly, slowing when you tensed, speeding up when your thighs started to tremble. He was completely tuned into you, hunting down every reaction like it was a game he refused to lose.

You always forget just how smart Jeff is. Not in academics or anything futile like that, hell no. But his ability to read and react to situations? That’s where he thrives.

You wanted to laugh at him, but he began to add another finger into the mix, pushing it up until his knuckle caught on your tight entrance, stretching you so good.

You couldn’t think straight anymore.

Your hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, until your fingers reached his belt. You worked it open with clumsy, hurried tugs. Only when the buckle rattled did Jeff notice.

“Fuck—” he swore under his breath, his head snapping toward the hallway for half a second. When no one appeared, he crowded you even tighter into the corner of the island until you nearly had to lean back onto it to keep your balance. His free hand quickly helped you, popping the button on his jeans and shoving the zipper down just enough.

You reached into his boxers and wrapped your fingers around him, pulling him out into the cool kitchen air. 

Jeff is so lanky, you should’ve guessed his dick would be the same. He was so hard already, twitching in your hand and sending shocks through you in time with his fingers. Precum dribbled at the tip, smearing down onto your knuckles as you slid your grip to his tip.

Jeff let out a groan, his forehead dropping against yours as your hand gave him one stroke over his flushed head.

“Shit… careful,” he hissed, but there was no real protest in it. “I don’t think I’m… I’m not gonna last…”

You smiled, “One pump chump—fuck—,” but your teasing was cut short by his quick fingers.

His breathing was ragged now, his hips twitching forward into your grip even as he tried to stay focused on you. He kissed you again, but it was more of the two of you panting against each other’s lips.

You pumped him faster, your hand sliding up and down his cock with shaky, unsure strokes. You weren’t even sure if you were doing it right, but Jeff didn’t seem to care. He buried his face into the crook of your neck with a moan, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

His free arm wrapped around your hips from behind, pulling you snug against him sideways so the flushed tip of his cock pressed right under your bellybutton, smearing pre-cum against your skin with every twitch of his hips.

You were both moving frantically now, your hand working him quickly while his fingers pumped deep inside you, curling against your gummy insides and pooling slick into your panties.

Then the yelling started from the living room.

“Nina! Toby! Time’s up, you horny fucks!”

Laughter erupted, followed by Nina’s loud, giggling protest and Toby’s stuttering laugh as they were dragged out of the closet.

The sound hit you both with sudden urgency.

You both groaned at the same time and sped up, causing you both to be even messier than before. Jeff’s fingers fucked into you faster, lewd wet sounds barely muffled by your bodies pressed together. Your hand stroked him harder, your thumb swiping over the slick head on every upstroke.

“Fuck, you’re so wet… you’re gripping me so tight, sweetheart. Gonna cum all over my hand while everyone’s twenty feet away? Want them all to hear how good you feel?”

You whined.

“Fuck— just imagine if it was my dick instead. Imagine how good it’d feel. How deep I could get.”

The words overwhelmed you. Your thighs started shaking.

“I’m— I’m gonna cum,” you whined louder.

“Yeah?” Jeff growled, his lips brushing your ear. “Come on, baby. I’ve got you, let me feel you..”

That was it.

Your eyes rolled back, a broken moan catching in your throat as your orgasm crashed through you. Your walls clenched tightly around his fingers, your walls pulsing rapidly around his knuckles and sucking him in impossibly deeper.

At the same moment your hand gripped his cock like a vice, stroking him through it.

“Fuck— fuck—” Jeff cursed sharply, his hips jerking forward frantically.

He came instantly, thick ropes of cum spilling over your fingers and onto your lower stomach in hot, roped pulses. He buried his face deeper into your neck to muffle the groan he couldn’t contain, his body shuddering against yours as he rode it out, grinding his cock into your hand while his fingers kept lazily pumping inside you, drawing out every last aftershock he could milk.

For a few long seconds you both just panted against each other, bodies trembling, hearts hammering so hard you could feel his pulse where your chest pressed against his.

Then—rapid footsteps coming down the hallway.

Jeff reacted instantly. He yanked his hand out of your pants, shoved his hoodie down roughly to cover his still-open jeans, and spun around to step fully in front of you, using his body to block any view of your undone jeans and the cum streaking your lower stomach and shirt.

Ben turned the corner a second later, heading straight for the ashtray he’d left on the far counter earlier. He grabbed it, then glanced over at the two of you.

The kitchen went dead quiet.

“Jeff,” Ben said flatly, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

“Ben,” Jeff replied, his voice thrumming with that fake menace he always used when he was trying to look tough.

Ben’s gaze flicked between the two of you once more, then he gave a single, knowing nod and scurried back toward the living room without another word, weed ashtray clutched in his hands.

The second Ben disappeared around the corner, Jeff’s shoulders sagged just a fraction. Pure anxiety flashed across his face for a split second before he covered it up with a sharp, menacing scowl that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He turned back to you, looking you up and down slowly. A short laugh escaped him.

“Shit… you look like a fucking mess.”

You smacked his chest hard. “Asshole.”

Jeff just grinned wider, those split cheeks pulling tight. He reached over, grabbed a wad of paper towels from the roll on the counter, and started wiping you down. He cleaned the streaks of cum off your stomach and shirt first, then wiped his own mess from your fingers you had clutched behind your back from Ben. After that he quickly cleaned his own hand and tucked himself back into his boxers, fixing his belt and jeans with a few quick motions.

You were still buttoning your own jeans when he gave you one more slow once-over, satisfied with how disheveled he’d left you.

“I know a way up the tree out back,” he said casually, shrugging his shoulders. “Climbs straight to my window. I use it sometimes to sneak past Tim and Brian when they’re being assholes.”

You hit him again, harder this time. “You’re such an asshole. We could’ve gone up there this whole time?”

Jeff caught your wrist mid-swing. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” He leaned in closer, dropping his tone. “I liked sneaking around. Besides… it was hot as hell watching you try to act like you didn’t want me. Had to get you as soon as I could.”

He pressed one last quick, messy kiss to your lips, still tasting like smoke and vodka, before pulling back with a wink.

“C’mon. I wanna see what you can really do with those hands.”

Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ prologue

๑ back to my masterlists

The air is warm from the candles you’ve lit, their soft glow filling the room, while the silk of your slip dress is cool against your skin. It skims your body when you move, soft and weightless. Your hair is loose, your feet bare against the floor, and for once you aren’t rushing anywhere, fixing anything, or trying to be anything other than exactly yourself.

You’d ordered in, something quick and easy and exactly what you knew Jack would want waiting for him: a large meaty pizza, steamy and spicy. It arrives with perfect timing, just minutes before you hear him come through the front door. 

With the cocktails are poured, the pizza delivered, and low music humming softly from your vintage radio, all that’s left is for your man to join you.

You smile in anticipation as you listen to him drop his keys into the bowl on the side table in the foyer, before his distinctive heavy stride sounds down the hallway. 

He halts in the doorway to the kitchen when he sees you, still dressed in his SWAT uniform. He’s been gone all day. He’s probably thinking about a shower and food and getting out of those clothes.

You’re thinking about how unfairly good he looks in them.

There is something about seeing Jack like this that never gets old; the camo, the boots, the quiet confidence that comes with knowing exactly what he’s doing and exactly who he is.

“Hi, angel,” he looks you up and down as you lean against the the kitchen island. 

“Hi, Jack,” your eyelashes flutter, a deliberately innocent smile pulling at your lips. 

You peer at him from underneath your lashes, smile stretching into something that suggests a secret. Jack's own lips twitch up on one side, a smirk that suggests he knows your secret. 

Of course he does. Your weakness for him like this is the worst kept secret on earth, since you’ve never actually tried particularly hard to hide it. 

“What’s this?” He asks, his voice soft and rumbling, like he’s left the chaos of the outside world at the door and only has this quiet version of himself left for you.

The smell of warm, fresh pizza fills the house. It’s laid on the counter beside two cool, crystal martini glasses and looking indecently succulent. Jack ignores it, not yet having pulled his gaze from you. 

“I made dinner for you.” He finally approaches, wrapping an arm around your waist to greet you with a sweet kiss on the lips. 

“You made dinner?” He asks, leaning back to look at you with his eyebrows raised in amusement. The pizza is still in the box it arrived in from the pizzeria. 

“I made the cocktails,” you grin. You’ve never been much of a cook. But at parties, you’re the one making drinks like it’s second nature. It’s one of your greatest skills. 

One of the many things you appreciate about Jack is that there is no aversion there at all. The man could walk into a room in a tactical vest, having spent his day doing the kind of work most people couldn’t stomach, and still happily drink the fruitiest cocktail you put in front of him.

Which is why tonight’s choice feels almost novel. More mature. No bright colours, no fruit, no little umbrella. 

Just a classic martini. 

Clean, sharp, and garnished with a green olive. A drink with the same kind of reputation as the man standing beside you.

“I see that,” he picks the nearest one to him up and your eyes linger on the glass in his hand. “What’s the occasion?”

The delicate crystal catches the warm light, elegant and fragile between his fingers. They had been a birthday gift from him, because he knows your love of cocktails, of pretty things, of the small luxuries that make life feel a little indulgent. 

He tips it to his lips and you stare at the way his hand completely envelops the glass. 

The same hands that are used to fixing, carrying, saving. The same hands that look like they belong wrapped around something much sturdier than a crystal martini glass.

“Just… making the most of your night off,” you answer, still staring. You have all night with Jack, and then all day tomorrow lazing in bed with him before his next night shift at the hospital. 

He hums appreciatively after a sip, low and gravelled, and it fans the flames of your need for him. 

When he plucks the olive from the glass with those deft, roughened fingers and slips the salty garnish from the toothpick with his teeth, you find yourself biting the edge of your own glass, unable to pull your gaze away.

“Delicious,” he winks. He stands there, the hard lines of his uniform softened by the warm light of the room, as the weight of everything he carries is temporarily replaced by a drink you made for him.

“I wish everyone and no one could see you like this,” you confess quietly, your arms coming around to circle his waist after you'd abandoned your empty drink on the counter. 

The material of his camouflage quarter-zip is coarse beneath your skin. He’s not wearing the police vest, so there’s no hard bulkiness between you when you hug him, just the smell of sweat and the outside, with his own delicious musk underneath. 

“You hungry?” You ask as his big hands fall to your ass. 

“Mm-hm,” he hums, but he lifts you up rather than letting you go so that he can eat. Your hands move up his back and curl over his shoulders. 

“For me?” You ask coyly, your legs lifting to wrap around his waist. 

He squeezes your ass, and you feel the roughness of his belt buckle at the back of your bare thighs where the silk of your slip has bunched.  

“Always, angel,” he murmurs against your lips. You close the distance, keeping the peck quick because, despite every part of you wanting to linger, you can be patient enough to let him have dinner first.

“Eat, baby,” you card your fingers through delicate salt and pepper curls, “I can wait.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, his forearm sliding under the back of your thighs, his rough hand curling around your hip, so that he can hold you up with one arm while the other travels up your spine, “I can’t think of anything I want more than you right now.”

“Okay,” you whisper, resigned, watching the pizza get abandoned from over your beautiful martyr's shoulder as he carries you upstairs and towards the bedroom. 

Not that Jack would view it as suffering. You’re fairly certain he’s never looked less like a man making a sacrifice.

The bedroom is quieter than the rest of the house.

The candles don’t reach this far, the music fades into the background, and suddenly it’s just him and you and the ridiculous fact that you spent the entire evening pretending you weren’t waiting for this exact moment.

He settles you on the edge of the bed before pulling his sweatshirt off, the dark fitted T-shirt underneath doing absolutely nothing to make it easier for you to focus with the way it strains around his arms. Then he steps back between your knees, tipping your chin up gently until your eyes meet his.

“What do you want?” His voice is gentle, but there’s something firm underneath it. “Want me to be mean?” 

Even when he’s got that look in his eyes, even when he’s the version of Jack everyone else sees as impossible to rattle, he still takes the time to ask. The immediate shake of your head as you lift your hand to grasp gently at his wrist makes the corner of his mouth twitch.

“No?” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You so badly want him to kiss you. He must see it on your face because he leans down, tilting your chin up further to meet his lips.

You hum into his mouth and he pushes you back, still mostly dressed and leaning over you on the bed. Your elbows slide back to support you, hair falling over your shoulders as your head tilts back. One of his hands is still supporting your back while the other moves from your chin to the mattress beside you, bicep bulging as he puts more of his weight onto it.

“Look at you,” Jack murmurs. “All of this just for me?” He grinds down slightly, rough cargos meeting the thin lace of your panties.

“J-Jack,” you’re breathing stutters, the thick fabric doing nothing to hide what he’s pressed against you.

With one last, slightly forceful kiss against your lips, Jack pulls back, and the small whine that escapes you earns the faintest hint of a smile before you realise where he’s going.

He lowers you back against the crisp sheets, taking his time. His attention is fixed entirely on you as he trails soft kisses down your throat, your chest, over your silk-wrapped stomach. 

The tension you’ve been carrying all evening finally has somewhere to go, and you can’t help but think that maybe Jack has been just as patient as you have. 

He slides your panties down so gently, then widens your legs enough for his shoulders to fit between them. You feel his breath first, warm and wet, so close and yet not touching.

“Jack,” you breathe out, head falling to the mattress in frustration. He needs to touch you.

“Mhm,” he hums just as his mouth makes contact and your legs fall wider apart, fingers curling into the sheets in anticipation.

“Yes… baby…” you pant when Jack's tongue licks over your clit and then into your cunt.

His jaw works tirelessly, licking and sucking until your legs wrap around his head, threatening to strangle him between them. His hands have to move to your knees, where he holds them in place. When you peer down at him, all you see is the top of his head and the bulging veins in his arms.

“Ah!” warmth floods your entire body when he flicks your clit with his tongue one last time, plunging you into your climax. “Jack!” 

He kisses the soft skin of your inner thigh as he pulls away, until eventually he’s standing at the foot of the bed, towering over you.

You eye the swell behind the zip of his pants as you slowly rise from the mattress, watching as Jack lazily unbuckles his belt, your stomach fluttering at the sight of it.

“Better be quick, angel, shift starts in a few hours,” Jack says casually.

You blink at him, lips parting, the disappointment on your face immediate. Jack works night shifts, and he’s supposed to have tonight off. Which he usually does, unless someone needs covering.

“I’m teasing,” he smirks when he can’t keep the act up anymore, looking up at you as he finally slides his belt out and flings it to the floor, followed shortly by his shirt.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to be mean,” your eyebrows furrow, giving him an exaggerated wounded look.

“Oh, baby,” Jack murmurs, his tone indulging, like he’s so very fondly humoring you. “I know, ‘m sorry.” He unzips, then pulls down his boxers just enough to let his heavy cock spring free. It lands tall and thick and glistening against his stomach, his thumb swiping over the weeping head before giving himself a few rough strokes.

Your mouth waters, tongue slipping out to lick at your pouty lips. Without a word, you crawl the remaining distance to the end of the bed. When you reach him, you curl your hands around the back of his thighs and peer up into his waiting gaze.

“Poor thing,” he strokes your check, thumb catching on your bottom lip, “you’ve been so patient.” You nod on your way down, lowering your head to lick his tip.

“Thats it,” he murmurs, holding the side of your head in one big hand but not applying any pressure. Your head bobs at the tip, tongue swirling in a way that makes him groan deeply.

You try to take more but gag before you can reach his pelvis, causing your eyes to water.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs, “so sweet for me..." You moan, swallowing around the intrusion deep in your throat.

“Thats enough, angel,” he groans, lifting you off of him, letting his wet tip drag down your chin as he pulls back. “I think we need to find you a lip gloss that does this,” he says, holding your jaw in both hands and stroking the corner of your saliva-slick lips with his thumb. 

He leans down into another kiss as he pulls you up against him, shifting his weight with practiced ease. With you in his arms, he lowers you back, following you down carefully until you’re lying beneath him. 

You can’t help the small, content stretch of your body beneath him, the kind that gives away just how giddy you are. There’s a lazy little smile on your face, all soft edges and quiet satisfaction, and Jack catches it immediately.

He doesn’t look away from you as he moves with slow certainty, steered more by instinct than anything else. He leans his weight onto his forearm laid beside you, his other around his cock as he guides it through the valley of your cunt, before pushing in.

You gasp at the same time he groans, hands flying to brace against his bare stomach. 

Jack doesn’t rush. Even when he knows exactly what you want, he takes his time, watching you like he’s memorising every reaction.

He lifts your leg over his shoulder, his hand running up and down your thigh so softly as he drives into you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, low and masculine, “feels so good,” he mumbles when you roll your hips up to meet his. Your back arches on each thrust, but it’s him who keeps the rhythm. 

He leans down to kiss you again, pace slowing. Laying more of his weight on top of you, his warm hands meeting yours as he pushes them both above your head.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day,” he says against your lips, his hips rolling sensually against yours slowly, but so deep. 

“Me too,” you whimper into his hungry kiss.

“Yeah?” he asks with a groan. “Been waiting for me to come home, sweetheart?”

“Uh-hu,” you moan, pushing your stomach into his. You don’t always take your time like this, don’t always let the world outside the bedroom disappear so completely. But tonight is different since neither of you are in any hurry.

He lets go of your hands then, reaching back for one of the pillows against the headboard. With one hand spanning your back, lifting you effortlessly, he pulls it down under you until it’s beneath your pelvis.

“Jack!” you cry at the change in position, feeling his cock push against your stomach from within.

Your mind goes hazy when he leans back and rests one hand flat on your stomach, pushing down slightly, his thumb just skimming your clit.

You pant, mouth opening on a silent moan, core tensing as you claw at the bed sheets.

“There you go,” Jack grits out, “that what you been waiting for?”

You cant speak, cant even nod to answer him, your body convulsing beyond your own control.

Jack watches you so intently, still thrusting deep, until he follows you to climax. Hot, silky seed pumps into you before Jack collapses beside you, breathing heavily.

“Hm,” you mumble in satisfaction, sleepily curling into his side. Then, after a while, you finally ask, “how was your day?”

I am traveling to an eastern ally to consult with my brother. I will be gone for two days. Maintain order in my absence.

The proxies got it first, of course. Masky, Hoodie, Toby, and Kate assured him everything would remain as it is, before sending the message down the rest of the totem pole. But by the time the front door clicked shut behind him, the house already felt different. 

That was hours ago, when the mansion was still quiet enough you could hear the floorboards creak.

Now it’s so loud you think your eardrums might pop.

You weave through the absurdly crowded living room, your shoulder bumping against someone’s leather jacket—probably one of the many out-of-towners who showed up when the word got out that Slender was gone for the night. The coffee table in the center of the rug is buried under empty bottles and half-crushed solo cups. All the lights are on, even the Christmas string-lights that nobody had taken down since December, so it makes the space extremely overstimulating—and that’s not to even mention the music that bumps through the mansion so hard the paintings on the wall clatter. 

The party’s in full swing, the house lined back to front with weirdos and freaks of all shapes and sizes. Familiar and new faces pass by you in blurs, but that’s only because you’ve had just a couple of drinks.

But right now, you’re in desperate need of a smoke, and who else do you know for fact would have one besides Tim and Brian. The only problem is finding them in this bustling crowd.

Jeff’s perched on the back of the couch like a vulture, his jacket hood half-fallen, his black hair sticking up in greasy spikes, and the carved smile pulling tight around his teeth as he laughs too loud at something Ben just said, both of them passing a bottle of cheap vodka back and forth. They're surrounded by unfamiliar faces, but all of them are drunk or high nonetheless.

You’re almost clear of the living room, almost, when Jeff’s voice cuts through the noise like a dart.

“Hey! Wallflower! Don’t think you’re sneaking past without saying hello.” He has to half-yell it over the music, but if the intense slur in his words isn’t evidence enough, Jeff is drunk. 

Ben’s slouched deep in the couch cushions, his blond hair wild and falling into his eyes in uneven strands. The loose ring of unfamiliar faces who surround them part so you can step closer, making it easier for you to hear them over the pounding music.

Jeff grins and lifts the vodka bottle and waggles it in your direction. “C’mere. One sip.”

You step closer just enough to be polite, close enough that the sharp bite of cheap alcohol hits your nose even over the weed smell wafting from Ben. You take the bottle when he shoves it toward you, but you don’t lift it to your lips, just hold it for a second. You pass it to Ben without a word when you see him eyeing it greedily.

“My hero,” he laughs, already tipping it back.

Jeff snorts, leaning forward to really get closer to you, the smell of alcohol on him even stronger than Ben’s weed. “Prude.”

“Not prude,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Just not trying to blackout before I get a good smoke in and a spot to sit down.”

He laughs and slaps the couch cushion between him and Ben. “There’s a premium spot right here. Prime real estate. Saved it special for you. Right between the two coolest motherfuckers in the house.”

Ben lowers the bottle, smirking lopsided, his blond bangs sticking to his forehead, looking every bit the creepy elf. 

“I’ve got a better spot,” he barks, pointing to his open lap. Which, mind you, already has some spilt alcohol stains that could definitely resemble pee if you thought hard enough.

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. The room feels warmer suddenly, the bass thumping through the floorboards in time with your pulse. They’re both grinning like cats.

You shake your head, stepping back. “Tempting. But I’m looking for Tim and Brian. You guys seen them?”

Jeff shrugs one shoulder before he’s already reaching for the bottle again as Ben reluctantly hands it over. “Dunno. Probably sulking on the porch like the old married couple they are. Or Tim’s hiding in the basement pretending he’s a good boy for Slendy.”

Ben snickers into his sleeve. “Wherever one is, the other isn’t far behind.”

“Cool. Thanks for nothing,” you say, flashing them both a quick grin.

Jeff points two fingers at you like a gun. “Don’t think you’re off the hook forever. We’re breaking out the bong soon, and I’m gonna need to see you rip one for me.”

“Pass,” you call over your shoulder, already turning toward the hallway. 

Their laughter follows you out as you round into the hall.

You push through the kitchen door and the smell hits you—a wall of warm beer, vodka, and way too much cigarette smoke. The island counter’s been turned into a trash pile of red solo cups lined up in sloppy triangles, ping-pong balls bouncing everywhere, and half the surface already slick with liquid.

From what you can see through the bystanders, Nina and Kate are facing off at opposite ends, surrounded by a loose, rowdy circle of strangers and friends cheering them on. A couple of proxies from other mansions are slapping the counter in rhythm, hollering every time a ball even comes close.

Kate’s up to shoot. She’s swaying pretty hard, her black hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, her eyes narrowed to furious slits. She whips around suddenly, elbowing a tall guy who got too close to her back. 

“Fuck off.” she snaps, her voice thick and slurry. The guy laughs and steps back half a foot with his hands up. Kate mutters something vicious under her breath, lines up her shot, and hurls the ball way too hard. It smacks the rim of a cup, bounces off, and lands in a puddle on the floor. The crowd groans and laughs.

Nina’s turn. She’s got one hip cocked against the counter, giggling so hard her shoulders shake. Her braids are coming loose, the pink streaks bright under the overhead light, and she’s leaning sideways into some random girl’s shoulder because it seems she can’t stay upright on her own. She’s winning—like, by a lot. Kate only has three cups left, but Nina still has almost a full side. Nina lines up her shot, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, then flicks her wrist. The ball arcs clean and drops straight into the center cup with a satisfying plop.

The crowd roars.

“Yes!” Nina crows, throwing her arms up and nearly toppling into the person next to her. She catches herself on their shirt, her cheeks just as pink as she streaks in her hair. “Drink up, bitch!”

Kate snarls, grabs the cup, and chugs it in three angry gulps. Some of it dribbles down her chin. She slams the empty cup down so hard it crumples. 

“This is bullshit,” she cuts, already reaching for the next one. She whips around again when another stranger leans in to pat her shoulder. “Touch me and I’ll rip your fucking fingers off.”

You eye the scene over someone’s shoulder, biting back a smile. Nina’s all loose giggles drunkenly floaty, giggling and smiling at everyone. Kate’s the exact opposite—all red-faced, pissed-off, and getting drunker by the second, every missed shot making her even more mad. The crowd around them probably isn’t helping, people shouting encouragement, someone passing a joint along the edge of the circle, another person filming on their cracked phone.

You keep drifting along the edge of the crowd, scanning faces in the kitchen light. Most are strangers, but then you spot a familiar flash of orange goggles pushed up on a messy brown head of hair.

You round the island and slip into the quieter pocket where the cabinets make a little alcove in the kitchen area. The music’s still loud, but it feels muffled back here so you can hear better.

Toby’s in the middle, leaning back against the counter and flicking a pocket lighter open and closed against his fingers. Natalie is on his left, her side pressed comfortably against his, and one arm draped lazily over the back of his neck. Eyeless Jack’s on his right, all tall and broad, leaning in so the three of them form a tight little triangle. They look comfortable together.

Toby’s got a cigarette pinched between two scarred fingers, passing it back and forth with Nat. She takes a drag, then hands it over while Jack cracks open a beer with his claws. The three of them are chatting and laughing as you approach.

Toby spots you first. His head jerks up and he breaks into a wide, crooked grin that shows too many teeth.

“Yo! There yo-you are!” he hollers, his voice cracking halfway through. He waves the cigarette in your direction like a beacon. “C’mere, c’mere—room f-for one mo-more.”

Nat gives you a lazy nod, her single normal eye crinkling at the corner, the clock ticking softly on the other side of her face. Jack tilts his head toward you, the black voids of his sockets pointed in your direction.

You shuffle over, your shoes scuffing the sticky tile, and slide into the open spot across from them. The air back here smells marginally better than the others, but you think it might just be because of Nat’s perfume.

“Hey,” you smile, leaning one hip against the counter. “You guys seen Tim or Brian anywhere? I figured you’d know if they’re hiding, Toby.”

Toby laughs again, his shoulders shaking. He takes a quick drag off the cigarette before passing it to Nat. “T-Tim? Probably o-out on the porch. He’s too ol-old for this s-shit. Brian’s gon-gonna be right th-there w-with him.” He jerks his chin toward the back door. “They were headed that w-way last I sa-saw. Why, you trying to escape already?”

Nat smirks around the cigarette. “Smart thinking.”

Jack cracks open the beer with a soft hiss and wordlessly hands it over. You take it to be polite, even though you can still feel the warm sway of alcohol moving through your veins from what you’ve already had tonight. You take a small sip and hold onto it for now.

Toby’s smile lights up his scarred face. “See? Somebody kn-knows how to b-be polite. Unlike some people w-who chug everything in si-sight.”

Nat laughs under her breath as she takes another drag off the shared cigarette. She exhales, smoke curling around her face. “Speaking of chugging, Kate’s about two more drinks away from starting a fistfight in there. You see her whipping around like that? Girl’s gonna break someone’s nose before the night’s over.”

Jack leans heavier against the counter. “She always gets mean when she’s drunk. Just watch, she’ll start throwing stuff soon.”

Toby snorts, his shoulders jerking. “You can’t e-even speak, man. Every t-time you get bla-blasted, you’re out chewing o-on anything t-that moves.”

Nat bumps his shoulder with hers, grinning. “Says the guy who likes to take off running for miles. We always have to send a search party out for your ass the next morning.”

The three of them chuckle, and you laugh along, but eventually you push off and step back. “Alright, I’m gonna keep looking for those two before Jeff decides I'm too sober for his liking.”

Toby waves the cigarette at you. “Tell T-Tim I said he’s a b-bo-boring old man.”

You slip out of the kitchen, weaving through the hallway where the music pulses louder again. The front door’s propped open, but the screen door is still latched, letting in slivers of cool night air. You head that way, stepping out onto the front porch.

The crowd out here is still thick, bodies scattered across the wide wooden deck and spilling down into the yard, but it’s not as frantic as inside. There’s no yelling (though, you can still hear it from inside,) just low conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, and the steady hum of summer insects in the trees. The air feels clean and cool against your skin after the sweaty heat of the mansion, carrying that sweet pine and damp earth smell that always hangs around the woods at night, something you’ve always loved. You pause at the top of the steps and take a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs and clear some of the fog from your head.

You scan the area. Out in the yard, Smile Dog is tearing around in wild circles, his tongue lolling out the side of his toothy mouth, chasing a very giggly Laughing Jack who keeps dodging behind trees and waving his long striped arms for the demon dog to chase. Further back, Helen leans against a thick tree, talking quietly with a small group of unfamiliar faces, captivating them with some sort of story. On the very edge of the property, half-hidden in the shadows near the tree line, you spot Liu lingering alone with his hands in his pockets and keeping his distance from the house. You think he’s definitely worried Jeff might catch sight of him and start something.

But right at the far edge of the porch, away from the main knot of people, you see them.

Tim and Brian are huddled together, leaning side-by-side against the porch railing. Tim’s got a beer bottle dangling from his fingers, his worn face scanning the yard and taking sips every now and then. Brian’s next to him, sucking down a cigarette lazily, the cherry glowing bright in the dull porch lights. They’re talking between hits of their respective substances, probably rambling on about how unconventional this party is.

You shuffle up to the edge of the porch where they’re posted up, nudging your shoulders between them with a small smile. Tim and Brian both shift without missing a beat, parting just enough to let you slide right into the middle. The wooden railing is solid under your forearms as you settle in, the three of you lined up.

Tim glances over first, the beer bottle dangling loose from his fingers as he taps it against his leg. “How’s the ruckus inside? Sounds like the mansion’s about to come off its foundation.”

You lean your weight against the rail, the cool night air brushing your skin. “Not as bad as it sounds. At least nobody’s dead yet.” You pause, then add with a little laugh, “Though, you might have to go pull Kate off someone before the night’s over. She’s losing in beer pong and furious about it.”

Brian lets out a low chuckle and sighs his amusement. He’s still working on his cigarette, the cherry glowing bright every time he inhales. You eye it without meaning to, the familiar craving creeping in, the object you’ve been searching for all night finally right in front of you. He catches you looking and the corner of his mouth ticks up. Without a word, he holds the cigarette out to you.

You trade him the half-empty beer can Jack gave you earlier. Brian takes it with a nod, and you bring the cigarette to your lips, pulling in a deep, slow drag. The smoke fills your lungs—warm, familiar, a little harsh from whatever cheap brand he’s smoking tonight. You hold it for a second, then exhale as steadily as you can to not make yourself have a coughing fit. Already you can feel your body loosening up, feel your shoulders dropping, the buzz in your head softening into something smoother, nicer. You lean more of your weight against the railing, the wood creaking quietly under the shift.

Tim watches you with a smirk, taking a sip from his fresh beer. “You look like you needed that.”

“Needed it bad,” you admit, passing the cigarette back to Brian. “The house was getting a little too loud. Toby, Nat, and Jack are holed up in the back of the kitchen, and Jeff and Ben are putting on a show on the living room couch.”

Brian takes a drag, then offers it across you to Tim. “Ah, this is their scene, isn’t it?” He leans in a little closer on your side. “Slender never really gives them breaks, so it’s good to let them get all their angst out.”

You laugh, accepting the cigarette when Tim passes it your way next. “Yeah, as soon as the boss walked out the door, Jeff and Ben were already calling people and sneaking out to buy booze.”

Tim shakes his head, accepting the cigarette back from you. He takes a pull, and you watch as smoke curls out as he talks. “Slender definitely knows what’s going on. Boss’ got eyes in the damn walls. He’s probably listening to us right now and deciding if he should kill us all for this.”

Brian nods, his shoulder brushing yours as he shifts. “Yeah, but I think he’s letting us have this one. We’ve been running hard lately. It’s been like the fuckin’ trenches lately.” He glances at you. “Figure we might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Before he drags us all back out there again.”

You take another drag when it comes back around.

“Guess that means we should make it count,” you say, exhaling toward the dark yard. “Before we’re all knee-deep in work again and trying not to go batshit.”

Tim bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “Exactly.”

You were about to smile and make a joke—when a loud, splintering crash cut through the thumping music from inside.

All three of you snapped your heads toward the house at the same time. Brian dropped the cigarette onto the porch boards instantly, his boot grinding it out under his heel. Tim was already moving, pushing off the railing with a muttered, “Goddammit.”

You fell in right behind them, the three of you cursing as you crammed through the front door. The crowd had already started drifting toward the noise like moths to the porch light outside, their bodies packed tight in the hallway. You had to elbow and nudge your way through, the air suddenly thicker again with sweat and spilled beer.

By the time you broke into the living room, the scene was pure chaos in miniature.

Jeff and Kate were on the floor in a messy tangle of limbs and flying fists, both of them way too drunk to land anything clean. Jeff swung wildly, his mouth gaped in a big grin as his fist mostly hit the air beside Kate’s head. Kate snarled and kicked at him, her boot catching his ribs with a thud that probably sounded worse than it felt given how sloppy they both were. A lamp lay shattered beside them, glass sparkling across the floorboards and likely cutting their hands up.

Tim didn’t hesitate like everyone else. He waded straight in, grabbing Kate under the arms and hauling her up and backward to his chest and off of Jeff. “Alright, that’s enough—”

Brian was right behind him. The second Kate was clear, Jeff tried to scramble up, still spitting curses. Brian planted a hand on his shoulder and shoved him right back down onto his ass. “Stay down, you idiot.”

Kate was still thrashing in Tim’s grip, her face flushed red and dark hair all in her face. “He started it—called me a washed-up—”

“I said you—you’re a pussy—” Jeff laughed from the floor, blood already trickling from a split lip that honestly might’ve been there before the fight.

Tim shot a sharp look at Ben who was still hovering near the couch with wide eyes. “Cut the music.”

Ben flicked two fingers quickly. The music cut off mid-beat, leaving nothing but the low murmur of the crowd and the heavy breathing of the two idiots pulled off of each other.

The sudden quiet felt heavier than the noise had.

Brian straightened up, voice loud and carrying through the whole downstairs. “If you don’t live here, or you’re not fucking somebody who does—get the fuck out. Party’s over.”

A ripple went through the room. Some of the strangers grumbled, a few laughed like they thought he was joking, but most started shuffling toward the doors, bottles in hand, casting glances back at the mess on the floor.

You stood there between Tim and Brian, your heart still thumping from the sudden panic inside. Jeff was still chuckling to himself on the ground, wiping at his bloody lip with the sleeve of his hoodie. Kate had stopped struggling but was muttering curses under her breath, glaring daggers at everyone through her drunken slurs.

Within the hour, the last of the outsiders had trickled out into the woods, headlights cutting through the trees as cars bumped down the long driveway. The mansion felt suddenly bigger and smaller at the same time—only the residents left, scattered through the kitchen and living room to see what was left.

The place was trashed.

Red Solo cups everywhere, some still leaking onto the hardwood. The coffee table was shoved crooked against the wall with one of its legs cracked. Beer and vodka had pooled in sticky patches that were already starting to attract flies. The shattered lamp lay in glittering pieces near the couch, and someone had knocked over a bookshelf during the commotion, paperbacks and old magazines fanned out across the floor like fallen leaves. The fairy lights still hung lazily overhead, but one string had come loose and was hanging crooked, throwing weird shadows on the walls.

You learned the fight had started simple and stupid, the way most things did around here. Jeff had been messing with Kate during her and Nina’s beer pong match—leaning in too close, making dumb comments about her aim, then “accidentally” bumping the table right as she went to shoot. She missed. Kate, already three sheets to the wind and mean with it, had swung on him without thinking. Jeff, never one to back down from a scrap, swung back. From there it snowballed into the messy tangle you’d walked in on.

Now the house had gone quiet, the thump of music replaced by the low murmur of voices and the occasional clink of glass as people started half-heartedly picking up.

You were sitting on the arm of the couch next to Jeff, holding a cold beer bottle against his split lip. The bleeding had slowed, but the cut still looked angry under the lights—which was funny considering how messed up his mouth already was. Jeff leaned back, one arm slung over the back of the couch and letting you hold the bottle there without complaint, but he kept wincing every time you adjusted the pressure.

“Easy, easy,” he muttered around the bottle. “You’re being rough.”

“Stop talking or I’ll press harder,” you grumbled. You shifted the bottle a little, the condensation dripping down your fingers. “You had to poke the bear tonight, huh?”

Jeff let out a raspy chuckle. “She was getting the lead on Nina. Couldn’t just let it slide.” He glanced sideways at you, eyes half-lidded. “Besides… everybody’s fine, right? Little fight never killed anybody. Much.”

Across the room, Toby and Nat had managed to get Kate upright between them. She was still muttering curses, her legs wobbly and not supporting her weight at all, but the anger had mostly burned out into drunk exhaustion. Toby had one arm around her waist while Nat supported her other side, both of them reassuring her that she’d be in her bed soon as they steered her toward the stairs.

The mess was worse once everyone actually looked at it and decided it needed to be handled.

A couple of people made a half-hearted start—Nina grabbing paper towels, Toby picking up random bottles—but it didn’t last long. Within ten minutes the whole group had drifted back into the living room, dropping onto the couch, the floor, the arms of chairs, too buzzed and tired to keep pretending they wanted to be responsible—especially with Slender still not back.

Tim stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, trying to rally. “Come on. The longer we wait, the worse it gets. Let’s just knock this out.”

Brian was right beside him, and just as firm. “He’s right. We’re not leaving it like this for him to come back to.”

Nobody moved with any real enthusiasm. Jeff was still sprawled on the couch with his head tipped back, the cold beer bottle now forgotten on the cushion beside him. Ben floated lazily near the window, picking at the label on a bottle. Eyeless Jack sat silently in the corner armchair, looking the most annoyed you’d ever seen him. 

Nina, cross-legged on the floor and still faintly giggly, finally broke the silence. “Okay, but who actually wants to clean right now? We’re all winding down anyway.” She tilted her head, pink-streaked hair falling over one shoulder. “How about a game? Losers clean one whole room. Winners get to sit and drink and have fun. Like… seven minutes in heaven?”

A few people groaned. Toby laughed. “That’s so st-stupid.”

“You know you want to,” Nina shot back with a grin.

Tim rubbed a hand down his face. “I’m not playing that shit.”

Jack’s head away. “Pass.”

Jeff sat up a little, wincing at his split lip. “I think it's a fantastic idea.”

It took some convincing. Tim kept shaking his head, muttering about how stupid it was. Jack stayed quiet but clearly uninterested. Brian looked like he knew exactly how bad this was going to end up. But the buzz was still there, the night still warm, and nobody really wanted to spend the next two hours on their knees with paper towels.

Jeff stood, crossing his arms to match Tim’s stature. “Just imagine it, Timothy. Seven minutes alone in a closet with this one.”

At that, he jabbed his thumb in your direction, and everyone’s eyes in the room darted to you.

“Jeff,” you hissed.

The room went dead quiet for a beat. Then Tim let out a long breath, rubbed the back of his neck, then muttered, “Deal.”

That single word cracked the silence. Suddenly everyone was nodding and chiming in.

“Yeah, alright,” Brian huffed.

Even Jack gave a slow, reluctant nod of his head.

You gawked at them with your mouth open. “Are you serious? This is perverted and stupid. I’m not doing this.”

Nat leaned over Jeff, shoulder-checking him hard enough to knock him back onto the couch. She snatched the beer bottle you’d been using on his lip and set it sideways on the coffee table right in front of you. The glass clinked against the wood with finality.

“We’ll use the hall closet,” she said calmly, single eye creasing with amusement towards you. “If you chicken out or don’t last the full seven minutes, you lose. You clean while the other person gets to sit back and drink.” She gave you a small, wicked smile. “You go first.”

You shook your head fast. “No way. Absolutely not.”

Toby’s grin widened, his tics spurring him to whistle through his teeth. “Then y-you can go ahead an-and start cleaning.”

You scanned the room, your stomach twisting. The place really was disgusting—sticky floors, broken glass still scattered, cups and bottles everywhere, that sour smell of spilled beer hanging all in the air. The thought of spending the rest of the night on your knees with paper towels while everyone else laughed and drank made your skin crawl.

With a frustrated groan, you reached forward and grabbed the bottle.

Ben flicked his fingers toward the stereo, and the music kicked back on again. Everyone leaned in a little closer—Jeff sprawled back with that dumbass smirk, Nina practically vibrating with excitement, Tim and Brian exchanging a look. Nat sat back on her heels, satisfied. Toby was already whispering something to her, both of them grinning like idiots. And everyone else sat back and watched silently.

The bottle sat heavy in your hand, cool from the beer that still sloshed around inside. You gave the bottle one firm spin.

It wobbled, then started turning fast on the coffee table, the fairy lights overhead catching on the spinning glass and throwing little flashes across everyone’s faces.

The whole room held its breath, eyes locked on the bottle as it slowed… slower… slower…

You.

Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ part 1 coming soon!

๑ back to my masterlists

Tim doesn’t have a problem going slow. In fact, he likes the control of it - the way it makes you squirm, how it keeps you right where he wants you. But don’t confuse that with being sweet. Even when he’s dragging it out, there’s weight behind everything. His thrusts are deep and a little too hard to be called romantic. He’s not trying to be soft. He’ll whisper to you - tell you how pretty you are, how good you're taking it - but it always carries that condescending twist, that smirk that undercuts the sentiment. There’s always a bit of edge in the way he touches you, and he's not great with emotional vulnerability. It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s that he doesn’t know how to show it without feeling like he’s losing something. Getting him tipsy loosens that up - not drunk, just buzzed enough that his shoulders drop and his grip softens. That’s when he might actually say something real, touch you with something that feels more intentional. But even then, there’s a certain pride in how he takes you, like he doesn't want to go too soft on you.

Brian can fuck slow, but it’s never about tenderness, it's about watching you unravel, holding back just enough to make you beg. He gets off on the way you react, how desperate you get when he gives you just enough to want more. Vulnerability makes him uncomfortable. He’s guarded, doesn’t talk much during sex, and when he does it’s either to tell you to beg or shut up. But if you nicely ask him to make love to you - like very nicely - he might listen. Not right away, and not with some grand gesture. Just… subtle shifts. One night he’s slower than usual. His hand lingers on your waist a little longer. Maybe he kisses you in a way that’s not entirely about dominance. It’s awkward for him, and he doesn’t say a word about it, but the effort’s there. He’s not going to turn into some romantic overnight. But if you pay attention, you might see the little cracks in the walls. That’s the closest you’re getting to love-making from him.

Ben is a freak. He thinks “making love” is some outdated cliché. He doesn’t see the appeal, calls it boring and too vanilla. He likes it nasty, fast, and messy - he needs you to match his freak. If he’s going slow, it’s probably because he’s high, not because he’s trying to be romantic. Even then, it’s lazy and playful, not deeply emotional. But when you ask for something slower? Something… romantic? He makes a joke out of it at first. Grins like a little shit and shows up that night with a rose between his teeth and candles lit like it’s a parody. But then… he actually tries. He gets serious. Slows down, and kisses you deeper. His dirty talk quiets down a little. He still can’t help but smirk and be playful, but you can tell he’s trying to give you something more. It might end in giggles and fucking like usual, but the effort means something.

Jeff doesn’t want love. Doesn’t do slow. Doesn’t want to be looked at like he matters. Sex is where he lets the rage out, where he channels every dark thought and shoves it into your skin. He’s aggressive, degrading, and emotionally miles away. He doesn’t see fucking as romantic, and he’ll go out of his way to make sure you know that. He might let the occasional compliment slip through - stuff like “you’re hot like this” or “fuck, you’re taking it so good.” But that's about as romantic as it gets with Jeff. However, if he's drunk or high out of his mind - that's the only time you get a glimpse of something else. He goes quiet. Still intense, still sharp around the edges, but not as guarded. His hands stop bruising and start lingering. He lets you climb on top and set the pace. Lets you say things he’d normally scoff at. And the next morning, he’ll act like it didn’t happen - snarl and push you away. But for those few hours he's not sober? He’s yours.

Jeffrey Woods

Look, the only time you are going to get this man needy is if he is drunk or high

You are probably just going over to Jeff's room to look for him, and he is drunk as hell in his bed. He stands up and closes the door. "Hi doll... mind helping me for a bit?" He says in a drunk tone, you raised your eyebrow and looked down to see well... a boner how did he get this hard so quick? Shit who knows, but you dont mind you guide him to bed takes his pants off and you start helping him out, he let's out the most whinny moans. But if I had to give you some advice... go hard, and especially choke him he is going to come right there, and then "fuck yes baby- choke me more-" and when you do, and you speed up your hand a bit his eyes roll back and he leaves such needy moans "fuck please doll, if you want i can eat you out tomorrow but fuck- let me cum-" now you can chose to overstimulate him or not, your choice

Ben

Ben is probably either too high or too sleep deprived since he spent all his time playing video games (but if you dom him when his normal, he will get just as whinny)

He would be in his gaming chair all sleepy or high and then "baby... could you please just help me fall asleep already?" His voice is more glitchy and usual....You go to his chair and saw what he ment, so you get on your knees and help him, he whimpers softly, his body glitches a bit from time to time (i basicaly think he can materialize himself but he has to have energy, and when he is too sleepy or high he gets more glitchy if that makes sense?) "Fuck... yeah, sweetheart, just like that, " he said with a soft groan, you softly put your hand up to his abdomen and softly run your nails into it, the way he squirms and twitches in your mouth tells you he is pretty close, he grabs your hair but not too tight, he dosent move your head like normally would, he just holds your hair like he was trying to ground himself "fuck yes, please-pleease- let me come baby-" he whines, and if you do let him come, and you were to touch his skin you might get a bit of static

Jack Nyras

HEAR ME THE FUCK UP

He normally doesn't get very needy, but if he is in heat... and he had a long tiring day? That's when you have your chance

"Love-? You shouldn't be here... I'm well.. you know, " he said with a shaky voice, but you decided to enter, closed the door with lock, and helped him."Can I help you, Jack? I mean... you already helped me so much by taking care of me..." you said softly, and god, you can see that man fold, he nods softly, you help him get off his pants and shirt "can you - maybe... tie me? I move a lot. " He said, and you happily obey, you tie him up as best as you can, hands behind his back as he sits down on the bed you get on top of him, softly rocking your hips, he sighs softly and groans a bit "darling...please-?" He said, looking up at you softly. When you start sinking down on him, he hisses a bit and groans "fuck you are- tight-" he said between soft groans, when you start moving he begans to softly whimper more "f- God please- you feel so good darling- let me come- inside please-" He whines softly, he tries to move his hands, he wants to grab you and be hard with you but that's why the restrains are important, if you ride him just a bit faster he will groan and whine more and more "please baby- let me stuff you full-please-?" He says in a very desperate and whiny tone. If you let him come, he will let the most deepest groan you have heard

Masky

He would have to have a hell of a stressful day for him to let you be on top

He got home grunting and breathing heavy, you ask if he would like a massage on his back, which he obviously agreed to, after a few minutes he softly says "Doll.. having your hands all around me... It's hard to keep my mind clean, you know?" He says in a husky tone, and you do notice him getting hard."It's not my fall. Darling, your hands are so soft on me, " he says in a low tone. "You look so good and pretty... why dont you use those soft hands on me, huh?" He said with a soft lazy smirk. You take his pants off and start touching him. He sighs, his head going back "god your hands feel so fucking good doll...keep going" he said lowly. If you speed up without him asking, he will groan "Fuck- getting bold, huh doll?" He said, breathing heavy, soft moans and groans, scaping lips as you keep going. When he is close, he lets out soft whines "fuck- doll please- let me cum yeah-?" He said and almost whined, if you let him cum he does all over your hand and his abdomen his legs a bit shaky "mm.. thank you baby.." he says sleepy alredy

Toby

He is needy all the time, but especially when you two cuddle

He would be lying on your chest. His tics were but calmed today, he looked up at you. "My love... i n-need you, " he said, looking up at you. You smiled softly and asked him what he needed. "Please touch me -" he whined softly, already pulling your shirt up, searching for your chest. You tell him to take his pants off before he begins to basically nurse on you, and he does. His ticks are a bit more noticeable now he takes his pants and boxers off before he begins to suck your nipple as you began to touch him he whines against your skin "mhg- please m-more- ill be good- i-i-i promise-" he whines, when you do go faster he whimpers, his hips bucking up to your hand "Mhg- thank you so much- f-feels s'g-good" his hands hold you tight his mouth sucks hard and fast "mhg- close- so close- please-" if you do let him cum his entire body shakes as he cums, when you help him ride it out you can see how much of a mess he is, his face and your chest all covered in saliva as he breathes heavy

Hoodie

I see him as a soft dom, but he will let you dom if you are good enough for him

You straddle his hips, he looks up at you with a soft smirk "you look so pretty like this baby" he cooed softly, you began to move your hips he sighs softly letting his head go back, his hand on your hips pulling you closer, you decided to take his hands off and tie them, he looks up at you "well shit- you were serious about this huh?" He says with a lazy smirk you began to kiss his neck down to his chest before you undo his pants when he is free from his pants he looks at you, waiting "you want me to beg don't you?" As you nodded he sighs softly "baby please, touch me, please let me feel good" he says, and he says it like he means it, so you began, a groan scape him when your hand starts going up and down, he wants to touch you but his restrains don't let him, "Fuck please sweetheart i want to touch your hips- please-?" But you dont let him making him groan a bit, as you keep going he gets more and more whinny, if you start going faster he will beg "fuck please-? Please baby- at least let me cum, please-" He says looking up at you, if you do let him he will hiss softly and groans as he finally cums, he will chuckle a bit looking up at you "You know-? You look fucking hot like this" he said breathing heavy

Habit

He has to be on some time of aphrodisiac because he would be submissive (unless it was Evan taking over the body)

He would have come home when you decided to make him a treat with a little spice to it. When he ate it, he began to feel...hot.. he sigh turning the ac on but nothing helped "bunnie- fuck can you- help?" He said looking down at his pants for a moment you obviously agreed, but you knew better so you tell him that you will help him if he lets you tie him up, he groans but he is too desperate so he agrees, you tie him up and get on your knees. He was sitting at the couch with his hands behind his back then he noticed how much you were enjoying yourself "oh you fucking naughty thing..you did this to me didn't ya-" he hissed as your start bobbing your head, he let a low groan and his legs tremble "shit- bunnie faster fuck-" you tell him to ask nicely and he hisses "fuck- i- please bunnie go faster" he says groaning a bit, when you go a bit faster his head goes back "fuck yes there you go-" he says, when he starts to get close he mumbles things then "please- bunnie im so so close- shit-" he said almost in a whine and if you do let him cum, and help him ride it out, a long night awaits you "fuck-.. when i get this shit off im going to fuck you so hard.." he grumbles but he knew better

The ER wasn't a place you liked. Really, you didn't enjoy being at a hospital. Ironic, since your boyfriend is an ER doctor. There is nothing specific for you to dislike about the place, it's just a hospital, and no one really likes being there. But this time, you drove voluntarily to the place all because Jack forgot his lunchbox, and your concern about the rare times your boyfriend gets to eat at his job is more important than your dislike for the hospital.

You don't really know where to get in. You're not a patient, and you're afraid that the lady at the desk would not let you in, so even if you're a little embarrassed, you get in through the ambulance bay. Your plan is not to stay too long and to bother people as little as possible. It's a very busy place, and you don't want to get in anyone's way.

You stand near the place where a desk is (the nurse station), trying to find Jack through all the people moving from one side to another so quickly that you could get dizzy.

Someone taps your shoulder, making you turn around.

“Ma’am, is everything okay? You should go through the desk at the front door.”

She said calmly with tired eyes, but she still gave you a small smile. By Jack's description, you think it's Dr. Ellis.

You smile at her, letting out a relieved sigh.

“I’m not a patient, I'm fine,” you assure her. You lift the gray lunchbox in your hand, and by the expression she makes, you think she recognizes it. “I’m looking for my boyfriend, he's an attending here,” you explain to her.

“So you are the mysterious Lady Notes, huh?” she said, smiling widely, her eyes suddenly bright with interest.

Your cheeks burn because you never thought that Jack would show them the notes, or that they would see them.

“Guess I am,” you said, telling her your actual name, but something tells you that you're stuck with Lady Notes.

“I’m Dr. Parker Ellis,” she introduced herself by shaking your hand. “Follow me.”

You do. She guides you through the nurse station toward a nurse who looks like she is in charge, and by the look she gives you above her reading glasses and Jack's description, you think she's Lena. By her side, there is a tall man who looks completely relaxed and not even bothered by the rush of the ED.

“Look who finally visited us,” Parker said, too excited.

You stay a few steps behind, a little embarrassed by the attention the three of them give you, and again, they seem to recognize you the moment they see the gray lunchbox in your hands.

Lena gives you a full smile, looking really excited, while Shen just says:

“You are Mysterious Lady Notes?” he asked, taking a sip from his Dunkin' coffee, looking as surprised as he could.

Lena gave him a look that made him shrug.

“You are beautiful, hon,” she said, walking toward you. “I’m Lena, the charge nurse from the night shift.” She smiles at you, and you give her your best smile as you introduce yourself to her.

“I don't want to disturb you or anyone. Jack forgot his lunchbox, so I thought I'd stop by and give it to him,” you explain.

“You don't disturb anyone. We all have been waiting to meet the woman who has softened Abbott.”

And you can clearly see that because of how excited the three of them seem at your presence, and their reactions attract more people.

“I thought Jack was having hallucinations when he said he would take five minutes to eat the lunch his girlfriend made for him,” Shen told you from where he was standing a few steps back from Lena. He had been talking about something with Parker before. “I’m Dr. Shen.”

You tell your name again, giggling at his comment.

You told yourself it was going to be a quick visit: give Jack his lunchbox, a kiss, and then head back to your apartment to sleep. But twenty minutes later, you have said your name more times than in your entire life, introducing yourself to anyone who tells you, “You're the mysterious Lady Notes.” You get to know Nurse Mateo, Dr. Henderson, the student Nazly, Nurse Vivi, and you think that by that point, you have met everyone who works there.

“What is happening here?” a well-known voice cut through the crowd surrounding the nurse station.

Jack stood there waiting for an explanation when his eyes met yours, and realization quickly hit him.

“Okay, you guys, stop overwhelming my missus.” He walked toward you, placing himself by your side and resting one of his hands on your lower back as usual.

“I don't think you get to call her missus if you haven't married her yet,” Mateo said playfully, pointing to your bare ring finger.

Jack looks at the nurse, narrowing his eyes, and points at him.

“Careful, or you'll spend the rest of the night with the bad cases,” he warns while the rest of the people laugh.

“He’s right, Abbott. I have no idea how you haven't put a ring on that finger already,” Parker says, raising both eyebrows.

If your cheeks were warm before, now your face was burning hot. All the eyes were on the two of you, and everyone was supporting Ellis and Mateo's thoughts.

“Okay, okay, all of you, leave them alone. Go back to your jobs. There are sick people who need you all,” Lena commands with a tone of voice that actually scares you, and it is a warning for everyone because they all say goodbye to you and go back to work as soon as they can.

Jack guides you to an empty room. Your face is hot, but the wide smile is something nobody could get rid of no matter what they said.

“So I'm the mysterious Lady Notes,” you said, giggling.

He looks at you in that intense way that only he is able to do, that hazel gaze that makes your legs tremble like jelly and your heart race so hard that you can hear it in your ears.

He huffed, rolling his eyes at your words.

“They insisted on calling you that until they knew you,” he mumbled, trying to look irritated but failing because of the smile growing on his face.

His hands go instinctively to your waist, and your arms settle around his neck. There is not an inch separating the two of you. You brush your nose against his, which finally makes him give you that crooked smile you love so much.

Jack didn't wait. He kissed you, not caring that anyone could walk in and catch you.

“You forgot your lunchbox,” you said through the kiss.

He breaks the kiss but rests his forehead against yours.

“And you brought it to me instead of going to sleep when you have to work early,” he whispered in disbelief.

“Your shift is long. You need to eat, and I don't trust the vending machine,” you said as if it wasn't a point of comparison, and just imagining him eating something from the vending machine felt like a betrayal.

He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh.

“I love you.” He leaves a kiss on your temple and another on your cheek.

“I love you too,” you respond, leaving a short kiss on his lips.

You wanted to stay a little longer, but you saw that the ER was full and that you had already attracted too much attention and distracted several people. You didn't want to take up too much of the chief attending's time.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” You leave the lunchbox in his hands and another kiss on his lips. “Eat something,” you said, pointing at him with your index finger like a threat.

He just smiles at you.

“I will. See you in the morning.” He watches you disappear through the door.

He's quick to open the lunchbox, finding just what he wanted: a little Post-it note. It was white, and written on it was:

“Lovely grumpy doctor, if you ever forget your lunchbox again, you will be temporarily banned from these masterpieces that I put my heart into.

(I’m being very serious, please don't forget to eat like you forgot your lunchbox.)

Should I be worried about memory problems? They are very common at your age.

Your beautiful girlfriend ;)”

He lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

That one was going to his locker.

Jack keeps the Post-it in his scrub pocket after reading it a few more times before Parker finds him and tells him that they have an incoming trauma. She also tries to see what the note says, but he makes sure to hide it from her view.

It was just for him.

After the trauma and doing some rounds, he finally has time to sit and do some charts. But peace was something that never happened in the ER, and definitely after your visit, he would know no peace for a while.

“What?” he asked Lena, who was looking at him above her reading glasses.

She gives him a look that Jack completely ignores.

“What are you waiting for?” she said as if it were obvious. “She deserves that damn rock on her finger.” It was more of an order than a suggestion.

Jack goes back to his chart, but the last thing he was thinking about was the patient. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it, but it had only been a year and a half since the two of you started officially dating. He didn't want to scare you. Even though you didn't seem bothered by the comments his co-workers made, maybe you thought they were just kidding and trying to bother him.

There was nothing that he would like more than to call you his wife, Mrs. Abbott, seeing you stop signing your notes with “girlfriend” and replacing it with “your wife,” the title you deserve because there was nothing in that life that would make Jack let you go.

You were stuck with him for the rest of your life. What better way than to make it official?

Since your visit to the ER, your discomfort with the hospital has faded, and you have visited more often, dropping Jack off and picking him up, always making a little entrance to say hello and gossip a little with Lena, Ellis, and Shen.

Now you make sure to pack Jack more food than before and tell him specifically which bowls are for each nightcrawler: the dark blue one for Mateo, the red one for Parker, the green one for Shen, and so on with the rest of the crew.

He complains, telling you that you are spoiling them. But deep inside, he loves how you worry about all of them, so he gives them all the bowls, threatening that if they don't return them empty at the end of their shift, they will be stuck at triage for an entire week.

But something that keeps staying on his mind, and that everyone keeps telling him, even Dana and Robby, is about the ring that is missing from your finger.

It doesn't sound like a rushed step if everyone keeps telling him that he's been taking a long time.

“It doesn't matter, I'm walking- running- running in,” you said breathless down your phone, busy stuffing your bag with whatever you'd need, none of which was food for the shift. You'd recently ran out of the energy bars Jack had recommended.

Everyday you said you'd prepare something nice, some risotto or something and take it in. Every morning you collapsed from exhaustion and ran out of time to make anything that resembled a 'meal'.

“ I've got it here, I'll be around in ten, ” Jack said.

Your bag slid down your shoulder as you paused. “Got it? Got what?”

“ Your address. ”

“How do you have my address?”

He chuckled down the line. “ Remember I ubered food to yours, two weeks ago? You've probably still got leftovers in your fridge. ”

Ah. You remembered. One of those times you let slip your terrible routine and he sort to fix it, sending you over prepped meals that- he was right- were still littered around your fridge.

“Right, yes. You should delete that.”

“ Comes in handy, sometimes. In emergencies, ” he said. “ I'll pick you up in ten, bye. ”

There was no time to argue as the call ended promptly after that.

Jack Abbot was a caring man. Something you were learning the hard way. You knew he'd given Ellis his spare room when she was evicted from her apartment, he'd even let her re-decorate, got her fresh blankets and sheets. You knew that Shen's favourites snacks were always stocked up in the lounge. You always knew that he was first to spot Lena getting tired and was always there with a coffee.

It was just like you knew he knew all those little things about you too.

He knew when your bus got in across from PCMT, always there to escort you over the road and back again at the end of the shift. No matter how long or gruelling it had been he would wait with you, rain or sun. He knew you had a bad sleeping habit so he told you herbal remedies in teas and even brought some for you. Annoyingly they worked and every time you had one you were forced to think of Jack.

You knew that if he said he was picking you up- he was.

There was nothing wrong with his affection.

You just didn't know what to do with it.

The night shift was still new to you. You'd only joined since their nights had gotten wilder, even too wild for the 'weirdest and wildest' to handle so you'd made the swap six months ago to help out. You were used to Robby's ways of doing things: of his careful watch over his residents with happy thumbs up or disapproving shakes of his head.

Jack trusted in his residents to take care of patients, but didn't when it came to themselves.

You rushed around, finding your pens and stethoscope and phone that you'd just put down for a second. Soon enough Jack had texted saying he was coming up (he somehow already had the code to your apartment complex).

His knuckles rattled softly and you rushed to grab the last of your things, including a book marked with 'Abbot, J' that you had yet to get round to reading.

“Hi,” you greeted.

You'd expected he'd come up just to be a gentleman, figuring the two of you would just head back down.

Jack squeezed by your attempt at baring him from your place and walked into your small and cramped apartment. “Hey.”

You tried not to be surprised, shutting the door behind him. “I've got everything, we- we can go.”

“I jussss wanna check-” the kitchen was just to the right and he opened your fridge door, grinning. “I was right. Still got the leftovers.”

There were many containers stacked, some full, others emptying. All marked in his handwriting from his meal prep he shared with you.

“Yeah, I haven't got round to sorting it,” you said. “Sorry, I didn't get around to eating everything. It's really good though.”

Jack smiled, reaching into your fridge like it was his own. “Hey, I made you a lot, didn't expect you to eat everything. Just wanted to make sure you had a choice. Did you like the Linguini? I tried a new recipe.”

Jack moved around your kitchen like he'd been living in your space forever. He was confident as he re-arranged your food, throwing what had gone out of date away and washing his hands in your sink, taking a towel hanging up by a cupboard like he knew it was there and drying.

“Er, yeah, it was nice, we can go, you know,” you said.

“You started reading it?” Jack asked, gesturing down to the book in your hands. “What do you think of it?”

“Oh, er, no. I haven't had the chance to start it. I was gonna give it back to you,” you said.

Jack shrugged. “It's yours, keep it.”

It was not yours. It was his. It was one of his favourites if the several dog-eared pages and annotations were anything to go by. It was a title he'd recommended to you and handed you a month ago but you'd only managed to flick through and get a vague understanding of the characters names only.

“But I mean- I don't know when I'll get round to reading it,” you said, loitering outside your kitchen.

“It's okay, I've read it a thousand times, keep it till you do.”

Wasn't he worried you may never get round to reading it and he might not ever get it back?, if your forgetful memory was anything to go by.

Jack finally abandoned your kitchen, passing by you. “Shall we?”

“Thanks for the lift. You really didn't have to,” you said as you left your apartment building, the sky already darkening and where others came in from their long days of work, yours was only just beginning.

“It's on my way,” he shrugged.

“It's out of your way,” you pointed out, knowing Jack was a complete different way to PCMT then you.

You saw his eyes roll as he opened the passenger door for you, nodding for you to get in.

“Just take the lift.”

“Thank you.”

“Word is you and Abbot arrived together,” said Dana.

You groaned.

There was a lot to like about the night shifts. It felt more of a team work than day did sometimes, you loved working with everyone just as much as you did day and you liked how still it got in the night sometimes. But you missed Dana who watched out for you like a mama bear. Still, she made time to always check in with you before she headed out.

Her jean jacket was thrown over her shoulders, her hair pinned back neater and keys in hand but she still greeted you like it was the start of the day.

“He gave me a lift, the buses are on strike.”

She smirked. “Nice of him.”

“I've told him not to do it again.”

“Oh yeah, how'd he take that?”

He'd shook his head and laughed, constantly brushing off every thanks you made and offer of any aid you could give. He seemed wholly un-bothered by the inconvenience you'd caused.

“Jack's a good guy,” said Dana.

“That he is.”

“You deserve someone like him.”

You weren't sure where Dana got that idea. You also didn't know why you couldn't believe her. Why every time Jack turned up when things were going bad, or why every time he showed he cared you felt scared.

And you'd never really had the time to un-pack that.

You looked up to Dana, folding your arms over on the counter. “And what about what he wants?”

“Well for that you'll have to ask him,” she said with the all knowing look in her eyes. Her hand was gentle on your shoulder as she squeezed. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Night.”

You thought you'd have a chance to view the patient charts that were swapped over to night shift but Jack was next, standing in Dana's space.

“What did mamma bear have to say?” he asked.

“Oh you know, the usual,” you said. “Trying to give me life advice that I won't follow.”

He huffed a chuckle. “I could've told her that, saved her the time.”

“I listen to your advice-”

He levelled his gaze onto yours.

“- I try to.”

His brows rose up. “You brought anything in for food tonight?”

You were about to answer, ready to prove him wrong, finally.

Jack interrupted you. “Anything other than that caramel coffee you like?”

He could read you like a book. You don't know how he found the time to know so much about you, to observe such things you wouldn't even notice unless he pointed them out.

Your silence was an answer.

“I brought extra, we'll have it later.”

He said it so confidently, leaving little space for any arguing on your end.

“Will we?”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching out on the counter. “I'm thinking a midnight picnic, trauma two? Might even get lucky with a GSW as company.”

You laughed and when you looked at Jack he was smiling. It was a soft kind, the sort that smoothed his face and made him seem younger and lighter. The kind that you took home with you and re-played as you fell asleep slowly.

You would never admit how long Jack spends in your mind. Somehow it felt like he already knew.

“You, um, you didn't braid your hair today,” said Jack, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter. His gaze only faltered on yours for a second.

This was something you knew you did, carefully creating a routine for washing your hair that meant you didn't have to do it every day after work. Enough baby powder or dry shampoo meant you could get away with two washes at best.

“No, I guess I didn't.”

“It's gonna annoy you, being in your face all day.”

“I'm sure I'll manage.”

Jack didn't listen. He picked up your wrist- the one you kept a hair tie around- and slid it onto his own before going behind you.

“Jack, what are you doing?” you asked.

“Helping you.”

“You don't have to, I'll shove it up.”

Jack grumbled. “Let me work.”

His fingers grazed your neck as he brushed back your hair, the callouses on his hands rough against you, eliciting some sort of warmth in your body. Thankfully he was behind you and couldn't see the blush absolutely coming to your cheeks.

Jack took care of those around him, but he'd never touched anyone else's hair, never stood in the middle of the nurses station where all could see to braid someone's hair.

You felt him work, the weight of his gaze on the back of your head and his fingers moving through your hair like a cool summer evening breeze.

Across the way, Lena peered over her glasses at you with a smile.

“Lena's staring,” you said, unable to focus on any work till Jack's fingers were out of your hair.

Jack hummed. You knew that concentration from the amount of times you've seen him focused. “Lena always stares.”

You noticed Crus and Matteo passing by, both watching and pointing. You were sure Crus made some obscene make-out gesture and only hoped Jack didn't see. You were sure, if anyone else had asked he'd have done the same.

Though you hadn't technically asked.

“I'm sure you have far more important things to do than braid my hair, Abbot.” The lights in the Pitt seemed brighter, burning down on you like spotlights.

“Nothing more important right now.”

Your neck stretched as Jack pulled at your hair lightly to get it all in place. Curiosity ate at you, wondering where he'd done this before but the idea of knowing- like you had any right to- shut you up before you could speak.

Eventually he finished and his hands fell on your shoulders.

“There. Ready to be a hero?” he asked, spinning you around to him.

Your feet scuffed along the floor. “What? Am I the Robin to your batman?”

His lips quirked up and he moved his head side to side like weighing up his options. “More like the Lois to my Super-man.”

You sadly weren't versed enough in comic to know if that was a good or bad thing.

Jack was attending to a young girl when you walked in. Honestly it was starting to get comical how you turned up around him or he you. Some would call it magnets and as you met Jacks gaze as you stepped in you knew the ‘people’ meant Jack.

He looked at you, taking a quick note of the fact you still had your braid in even hours into the night. Jack smiled.

“Miss mermaid this is who I was telling you about,” said Jack.

The young girl- maybe five, maybe six- looked up at you as Jack slowly pulled at the thread bringing the skin of her knee together.

The chart had told you she'd taken a nasty fall on the playground and her teacher had brought her in, still trying to get in contact with the parents while Jack kept her company, cleaning her scraped knees and the gash just below.

“Hello,” the little girl waved. There wasn't even any tear marks on her cheeks but there was a small mark of blood at her little lip and her hair was falling out around her face.

“Hello miss mermaid,” you greeted, realising quickly the name came from her little mermaid top she wore.

“We were just talking about you,” said Jack, glancing quickly at you.

You blushed, wondering what Jack had to say about you to a small child. “Oh?”

“You and Crus played mermaids that time at the beach, remember?”

The girl giggled and Jack smiled over her shoulder at you.

“It wasn't- it wasn't mermades,” you excused.

That day was one of sweltering heat and lingering gazes. The night shift had took a trip to the beach on one of the hottest days of the year, enjoying the day for the day-shifters that couldn't. You'd gotten a lift with Matteo who'd brough Victoria Javadi along as she had the day off anyhow.

There was sand in places you didn't know sand could get, beach balls that somehow were pierced before you could even blow them up and gazes shared with Jack.

Maybe it was the bikini you wore that was so different from the scrubs. Maybe it was the fact Jack was un-characteristically insecure about his prosthetic leg being exposed to all and you'd told him nobody cared, that everybody cared more that he couldn't enjoy himself. Something had changed that day, settling in you like a pebble at the bottom of a lake thrown from a great height.

Since then, you and Jack had never looked at each other the same way.

But you and Crus hadn't been playing mermaids.... exactly. You swam around a lot and sort to collect more sea shells than the other. You just didn't call it mermaids.

“Will I be able to play mermaids again?” asked the little girl brushing hair out of her face with clumsy hands.

“Absolutely,” said Jack with great enthusiasm.

“And run faster than all the boys in my class?”

Jack chuckled, so did you. “Of course, but you'll have to rest up first.”

“Give the boys a chance to catch up, huh?” you suggested, plucking a leaf out of her hair.

“I like running fast,” she said.

Jack worked on the stitching, back to concentrating.

You sat down on the other side of the bed, gently reaching over to pluck bits of leaf and dirt from her hair. “So do I but sometimes we got to take things slow to not get hurt.”

You hadn't realised the meanings of the words until Jack halted his movements, glancing at you.

So you supposed there was a double meaning.

Jack's gaze was heavy.

“Tell you what, miss mermaid, Doctor Abbot here is better at braiding hair than he is stitches,” you said after a clear of your throat.

“Rude,” Jack mumbled.

It took a little convincing but you managed to swap places with Jack, gloving up and taking the tread he'd started at. He took your space on the bed and gently worked the child's hair into something neat while you carried on her stitches, close enough to being finished.

The both of you worked in silence as you each concentrated on your separate endeavours. All the while the young girl sat in between you hummed to herself, some Disney song.

“That's my favourite,” said Jack half way through when he must have realised what song she was humming.

You were still trying to understand it when part way through they changed to 'Under the sea'. You had to all but hold her leg from swinging as she sang loudly, causing you to laugh.

“Why not singing?” asked the girl.

“Yeah, why not singing?” Jack asked

You shook your head. “I don't know the song.”

Jack made a 'pfft' sound like he didn't believe you and 'little miss mermaid' did the same, blowing a raspberry.

Eventually you finished up the stitching, coincidently the same time Jack finished with his braiding.

A nurse- Bridget- walked in with the young girls teacher, eying the two of you between her. “You braiding Matteo's hair next?” she teased with a glint of wicked amusement in her eyes.

Jack moved up from the bed just as you also stood, discarding of the tools you'd used. “Only if he asks nicely.”

“Her parents have been informed they're on their way,” said the girls teacher.

“Perfect,” said Jack, holding either end of his stethoscope slung around his neck. “We are going to leave you in the very capable hands of Bridget who knows many more Disney songs than we do. Don't go without giving me another song.”

The girl laughed, her new braid slung over her shoulder. “I won't.”

Jack smiled and held the door open for you as you left with a small wave and him trailing behind you.

Lena was at the nurses station, answering calls and dishing out work while others walked around the two of you, busy with their own nights that existed by itself in the Pitt.

You hadn't realised you and Jack were heading for the break room till his arm stretched out and he pushed the door open over you.

“Are you really telling me you didn't know the song she was singing?” he asked.

“Of course I knew the song. I wasn't going to sing and embarrass myself,” you said, pulling out the mug you always used and Jack's favourite, finding the coffee pot newly brewed.

“Like I'm any Phil Collins,” scoffed Jack as he pulled out two containers from the fridge.

You frowned, sitting at the table. “Who?”

Jack looked at you, swinging the door shut. His brows rose high, crinkling his forehead. “Phil Collins? Turn it out again.... In the air tonight... The music on Tarzan?”

“Is he the dad of Lily Collins?”

Jack slid into the seat across from you. “Who?” He passed you over a full container of some sort of quinoa. It wasn't just left overs, it was a carefully calculated portion to match his.

You stared down at it like you were trying to decide if it was poisoned while Jack had already had a spoonful of his own.

It felt strange, to be sitting in a secluded room of the chaos and eating with him. Though at work, it felt oddly domestic. It felt- annoyingly- like the right thing to do. You wanted to eat from his container and wash it, hand it back to him. You wanted to know where he kept all his Tupperware, the kind that fell from cupboards at every open of the door.

“You cooking for me now?”

Jack shrugged, not meeting your gaze. “It's quinoa. Hardly cooking.”

You took a careful spoon.

Like he'd been discreetly watching as soon as you swallowed he spoke.

“You like it?”

“It tastes... kind of...”

“Healthy?”

You looked at him, feigned aghast.

Jack smirked, jaw working as he ate his food. “Come on, if it weren't for me you'd still be living on pizza's and take aways. At least this way you save a couple bucks and eat good. For a doctor you should know how important that is.”

“What are you so worried about what I eat for?” you mumbled, more wondering to yourself.

“I like to take care of you.”

He admitted it softly, a slight shrug to his shoulders like it was nothing. Like looking after you, a simple colleague- maybe a friend if you were lucky enough- was a simple feat. As if you didn't struggle to take care of yourself. Jack worked the same shifts, even more as an attending and cooked for himself, did yoga in mornings and even went out as a SWAT team member.

“Why?” You pushed the grains around in the tub.

“Why what?” he asked.

Daring to glance at him, you found Jack looking at you, arms rested on the table, his freckled biceps pulling at his scrub top.

You shook your head, taking another spoon of the food.

Any other time some emergency would be called to save you. Nothing as such when you really needed it. Of course you were glad nobody was being rushed in hurt... but still.

“Why do I like looking after you?” Jack repeated. “Because it's you.”

At that, you smiled. Not through happiness, more sympathy. “Because I can't look after myself?”

You knew you slept a lot, didn't take as good care of yourself as you could have. There were healthy and easy meal ideas sat in a folder in your phone, gathering dust. There was always laundry in a pile, dirty and clean, to go to their respective homes. There were friends waiting to make arrangements you never got around to making. You weren't easy but you didn't think you were so bad someone else had to come in and save you.

Jack paused, his face falling. “That's not what I meant.”

“Sure it is, you can admit it,” you shrugged, the food he's kindly shared turned to ash in your mouth. “I know I might seem like a mess to you, to someone so put together and... older, but I really do have my life managed. You don't have to add me to your to do list.”

“Woah, woah, woah, I never said that. That's not what I meant at all.”

You laughed. It felt better than feeling so embarrassed. “It's okay-”

“- no, no, that's not what's supposed to be going on, I... ”

Jack cared for people, you knew that. It was just apart of himself.

So you were almost distraught inside when you realised he didn't like you anymore than Shen or Ellis. He just looked out for you cause it was something he had to do.

“I'm not actually very hungry right now,” you said, pushing the lid back on and leaving it for him.

Jack was just as quick as you were to his feet. “No, no, wait- wait, hey-”

His pushed the door closed as you only just opened it an inch.

You looked at him. Your stomach was tight, uncomfortably so.

“Let me- let me try again, okay? I didn't think this through.”

“There's nothing to think through, just wait-”

Shen appeared at the door, trying to get in but Jack was surprisingly strong in keeping the door barred. “I need my coffee.”

“Give us a minute, Shen,” said Jack with all his attending commanding voice.

“But-”

“- a minute!”

You caught sight of Shen looking to you for help before walking away, head down and probably with his bottom lip jutted out like a kicked puppy. “Shen won't get far without his coffee.”

“Shen can wait till we're done now listen,” he said and leant against the door, watching you close. “I like taking care of you, I do, I really do. Not because I think you're not capable of looking after yourself, you are, I know you are it's... I just...”

You waited.

There was nothing.

Jack looked at you with all wide eyes and tension held in his arms. It's like he wanted to say something but ... couldn't.

One more minute and Shen would tear the place apart for coffee.

“You're a nice guy, Jack, you just don't have to be that nice.”

Jack let his arm fall from the door and you evacuated.

The sun had started to rise and you were so close to getting out the door, so close to running from the day's problems. Day shift had turned up, somewhat bright eyed and bushy tailed to take the days stresses though you weren't sure they could take Jack's insistence to talk to you away.

You were inches away from leaving when Jack called for you.

There wasn't the desperation to talk to you, it was the sort he used in traumas, only.

“I need you, GSW to the chest!”

The both of you ran in, gowns pulling on and gloves next as you pushed through the doors.

It was all the usual to you: too many doctors in one room, so much talking and orders it fell on your ears like music you knew all the words to.

“Woman in her twenties, multiple GSW's,” Robby called out. “Pulse ox eighty!”

The doors shut behind and the team of you all took your roles like a practised routine.

“Three... two... one- move!”

All together you lifted her over.

There was blood blooming on her shirt, a tear in her jeans. There was a black eye and what looked like a broken nose if the cut over the bridge and the slant of it was anything to go by.

You'd seen enough of these to know when they were accidents and when they weren't.

Her back hit the bed and the sharp beep of life being lost echoed.

“We've lost her pulse!” shouted Robby.

Without being told you climbed up, hands coming together and hammering down on her chest. For a split second you felt the ghost of Jack's hands, helping you up before they were gone like a summers breeze.

Looming over her you could see the injuries better. And worse.

“GSW, right-sided, she needs a central line,” you announced.

Jack moved around you and the patient, already preparing himself for the central line before you'd called for one.

“BP's dropping out! Pulse Ox is eighty-five!” Robby called.

“She's got tension pneumo,” said Jack without shouting and everyone heard. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognised that authority he demanded with the simple sound of his voice.

“Crash cart,” said Robby. “Charge to one hundred.”

You waited till you heard the buzz of the cart and felt the heat of the panels before moving.

“Clear!”

The sound of her pulse was quiet and the rhythm was odd but it was there, slight bumps in a green line.

You climbed down, landing next to Jack as he readied with a fourteen needle.

“BP's seventy Ox,” said Jesse.

“Day shifters trying to cramp our style,” said Jack as he slid in.

Robby tutted. “Trying to make sure you don't get all the fun.”

Jack straightened next to you. “Ok, I'm setting up the chest tube, you're gonna set me up with a thirty-two French. Get a mig of atropine and a need a unit of O-neg.”

Two units were hooked up.

“We need to get the chest tube in and stop the bleeding.”

It was all a flurry of hands and tools as the chest tube was in, as the chest was packed with gauze at the right flank where the bullet had tore through her chest. It was a close one, but the sort you could save with nimble hands and careful concentration.

“Okay,” Jack uttered as the both of you loomed over her. “I know we're fighting and I don't like that-”

“We're not fighting and now's not the time,” you said.

Robby was on the other side of the bed, giving the two of you a look. “I agree.”

Jack waved him off, focusing on you. “I'll strike you a deal, we save this woman's life. You get breakfast with me.”

You glanced up, wondering if anyone had heard, though you were sure by now Jack's attempts at asking you on a date was one of the worst kept secrets.

Robby was watching from the other side, arms over his chest and his brows raised.

“You strike a hard bargain there, Abbot,” you mumbled.

“May as well say yes, either way you're saving lives.”

“Why cause you'll die if I say no?”

Jack looked at you. As usual there was nothing giving away if he was joking or not. “Yeah.”

It would have been a pretty poor time to joke.

Five minutes later she was stable.

Blood bags hung slowly draining, rags and gauze of blood littered the ground and torn off gowns were thrown haphazardly around. The patients pulse was steady and beating with the promise of years of life ahead. There'd be challenges, you don't get shot and not have to face even more hardship.

But there was life.

And that was the most rewarding part of the job.

“Good job,” said Robby, peeling of his gloves. “I'm gonna get some air.”

“Then go home, right?” asked Jack as everyone slowly moved away.

Robby only made a rude gesture as the doors closed and left you and Abbott to peel away the blood stained gowns and gloves.

Jack turned to you, un-fazed at the life he'd saved. “You want to go from here or do you want me to drop you off at yours and let you change first?”

You stared at him.

It was almost unfair, his charisma in spite of it all. You didn't stand a chance. When Jack said he was going to save a life, he was going to do just that. It was an added bonus to take you on a date.

Your head was shaking but your lips were curling up.

Jack backed out of the room, leaving you with a thumbs up.

You didn't know why you lingered with the body. You were a resident who had one patient on the go, you should've picked up another. You should've left the trauma room for the surgical consultation.

Yet you wanted to start a chart, wanted to find a name for the girl.

As you walked over, checking her BP which sat safe at one hundred over sixty, her eyes fluttered open, dry lips parting and murmurs exiting.

“Hey,” you dropped your voice gently. “You're safe now, you're at the hospital. Can you hear me?”

You held her head steady as her eyes fluttered but didn't open wide enough to meet yours.

“Can you tell me your name?”

You listened close but got nothing from the grunts.

The doors to the trauma room pushed open.

A small girl stood there, early twenties or even late into her teens. She wore a hoody, blood soaking up the sleeves. She didn't introduce herself, instead, she stared.

“Is she alive?” she asked.

Beyond the broken nose you could see the resemblance in the unconscious on the bed and the one that stood ahead of you.

“Do you know her?” you asked.

“She's my sister.”

“Well your sister was shot in the chest, she's lost a lot of blood but she should make it-”

You heard the gunshots before you saw the gun.

Jack had stripped off the gown stained with blood and pulled off his gloves next, trashing them in a bin.

“That was some way to ask a girl out,” chuckled Robby as he followed his movements in yanking anything with blood on him off.

Jack shrugged. So far nothing that he'd planned the day had gone to plan, asides from saving lives yet that was his plan every day. When you'd called he was already at the hospital but you'd said about the buses and he put his keys back in at once. He thought finally. He'd been waiting for a sign to try to take you on a date, seeing's as the food and books and recommendations and days out weren't enough.

Now, he'd saved a life and got a date.

“So what's next?” asked Robby. “You perform a resuscitative thoracotomy and ask her to marry you?”

“If you have one let me know and I'll see.”

Robby chuckled, patting him on the back when three gunshots rang out.

Everyone ducked.

People screamed.

Where suddenly dozens of people stood everyone was down in lumps, covering heads and ducking for patients.

Jack hovered, not quite down but ready to move. Gun shots were nothing, enough to lull him to sleep. These shots were like any other but they echoed in his ears and richoeted in his heart.

They came from behind him.

From the room he'd just left.

“Where'd that come from?” he asked. He knew.

Robby's hand pushed at his chest, already moving past him. “Trauma two!”

You.

“No!”

The two of them took off toward the room.

A lady exited. It wasn't you. It wasn't the patient. It was a third un-familiar party.

She turned at the sound of heavy footsteps and rose her gun at the two.

“Gun!” someone screamed.

Robby was still holding onto Jack as the two of them skid to a stop in front of her. Somewhere someone was crashing and Jack couldn't see you or hear you.

There were three shots.

He knew three shots were enough to kill.

Jack raised his hands, showing he was harmless and helpless. “Please,” he begged. “Is she alive?”

The girls eyes were hard and full of hatred. The gun was steady in her hands. She was calm, completely but there was no doubt the gun shots were hers. “Not anymore.”

“Oh god-”

“Woah-Woah-” Robby caught Jack with one strong arm as his knees gave out.

You were dead? Some girl- hardly an adult- shot you? Why? To tear out his own heart?

It was already gone.

“Jack? Jack, brother, listen to me,” Robby was trying to talk to him but nothing was going through to him, like a signal lost.

The girl turned and left quickly, making sure everyone knew she had a gone when they all knew she wasn't afraid to use it. The shots must have rung out through the entire hospital.

Robby helped Jack up and as soon as the doors leaving the Pitt closed they rushed in.

The harsh sound of beeping was bouncing off the trauma walls where blood was splattered and a pool of that same blood dripped down into a puddle under the patient.

“Oh my god.” Jack found you at once, using the walls as a crutch as you stumbled your way through the room. He was at your side at once, arms around your trembling body and holding you- moving with you even as you tried to walk.

There was blood all over you and you'd paled dramatically.

Jack coaxed you into staying still, grabbing your cheeks to get your attention. He ignored the pain in his leg that had come from the run, the giving out and now as he crouched to get a look at you. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me- let me look at you. Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”

Robby had already rushed to the patients side, what doctors and nurses that had gained control over themselves joining him in trying to save her life again. “Ah shit, looks like PEA! Amp of antropine, amp of Epi!”

Your eyes darted over to where the chaos ensued, even as Jack tried to get you to look at him.

“You won't ... won't get her back!” your voice was shaky and hoarse from a scream he hadn't heard. “Blew her god damn brains out.”

“Come here, okay, let's-let's-” Jack's arm was around your shoulder and he was moving you out, trying to help pulling off your bloody gloves while keeping an arm on you.

There was blood and something else on your gloves. Blew her brains out. And you'd tried to scoop them back in.

When the bright lights of the hospital met you your body grew still in his arm.

Jack was familiar with trembles, with blood and PTSD. He wasn't used to any of it in you. In everything he'd learnt about you, he hadn't learnt the subtle art of comfort. “Let's get you some air, let's get you cleaned up-”

You pushed out of Jack's arms, pulling and tugging at your scrub top soaked in blood and all but ran into the women's bathroom.

He heard retching as the door closed.

Jack shook his head, ready to follow you when Dana appeared in front of him, hand on his chest.

“Take it easy, take it easy, I'll check in on her.”

He could still hear you throwing up when Dana slipped in.

The sun was high in the sky, casting the roof of PCMT in an orange glow. The sky burnt in its colour but all you saw was red.

One moment the girl had been crashing, the monitor still beeped in your head. Her body had jerked up to the sky before you got a rhythm back and then- just as you did with any patient- you got hopeful. It seemed in the clear to do so, you'd helped patients come back from worse and you always had hope.

Nobody that worked in the ED could live without it.

Then- it had took three bangs for you to drop to the ground but not before being smeared in blood. You didn't even know what was happening as the ringing ran out in your ears. You'd met the ground with a hard thump to your head. When your vision cleared you saw the shoes rush out of the room.

Your guiding as a med student was doing no harm, saving lives and you'd dropped and put your life ahead of your patients.

What kind of doctor did that?

The cowardly type- you.

“You're in my spot,” said a voice coming closer.

Jack.

His voice soothed the nerves in your body that had been on edge since the accident. Everything made you jump, but him.

“It's a nice spot,” you said as loud as you could, knowing your voice still wasn't back. Or loud enough.

“Yeah,” he said, getting closer. “But usually I like to be on the other side of the rail. And on my feet.”

You were sat on the edge of the roof, not on the edge close enough for anyone to worry but apparently that didn't stop Jack.

He huffed, behind you now. “Please, I'm an older guy, my heart can't take it. Can you come over?”

If your feet weren't like weights pulling you down maybe you could have but you were struggling to feel any part of you.

You admitted as much, quietly. “I can't move.”

You'd moved quick when faced with the gun, dropping to save your own skin. Since then moving had been difficult, like you'd used every muscle in your body to push yourself and now you were locked.

Jack moved in a blur as he ducked under the rail and slowly set down next to you. He was silent, only his breathing calming you. “Did you get checked over with Robby?”

You nodded. “The ringing'll go away in a day or two.”

“Yeah.... it always does.”

You looked at him and Jack was looking at you. The grey stubble of his beard never looked greyer and his eyes were dull, small half moon bruises of sleep marked there. His hair was ruffled and he smelled dully of hospital.

This was a man that had saved more lives than you could count and severed in tours ... and he was taking time to check on you.

“I'm sorry,” you didn't know you had cried till Jack's arm was around your shoulder, bringing you in.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his arm tight on you. “What are you sorry for, huh?”

“I didn't save her, I-I should've tried. Should be reasoned with the shooter and I just-I just dropped down and you-” your breathing was ragged, the cries frequenting. “-you've done so much, lost your leg for damn sakes and I just dropped.”

“Hey,” he snapped. It wasn't un-kind. It was stern in ways he had to be in the as a night attending. “You did everthing you could.”

You looked at him. He really meant that though. “I dropped down!”

“You saved your life,” he reminded you. Jack's arm was still tight on your shoulders but his other hand held your cheek, making you focus on him. “You acted on instinct. If you hadn't your patient still would've shot and you-” Jack's breath caught. His eyes were glossed over. You'd missed the redness around his eyes. “- you'd have been shot and I couldn't live with that. I-I couldn't.”

Jack wiped away his tears, wiping yours next. He chuckled dryly at the both of your tears.

“I lost my leg in a tour,” said Jack. “Where guns and shooting is part of the job. It's not in a hospital. You did what you could.”

It still didn't feel right. It still felt like the cowards way of doing things.

“Look at me, look at me-” he nudged your gaze to his. His eyes were wide and implored you to look at him. Really look. “You did what you could and I know a patient died and I know-I know it's hard but...”

He sniffed.

“But what?” you mumbled. How could there be a but in any of this?

He held your cheeks tighter, smudging your cheeks just that little more. Jack let out a shaky exhale. “But I am so happy you're okay. I am so fucking glad.”

His dimples were hardly there as he gave you a sorry smile.

Your head fell into his chest and he brought his arms around you, holding you, shushing you as you cried. Cried for your patient, for the shooter, for the way you dropped. None of which maybe could be forgiven but all of which were valid.

Somewhere in the crying Jack held you tighter and moved the both of you back away from the ledge. You let him, even helped in scuffing your feet and pushing away till the railing hit both your backs.

“You're okay, I got you, I got you.”

I got you. He'd always had you, if he hadn't had you today what would you have done? Nothing crazy but you might have stayed up on the roof all day, be dead on your feet by the night. Jack had always had you and when he did you'd all but told him not to.

“I'm sorry.”

His hand ran over your hair. It had come lose but still remained in the braiding. “You don't have to be sorry, you don't.”

“No about earlier, in the lounge,” you said, holding onto him. “You were being nice, you've always been nice and I... I was horrible-”

“- you weren't horrible, no-”

“- you've been so kind to me and I don't even say thanks-”

“- you have actually, quite a few times- ”

“- I don't know why you put up with me-”

“- well, it helps that I love you-”

If there was one way to shut your rambling up, it was that.

You still had a vice on his scrub top but you looked up to him. For the first time- you think ever- Jack had to look away from you.

“What?” you asked.

Jack's jaw ticked and he clocked his head. “I didn't mean to say that.”

Disappointment chocked you. Of course it would just slip out, heck Jack was comforting you, he'd say anything.

“Oh.”

“I do love you,” he said and you looked at him with something akin to hope as you moved your head away. “That's why I've been looking after you, that's what you do when your- when your in love. My... my wife taught me that. I was just scared you know cause.... I haven't been in love since she died.”

It wasn't often Jack talked about his wife but when he did he talked. He'd talk anyone's ears off about her and once or twice you'd been that person.

“I'm sorry.” This time you weren't sure what you were apologising for, you just were.

Jack looked at you with a mocked frustration.

You cringed. “Sorry, I should- I should stop saying that.”

He hummed and nodded along with you, a tiny smile on his lips, the chapped parts cracking from the salt of his last tears. “I never meant to make you feel incapable, I know you can look after yourself. But I want to.”

You laughed at yourself, wiping at your cheeks and snot. “Why? I'm a mess.”

Jack took your cheek in the palm of his hand. “No, you're not. Not to me.”

Jack kissed you so slow and sweet on the edge of the roof with the sun praising upon the both of you. He didn't push his feelings into you, he let you feel them in the gentle press of his lips and the hold of his hands.

“You have a tattoo,” she noted standing behind you, paying close attention to how you examined the boy in front of you.

You nodded like you weren't trying to listen close down your stethoscope as you asked the boy to breathe in, listening at his back. “I do.”

“That's... really cool,” she said.

You smiled, small. “Thank you.”

Javadi watched your wrist move and arm flex as you put the stethoscope back around your neck, holding onto it either end. She'd called you down for a pedes case but was finding herself distracted by the beauty of the ink on you.

There were hard strokes of black and lighter ones, all drawn around in swirls that came together to make a sun. She thought it looked like the sun from tangled- one of her favourite movies. But you were a grown woman. Maybe you liked the movie as much as she did.

Javadi shook off the idea as you stood, telling the parents what you found. A small crackle in his breathing but as he'd been down with a flu and fever it might not mean anything terrible. Kept for observation and some blood work was ordered before the two of you were slipping away.

“What does it mean?” asked Victoria, hot on your heels as you walked to the nurses station. “The-the sun, I mean? Not crackles in the chest, I-I know that.”

You chuckled, tapping in to chart. Although you worked floors above on the pedes ward, your vintage disney top under the lab coat representing that, you were down enough on emergency and trauma cases to be a familiar and welcome face.

“Oh, you know,” you said, balancing your elbow on the table and checking on the ink. Your lips quirked at looking at it. “Just a little sun, for brightness and stuff.”

Javadi thought it was fitting. You were a sunshine person, hopeful and kind, like a ray of light in the depths of hell she called the ED. She supposed it came with the job, having to be the hope for the sick children.

Everyone down the Pitt could afford to be miserable, with a good enough excuse in working in the emergency department. You were with kids, helping them and their parents through anything minor to the worst days of their lives.

“Kinda, look to the light, kinda thing?” Victoria asked.

You slowly glanced up at her, finding a new perspective. “Yeah. I like that take.”

“Well, well, well,” said a hoarse voice coming closer to the two of you.

Beyond Javadi you looked past her.

Jack Abbot casually strolled over, hands behind his back, arms pulled in tight muscles and freckles in his dark scrubs. “You know, you're down here so often anyone would think you're after a Pedes attending job.”

You rose a brow, challenging him. “Are you offering?”

“Oh yeah, anything to keep sunshine down here.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaving Javadi to look between the two of you. She hadn’t realised the two of you knew each other so well.

Sure, you were the first everyone went to for a pedes case but how often was that?

“Sunshine! That’s funny,” said Javadi, standing between the two of you

Jack rose a brow. “It is?”

“Yeah- yeah,” she said with a clear of her throat. “Cause’- she has a sunshine tattoo.”

Jacks lips quirked up to a smirk. “Really?”

You leaned over the counter, chin resting in the palm of your hand. “Yeah. Got it some time ago.”

“Is it somewhere PG-13?” He asked.

“Well to know that you’d have to buy me a drink first.”

“I plan to.”

The two of you shared a smirk.

Suddenly, Victoria thought she was stuck in the middle of something.

It was Whitaker who discovered it next.

He was working with Abbot and Shen on a patient in trauma one, still waiting for the feeling in his feet to return to him after a twelve hour shift. But he wanted to see this patient through first, even if he could have left now the night crawlers had swept in.

He was shooting an x-ray for the guy in a car crash, checking his ribs after being found pressed up against his steering wheel.

Somewhere else you were stitching up his young daughter.

“The car came from nowhere,” fretted the patient, wincing with every breath. “I swear- I swear!”

“Don’t you worry, sir, we’re gonna get you sorted,” assured Jack, peeling off his jacket and replacing it with a vest.

“Is my- is my daughter okay?”

“She just needed a couple stitches,” said Denis.

Jack stretched up, moving the x-ray machine over the patient. “Don’t worry, your daughter is in the best hands. They lumped you with the second best, I’m afraid.”

The patient gave a huff of a laugh that evidently hurt more than anything.

“Okay… shooting!”

Everyone without a vest backed away.

It was at that moment as Jack hovered shooting the x-ray that Whitaker got his first glance at some ink peeking out from his wrist. His watch hid most of what Denis could make out as a tattoo but he thought it strange that Robby should have his own tattoo also typically hidden behind his watch.

Robby and Jack always called themselves brothers, from their years of friendship and shared experiences in the Pitt.

He just hadn’t realised they were that close.

The x ray was quickly done and the machine pushed away as everyone focused on stabilising the man.

A couple broken ribs, a severely bruised chest.

An OR was free to check on any internal bleeding, get the chest sorted.

The doors pushed open and you walked in, a maybe eight years old propped on your hip, little arms hugging around your neck.

Jack’s lips tilted up at once. “Second visit in one day, upstairs must be boring.”

“Well we do like to call this place the circus,” you teased. “This is Mr Peters daughter, she wanted to check in on her daddy.”

Jack tugged off his gloves and Whitaker watched as he approached you and the little girl. “Your daddy is doing fine, he’s strong. I reckon just as strong as you. He’s gonna go upstairs for a closer look but you can go with him, if you like?”

The girl hid her head closer into your shoulder, mumbling something that Whitaker could just about make out.

“Will you come up with me?” She’d asked you.

You bounced her gently. “Course. Upstairs is where all the fun is anyway.”

Jack hummed. “Hm. She has the best candy too.”

Whitaker watched the young girls eyes light up.

As a team from surgery came to drag the father away you followed behind with the daughter in arms, Abbot and Whitaker following out and taking a moment to watch the crowd dissapear.

“Did good in there, Whitaker,” said Abbot, the both of them tearing off their gowns and gloves.

“Thanks,” he said. The both of them went separate ways. Oddly enough, Jack was following in the steps of the team that took up the man and his daughter.

Doctor Robby wondered over, sliding into his seat. If even one of his day shift was left, so was he. It was his own morale code to not go till everyone on day had, Denis was learning.

“Hey,” greeted Denis. “You know I had no idea you and Abbot had matching tattoos.”

“Huh, yeah...” said Robby of absent-mind as he watched the computer. It took him a second to register what he was saying and look up. “Wait, what did you say?”

Suddenly Whitaker felt like he'd said the wrong thing, seeing his attending look over his glasses at him. Maybe nobody was supposed to know? Maybe it was super personal? Or it was a stupid drunk choice they were both trying to forget and he'd just brought it up.

“Oh god, I didn't, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”

Robby scratched at his beard. “Jack and I do not have matching tattoos.”

“Oh.”

“What made you think that?” he asked. “Did someone... say something?” there was something akin to mischief in his eyes, alight.

“No! No! I just- I saw something that looked like a tattoo under where he keeps his watch, and I know you have one there too. Or- well- don't know but I've- I've seen-”

“Yeah, yeah I've got one there,” said Robby, looking back to the computer bored. “So does Jack. His is a moon. Mine's something to do with my grandmother.”

“A moon? Oh.”

Somewhere beyond Whitaker, past his shoulders, Victoria passed by, catching the conversation.

A moon on one. A sun on another. Interesting.

Samira was only looking for her patient when she found a shirtless Jack Abbot hiding behind the curtain with you standing behind him.

Both your heads shot up when the whirl of the curtain pulled back.

“Oh. I'm sorry,” said Samira. She was only momentarily shocked at Jack shirtless, SWAT gear discarded in the corner and the typical pedes case worker standing behind him, working on a bad obviously over eighteen.

Jack tried to shrug his shoulders but came away wincing. “S'alright.”

“Have you guys seen my patient?” she asked, going on to describe him.

“No, sorry. This room was empty,” you said, rolling a q-tip along Jack's shoulder blade. “Anything you need help with?”

Samira deflated, taking a seat on the chair in the corner of the room. She was feeling sorry for the patient she couldn't get to in time she didn't realise the look you and Jack shared, one of mutual agreement of apprehension.

“What happened to you?” Samira asked.

“He got shot,” you said.

“You were shot?”

Jack made a 'pfft' noise at the two of you. “Shot at. It was nothing. Hardly a graze.”

You scoffed, reaching over for some bandage and applying it to the wound. “I'll be the judge of that.”

“You my doctor now?” asked Jack.

You bit back a smirk. “Someone has to be.”

Samira had worked with Abbot a handful of times, you maybe more on cases with children that required delicate matters. She never realised the two of you were close enough to tease. Close enough that you would be the first person he runs to for help.

Curious, Samira walked around Jack, standing on the other side of his bed as you showed her the wound.

“Oh. Ouch.”

“See?” you said with a raise of your brows.

Jack's freckled arms crossed over his chest in protest.

“You have a chart?” asked Mohan.

“No,” you said. “We're keeping this off the chart.”

Samira nodded, lips quirking. We?

“Don't need the paperwork from the hospital,” said Jack. “Got big plans tonight, can't have paperwork getting in the way.”

“Big plans?” asked Mohan.

Jack hummed in affirmation.

With your careful bandages around his shoulder he stood and reached for his shirt on the side.

It wasn't just a quick glimpse Samira got of where another tattoo lied. It was a long look as Jack made work at pulling over his navy shirt overhead. At the ache in his shoulder you helped pull it over him and he didn't object, he let you help him like it was natural.

But just under his armpit, on the side of his chest there was a clear stroke of black ink in the curves and strikes of a letter. Just one simple there, no bigger than a finger nail next to his heart.

“All good to go solider,” you said, rubbing his un-injured shoulder.

“Thank you, Doc.”

You smirked. “Don't go straining yourself this evening.”

Jack chuckled, low in his throat. “I make no promises.”

It was only when watching the two of you leave that the hole in her heart for her own devoid love life sung with something other that sorrow. With hope and joy. It was only when she noticed Jack's hand linger on the small of your back as he leaned into say something to you that she realised the slope of the letter at his chest matched the very first letter of your name.

A week later and slowly Samira was forgetting the whole thing. Not forgetting the patient that had ran out on her but forgetting the state she found Jack in, forgetting how you helped him and the letter etched into his skin.

She hadn't told anyone either, because what business of others was it.

It wasn't even hers.

Maybe Jack knew someone in the army had the same initial as you. Maybe it was his mothers name. It didn't have to be yours. It was only seeing him shirtless, seeing you with him that had her thinking of you, she was sure.

But a week later she was brought back to that room.

“Woah- what happened to you?” Robby chuckled as you walked through the ED, a mixture of bodily fluids over your scrubs.

“Emergency c-section, twins,” you said. “I had no time for a gown.”

Robby's smile creased as you squelched closer. Your blue scrubs, typically a baby blue, was dyed darker due to blood, amniotic fluids and what he guessed might have been urine. “They didn't call OB?”

“OB was busy, apparently.”

“Apparently?” he asked, tablet in hand as he followed next to you as you walked to the scrub bin. You walked, arms slightly raised to not let them drop. Robby walked close but not close enough to touch the mess of you.

“Someone in OB has it out me.”

“Evil ex?”

“Yeah, one of yours,” you teased.

“Ouch.”

“I'm cranky.”

“I can tell.”

Santos and Samira were on a case together but stopped when they got a look at you. “Woah, what happened? A pile up?”

“Don't ask,” you grumbled.

From behind you Robby mouthed 'twins' and both knew not to say anymore.

“You know we have gowns for such messy procedures,” said Trinity.

You flashed her a grimace. “You're funny, Santos, must get it from this guy,” you said, slapping Robby in the chest as you stood in front of the scrub bins. However, as an official upstairs pedes resident you didn't have authority for more scrubs. “Is Jack around?”

“No,” said Robby, tapping his own ID cared on the pad and getting you an order of scrubs.

“Thanks.”

Samira wondered, briefly why you asked for Jack when it was probably easier to find some woman for your size. Like herself, for instance.

But in seconds you were pulling off your scrub top, leaving you only in a bra. Your scrub pants were next but you had a thin pair of leggings underneath. No one batted an eyes, except maybe Robby who cleared his throat and turned away, hypothetically hiding you behind his back.

“Thanks again, Robby,” you said, gaining his new scrubs.

“No problem,” he said, leaning over to you. “But you can bring this up to Jack,” he added in a mummer that Mohan just caught.

As you reached up, pulling the scrub top over you Samira caught it again. It was a smaller trace, a think line but there with no doubt.

A simple J in black ink in almost the exact spot as Jack had one of his own.

“Is that-” Mohan didn't get the words out before your scrub top was pulled over, swallowing you from Robby's scrub.

Robby and you looked to her as you pulled on the pants. “What?”

They were all looking at her, expectantly.

“No, nothing, it was nothing.”

“Okay, then.”

But now there was a knowing in there. That she didn't believe in coincidences, not when they were etched into skin.

“You look lovely.” Jack crept up behind you, his voice falling upon your ears with his head quick over your shoulder. He was like hot breath on a glass, there and gone the next second.

You understood why. Knew it had been easier to keep it quiet when things were fresh, yet, things had moved on from new and simple a long time ago and neither of you made to say it. Did you get a banner? Make a public announcement? You had no idea how to do it.

Keeping it on the low was all you knew how to do.

And anyhow, it made things far more exciting.

“Thank you,” you said, passing him a quick smile.

Jack hummed, crowding next to you at the station, leaning an arm on the counter and looking you up and down. “You'd look even better in scrubs that were mine.”

Your eyes rolled. “They're Robby's-”

“Robby's-” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“I had a messy C-section and it was this or several bodily fluids.”

“I'd have rather bodily fluids,” he said.

You hummed. “You think that but then you see me and you'd think different.”

“Oh, yeah?”

You turned your attention onto him, knowing he wouldn't give it up till he had it all. It was something about Jack and un-divided attention, he thrived on it. Giving it to you, or taking it from you. He needed it like sustenance. “Think wet. Think baby fluids that should be in a body on me. Think blood. And probably puke on there somewhere too- I don't even know how.”

“And I bet you still looked beautiful,” he said.

“I wouldn't be so sure about that,” you chuckled.

“I would.”

His hand crept up to your ribs, holding there. As if he was anaesthetic himself, his touch was soothing.

He held over where your initial of his name was, just as you did with him where yours was. It still felt fresh though the ink was imbedded into skin for almost a year now.

It was the soft knowledge of carrying each other closer than you already did. Working in the same building wasn't enough, falling asleep next to each and waking up next to each other wasn't enough but the soft initial of each others name might just have been.

Even if it weren't romantical (which it certainly was) the two of you had at least always respected each other in the work setting. It was a bond running deeper than blood, than respect, than love.

Something the people hadn't come up with a word for yet.

Robby passed by the two of them. “I thought you two were being discreet.”

“We are,” you said, you and Jack turning to face Robby as he took his space behind the nurses desk.

“He's all but holding your breast,” said Robby.

“Physical exam,” Jack shrugged. “And I thought I told you to stop making moves on my woman.”

Robby held up his hands in surrender. “I don't want any funny business in my scrubs,” he warned, s sharp look past his glasses at the two of you.

Jack quirked his lips, pretending his innocence. “We'll change into mine.”

You smacked his shoulder.

“Hey,” said Robby, leaning on the counter next to you as if you were all gossiping nurses and not different attendings in your own rights. “You know, Whitaker thinks we have matching tattoos,” he said, nodding to Jack.

You laughed, tilting your head down.

“Oh yeah, I have an R over my heart,” he teased.

Robby scoffed. “Yeah and I got a J on my-”

You looked pointed at them both. “Don't you have jobs to get to?”

Robby surrendered and headed off, making himself busy.

Upstairs would need you soon enough too, there was only so much time you could leave your pedes ward alone. Your hands were gentle on Jacks, squeezing lightly.

Meaning to let go, Jack squeezed and pulled you back.

“Jack? Woah- what- where are we going?”

His thumb worked up and down the back of your hand as he dragged you off. He found an empty room, checking the room before closing the door and pulling the curtains around.

“Jack!”

His hands found their ways up Robby's shirt on your body, pulling at the skin of your waist and drawing you in till he was kissing you, open-mouthed. It was as if he hadn't kissed you that morning, hadn't stole a make out in the car before heading in, hadn't text you in his spare five minutes that he wasn't thinking about you.

He grinned into the kiss, licking into your mouth.

As bad as it was, stealing a kiss in an empty exam room, your hands wound up to his hair, tugging at the strands. Your body curled into his as his hands moved from under your shirt to over, pulling at it.

“Take this off.”

Biting back a smirk you pulled it off you as Jack leant down to kiss at your neck. He bit and sucked, dedicating time to one mark that would be a tattoo on your neck.

Jack was obsessed with marking you, considering you tried you best to be secret.

This wasn't very secret.

“Jack,” you moaned, own hands clawing at his shirt.

He pulled back long enough to toss his off. “When we're done here... when I've made you come on my fingers,” he uttered next to your ear, breath hot. “You're gonna put my scrub top on, you understand?”

Your lips pursed and nodded.

Jack pulled back enough, lips ghosting yours. “Yeah, baby?”

“Yeah,” you whined.

“Yeah.”

His lips crashed into yours again with fire like need. Hie entire body moved over yours, hands steady on your hips to bring you in. You were stumbling around the room, trying to find a wall or bed.

“God,” Jack whined at your lips. “I could eat you.”

He kissed down your neck, over your chest and leant to press a kiss over his initial. He'd been there when you'd gotten it done, as you had when he got his. The two letters in each others hand writing.

Jack came back up and kissed you again before the door sprung open.

“Room three's open why's nobody-”

Jack jumped in front of you like jumping in front of a bullet for you, his arms fell on either side of you, caging you in behind him.

A woman was sat on a gurney, eyes wide at the two of you.

Dana was leading the charge, Mohan, Whitaker and Santos following and eyes falling wide, jaws agape at the sight of you.

Robby walked past, shaking his head and- taking one look at Jack- decided it wasn't a HR nightmare he could deal with.

“We were just...” said Jack, hesitating. “Doing a physical.”

Dana smirked. “I'll say.”

“Sorry, we'll just-” you apologised.

The two of you fumbled with scrub tops but Jack still found enough time in the mess to pass you his own scrub top and take Robby's himself. In sheepish moves the two of you moved by the group, catching only a couple words.

“Did you see those tattoo's?” said Samira.

“Each others inititals, right?”

“How longs this been going on for?”