A scrapbook of my obsessions

bet game <-

been sitting eyes wide open behind these four walls, hoping you'd call... it's just a cruel existence / there's no point hoping at all.

the arena lights felt like needles drilling straight into will’s skull long after the final horn sounded. the sharks had lost, the ice settling into a freezing, empty sheet of white, but he hadn't even looked at the scoreboard.

the real damage happened in the dark. back in the concrete corridor of the locker room, the linesmate who started the bet was casually untying his skates, a small, arrogant smirk playing on his lips as he caught will’s eye. “rough night, smitty? guess the quiet girl took the prize money with her when she bolted.”

will didn't think. he didn't even drop his gloves.

the sound of his bare fist connecting with the guy's jaw echoed like a gunshot against the metal stalls. he hit him so hard that the helmet flew off and cracked against the floor, and then will was on top of him, dragging him to the concrete, burying months of his own pathetic cowardice into the guy's face until three trainers physically ripped him away.

by midnight, the grainy cell-phone footage was looping on every hockey gossip account on the internet. “smith involved in post-game locker room brawl,” the notifications buzzed endlessly against will’s thigh, but he didn't care about the suspension or his reputation. he had shoved his way out of the back exit with a heavy coat thrown over his gear, hailed a yellow cab, and told the driver to just go.

now, he was 3 bottles down and four drinks deep under the buzzing neon red sign of a dim downtown bar where nobody would look at his face.

his hands were shaking against the amber glass, the skin across his knuckles torn and dark with dried blood. the physical pain didn't even touch the sickness rotting in his stomach. he kept pulling out his phone, his thumb hovering over the contact name with the little blue heart—the one she had put there three months ago when things were real. babe. belle. baby. every single endearment he had ever whispered to her felt like a sin now.

he stared at the empty stool next to him, drowning in the memory of her voice telling him he had used her trauma as a blueprint to win a dare. he was a kid playing a man's game, completely losing his mind because he had held the world in his hands and traded it away just to keep a room full of boys from chirping him.

"i'm just a fool," he muttered into the rim of his glass, his voice sounding raw, the heavy bass of the bar music rattling his ribs. "fuck."

i'm sitting eyes wide open and i got one thing stuck in my mind / wondering if i dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life...

three miles away, the new penthouse apartment was beautiful. it was located in the most exclusive part of san jose, featuring floor-to-ceiling glass windows that looked out over a glittering, expensive skyline. everything inside smelled like fresh paint, expensive candles, and new beginnings.

you had won. you got out. you packed your boxes, protected your dignity, and left the boy who turned your heart into a locker room joke before he could completely destroy you.

so why did your chest feel like an empty room?

you were sitting on the edge of a velvet couch, wrapped in a silk robe, staring out at the driving rain hitting the glass. the television on the wall was muted, but the screen kept flashing his face anyway. the news loop wouldn't stop showing the clip—will, looking completely fucked, his eyes dark and wild as he was dragged through the arena corridor, his knuckles bleeding.

you looked at his face on the screen and your heart did that familiar devastatingly drop. you didn't know whether to feel relieved that you had escaped a guy who could handle your trust so carelessly, or if you were supposed to be mourning the fact that the only boy you ever truly loved was currently destroying himself because you walked out the door.

you had tried going out earlier. your friends took you to an incredibly beautiful lounge downtown—the kind of place where people go to be seen, where the drinks cost more than your rent used to. but you were just sad in all the nicest places. you stood there under the crystal chandeliers, holding a glass of champagne, completely numb to the laughter around you because every time the door opened, you swear you saw him walking in.

you kept seeing his face on empty faces. some tall guy with dark hair would turn the corner, or someone would laugh with that specific, quiet boyish crinkle around their eyes, and for a split second, your breathing would stop.

but it never was him.

you pulled the sleeves of your robe tight around your arms, leaning your forehead against the cold glass of the window, wondering how a love that felt so incredibly real could turn into something so sickeningly fragile.

the front door buzzer cut through the quiet of the penthouse at 3 am.

your muscles locked. you didn't have to look at the security monitor to know who it was. when you opened the heavy door, will was leaning against the doorframe, smelling of rain, stale tequila, and ice. his jacket was damp, his dark hair was messy, and the purple bruise under his eye looked brutal against his pale skin.

he didn't try to step inside. he just stood there, looking at you like he was drowning and you were the only piece of land left on earth.

"you shouldn't be here, will," you whispered, your voice dropping into that soft, tired register. "look at yourself. you're a mess."

"i know," he breathed, his voice cracking instantly, a hot tear immediately sliding down his cheek and cutting through the dried blood on his cheekbone. he didn't look like a professional athlete; he just looked like a broken boy. "i know i am. i just... i couldn't stay in the dark anymore. i hit him, babe. i hit him because he said your name in that room and i realized i’d rather break every bone in my hands than live another second knowing i let them make a joke out of you."

you closed your eyes, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe, a beautiful, agonizing quiet kind of grief washing over your face.

"that doesn't fix it," you murmured, looking at his split knuckles. "you finally defended my name when there was nothing left to lose. where was that anger when i was standing in that hallway, will? where was that bravery when it actually mattered?"

will took a half-step forward, his hands lifting just an inch, hovering in the empty space between you, trembling and desperate.

"i was a coward," he whispered, the honesty cutting through the alcohol left in his system, leaving his eyes completely exposed and bleeding. "i kept our love in a box because i was too small to show a room full of boys that a woman had completely changed me. i thought i was protecting my pride, but i was just losing the only thing that actually kept me grounded. you were never a scorecard, baby. you were the entire game. you were the only reason i wanted to win."

you looked at him—at the raw truth in his eyes, at the way his shoulders shook under his jacket—and you let out a long, shaky breath that felt like a sob.

"that’s what makes it hurt the worst," you said, your voice dropping into that soft, cadence that made his chest ache. "if you had been a monster, i could just learn to hate you and move on. but you loved me beautifully in the dark, will. you loved me with your whole soul when nobody was looking, and then you went into the light and let them reduce me to a stat. you didn't just break my heart—you made me doubt my own reality. you made me look back at the happiest four months of my life and wonder which seconds were real love and which seconds were just strategy."

will looked down at the floor between you, the silence stretching out, heavy and suffocating.

"i know i don't have the right to ask for anything," he murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, exhausted whisper. "but if i could take the silence out of your head and put it into mine, i would do it in a heartbeat. i'll wait for you. i don't care if it takes years."

"i don't know what to do with that right now," you whispered, slowly pulling the door back, creating a physical barrier between the two of you once again. "go home, will. clean your hands. play your game tomorrow."

"belle, please—"

"goodnight, will."

you shut the door firmly, the click of the deadbolt echoing like a gunshot in the quiet penthouse.

will stayed standing in the dimly lit hallway for a long time, his forehead pressed against the cold wood of your door, listening to the absolute silence on the other side. he finally turned around, walking back out into the road, leaving you alone in your beautiful, expensive view— he on the other hand walked out, empty, drunk and messed up both of you entirely lost in the aftermath of a game that nobody won.

you know you really made me hate myself/ had to stop before i break myself/ should've broke it off to date myself/ you didn't deserve me at all, at all..

the thing about trust is that it takes months, weeks, days and years to build, but only about five seconds to completely turn to ash.

you have always been careful. you grew up watching your mom, your friends get their hearts absolutely obliterated by guys who treated girls like hockey stats, so you built your walls high. you stayed in your own lane, happy and content. but then entered your life, and he spent four months systematically tearing those walls down with a his quiet patience that felt entirely too real to be fake.

it started out small. a casual coffee run. then it turned into actual dinners, late-night drives through san jose with the windows down, and quiet sunday mornings tangled in his bedsheets.

will wasn’t loud or boastful. he was gentle. when he kissed you, his large hands always cradled your jawline like you were something precious. when he held you after making love, his chin resting atop of your head while his chest rose and fell against your back, you genuinely believed you had found the one exception to the rule. you trusted him with everything.

which is exactly why the universe decided to humble you on a random thursday afternoon.

the sharks had a late practice at tech cu arena, and you wanted to surprise him. you had a brown paper bag from his favorite sandwich shop in your hand, a soft, excited smile on your face as you walked down the concrete back hallway toward the player lounge.

the heavy metal door was cracked open just an inch, the muffled sound of rowdy laughter spilling out into the corridor.

you paused, your hand lifting to knock, but the words cutting through the air made your fingers completely freeze.

"so come on, smitty, spill it," a familiar voice laughed, the sound of a hockey stick blade clicking against the floorboards echoing. "the four months are up this week. did you actually get into her pants yet or are you still dragging out that stupid locker room bet?"

your heart stopped and fell a hundred meters deep. it didn't just skip a beat; it dropped straight into the pit of your stomach, leaving a cold, hollow void in your chest.

"leave it alone, man," will’s voice came through the crack, but it wasn't defensive. it sounded tired. heavy. "i told you guys to drop it."

"oh, so you did get into her pants," another teammate chimed in, chuckling. "man, i didn't think you'd actually go through with it when we dared you. she wasn't even your type. you really ran the whole distance just so you wouldn't have to hear us chirp you about backing down from a bet."

you stood there in the freezing hallway, the paper bag wrinkling under your tightening grip. the silence from will’s side was the loudest thing you had ever heard. he didn't yell nor defend your name. he didn't tell them that he loved you like how he held you every night. he just let the words hang there, a silent acknowledgment that your entire relationship—every single kiss, every vulnerable secret you whispered in the dark—was born out of a locker room joke.

and you felt like the biggest, most pathetic loser on the face of the earth.

the tears didn't even fall hot; they felt freezing cold as they leaked out, blurring your vision. you didn't burst through the door to cause a scene. your pride wouldn't let you. instead, you set the takeout bag quietly on the floor by the wall, turned on your heel, and walked out of the rink, leaving before will ever knew you were there.

(timeskip!)

by 6:30 p.m., you were sitting on your living room floor, surrounded by cardboard boxes, your clothes on the floor and your bags. the initial numbness you felt had worn off, replaced by a shaking rage and a agonizing sense of humiliation. you couldn't stay in this apartment, you couldn't be in this city. in his city.

when the front door handle jiggled, your muscles locked.

will walked in, his sharks duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his cheeks a little pink from the rink. "hey, babe, i tried texting you after skate—"

he stopped dead in his tracks. his eyes immediately darted from your pale, tear-stained face to the open boxes on the floor to your clothes messed up and hanging fromone of the boxes, and the blood completely drained from his face. the bag slid off his shoulder, hitting the hardwood with a heavy thud.

"babe?" will whispered, his voice cracking slightly as a sudden, sharp dread hit his chest. "what... what is this? what's going on? why are you packing?"

you didn't look at him at first. you just kept your eyes on the tape gun in your lap, your hands shaking so violently you had to press them flat against your knees.

"how much was it?" you asked. your voice wasn't loud or dramatic. it was small, paper-thin, and completely exhausted. "like, a hundred bucks? fifty? what was my price, will?"

will took a slow, tentative step forward, his hands lifting slightly. "what do you mean? what are you talking about?"

"i was at your practice today," you whispered, finally raising your head. the hollow look in your eyes made him freeze instantly. "i was standing right outside the door, holding a stupid turkey sandwich because i thought you were having a stressful week. and i had to listen to your friends ask if you'd finally gotten into my pants yet. i had to listen to them talk about the four-month deadline. a bet."

the second the words left your mouth, will looked like he had been physically struck by a hockey puck. his jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening in pure horror as the realization crashed over him, completely disappeared by what you said, leaving behind a boy who looked utterly sick to his stomach.

"no," will breathed out, a low, broken sound tearing from his throat as he scrambled forward, dropping heavily to his knees right in front of you on the carpet. he reached out, his large hands frantically trying to grab your wrists, but you pulled yourself back, tucking your arms against your chest.

"baby p-please, listen to me," he begged, his chest heaving under his grey sweatshirt, his voice shaking violently. "yes, it started like that. i was a stupid, my friends wouldn't shut up, and i did it just to get them off my back. i wasn't attracted to you at first because i didn't know you. but swear to god, after the first week, it wasn't about that anymore. it hasn't been about that for months."

"the first week?" you let out a dry, broken sob, shaking your head as you pressed your back against the couch, trying to get as far away from him as possible. "will, you took me to that drive-in movie the first week. i told you about my parents divorcing. i cried on your shoulder because i felt safe with you, and the entire time... you were just checking days off a calendar?"

"no! i wasn't, i swear—"

"did you laugh?" your voice cracked completely, a heavy stream of tears finally spilling over your lashes, making your cheeks burn. "when you went back to the locker room the next morning, did you guys laugh about how easy it was to get the girl to talk to you? did you tell them everything i told you in confidence?"

"i never told them anything!" will shouted, the raw emotion finally ripping out of him as a heavy tear ran down his nose, his face flushing a painful red. he leaned forward, his forehead almost touching the carpet as he cried, his shoulders shaking uncharacteristically. "i fell in love with you! i forgot about the bet after the first month, i didn't tell them to shut up today because i was a coward and i didn't want them knowing how much power you actually have over me. i was stupid. i am so, so stupid."

he looked up, his eyes completely bloodshot, glistening with a desperate, agonizing longing as he reached out again, his fingers just barely brushing the hem of your sweatpants, begging for a single inch of grace.

"please don't leave. smash my windows, scream at me, hate me, do whatever you have to do, but please don't pack your things and leave me. i can't do this without you. i'll go to the media, i'll tell the whole team, i don't care. just don't look at me like that. don't leave me like that."

you looked down at him—at the boy, your love— who had the world at his feet, now completely broken and sobbing on the living room floor.

"i can't even look at you right now without wondering if you're touching me because you want to, or because someone is keeping score," you whispered, your voice dropping into a flat quiet register that cut worse than any scream. "i told you what my ex did to me. i literally looked you in the eyes in this exact room and told you i was terrified of being a joke to someone, that trusting is the equivalent to hurting. and you held my hand, will. you kissed my forehead and told me you would never hurt me. you knew my exact trauma, and you still used it as a blueprint to win a dare."

"i didn't—please, it wasn't a blueprint—"

"good luck with the playoffs, smitty," you murmured, your voice completely devoid of any remaining warmth as you stood up, stepping right past his trembling hands. you grabbed your keys from the kitchen counter, leaving the tape gun and the half-packed boxes right where they lay.

"baby, please! don't walk out that door, please!" he choked out, turning on his knees to watch you walk away, his hands flat against the floor as if he didn't have the strength to stand up and stop you. "i love you! i'll do anything! please don't leave me!"

you didn't say another word. you opened the front door, the heavy click of the deadbolt echoing like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. you didn't look back to see him with his head buried in his hands, his loud, ragged sobs filling the empty space. you just stepped out into the cold san jose night, shutting the door firmly behind you and leaving the boy who loved you—and the lie that started it all—entirely behind in the dark.

( i change the ending since it doesn't really suit the flow of the story hope anon is ok with it 😭 but no ok smitty would never ever do this, but man this pissed me off it reminded me of my ex being an absolute bullshit fucked hooted face motherfucker. bye)

The room doesn’t stop when you do— instead, Jack takes over from where you were standing, and you’re promptly brushed aside as everyone continues to work around you.

Wordlessly, you rip your gown and gloves off, throwing them harshly into the trash before shoving the doors open, disregarding the curious looks at the sight of a doctor storming out of the department.

You don’t stop until you’ve reached the ambulance bay, only then letting out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. 

It had been a simple procedure– a fucking intubation. You had done hundreds of them, only this time something had gone wrong and the patient had been put in jeopardy. All because you had panicked like a damn intern on their first day.

As a senior resident you had more authority than the people that had been in the room with you at the time, and it had been your call. You could admit that you messed up– you should have done better, not made rookie mistakes at such a critical time.

Still, Jack had never pulled rank on you– not like that, and especially not in front of others.

You know it’s silly, being this affected by a simple scolding. Had it been a med-student and you were the one supervising, you would have done the same.

But coming from him?

It stung a lot worse than you thought it would.

The automated doors in the bay slide open, and you can hear the slightly uneven steps, already knowing who it is before turning to face him.

Jack stands a couple feet away, hands crossed over his chest and looking slightly more regretful than when you had last seen him.

Yeah, when he had yelled at you–

Shaking your head to get rid of the bitter thoughts, you clear your throat–  a tense smile etched onto your face.

“I was just getting some air,” you explain, though you doubt he actually cares.

Jack nods, running a hand through his locks before they land on each end of the stethoscope wrapped around his neck.

“Yeah, no– that's fine,” he mutters, and another moment of silence follows.

Your lips part like you’re about to speak, anything to fill the awkward pause that had ensued, but Jack beats you to it.

“Look, I’m sorry for snapping at you in there,” he sighs out, “...I shouldn’t have done that in front of everyone,”

You purse your lips at his apology, still feeling that small fire in the bottom of your stomach from the verbal lashing you had gotten.

…Sorry?

Yeah, he will be.

“It’s really fine, Doctor Abbot,”

Jack’s head jerks up at that, and you force your face to remain passive, despite the urge to smirk growing stronger at his reaction. He exhales, slow and measured, like he’s actively choosing not to react. His hands drop from where they were earlier now settling on his hips instead.

“...I understand if you’re still upset–”

“I’m not upset,” you cut him off, voice bright and the expression on your face seems unbothered– but for some reason, it still feels…

Off.

“Oh. That’s– yeah– uh, that's good. But I mean, if you were–”

“I’m not,” you once again don’t let him finish his sentence.

Jack nods, a flash of what you can identify as irritation crossing his face, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. 

“Good. Great– just…head inside when you’re ready then–”

You instantly straighten up, eyes widening as soon as he says the last word.

“Oh of course, Doctor Abbot. You’re the boss!” you say compliantly, giving him a final smile before heading back into the emergency department.

“No, I didn’t mean–” Jack’s words die on his tongue as he watches your retreating frame making its way back inside the building. “...right away,” he sighs out, rubbing his face as he groans.

He had a bad feeling about this.

1. 

The sound of your melodious laughter echoes in the otherwise calm central station. The sky had fallen, the chairs were manageable, and for once, there were even some empty beds, ready to be occupied if necessary.

Jack had treated himself to some cafeteria coffee instead of his usual cup from the shared breakroom down here, and when he returned, the sight of his residents and fellow attending surrounding the hub greets him.

There, right in the center of attention is you, hands waving frantically as you share a story about god knows what. Just from watching, Jack could tell it must’ve been something dramatic, that stuck in your head. Or not. You had a habit of making things up in the name of a good story.

And a good story it must be, since there isn’t a single pair of eyes aren’t on you. Shen is leaning across the counter, that trademark orange straw in his mouth as he sips on his watered down Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. Parker is sitting in a chair, elbows resting on her knees as she laughs at something you’re saying. At least Crus is pretending to work, standing by the computer and typing one word per minute, listening more than he’s charting, and Nazely…well, she’s just staring at you.

Jack doesn’t think twice of it when he comes to a halt by the rest of the nightcrawlers, pretending to look at some labs on a spare ipad.

Only that it goes completely silent when he does.

Jack glances up from the ipad, his eyebrow quirking up when the noise suddenly disappears– like someone hitting the mute button on a television.

Huh, he thinks to himself– then, he’s distracted by the fact that he grabbed the wrong ipad. Turning around, Jack makes it about ten feet away, before the laughter and storytelling is back.

He stops, turns around and stares towards the direction of the ruckus.

Walking back to the hub, the commotion stops. Jack feels his eye twitch when he watches it happen again– like clockwork— whenever he steps just far enough. 

One step closer– silence.

Three steps back, and the laughter is back in full force. 

Jack just stands there for a second, staring at linoleum floors, wondering if years of PTSD has finally made him lose his mind.

“…The fuck?” he mutters under his breath. Finally, he exhales, shaking his head once. “No,”

He walks back to the hub, picks the ipad up again, even though he doesn’t look at it.

“What are we talking about!” he exclaims forcefully, and watches as five pairs of eyes land on him. Just as Shen is about to say something, you frown, suddenly looking down at your wrist watch.

“Crap, I forgot to run those labs I ordered–” you huff, not sparing him a glance as you walk past him.

Parker stifles a laugh behind a weak cough, and Jack whirls around to glare at her.

“What’s so funny?” he sneers, straightening up as his narrowed gaze flits between his residents.

A hush falls over the area.

“…Sorry man, you’re on your own,” Crus gives him a regretful smile, patting his shoulder before leaving.

“There’s something going on with her,” 

Parker Ellis flinches, nearly dropping her tub of leftover chinese food as she stands by the microwave in the breakroom.

“Holy shit–”

Jack stands in the doorway, arms crossed and gaze unyielding— like he hadn’t just nearly scared the life out of her.

“I mean– you saw that, right?” he scoffs, following Parker as she sets her steaming lunch box onto the table. Pulling out a chair, her face twists up in disbelief when Jack slumps into the seat. Her hands shoot up in exasperation, barely able to hold back the irritation growing at sight her aloof attending.

“Sure, yeah– join me, why don't you?” she mutters under her breath, already pulling out a second chair and sitting down in it.

Jack ignores it, because he has bigger problems at hand. Like why you’re suddenly nowhere to be found, when just a day ago, he couldn’t get you to leave his side.

“She just left as soon as I joined you guys to what– run labs? We don’t run labs!”

Parker thought the mandated thirty-minute break was to rejuvenate them, so that they to would be able to provide the best care they possibly could for the patients– not to help her fifty year old boss figure out why his crush was avoiding him. She sighs, shaking her head as she stabs the single piece of broccoli in her chow mein, blowing at the steaming vegetable, far too hungry and tired to think about what she’s saying. 

“I mean, you did kinda rip her a new one in front of half the staff,”

Jack stills in his chair, before spluttering a flustered breath.

“I’ve scolded you plenty of times too,”

“Uh-huh, yeah, no– not like that. Besides, you know how she gets when it comes to you,” Parker rolls her eyes, wincing as the broccoli burns the roof of her mouth.

Jack's interest piqued at that and suddenly he’s sitting straighter, chest puffing out slightly at the words.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean–” she says while chewing her food. 

“Parker,” Jack warns, and the night-shift resident groans, putting her utensils down.

“She like, idolizes you, Abbot,” Parker begins, holding the older man's gaze while she speaks. 

“...She does?” he asks, his chest swelling with pride and doing a terrible job at hiding it.

Parker resists the urge to roll her eyes once again at how easy men are.

“Mhm,” she confirms, before sighing loudly, shaking her head dramatically. “I just feel bad for her, man,”

“Why?” the attending leans closer, practically falling out of his chair in suspense.

He had to know what you thought of him.

“Well…she did say thought it would be better if she switched to the day shift for a couple of weeks, you know– to not make you feel uncomfortable because you dislike her.”

The words are registered in slow motion, Jack’s ears starting to ring. He’s so dumbfounded by the sudden revelation that he misses the way Parker smirks at his reaction to her words.

Hook, line and sinker.

2.

“Shen, I need you to do something for me,” 

Jack finds him sitting on a rolling chair by the nurses station, loudly slurping the drops of coffee left in the plastic cup. Glancing up from his phone, the younger male grimaces, already planning his escape.

“Uh, actually I forgot about this one thing I need to–” 

“You do this for me and I’ll pretend I didn't see you on ‘flip-flop, instead of charting,” he says, pulling his own phone out as he squints at the screen, pressing some buttons with his index finger.

John gapes, then closes his mouth again– trying to gauge whether he was being messed with or this was actually real life. 

“...Tik-Tok,” he says slowly, as if he’s speaking to a child.

Jack grunts, peering up from his phone momentarily to try and understand the nonsense he was spouting.

“What?” he barks, before going back to his phone.

“It’s called Tik-Tok,”

Jack waves a hand dismissively, not even looking up.

“Yeah, whatever– Kick-Flip. Listen,”

John stares at him, eyebrows furrowing as he whispers to himself in disbelief at his aloofness. Jack was not that old.

“…That’s not even close,”

“Shen,”

John straightens in his chair immediately, shoving his phone into his pocket and finally accepting defeat.

“What do you need,” he sighs.

Jack glances around the nurses’ station, making sure you’re not anywhere nearby, before pushing his phone into John’s hands.

John blinks when he’s met with the Dunkin' Donuts website, orange and pink hues blessing his eyes.

“What is this?” he asks apprehensively– was this some kind of trap? 

Jack sighs, good leg bouncing impatiently.

“What do you mean what is this, it’s that shitty coffee place you like so much,” he retorts sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

John leans back in his seat, giving Jack a head-to-toe scan to see if he can pinpoint any sudden illnesses in his boss. When he’s unable to find anything out of the ordinary, except maybe an extra sour mood, he relaxes.

“You want to order some ‘Dunkies?”

Jack gives him a disappointed look– Dunkin Donuts did not need an even worse nickname. 

“I’m trying to make up for something, alright? I know you know her order, so just do this for me,”

The puppy dog eyes John gives him makes him shiver in discomfort, and has him rubbing his eyes tiredly, waving a hand in defeat. Anything to stop him from looking at him like that.

“...Order something for yourself as well,”

In hindsight, Jack should have known better than to leave his phone, which has his wallet automatically linked already, unattended in John Shen’s hands. 

Because the station was now buzzing with nightshift staff, nurses and doctors alike– every single one of them giving him a “thanks”, paired with a pat on the back as they grab a donut and a coffee– not just regular, but iced ones as well, some with extra shots, some with oat milk, others with various amounts of syrups– from the cart that had magically appeared when not one, but two Postmates drivers walked in through the ambulance bay. 

“Is there no more 'glazed’?” someone calls out, and Jack physically has to bite his tongue. There were at least a dozen boxes of donuts currently residing in the emergency department. 

“We got chocolate ones in the breakroom!” Shen confirms so confidently you’d think he’s calling out codes. Which they should be doing. 

Because it's a hospital.

You return after a brief check on your patients in triage, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Shen spots you before you even have the chance to ask what the hell is going on. He grabs a cup from the cart– your cup, of course.

“I believe this is yours,” he says, holding it out.

The tired smile you were sporting earlier, now turns into something more genuine at the sight of your favorite drink. Your entire face brightens, and Jack makes a mental note to have Shen text him your order before he leaves in the morning. 

After seeing your smile, he doesn’t even remember what he was mad about in the first place. 

3. 

The coffee had done its job in making you feel better, but it wasn’t like you knew Jack had bought it for you– in contrast, Jack had been forced to watch as you gave Shen a hug for, quote: “...Getting me my favorite”.

And for a moment, it was great. You were caffeinated, the patients had been dealt with and everyone had a bed.

Until it was time to chart. The computer was acting up, and the hospital's supposed 24/7 on-call engineer was in fact not working 24/7–  forcing you to use outdated, medieval, inefficient methods. 

Writing them by hand.

You sigh for the nth time, dropping the pen in your hand and flexing it as you try to prevent a cramp from forming. Behind you, footsteps approach, but you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice.

Jack stops beside your chair, glancing down at the mess of handwritten notes, the stack of half-filled charts and the pen you’ve started glaring at.

“Is the computer still not working?”

“I’m about to develop carpal tunnel and will be forced to stop practicing medicine, meaning my student debt will be for nothing,” you mutter dramatically, face scrunching in discomfort as you press into a particularly sore spot on your palm.

He’ll take that as a yes. 

Jack watches the way you bite your lip the next time your digits dig into your palm, before deciding he can’t just stand there.

Pulling up a chair, he sits down beside you, holding his hand out to you.

“Let me see,”

You blink at him, head tilting slightly.

“...What?”

“Your hand,” he responds immediately, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls it into his warm palm. He applies steady pressure along your palm, thumb digging into your tendons.

Your eyes flicker across his face, taking in the way his eyebrows furrow as he concentrates, the way his jaw clenches slightly.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does– it really shouldn’t.

You swallow, forcing your stare away, instead of at him.

His thumb travels over the wide expanse of your palm, each finger straightened by it, before it presses over your wrist. Jack feels your pulse throb under his touch.

Eventually, his fingers slow their motions, before they finally still completely. It still takes a while until Jack lets go of your hand, placing it back in your lap.

“Take a break,” he says, voice deeper than it had been earlier. You look up, eyes locking with his hazel ones.

Wordlessly, you nod, unable to find your voice and disregard his directive.

When you return a couple minutes later, your desk is free of the stack of charts that had earlier been occupying the space.

4. 

By some miracle, you manage to slip away to the roof to watch the sunrise on the horizon. The city is half-asleep beneath you, the proof being in empty streets and lack of on-coming traffic being heard. Looking straight ahead, the first light, a line of orange, breaks through the endless dark blue that had occupied the sky at night.

You rest your hands on the railing, letting the cool metal ground you as you take a deep breath of the fresh air– the first of the new day.

Deciding that you’ve been slacking off enough, you turn back to head into the hospital again and finish the last of your shift.

Though when you turn around, you’re met with the sight of Jack leaning against the wall, eyes already locked in on you.

You halt for a moment, before walking up to him slowly.

“Didn’t hear you come up,” you say quietly, slightly embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable state.

“I haven’t been here that long” he says, though his amused gaze betrays his words. 

You hold back a smile, shaking your head instead. A soft breeze can be felt, tousling your tresses before you firmly tuck some behind your ear. Still, the wind is relentless in its pursuit of messing up your hair.

Jack watches the action, only to finally reach out himself and brush the stray strand out of your face properly.

You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity you’ve ended up in, and you blame the early hour and the pretty sunrise for being the reason you've let your guard down. 

“Parker told me you’re asking to be moved to day-shift?” he says quietly, his hand dropping back to his side. “I just wanted to say that, you know…”

He clears his throat, suddenly feeling incredibly silly for having such a hard time talking to you when you had a sunrise behind you. “If it’s because of me, then–”

His sentence trails off when he hears a soft giggle bubble past your lips.

Not because he forgets what he was saying, but because he hears you laugh– that same, soft melodious laughter he had been denied all night. 

Beautiful, but completely the wrong timing for whatever serious point he was trying to make.

His eyes narrow slightly, flitting across your face warily.

“What?”

You shake your head quickly, still smiling like you’re trying to hide it and failing miserably.

“Jack–”

Jack isn't completely settled, but nonetheless exhales through his nose, already regretting thinking about this moment all night, when your idea of the heart-to-heart you’re about to have clearly wasn’t on par with his. 

“I’m serious,” he says, not listening to you “If you’re switching to day-shift because of–”

You laugh again, interrupting his apology.

“Jack, I’m not switching to days,”

His head lifts so fast you’re afraid he’ll get whiplash. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, recalling what Parker had said in the breakroom just a few hours ago.

You can’t stop the wide smile forming on your face, feeling guilty at the confused look on his face, but so incredibly content that you had pulled it off for an entire shift.

“I’m so sorry, Jack–” you manage to get out through your fit of giggles.

Just then, something clicks in his mind.

The color drains from his face, his eyes widening in disbelief. 

No–no way– Jack refused to believe he had been tricked.

“Oh, oh you’re a sick, twisted person–” he begins, spluttering in bewilderment. “You did all this because I scolded you?”

You let out another laugh– still riding the relief of it all, the ridiculousness of the entire night finally catching up in full force.

“Nuh-uh, not because you scolded me,” you correct, still smiling as you step closer. “You yelled at me, Abbot,”

Jack is stunned.

“...I bought the entire department coffee,”

“Okay, that was on Shen, not me–” you retort, still smiling.

“I wrote all your charts by hand!” he exclaims, crowding you until you’re pressed against the door.

“...That one might be on me,” you admit reluctantly, though you don’t look regretful in the slightest. You smile again, entirely unbothered, even as the door presses lightly into your back and he’s very much in your space now– blocking any way exit, not that you’re concerned with finding one.

“But I didn’t make you do the charts,” you add cheekily.

“I thought you were about to quit,” he huffs, though not actually upset– his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a reaction he doesn’t want to give you.

Despite being happy with the outcome of your plan, you can’t help but feel slightly bad for him.

So just this once, you’ll make it up to him.

Pushing yourself onto your toes, you press a single, gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment just to hear his breath hitch.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” you say quietly against his cheek.

Then, you’re pulling away and giving him a cheeky grin, before finally turning on your heels and walking back into the hospital to finish the last of your shift. 

The door closes behind you, leaving him alone on the roof, and for once, not for a bad reason. 

He presses a hand briefly to the spot on his cheek like he can still feel the aftermath of your lips against it, then he shakes his head, unable to hold back the smile forming on his face.

“Fuck me,” he mutters breathlessly, before finally following you back inside.