He's been...gentler. You know how that sounds. You haven't even kissed the man yet but he seems to be softer around the edges. Not in a very drastic way. He's not brining in cookies and cupcakes for the break room. He's not going downstairs for a consult with a smile on his face.

But his bite, it's not too bad now.

A resident makes a mistake, he calls them out on it and moves on. A patient says something stupid or inappropriate he readjusts and gets back on track. You knew he had these skills he wouldn't really get to where he is if he were a robot all the time.

Its still a sight to see.

Which is why when he comes up to you while you're charting, you pick your head up and smile at him. You're in a daze. The man has been inside of your place. You've seen him in outside clothes and been inside of his car. You know he has a dog.

These are things that you can't really ignore. Your brain won't let you. So when he makes eye contact with you, you happen to smile. Your mouth twitches up by the corners.

And right there in front of everyone passing by and working at the station, he does it.

Brendon Park smiles back at you.

Not the kind of smile that is barely visible. The one where its just one corner of his mouth that turns upwards just an inch. No teeth. Almost unnoticeable if you hadn't seen him smile or smirk before.

He's showing teeth. Right at you.

"Dr. Park there's a problem with..." one of the other residents trails off.

It happens in slow motion for you. You go to auto correct. You reign in your smile and look over at the resident. Your face goes almost statute like. You feel like you're in trouble.

But you're not.

Hell, it really does feel like it. Especially when Brendon picks up on the change of your face. Like he gets exactly what you're saying without having to say the words out loud to one another.

His mouth practically snaps shut. You'd be a bit worried about his jaw if you hadn't known he constantly clenches it for simple annoyances that don't deserve his insults. He slowly turns to the resident that was talking to him.

"...with?" he asks.

You look at the R3 now. Her face is bright red. You can see her visibly gulp. In your head you know there's no way she knows about the two of you. No one knows about the two of you.

Right?

"Home care instructions for a post op in C20."

In your mind you know that's the room for the biking accident. This resident couldn't deliver basic home care for a broken leg? Or maybe she was scared that she would mess it up? Come to think of it now, you haven't seen this R3 on this floor.

You take in her black scrubs.

"You following up from downstairs?" you ask her.

She looks at you. Her shoulders ease down from around her ears basically. She nods her head vigorously. You nod softly.

"I can tag along if you like."

"Yes, thank you."

You put down your chart and walk over to the other resident. As you do, you brush past Brendon. The side of your arm going across the side of his. Shouldn't feel electric but it does. Shouldn't make you smile but it does, you try your best to keep it sly.

"Bring her back to me, pittling. I need to go over case notes."

And after he says that you can't help the smile on your face at all. So you duck your head down as you walk in front of the resident and over to the room with the patient.

-------

You step into his office and close the door behind you.

"I know were supposed to go over the case notes but-"

Your words are cut off by the loud sound. A brown paper takeaway back crinkles as he sets it down on his desk. Your eyebrows furrow in the middle.

"Have lunch with me?" he asks.

Your eyes go wide. It shouldn't shock you anymore that he says things like this. But its just the whole being at work thing that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. On the off-chance that HR will be sniffing around and find something.

"What if someone walks in?"

He scoffs, "No one just walks into my office. Besides you."

Then he smiles. Its almost exactly like the one from before. And you stupidly want to remember it. A smile meant just for you.

"If it makes you feel better we can lock the door." he offers.

You shake your head, "No that would be way too suspicious."

He gets up from his swivel chair. Brendon walks up to the stationary chair across from him and pulls it closer to him. He stands by the chair and beckons you over.

You walk up. With you hands behind your back. You peek inside of the brown bag to get a look at the food. The very good smell of seasoning makes your stomach grumble.

It was the reason you were going to ask him to raincheck on the case notes. You were gonna order something for lunch. Seems like he beat you to it.

"How'd you know I was hungry?"

"You don't usually smile at me when we're at work. Figured something must be up. Then I looked at the clock. You usually take a break around this time." he says very casually.

Like it doesn't make your heart soar. This man is very good at sweeping you off your feet. You were, after all, a medical professional. It meant that you were used to staying grounded.

Except when it comes to him, apparently. You smile.

Then you look up at him.

The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind where the world felt calm and still. The terrifying kind. The kind where even the hum of my phone charging across the room felt like it was coming from somewhere miles away.

I opened my eyes slowly, immediately regretting it. Light poured through the crack in the curtains, and pain exploded behind my eyes so violently that I squeezed them shut again, my stomach twisting in response.

“Fuck.”

The word came out as barely a whisper, as my head throbbed in time with my heartbeat. 

As much as I should force myself to drink water and take some meds, the only thing I would be doing is trying to go back to sleep, hoping the pain would magically subside the next time consciousness caught up with me.

That plan lasted all of a few seconds, until Beau’s arm pulled me a bit closer, reminding me he was still here.

We had been dating for a few months now, and somehow I had managed to avoid this.

The ugly parts.

The parts where I wasn’t laughing at his jokes or stealing his hoodies or pretending I wasn’t secretly obsessed with how easily he could make me smile.

I had avoided the moments when I was sick, tired, and inconvenient to be around. I wanted to be low maintenance and fun, not needy and helpless.

I knew that wasn’t fair. I knew Beau had never given me a reason to think he would leave. But old habits were harder to break than I wanted to admit.

“Baby?”

His voice was rough with sleep.

I froze.

“Sorry.”

His eyes opened immediately.

That was one of the things I was learning about Beau.

He could sleep through almost anything.

Except me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

The answer came too quickly.

Beau blinked at me. Analyzing my face.

“Nothing?”

“I just woke up.”

“You’re crying.”

I hadn’t even realized I was, but his voice was overwhelming.

I wiped at my cheek quickly.

“I’ll be fine.”

Beau’s expression softened, “Migraine?”

“How did you-?”

“You haven’t opened your eyes yet. You’re practically whispering. You look pale. How bad is it?”

I looked away.

That was answer enough.

His entire demeanor changed.

“Bad,” I admit defeatedly. 

Beau sat up immediately, trying his best not to jostle me too much. I couldn’t hide my wince at the movement.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

“Beau—”

“No.”

I frowned.

“No?”

“No ‘I’m fine.’ No ‘you don’t have to.’ No apologizing.”

My eyes opened slightly.

He was already moving around the room, shutting the curtains completely, unplugging the bright alarm clock, and turning off every little source of light.

“You don’t even know what I need.”

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

He came back to the bed and crouched beside me.

“But I know you.”

My throat tightened.

Beau brushed my hair away from my face carefully.

“You don’t have to earn being taken care of.”

That almost broke me.

Because that was the part nobody talked about.

The guilt.

The feeling that needing someone was somehow failing.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” I admitted.

Beau frowned.

“Like what?”

“Like this.”

I gestured weakly.

“Miserable. Not fun.”

For a moment, he just stared at me.

Then he shook his head.

“Baby.”

The way he said it made my chest ache. He gently took my hand in his. 

“I am here for all of it, the good, the bad, the ugly. I hate that you’re hurting. But I’m glad that I’m here to take care of you.”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead, careful and gentle.

“You’re allowed to have bad days.”

Another kiss.

“You’re allowed to need me.”

Another.

“And you’re allowed to wake up with a migraine and still be my favorite person.”

I closed my eyes.

The pain was still there.

The world was still too bright and too loud and too much.

And through it all, Beau stayed.

He brought me water, food, and headache medicine. He kept the room dark. He sat beside me for hours, barely moving except to check if I needed anything.

And when I finally started to fall asleep again, curled against him in the quiet, I realized something.

Beau didn’t love me because I was easy to love.

He loved me because I was me.

The night shift in ‘The Pitt’, as everyone called it to overhype how much whiplash one could go through within a few hours, was always an uneasy challenge compared to the day shift, you never knew what was coming because exhaustion made every monitor alarm feel like it was drilled into your skull. The emergency department was already drowning before the clock even hit seven.

Ambulances kept stacking up outside the bay doors. Psych holds were lining the hallways because there were no open beds upstairs. Dana was already arguing with transport over missing imaging scans while simultaneously barking orders at nurses.

Simply, she was trying to keep triage moving so they could clock out along with some students looking one step away from passing out onto the ground.

And in the mix of it was Y/N, trying to make it through her first night herself, Gloria had hired her as another addition to the emergency department of the hospital to help out, really. 

“Traffic volume at night has increased almost thirty percent over the last quarter, so the administration approved another attending for overnight emergency medicine coverage. Dr. Y/LN will be joining nights effective immediately.”

A few exhausted claps followed, and Jack had barely looked up from signing discharge paperwork.

At least not then.

Because Jack was used to people cycling through the department, nurses came and went, people rotated every few weeks. New hires usually spent their first shift trying not to drown.

But around an hour later into her first full shift into the darkness, he turned the corner near radiology while speed walking with a chart in one hand and coffee in the other and slammed directly into somebody.

Coffee splashed onto the floor and a clipboard hit the ground.

“Jesus-”

Jack caught her automatically by the waist before she lost balance, her eyes immediately looked up to his face extremely irritated.

She was pretty in his eyes, drop dead gorgeous.

“Seriously?” she snapped immediately. “On my first fucking day?”

Jack blinked once before the corner of his mouth lifted naturally. It wasn’t even intentional, he was just a natural flirt at this point.

“Well,” he said smoothly, “Usually I at least buy someone dinner before I tackle them in the hallway.”

She stared at him like she wanted to put him through drywall.

Dana walked past carrying lab slips and immediately pointed. “Abbot, quit harassing the new attending.”

“I’m not harassing anybody,” Jack answered casually without taking his eyes off Y/N. “I’m introducing myself.”

“You’re in my way,” Y/N muttered.

She was definitely not intimidated by him, genuinely.

Jack crouched to grab the chart she’d dropped. “Dr. Jack Abbot.”

“I know who you are.”

Something about that answer pleased him more than it should have.

He handed the chart back carefully. “And you are?”

“Too busy for you.”

Then she walked off.

Whitaker, standing nearby with an IV start kit, looked between them slowly. “Oh, she hates you.”

Jack watched her disappear toward the trauma wing.

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “Not yet.”

And then, the next few hours turned from the calm before the storm to the peak of the storm.

A 72 year old woman came in screaming over a broken hip after falling down her stairs. A drunk college kid cracked his head open trying to jump off a roof into a pool, but unfortunately landed on the concrete in a loud thud and the icing on the cake is somebody overdosed on something laced in the ambulance bay bathroom.

Y/N barely had time to breathe,

Dana stayed glued to her side most of the shift, rapidly updating her between patients while moving through the department like a war general.

“Room nine’s potassium came back critical. Trauma two needs reassessment. Psych hold in fourteen tried to bite a nurse. And room six keeps hitting the call light because his blanket’s too warm.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Y/N muttered, rubbing exhausted hands over her face.

Then room six started yelling again.

“I BEEN WAITING THIRTY MINUTES!”

“You’ve been here six hours,” Javadi snapped from inside the room.

“I WANT A DIFFERENT DOCTOR.”

“And I want silence,” Javadi fired back.

The patient started complaining louder and Javadi started arguing louder.

And finally Y/N stormed into the room with the kind of exhausted fury only night shift doctors possessed.

“For fuck’s sake could you just shut up? Both of you.”

The silence hit immediately and Javadi looked relieved. Unfortunately for her, Jack happened to be walking by right when she said that.

He stopped mid step.

Turned.

Looked through the doorway.

Y/N stood there in black scrubs with loose strands of hair escaping her ponytail, gloves snapped against her wrist, expression murderous from stress and exhaustion.

Jack actually doubled back to stare.

Whitaker nearly walked into him. “Why’d you stop?”

Jack’s eyes stayed on her.

“Because I think I’m in love with the new attending.”

Whitaker snorted. “You say that every week.”

“No,” Jack said quietly. “I usually like the nice ones.”

The adrenaline from the chaos of the shift barely had time to leave the department before the next disaster hit.

That was the thing nobody warned new attendings about.

The emotional whiplash.

One second, you were saving somebody’s life in surgery, and the next, you were arguing with the pharmacy over the littlest things ever, and by 4 am, the ER was a nervous wreck.

Y/N stood beside the central desk, signing discharge paperwork while rubbing at the ache forming behind her eyes.

“You’ve got room twelve asking for morphine again,” Dana said without looking up.

“The guy with bipolar disorder?”

“Mhm.”

“He literally got Ativan an hour ago.”

“He says his ‘bones hurt.’”

Y/N sighed deeply. “Of course they do.”

Jack walked by at the exact moment she muttered it.

“You look thrilled to be here,” he commented casually.

“I’d rather eat glass.”

“That can probably be arranged in room six.”

Despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitched.

Jack noticed immediately.

Victory.

Then Dana pointed her pen toward the psych room. “Security’s tied up in the lobby with a dead patient, so can somebody please go deal with him before he starts screaming again?”

Y/N grabbed the chart.

“I’ll handle it.”

“Need backup?” Jack asked.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I’m an attending physician, not a child..”

She rolled her eyes and disappeared into room twelve.

The second the door shut, the atmosphere changed.

The patient sat upright in bed twitching his knee rapidly. Mid 40’s. Sweaty. Agitated. Eyes moving too fast.

“I need morphine,” he snapped immediately.

“You don’t have an order for morphine.”

“You people never listen.”

“You’re medically stable.”

“My shoulder hurts.”

“You slept on it wrong obviously.”

His jaw clenched because Dear God was this man about to run her through a wall on her first day here.

Y/N kept her distance carefully while checking the monitor. “You need to calm down.”

“I AM CALM.”

Outside the room, Javadi was walking past with Whitaker, discussing labs, when suddenly they heard a crash.

Then another.

“HEY-”

He grabbed her by the throat so violently that her back slammed into the wall.

Everything happened impossibly fast.

The chart flew from her hands.

Her airway compressed instantly.

Y/N clawed at his wrists, trying to pry him off while he screamed nonsense directly in her face.

Outside, Javadi’s eyes widened.

“HULA HOOP!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Every resident and nurse in the department knew the code word immediately.

Violent patient.

Need help now.

The patient shoved Y/N harder against the wall while reaching wildly toward the sharps container mounted beside the bed.

“Oh shit,” Whitaker breathed.

The plastic container ripped halfway off the wall and somehow warped.

Needles rattled inside.

Y/N tried kneeing him in the stomach but he outweighed her badly and had leverage on her throat.

Then he got hold of a syringe.

And raised it.

Jack Abbot heard the scream from halfway down the hallway.

The second he registered Javadi yelling hula hoop he moved, faster than anyone expected with a prosthetic leg on.

By the time he reached the room, the patient had the needle raised toward Y/N’s neck.

He slammed into the guy so hard the entire bed shifted across the floor. The syringe flew from the patient’s handand somehow landed directly into the man’s foot.

The patient shrieked.

“GET SECURITY!” Dana yelled.

Jack had the guy face down on the floor in seconds, forearm pressed between his shoulder blades, while security finally flooded into the room.

“How the hell did y’all let him in?” Jack snapped furiously. “He’s a frequent violent flyer!”

“Nobody flagged him in triage,” Dana answered breathlessly.

Jack looked up immediately toward Y/N and she was still standing somehow with one hand wrapped around her throat.

She was breathing hard then her knees buckled.

Jack caught her before she hit the floor.

“Easy,” he said immediately, voice completely changing. Softer now. “Easy.”

“I’m fine,” she rasped.

“You are absolutely not fine.”

Her body folded forward automatically from adrenaline crash, and she landed directly against his chest.

Jack didn’t even hesitate.

He scooped her up before she could protest.

“I can walk,” she mumbled weakly.

“Don’t care.”

The entire nurses’ station watched him carry her into an open exam room, inside there Jack sat her carefully on the edge of the bed while grabbing gloves.

“You dizzy?”

“No.”

“Nauseous?”

“No.”

“You sure you aren’t about to pass out?”

Y/N gave him an exhausted look. “Yes.”

He crouched slightly in front of her, and started examining the bruising already forming around her throat.

“Jesus.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not comforting.”

She adjusted her scrub top carefully, then winced.

“My shoulder’s bleeding somewhere.”

Jack frowned immediately. “Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I can’t see unless you remove the scrub top.”

Y/N hesitated only a second before pulling the navy top over her head, leaving a black sports bra underneath.

Jack tried very hard not to look too long.

Failed a little.

There was a small puncture wound high near her shoulder where the needle had grazed her during the struggle.

“Shit,” he muttered quietly. “He got you good.”

“It’s tiny.”

“It’s still a puncture.”

He cleaned it carefully while she watched him up close like this, he looked older than she initially thought.

“You always tackle psych patients like action movie heroes?” she asked quietly.

“Only when it counts.”

Jack glanced up at her silence.

“You’ve got a kid?” he asked eventually after noticing the tiny pink bracelet tied around her ID badge that said Camilla in faded beads.

Y/N nodded.

“Daughter. Camilla. She’s five.”

Jack leaned back against the counter slightly. “Five’s a fun age.”

“She’s insane.”

“They usually are.”

“She cut her own Barbie’s hair last week and blamed Casper.”

Jack laughed silently aand then the room went silent, it wasnt awkward but she broke the ice again. 

“Recently divorced.”

His eyes lifted.

“He cheated,” she added bluntly. “With one of the nurses at his office.”

Jack grimaced immediately. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Turns out twelve years together means absolutely nothing to some people.”

Jack stayed quiet for a second before answering.

“My wife died two years ago.”

Y/N’s face softened instantly. “I’m sorry.”

Both being scarred sat heavily between them as something in common. He touched his prosthetic leg through his scrub pants.

“Army before medicine,” he added quietly. “Lost the leg overseas.”

That explained it.

“That’s… a lot,” Y/N admitted softly.

Jack huffed a laugh. “Yeah. You too.”

There was something strangely intimate about the room. Suddenly, Jack moved closer again to listen to her lungs carefully, one hand lightly against the center of her chest in case she swayed.

“Deep breath.”

She inhaled slowly.

Outside the room, one of the med students walked past the doorway.

Stopped.

Looked in.

Then immediately disappeared.

Thirty seconds later, the same med student passed again pretending to check vitals.

Y/N noticed instantly, but Jack didn’t because his back faced the door.

Another student walked in carrying charts and stopped dead in their tracks.

Jack’s hand rested lightly against Y/N’s chest while listening to her heartbeat. Y/N sat in just her scrub pants and a sports bra. Both of them looked exhausted and flushed.

He turned around and then blinked.

 “What?” Jack said defensively. “We weren’t fucking.”

By the end of that, Y/N disappeared into the locker room to change out of her disgusting scrubs while Jack waited outside, leaning against the wall.

“You driving okay?”

“I’m awake enough.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

She looked at him tiredly.

Then sighed.

“Walk me out?”

The waiting room was still packed with angry, exhausted people when they crossed through.

Someone actually whistled at her.

Y/N’s face twisted immediately.

“Ew. Disgusting.”

Jack stopped walking.

Turned slowly toward the guy.

And the expression on his face became so genuinely dangerous that the man immediately looked away.

Jack guided her out the ambulance entrance instead after that.

The morning air felt cold after the mental trauma of the ER. For a second, neither of them spoke, just exhausted silence. Then Y/N leaned against her car door, looking at him.

“Worst first shift ever.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But you handled it like you’ve been here longer than me, but in reality its only your first night here in The Pitt, and trust me, it never gets easier from here..”

Logan kept his promise in taking things slow. 

Your first date was him taking you to an art exhibit you had mentioned on the off hand during your carpooling to Hastings Elementary. He picked you up from your dorm which had Allie and Hannah being annoyingly happy about the situation. Even though he was dressed the same, leaning against the same truck that drove you around Hastings, seeing him outside your dorm knowing he was here for a date with you made your heart flutter.

“You look nice,” he smiled, giving you a polite side hug greeting which you appreciated.

“Thanks,” you said, as he jogged around to open up your door.

The gallery was everything you imagined and more. It had been awhile since you’ve been to a museum with someone, normally opting for solo trips, but Logan was good company.

“The colors are beautiful,” you sighed, getting as close to the paintings as you could without getting yelled at by the security.

“Yeah I really like this style,” Logan smiled, shoulder brushing yours as he leaned close.

You missed him sneaking a few photos of you looking at the art, but he saw those images for himself as a reminder how lucky he got. 

You felt a bit shy making him walk around a gallery but he followed you with patience and let you explain to him all the history and techniques behind each article. If he seemed bored he didn’t show it at all.

When he dropped you back off at your dorm and walked you to your dorm, you both stood in front of each other for a moment. For the first time you realized he was nervous, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” he smiled, “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” you said, fiddling with your hair.

It was actually one of the most thoughtful date you ever been on but you still felt like you need to keep him on his toes.

“Would you be interested in going out with me again?”

You pretended to think about it which had Logan press his lips into a thin line waiting for your answer.

“Yeah I think I would like that,” you said.

“You think?” he teased.

You gave him a playful shrug which made him chuckle. Before he could say anything else, you leaned to give him a kiss on the cheek. If he was disappointed not scoring an actual kiss on the first date he didn’t show it. Instead he looked more than happy just knowing that he was spending time with you.

“I’ll text you about this second date we will be having,” he sighed, “Good night.”

“Good night Logan,” you smiled.

He watched you walk into the building and you waited until you were safely in the walls of your dorm let your face morph into the biggest grin that you were trying to hide. 

–

Your second date was technically a studying one in the library which was spent doing absolutely no studying. Logan kept distracting you by playing with your hair and telling you about all the things he had seen in the past few days that reminded him of you.

“There was a bird that flew into the rink yesterday,” he said, arm draped across the back of your chair, “Definitely wasn’t a boring sparrow but I didn’t get a photo.”

“Well that’s very helpful,” you sighed, scrolling through the latest articles you needed to read for class. 

“Oh also we have a game on Friday,” he said.

His voice trailed off as you looked up at him from your notes. You found it kind of adorable how nervous he got. You knew it was because he didn’t want to mess up but you were so used to seeing a cocky John Logan that it made you feel a bit prideful that you were the one making him into a mess.

“I know,” you said teasingly.

“Umm you should come,” he said, “I mean you normally do anyways but I thought I’d ask just to make sure.”

You giggled at his rambling as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah I’ll be there,” you said.

That bright smile flashed across his face which made your heart flutter. Feeling a bit more confident you grabbed your chair to pull closer to his own so that your thighs were pressed against each other. He reached out to tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear which had your face grow hot.

“Look out for the goal I score,” he said with a grin.

–

The next time you went out on a proper date was a simple dinner and it was genuinely the best meal you ever had in Hastings. You had been busy with your midterms which Logan made a point to accompany you in the library whenever he could. You could feel yourself starting to opening up to him more, less afraid of what could happen and enjoying the moment.

"You're a very good listener," you said, ranting about how awful your midterm went.

"Thanks you just happened to be a very interesting talker," he smiled, bumping your knee from underneath the table, “But I don't think you did bad."

"You didn't see the test Logan," you sighed, "I fucking hate philosophy."

"Rest in power Socrates," Logan joked which made you roll your eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better I have an econ paper up and I haven't started," Logan said.

"Why would that make me feel better?" you scoffed jokingly.

"Knowing that you're definitely the smarter one in the relationship," he grinned.

The word relationship made your heart stutter. Even though you both agreed to take it slow there was no denying where the two of you were heading. You thought about Amy’s advice about being willing to accept love and she was right. You could’ve easily avoided seeing Logan again after the first date but after his confession in the bookstore, seeing him so vulnerable, it made you feel okay with exposing a bit of yourself to him as well.

Neither of you mentioned it as you continued your conversation about everything and nothing. You both talked about the fundraiser and fashion show coming up in a couple weeks.

“How intense is this leopard situation?” Logan asked, pushing his plate of fries towards you. You were previously upset that your own meal hadn’t come with a side so Logan ordered your favorite sweet potato fries to share. You didn’t know he hated sweet potatoes. You didn’t need to know.

“Very. You’ve met Katie, she doesn’t do anything halfway.”

“As long as it’s not spandex,” Logan sighed, “And none of the hockey guys are allowed to have their phones.”

“You’re no fun,” you groaned as Logan grinned at you. However you were still in the mood to tease.

“I guess this is our last date. Such a shame I was starting to like you,” you sighed, purposely turning away from Logan.

A quick look of hurt flashed across his face as he said, “Aww come on,” but you just crossed your arms.

“Fine I’ll allow photos. No videos though. And Jules cannot post about it.”

You laughed at how easy he folded which made him narrow his eyes at you.

“That was quick,” you giggled, “I bet I can make you do anything now.”

“I thought that was clear when you got me willingly coaching middle schoolers on the weekends,” Logan said.

“You didn’t even know that was me,” you said.

“Still even when I didn't know I still knew to listen,” he shrugged, “By the way how is that going?”

“The account?”

“Yeah. Jules post didn’t mess anything up right?” he said, his hand creeping across the table to brush against your fingers, “They are sorry I think. I still don’t really know their obsession with the account.”

“It’s fine,” you shrugged, over it, “The account is under new management anyways.”

“Really?” Logan said in shock, “Don’t tell me it was because of me?”

“It was a number of things,” you said honestly, “It just didn’t feel the same running when I first started. I think it was slowly starting to eat me up inside and I realized there’s probably better outlets for me.”

Logan gave a supportive nod, reaching out to squeeze your hand. He had already paid for the check when you went to the bathroom earlier so he guided the two of you out of the restaurant. The night was cool but your hands were still intertwined as you walked to the car.

You gave him a smile and a shiver ran down your spine. Logan instantly shrugged off his jacket and put it around your shoulders. Now you both were inches apart so that you could smell his cologne.

“You wanna know now who runs it don’t you?” you teased at his silence since the previous conversation.

“Hey, can you blame a guy for being curious?” Logan exclaimed, “It might be nice to know who’s behind the screen now in case I need help planning our next date. Or maybe even an anniversary down the line.”

“Wow you’re really thinking ahead now,” you laughed, but your heart still skipped a beat realizing Logan was really serious about his future with you.

“I told you I was gonna do it right,” Logan said, “You look really pretty by the way. You always look pretty. I should tell you that more often.”

“You really know how to lay it on thick,” you joked.

“Can’t a guy admire his girl?”

“I’m your girl now?”

“Well in due time yes. I see it in the very near future but for now I’ll just be your man.”

“My man?” you chuckled, “You make it sound like I have a new toy.”

“I’m all yours. Even if after tonight you decide to stop going out with me I’ll be yours,” he said with a small sigh, “You’re it for me.”

“Well we haven’t even kissed. What if I’m a horrible kisser and you decide I can’t be your girl.”

“Then we should figure that out sooner rather than later,” he grinned, hands around your waist already pulling you closer.  

You leaned in to press your lips to his. The short stubble on his chin tickled your face as his hands came up to cup your jaw. Your own hands tangled in his hair, pulling your bodies flushed against each other. You kept kissing in the moonlight until eventually you needed to come up for air.

Best kiss ever.

“Yeah I didn’t have any doubt,” he grinned before kissing you again.

–

Despite Logan being 90 percent sure that you were his, he was still nervous about the situation. His mind kept thinking about the kiss from two nights ago, how soft your lips were and that he could taste the vanilla gloss you had just applied. Man he was obsessed. And lucky. So fucking lucky. 

Which is why he needed to make sure tonight was great. The Hawks win and he finally asks you to be his girlfriend. He brought over an extra jersey to your dorm earlier but you weren’t home. Allie teased him before promising to pass along the message. But there was no set way in knowing you would actually wear it. 

His legs bounced nervously in the locker room as Coach Jenson gave their final pep talk before the game. It shouldn’t be a hard game but Logan did promise you a goal which would be embarrassing if he didn’t deliver.

“Hey there lover boy,” Dean teased, patting his back as they walked out the locker room, “Heard you got a special fan wearing your jersey in the crowd tonight.”

Logan looked over with a confused look, “How do you know that?”

Dean’s face dropped as he quickly said, “Thought I might’ve seen her walking in.”

Logan didn’t think much of Dean’s statement as he was now excited to see you in his jersey. 

The noise of the arena was loud as he followed his teammates onto the ice. His eyes scanned the crowd for another 22. After a few minutes of head swiveling he spotted your face in between Allie and Amy with a big smile. Sure enough your body was engulfed by the large jersey with his number plastered on the front. 

You gave him a shy wave before continuing your clapping with the crowd. Logan couldn’t stop smiling as he skated past where you were sitting to give you a quick wink. Garrett did yell at him to get into position after but it was so worth it.

It wasn’t a difficult game but Logan still hadn’t scored as they moved into the final period. He knew that you didn’t really care but there could be a chance you’d tease him to death after so he needed to eradicate that possibility. He was a man of his word.

Thankfully the third period began to pick up with only a few minutes left on the clock. Logan skated down the rink looking for an opening so Garrett could pass. In a quick turn, Logan blurred past his defender and Garrett shot the puck right in his direction. Like all the times in practice, Logan swung at the puck with a loud crack. The black object flew straight past the goalie straight into the net, the sound of the buzzer confirmed the goal.

Garrett engulfed Logan into a celebratory hug but Logan’s attention was somewhere else. Not focused on the goal, his team, or even the crowd chanting his name. His eyes narrowed in on where you had jumped to your feet cheering so loud your cheeks were bright red. 

He pointed his glove right at you, confirming that he followed through on all his promises.

–

After the game, Hannah, Allie, Amy, and you were waiting behind to meet up with the guys to go to Malone’s. The team slowly trickled out as you said your polite congrats to the other members and promised to see them later at the bar. 

Dean and Tucker emerged first which you and girls gave them high fives and hugs before Garrett came out making Hannah sprint to him. You looked over their shoulders in search of the person you wanted to see. His jersey clung to your frame as the smell of his cologne was wrapped around you. 

John Logan emerged from the tunnel, his hair damp and duffel bad in hand. He looked a little short of breath but his eyes lit up when he met your gaze. You couldn’t help but smile as he approached you, stopping just inches away from you to take in you in his jersey.

“Cute outfit,” he hummed, arm gripping your waist through the thick fabric. 

“Thanks,” you said, “Found it on my bed today. Very weird. I don't remember buying it.”

“So weird,” he murmured before pressing a kiss to your lips cause he couldn't help himself.

You reacted immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck. Logan was trying to deepen the kiss until an awkward cough cut through the tension.

“So we’re gonna go to Malone’s,” Tucker said, “Go ahead and continue sucking face.”

The whole group was staring at you with knowing grins and wide eyes. You felt your cheeks heat up, always a bit shy, mumbling an apology.

“Don’t apologize,” Logan said, squeezing your side, guiding the two of you to follow your friends, “Let them be jealous.”

“Can’t believe I’ve become someone who does PDA,” you groaned, trying to hide your face in his side.

“Oh this is just the beginning baby,” he grinned, wrapping his arm around your shoulders feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.

Next Part

A/N: Hiiiii here's a cute fluffy part before the last chapter!! Omg that's so crazy to think I'm basically done with this series. I'll save my thank yous for the next chapter but enjoy!!!!

Dean di Laurentis—who thinks he knows every woman in Briar, considering he had… made an acquaintance with about half of them—is first made aware of your existence at a block party. After three years in Briar University, he only knows about you—at a stupid block party, no less.

He approaches you with his usual charming smile that disarms women—and men—and tears even the highest walls down. You see, the key word this time is usually. Really, he should have known that there is a reason why he is only finding out about you now instead of three years ago during freshman orientation where about a third of the freshman class had thrown themselves at his feet, eager to get to know him.

“Hey.” He grins easily, holding a hand out for you to shake. “Dean di Laurentis, but I’m sure you know about me.”

Real smooth, di Laurentis, real fucking smooth. Holy shit, did he suddenly forget how to talk to women that he fumbles that badly? Oh, this is bad, he thinks, he can’t have himself failing when he has just found who he (very irrationally) thinks is the love of his life.

And while Dean is too busy having an internal conflict, you give him a once over before walking away with a snicker, leaving him standing there alone, with his hand still outstretched.

Only when his friends clap his back does he realize that you are no longer in front of him and are nowhere to be found. Great. He meets the love of his life and loses her in under ten minutes.

He leaves the party grounds later that night with you still in his head. His heart skips a beat every time he remembers the color of your eyes, the slope of your nose, and the curve of your lips—which is silly because he had literally *just met you, and he does not even feel this way about sorority girls he has known for years, or ex-hookups he sees around the campus. Hell, he does not even know your name. All he knows is that you are gorgeous and breathtaking and stunning and beautiful and captivating and mesmerizing and—

Oh.

He had just described you in more than two words that did not include hot and sexy.

Dean di Laurentis is completely, utterly, totally, absolutely fucked.

—

Dean, to his utmost delight *and horror, sees you again after a week—at another fucking party. Why is this a recurring theme in his life right now?

You step into the off-campus hockey house wearing an outfit that is so simple yet so elegant, especially on you. As soon as you step in, everyone else looks underdressed in his eyes, including himself.

He forces himself out of his thoughts with a vigorous shake of his head. He starts building his confidence and charm—which is ridiculous because he is Dean fucking di Laurentis, one of Briar U’s most sought-after bachelors. Why the fuck does he need to build his confidence any more? He is confident, he is charming, he is attractive, he is calm, he is cool, he is not fucking this up for the second time.

At one point during his self-affirmation, you walk past him. He catches a whiff of your perfume—faint, fleeting, but *there—and freezes up like an idiot. Of fucking course.

It is only when you are far enough for you not to hear him does he snap out of his trance, feeling like an absolute wreck. Instead of walking over to you and striking a conversation like a normal human being, he watches you from across the room, his heart beating like crazy even though you had done nothing but exist.

He watches as you chat with your friends and laugh freely, fetch yourself some drinks, and rock slightly to the beat of the music. He wants so badly to talk to you, make you laugh, refill your drinks for you, dance with you like there is no one else in the room, but every time he even *thinks of standing within three feet away from you, he chickens out—something he never thought was possible. Dean di Laurentis, the very epitome of a ladies’ man, chickening out? That will sound impossible, no matter who you ask, so why is it happening now?

He barely knows you, so why does he feel so strongly for you? It’s not love (yet), but maybe it’s something dangerously close—no, he barely knows you. It should not be possible to like you like that.

—

The next time Dean sees you is in an academic setting—a symposium on international relations and global politics. Thank fuck because he can surely strike up an intelligent conversation with you, unlike in parties, where he comes across as nothing but a dumb jock or a dumb blond—or even worse, a dumb blond jock.

He grins to himself, and walks over to where you and your friend (presumably) are sitting—the seat beside you is conveniently empty. He does not immediately take a seat; instead, he stands in front of the empty spot, perched adjacent to you with a hand outstretched.

“Hi,” he says in a slightly pitched voice, and immediately cringes inwardly, because Dean fucking di Laurentis does not say hi like that. “Sorry, *hey.” Even worse—why did he have to deepen his voice like that? It sounded more like a kid imitating his father’s voice more than anything.

He wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole—with not a single strand of hair left anywhere—when you pause your conversation with your friend—who he now recognizes as a campus journalist named Charlotte—to turn and look at him. Although there is amusement dancing in your eyes when your eyes trail down to his outstretched hand, you don’t keep him waiting for long.

You shake his hand briefly, and he thinks he can die happily now that he’s held your hand—even if it was just a short moment. Your hand is smoother than his hand that’s calloused from gripping hockey sticks for practically his whole life. He does not really know what you do with your hands, but he wants to find out, just like how he wants to know everything about you.

Then you state your name, your tone casual—nothing special, but he feels like dying then coming back to life from just a literal second of you saying your name.

“Hi, Dean,” he says with a dopey, not-very-him smile on his face. He quickly realizes that he had just said that in a completely wrong way. “I mean, hi. Dean—like hi, I'm Dean. Not like hi, you're Dean. I'm Dean di Laurentis, and I should probably stop talking now,” he says, all in one breath, his brain spiraling with every word that comes out of his mouth. He feels like a 12-year-old boy who runs away at the sight of women, which he's not, obviously. He's a 21-year-old man—a six-foot-something hockey defenseman, a very loud and proud supporter of women’s rights and wrongs who's got himself acquainted with quite a number of women, but here he is: blushing and stuttering like a complete idiot.

“I know who you are, Dean di Laurentis.” You look absolutely, drop dead gorgeous, even with an amused smirk—especially with an amused smirk.

“You do?” He can’t help the hopeful look and tone, but he quickly catches himself. He clears his throat and straightens his face as nonchalantly as possible. “I mean, yeah, a lot of people do—know me, I mean.”

“We know that too, Dean di Laurentis.” You chuckle softly, and he feels like he is in heaven.

“You don’t have to call me by my whole name, you know? You can just call me Dean,” he says, “Or anything you’d like, really.”

“That is duly noted, Dean.”

“Say, Dean, what are you doing here?” Charlotte interrupts as gently as she can possibly do, “I mean, no offense, but considering you’re a PolSci student, and this is a symposium on child psychology…”

“Oh shit, for real?” He looks around, and sees the LED wall on the platform displaying an entirely different topic than what he originally signed up for. “Fuck, sorry, I, uh, I got lost. I mean, I got the rooms mixed up, obviously. I’ll… see you around?”

“I’ll see you around, Dean.” You smile, and he feels like he has just died, gone to heaven, and then gone back to life.

He is absolutely, completely, entirely disarmed by just your smile, but he at least knows your name now.

—

The fourth time Dean sees you is during lunch at Malone’s. Puck bunnies surround them and their table, flirting and giggling and twirling strands of their hair around their fingers. Normally, Dean would have flirted back—maybe he would have invited them over to the hockey house after lunch, or invited them into the restroom for a quick one.

But Dean is not himself—he hasn’t been for a week now—not since the *accidental encounter with you in the lecture hall. He does not believe in fate, but he thinks he might after that run-in with you.

After those few, special minutes in the hall, Dean found himself walking towards the *actual venue of the symposium he had signed up for extra credit. He hadn’t listened—he immediately pulled up Charlotte’s profile on Instagram, and went through all of her 1,978 followers to look for you. He hadn’t been successful in the first hour of the symposium, and so he goes through your other friends’ (again, presumably) profiles: Emmett and Ivy from the block party, Megan and Bridget from the house party.

He had somehow found you after about two hours, and debated whether or not to send you a follow request after another hour.

You had accepted his request just a few hours prior.

So here he is, going through your Instagram profile. He probably has all 9 of your posts memorized by heart, and he is scrolling through them for what feels like the first time for him, but it has been at least three hours for the rest of the world.

“Dean,” a puck bunny—Ashley, if he remembers correctly—purrs beside him, running her perfectly manicured nail down his arm slowly. “What’s got you so distracted, gorgeous? Are you not enjoying this?”

He reluctantly looks up from the screen of his phone—he does not even bother to turn it off as he forces his gaze towards Ashley. He is about to respond when the bell above the door jingles. He does not know what compelled him to look over, but he’s glad he did, because walking into the diner is you.

You are wearing a simple shirt with a pair of washed jeans, as well as a pair of obviously well-loved sneakers. Your outfit is nothing out of the ordinary—something you’d see on more than half the population of Briar U—but it looks different on you. You look absolutely stunning in simple clothes.

His tense body sags with relief, and without thinking, he finds himself weaving through the small crowd consisting of his friends and women he barely knows. He passes through with a brief, quiet, ‘excuse me’, and walks towards you with an easy smile on his face.

“Huh,” Ashley hums in thought as she watches Dean part from the group. His friends all watch him, incredibly weirded out by his undeniably weird behavior.

“Hi, Hannah,” he hears you greeting as you lean against the bar. “I sent in an order about forty-five minutes ago, and I was hoping that it’s ready.”

“Oh, absolutely!” Hannah smiles at you, wide and bright as she hands you a paper bag. “Here you go—extra everything for Malone’s favorite regular.”

“Thanks a lot, gorgeous!” You beam, taking the bag, and looking through it briefly to make sure everything is in order.

Before you push away from the bar, Dean calls out your name. “Hey.” He smiles at you—a wide smile that deepens his dimples. “It’s great seeing you again.”

“Hi, Dean.” Your grin widens as you turn to him. “It’s great to see you too. How have you been?”

“Good, really good.” He nods, and he suddenly does not seem to know what to do with his hands. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” she says, her grin softens into a little smile now. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Thanks.” His smile, in turn, widens.

There are a few moments of slightly awkward silence—just a few beats of you two looking at each other—before you break it.

“I have to get going.” You point to the door behind you. “I’m kind of on the way to class. I just picked up lunch real quick.”

“Yeah, no, for sure.” He watches you take a few steps back, just as stiffly. “I’ll see you around?”

“Of course.” You nod, taking another step back.

Before you can turn away from him, he says, “I’ll, uh, keep in touch.”

He sees surprise flashing across your face, but you quickly recover, and you grin. “It’s up to you,” is all you say before walking out the door.

His eyes follow your moving form until you disappear from his sight, and only then does he release a breath he doesn’t realize he was holding. He runs a hand over his face and lets out another sigh. “Holy fuck,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

“You’re down bad,” he hears Hannah say from behind the bar as she wipes the countertop.

“Yeah, whatever, Wellsy.” He ignores Hannah’s words, finally turns to her, and sits on the stool directly in front of her. “May I ask how long you’ve known her for?”

“Since we were freshmen. She was one of the first people I knew, along with Allie,” she says, looking up at him.

“And may I ask how I’ve never met her before?”

“Dean, why are you asking me?” Hannah raises her eyebrows, both in surprise and in exasperation. “But if I’m going to answer your question, I’d say it’s because you were too busy being, well, you.”

“Okay, fair.” He raises his arms in surrender. “But I want to know her. Tell me what she likes, what she doesn’t, what she loves—please tell me everything.”

“Dude, you can literally ask her yourself.”

“I am so intimidated by her!” He almost begs. “Wellsy, help me out here. I am literally dying.”

“No, you’re not. Don’t be dramatic,” she says easily. “You just find her hot.”

“No, she’s not just hot. She’s absolutely drop dead gorgeous, and she’s objectively the most beautiful person in every single room she walks into, and—”

“Okay, point taken!” Hannah interrupts. “If it helps, she does literally nothing else during her free time but study and doomscroll through Instagram.”

Dean’s eyes literally light up at Hannah’s response. “Wellsy, you are an absolute lifesaver.”

“Holy shit, di Laurentis, you are more than down bad. You are abysmally, horrendously down.”

“Now, Wellsy, that’s an exaggeration.”

It’s really not that bad, really. He just wants to get to know you because he’s interested in you. Sure, they can all say he’s down bad, but you’re you. You’re beautiful and intelligent and overall an extremely interesting person. His infatuation is really not that bad.

Right?

—

*Wrong.

“Okay, who else thinks this is weird?” Logan says from the tall stool by the kitchen counter.

“What is?” Garrett asks from the couch, his eyes still glued to his phone screen.

“Dean.”

“He’s always weird. What’s new?” Tucker does not even pause from throwing a ball in the air.

“No, dude, he hasn’t brought anyone home in weeks, and he’s always on his damn phone.”

Tucker catches the ball, and turns to Logan. “So maybe he’s sexting? Or in a long distance situationship? Who even knows at this point, man? That’s Dean, and Dean’s not Dean if he’s not weird in his own, Dean way.”

“Yeah, but not this weird,” Logan argues. “Look, do you remember the girl from two weeks ago? Hannah’s friend?”

Realization dawns upon Garrett, and he finally peels his eyes off his phone. “You’re right.” He nods. “Hannah talked about how Dean had been asking about that friend for a week straight before he suddenly stopped.”

“Fucking finally!” Logan cheers. “You guys are slow as fuck.”

Just then, the front door opens, and in comes the man himself, carrying a large paper bag in his hand and his phone in the other.

“No way, an impromptu house meeting?” He speaks as soon as he steps into view. “What’s this one about?”

“You,” Tucker deadpans.

“Me?”

“Specifically,” Logan says loudly, “You and Hannah’s friend.”

“She has a name, thank you very much.” He says your name, his voice unconsciously turning softer. “What about her?”

“See, that’s fucking weird!”

“Man, what is?” Dean rolls his eyes. “Stop talking in codes, dude, just say it.”

“It’s weird that you’re in love because Dean ‘Six Flags’ di Laurentis does not fall in love,” Tucker finally says, and the rest of his friends nod along with him.

“You froze the first time you saw her at that block party. It’s like the world disappeared around you, man. You did not hear us calling you for at least five minutes. You made a complete fool of yourself the first two times you met her,” Garrett says with an amused smirk on his lips. “And you were pretty inconsolable for the first half of the day before Malone’s, and it’s like your entire being lit on fire the moment she walked through the door. You chased after her like a lovesick puppy, man, it’s honestly sickening to see.”

“And now, you barely hang with us because you’re either too busy on your phone with her or with her, like in person,” Logan adds.

Meanwhile, Dean rolls over all the information.

“And where’d you get those goods?” Tucker adds, eyeing the paper bag in his hand.

“From the café near campus,” he mumbles. Your favorite café.

Oh.

Oh.

Secret Boyfriend! Brendon Park who stalks through the ED like a shark in bloodied water, ready to bite the first resident who dares slow him down.

Everyone’s on edge the second he steps into a Trauma Bay … except you?

And that’s when Dennis began to notice the subtle tension first.

The girl is rolled into Trauma 1, weakly thrashing on the gurney as her adrenaline and pain meds begin to kick in, chlorine still clinging to her skin.

Robby greets the incoming storm.

“Park.”

Brendon nods back, already pulling on gloves with that familiar, irritated snap.

You look up from the girl on the table for a split second and smirk.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” you say, pushing more meds through the IV. “We were missing you down here.”

Dennis braces for the explosion- the snarl, the bark, the trademark Park the Shark bite.

But instead, Brendon just … rolls his eyes.

“Is this a favourable amputation?” he asks Garcia, voice almost bored.

Park the Shark does not roll his eyes.

Park the Shark does not ask calmly.

Park the Shark does not behave.

Not unless it’s you apparently.

Brendon and Garcia dive into the case, conferring over blood loss, transport time and tissue viability.

But Park keeps glancing your way.

Not checking your work or supervising, just looking.

And every time he does, you’re still wearing that tiny grin, one Dennis has never seen you use on anyone else.

Brendon’s voice cuts through the room. “Antibiotics?”

“Cefazolin and gent.” You answer without missing a beat.

He nods, examining the severed limb, blood still slick on the skin.

“Clean wound, no crush injury, rapid transport time- replantation’s a go. I’ll book an OR, irrigate this with three litres.”

Dennis blinks. “Three litres?”

Brendon snaps. “Of saline, genius.”

There it is, the bite and snarl. Just not at you.

You chuckle involuntarily before raising the side rails of the gurney.

Dennis swears he sees the corner of Park’s mouth twitch before he stalks away.

After irrigating the leg, Dennis helps you wheel the patient toward the OR. Park meets you outside one of the bays, already half‑scrubbed and hair still slicked back with copious amounts of gel.

You tilt your head at him. “Need an extra hand in there? I’m dying to get out of The Pitt’s analog hell.”

He huffs something that’s supposed to resemble a laugh, quiet and private and only meant for you.

“We’re all set here. I should get in there.”

You nod, stepping back slowly.

“I’ll catch you later? If the ED doesn’t swallow me whole by then.”

Dennis is mid‑transfer when he hears it. The soft, unguarded chuckle that slips out of Brendon’s chest.

He whips around. Brendon is smiling, actually smiling.

“I’ll see you later, Princess.”

Princess … He called you Princess. Dennis’ jaw couldn’t be any closer to the floor.

You grin. “Later, McDreamy.”

You hold the elevator door for Dennis, who is still processing the fact that Park the Shark just laughed.

Silence hangs for a moment before Dennis finally speaks.

“I think that was the first and only time I’m ever gonna hear Park the Shark laugh.”

You shrug, trying to play it off but your cheeks are warm.

“… McDreamy?”

You snort. “You’ve never seen Grey’s Anatomy, Huckleberry?”

The elevator dings open before he can ask anything else, and you’re immediately swallowed by the chaos of The Pitt- pulled into another trauma, leaving Dennis standing there with the dawning realisation.

Park the Shark has a soft spot.

And it’s you.