Lucky for you, a wedding is exactly the kind of bustling event that can keep your mind occupied with other things.

You can't afford to get distracted by work, or by your latest manuscript, which has been giving you a massive headache these past few days. Nor can you dwell on what will become of you after all this is over. The choice between staying in Austin or moving back to New York has haunted you for the last week, and you were just about to sit down and make a pros and cons list.

But you can’t think about that. You shouldn't, really.

Weddings are fun if you know how to make the most of them. Especially if you aren’t the one getting married. The truth is, after spending weeks tagging along with Yov and Santi here and there, listening to all the wedding prep, you actually considered taking an anxiety pill.

Having a planner helps, it helps a lot. But some things just can't be allowed to slip through your fingers. At the end of the day, the bride and groom have the final say, which means things can get incredibly stressful, incredibly fast. But in the end, it will all be worth it.

Austin, October 8, 2026

I wonder if Mr. Darcy will recognize the smell of home right away. I wonder if I’ll realize just how much I’ve missed it these past few months.

I want to see everyone.

Everyone.

"Oh my gosh, you’re finally here!"

Emma crashed right into you, wrapping her arms around your neck before you could even flash a full smile. Her hair smelled like coconut.

"I'm here," you laughed, hugging her back. "I've missed you so much."

"Me too," she squeezed, tight enough to fuse her ribs with yours. Then, resting her hands on your shoulders, she stepped back just an inch. "You smell amazing!"

"I was literally just thinking the same thing about you!"

Emma laughed.

All around you, people streamed in and out of the airport, hauling heavy suitcases and overstuffed bags. It was a gorgeous day; the sky was clear and bright, the air surprisingly crisp. Nearby, a couple was reuniting with a warm embrace and a few perfectly public appropriate kisses. It was a sweet scene, but not enough to pull your eyes away from your friend's face.

The drive home was quick and fun. Inside Emma’s car, it smelled clean and citrusy, and a Lana Del Rey song was going through the speakers. She had picked up two coffees, one for each of you, and you sipped yours while hearing her repeat you can be the boss, daddy, you can be the boss over and over again, wrinkling her nose every time her sunglasses slid down the bridge.

In the back seat, Mr. Darcy was sitting in his crate, remarkably quiet and relaxed. You could already tell he’d turned into a true New Yorker.

"Darcy is gonna be so happy to be home. Here he can climb up onto the kitchen window sill. I'm sure he misses watching people walk by on the street," you said, and the image of the cat pressed against the glass in the warm sunlight flashed through your mind.

"Mhm, that’s true. In New York people probably looked like tiny little ants, didn't they?"

You smiled. "They did."

Emma’s cheeks bunched up into a soft smile, and she glanced over at you for a second.

"Okay, and what did you miss?"

"Now that I’m actually here? I feel like I missed everything. I didn’t really notice it over there." You looked out the window, the rush of air brushing the strands of your hair against your neck. A deep sigh escaped your chest. "Have you heard anything about Francisco?"

You had managed to keep your simmering curiosity under wraps during your entire stay in New York. You hadn’t asked about him when Emma came to visit a few weeks ago, nor had you brought him up to Santi (or anyone) over the phone.

You mastered that control for months, all through the flight to Austin, and during the first twenty minutes after Emma picked you up. But as the landscape grew closer and more familiar, you simply had to ask.

You turned to look at her almost immediately.

"Frankie?" she asked.

You offered a faint smile. "I doubt I know any other."

"Right, who else?" She rolled her eyes playfully. She paused for a few seconds as the traffic light ahead shifted to red, bringing the car to a smooth stop. "He’s doing good. He's here in Austin, actually."

Your stomach did a complete flip. "Already? When did he get back?"

Emma pursed her lips to the side. "Like, a month ago?"

You raised a single eyebrow. "Really?"

She sighed. "He moved back to Austin last month."

"Emma."

"With Luna and Jamie."

You pressed your back against the seat, watching the scenery flash past the window as a hundred different thoughts raced through your mind. Yet, you didn't let yourself dwell on any of them for too long, only managing to say,

"Well, that makes sense."

"It does," Emma agreed.

"And where are they staying? With Helena?"

"At first, yeah, all three of them. I think Luna and Jamie are still there with her, but Frankie already moved out."

"Oh, he didn't go back to his place?"

She shook her head. "No. He actually put his house on the market and found a spot out in Circle Ranch. The guys helped him move in last week."

Okay. Recalculating.

Recalculating…

"Oh. I… That's… nice. Circle Ranch?"

"Yeah," Emma smiled, glancing over at you with raised eyebrows. "I never pinned Frankie as the type to go for the whole white-picket-fence and a dog kind of vibe."

"Does he have a dog now?"

"No," she laughed. "But it’s that kind of neighborhood, you know?"

You smiled and turned your gaze back to the window.

"Maybe he got used to the Boston suburbs and wanted something similar," you suggested.

"Maybe."

Whatever the reason behind Frankie's move, you felt good about it. You knew his old house was a bit crowded with painful heavy memories that he probably didn't care to relive. You knew he was completely sick of his next door neighbor too, Clint, who always parked right in front of his driveway and blasted his music way too loud. Or the dog from across the street that constantly wandered into his front yard to do its business on the freshly cut grass.

You were genuinely happy for him.

"C'mon, baby, c'mon out."

As you unlatched the little door to Darcy’s crate, you watched his curious eyes take in the surroundings. His tiny nose twitched upward, his eyes narrowing as he sniffed, instantly recognizing his home.

A second later, he stepped out with confidence, raising his tail high in a friendly greeting.

If you had a tail, you’d be doing the exact same thing, because oh, how incredibly happy you were to be back.

You hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed this place until you walked through the front door. Your living room was completely bathed in sunlight, the half-drawn orange curtains cast a warm glow into every corner, and there was a wonderful scent in the air that you definitely had Emma to thank for; she had been looking after the place, keeping it perfectly neat and tidy.

You grabbed your suitcase and rolled it into your bedroom, where your bed was neatly made and the floors practically gleamed as the sunlight hit your feet.

Unzipping it, you began to gradually unpack your things. Emma walked in just a moment later, holding a mug of freshly brewed tea for you and one for herself in the other hand. She set yours down on the nightstand.

"So, what do you wanna do today?" she asked.

You looked up at her, gently biting your tongue without realizing it.

"Well, first things first, I need to go get my car."

"Want me to drive you?"

You scoffed playfully. "Obviously. Is Will home?"

"He gets back at one."

"Oh, okay. Wanna eat something?"

"Yeah," she said, plop down on the edge of the bed. "I’ll order something, and we can just crash on the couch and watch some TV like the good ol' days, baby."

You smiled, your eyes crinkling. "Yes, please. I have missed doing that with you so much."

Emma hummed. "My butt has missed sitting next to yours, too."

You laughed. "Friends? How does that sound?"

She pointed a finger at you. "Yes! And since we are officially in wedding mode, we have to watch season seven."

"Yes!" You raised your eyebrows. "We should watch Monica and Chandler’s wedding and then Phoebe and Mike's!"

"Yeah," she grinned, her eyebrows knitting together playfully. "And let's get ice cream too. Will can wait!"

A wide smile spread across your face, and your chest swelled with warmth.

You were finally home.

Sometimes, getting involved with your brother’s best friend can be the best decision you ever make in your life. You might end up living together in a beautiful house with two gorgeous babies, getting married in one of the highest rated television episodes of the era. You could be, as the kids say these days, couple goals. The total package. The sarcastic funny guy and the girl with a few control issues who (for somewhat obvious reasons) manage to blend and complement each other perfectly. It can be beautiful and lasting and solid.

And in other cases, it can be downright complicated. Because sometimes, getting involved with your brother’s best friend can be a beautiful dream, right up until you find yourself sitting in front of the TV, watching Chandler and Monica’s wedding, and all you want to do is cry.

But you swallow it down. You suppress it because next to you, Emma is shooting you subtle suspicious glances; she knows you far too well not to realize this might be stirring up things buried deep inside your chest. But more than that, you fight it back because you simply don’t want to feel it. Not deeply. Because you know that very soon, at any given moment, you are going to see him again. You don’t know when or where, but you know it’s going to happen. And so, inside your mind, there is a tiny stopwatch with blurred numbers rapidly counting down the time until your eyes meet his once more.

Even the best couples have weak moments.

"Honestly, Chandler’s panic kind of ruins the whole thing," Emma said, lounging next to you with her head resting on your shoulder. "I hate that he doubts it. It ruins everything."

On the screen, Chandler is caught completely off guard by a phone call that refers to him and Monica as Mr. and Mrs. Bing. He makes a whole show of panicking, wanting to run away.

"It’s normal to be scared sometimes," you said.

"I wouldn’t want my fiancé doubting things like that at our wedding. I mean, it would make me question absolutely everything. I hate that choice the writers made. I feel like it’s not Chandler at all."

"Really?" You smiled. "Not Chandler at all?"

"No, why? You don't think so? C'mon."

"No, no, it's just, I mean," you sat up a little straighter, "I get it, but throughout the entire show Chandler has always had insecurity and commitment issues—"

"But we watched all his progress, and it was a long clear arc."

"Yeah but it’s completely normal that even though he's progressed and everything, he still has weak moments from time to time. Especially when it comes to something as huge as a wedding," you laughed.

"Mmh. I dunno. I don't like it. Would you want Santi doubting marrying Yov right before they do it? Would you want your future husband doubting marrying you right before you walk down the aisle?"

"But Chandler didn't doubt marrying Monica; he just got scared, that’s all. He didn't want to run away because he wasn't sure about her; he just panicked about taking such a huge step and didn't know what to do. He watched his parents' relationship fall apart, then went through the whole divorce and everything else. He has a history of commitment issues and the underlying fear that marriage might ruin the good thing he already has with Monica."

"But he literally talked to her just days before about how happy he was to spend the rest of his life with her. It makes no sense."

"It does make sense, Em," you said, looking at her. "You can't completely erase decades of trauma overnight. I mean, he thought their relationship was over after their very first argument until she had to assure him that’s not how things work. The man had avoidant attachment!"

Emma sighed. "I'm still not buying it, sorry."

"I'm sorry, you're telling me you're not buying it? You? The exact same woman who panicked because her boyfriend wanted to spend more time with her and almost considered breaking up with him over it?"

"Will wanted us to move in together!"

"So? All you had to do was tell him no!"

"And I did tell him no," she said, looking at you with a grin. "And we talked it through. I didn't dump him! It's not the same thing."

"I know it's not the same thing, but still, commitment issues are commitment issues."

"Alright, sweetheart, alright."

"You were on the verge of buying a ticket to Yemen at any second."

Laughing, you gave her arm a playful nudge and turned your attention back to the TV.

Time ticked away, minute by minute, as the sunlight shifted across the floor and walls, brushing against every corner until, almost without realizing it, you rested your head against Emma's and closed your eyes.

"I always fall asleep when I'm with you," you teased, buckling your seatbelt in Emma’s passenger seat. "I dunno what it is about you."

"But you needed it, didn't you?"

She started the car engine just as you flashed a smile.

"Maybe."

When you had finally woken up earlier, your mouth was wide open, drooling a little, while Emma was right beside you snoring deeply and completely fast asleep. In your lap, Mr. Darcy had been curled up like a little ball.

It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time you both decided it was time to go get your car. According to Emma, Will would be at his place, and when you told her to let him know the two of you were headed over, she simply said,

"No need, I know he'll be there."

Her relationship updates hadn't changed much since the last time you asked about them two weeks ago. They were still getting along well, really well, and now she had finally admitted to herself that she was in love.

That was an incredibly huge step for Emma, so neither of you was making a big deal out of it. You knew she was secretly ecstatic inside, and probably a little terrified, but she was handling it well. And Will, for his part, was a pretty laid back guy who gave her all the time and space she needed to feel completely comfortable about it.

It was funny and kind of unfair that, despite knowing them for so many years, it had never once crossed your mind that they would make a good match.

Granted, Emma used to be married, but what about before that? She wasn't even seeing her ex when Will entered the picture seven years ago. In fact, they had crossed paths a handful of times, but neither of them had ever shown the slightest interest in the other; or at least, you hadn't noticed.

How could you have missed it? They were absolutely perfect for each other. Emma was somewhat restless, impatient, driven, and occasionally loud, while Will was steady, relaxed, incredibly patient, and had no problem getting loud himself if the occasion called for it.

You were rooting for them.

"Does Santi know you already here?" Emma asked now, steering through a turn.

"Texted him as soon as I got home. We're having dinner tonight with Mom."

Emma smiled. "I saw her yesterday. She looks great, doesn't she?"

You let out a soft laugh. "So great. She's thriving."

"I guess that's what happens after having an european summer."

"A mediterranean one, mind you."

"Is she gonna be at Yov’s party?"

You pursed your lips. "I dunno. I don't think so. She says she doesn’t feel right about it. Apparently she thinks she’d be a mood killer. Yov wants her there anyway."

"A mood killer? It's not like there're gonna be strippers or anything like that, right?"

You laughed. "No."

"Then what's the issue?"

"I dunno. I think she still feels a little awkward participating in all of this."

"She has to be there! I need her to give us the full breakdown on everything that happened in Europe. I'm sure there were some interesting adventures," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I always knew Nora was a cool girl."

"I'm sure Yov will press her about it tonight," you said, turning toward the window. "And if not, I can always force her."

Emma laughed and nodded, completely on board with it.

It wasn't going to be a wild over-the-top party; it was going to be a small gathering at a gorgeous restaurant downtown, followed by drinks at a bar where Yov's friends had booked a private table in the VIP section. It was going to be fun and intimate, nothing crazy or chaotic. Yov didn't feel comfortable with shirtless guys giving lap dances, and she had specifically asked to just spend the night having a good time with her friends and close family.

To her, there was no such thing as a "farewell to freedom" anyway. What was she saying goodbye to? Being single? Well, obviously. But she didn't see much point in looking at it that way, since having Santi in her life didn't actually restrict her from anything. And after marrying him, it wouldn't restrict her either.

There was this archaic idea that once a person gets married, they abandon their freedom entirely; the freedom to hang out with friends whenever they want, to have total independence, and to be able to do this, that, or the other. But Santi and Yov were not that kind of couple. Marriage didn't demand limitations for them, and it was entirely obvious to you that their dynamic would keep right on going exactly the same way. Both were free to do their own thing, go out with friends, or dedicate time to personal matters. The party was symbolic, more than anything.

I mean, sure, they were saying goodbye to being single, but was that really significant? You were positive those two had said goodbye to that years ago.

For Yov, it would be a quiet fun evening tomorrow night. And for Santi, it would be a cookout in the backyard with the guys and a few other friends, followed by a trip to the bar to get drunk and play pool. It was a pre-wedding celebration, plain and simple.

Will’s house appeared ahead of you sooner than expected, and you suddenly realized the drive had gone by surprisingly faster than you'd even noticed.

Everything had been moving at hyper speed since you landed in Austin. The drive home from the airport, the morning spent with Emma on the couch, and now, the twenty minutes from your place to Will’s had felt like barely ten.

It was funny how time flew when you were desperately trying to hold it back. Not for any particular reason, either.

Emma flung the car door open before you could even unbuckle, and the second her feet hit the pavement, she said,

"I can hear music coming from the backyard. Go on ahead, I need to grab a few things from the car."

"Need a hand?"

In the background, the faint sound of an Alice in Chains song drifted over.

"Nah, I’m good." She moved toward the trunk, waving you off.

"Alright."

You walked down the driveway toward the side of the house, where a wide pathway led to the big backyard, and spotted your car right away, tucked under its protective cover beneath the patio roof and parked behind two other cars.

On a table under a window, a portable stereo was blasting music. Layne’s raspy broken voice screamed out lyrics you couldn't quite catch; your attention was already drawn to the car right in front of you, where Will was lying on a mechanic's creeper, working underneath it.

He didn't hear you come in over the music, and his upper body was completely hidden under the chassis. His legs were slightly bent, and seizing the moment, you crept up and gave his foot a gentle kick.

Thump!

You grinned as his whole body jumped in a mini scare.

The creeper shifted; he grabbed the tire with one hand to pull himself forward, the tiny wheels spinning on the concrete.

And just like that, nine months and twelve days later, your eyes locked once again with Francisco Morales'.

You physically felt your smile drop, as if your cheeks had suddenly turned too heavy, and you took a step back while trying, and failing, to tear your eyes away from him.

Frankie scrambled to a sit on the creeper like a startled kid, and braced his palms on the ground behind him. A stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, the rest of it a bit messy, and a pair of thick black rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. They weren't enough to hide the scars on his face.

With a quick push, he stood up.

"I'm sorry," you blurted out, suddenly breathless. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were Will."

He gave a quick nod, wiping his hands on his pants, but didn't say a word.

As your heart threatened to burst right through your ribs and your throat went completely dry, you felt a desperate, intense, aching urge to just... hug him. And at the exact same time, to tell him: you have no idea how much I have to tell you.

Instead, you just stared.

Frankie looked exactly as you remembered, yet at the same time, entirely different. His hair was slightly shorter on the sides, with the top left long and a little unruly. He was wearing a white short-sleeve t-shirt, stained here and there, and black cargo pants.

Looking at him like that, he seemed pretty much the same as the last time you'd seen him. But you could spot the difference in everything else; he seemed taller for some reason, and though his shoulders and arms had always been strong, they looked more toned now. His beard was short, neat and soft, his mustache trimmed. The scars were visible, fully healed now but prominent, leaving a clear trace of his accident, and behind his glasses, his big brown eyes looked tired.

You could have sworn you stared at him for minutes, but it was only a few short seconds.

"I," you crossed your arms, "I just came to pick up my car. If that's okay. Is—is Will around?"

It took Frankie a second to process.

"Uh, Will?"

You offered a faint smile. "Yeah."

"Yeah, right. Yeah," he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, no. He stepped out a moment ago. But he should be right back."

"Oh. Okay."

Behind you, the familiar scuff of Emma's footsteps drew closer until she suddenly froze.

You turned around, trying to pack an entire conversation into a single look, hoping she would decode it.

Just as you expected, your friend was dead in her tracks, holding two boxes in her arms and staring at Frankie like she’d just seen a ghost.

She glanced at you a second later, then right back at him.

"Frankie," she said, flashing a casual but not quite casual smile. "I didn't... I didn't know you were here."

Frankie huffed a soft laugh and gave a half smile. "Will'll be back in a minute."

Emma nodded. "Where'd he go?"

"No idea," he shrugged, turning back toward the car. "But he left a while ago, so he should be back any second."

"Oh, alright."

The second you glanced her way, Emma’s eyebrows shot straight up as she mouthed: I’m so sorry.

You gave a casual shrug that completely masked the panic clawing at your insides, letting out a soft sigh as your eyes drifted across the yard. Toward the back, for instance, where a disassembled bike sat abandoned mid-repair.

"I can move this car out of the way so you can get yours out, if you want?" Frankie asked. He was talking to you; it took you a beat to realize it.

You nodded. "Sure. Thanks."

He gave a quick nod and turned toward the car blocking yours. Will’s car. He reached inside the driver’s side to grab something, then slid into the seat, shut the door, and got the engine running on the second try.

"Here, let me help," you said, turning around and grabbing one of the boxes from Emma, desperate for any kind of distraction.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," she whispered, pushing open the back door to the house. There was no real need to whisper since the roaring engine drowned out anything you two said, but she kept her voice down anyway until you were both safely inside. "I had no idea he'd be here. I mean, I know he hangs out here a lot, but I didn't know he'd be here today of all days."

"It's fine."

"No, I’m so sorry," she insisted, setting her box down on the kitchen counter. "I should have called first."

"No, Em, really," you said, dropping your box next to her. "It's fine. It's totally fine. You know what?" You turned to look at her. "Maybe it’s better this way, right? Unplanned and unexpected." You made a swift ripping motion with your hand. "Like ripping off a band aid. I’ve seen him, he’s seen me, how awkward can it really get? It wasn't even that bad!"

She smiled. "It wasn't?"

"Nope."

"Okay, that's good." She pursed her lips. "So... how are you feeling?"

"Nope. Nope," you said, shaking your head. "Too soon, honey. Not there yet."

Emma let out a soft laugh and pulled you into a tight hug. You took the moment to close your eyes, letting the tension in your chest unravel just a bit.

And outside, after a brief moment, the rumbling engine cut out as a clear sign that your safe haven inside the four walls of Will’s kitchen was officially up. You had to go back out there.

Emma let go of you, clearing her throat before turning toward the door and taking the lead. You gave it a single second before following her out.

The moment you stepped into the yard, your eyes instantly searched for him. Frankie was carefully peeling the protective cover off your car, and your gaze lingered on the back of his neck; on the soft messy strands of hair there, on the soft skin briefly blushed…

A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest.

"I'll get your keys," he called out, disappearing into the house so fast that this time, he was the one who seemed to be running away.

Letting out a sigh, you crossed your arms and walked over to the car Frankie had been working on when you arrived. It was old, you noticed, but not quite as old as yours. This one looked more like a nineties model; glossy black with a leather interior and smooth sleek lines. On the hood, the Mercedes Benz logo caught the light.

"You got yourself a real gem here."

Frankie’s voice made you snap upright. He was standing right behind you, dangling your keys from his fingers.

Emma was still keeping quiet.

"Thanks," you said, offering a small smile.

Frankie extended his hand toward you. Your keys were looped around his index finger; you slid them off, careful not to brush against him.

"I don't actually know much about cars," you added, mostly because the silence felt a little too heavy. "Will helped me with it."

"Yeah, he told me. He and I bought this one together, from the same seller," he said, gesturing toward the Mercedes.

"It's really nice."

"Yeah, though it still needs a bit of work. We’re fixing it up to... you know, sell it or something."

"I like it," you said, nodding. "My dad used to drive something like this when I was little."

His eyebrows shot up, and he replied almost too fast, "He did?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah—uh. It's a great car."

You nervously fiddled with the keys in your hands, dropping your gaze down to his shoes; a pair of black high top Vans.

Beside you, Emma let out a quiet amused sigh.

"I think I should get going," you blurted out, looking over at her only to catch a strange look on her face.

Oh, she was absolutely loving this.

"Yeah, sure," Frankie nodded, stepping aside as if he felt he was blocking your way.

"Can you tell Will I'll drop by later?" Emma asked him.

"Sure."

"Alright."

"Em, you can stay if you want," you told her.

"No, no. I said I'd help you unpack and set things up at your place, didn't I? Let's go," she said, waving you toward the driveway.

Unpacking at your place was a total lie. You were already fully unpacked and the apartment was spotless; she just wanted to be there for you.

"See ya," Emma added, giving Frankie's shoulder a friendly pat before turning around and heading toward the front of the house.

Once she was out of sight, you turned back to him.

"Tell Will I say hi."

He smiled. "I will."

"Thanks," you said, starting to turn toward your car. But you froze and looked back at him one last time.

He stood completely, utterly still.

You had no idea what to say, or why you’d even turned back around in the first place. But the moment you looked at his face and caught that flicker of nervousness in his eyes, you knew he was feeling it too.

"I like your glasses."

Frankie’s lips parted slightly, and a very soft sweet smile crept onto his face.

"Thank you," he replied.

Smiling back and holding in a sigh, you didn't say another word. You turned around, got into your car, and drove away, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

You wished it had been different. You wished your inevitable reunion with him had happened in a controlled environment, surrounded by crowds of people; like Friday's rehearsal dinner or some pre-weekend get together. But as life had already proven to you time and again, you rarely get what you want exactly how you want it.

Forget everything we said a moment ago. All that talk about how time had been moving at a frantic pace since you stepped off the plane, remember? The walk from the airport to your house, your nice nap with Em, the drive from your door to Will’s… Forget it all. Because suddenly, the world seems to have ground to a near halt.

It's moving, and It's moving fast.

You’re driving, and the blocks around you pass at a crawl. No, how silly; you’re the one moving, not the blocks. You drift down the street while Emma sits beside you in silence, and you know it’s not an illusion because the cars passing you vanish ahead in seconds. And also because, after a few minutes, Emma rested her hand on your shoulder and asked,

"You okay?"

You nodded without a word. Well, maybe a soft "hmm" echoed somewhere in your chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding far too guilty. "I know I already told you but I had no idea he was gonna be there."

You nodded again. "He looks so different."

"Yeah."

"Francisco," you glanced at her for a second, "he looks different, doesn't he? Or is it just because I haven't seen him in so long?"

Emma nodded. "No, I think he does look a bit different."

"I mean, I'm not saying he looks bad, he looks…" You tightened your grip on the steering wheel a little with your thumbs. "Different, healthier. Which is so freaking ironic because his face is covered in scars."

"Right."

"Oh God…"

"Hey," Emma squeezed your shoulder, "it's okay."

"He looks so good," you groaned.

Emma laughed. "It's okay."

You turned to look at her, frowning. "Does he wear glasses now?"

"He does."

"It's like he's doing it on purpose just to mess with me!"

"Look what Grian got for me." When Will walked into the yard, he was holding a six pack of beer and a large sealed plastic bag. "Original seat covers, baby, pure leather," he said, stepping closer to drop them onto the table next to the player.

Frankie was sitting in a chair with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on the grass just past the concrete, contemplating his entire existence.

"Hey," Will called out.

Frankie looked up at him.

"Covers and beer," Will said, holding up the six pack.

"That's great. How much for the covers?"

Will frowned, glancing around the yard. The music was off, the creeper wasn't under the Mercedes, and most importantly, your car was gone.

"What happened?" he asked.

"She came to get her car." Frankie pushed himself up from the chair in one quick motion, rubbing the back of his neck. "Her and Emma, who said she’d be by later, by the way."

Will’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh, shit, man. You alright? How that go?"

"Nothing. She just… she just came and went."

"Y'all talk?"

"A little."

"And? What'd y'all talk about?"

"Nothing, really. Just… just her car, and this and that, and nothing else." He swallowed, looking over at the half-repaired Mercedes. "I'm such a fool. I couldn't even act normal."

Will laughed. "What are you talking about? What do you mean?"

"Oh, man," Frankie groaned as he sat back down again, burying his face in both hands and rubbing his eyes. "She looks so beautiful. I felt like I could barely breath."

"Alright," Will crossed his arms, "let it out."

"I mean, look at me," Frankie suddenly pulled his hands away from his face and gestured to his clothes. "I'm a total mess."

"Well, you know, they say girls like that. All covered in grease from work, that whole hot mechanic thing..."

Frankie frowned. "Oh God."

"And with the glasses on and everything, huh?" Will chuckled. "I bet she dug 'em."

Frankie felt his face burn with embarrassment, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole right then and there. He felt like a self-conscious teenager, or at least, his body was reacting like one.

A long time. He’d spent so much time thinking about the next time he’d see you. Late at night when everything was quiet, in the middle of work, while washing dishes or doing laundry. He used to wonder how dramatic it would be, if it would be incredibly awkward or not at all, or if you’d just avoid him altogether. And none of it had been the way he expected.

He knew you hadn't expected to see him either. He'd caught it on your face the second he saw you—as beautiful and sweet as he remembered, but completely caught off guard all the same.

He’d been dying inside with every passing second. The moment you drove away, he felt this overwhelming urge to run right after you; to hold you tight in his arms and cover your face with kisses, to tell you how terribly he’d missed you and that loving you this much was unbearable.

But how completely out of line would that have been, right? When you looked so good, so refreshed, so perfectly fine. Frankie knew he no longer had a place in your life for that kind of confession.

He’d have to be strong. Stronger than he’d ever thought. Because the wedding was drawing close and these weren't gonna be easy days. Between the final preparations, the bachelor parties, the rehearsal dinner, and the ceremony itself, he’d have to find a way to keep his feelings in check and not let a single bit show, since you’d be seeing each other practically around the clock.

He couldn't even let his eyes betray him, because he knew all it took was having you nearby for him to look at you like a fool. Guess that's just what longing does to you.

And Santi knew all about that. He and Yov had talked to Frankie a few days back when the three of them stopped to rest during a long Sunday bike ride. They’d asked how he was doing, how he was prepping for the wedding, and if he was truly alright with all of it; all of this out on the trail, while their calves throbbed and their chests heaved. But the way their voices sounded reminded him of those times the guys used to try and casually check up on his health years ago, trying not to sound too nosy or overly worried.

"You don't need to worry, everything's fine," he’d told them, a bit winded. His neck was flushed and he could feel a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and let out a chuckle. "What do you think is gonna happen?"

Santi scratched his chin, pulling a face. "I know, I know it'll be fine. It’s just, y'know, it can get awkward and all, and we wouldn't want either of you having a rough time."

"We'll be fine," Frankie nodded. "Don't worry. We spent years getting along terribly and managing to co-exist or something like it, and nothing happened—"

"No, no," Yov interrupted, shaking his head and holding up a finger, "that wasn't co-existing."

Frankie rolled his eyes, hiding a bitter smile. "Everything's fine on my end. I’ll be respectful, polite, and anything that comes up can wait until after the wedding. You can count on that."

He didn't even know what he meant by that. "Anything that comes up" could mean absolutely anything; an argument, a casual conversation, anything requiring an ounce of extra attention that might pull the focus away from what really mattered.

Anyway, he’d promised himself to keep his distance and not let a single thing throw off the balance this week needed to have…

Until he saw you again, and a flood of emotions washed over him, soaking him to the bone. And right then, Frankie realized that for the past few months, he’d only allowed himself to feel about twenty percent of what he truly felt for you.

He’d convinced himself that he was okay with all of this; that his feelings, while still strong and very much there, weren't so intense anymore that they'd steal his breath away.

What a fucking lie. He loved you just as intensely as before, maybe even more; or maybe it was just the effect of seeing you after all this time.

You were surprised to see him; he’d noticed that. You hadn't expected it at all, and it definitely wasn't what you wanted. But as he looked at you, pretending to be completely unfazed, he felt this overwhelming urge to share every single piece of his life with you.

He wanted to tell you about his new house, about the big windows and how beautifully the light flooded the living room. About the shelves he’d filled with his vinyl records, and the space that was still left to fill.

Oh, and Mr. Bingley was absolutely out of his mind, completely in love with the new yard. Frankie would let him out for a bit, keeping a close eye on him so the cat wouldn't wander off anywhere. He’d discovered the little guy was actually a total scaredy-cat, which would make Frankie anxious enough to bring him right back inside. He wasn't quite sure how to handle it yet; the neighborhood was quiet and not dangerous at all, but letting the cat roam free in the yard still made him nervous. Who knew, maybe he’d hop the fence and end up in the street, or some dog might give him a scare. He wasn't about to take that chance.

He’d wanted to tell you about his new job, too. Frankie was back to training pilots, but no longer at his old academy. His former boss had done him a big favor by recommending him to the owner of a different academy (one that trained specialized pilots) and Frankie was finding it a whole lot more engaging and enjoyable.

Now he wasn't training arrogant rich guys who had too much money and free time on their hands, treating flying like some "easy" hobby with zero responsibilities (not that it was always the case, but... most of the time). Instead, he was training people who genuinely saw flying as a calling.

They were all young, eager to learn, and had a real respect for the profession. Frankie truly enjoyed teaching and had a great time with them; plus, the pay was damn good. It was exactly what he needed right now after draining a huge chunk of his savings. His house was about to sell, he’d already sold his car, and you could say he was pretty close to having everything sorted out.

He was doing alright.

He’d wanted to tell you all of that. For a brief minute, every single piece of news in his life flooded his mind and he wanted to share it with you, but a second later he reminded himself that it wasn't his place anymore.

It made no sense how completely his chest melted whenever he thought about you now.

"What are you gonna do now?" Will asked then, leaning his hip against the table and tilting his head.

Frankie sighed, pulling his hands away from his face.

"What else? Nothing. Act normal, I guess. Like an adult."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," he got up from his chair and walked over to the Mercedes, opening the driver's side door. "I'm not gonna bother her."

"Ah, I see. The old go-crazy-and-suffer-all-by-your-lonesome routine."

Frankie laughed softly, shaking his head. "I deserve it."

Wednesday, October 9th

You really don't care about Francisco. He barely crosses your mind.

He wasn't on your mind when you woke up this morning, nor when you showered and got ready to open the bookstore. You weren't thinking of him when you brushed blush onto your cheeks, or when you coated your lips in raspberry gloss. And you certainly weren't thinking of him every single time the chimes above the door jingled and you glanced up, checking to see who walked in.

No, you aren't thinking about him at all.

Your morning flew by, peaceful and smooth. It had been a while since you’d spent time at the bookstore, and settling back behind the counter felt incredibly good.

You had missed all of this: helping customers find the exact books they were looking for, listening to their vague, quirky descriptions and the titles they always got completely wrong. You missed the scent of old pages, and the aroma of coffee that drifted through the door every time it opened because at this hour, every café on the block was open and the entire sidewalk smelled of espresso.

It was a quiet, nice morning. A few people dropped in; many left with books, others just browsed for stretches of time, and some simply asked a question before heading out.

In the quiet lulls, you read through the notes Donovan had sent this morning. There were far more than you anticipated, all anchored to comments lining the margins of the document.

In one of them, you read:

His age isn’t clear. He could be anywhere between forty and sixty years old. If I didn't know better, I’d assume he is a man nearing sixty. Keep in mind that the reader doesn’t know what you know, and you cannot gloss over that in the main descriptions. You can weave it into the dialogue or the internal monologue. Your choice. But don't make it obvious.

It wouldn't be so jarring if Donovan didn’t highlight the paragraphs in an intense, vibrant red. Sometimes he used yellow, other times a soft, light blue. If there was an actual system to his color-coding, you had no idea what it was.

At ten o'clock sharp, the chimes above the door rang out once more. Instantly, your eyes snapped toward the entrance, your mind flashing for a fraction of a second with the thought that it might be… him.

But it was Bill who stepped through the door.

Tall and handsome as ever, he wore a crisp smile and his bright prominent green eyes were shining as usual.

The moment you saw him, your eyes widened with joy.

You slipped off your stool to greet him as he walked in, carrying two large brown paper bags and a warm grin.

"Coffee and a slice of cake for my favorite writer!"

Bill set the bags down on the counter and welcomed you with open arms; he smelled of fresh brew and cologne. Your cheek pressed against his warm chest as he held you close for a brief moment.

"You haven't even read anything of mine," you laughed.

His hand brushed up your back. "I don't have to to know it'll be incredible."

"You really have faith in me."

Bill pulled back slightly. "We all do. Julie was thrilled when she found out. She says now she’ll have someone interesting to interview for her school project."

You huffed a laugh and walked back around to the other side of the counter. A customer stepped through the door right at that moment. Good morning, he said. Good morning, you replied. He was an elderly man holding a cane, and he headed straight toward the Hispano-American literature section.

"What are your plans for today?" Bill asked, leaning against the counter. "If you're free, Julie and I would love to have you over for dinner."

"I’d love to," you smiled, "but tonight is Yov’s bachelorette party. And Santi’s bachelorette party, too."

He grinned. "Oh yeah? What d'you have planned?"

"We're grabbing drinks at a bar nearby," you tilted your head. "Yov’s girlfriends made a reservation for dinner too, so, we'll see what happens."

"And Santi?"

"Oh, I dunno. I know they're going out for drinks too, but knowing them, they’ll probably do something else too."

A chuckle caught in his chest. "Will they have to go rescue him from a hotel rooftop in the morning like The Hangover?"

"Mmm," you narrowed your eyes playfully, "I think it'll be more like Into the Wild."

"Campfires and all that, huh."

"Exactly," you nodded. "Knowing them, they'll have a few drinks and then go have fun somewhere out there. Nothing too crazy. Plus, the rest of Yov's family arrives tomorrow so he gotta be fresh."

"Got it," Bill nodded. "And how... how has Austin treated you so far?"

"Austin?"

He tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips that made you suspect his question had several layers.

"Austin is fine," you answered, lifting your chin. "I barely got here yesterday and my eye is already twitching, how about that?"

It was a joke. Your eyes were not twitching at all. Spiritually, maybe.

Bill laughed and reached out with his left hand, grabbing the side of the brown paper bag he had set down moments ago.

"Better not drink this coffee then. It has two shots."

You burst out laughing and snatched the bag from his hands. "Don't you dare!"

You needed that coffee, and you also needed the slice of cake he had so carefully tucked inside the plastic container. But above all, you needed him to stay right there with you and give you his opinion on a few things.

You pulled the coffee cup out and set it on the counter for a moment.

Bill laughed softly, his eyes dropping to your hand, and that’s when you asked:

"You free this Saturday?"

Later

If New York had taught you anything, it was how to dress and do your makeup.

No. Not New York. Alex.

Alex, like so many other wealthy, fashion forward New Yorkers, was a woman who understood style deeply and knew exactly how to tailor it to different people. That was why she had spent a massive chunk of your stay dragging you from one boutique to another, letting you freely indulge in every single one of her perks at beauty salons across the Upper East Side.

She had been incredibly generous. And while you initially thought it was a favor to you, you soon realized it was actually a treat for her. Letting Alex guide and advise your style was exactly what she craved and thoroughly enjoyed, and even Emma had gotten a little taste of her styling expertise when she came to visit a few weeks back.

You weren’t normally one to blow money on clothes and makeup. Truthfully, you liked the things you already owned, they lasted a long time, and you rarely found anything you loved enough to desperately want to buy. But in New York, your credit card began seeing action it had never seen before. And honestly? You liked it.

Now, your closet in Austin was packed with new dresses, skirts, blouses, and a few pairs of boots and shoes. You had flown back with two massive suitcases stuffed to the brim, packed right alongside the heavy uncertainty of whether you were even going to stay here. When in doubt, bring it all.

Right now, Emma stood in front of your bedroom mirror, half dressed. She was in her bra, a dress pulled up only from the waist down, fussing with her underwear beneath the fabric to make sure there were no visible lines.

Even though she was wearing seamless panties, she was convinced that the glare of the light caught the faint outline of the edges.

"I’m telling you, it doesn’t show," you said from the bed.

You had finished getting ready ages ago and were now lounging with Mr. Darcy resting on your stomach. You wore a form-fitting black skirt paired with a black blouse featuring soft, sheer bell sleeves. The neckline was high, grazing your collarbones, and the entire front was dusted with tiny sparkles that subtly caught the light whenever you moved. Your legs were covered in semi-opaque black tights, finished off with boots that hit just three fingers below the knee.

"You sure? What about like this?" Emma turned to the side, arching her back to check her reflection.

"It’s a thong," you said, lifting a hand. "And it’s completely seamless. For heaven's sake, Em, nothing is showing."

"Alright, alright," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "You better be right. What time is your mom picking us up?"

"Seven o'clock."

"And what time is it now?"

You picked up your phone from where it lay beside you on the bed and glanced at the screen.

"Quarter to seven."

She let out a sigh of relief, then finally pulled the dress up over her waist and shoulders, slipping her arms through the sleeves and tugging the zipper up along her ribs.

She looked at her reflection and pursed her lips. You smiled.

Emma looked radiant. Not just beautiful, not just happy; radiant. Everything about her carried a glow that reminded you of the old Emma, the one from before the divorce, before everything had gone down.

She had always been a strong woman, and she had always faced life's hurdles as one. Even as she went through the divorce, you had never once seen her hang her head or crumble the way so many others would have. But she had suffered through bad days and rough patches, and during those times, a very specific light inside her had gone dark.

Between the two of you, Emma had always been the one who had life figured out, or at least the one who always knew how to stay on track.

Since you were little, she knew exactly what she wanted to do and how to achieve it; she graduated early, started working immediately, and married Luca shortly after meeting him. Everything in her life had always been neat and effortless, unfolding exactly how you’d expect the life of a model adult to go.

After the divorce, she barely faltered. That was the thing about Emma; some things just never seemed to shake her. Good or bad, she didn't let much get under her skin. Her peace was sacred.

Until Will came along.

At first, you couldn't quite put your finger on it, this thing that made her nervous in a way you had never seen before. When you were in New York and she would call to give you updates, the anxious flutter in her voice was entirely new. You were absolutely certain she hadn't been that jittery even during the week leading up to her wedding.

There was something about all of this that, for the first time in her entire life, was throwing her off balance. And it only took you a moment to realize why: she was truly in love.

Not in love the way she had been with Luca, or with any other ex… no. Truly, deeply in love. The kind of love that makes you feel like a teenager all over again, the kind that keeps him in your thoughts day and night, making you ache for him while simultaneously filling you with absolute peace.

You knew the feeling all too well. Looking at her right now, you recognized it instantly, because not too long ago, you had been in the exact same place. Head over heels.

Emma was in love.

"You look beautiful."

Hearing your voice, Emma caught your eye in the mirror and smiled.

"Thank you. You look beautiful too," she replied, turning around to face you directly.

You offered a warm smile in return, spreading your fingers across Mr. Darcy’s back. You gave his fur a gentle squeeze, and he immediately began to purr.

"So…" Emma walked over to the bed and drifted down beside you, propping herself up on her elbow. A wave of her perfume reached you instantly. "How's everything?"

You smiled. "How's everything? Everything's good."

"Ah…" She reached out and stroked Darcy, who promptly closed his eyes.

"What about you? How's everything with you?"

"Good." Emma sighed. "You talked to him?"

Your hand went still on Darcy’s back. "With whom?"

"Y'know. Francisco. Frankie. Have you talked to him?"

Your lips parted for a split second, your brows knitting together.

"No. Why?"

"Just asking," she said, pursing her lips. "After what happened yesterday, I dunno, I just thought maybe you guys had talked."

"Oh, no. No… you know how it is. If we’d talked, I would’ve told you by now, don't you think?"

Emma huffed a laugh. "True. You better."

"And what happened yesterday? Was he there when you went over to Will’s later?"

"Yeah, but only for a little bit," she said, her hand running over Darcy’s fur almost absentmindedly. "And he didn't say much."

"Hmm."

"It doesn't…" Emma locked her eyes onto yours. "It doesn't bother you that I hang out with him, right? Because if it does, I can totally—"

"Em, no," you interrupted, shaking your head.

"No, I’m serious. I know it can be weird for your best friend to spend time with your ex."

"It’s weird if you phrase it like that," you laughed. "But you aren't hanging out with Frankie. It’s just that he happens to be your boyfriend's best friend. It’s not your fault."

"It really doesn't bother you?"

You raised your eyebrows. "No, it really doesn't."

"I swear, the first few weeks I gave him the absolute cold shoulder."

You laughed. "Really?"

"Yes, I swear! And he barely even came near me because he knew what I was gonna say to him."

"What were you gonna say?"

"That he’s a fool and an idiot, what else?" She laughed. "Though I think he already knew it, because he always watched his step around me."

"Mhm. You two seem to get along well enough now, though, right?"

At your question, Emma’s smile faltered.

You knew she spent time around Frankie now. Here and there, they would cross paths at gatherings or over at Will’s place. She didn't tell you much, but it was always implicit. Every time Emma mentioned she was at a certain place, you already knew Frankie would likely be there too.

"Not really," she replied.

You smiled. "Em."

"What? I’m serious."

"You don't have to hide it from me. I know Francisco can be nice. And I wouldn't expect you to treat him badly just for my sake. That would make things uncomfortable for everyone."

"I don't treat him badly," she said, lifting a hand, "but we aren't friends either, okay? We just… we talk like normal people."

"Sure."

"Ugh," she groaned, tossing herself backward and covering her eyes with both hands. "I’m a terrible friend."

"That’s not true!"

"Of course it is! I have fraternized with the enemy!"

"Alright, stop it," you said, propping yourself up on your elbow. "Can we please drop this?"

"No!"

"We’re adults," you laughed, pulling Emma’s hand away from her face. "And Francisco isn't the enemy, he’s just my ex boyfriend. I have to coexist with him tomorrow, Em, please. Can we just act like this is normal?"

Emma sighed, narrowing her eyes. "Fine. But let’s be clear: I am gonna act like this is totally normal, but on the inside, I'm gonna enjoy every single second of watching you with Bill there—"

"Oh no, that’s not—"

"And when Frankie sees you with Bill?"

You threw your head back. "Bill is just my friend!"

"Your 'friend' whom you invited to your brother's wedding, where your ex, who was always a little jealous of him, happens to be the best man!"

A loud laugh burst from your throat as your face flushed bright red. "It’s not like that!"

"Yes it is! You smart bitch!"

Emma’s hands dug playfully into your stomach, and the tickling shocked another loud laugh out of you. Poor Mr. Darcy; the little cat bolted off the bed at the sudden noisy outburst.

On the inside, you swore to yourself: it really wasn't like that.

Fortunately for you, five minutes later, the horn of your mom’s rental car honked outside your apartment, and Emma immediately bounded off the bed to throw on her heels, utterly unable to tease you any longer.

Hours later, at night.

Sitting at the long table surrounded by Yov’s friends, you felt at ease.

The restaurant was located right in the heart of downtown, and thanks to Cinthia, the maid of honor, they had managed to book a private table out on the terrace.

Beside Yov sat Emma, who had become really close to her over the last few months. The bond between them had blossomed naturally, fueled by all the time they spent together because of the guys. Watching them laugh together, it was hard to believe they hadn't known each other a lifetime.

"And then," one of Yov’s college friends said, gesturing animatedly with her fork, "she completely forgot where she parked the car and we spent two hours walking to our apartment, drunk as hell. And as soon as we got home, guess what? Her car was parked right there!"

The table erupted into laughter, and Yov buried her face in her hands just as her cheeks flushed pink.

Emma leaned in, nudging her playfully.

"To be fair, that happened to us, too," Emma chimed in with a grin, throwing a knowing look your way. "Remember that? My dad was so mad."

"Oh, yeah," you raised your eyebrows, "but we walked all the way home having forgotten your car was parked right outside the club."

Your mom gasped; "What? When was that, and why am I just finding out now?"

You turned to look at her, sitting to your left.

"It was a lifetime ago!" you replied.

She smiled and shook her head. It made you happy to see her here, laughing, enjoying herself, and sharing this moment with all of you, because the truth was, it had been a very long time since that had happened.

Following your father’s death, your mom’s retreat had been almost absolute. She had rarely returned to the city, and she had never stepped foot in the family home again; a house that didn't even belong to you anymore.

Your relationship with her had fractured deeply because of that, leaving Santi as the one who stayed closest to her. It meant years of brief interactions, arguments over the phone, and her constant attempts to reach out to you, which you always pushed away.

Back then, you were younger. You were grieving one of the people you loved most, and you needed her. But she wasn't there, and for the longest time, you resented her for it.

If you were a mother, you would never do that; leaving the city because you were heartbroken over the loss of the love of your life was understandable, but distancing yourself from your two children was not.

And it wasn't that she had completely vanished, either. No, she had always tried to stay in touch with daily calls, constant texts, and video chats every single night. Until you finally said no more, and began to freeze out any kind of contact.

That lasted for two years. Two years where you cut yourself off from her entirely, reducing your only connection to calls once every few weeks and updates passed down through Santi.

It hadn't been easy at first, but she was entirely honest with you. All of this was difficult for her, and it had been incredibly hard years ago as well. But living together in New York after her trip had been surprisingly fun, and something you had missed desperately.

The two of you spent your days walking, exploring, taking in the city, and spending your nights watching movies, shows, and reading together in the living room.

You reconnected, and it felt so good. You had missed your mom so much, and being with her now felt completely right.

Amid the chatter and jokes, two hours flew by as you finished dinner and dessert. Yov was ecstatic; her friends were all gathered in the same room for the first time in years, and on top of that, her mom and yours were having a wonderful time together.

The atmosphere was incredibly warm and the excitement for the wedding grew with every passing minute; you were starting to feel the rush of emotion building up inside you, too.

You couldn't believe it. This was actually happening. Santi was getting married, and not only that, but his future wife was someone you absolutely loved.

Watching her now, as she laughed with your mom and lifted her glass to her lips, you felt a wave of genuine happiness.

What a beautiful family you had. And what a beautiful family they would have in a couple of years. You could picture it perfectly; just like this, but a little different. With a couple of kids, maybe. Santi wanted two; Yov wanted at least two. And you couldn't wait to have nieces and nephews running around everywhere.

She was an incredible woman, and your brother was lucky to have her. And on the flip side, Santi was a wonderful man, too. You were certain he would make an amazing husband and father, and you couldn't wait to see him step into that new chapter of his life.

"What are you thinking about?"

Emma’s soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. Turning toward her, you met her bright eyes framed by long curling lashes. She gently touched your elbow.

"Nothing," you answered, a gentle smile tracing your lips. "I can't believe they're actually getting married. Time moves so fast. Santi is fully a grown man now."

Emma smiled. "He has been for a while, huh."

He had been for a long time. But you had barely noticed the passage of time, preoccupied with growing up right alongside him.

Everything had just moved so quickly. Only a few years ago, the two of you were inseparable, going everywhere together; you glued to his side like velcro, and him completely fine with bringing you along. It had always been you and him, him and you.

Every time he hung out with his friends, he brought you with him. Everywhere you went with Emma, there he was, simply because he was too curious and liked your company.

Spending these past months in New York had been a completely new experience for you, as you had never gone that long without seeing Santi. It had felt strange not having him around or seeing him for such a stretch, and it made you realize just how accustomed you were to his presence.

You didn't know if all siblings were like that. Probably not. But you and Santi definitely were.

"Your mom is having a great time," Emma whispered, leaning close to your ear.

You smiled instantly. "I know. I wish Dad were here to see it."

Emma squeezed your arm with hers. "I'm sure he is."

"You think so?" you asked, looking at her sideways with a small smile.

"Of course I do. I bet he’s even having a glass of wine somewhere right now."

That made you laugh. You could picture it perfectly: your dad tilting his elbow back to finish his glass of wine, just like he always did whenever he was celebrating and happy.

Somewhere out there, he was watching over you all. You liked to believe that.

"Another round, my treat! Our boy's getting hitched!"

A microsecond after Benny finished speaking, the entire bar roared in celebration, raising their glasses and hands.

Fuckin' opportunistic bastards, Santi thought amused. Everyone here wasn’t just happy for him; they were just thrilled to drink on someone else's dime. Julius, CJ, Baz, Carlos, and even Don had already crowded around, slapping him on the back in congratulation.

Santi laughed, ducking his head a bit, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness from all the attention.

"C'mon Fish, live a little," Will said, stretching his arm across the table to thrust a beer bottle toward Frankie, who was sitting at the far corner.

Santi watched him shake his head.

"Ts, I dunno," Fish replied.

"Not even a single drop?" Ben asked, sounding genuinely offended. "C'mon, celebrate with us. The state of Texas allows a zero-point-zero-eight blood alcohol level, which is..." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, doing the math. "... a drink, a beer!"

Frankie crossed his arms and leaned his head back. "Under what exact circumstances were you researching that?"

Ben scoffed. "You don’t wanna know. But let’s get one thing straight," he added, planting his hand firmly on the table. "I am a responsible driver!"

"Fish," Santi called out, raising his own beer. "We’ll call an Uber. Now celebrate with your friend who's about to tie the knot."

Frankie’s smile turned lopsided, and in that brief moment, Santi noticed how the scar on his cheek stood out just a bit more.

"You guys are a terrible influence. Haven’t you noticed I’m a clean guy now?"

"Oh, c'mon," Will laughed, throwing his head back.

"No, no, it's true," Santi chimed in, nodding. "He really is."

Will raised his eyebrows. "I know he is. What is it, up to one or two cans of beer a day, max?"

"Only if I have to drink. Otherwise, nothin'," Fish said, squaring his shoulders with a hint of pride.

Santi smiled, feeling a pang of pride himself. "I’m proud of you. We all are."

"To Fish!" Benny raised his beer.

Will smiled and imitated his brother. "To Fish."

Frankie scoffed, suddenly shy, and hid his eyes under his glasses.

A second later, Will took a long swig of his beer before slamming the bottle back down on the table.

"Alright, enough with the sappy stuff, you're gonna give me diabetes. If Fish is staying sober, it just means more booze for the rest of us. Call that round already!"

Frankie laughed and looked over at Santi, who held his gaze for a couple of seconds, his eyebrows rising bit by bit.

"Uh?" Santi smirked. "Just one? What do you say?"

A few feet away, Grian was pulling out beer bottles and lining them up on the bar.

Frankie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, a wide grin flash of teeth breaking across his face.

"It's my bachelorette night and my best man can't even clink glasses with me!"

"Alright, alright, alright," Frankie raised both hands in surrender. "Just one. But only 'cause it’s your night and a nice cold beer actually sounds real good right now."

Will slapped Fish on the back, giving him a rough but affectionate nudge, a grin splitting his face.

"And just so we're clear, we're still incredibly proud of you."

Santi smiled as he watched them, taking a sip of his beer. As he swallowed, a heavy sensation settled deep in his chest.

He couldn't quite explain this feeling. He was thrilled about his wedding, and even more so about what it meant for his life with Yov. Yet his smiles felt forced, slipping away the moment none of his friends were looking.

Will was ecstatic, Benny was right there with him (and a bit tipsy), and Fish had just tipped a bottle to his lips, taking a long swig as the corners of his mouth turned upward into a grin. And in that exact moment, the only thing Santi could think about was… someone else.

Terrified that someone might notice the sudden glossiness in his eyes, he pressed the beer to his mouth and finished it in one long gulp.

"Alright, where’s that next round, huh?" he said, bringing the empty bottle down hard on the table. "I’m getting thirsty."

Fish smirked slightly, his gaze drifting over Santi’s face. "You alright?"

Santi let out a huff. "As always."

People always say you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach.

Well, you all took that advice to heart.

Following a delicious dinner and a suggestively named dessert specially crafted for the bride and her guests, the group piled out onto the street, where a stretch limousine was already idling by the curb.

Yov burst out laughing. "Fio, what on earth is this?"

Fiona, one of her best friends, gestured grandly toward the massive car before pulling a white sash out of her bag that read Future Mrs. Garcia in bold lettering.

"What does it look like?" she laughed, stepping closer to loop the sash over Yov’s shoulder. "Nothing but the best for our beautiful bride; you only get married once!"

Emma chuckled. "According to whom?"

"I've been married twice," Cinthia chimed in, raising both hands.

"Well, they do say third time’s a charm," Fiona shot back, clapping a hand over her mouth the exact second the words slipped out.

The sound of your mom’s laughter made you snap your head to the right, and you watched her laugh with flushed cheeks as she walked over to Yov and gently took her by the arm; She was already a bit tipsy. She had finished two glasses of wine during dinner and you knew that was always enough to make your mom giggly, and you loved seeing it.

She was having a wonderful time, just like everyone else.

Fortunately, Fiona’s slip of the tongue was swept away by a wave of giggles as the limousine doors swung open, inviting you into leather seats and neon lighting.

One by one, each one of you piled inside, heels clicking against the pavement before sinking into the comfort of the interior. ABBA was already pulsing through the speakers and a chilled bottle of champagne was waiting in the ice bucket.

Your mom took a seat near Yov, still giggly, while Emma slid in right next to you; her eyes were sparkling as she smoothed down her dress and smiled at you. Cinthia, in front of you, immediately took charge of pouring the drinks, handing out flutes of bubbling champagne as the city lights outside melted into streaks against the tinted windows.

It was a short drive, but when the limousine finally pulled up to the curb, the venue took your breath away.

It wasn't a huge chaotic nightclub, but a really nice luxurious place. Nestled behind a discreet entrance, the lounge exuded… quiet. The lighting was low and calm, casting shadows over velvet booths, dark walnut accents, and a big glowing marble bar that stretched across the main room. Your first thought was oh, this is expensive.

But Cinthia took charge of that. Of everything, really. She had a wildly successful career in PR, and before you had even made it to the restaurant, she had casually mentioned how she always managed to get exactly what she wanted. It was a natural born talent. The restaurant, the limo, the lounge, and even the expensive bottles of champagne waiting for them were all the masterwork of her and Fiona.

A hostess in a tailored suit checked the name and guided your group past the main floor toward a raised, private tier.

"Right this way, ladies. Your table is ready in the VIP lounge," she murmured.

The private area overlooked the rest of the venue, enclosed by elegant brass railings and draped in heavy emerald green curtains. It was the perfect vantage point.

"You really outdid yourself," Yov breathed, taking in the crystal glasses and the dedicated server already waiting for them.

Cinthia just offered a knowing smirk, sinking into the velvet cushions. "Only the best for the bride. Now, what are we drinking?"

Emma squeezed your arm. "Oh my God, no! No! I'm gonna pee myself!"

"Oh no!" your mom shrieked.

You wanted to answer (you really, truly did) but the words wouldn't come because you couldn't even breathe. Your stomach ached from laughing so hard, and Emma wasn't helping; she was standing right in front of you with her legs tightly crossed, this ridiculous, hilarious wheeze escaping her chest.

"Emma, no, go, go!" Cinthia ordered, shooing her away with a wave of her hand. Beside her, Kat, another one of Yov's friends, looked intensely focused, squinting into near blindness as she tried to wipe her glasses with a cloth.

"C'mon, I'll take you," you managed to choke out between giggles, pushing yourself up from your seat and nudging Emma toward the hallway.

"You need me to come with you, sweetie?" your mom asked.

You turned back to look at her and your grin widened; she had a straw clamped between her lips, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Nah, we're good, we'll be right back."

Oh God, your stomach literally hurt from laughing. You couldn't even remember what the first joke was, or whatever it was that had triggered this chain reaction of non stop laughter, but it had been at least ten minutes of tossing one-liners back and forth.

Surprisingly, your mom wasn't helping the situation at all; she was on a roll tonight, spilling anecdotes about Santi; embarrassing stories that would have absolutely mortified him if he were here to listen.

And like any good younger sister, you found them hilarious and were laughing your head off.

"Ask him about the time he tried to impress a girl in middle school by doing a backflip off the diving board," she said minutes ago. "He ended up doing a full horizontal belly flop. The smack was so loud the lifeguard thought a firecracker went off! He had a bright red stomach for a week, my poor boy!"

Yov buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as she let out a loud, snorting laugh.

"I am calling off the wedding," she wheezed, shaking her head.

"No!" your mom shot back, entirely unbothered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I have the photo album to prove it. I'll pass it under the table right before you say 'I do'."

"Oh yeah! I've seen those photos!"

Picture this. A fourteen year old Santi with slightly long curls and naturally flushed cheeks. And underneath his t-shirt, a bright red stomach bruised from a wipeout that made you laugh your head off back then, but also curse on his behalf. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if it hadn't been summer, and if he hadn't done it right in front of every single kid at the pool. The poor guy wore a shirt for an entire week after that, even to get into the water.

It was a simple kind of silly anecdote, but the way your mom told it was hilarious, and it was followed by so many more that your brother’s ears would definitely be burning somewhere right now.

Emma let go of your arm the second you entered the restroom and rushed straight into a stall.

"Your mom is so funny," her voice echoed. "I missed her. Poor Yov!"

Looking in the mirror, you ran your index finger under your eyelashes to fix the mascara that had smudged a bit.

"I know, but she’s one of us now. She has been for a while."

"I love her, I love her—ouch!"

"What's wrong?" you tilted your head to the side.

"Nothing, nothing, I just twisted my stu-pid foot!"

Laughing, you furrowed your brow. "What are you even doing in there?"

Emma let out a low chuckle. "Nothing. These toilets are too damn low."

"Alright. Just be careful in there." You looked down at your purse and opened it to grab your lip gloss, but the glowing screen of your phone caught your attention instead.

Ten missed calls and many… many messages. All from Will. And you would have heard them if you hadn't put your phone on vibrate mode just to enjoy the night better.

Plse answt, one of the messages read.

wwe can't fondsanti

Your heart started beating incredibly fast as you unlocked the phone, your hands turning freezing cold.

You heard the sound of Emma’s toilet flushing just as you pressed call on Will.

"Oh God, much better," she said as she stepped out of the stall, but you couldn't do anything except listen in silence. Emma watched you bring the phone to your ear. "What happened?"

"I don't know," you shrugged both shoulders.

The phone rang once, twice, three times—

"Hey."

"Hey, Will, what happened? I just checked my phone—"

"Santi’s gone."

Oh God, he was slurring his words.

"What you mean he's gone? Gone from where? Isn't he with you?"

Emma’s eyes widened. "Is that Will?"

You nodded and put it on speaker.

"—in the restroom, but Ben went to look for him and he wasn't there, and he's nowhere to be found and—"

"Where are you right now?"

"Here."

"Here where?"

"Will, honey, can you hear me? Where are you guys?" Emma asked.

"In the restroom—at the bar, in the bar restroom."

Your heart jumped into your throat. "And where's Santi?"

"I-I I dunno, he left, or I dunno, he's not here—"

You closed your eyes in frustration. "Listen, is there anyone else there I can talk to?"

"Yeah wait."

On the other end, you could hear music, voices, and a thud that sounded like a door slamming shut. Will muttered a shit, and two seconds later:

"Yeah?"

Francisco.

"Hey, what happened?" you asked, rubbing your hand across your forehead. "Where's Santi?"

"Uh… we… we don't know where he is. We were just hanging out here and he said he had to go to the restroom." Okay, he wasn't slurring his words. "And then after a bit, we realized it had been a really long time, and when Ben went to check, he wasn't in the restroom, or in the bar. He's not here, he left."

"But how? How could he have left without you guys noticing?"

Emma watched you in silence, her eyes wide.

"I dunno, I'm sorry. He must've slipped out through the other side of the bar."

"Shit, Frankie, are you being serious?"

"I'm sorry, we're gonna go look for him right now—"

"Will is drunk, and I assume Benny is too, you aren't gonna get very far," you sighed. "How was Santi acting before he disappeared?"

"A bit wasted too. He started talking about trees and houses, and said Yov was gonna be mad at him."

Emma gasped in shock. Your heart completely skipped a beat.

"Alright, where exactly are you guys right now?" you asked.

"At The Crow. We were planning to head over to Met Park later."

"Okay. Listen to me, stay put, yeah? I'm coming right now. Please don't call anyone else. Have you talked to anyone else?"

You heard Frankie pull the phone away from his ear.

"Did you talk to anyone else? No? You Ben? Alright…" his voice sounded muffled before coming back clear. "No, they haven't talked to anyone else. Neither have I."

"Good. I'm not far, okay?"

"Okay."

Without answering, and before he could say anything else, you cut the call, your hands freezing cold.

"What are we gonna do?" Emma asked. "You don't think he got cold feet about the wedding, right?"

"No, no," you shook your head, though you weren't entirely sure. "No way. Santi would never do that."

Emma rubbed her cheek. "I'm calling an Uber right now. What are you gonna tell the girls?"

"Nothing. They don't need to know. I'll just text mom telling her we're heading home for some silly reason, and that's it."

Your fingers flew across the screen, typing out some absurd excuse. Hey, Em broke her shoe, we're running home real quick to change and we'll be right back, don't worry, we already called the Uber.

You hit send and prayed that your mom's maternal instinct wouldn't kick in tonight of all nights.

You were going to kill Santiago.

If you bit your nails any shorter, you were going to be left with none. And it felt like this damn Uber driver was practically crawling.

"There they are!" Emma said the second you pulled up to the block where the bar was.

Will, Ben, and Frankie were waiting outside on the sidewalk, the three of them looking like scared kids waiting for their moms to pick them up from kindergarten.

You mumbled a quick thank you to the driver and got out as fast as you could, while Emma scrambled out from the other side a bit more clumsily.

Will put both hands on his head as soon as he saw her. "Emmy!"

"Look at you! Grown men!" she snapped, a little tipsy herself. "How could you lose your friend?"

Shaking your head, you looked over at Benny, who was crouching down and looking like he was about to throw up, before shifting your gaze to Frankie; the only sober one, apparently.

He wasn't drunk, but he looked just as panicked. His hair was a bit messy, and he was looking at you with a strange expression.

"What happened?" you asked, crossing your arms as you stepped up to him. "Have you tried calling him?"

Frankie’s eyes flickered across your face. "He left his phone. I have it right here."

"Oh God."

"Don't worry, we're gonna find him," he nodded. "He couldn't have gone very far."

"How? Look at them," you gestured toward Will and Benny. "They're wasted!"

Frankie took another step closer to you. "But I'm not. I've only had a few sips. My car is right across the street."

"Francisco. You're the best man, you were supposed to look out for him," you frowned, a sudden wave of anger hitting you. "How on earth did you let him slip away?"

He frowned back. "How was I supposed to imagine he’d just take off like that? It's Santi we're talking about."

"Yeah, exactly!"

"Alright, alright," Emma stepped in, raising a hand. "Stop wasting time talking and do something, okay? He could be anywhere! Frankie, can you drive?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Zero point zero eight!" Ben yelled.

"Okay. You go with him and search everywhere," she told you, gesturing with her chin, "and I'll take these two drunks back to Will's place."

No, you thought. And your stomach did such a massive flip you almost gasped. But on the outside, you just nodded.

"Alright," you said, catching sight of Frankie moving beside you out of the corner of your eye. "I'll keep texting you. Tell Grian to keep an eye out in case Santi comes back here, and to hold onto him."

"Will do."

You took a step backward and your back collided with something—No, with him.

As you lost your balance, his hands instantly caught your shoulders. He was right behind you.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," he murmured over your shoulder, his hands releasing you immediately. "Let's go."

He started walking toward the curb, stopping right there to wait for you.

Before moving, you looked at Emma with your eyes wide open, only to catch the mischievous glint in her gaze as she pressed her lips together, trying not to smirk.

Bitch.

Well, this felt familiar.

As you crossed the street, you turned back for a moment and saw your best friend on the other side, while you awkwardly approached your brother’s friend’s car. It was a familiar scene, wasn't it?

Unlike that first time in Dallas, Frankie held the door open for you. A gentlemanly gesture that caught you off guard. First, because you didn't recognize the car. It was a different one. Black or dark blue, you couldn't quite tell the color in the darkness of the night. It wasn't any of the cars you had seen at Will’s house, and this one was newer. And second, because it would have been easier for both of you to have just skipped the gesture entirely.

"Thanks." You settled into the leather seat, and he shut the door softly beside you.

During the brief seconds it took him to walk around to the driver's side and get in, you let out a deep sigh. Your eyes scanned the black dashboard and then moved up to the rearview mirror, where a small silver cat keychain and a green pine tree hung, filling the space with the scent of vanilla.

Frankie stepped inside like a gust of air and slammed the door shut.

Alright. Chill. This doesn't have to be weird.

"Where to?" he asked.

You pressed your knees tightly together. "Let's just drive around the block first."

Without a word, he started the engine and pulled the car out of its parking spot, maneuvering smoothly as he kept a cautious eye on the street, while you locked your eyes on him the exact same way.

"Uh," you cleared your throat and looked straight ahead, "he couldn't have gone very far."

"He must be around here somewhere."

"You think he called a cab or something?"

"I have his phone."

"Right," you pursed your lips. "Of course."

You clasped your hands in your lap and laced your fingers together, feeling your palms grow sweaty as you stared out the window, holding back a sigh.

It smelled way too much like him in here. Like his cologne, the fabric softener on his clothes—like him, because he was sitting right next to you, and that made sense, didn't it?

Your heart was beating so fast.

"He seemed a little down today," he noted.

You turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know, earlier," he looked back at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds before turning his eyes back to the street. "I figured he was just nervous about the wedding, so I didn't want to press him with questions."

"You think that could be it? You think he got scared?"

He shook his head. "No, no way. Santi isn't like that."

"I know he's not. But I dunno, it could be possible."

Through the window, the sidewalks and streets passed by with no sign of him.

"What did he mean when he said Yov was gonna be mad?"

Frankie pursed his lips and turned the corner. "I don't know, he wasn't making much sense. He started talking about trees, about how long they live and how big they can grow, and how it had been a really long time since he last visited the park. I asked him about it, but he said nothing. Then he said Yov was gonna be mad if she found out about the house. When I asked him what he meant, he just said it was stupid."

"I can't think of anything," you sighed, rubbing your hand over your neck in frustration. "It doesn't make any sense. Did something happen with his house? What on earth was he talking about?"

"He's drunk, I don't think much of what he said was supposed to make sense."

"But Santi isn't like that, you know him," you looked at him. "When has he ever said something he didn't mean?"

He sighed. "Never, I guess. Maybe tonight he was just in the mood to talk about live oaks."

You froze, watching Frankie’s profile as he looked straight ahead and scanned the sidewalk on his side while driving at a relaxed pace.

"Live oaks?"

"Yeah," he affirmed, looking over at you. "I didn't know he was that into trees."

Oh.

OH.

Your hand shot out to grab his shoulder. "I think I know where he is."

"What?"

"Turn around right here," you pointed with your hand, "now. I know where he is!"

Frankie accelerated to the corner and made a sharp left. "Where? Tell me."

"I'm not completely certain, but I'm almost positive," you brushed a strand of hair out of your face.

He chuckled. "Are you gonna tell me where or not?"

"Osbourne Park."

"Why?"

"When we were kids, we had this eco-week in school and they sent us to plant trees. Santi and I planted a live oak with Dad. We went there a lot after he passed away, and I am—Jesus, I'm almost positive he has to be there. Did he say anything about my dad tonight?"

"Yeah," he raised his eyebrows, "yeah, he did."

A relieved sigh escaped your throat and instantly, the car surged forward as he pressed on the gas.

"Take the next right. It'll get us to the ramp faster," you said, leaning forward in your seat, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of the dashboard.

Without a word, he shifted gears and veered right. The streetlights flashed across his face, throwing shadows over his jawline and making his messy hair look even wilder.

Not the time to be looking at him like this!

"He's gonna be fine," he said quietly, grounding anchor against the worry rising in your chest. "If he’s at the park, he’s just clearing his head. He wouldn't do anything stupid."

"I know, I just hope he's there. Otherwise, I don't know," you murmured, staring out at the blurred shapes of buildings. "I don't have any other idea."

Frankie glanced at you, his expression softening before he turned his focus back to the road. "Easy. He's gonna be okay. And if he's not there, we can keep looking around."

Your heart did another strange, complicated flutter that had nothing to do with Santi. You swallowed hard and kept your eyes glued to the windshield.

The car flew past the exit signs, Frankie maneuvering through the light night traffic. He kept his foot steady on the accelerator, making the drive feel much shorter than it actually was. And within short minutes, the neon signs of the downtown bars faded away, replaced by the dark, towering silhouettes of the trees surrounding Osbourne Park.

He took the final turn into the park's entrance; the headlights cut through the heavy darkness of the empty parking lot, sweeping over the grass.

You popped the door open and scrambled out of the car as the heavy darkness of the park was broken only by the scattered park lights cutting through the night, and hovered by the car for two seconds, waiting as Frankie got out from his side and shut his door with a thud.

The moment you saw he was ready, you started moving into the park, your eyes darting everywhere, scanning every shadow. Then, you locked your gaze just to the right, past the paved, illuminated path that led toward the thicker wooded area where the tallest trees stood, and among them, the live oak.

Your pace quickened. As you got closer, cutting through the deep shadows, you managed to make out a familiar shape.

"There he is," you said, drown in anger and relief.

You broke into a fast walk, nearly a jog, while your heart hammered against your ribs as you felt Frankie’s footsteps keeping close right behind you.

As you got closer, you could make him out better. Santi wasn't on the grass; he was sitting on a park bench right in front of the little green space where the tree stood tall and still young among others.

Your footsteps naturally lost their urgency, your pace tapering off as you approached him from behind. He was half hunched over, elbows resting on his knees with his head hanging down. His curls caught the bright glare of the overhead LED light, making them glint in the dark.

You stopped. "Santi?"

He jumped a little at the sound of your voice, straightened up at a relaxed pace, and turned his head just enough to look at you, his eyes unfocused.

"Bub? What are you doing here?"

His voice sounded completely congested and undeniably drunk.

"Frank," Santi smiled, "what are you two doing here?"

You let out a tired sigh and stepped closer to him. "I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I? What are you doing here?"

Up close, he looked like a little kid. You could see his glassy, tear filled eyes, the soft curls falling over his forehead, and the utterly defeated look that took over every single feature of his face as he stared at you in pain.

Santi hung his head again.

"I'm sorry. It's just..." He swallowed hard. "I need time."

His voice was so low you had to furrow your brow. "What?"

He shook his head.

Confused, you glanced over at Frankie, who was keeping a short distance back. He was absolutely quiet.

"Our house is for sale," Santi said. "Our house."

You shifted to his side and sat down right next to him. Tilting your head to see him better, your chest tightened.

"Our house?"

"Our house," he looked at you, and right then, it clicked.

Santi wasn't talking about his house. He was talking about your childhood home.

"I drove past it the other day. I always do. It’s on my way to work, or… not really, I'm lying. I just like driving past it, I guess," he continued. "You remember the family that bought it? With those three little kids?"

"Yeah."

"They don't live there anymore. It's empty now, and there's this big sign outside with a realtor's face on it," he let out a humorless laugh.

You forced a smile even though your cheeks felt heavy, and you reached your hand out to his arm.

Instantly, Santi placed his hand over yours.

"I want it back, bub," his voice cracked. "It’s our house. How could we just let it belong to someone else?"

"You know how things were back then. It wasn't easy for mom—"

"Dad lived there. We grew up there. And she… she just got rid of it because it hurt? What about us? What about you, what about me?" he spat out painfully, the words hitting you straight in the chest.

You swallowed hard. "I know."

Santi’s face contorted with agony, and a sob broke through his lips. And as if he were terrified of you seeing him like this, he covered his face, burying his head in his hands, trying to hide in the shadow of his own body.

"Santi," was all you could manage to say as you threw your arm around his back, resting your head against his shoulder while thick tears began to pool in your eyes.

He let out a ragged breath and abruptly straightened up, making you shift away from him.

"I made an offer," he said.

"For the house?"

He nodded, looking at you with pure fear in his eyes. "I did. And Yov doesn't know."

"How… how? With what money—I'm sorry, but—"

"Our savings, and I'm planning to take out a loan—"

"Santi, wait," you shook your head gently, "you have to talk to her before you do anything like this."

"I know."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I don't know," he shook his head, in pain. "She loves our current house. If she found out I wanted to sell it—I don't wanna disappoint her." A gasp broke through his words. "I'm gonna be a husband."

You smiled involuntarily at the realization. "Yeah, you will."

Santi sat completely still, barely moving, his eyes bloodshot as he stared down at his own hands, his body swaying in an almost imperceptible rhythm.

"I'm gonna be a husband," he repeated, barely a scared whisper. "And a dad, someday."

"I am absolutely certain you'll be a great husband and dad."

His head snapped toward you, his eyes instantly flooding with glassy tears.

"You will," you reaffirmed, squeezing his hand. "I know you will."

He nodded at a very quiet, subdued pace. "I need him, bub."

A beat.

You nodded. "I know. I need him too."

"How can I ever be like him? How can I ask him what to do or how to do it if he's not here? He should be here," his words took on an angry edge right at the end. "On my wedding day."

"I honestly don't know," you murmured, your voice catching as you squeezed his hand tighter. "I ask myself the exact same thing every single day. But I know I have you, and you have me. And you can always, absolutely always count on me, for whatever, whenever. And I'm sure he's so proud of you."

Santi offered a faint, fleeting smile, his eyes searching yours. "I'm gonna miss you when you leave again. Nothing is the same without you sticking your nose into all of my business."

You let out a soft laugh, blinking back a new wave of tears. "You're gonna be way too busy starting your own family. You'll barely even notice I'm gone."

His smile faltered, a deep, raw sadness washing over his features. "How could you say something like that? You're part of my family too. I've missed you so much these past few months, you know that? First Mom, and then you," he said, his voice cracking slightly as a weak smile returned to his face. "Why is everyone so obsessed with leaving this place, huh?"

He turned his head around, his gaze shifting toward Frankie, who was still standing a short distance behind you both, keeping his respectful space.

Frankie offered a quiet smile, his eyes on Santi. "Hey, I came back, didn't I?"

Santi let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, you did."

Then, he turned back around to face the dark park, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He hung his head, dragging both of his hands over his face and up through his tangled curls, holding them there for a second.

When he finally lifted his eyes, he locked his gaze onto the live oak tree, staring at it in total silence for a long moment, as if soaking in the memory of your dad one last time tonight.

Finally, he spoke, his voice completely drained. "I wanna go to sleep."

You nodded silently, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak.

"Alright, let's go," you whispered.

Carefully, you pushed yourself up from the bench and reached out, pulling on his arm to help him stand. His weight shifted unsteadily, but right at that moment, Frankie was there. He stepped in instantly, his strong grip catching Santi by the arm, anchoring him and helping him keep his balance on his shaky, alcohol heavy legs.

In complete silence, the three of you made your way back across the grass toward the car. The only sound was the rustle of the night breeze through the leaves and the quiet scuff of your shoes. And when you reached the vehicle, you quickly pulled the back door open as Frankie guided Santi inside, carefully maneuvering him so he could settle into the backseat.

The second his head hit the leather, it was over. In less than two seconds, Santiago was completely out, his eyes shut tight as his breathing immediately slowed into a deep sleep.

Frankie drove in silence down the side street by the park, careful with every bump and easing through the road so the car’s movement wouldn't wake Santi. In the backseat, he was completely twisted and bent out of shape, yet fast asleep.

Less than a minute passed after you left the park area behind before a sigh finally escaped your throat.

Your phone lay in your lap, its screen dark ever since you read Emma’s last message a few moments ago. She was already at Will’s place with the guys, and apparently, Benny had crashed on the couch the second they walked through the door.

Frankie pulled up to a red light.

"You can take us to my place if you want, I’ll stay with him," you said, not looking at him.

He clicked his tongue. "Nah, it's fine. I’ve got him. Yov’s party is still going, you shouldn't miss it. I’ll take him to Will’s and crash with the guys. You and Emma can head out."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he turned to look at you, "gotta fulfill my duties as bestman."

A helpless smile slowly formed on your lips as you looked at him, and his own lips mirrored the gesture a second later. His eyes held yours like a magnet, and your stupid heart skipped a beat again.

"So, uh, New York," he tossed out, breaking eye contact as he looked back at the road. "What did you think?"

You lowered your head, fixing your gaze on your hands in your lap.

"It's nice. It's a great city," you looked back at him, but his eyes were still fixed ahead. "And I… I’ve been writing a lot."

Frankie glanced at you again. "Yeah?"

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.

"Yeah. A book, actually."

"That's amazing," he smiled, "what's it about?"

"Uh, well, it's kind of a love story. It's mostly about Miles, and his relationship with Alya. They meet one night at a restaurant and lose touch for a year until they cross paths again, but Miles is this guy with a huge amount of baggage and things to work through," you waved your hands, showing just how huge Miles's problems really were. "And it's… it's a complicated story."

Frankie gave a half-smile, nodding slowly. "Does it have a happy ending?"

You pursed your lips and tilted your head. "I'm not telling you."

"Why? C'mon."

The traffic light turned yellow, and two seconds later, green.

"It has a happy ending, doesn't it?" he pressed, his eyes drifting back to the road as the car started moving again.

You huffed. "You really want me to spoil it for you?"

"Depends. How long do I have to wait to read it?"

"I haven't even finished writing it yet, so probably a while."

Frankie let out a soft laugh. "Alright. I'll wait."

Or maybe you could show him a few pages, you thought. Just a few, just to get his opinion.

It was just a thought. You didn't even know why you were so desperate to show him all of it.

"Emma told me you moved to a new place?" you said, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

He nodded. "Yeah. Over at Circle Ranch."

"Yeah? It's a nice area."

"It is, it really is," he glanced at you for a split second. "Bingley likes it."

You smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah. We have a big backyard now, lots of grass and a few trees. He loves it, but it freaks me out a little, y'know," he shook his head with a smile. "The other day he climbed up one of the trees and I spent half an hour trying to get him down."

"He probably would've come down on his own. Cats really like being up in high places."

"I know. But what if a dog gets him or something?"

You tilted your head. "Are there any dogs nearby? I mean, from your neighbors or...?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

"Then?"

Frankie laughed. "I don't know. I guess I just don't want anything happening to him."

"Mhm. Cats are really smart. Bingley is really smart," you assured him. "And if your yard is safe, you shouldn't worry too much as long as he stays inside it. Just make sure he doesn't escape."

"Yeah, I bought him a collar with a tracker."

You laughed softly. "That's cool. I should get Darcy one of those. You really are a protective cat dad, uh."

"Well, obviously," he smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. "He’s my roommate. If he goes missing, I gotta do my own dishes."

"Fair point," you smiled, looking out the window for a moment. "I'm glad Bingley is enjoying his new backyard. Sounds like he has his own little kingdom now."

"He definitely thinks he owns the place," Frankie chuckled, slowing down as you approached a quiet intersection. The playful tone in his voice softened, turning into something softer as he glanced over at you. "What about you? Are you staying at your apartment?"

"Yeah. It feels good to be back home. Even Darcy is enjoying it."

Frankie nodded, keeping his hands steady on the wheel. He went quiet for a moment as the car moved down the dark street.

Then, his voice dropped. "So... Uh, are you, are you going back to New York?"

A sudden hollow feeling carved itself deep into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away out the passenger window as the city lights blurred past. In your lap, you tightly laced your fingers together, squeezing your hands to ground yourself.

"I guess. I don't know yet."

You turned your head back to look at him just as the car approached another intersection. The traffic light flicked to a glowing red.

Frankie came to a stop and turned his head.

In the sudden stillness of the car, bathed in the soft crimson glow of the light, his eyes met yours. There was no teasing left in them, no easy deflection; just a brief searching intensity that seemed to pull the air right out of your lungs for a second.

He looked at you as if he were trying to read between the lines of your hesitation, his eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours. "You like it there?"

Your heart squeezed.

Yes, you thought, but it doesn't feel like home.

Instead of saying it out loud, you looked away, answering softly, "I guess I do."

You turned your eyes back to him. Frankie was still looking at you, wearing a small encouraging smile. But you couldn't mirror it. There was something heavy sitting deep in your chest that anchored your lips in place.

Frankie noticed. "When Harry met Sally, uh?"

That pulled a small laugh from you. You shook your head.

Seeing your reaction, Frankie shook his head too, a chuckle escaping him as he quickly backpedaled. "No, no. They met in Chicago. Forget I said that."

You leaned your elbow against the car door, resting your face in your hand as you turned to look out the passenger window. The lingering smile stayed on your lips for a few seconds as the car moved forward, but it slowly began to fade, melting away into the quiet streets.

Beside you, Frankie just drove. He didn't push for more conversation or try to fill the space with words. He simply let the silence settle between you, steering through the night as the landscape outside started to blur into something increasingly familiar.

Will’s house wasn't far now. Just a few more blocks, a couple of turns, and this ride would be over.

And right then, a sudden ache hit you: you didn't want it to end.

The realization washed over you quietly, almost catching you off guard, of just how desperately you had missed this. Just being near him, sharing the same space, even wrapped in these sometime-uncomfortable silences.

You watched the streetlights sweep across the dashboard in waves, wishing the car would slow down, wishing the blocks would stretch out, just to keep the outside world away for a little longer.

But no matter how much you wished you could control time, sometimes wanting to speed it up, other times desperate to slow it down, the reality was that it just kept moving.

And while your heart hammered against your ribs like an untamed creature, craving more of him, Will’s house suddenly appeared ahead.

Frankie pulled the car into the driveway, bringing the ride to a final stop.

A beat later, he let out a quiet sigh and unbuckled his seatbelt, the click signaling the end of the line. The headlights caught the front window of Will’s house.

Your eyes drifted to him then. He glanced at Santi, still dead to the world in the back, before turning his face to yours.

"Frankie," you breathed, and the name felt forbidden on your tongue.

He didn't speak, but the slight tension in his brow gave him away. His hands remained clamped at the top of the steering wheel.

"I'm so sorry for everything that happened to you," you said, knowing this probably wasn't the right time or the right place, but utterly unable to hold it in any longer. "About Henry, and... and everything that came after."

The silence stretched.

Frankie swallowed, giving a single nod. "Thank you."

"And it makes me real happy that you're doing better now."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes stayed entirely dark. His gaze drifted down, anchoring somewhere between the two of you, as if measuring the distance that had grown since you left.

His hand twitched on the wheel, a microscopic movement toward you that he stopped just in time.

"Thank you."

You nodded.

Frankie seemed to hesitate. "And I... I'm so sorry," he murmured, his brown eyes lifting back to yours. "For hurting you and… and letting you down. You didn't deserve what I did to you."

You didn't offer an easy reassurance. You just let out a slow nod.

"And I'm really happy you're doing what you love," he added, his voice flattening out as he forced a smile. It was a tight, fragile thing. "I have no doubt everyone is gonna love your book."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Thank you."

Frankie’s smile faltered, dropping for a fraction of a second before he held it back up.

"And New York..." He trailed off, his gaze slipping from yours to look down at his own lap.

In that brief second of detachment, your eyes scanned his face with a desperate quiet hunger, memorizing him all over again. You traced the familiar slope of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth, the tiny lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago, the new marks on his face. You searched every single feature, hunting for a crack in his armor, looking for a hidden twitch, a shadow of hesitation, anything that said stay.

But Frankie just gave a soft shake of his head, looking back up. His expression was clear and almost painfully serene.

"I'm sure New York loves you too," he said softly. "It’s a big city, but it fits you. You’re gonna do amazing things there."

A cold ache settled deep into your stomach.

Was this encouragement? Was this a gentle nudge out the door? Was he clearing the path for you, sweeping away the debris?

A sudden winter seemed to settle inside the small cabin of the car. You forced a nod, your eyes drifting back to the dashboard where the green light of the clock kept ticking forward.

"Yeah," you breathed. "Thank you, Frankie."

He unclasped his hands from the steering wheel, the leather letting out a soft stick and release sound that felt incredibly loud. And the space between your seats suddenly felt like an ocean.

You looked straight ahead and unbuckled your seatbelt, the snap breaking the trance. "We should probably get Santi inside."

Without waiting for a response, you pushed the car door open and stepped out, your lungs begging for air.

You took a deep grounding breath of the cool night wind as you walked toward the front porch. Pressing the doorbell, you could hear the heavy thud of Frankie’s door closing behind you.

Emma opened the door almost instantly.

"Hey," she whispered, stepping outside and crossing her arms against the chill. "Will and Benny are already passed out. What happened? How's Santi?"

"Nothing," you said, turning back toward the car where Frankie was gently shaking Santi’s shoulder. "Santi was just at the park. Everything's fine."

Emma nodded, watching as Frankie carefully hauled a groaning Santi out of the backseat. You stepped in, grabbing your brother's other arm to stabilize him.

"Careful," you murmured.

Santi blinked heavily, a goofy smile spreading across his face as he looked at you.

"I'm careful," he slurred.

The three of you shuffled toward the porch in an awkward synchronized stumble, Frankie carrying most of Santi's dead weight while you guided his steps. Emma stepped aside, holding the front door wide open to let the makeshift rescue team pass.

"Will and Ben are in the living room," Emma guided quietly, shutting the door behind you. "You can take him straight to the bedroom."

"Alright, keep your feet steady, man," Frankie muttered to Santi, adjusting his grip around his torso.

Santi let out a low grunt, his sneakers dragging lazily against the hardwood floor.

"Why didn't you tell her?" he mumbled into the space between them.

You frowned, staring at your brother. Just then, Santi rolled his head back to look at you, his eyes unfocused but teasing. "He didn't... he didn't."

Frankie didn't acknowledge it, his face a mask of focus as they reached the open bedroom door. He placed a firm hand on Santi’s back, guiding him over the threshold.

"C'mon. Bedtime."

Santi paused for a second in the middle of the room, clumsily tugging at the zipper of his jacket.

"It's too fucking hot in here," he muttered.

A soft chuckle escaped Frankie’s lips. You watched them from the doorway, leaning against the frame with your arms crossed, forcing a faint hollow smile that didn't reach your eyes.

"Hey."

Turning around, you found Emma standing a few feet away in the dimly lit hallway. You stepped out of the room, giving Frankie and Santi some space.

"What's the plan?" she asked softly.

"We're heading back to Yov's," you replied. "Frankie's staying with the guys."

Emma searched your face, her eyes lingering a bit too long. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

You slipped back into the bedroom. Santi was already sprawled out on the mattress, his jacket and shoes discarded on the floor, while Frankie pulled a thick blanket up to his chest.

"All good?" you asked quietly.

Frankie nodded, looking down at him. "Look at him. Like a baby."

You swallowed the tightness in your throat and walked out toward the living room. Emma was already on one of the armchairs. Across from her, Will and Benny were sound asleep on the couches, buried under a messy pile of blankets and breathing heavily.

"I'll call an Uber," you said, pulling out your phone.

Emma nodded. "Your mom texted me, by the way. Asked how long we were going to be. I told her we got held up because you had a stomach ache."

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Right. Did she buy it?"

"Seems like it," Emma said, shrugging her shoulders.

You nodded, your fingers moving quickly across the screen to confirm the Uber ride, while the soft snores of the Millers drifted from the couches. Emma watched you in silence for a beat.

"I’m completely sober now," Emma noted quietly.

You offered a tight smile. "Me too. The scare Santi gave me cleared the alcohol right outta my system."

On your screen, a driver accepted the ride, the map showing he was only two minutes away.

"I’ll text mom to let her know we’re on our way," you said, just as Frankie walked back into the living room.

"Santi's already snoring," he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "I don't think he’ll wake up until noon tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, neither will these two," Emma whispered, gesturing with her chin toward Will and Ben. "How much did they even drink? Weren't you supposed to have other plans after the bar?"

Frankie shook his head. "I lost count. Benny got a little too excited ordering rounds."

"You gotta work tomorrow?" Emma asked.

Frankie shook his head slightly. "Yeah, but not until after ten."

In the heavy silence that followed, you listened to their casual back and forth, the ordinary words mapping out a life you were no longer part of. You bit the inside of your cheek, keeping your eyes glued to the glowing screen of your phone.

"Are you too busy tomorrow?" Emma asked, leaning back against the cushions.

Frankie shook his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Nah, not really."

You let out a quiet sigh. Shifting your weight, you stepped away from the living room without a word, slipping back into the dim hallway toward the room where Santi was sleeping.

As you walked, you caught a movement from the corner of your eye. You glanced back and saw Frankie watching you from the living room, his dark eyes tracking your retreat. You met his gaze for barely a second before turning your head away, focusing entirely on your brother.

It's fine, you thought. What did you really expect?

You had known that coming back to Austin meant facing Frankie, and facing Frankie meant clearing up a few things. But you couldn't pretend that the world had been on pause all this time. You couldn't expect him to show more than he already had. Because no matter how many feelings you still harbored for him, or how many he kept for you, if he even had any left; time had kept moving. And maybe... maybe this was just it. The end of the line.

The phone vibrated in your hand. The Uber was outside: Eric, dark grey Toyota Camry.

Casting one last look at Santi, you stepped closer to the bed and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He barely stirred, completely and deeply asleep.

By the time you reached the living room, Emma was already standing by the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. "Ready, babe?"

You nodded, tightly crossing your arms against your chest.

You couldn't bring yourself to look directly at Frankie, but you could feel his gaze burning into your profile; he was standing just to your left.

"Okay," Emma murmured, twisting the doorknob and pulling the front door open.

You stepped out first, your feet moving automatically as if you suddenly couldn't bear to be in his vicinity for a single second longer.

The night air hit your face like a splash of cold water, but it wasn't enough to clear the suffocating feeling in your chest.

"Tell Yov I say hi," Frankie’s voice drifted from inside.

Only when Emma stepped out onto the porch beside you did you finally turn your head to look at him. Frankie’s eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, but you didn't say anything; you just offered a small fleeting smile, turning on your heel before it could fade.

Walking down the driveway toward the car waiting by the curb, you didn't look back. Not before getting into the car, not after the door clicked shut, and definitely not through the window as the engine revved and the house began to recede into the darkness.

The only thing you knew for certain was that you desperately needed a glass or two of that champagne. Or maybe something a lot stronger.

"Hey," Emma’s voice broke through the quiet, her fingers touching your forearm. "What’s wrong? Did something happen?"

You shook your head, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, but your body betrayed you completely. Your eyes burned, blurring with hot tears, and your mouth trembled, puckering into a soft painful grimace.

"Hey," Emma repeated, her fingers tightening just a fraction.

"It's over," you whispered. You didn't sob. You didn't break down. But your mouth trembled as the hot tears finally spilled over, tracks of quiet fire burning down your cheeks.

"What?"

"Frankie. It's over."

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Jack Abbot is a lot of things; strong, intelligent, well-liked, level-headed, quick to react, reliable and good at his job. If you knew him well enough you’d find he’s pretty funny despite his dry sense of humor, very down to earth and has quite the sweet tooth. One thing you absolutely wouldn’t expect by just looking at him was his love for gossip.

With his sharp jawline and casually neutral face—grumpy in a way that was unfairly handsome—chin donned with grey stubble and hair to match. Sharp eyes that noticed everything. He’s an ex-army man with a night shift attending badge clipped to his pants pocket who only drinks his coffee black—he survived losing half his leg, and yet—Jack enjoyed using all of that to his advantage.

Any newcomer at the Pitt was quickly intimidated by him—almost choked to death anytime Robby or Dana, hell; even if Shen or Ellis picked on him or called him old. Desperately looking for a patient to tend to before they saw one of their coworkers die or get scolded. But it never came, just a small twitch at the corner of his lips that was quickly so uniquely Jack.

So no, looking at Jack you’d assume he probably kept to himself—and for the most part he did. But once you got to know him a little? It wouldn’t be long before the truth came out;

Jack Abbot is a big fat gossip.

He never started the conversations, he’d wait until someone else did and just…effortlessly slide himself right into them. But you could always tell when he’d heard something new.

Like now, as you’re walking in next to him for your shift; he’s practically vibrating. An extra bounce in his step, his hands closing and unclasping at his sides. He’s shifting on his feet way more than he usually does; and he keeps crossing and uncrossing his arms.

You try your best to keep your eyes on the board—an ever growing list of patients above you. You try to ignore him, try to start your shift and at least make an attempt to head towards your first patient; but when he leans against the counter with a rather obnoxious exhale through his nose and scratches at his scruff—you finally break.

“Alright Gossip Girl, what is it?”, You ask, crossing your own arms and lifting a brow.

Jack practically shoots off the counter, straightening up and stepping closer to you. He looks around once before speaking.

“Robby and Noelle are hooking up.”

He says it with both brows raised and eyes so wide you swear they’d pop out at any second.

Your mouth falls open before you can stop it; “SHUT UP—“

Eyes from every direction flick towards you, your reaction a little louder than you wanted it to be.

“Jesus kid-“, Jack shushes you quietly; nervously looking around before he gently pulls you into the empty break room.

His hand is still on your elbow when you speak up. You force the acknowledgement at the way your skin burns perfectly at his touch to the back of your mind; store it away for later.

“Robby and Noelle!?”

He nods; “Mhm.”

“How?? When?? Robby??”, All your questions tumble out at once.

Jack shrugs, slipping his hands in his scrub pockets; “Don’t know for sure, long enough that it set McKay’s alarm bells off.”

“…Oh this is too good”, You say, eyes focused on the floor as you comb through every thought that’s now popping into your head.

“It gets better”, Jack says, leaning closer; “Dana said Noelle told her Robby sleeps with the tv on.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. The smug smirk on Jack’s face does nothing to help you. Neither does the scrunch of your nose when you realize what you’re really hearing.

“That’s way more than I needed to know about Robby”, You say.

Jack grunts something close to a laugh; “You’d be surprised.”

“Wait”, You tilt your head; “Wouldn’t you already know that about him?”

Jack’s smirk deepens; “Well yeah, but”, He leans even closer; “How would she know that?”

The information hits you again, your brain swirling at a speed that’s too fast for before coffee.

“Oh my god”, You breathe.

Jack laughs across from you, actually laughs. You force yourself to ignore what that does to your heart.

“I don’t think I can even look at him now”, You say, “I’d laugh in his face, it’s too good. I’d-“

Jack’s hand on your shoulder stops you; “Woah, kid. Don’t go spiraling on me now.”

“I’m not…it’s just so?-“

“Strange? Weird? Bordering on haunting?”

“Well, yeah!”, You say, hands flying in the air.

Jack laughs again, you ignore what it does to your heart; again.

“Careful kid”, He says, leaning in way too close; “Gotta work on your poker face or I won’t be able to share with my favorite resident.”

Favorite resident.

Your heart does a somersault and the air leaves your lungs; heat rising to your cheeks.

His hand on your lower back lingers for a moment before he pulls away, leaving your skin cold and missing the contact.

“Cmon, gotta get back out there before Dana threatens to put us all in triage”, He says, that crooked smirk playing at his lips.

It stays there as you watch him push the break room door open with his shoulder, disappearing back into the noisy hum of the ED; leaving you standing there with your mouth parted and your heart beating way too fast to be close to normal.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Three hours and too many patient charts later, you finally get a moment to sit down and let your feet rest. You take a drink of your water, crack your back once and lean back in your chair; letting your eyes close and hoping you get at least a few minutes.

That dream is quickly wrecked within seconds.

You feel him before you see him, not even having to open your eyes to know who’s standing next to you—the shadow of his strong frame blocking out the blaring fluorescent lights above you. The heat you can always feel radiating off of him. Warmth you so desperately want to sink into, wrap your arms around him and nose into his neck. You briefly wonder if his cologne would smell stronger against his skin like that, or if there’d be something you’d learn to be so uniquely and purely him.

You sigh, snapping yourself out of it. Eyes still closed as you cling to the last remaining bit of peace you’ll get before he speaks and resumes his mission to annoy you as much as he can. Not that you mind in the least bit.

“What Jack?”, You breathe, fighting the smile that’s trying so hard to creep onto your lips.

“How’d you know it was me?”, You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You reek of antiseptic and annoyance.”

A noise escapes him next to you, something between a laugh and a sound of disbelief.

“Oh so you know what I specifically smell like?”, He juts.

You feel your face heat up immediately, air leaving your nose. You fumble to keep yourself composed, a string of muttered words leaving your mouth.

You peek your eyes open, peering up at a way too smug Jack. Enjoying how flustered he’s made you. His strong arms crossed over his chest; biceps bulging under his too tight scrub top. Freckles decorating his skin all the way up his arms; grey curls looking unfairly good and framing his face in a way that should be illegal—

“What do you want, Jack?”, You feign annoyance.

“What makes you think I want something?”, His answer comes from pursed lips.

“You’re hovering.”

“I’m standing.”

“You have a look on your face”, You throw back.

“My face always looks like this.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey—“, His mouth opens, but you cut him off.

“Jack.”

“Hm?”

“What”, you sigh; “Do you want?”

His mouth is crooked in the way it gets when he’s trying to hide a smile or the fact that he’s amused; but it always gives him away. You know that look and all of his looks too well by now. Unconsciously memorized and stored away for later with all the other information you’ve filed away about him. Normal, completely casual.

It certainly has absolutely nothing to do with whatever feelings flutter to life inside your chest and set your very being alight each time you seem him. That certainly wasn’t the case, even now; when he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne and something underneath it that’s just uniquely Jack—

You snap yourself out of it before the heat climbing up your neck once again can reach your face. Forcing yourself to stay calm—steady.

Jack, who hasn’t moved from where he’s standing; that ridiculously and frustratingly adorable crooked smirk still on his face—takes a step closer to you.

“Did you know Shen has a secret supply of free drink vouchers from Dunkin?”, Jack says.

You roll your eyes; “Did you know you and Robby have matching tattoos?”

Jack falters for a moment, mouth falling open before heat pinkens the tips of his ears; “We do not!”

You shoot him a smirk, grabbing your drink and rising to your feet to walk around him. He’s following you half a stride later.

“W-Where did you even hear that?”, He gawks.

You shrug; “I’ve got my own sources.”

A second later he’s in front of you, arms up in defense as he shakes his head; eyes closing for a moment; “Woah. Woah—I—ok, you’re screwing with me, aren’t you?”

“How’s it feel?”, You muse.

You watch as his tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip, a crooked twitch of his mouth as he rubs at the back of his neck; “You’re mean, kid.”

“And you’re a gossip”, You shoot back.

Jack pushes his hands into his pockets; “I might be.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes again; “Why would you even care if Shen’s was true? You hate Dunkin.”

“I’m nosey”, He shrugs.

“You’re something.”

But that only makes Jack’s smirk grow wider, twitching again in the way that sets your heart ablaze. God, he was gonna be the death of you.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A few weeks later, you’re strolling into the hustle and bustle of the ED for another shift. Bracing yourself for the incoming influx of patients from the holiday. The Fourth of July was always busy with firework accidents and heat stroke—among other injuries you didn’t even want to ask about.

You hoped it would at least be relatively smooth—close enough to a regular shift; that unfortunately would soon become the furthest from the truth.

You slid up next to Robby with a few patients, following Dana’s directions; having opted to come in a little early to help out day shift. The ED was already busy, already bustling with patients of all different kinds. McKay had a firework injury, Santos had a nun with gonorrhea in her eye that she deemed an “immaculate infection.” Donnie had a priaprism, Mel and Langdon had set up a cool room and Javadi was helping a girl with glue in her eye. Not to mention the fact that a baby had been found in triage and was now being lovingly referred to as baby Jane Doe. Never a dull moment.

As if the shift couldn’t get any crazier—an hour later the ambulance bay doors opened and who came rushing through with a gurney but Jack Abbot. A Jack Abbot in uniform, nonetheless.

Camo fatigues hugged his body close, sweat already peaking through the fabric. Damp hair matched as he called out to Robby. SWAT team rushing in behind him. You can’t help but stare.

“Intubated neck wound, stats not great. Is there a trauma room open?”, Jack calls out.

You’re quick to snap yourself out of it—joining him at the other side of the gurney, rushing along side him; “What’s the story?”

“My buddy Hiro, neck trauma. Warehouse robbery gone wrong”, Jack fills you in.

He doesn’t say much after that, setting up immediately once inside the trauma room. You can see he’s tense by his shoulders and jaw—worried for his friend. You jump into the chaos, helping any way you can.

“Did you intubate?”, Trinity asks, working alongside you.

“Yeah”, Jack says, not looking up; “Under active fire.”

You don’t miss the way he looks back over his shoulder, eyes flicking down as if looking for something that isn’t yet visible—or the way he winces when he rolls his shoulders.

“That’s badass”, Santos says, smiling to herself as she assists Robby.

You on the other hand; only have worry clinging to the back of your neck—hairs standing on end as you look at Jack.

It doesn’t take long for all the hands working on Hiro to get him stabilized enough to send him up to surgery. The room clears out, leaving Jack and Robby the last two lingering inside. You’re pulled into another case before you can get to Jack, forcing your worry down for later.

When you finally get a moment, Jack is nowhere to be found. The ED settling back into its regular busy hustle before SWAT had rolled in. You pick up another chart, going to check on one of your patients. What you find however when you pull the curtain back isn’t a patient—but rather the man you’ve been looking for the past few hours.

Jack Abbot stands shirtless, back to you with a very visible bruise forming on the back of his left shoulder. He turns at the sound of the curtain being pulled back, glancing around the room.

“Oh! I—sorry!”, You blurt out, cheeks heating up; “I was looking for my patient.”

Jack continues moving, sitting down on the exam bed—sliding the tray of sterilized tools he’d already set up towards him. He sets his black tee down on his lap, maneuvering the supplies.

“No patient here”, He says; “Room was empty when I got here.”

You furrow your brows, but push the thought to the back of your mind. All you can focus on is Jack—the injured Jack sitting in front of you.

“Shit, Jack”, You say, mind rushing back to the present; “You’re hurt, what happened?”

You’re already reaching for the glove dispenser on the wall, making your way around him as he reaches for his back with a swab—failing to reach far enough.

“Bullet grazed my vest”, He says, waving a hand.

“You got SHOT?”, You blurt.

“Shot at”, He says, brows raised with a shrug; “Anyways, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

But you do worry about him; more than he knows.

You ignore his words, taking the swab from his outstretched hand and gently clean the wound on his shoulder.

“Thank you”, He sighs, voice going soft.

You can’t help the smile that breaks onto your lips, soft and gentle just for him; “Anytime.”

Knowing he’s ok and safe, your mind drifts now—focusing more on the fact that he’s sitting shirtless in front of you. Thick and strong body built and freckled; just enough healthy fat around his mid-section that it settles over his belt when he sits down. Broad shoulders that stretch each scrub top he owns. You want to explore them, connect all the freckles that etch his skin—press kisses to the paleness of him.

You feel yourself bite your bottom lip, willing the heat returning to your cheeks to climb back down. To act normal.

“You ok?”, Jack asks, noticing your quietness.

“Yup, perfect”, You say.

You don’t see his quirked brow, and whatever he’s thinking—he keeps to himself. Shuffling to grab his t-shirt off his lap when you finish patching him up.

“Thanks for keeping this off the books”, He says, offering you a crooked smirk.

You nod, bottom lip still between your teeth; “Sure.”

He eyes you suspiciously when you don’t move, even after his shirt is pulled back on; “You sure you’re ok, kid?”

“Yeah!”, You answer to quickly; “I better go see if Dana needs anything, uh…I’ll see you later? For your shift?”

Jack huffs a laugh; “Yeah, see you there crawler.”

With that you spin on your feet, rushing out of the room; leaving a smiling and curious Jack behind.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

You find yourself at the hub, hiding your face in your hands—elbows resting against the top of the counter.

“What’s got you so flustered?”, Santos asks, looking up from her charting beside you.

You groan; “I don’t even know if I can say.”

Princess perks up on the other side of you; “Ok, now we need to know.”

You groan again, looking around you once to make sure no one else can hear. Thankfully spotting Jack leaving through the ambulance bay doors.

Santos follows your line of sight; “Something happen with Dr. Abbot?”

You push your face back into your hands; “God. What didn’t happen.”

Both of them eye you with quirked brows.

“I saw him…shirtless”, You mumble.

Princess’ face lights up; “Oh you lucky girl!”

“And?”, Santos asks.

You can’t help but groan again; “He’s unfairly hot. Like, so built and fit it should be illegal. He has no business looking that good in an ER.”

The women next to you exchange glances, before bursting out into laughter beside you.

“Sounds like someone has a crush on Dr. Abbot”, Santos says.

“Who doesn’t?”, You quip back, like it’s common knowledge and not about you.

Princess sighs on the other side of you.

“He’s like the McDreamy of the Pitt…or the Clooney”, She sighs.

“He’s better than McDreamy and Clooney, he’s like…McClooney.”

Laughter erupts around you again.

“So you and Abbot, huh?”, Santos asks.

“God, I don’t know. I mean we’re friends yeah, but I don’t think he even knows how I feel. Or that he’d even feel the same”, You sigh.

“I don’t know, I’ve seen him look at you. Seems like something’s there”, Princess says; “You should talk to him.”

Your face heats up way too fast; “I can’t do that! Are you crazy?”

Princess shrugs; “You never know what he’ll say.”

You sigh, nodding. You know she’s right, but you can’t push past the nerves or the fear that you might ruin a friendship you deeply value.

“He’s gone for a few hours anyways, I just need to get back to work”, You say, reaching for a new iPad.

You turn on your feet with another sigh.

“Go get your McClooney!”, Princess calls out behind you, making you shush her.

You shrink under all the glances your way, hurrying along to find Dana and focus on literally anything besides your feelings towards Jack.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

It’s a few hours later when Jack strolls back into the ED, camo backpack slung over one shoulder. Patients still bustle around him; Robby’s still forcing himself to work longer.

The hub is buzzing with a few staff; Princess, Santos, Nazely, Dana and Perlah all huddled together. Jack heads towards the staff room, but he stops when he hears your name.

“Oh she’s got it bad”, Santos says; “You should’ve seen her, she was absolutely flustered over seeing him shirtless. Poor girl can’t hide her crush if she tried.”

Jack feels his heartbeat pick up.

“Our girl’s got it for Abbot, huh?”, Dana says, smiling to herself; “Can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

Jack’s heart stops at the mention of his name—then quickly picks back up. A smile spreads on his face before he can stop it, ducking and shaking his head as he pushes the door to the staff room open. He knew how he felt about you, but hearing you felt the same way towards him? His entire shift just got a whole lot better.

He keeps it to himself during handoffs, even during his beginning of shift speech as everyone gathers around him. His eyes flick to you once; standing between Cruz and Ellis. His smile doesn’t falter, a warm feeling fluttering behind his ribs.

He lets you go about your shift, getting swept into a few cases of his own. It’s nearing nine when he finally comes face to face with you; a much needed silence in the break room.

He’s leaning up against the counter with a cup of coffee when you come in, stopping in your tracks when you see him.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t know you were in here”, You say.

Jack scoffs a laugh; “What? You avoiding me now?”

“No”, You say, a little too quickly.

“Good.”

He watches you cross the room, opening the fridge and pulling out an energy drink. The noise of the can cracking open fills the room, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean up against the counter beside him—a little more space between you than usual.

Silence fills the air as you both drink, enjoying the few minutes of peace you might get before it’s interrupted. Jack, as if sensing your calm—decides now’s the time to get you all riled up.

“So”, He says, tracing the rim of his paper cup with his pointer finger; “I heard something interesting earlier.”

You scoff; “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, He asks, brow quirked and faking offense.

“Jack”, You say; “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No”, He shrugs, smiling to himself as he sets his cup on the counter behind him.

You shake your head, doing the same with your can; “Lay it on me, Abbot.”

Jack juts his chin out, scratching at his scruff.

“I heard…someone that works here has a crush on me”, He says.

You feel your stomach drop, embarrassment rushing to your cheeks and ears.

“Something about ‘unfairly hot, so built it should be illegal’”, He says; “‘Hotter than McDreamy and Clooney?’”

“Jack I-“, You try to rush something out, but no words come out.

Your brain has shut down. You blink away the tears brimming your eyes.

But Jack just takes a step towards you, hands settling on your arms. His thumbs rub up and down, digging softly into your scrubs.

Then he hooks a finger under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. What he finds is a look he can only describe as guilty.

“Hey”, He says softly, ducking his head down to meet your eyeline.

“I’m sorry, Jack”, You rush out; “It’s highly inappropriate and I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, we can just forget this ever happened and go back to being friends. If you even still want to be my friend. I’m so sorry—“

“No”, Jack says.

You freeze; “What?”

“I don’t think I can do that”, He says softly.

“I’m so sorry Jack…”, You mutter, fearing the worst.

“I’m not.”

You look up at him fully then, finding him gazing back at you fondly—a soft crooked twitch of his lips taking over his face.

“You’re not…?”

“No”, He says; “Not when it’s you.”

Your breath catches.

“Sweetheart, I’ve felt the same way about you for so long.”

Your mouth falls open. This time you can’t will it to shut again.

“God, you drive me crazy, kid. It’s always been you”, He confesses, voice soft and deep.

Your chest is heaving by now, mouth dry and eyes wide.

But then you smile; “It’s always been you too, Jack. For so long.”

His smile widens to match yours; “Cmere.”

He pulls you in close, wrapping his strong arms around you. He doesn’t kiss you yet, not here; he doesn’t want the first time to be in the ED. Not when you deserve a real date, to be treated right.

He lets his lips ghost over your hair, pressing softly once against your crown. He rubs his hand up and down your back, before laying his cheek against your hair.

When he pulls away, his thumbs rest softly on your hips; digging in just enough to let you know he’s still there. His smile hasn’t wavered, if anything it’s only grown fonder.

“So we’re ok?”, You finally ask.

Jack laughs softly; “More than ok, kid.”

Quiet settles between you both again, comfortable and warm as you take each other in with new awareness on both sides. Then Jack shifts once; pushing himself off the counter.

“C’mon”, He says, pulling you with him.

“Where?”, You ask.

“The roof”, He tells you; “Gonna watch the fireworks. I know how much you like them.”

You feel your heart melt with fondness, before the lingering concern for him creeps up behind it.

“Jack”, You say softly, stopping him; “It’s ok, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not”, He says, offering you a smile and a small squeeze of his hand; “I want to watch them, with you.”

So you follow him up the stairs to the roof, heart pounding loud enough to echo—letting him guide you with a steady hand on your lower back.

Most of the dayshift is already up there, gathered towards the railing of the roof. Jack finds a spot just in front of the doorway, leaning up against the brick wall. Away from the crowd and somehow seeming a little more private.

You settle in next to him, closer than you were in the break room. The first few fireworks go off, and for the first time; Jack doesn’t flinch. By the tenth, he reaches quietly for your hand; interlacing his fingers with your own.

Not out of fear or bad memories, just grounding himself. That makes you fold; you let your head drift down softly to rest against his shoulder—watching the sparkles of blues and reds paint the sky above you.

Jack brushes his lips briefly against your hair again, pressing once before he turns his head back—squeezing your hand softly. You stay like that; cuddled up against him in the back of the day shift crowd—a new, stronger feeling blossoming between you. Sweetly intimate and warm. Something existing just for the two of you.

“Happy fourth, Jack”, You hum, pressing your lips to his shoulder.

He squeezes your hand again, looking back at you as a sparkle of blue illuminates his face; “You too, sweetheart.”

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.

You've had enough by the third day in a row Noelle calls you on her way out of work to complain about Robby.

In all fairness, it's your own fault for having allowed her to go out with him instead of nipping it in the bud the second you noticed her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth turn upwards into a flirty smirk.

Ugh if you could go back in time, you would've slapped the ever living shit out of both of them, her for falling for it and him...for literally just existing.

Luckily for you, you got put on night shift rotation soon after they started...hanging out. Cause, even at his old ass age of fifty plus years, chief attending Michael Robinavitch "doesn't date”.

"We're just keeping it casual". Ah yes, famous last words for an anxiously attached, perfect princess that is Noelle Hastings.

It doesn't matter how smart someone is, no one prepares you for how stupid “getting dicked down good”, her words, not yours, will make you. You honestly wish you could scrub the memory of her coming down to the ED almost every single second of the day with the most obnoxious excuses just so that she could talk to him.

It made you gag involuntarily every time, earning you a sharp slap on the arm from her and a curious side glance from Dana. After a few days of torture, your boss needed to switch you out to nights, their resident recluse social worker that tended to take the shifts having to take a sudden leave of absence and since your other coworker had just become a dad, it was literally down to you.

The joys of being single and unattached.

So you'd made the switch, getting to escape the horror that was seeing them interact in person, but still getting an hour long debrief every night while you got ready to clock in. 

You're certain this is how they're going to torture you when you inevitably end up in hell and this is just a preview.

"And then he texted that he needed space, that this just isn't working for him anymore! Can you believe him?"

Yes, yes you can.

You sigh into the phone, not really knowing what to say to comfort her since...you both knew of his reputation before she jumped into bed with him.

So you settle on—"I'm sorry, babe. He's an idiot who clearly doesn't know what he's throwing away."

The words sound foreign to you when you say them. They're rehearsed, recycled from all the other times you've had to give her the same reassurance over and over again.

Truth be told, Noelle is also a part of the problem, so focused on being the one to break his pattern that she also fell victim to her own self-destructive nature.

"I just—I feel like I'm crazy, you know? Like what the fuck is wrong with me? I'm forty-two for fuck's sake! I should not be feeling this—this—ugh!"

That pulls a little giggle out of you. It's always funny to you when, no matter her age and maturity, she ends up in situations that make her feel just as silly and confused as your twenty-five year old ass. 

"Hey!" you check her. "You did nothing wrong...aside from sleeping with him when you knew he was emotionally unavailable—" she whines, forcing another laugh from you. "He's the problem. He should just make peace with dying alone and not bother anyone else for the rest of his miserable life."

You hear her let out a laugh that unmistakably crumbles into a sob. Fuck, you feel so bad. You wish you could comfort her, wish you could be a good friend to her, but the truth is...you honestly don't know how.

So you joke.

"And hey, maybe some hot piece of ass will cross his path and give him a taste of his own medicine, he's bound to run into someone with an even worse avoidant attachment than him."

You chuckle nervously.

The line goes uncharacteristically quiet.

Ominous.

You tap your phone screen to make sure you haven't lost her.

The call's timer continues on.

And then—

"Why don't you do it?"

After a five minute long string of apologies and desperately trying to let you know that she didn't mean for it to come across as questioning your character—which ouch, to say the least—Noelle finally let you get a word in.

"Yeah why not."

You would've given anything to see the shock on her face in person but the thick silence that followed your admission would have to do for now.

In all honesty, you've been looking for another project to keep you entertained through the rigorousness and emotional weight that came from working as a social worker. All your empathy went to making sure your patients got the best care and support possible, so being given a reason to do something just a little mean?

Worth the possible humiliation, and even then, you could just go back to working nights and escape having to deal with him ever again.

Yeah you definitely needed to work on your avoidance…but that could wait.

Convincing your boss to let you switch to days wasn’t hard. You’d asked one of your coworkers who owed you a favor to switch with you, claim he needed to do something, you honestly couldn’t care, for seven weeks and that they needed to change around their hours.

It works flawlessly.

So after one more night shift and two days to get your body back on track for days, you were making your way into the ED for your 8 am call time for the first time in years.

And immediately…you desperately miss the night shift.

You’ve had to work closely with some of the day shift doctors and nurses throughout your tenure, but it was always just one or two per shift, drenched in the pace and culture of the night shift—a little weird but also very chill—so now having to deal with all of them…it was a shock to the system to say the least.

Santo’s anger, Whitaker’s “nice guy” persona, McKay’s righteousness, Ogilvie’s…everything; it’s a lot to take in constantly. You cherish getting to work with the more level headed ones and constantly have to bite your tongue when Robby reprimands them.

Michael Robinavitch is…the universe’s response to you, all ego and fragile masculinity.

You can see the appeal, rugged around the edges, like a home renovation project you know will ultimately cost you your entire life’s savings but maybe, just maybe, you’ll find original hardwood floors underneath the disgusting plastic panelling the last landlord installed.

Jokes on everyone because you’re investing in this house to tear it all down.

You spend the first week observing, calculating, making friends and getting as much gossip as you can from the loves of your life, Perlah and Princess. If either of them know about your reputation, neither lets it be known, eager to actually talk shop with someone from nights who can fill in the gaps to the gossip that has gone incomplete for the past year.

So you do, you trade information for loyalty, something that Dana clocks right away.

She tries to shoo you away constantly, begging you not to distract her staff, but that doesn’t stop you from joining their group chat, bringing them coffee, joining them for bottomless margaritas after their shift.

The doctors aren’t any different either, loose tongues spewing little comments about Robby’s deteriorating behavior ever since Pitt Fest almost a year ago.

For a second you feel bad, all of his outbursts clearly stemming from the trauma of the event…and after you learn that his mentor passed away that same day, well the whole picture makes much more sense.

How Noelle ever thought that she could fix him is beyond you.

There’s nothing to fix, only a shell of a man that literally doesn’t know where he’s going anymore or even if he wants to keep going in any direction.

You do wonder if you might start pushing him too far, what his reaction could be if what you do actually pushes him over the edge. You try to inquire about support systems and even therapy…but he’s literally raw dogging his illness.

All you really can do is tell Jack to be ready if anything happens.

Which you’re sure won’t.

Robby’s too narcissistic for it.

God’s gift to medicine and all that.

He’s a lonely bachelor. Afraid of the silence. Overwhelmed by the noise. Just a ball of stress and anxiety and everything that makes your chest tighten and your breathing hitch in the worst way possible.

But fuck it.

Just because you can excuse away his behavior doesn’t mean you should just let it slide.

The bigger issue now is…how to get him to become interested in you?

You honestly don’t know how you can compete with Noelle.

She’s the total package—beautiful, successful, age appropriate—there’s no way you can—

“I’ve never seen you before.”

Of course…all men are exactly the same.

You don’t even deign him with a glance his way, simply continue filling out the chart in your hands.

“That’s good,” you joke. “I’d be worried if you had, there’s thousands of people working in the hospital, it would be creepy if you knew every single person.”

You hear him smirk, shifting closer to you until your arms touch.

Oh this is going to be absurdly easy.

“I’m Dr. Robinavitch,” he awkwardly extends his hand towards you. “But everyone just calls me Robby.”

That’s when you turn to look at him, a shy yet genuine smile tugging at your lips. You shake his hand, making sure to linger just enough as you tell him your name in return.

You can see his brain working overtime to commit it to memory.

You finally let go of his hand when Dana calls out to him, incoming trauma, two minutes out, multi-car pileup.

Oh boy, that’s gonna be a shit show.

You feel him wince, taking off his hoodie in preparation for the marathon he’s about to run. You can’t help but ogle, the way his scrub top lifts ever so slightly, exposing his soft belly underneath.

You breathing hitches ever so slightly, but he catches it, catches you. Hook.

He grins, his beautiful crows feet framing his tired eyes. Line.

Your cheeks heat up. You advert your gaze, shame bubbling ever so slightly.

“Good luck,” you tell him, running away before the ED devolves into even more chaos.

He’s too slow, watching you go as the world around him disappears for just a second, realization dawning on him that he didn’t get your number.

Sinker.

He doesn’t ask anyone for your number.

You know because no one has come up to you to ask if you’re okay with the chief of the emergency department having direct access to you.

So you just wait.

You know you’ll run into him again eventually, but every time you go down to the ED after the car crash leaves you empty. You don’t run into him even once. You barely even catch glimpses of him walking the floor and catching up with his residents.

If he’s straight up avoiding you, there’s simply no way to know.

So you’re left to manufacture your own luck, unfortunately.

You know about their park beer tradition.

So you linger. Gross.

Day shift ends at seven. There’s charting and handovers and…whatever old men do when they don’t have a reason to go home so they stick around for way longer than they have to.

It’s about nine when you notice the day shift start to thin out so you take your chance, pretending to be engrossed in your phone as you loiter around the public entrance to the ED. It’s five minutes later when Donnie, Perlah, Santos, Samira and Whitaker step out, two six packs in hand.

“Hey, transplant!” Donnie greets you, the nickname causing you to roll your eyes playfully. In another life, you could’ve been great friends. “Wanna join us?”

He lifts up a pack so that you’ll catch his drift.

You pretend to think about it for two seconds until they catch your drift, devolving into a gaggle of laughter and pent up energy.

You follow them across the street to the park, settling next to Perlah as you try to ask her about her day in Tagalog, gotta keep up with them somehow.

Small talk is lively and you can literally feel the energy shift as they unload the horrible things that happened to them.

You listen, intently and surprisingly engaged, as Donnie and Santos reenact the scene for you.

“Oh my god? That’s actually fucked up.”

Everyone laughs, everyone drinks, everyone feels better.

And then silence falls.

It’s like your body knows he’s behind you before anyone gives you a heads up.

“Want one, cap?” Donnie asks him but you’re certain he declines because all he says is your name, practically begging you to turn to look at him.

You do, pretending to be a doe caught in headlights, your favorite move honestly.

“Ready to go?”

Your brows scrunch in confusion briefly before you catch the meaning in his words.

Oh wow. You did not think he was going to be so forward.

Okay, this makes it even easier for you.

“Yeah!”

You detach yourself from Perlah and Samira, saying goodbye to everyone and chugging the last of your now warm beer before adding it to the tower you’ve constructed. When it doesn’t topple over, you all erupt into a chorus of cheers.

You bow dramatically, cheeks hot, heart beating out of your chest.

“I’ll catch you guys later,” you wave goodbye, grabbing your tote and walking away from the group towards your apartment, not even bothering to wait for Robby to catch up, because you just know he’s following.

He settles into a comfortable pace beside you two blocks later, after a long internal battle with himself to follow through or back out. He still can, you know for a fact he won’t do anything to you in this state, even if you’re perfectly fine only having had one beer.

His arm bumps against yours, his towering frame inadvertently making you drool a little.

“I didn’t know I had an escort tonight,” you chuckle, the double meaning of your words clearly making him choke on a breath.

You giggle, enjoying his lack of game. It’s all a ploy, you know that much. Pretend to be shy and like he doesn’t know what he’s doing—it’s definitely disarming.

“What can I say,” he huffs. “Would you like me to make up a lie about crime rising in the city or how a lady as lovely as yourself should definitely not be walking alone at night?”

Your cheeks burn. Jesus fuck, he’s good.

“Well, considering I usually take the bus and decided to walk only because a grown ass man such as yourself doesn’t drive a car—”

He lets out a gasp in mock offense. “Hey, it would be irresponsible for me to drive after working for more than twelve hours.”

It’s a line, definitely. Yet it works.

You stop abruptly, giving him the reaction he craves.

He turns to you then, a little concerned, definitely still strung up from all that pent up energy that won’t leave him, ready to get right back into crisis mode—

“That’s…so hot.”

His features soften as your words process.

He shoots you a shy smile in return. “Don’t know about that—”

“What, you don’t think empathy is sexy?”

He looks down at his shoes then, finding them incredibly interesting all of a sudden.

“I don’t think I’m…it doesn’t matter. Point is,” he looks back up at you, like a lost puppy that’s begging you to get him off the street. “I prefer to walk.”

You don’t hesitate, stepping up to him, getting all up in his personal space, arms wrapping around his torso, standing on your tip toes so that you can be as close to his mouth as possible.

“Well, I don’t have to think,” you whisper over his lips. “I just know.”

You watch him close his eyes, mouth hanging open just slightly, body just barely leaning forward into you. 

He wants you to do it.

You smirk, your lips right there—

He almost falls flat on his face as you swiftly detach yourself from him.

“I’m starving, Dr. Robby,” you whine. 

It takes him a second to regain his composure. You’re certain he’s thanking every single deity that it’s just the two of you right now because he definitely looks pathetic.

“Wanna get some food?” He clears his throat, the pink on his ears a clear sign that he’s just not okay.

You nod, biting back a grin, threading his hand in yours and pulling him towards the 24-hour diner up ahead.

You spend the rest of the week doing the awkward dance around your feelings.

You’re certain he’s made up his mind about you, waiting for you to take the leap and put him out of his misery for good.

But you don’t.

You keep him on his toes, questioning whether your touches are simply friendly or not, desperate for you to help him find some relief from the lust that has started to build up inside of him.

It’s a Saturday when you finally put your plan into motion.

You’re over at his, a pizza and a pint of ice cream shared while watching a movie. Such a domestic night. If you didn’t know any better, it’d look like the two of you were in a relationship.

You’ve “fallen asleep” as the credits roll, body falling onto his in the process. You can feel his heart speed up as you cuddle into him, head resting snugly over his chest as your leg drapes over his crotch.

He’s already hard under the blanket, it’s why he draped it over his legs in the first place, but you managed to burrow yourself under it quickly, reveling in how he tensed painfully as you did so, your warmth on his body overwhelming.

You’ll give it to Robby, his restraint has been astounding. He hasn’t even tried to kiss you yet, luckily for you. You wait until his heart returns to normal, until he lulls himself into a false sense of security, until he doesn’t try to move you or wake you up. 

He’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

It’s when he settles, arms wrapped around you softly, enjoying your closeness, that you strike.

You move your hips, a sleepy jerk at first.

It’s exhilarating.

His heart picks up again, arms lifting off your body for deniability, but you don’t wake up. Instead, you adjust, further onto him, practically straddling him now.

Your crotch rubs over his, the thin fabric of his boxers that he’s lent you so that you can sleep more comfortably doing nothing to stop him from feeling just how warm you are down there.

He stifles a groan, his dick practically screaming at him for some relief. He’s decked himself out in sweatpants and a long sleeve, practically covering up every inch of skin in an attempt to not come across as a creep.

And what have you done?

The exact opposite, wearing his shirt, his underwear, and nothing else.

He should feel elated that you’re so comfortable around him, but right now, with your folds practically rubbing against him, he’s reminded of just how depraved he is.

You hum softly, satisfyingly as your clit rubs against his length.

There’s no way this is actually happening, that you know what you’re doing, right?

When you don’t wake yourself up, Robby settles down a little, allowing himself the simple indulgence of feeling you, of being used for your pleasure.

Your mouth hangs open just against his neck. He can feel the little pants, the neediness—

He just wants to help, he needs to.

So he shakes you awake.

“Honey,” the word rumbles against your ear. “Need you to stop doing that.”

You “blink awake”, catching yourself in the act, mortification flooding your face instantly.

“Oh my god I am so sorry,” you go to leap off him but his hands instantly stop you, pressing you roughly against him.

You moan, hands coming up to bunch in the fabric of his shirt.

“Robby—” you pant, real shame bubbling in your gut, a spark of excitement rushing through your body. 

He shushes you gently, slowly moving you over his dick, the pressure just right.

“Fuck.” You actually want to cum now. A nice side effect from all of your scheming.

He manages a chuckle, eyes locked on you, desperate to watch you come undone over him, against him, because of him.

“That’s it,” he groans. “Use me, baby, such a good girl.”

So you put on a good show for him.

Your mouth hangs open in a perpetual oh, your hips begin to roll in tandem with his own, your hands caress his shoulders, making their way around his neck to rake your fingernails on the nape, scratching right where you’ve seen him do to himself many times before.

He shivers then, his legs shaking, core tightening as he spasms beneath you. Dampness seeps through his sweatpants, his arms snaking around your back to pull you in, press you tightly against his chest as his head falls into the crook of your neck.

He moans through his orgasm, hissing only when his dick has gone soft and you’re still putting pressure on it, your own release evading you.

“Oh baby,” he coos condescendingly and you desperately have to lock up your heart as to not fall for it. “Let me help you.”

One of his hands snakes underneath the waistband of the boxers you’re wearing, his pointer and middle finger pinching at your clit. You yelp, body jerking away from his hand but you’re so close to him that there’s nowhere to run.

So you settle on him harder, causing him just as much pain as he’s causing you.

He chuckles against your skin, moving on from pinching to rolling the pads of his fingers gently now, your own pleasure slowly building back up from there.

“Robby,” you huff into his ear, gooey and needy. “Please…please, oh god please may I cum—”

He doesn’t respond with words, instead he just picks up the pace, swishing his touch from side to side until you’re a heaving, panting mess, your core clenching around nothing and exploding in unbelievable pleasure.

Your orgasm washes over you swiftly, your own release mixing with his own, getting the two of you even more messy and worked up than before.

You slump against him, breathing heavily as you try to match your breathing with his own. He’s actually lovely, drawing gentle circles over your thighs, holding you against his warmth until you’re ready.

Eventually, you peel yourself back, a dopey smile on your face

“Hi,” Robby blushes.

“Hey,” you roll your eyes, causing him to laugh in response at your brattiness.

“Alright, whatever,” he can’t stop laughing, a sound so foreign to him that it breaks his heart a little. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You nod, making no attempt to get off him, desperate to hold onto him like glue. And to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to care, letting himself get swept away in the fantasy of intimacy.

So obviously, you have to avoid him now at all costs.

Every time you’re called down to the ED, you make sure to sneak away before he can even notice you. If you’re working on one of his cases, you’re professional and to the point, never meeting his eyes knowing a knowing smirk awaits you.

By the fourth day of you ignoring him at the hospital and dismissing his texts, you know he’s desperate. It’s why, when a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you sharply into a supply closet, the little gasp that escapes you is more thrill than surprise.

Strong hands roam your body greedily as you barely hear the door shut, the lock latching afterwards.

He doesn’t even try to kiss your lips, instead, he focuses on leaving a sloppy, desperate trail down your neck as he towers over you.

“Robby,” you whine, voice shaky already. “What’re you—fuck, what’re you doing?”

He grins against your collarbone. “What’s it look like?”

You shiver, a breath getting caught in your chest as you try to stand your ground.

“We’re at work.”

“So?”

It’s your own fault really.

You could push him away, could set down strong boundaries and tell him to fuck off…

But you don’t.

You get swept up in the desperation, in his neediness, in just how special he’s made you with his attention.

His hand snakes beneath your skirt before you can even think of how to respond, your very cheeky choice of not wearing any shorts underneath a blessing in disguise as his fingers swiftly pull your panties to the side to run along your folds.

You whimper, legs turning to jelly as he positions his own in between them to hold you up.

“Oh baby, you’re so wet,” he groans against your ear, teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Did you miss me too?”

You nod, biting down on your lip to stop the moans from escaping.

“Gonna cum all over my fingers?” He accentuates by sliding his middle finger into you, your walls clenching around it sinfully. “Of course you are, so good for me.”

Tears begin to swell in your eyes as his pointer finger joins in, his movements leisurely and mean. He barely curls them, barely gives you any relief that isn’t for his own enjoyment.

“Robby…you’re being…you’re being mean,” you whine. “Please—”

That gets a belly laugh from him in return, cruel now.

“Oh baby, you thought I was just gonna give you what you wanted? After you ignored me for four days?”

“I wasn’t—I got busy.”

You’re panting now, voice barely recognizable as he continues to torture you.

He shakes his head. “No, you’re not that good a liar, baby,” he curls and you clench. “I’ve seen you around, seen how you run off when you see me—so now I’m gonna take my time.”

The tears fall, your makeup running down your cheeks along with them. He preens at the sight, mouth kissing over your cheekbone lightly to taste the salty streaks.

He groans at the taste, slamming you back against the wall a little harder, his fingers picking up the pace, lodging themselves inside of you and wriggling them against your g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck Robby shit—” you bite down on his bicep to muffle your moans. He hisses, the pain only spurring him on apparently.

Jesus fucking Christ, maybe you have finally found a worthy opponent.

You’re coming undone in seconds, his harshness only turning you on quicker, causing your orgasm to spring up on you suddenly. You’re shaking so hard you’re certain the shelves are vibrating around you.

He chuckles darkly, taking advantage of your blissed out state to wrap his lips just below your ear, right on your pulse point, sucking a purple mark onto your skin.

Once he’s satisfied and you’ve stopped shaking, he finally pulls back, watching you though lust clouded eyes as you continue to pant. You stare up at him, shaking your head incredulously.

It isn’t until he steps forward, his crotch pressing against your lower abdomen that you snap back to the present.

Robby’s big, unsurprising giving his…everything. The first time you felt it you had to pretend like you hadn’t noticed, all so that your heart wouldn’t give out. But now…now you want to drop to your knees and take him right into your mouth, alleviate—

His phone rings, invading your little pocket of deviancy.

He hisses loudly, annoyance exploding through every nerve in his body. You giggle, teasingly raking your nails along his exposed skin. He shivers under you but picks up the phone.

Emergency, obviously, it comes with the territory.

Even though it’s five minutes out, they’re scrambling, looking for him. He huffs in distress, nodding along to whatever Dana’s saying. Meanwhile, you distract yourself by peppering his jaw and neck with kisses, torturing him at his own game.

He hangs up the phone, making sure to settle you back down on your own two feet gently before he kisses your temple and walks to the door.

You’re supposed to let him go, keep your mysterious persona alive, you know that and yet—

Your hand reaches out for him, stopping him before he can leave.

He turns to you, brows scrunched in both confusion and hope?

“Five minutes out?”

He catches your drift instantly, his cock twitching in his scrubs painfully.

You step forward, staring up at him through your lashes, taking in how his shoulders drop, how his face relaxes, how his eyes close and his mouth hangs open just slightly as your nails flutter just above his bellybutton, pulling at his scrub top and his undershirt.

Pulling the fabric from where they’re tucked into his pants, you make a point to trace his belly, humming satisfactorily as he shivers beneath your touch. He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare touch you, doesn’t even dare breathe or make a single sound.

Your left hand reaches underneath the elastic, swiftly pulling the fabric out before it wraps around the base of his length. He’s thick and hot and perfectly heavy in your palm, the hair around him only adding to his attractiveness.

Fuck, you have got to pull yourself together. This is definitely getting away from you, soon this won’t just be about playing with your food and your heart aches at the thought.

He hisses at the contact, eyes shooting open to land on yours, and the second they do, you make a show of spitting on your right hand swiftly replace your other with it.

The slick makes it so easy to stroke him, putting just the right amount of pressure against his hardness as you slowly pull his boxers and pants off to his mid thighs so that you can work more comfortably.

The cold hospital air hits his throbbing tip and he twitches against your palm, precum leaking from him and combining with your spit. You run your hand over his head, pulling a sinful hiss from him as he finally pounces, strong hands grabbing a hold of your plush hips to steady himself.

You pick up the pace in response, Robby’s legs tensing beautifully as his breathing picks up, little pants and huffs escaping his lips in tandem with your movements.

“Baby—need to—fuck—”

He doesn’t get to beg as you feel him close, right on the precipice. And because you love the cleaning staff and wish them no harm ever, you drop to your knees in an instant, mouth opening and taking his tip against your tongue as he spills, hot and heavy, against the back of your throat.

He looks almost angelic as he cums. Groans filling the tiny room freely, hands tangling in your hair, not pushing or pulling, just there. Grounding, as if he can’t believe this is actually real and not some sick fantasy.

With one whole minute to spare, he finally catches his breath, his cock limping against your tongue as you run the muscle over his slit. To clean him up, obviously, not to watch him whine pathetically as the overstimulation makes him tense up.

That’s when he pulls, a sharp tug of your hair so that you stop. You beam up at him, placing a final kiss to his tip before you oblige and get back up to your feet.

He has no words for you, only answering with an unbelieving shake of the head as he massages your scalp while you tuck him back into his underwear and secure his pants with a neat little bow.

That’s when he kisses you.

Fuck.

You’re certain if his eyes were open he’d see your own bug out of your skull.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You don’t kiss him back, you can’t, you won’t, you—

Luckily he doesn’t linger, it’s just a soft peck, one that doesn’t evolve, doesn’t become greedy. It’s just…grateful. You fucking hate it.

He pulls back just as soon as it started, an uncharacteristically dopey smile on his face.

You roll your eyes. “Wipe that off or they’ll know something’s up.”

“Well, down now thanks to you.”

Your eyes widen in shock at his words, his carefree attitude something you’ve never seen from him before.

He chuckles at your reaction, unlocking the door and peeking his head out to check for witnesses before he steps out.

He winks back at you, a silent gesture to let you know the ball is in your court.

The second he’s gone you curl in on yourself.

Fuck.

It takes you a while to figure out how to proceed.

You’re past the halfway mark by now, just three more weeks and he’ll be getting ready to toss you to the curb. At least that’s what you’ve been told from multiple sources.

It turns out Robby’s got a trail of broken hearts longer than his…the point is, you know you have to keep him interested, throw him a bone every now and then, so you do.

You let him get comfortable again in your little after work routine, go out to dinner with him, let him cop a feel under the table, let him revel in the little marks he’s left on your neck and chest like badges of honor.

But he starts to get a little too comfortable, too regulated with your routine. So you shake things up every now and then. You feel so awful when you can’t see him, some shifts ending way earlier than his now that you’ve got him hooked on you. 

Which is why you compromise—

You: [sent a photo]

You know he’s losing his mind when he calls you in response exactly two minutes later.

“You know, I didn’t think so earlier, but you are definitely trying to kill me.”

You chuckle, a little seductive, definitely dismissive. “Is it working?”

He doesn’t answer with words, just a low, guttural groan that has you shifting under the covers.

“Doctor Robinavitch, are you touching yourself while on the phone with one of your employees?”

You just know his entire face and neck are beet red now. 

He moans in response. “Aren’t you?”

You giggle. “Would you like me to?”

“I would like for you to come over…” he pants, an opening.

You sigh, reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your vibrator, turning it on so that he can hear the humming on the other side of the line as your answer to that question.

He whines, a little dramatic for your liking but you’ll take it. After the shit he pulled in the storage closet, you’re definitely not going over anytime soon.

You insert the toy, body instantly erupting in goosebumps as you moan into your phone.

“See, I don’t understand why we even need men anymore,” you huff, airy and laced with pleasure. “Your dicks don’t even vibrate.”

He chuckles on the other end, amused by your…everything.

He’d never admit it, but he’s definitely never met anyone quite like you before, all spunk and no filter. It’s driving him crazy.

“Call me old fashioned all you want, but you’d forget all about your little toy if you had me inside of you.”

Fuck, you clench at his confidence, a moan escaping without your consent.

“See? Even the thought of my cock has you coming undone, baby.”

Cocky motherfucker.

“I bet I can make you cum without even touching you.”

He laughs then, unburdened for the first time in…

“You’re doing it right now.”

“No,” you whimper. “No stimulation…from either of us.”

“Now who’s cocky.”

The laugh that escapes you twists into a string of moans as your slick pushes the vibrator further into you, the bent tip notching perfectly against your g-spot.

“Robby I hate to cut this short but—”

“I got you, baby,” he groans, his own hand picking up the pace to catch up with you, the slick, desperate sounds only adding to your undoing.

“Fuck, please, Robby I need to cum.”

“Not yet.”

“Please, I don’t think I can hold it—”

“You can and you will.”

You wail, legs thrashing against your mattress as you clench your abdomen painfully. You focus on his pants, his moans, his peak, waiting impatiently as his breathing falters—

“Cum with me baby.”

It’s all the encouragement you need to let go, your release squirting out of you, pushing the toy out as it continues to vibrate. He hears it, the wetness of it all, and can’t help but beam as white, hot spurts land on his uncovered stomach.

“Fuck, Robby…” you mumble, taking your time as you come down from your high. Meanwhile, he’s still cumming, something that hasn’t happened to him since college. 

He doesn’t know what pushes him to do it, but after his dick has finally stopped twitching from his release and finally settles back comfortably against his leg, he grabs his phone off the bed and—

Robby: [sent a photo]

You blink at the sudden ding from your phone, a streak of tears falling down your cheeks as you open the attachment.

Your breathing hitches, saliva pooling in your mouth suddenly.

“Robby,” you whine.

He huffs back a laugh. “Show me your mess, baby.”

A fire burns inside of you, desperate to fight back against all these horrible feelings that have spawned inside of you. With shaky hands, you turn the call into a FaceTime, pointing the camera down to the puddle between your legs.

“Fuck!”

You giggle in response, giving him a few more seconds before you hang up entirely, slumping back on the mattress with a dramatic huff.

After that night on the phone, you know it’s driving him crazy that he can’t have you all the time, that you haven’t made yourself accessible to him. It’s also not like he’s asked, he just figured you’d…be like every desperate woman he’s successfully gotten into his bed and actively want to jump his bones at every second too.

So he’s become determined to get you to crumble for him.

You’re in a work call that has definitely gone far too long, peacefully enjoying your lunch as it drones on and on when there’s a light knock at your office door.

You’re muted, have been since the start so you don’t think twice about it when you mumble a half-hearted come in.

And that he fucking does.

He looks like a man possessed, chest heaving, hands shaking—

You’ve never seen him like this before, never heard of anyone describe an incident with him where he’s so…wound up.

It knocks you off your center, whatever resentment you’ve been holding over him evaporates at the sight of his puffy, red eyes.

You leap out of your seat without thinking.

“What do you need?” What the actual fuck?

You shake the thought away as he speaks.

“On your knees.”

You drop down instantly, wasting no time as you pull his cock free from the confines of his scrubs and boxers. He’s vibrating, his shaky energy only making you jumpy in return.

But he doesn’t care. He can’t care.

You take him into your mouth without any further command, quickly surrendering yourself to the adrenaline he needs to take care of, hollowing out your cheeks as his hands grab your hair into a loose ponytail and his hips start rocking into you.

He can feel your breath on his pubic bone as you concentrate on breathing through your nose, eyes already becoming glossy as he just…takes.

And you let him.

He could honestly cry, and he almost does, your round eyes turning to stare up at him with what can only be described as silent understanding shaking him to his core so much that his own eyes become watery.

But he doesn’t let them fall, no, he focuses on the pleasure, on the release that he’s chasing.

His movements are sloppy, not deep or thought out. He just wants to cum, wants for the tightness in his chest to lighten, wants for the ringing in his ears to—

And then you swipe your tongue over his tip as he pulls out, the pressure against his slit sending a spark through his body that cuts through the noise.

He whimpers, pulling you back onto him, as far as he can go, before he spills into your mouth. He shakes uncontrollably, ass clenching as he finally allows for the band to snap, for the tower to crumble, for the truth to settle in his gut.

He’s…grateful, completelyreverent and devoted.

His grip loosens from your hair and you take the opportunity to push yourself off his length, finally taking in big, all encompassing breaths as he comes down from his own high. You watch him then, like a little fawn, confused and curious, like something has unlocked in your heart and you’re unsure how to fix it.

And then he pulls you up, suddenly aware that he’s tucked himself into his pants, before he tugs you with him back to your desk. He sits down at your chair, grabbing you like you weigh nothing and cradling you against his chest.

He does’t say anything.

You don’t dare utter a single word.

He just runs his hands all over your body, soothing and thankful and…

Your eyes close then, your body melting into his own, the call long forgotten, probably ended as the room settles into a comfortable silence.

“Thank you baby,” he kisses your temple. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your eyes snap open. Your heart races, an anxious bird slamming against its cage.

This is bad. You definitely bit off more than you could chew, and from what you just experienced, you can chew on a lot.

You stare up at him, at the blissful expression over his tired face, at the serenity that wafts off him like gentle waves crashing against the sand.

A new type of anger settles in your stomach. It is time to ruin his peace.

Robby’s never been this happy in his entire life.

He’s aware of his reputation, aware of just how much he’s messed up when it comes to his heart. It’s not like he’s magically a better person because of you now, that would be absurd. But he is enjoying himself. There’s no expectation, no restriction, nothing like the thrill of the chase, of mutual understanding and compassion, of finally having found his match.

And he’s never had to work this hard to earn it before.

But he can feel it, he’s getting closer, gaining ground, the turtle always winning in the end, right?

After that day in your office, Robby has become a man with unquenchable thirst.

He needs to have you, completely, devour you whole, a meditative meal where he gets to take his time and worship every inch of your body.

You’ve texted to tell him you unfortunately have plans tonight. A shame since he doesn’t have to work tomorrow and he was hoping he’d get to spend it with you, finally.

His thoughts have been stuck on you for the past few weeks, the prefect memories to lock onto as he finishes up his charts while he waits for Shen to arrive for handoff.

He’s startled when someone knocks on the desk in front of him, his brain snapping back into the unfortunate reality that doesn’t involve you spread out beneath him as he fucks into you repeatedly.

“I thought you weren’t working tonight—”

“Relax brother,” Jack calms his anxieties quickly. “I’m not here for that.”

Robby looks at him distrustingly. “Okay?”

Jack nods, mouth opening as if to say something while his face contorts into something Robby doesn’t quite understand. He’s…apologetic? Why would Jack be—?

“Hi,” your voice suddenly warms the entire ED as you skip towards them.

Robby can’t help it, his cheeks blushing a deep crimson, his mouth curling into a bashful smile. What the fuck have you reduced him to?

He opens his mouth to greet you, your entire existence a spotlight directed towards him, fading away the darkness completely.

But then you…walk right past him.

Towards Jack.

Towards his open arms.

What the fuck is going on?

Panic and confusion flood his body, fill his lungs up with water, actually stop his heart for one absurdly long, drawn out second, because he watches you get on your tip toes and kiss Jack Abbot on his absurdly smug lips, and Robby’s certain this is some kind of divine punishment—

“Hey sweetheart,” Jack mumbles lovingly against your mouth. “You ready to go?”

You nod, brushing your nose with his, nauseatingly adorable.

Robby’s certain he’s going to pass out, the entire room spinning.

What the fuck is going on? You’re…you’re with Jack when you’re supposed to be with Robby? Okay, maybe he never defined the relationship with you but that doesn’t mean—No! Who the fuck do you think you are? Are you cheating on Jack with him? Oh no, is he the other man? Did he just ruin his friendship—

“Goodnight, brother,” Jack can barely meet his gaze when he speaks. Oh fuck Robby’s life is ruined.

He’s certain he looks pale as all hell, guilt written all over his wrinkles, cold sweat definitely staining his clothes and dripping down his brow.

It’s then that you turn to look at him for the first time.

You look…perfectly fine. Smiling like you’ve just won the lottery. A deviant satisfaction sparkling in your eyes. Wait—

“Good night, doctor Robby!” You whisper, saccharine and sickly sweet. “It was fun getting to work with you, please give Noelle my best if you see her.”

And with one final, diabolical smile, it all just crashes against Robby, the angle of the mountain finally pushing the rock all the way back down, knocking him off his feet, exhausted and shocked, unable to do anything more than fall on one of the chairs and stare off into the distance.

You little—

“Fuck!” He hisses, loudly, enough for the entire ED to stop and stare at him for longer than he’d like to admit.

But what he doesn’t notice, what neither of them do, is the way your face drops as you walk out, guilt spreading through your chest for the first time at the sight of his sullen expression.

You turn back to look at him, at how he’s just this sad little man, bruised and broken. Your heart aches, something deep inside of you twisting and turning uncomfortably. You can’t…no, you definitely don’t…fuck.

You swallow the lump in the back of your throat thickly.

He’s learned his lesson, definitely…but at what cost…to you?

Bonus scene (happens after you accept to destroy Robby for Noelle):

It's a little after nine when you finally get called down to the ED for your first consult. It's someone you know, a case you've been assigned to for a while so it's easy and comfortable.

You chat up the patient and his mother, make sure to explain the process of care as diligently as you can with Shen, all in all, a swift and easy case.

And yet, before you slink back upstairs to your little office, you linger.

Ugh, you hate it, it's gross honestly, your stomach twisting in both annoyance and indignation at how much of a hypocrite you've become.

But then you see him, coming out of a patient's room, his gaze already on yours as he cleans his hands with disinfectant and crosses the room to greet you.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Jack teases, the motherfucker able to read you with an ease that sends a shiver down your spine.

"I need to ask for a favor," you murmur, suddenly feeling a little childish about what you're about to say. 

His eyebrow quirks in giddy expectation, easing whatever apprehension you've been feeling. Right, it's Jack for fuck's sake. If anyone's gonna understand your borderline sociopathic tendencies, it's him.

"I'm gonna do something silly, and I need you to promise me that you won't hate me for it."

He straightens his posture, hands clasped behind his back, looking down at you like he's trying to hold himself back from pouncing.

He has no right to be this fucking sexy.

"This about Robby and Noelle?"

You grin devilishly. God, he just gets you.

You manage a nod, biting down on your bottom lip to stop your smile from growing even bigger.

He sighs in response, not judgmental or disappointed, more so...absolutely fucking terrified for his friend.

"Please be gentle with him."

You scoff in mock offense. "He lost the privilege when he broke up with her via text."

"What?" His sharpness snaps the attention of the entire ED towards you. You shake your head for them, calming whatever outburst you think is being directed at you. It's only when the normal shuffle returns to the room that Jack continues. "Oh boy...yeah, can't help him there."

You shrug, leaning just a tiny bit forward. "I'll make it up to you when I'm done, I promise."

He smirks brightly, desperately fighting the urge to lean down and capture your lips with his.

"You better, pretty girl," he groans, low and deep. "And don't you even think about putting out for him.”

Your eyes widen. Oh.

"Can I..." you stumble then, cheeks burning hot, throat suddenly dry. "I'm gonna have to—just hand stuff, I promise."

Jack chuckles loudly. Jesus fucking Christ, this is definitely not where Jack expected his night to go but this is easily the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him. Watching you get so flustered, requesting such a…ridiculous thing from him—

He’s desperately fighting the raging erection threatening to tent his scrubs.

"No sex, no kissing," Jack states, eerily stern and possessive, basically drenching your panties with his tone because two can play at that game. "Hand stuff is fine, and just because I'm feeling generous, I'll let him get a taste of you and be haunted by your perfect mouth. Deal?"

He holds out his hand, pinky up for you to thread your own with his.

You're practically panting. "Fuck I love you."

He smiles dizzyingly in return, his heart close to popping from all the blood pumping through it.

"I love you too, crazy."

You interlock your finger with his, a matching mischievous look shared, powerful enough for everyone to act dumb at your obvious insanity, the night shift already used to the both of you being this intense all the time.

He steps back first, body buzzing with excitement. "Go, have fun ruining my best friend's life," he chuckles. "But I'm taking you home with me tomorrow morning."

You beam. “Yes, sir.”

a/n: if this gets a part two, it will devolve into Rabbot insanity just so you know. it’s honestly giving brat4brat and jack having to come in to dom the hell out of both of them

It was a shit day in the Pitt.

When asked about your day, that was always your reply.

The patients were either monumentally stupid, disrespectful, verbally abusive assholes, intoxicated to the point they could not even hear the questions you asked, or the most precious, sweetest people ever - and the sweet, precious ones were always the sickest.

It was a cruel running gag of the universe, you were sure of it. The stupid assholes survived, and the sweet grandmas who called you hun and made you compliments, the polite single mums tearing themselves apart to keep their children’s worlds whole, died.

PTMC was chronically underfunded, the staff chronically overworked, running on shitty coffee, insomnia, saviour complexes and fumes, and the air conditioning unit perpetually shit.

What was there to love about this job?

You sat on the low wall by the ambulance bay, tucked away from the chaos of the ER against the corner by the wall with your knees drawn up to your chest and your head resting against the brick wall behind you.

It was your own personal little safe haven.

Everyone on staff had one.

Trinity and Dennis had the break room. Donnie and Jessy the hallways leading down into the subbasement where only the generators, central supply and the IT gremlins (as you affectionately called them) hid. Abbot and Robby had the roof.

You had this corner.

You took another sip from the can of soda you held in your lap. The late summer heat was oppressive, squeezing in around you until the air felt too heavy, too thick. The can was sweating as much as you, condensation seeping through the cheap fabric of your scrubs. Your feet were aching, your head too. Your hoodie lay discarded next to you on the wall. The ER itself was freezing cold, but the outside smoldering, and the waiting room was somehow even hotter.

ER waiting rooms often defied all laws of physics.

Yeah, when asked about your day, you always replied with shit. 

The pay wasn’t enough for the backbreaking labour expected of you to keep the crumbling healthcare system afloat on your compassion and spite alone. The patients were ungrateful or so gut-wrenchingly tragic you couldn’t breathe. You woke in cold sweats most nights, remembering the faces of patients you’d lost years ago. The air conditioning unit might as well have come straight from hell with how it savoured torturing you. You were still paying off student loans and would continue to do so for many years just to have parents argue with you that vaccines were a hoax, their children lying in the next room as they slowly died from preventable diseases.

And yet, despite it all, you kept coming back. You came back every day. You picked up shifts when colleagues called out. You volunteered for holidays so those who actually had a family could spend the day with them. You stayed longer when the Pitt was swamped.

Perhaps you had some masochistic tendencies (you definitely had those).

Perhaps you were simply insane.

For some inexplicable reason, staying away from the hospital longer than two days in a row drove you mad with boredom. You stood in the front row of every mass casualty, swirling through the ER, past bloodied gurneys and screaming patients, blood pounding in your ears and feeling alive like never before amidst the death and devastation.

There was another perk to being an absolute, hopeless workaholic, and it was currently arriving for his shift.

Robby started riding his new motorcycle to work a few weeks back, and with the shock of PittFest still deep in everyone’s bones, it took a few days for people to even realise. It started with Dana pursing her lips. It ended with you somehow finding time to sneak away for your ‘lunch’ break every day at seven a.m. when Robby arrived for his shift. 

He didn’t always notice you sitting on your wall with your packed lunch and ice-cold can of soda, no matter the weather. When he did, he shot you one of his strained, tight-lipped smiles or waved before heading inside to do handovers with Abbot.

You worked the midnight to noon shift, your time at the hospital overlapping with Abbot’s, Shen’s and Robby’s shift, a new system being tested by the hospital to provide greater continuity of care. The second-you worked from noon to midnight.

You didn’t mind. 

You got to watch Robby arrive for work and wave him goodbye when you left to go home.

You looked forward to it. To these slammed eight hours you got to see him, be near him, work at his side, sometimes close enough to smell the scent of soap he used still clinging to his skin.

Robby never wore a helmet. 

In front of Dana, he pretended he did. When you were around for one of their arguments on the matter, Robby always glanced over to you, sharing a private, conspiratorial smirk with you and winking.

Your knees went weak every single time.

It was pathetic really, how huge your crush on your much older attending had grown.

It started as fawning admiration for his skill and calm even amidst the shittiest, harshest shifts when you were nothing but a flustered med student who, no matter what she did, always stood in the way. When you were a resident, still overwhelmed that you actually got placed with your dream hospital, you worked tirelessly, making it your whole existence to prove to Dr Robby you could be trusted, that you were good, that you’d earned your spot here. That you soaked up everything he taught you. That you had not wasted the time he spent teaching you. You wanted to make him proud. You craved his approval and praise.

You were pathetic.

But when he’d been the first to congratulate you when you passed the boards, and he’d been the one to tell you your application for the attending position at PTMC’s ED had been accepted - those were your most cherished memories…

Robby parked in the same spot as always, close to the entrance of the ambulance bay. Sweat clung to his brow. The corners of his eyes were crinkled from a lifetime of smiling. You wondered when he stopped. What had sucked the joy and happiness out of him? Perhaps it was this job.

I’d make him happy again, that unhelpful, ridiculous little voice in your head whispered. You shoved it away roughly. What did you even have to offer a man at least twenty years your senior?

I’d suck him off so good he’d forget how to breathe.

“Oh my god.” You muttered to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to fight off the heat creeping up your neck. When had you become such a fucking pervert? Lusting after some old man. Your former teacher. Your boss!

You were still watching Robby, like the unhinged little freak you’d become for him. He was checking his phone, still sitting on his bike. You watched him shove the phone back into the side pocket of his cargo pants and then, as if time had turned to molasses, you watched him shove his hand under the hem of his shirt and lift it up to wipe the sweat off his face and beard.

Your eyes glued themselves to the sight unfolding before you, to Robby’s soft, round stomach on full display, protruding over his belt like the most delicious fucking muffin you’d ever seen. You stared at his sweaty skin, the liberal dusting of coarse dark hair covering it, mouth quite literally watering at the sight.

Robby dropped his shirt again. It caught on his belly, leaving a delicious sliver uncovered, the same slivers you had stolen glances of every time he stretched his back in the ER, causing his scrubs to ride up.

Robby looked up and froze. Your eyes met across the ambulance bay. You couldn’t look away. What was wrong with you? Ogling his belly in public like some- some belly fetishist!

Heat suffused your face and neck, making even the scorching temperatures around you go green with envy. 

Robby stared back at you. A slight pink tinge spread across his cheeks. He tugged on his shirt, even when it sat normally again and averted his eyes, twisting his head away with more force than necessary.

You were still staring at him.

You couldn’t stop.

Seeing his naked belly had broken something, fried some essential wiring in your brain, you were sure of it.

Robby didn’t look at you when he stalked past to disappear into the Pitt.

You stayed. Trapped between mortification at being caught ogling him and depraved delight at the sight that had burnt itself into your retinas.

This was not good.

This was not at all helpful with regards to your concerning, lecherous crush - though crush was far too tame a word to describe the absolutely filthy thoughts that came to haunt you every time you lay down in bed to catch some sleep between shifts.

You finished your soda, ate the last of your ‘lunch’ while desperately trying to remember how to act normal before heading back inside.

The scent of Robby’s aftershave, still fresh in the morning, still hung in the air. You felt yourself blush again. Oh god. You were fucked. You were so royally, monumentally FUCKED.

I want to fuck him.

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” You hissed to yourself.

Dana shot you an incredulous look over the edge of her glasses, one brow raised, no doubt seeing the blush still darkening your skin when you went to check the board. You forced yourself not to look for Robby before grabbing a tablet to throw yourself back into the ER madness - a mistake, you realised as you turned around and collided with another person.

A solid, soft, very good-smelling person.

“Dr- Dr Robby.” You muttered, backing away quickly. Could this day get any worse?

You looked up on reflex - it was impossible not to look at Robby, not to look for Robby, but all you could think about as you were peering up at your old mentor and object of all your desires was how you would ride your pillow tonight while thinking about the mouth-watering show he’d inadvertently put on for you this morning.

Your blush only darkened further.

Had you been any more sane in the moment, you’d have noticed Robby’s own flushed skin, or the fidgedy, uneasy energy surrounding him.

Dana looked from you to him and promptly decided she was not paid enough to deal with whatever was going on between the two attendings.

You were called away to one of your cases and quickly ducked around Robby to scurry away, taking all your perverted thoughts and shame with you.

Good thing mind-readers don’t exist. And in case they do, please don’t tell on me.

Your shift dragged on, tugging you along at the most infuriating, pointless pace ever. You liked your shift time slot. You liked that you got to spend one half with the nightshift crew and the second half with the dayshift. Nights were slower and somewhat calmer but also batshit crazy. Days were turbulent and demanding. You never wanted to go back to twelve uninterrupted hours of this shit ever again. Eight were more than enough. 

You’d been avoiding Robby, and you’d almost made it to the end of your shift without interacting with him. You’d even voluntarily exiled yourself to chairs.

Just another hour to go before you could slink out, taking your shame with you and hopefully, hopefully Robby would have forgotten all about this by tomorrow. Or at least you could both pretend it had never happened.

You swirled around at the sound of your name being called - and cursed.

Robby made his way through the flow of staff and patients towards you.

“A word.” It was a question. He pushed the door to an empty exam room open and, hanging your head in defeat and embarrassment, you ducked under his arm and slipped into the room. Robby followed. The door fell shut. The chaos and noise of the ER faded away, leaving you alone with your stupid blush and stupid, feral thoughts and rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Robby towered over you with his arms crossed, ridiculously tall and handsome and looking at you with that stern, sexy disappointed-teacher-look. You both shrunk under it and internally purred like a cat getting exactly what it wanted. He tilted his head and tipped it forward, looking down at you with those delicious dark puppy eyes-

“I expected more professionalism from you. If you have an issue, I thought you would have enough respect for me to bring it up with me personally, instead of doing this fucking charade of playing cat and mouse!”

Your eyes flicked down to his belly. Your severely unhelpful brain supplied pictures of you kneeling in front of him, feeling his belly against your forehead, choking on his cock while he berated you in exactly that tone.

Robby hissed your name. You flinched, head whipping up to meet his eyes again.

I’m no better than a man.

“I-” You mumbled unhelpfully, unsure of how to save yourself from the mess you were sinking into deeper and deeper the longer you were alone with him.

He was still going. Working himself up into a right frenzy while tearing into you in this new stress-fuelled way of his he never used to do before. You remember well how he knocked a former R4, who’d long since moved to another hospital after making attending, down a peg for shouting at you so hard after you made a harmless mistake you started crying and hyperventilating.

He was a very different man back then.

Not that you minded this new, rougher, meaner version of him.

“I know I am not the youngest man anymore-” An edge of insecurity slipped into his voice. “-but you are a doctor for Christ’s sake! I didn’t do anything inappropriate, so I don’t get what the fuck is going on with you that you can’t even do your fucking job today! Are you thinking about going to HR? Gloria? Is that it? Some snowflake shit about not being able to see some skin without getting offended?”

He was still going.

I want you to call me a filthy slut while I ride your sexy belly.

Silence.

No-

Oh god no-

“Did I say that-”

“Yep.”

You wanted to disappear. To stop existing. Better yet, for you to never have existed in the first place.

“I-” Your mouth went dry, so dry that every swallow felt like trying to force sand down your throat. “Fuck- I’m sorry-” You hid your face behind your hands and fought against the tears burning in your eyes.

Fuck.

Fucking stupid.

How could a decently smart person - and you had to at least be decently smart to have made it through med school and residency - be so fucking stupid?!

“Dr Robby, please- I-”

You bolted out of the room, leaving behind a stunned, slightly flushed Robby.

***

It was almost eight pm when a knock on your door tore you from your spiralling thoughts that shifted from berating yourself to considering resignation - because what else was there left to do at this point?

You’d stayed hidden in chairs until your shift was over and used the noon rush of people using their lunch break to see a doctor to slip out without bumping into Robby.

You barely slept, and you still had not decided whether you’d be showing up for your shift at midnight.

Peering through the peephole made your blood run cold.

Robby.

A dishevelled, sweaty, irritated-looking Robby. At your door.

You opened the door a crack, hiding behind it with only your head popping out. You felt Robby stare down at you, but you had no bravado left to face him. You didn’t have any bravado. You would have never said that to him, never confessed to your raunchy thoughts and fantasies. You still had no idea how the words slipped out.

“Can we talk?”

You nodded, still not looking up and stepped aside enough for him to slip into your apartment. You shut the door and slunk back down the hall and into the living room, where you sat down on your sofa, curling up into a tight ball with your knees to your chest and a pillow clutched in your arms.

Silence stretched between you, thick and loaded.

“Look…” Robby ran his hands through his hair and slumped down in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table with an audible sigh. “I don’t appreciate being ridiculed.”

Your head snapped up, brows dipping into a frown, lips parting as though to say something, but Robby lifted his hand, cutting you off.

“I made you uncomfortable, and instead of being a man about it and acknowledging it and apologising, I was a dick. That wasn’t right, but paying me back like that? That wasn’t cool either.”

“I- I didn’t-”

Robby snorted, a bitter, self-deprecating sound that sent a pang through your heart. “Right. Because I’m supposed to believe you meant that.”

“I did.” Your voice was a tiny, fragile little thing, bearing the evidence of the hours you’d spent panicking, thinking about what you were supposed to do to fix this, and no negligible amount of crying.

It was Robby’s turn to stare at you, opening and closing his mouth in a futile attempt to come up with something to say.

“I shouldn’t have- I never thought I’d say something like that to you, and that was so inappropriate, and I am sorry, but I won’t sit here and let you claim I was lying. Because I wasn’t.” Your cheeks burnt, but you forced yourself to hold eye contact even when your throat felt as though it was swelling shut.

“You- meant it?”

You nodded.

“You want to ride my belly?”

You looked away. Heat surrounded your face. “I think you look good. Really good.”

“Then you have very questionable taste, kid.”

You put the pillow down and got up, moving past your coffee table to stand in front of Robby. He watched you with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. You set your knee against the edge of the cushion, right between his spread legs.

“Do you have a problem with my taste?”

Robby whispered your name, a warning that was already hanging on by a thread, brittle, too weak to conceal his own yearning he’d been fighting to keep hidden from you.

You were too young, too pure for him to drag you down with his own messiness and inability to commit. He didn’t care about workplace relationships, he should as department chair and man who’d been frozen out by scorned nurses to the point Dana had to berate everyone involved into restoring some semblance of professionalism, but you- he didn’t want to mess you up, and everything he touched got messed up.

“Maybe it’s not my taste that’s the issue.” You placed your hand against his shoulders, curling the fingers of the other around his chin softly to force him to look at you. “Maybe it’s your perception.”

You bent down further. Robby bristled, taking a sudden, deep inhale. He looked like a man trapped between resisting and breaking, and a wicked, depraved part of you desperately wanted to see him snap.

You dropped to your knees. Robby groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to resist the temptation of looking at you, watching you huddled between his spread legs in your skimpy sleep shorts and loose shirt that did nothing to conceal the fact you weren’t wearing a bra.

You nuzzled the inside of his thigh with your head while dragging your hands down his chest, over his soft, warm belly-

You bit your lip to stifle a groan. You were too far gone to be embarrassed by how wet you already were for him, how needy and addled with pure, carnal lust that had been building for years, had grown to such devastating heights you apparently blurted it out in the middle of getting your ass handed to you - unfairly - by your attending.

You toyed with the hem of Robby’s scrub top.

“You’re crazy.”

“It would seem that way.” You murmured as you pushed his shirt up, eyes latching onto the delicious sight of soft, warm, hairy flesh. His body looked like the epitome of comfort. Lived-in, functional, not like those overly polished, eating disorder-driven fuck boys that clogged up your timeline on social media and flooded the dating apps, talking about discipline while eating unseasoned chicken with rice and making women feel shit about their very normal, very natural bodies. You could picture yourself curling up against Robby to leech off his warmth at night. Or resting your head on him while he ran his fingers through your hair.

“But since I already made a fucking spectacle of myself at work, I might as well do this.” You pressed your lips against his stomach and bit back a needy moan. Robby’s hand shot up to thread through your hair. He watched you mouth at his belly as if it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, lavishing kisses and teasing kitten licks all over his squishy flesh.

He could not fathom how someone as pretty as you could ever be attracted to the worst part of him. Though perhaps these days the worst part of him was his steadily worsening temper… not that you seemed especially opposed to that too.

“Can I?” You looked up at him through your lashes.

“What?” Robby struggled to keep up with you, his mind preoccupied with trying to process how he’d ended up in your apartment with you kneeling between his legs and still somehow not to suck his cock.

“Ride your belly.” You painted languid patterns onto his exposed belly with your fingers, kempt nails scraping softly over his skin, making him shiver.

“Yeah.”

His reply came out breathless, without him really thinking about it. You emitted a squeaking noise of pure delight, and any inhibitions he might still have had melted away under it. You got to your feet, shimmying out of your shorts and panties before straddling him. You tugged and pulled impatiently on his shirt, but Robby needed a moment to get over the way your tits were in his face.

His shirt joined your shirts on the ground. Your fingers found their way into his hair and beard, toying with the coarse hair while rolling your hips against him. You stifled a moan against his temple, insides clenching violently around nothing as you dragged your soaked folds over his soft flesh. You applied more pressure, and his flesh gave way for you, allowing you more friction without it hurting or overstimulating your already swollen clit. You felt his hair against your inner thighs and heated flesh, a teasing tickle that sent prickling shivers of desire and need down your spine.

“Robby-” You moaned breathlessly. His face caught in your hands, you tipped his head back and slanted your lips over his. It was a messy kiss, uncoordinated and frankly, pathetically eager.

But was it your fault this sad old man underneath you was so fucking hot it burnt your neurons to just look at him?

After a stunned moment, Robby reciprocated. He cupped the back of your head with one hand while the other settled on the small of your back to pull you closer. He slipped down on the armchair a little, making it easier for you to grind against him.

“Fuck, sweetheart-” He muttered against your lips when you pulled back to gasp for air. “This what you wanted? You young people have some fucking issues…”

You shuddered above him.

Robby’s eyes lit up with mirth.

“Right… no, this is not all you wanted, is it? What was it you said? You want me to call you a filthy slut?”

You could only nod.

“Tell me, baby.” His hands fell to your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he pulled you down harder against him. “What is it your deranged mind pictured when you thought about this? Did you get yourself off to the thoughts of an old man’s floppy stomach?”

You nodded again.

“Words, sweetheart. Can’t help you if you don’t talk. Come on, be a big girl and use your words.”

You moaned.

Robby forcibly stilled the movement of your hips.

“I-” You couldn’t meet his eyes. Embarrassment burnt a path up your throat, and for some terrible, filthy reason it turned you on all the more. “You’re pulling my hair, holding my arms behind my back, and degrade me. Sometimes- sometimes you tell me to stroke your cock while I get myself off. To make myself useful.”

Robby inhaled a hissing breath through his teeth.

Slowly, he ran his hand up your spine, just to drag it back down and catch the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms to help him peel it off you. His eyes flicked down to your breasts immediately, mentally cataloguing the sight of you, saving it to his memory.

He threaded his fingers through your hair, palms flush against your scalp, just to curl his fingers, gripping your hair tightly at the root, and you thought you could have come right then, just from finding out Robby knew how to properly pull a girl’s hair.

He caught your wrist and twisted your arm behind your back, just enough to hurt but not so much he would dislocate your shoulder, dragging another stuttering moan from you.

“Go on then.” Robby purred, voice lower than before, eyes dark with hunger. “If you’re getting yourself off by rubbing your little cunt all over me like a fucking slut, you might as well make it worth my while.”

You could barely move. Between the silent threat of your arm twisted behind your back, forcing you to arch your back and lewdly present your breasts to Robby, and his hand in your hair, you were trapped.

It was so much better than you ever thought it would be.

Robby chuckled. “Fucking hell… and here I thought you were this innocent, well-behaved little thing.”

You finally managed to reach the waistband of his pants. It took you several attempts to manage to slip your hand under it, straining in Robby’s grasp and gasping when a movement had your shoulder aching. Robby, all the while, mocked you for struggling, for dripping all over him like a fucking whore, for getting so turned on by being man-handled.

“There you go… see, that wasn’t hard, was it? Pretending to be a useless, dumb bitch isn’t going to get you out of this, sweetheart. You put yourself in this situation, now be a big girl about it, hm-” Robby was cut off by a groan when you managed to close your fingers around his hard length. You tugged, forcing him out of the confines of his boxers. He felt big - long and heavy in your hand. Robby’s grip tightened around your wrist, dragging another stuttering moan from your lips.

You rolled your hips, rutting helplessly against his belly, immobilised by his strong arms around you, his cock throbbing against your palm-

“That’s all you can do? Hm? You get your hand around a cock, and suddenly that brain of yours doesn’t work anymore? Come on, sweetheart, put some effort in it. I thought you were going to make this worth my while? Why should I sit here and watch some whore get off?”

Pleasure pounded through your veins and rose to your head, wrapping your brain into a fuzzy blanket of bliss. Robby’s words made shame and embarrassment skyrocket in your chest. His hand around your wrist, twisting your arm behind your back, had sharp pain shooting through you, gasoline to the already raging storm of desire and need wreaking havoc over you.

“Robby- Robby, fuck- don’t stop-”

Tears clung to your lashes and rolled down your cheeks. Your chest rose and fell with each laboured breath you forced into your lungs. Your skin prickled as though you’d touched a live wire.

Robby’s dark eyes were glued to you, glinting with desire and wonder at the discovery of your own depravity. Never, never would he have expected the bubbly, sweet, innocent girl who’d been his med student all those years ago would get up to shit like this.

In all the years he’d spent pining after you, he never dared to think you would be this fucking perfect for him.

“Are you going to come? Are you seriously going to come from this? Fucking hell, sweetheart… such a disgusting, filthy fucking whore…”

“Y-yes-” You threw your head back, just for him to pull on your hair tighter, force your head back further until your toes were curling and your lips falling open around a suffocated moan. Your hand, already slick with pre-cum, tensed around his throbbing cock. “I’m a disgusting whore- your- your filthy whore- Robby- ah-”

“Oh, mine, are you? Am I to believe you won’t crawl to another man to have him throw you around the second I leave here?”

You tried to nod, but you could barely move your head.

“You can pretend to be a good girl all you want, baby, I don’t fucking believe you.”

“Daddy-”

A shudder tore through Robby, followed by a grin splitting across his face.

“Daddy? Oh ho ho, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks heated up under a fierce, bright red blush spreading across them.

“No no no, don’t you dare pretend you didn’t say that. Jesus, you’re such a fucking mess… no wonder you’re getting off to me tossing you around like you’re nothing but a used cum rag.”

“Robby-”

“No, baby.” Robby let go of your hair just to grab your chin. “No backpaddling now. Address me properly, pet.”

“D-daddy-”

“There you go. So there is some brain in that pretty head of yours after all.”

“Fuck me, daddy- please- ohmygod- I want to come on your dick-”

Robby was too far gone to question anything at this point. He was far too old to act like this, far too old to not waste a single thought of contraception or STIs or just the fact that he was your boss and you were far too young for him.

Robby let go of your arm. He had enough mental wherewithal about him still to ease it out of the uncomfortable position he held it in. He watched you for a second to make sure he’d not done any damage. You might be a little sore tomorrow, but from the way you moved it and rolled your shoulder to shake off the tension clinging to your muscles, he was sure you were fine.

You emitted a surprised squeal when Robby stood up with you in his arms, effortlessly, as though you weighed nothing. He turned you around and pushed you face-first onto the armchair. Your knees sank into the cushion. You clung to the backrest, just for Robby to grab your hair and push your face down. His fingers dug into your side, thumb pressing down on the small of your back viciously until you arched your back for him.

“Fuck- don’t even need any training, huh?”

You felt his blunt head rub through your soaked folds, heard the sharp intake of air he took in your ear as he bent over you, his front moulding to your back, belly pressed flush against your back-

“Keep that up and I might let you come.”

“Daddy-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Can’t trust a stupid slut to do as she’s told.” Robby forced your head to the side. You met his eyes through tear-soaked lashes. His lips brushed harshly against your cheek, his beard scratching your skin deliciously. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Come on. Beg me. I know you want to.”

“I want you-” You moaned, bucking against him, desperately seeking some friction to ease the painful pressure between your legs. “I want you to fuck me, daddy- I’ve wanted you- ah- wanted you for so long-”

“Yeah? How long, baby? How long have you been thinking about my cock stretching out that slutty little cunt?”

“Years-” Your nails dug into the fabric of your armchair, the material straining beneath your desperate grip, tears tumbling down your cheeks and falling off your jaw. A desperate sob tore through your chest. “Robby, please-”

You were cut off by the overwhelming stretch of his cock breaching you, pushing forward in a single, devastating thrust that had you trembling and whimpering under Robby. He felt so good- so fucking good- The stretch of him forcing your body to open up to him was just short of too much. He filled you up so good, thick and hot and heavy, a solid, throbbing weight inside your quivering, sopping cunt you could not forget.

“Shut up.” Robby hissed in your ear, knowing his sharp tone would only drag more delicious, high-pitched whines from you. “You got yourself into this mess, now be a good girl and take what daddy gives you. I don’t want to fucking hear you complain, sweetheart. You didn’t have to act like a fucking whore, you chose to, and now you see what daddy does to pathetic sluts throwing themselves at him.”

He fucked you in quick, jostling thrusts that had the feet of the armchair scraping across your flood. A distant, very distant part of you worried about Robby knocking the whole thing over from how hard he was pounding into you, but it quickly shut up when he let go of your hair to hold onto your waist, face nuzzling into the back of your neck.

He was panting, breathing loud and heavily, only interrupted by low, deep, rumbling grunts. His hips slammed into you, slamming you into the worn cushions. His star of david necklace tapped against your shoulder blade on every thrust while he mouthed at your ear and the side of your face, beard scraping deliciously over your sweaty skin.

The feeling of your cunt clamped down around him like a vice had apparently melted away every nasty word he could have thrown at you for your own sick, twisted pleasure, replacing the severe, struggling man you’d grown used to interacting with with a much softer version.

He muttered sweet nothings and tender praise into your skin while clinging to your waist as if you were a life raft. 

And fuck, you’d be his raft, life preserver and stress relief if only he kept fucking you like this.

A younger version of you made a vow what felt like lifetimes ago to not waste any more of your time on toxic, unstable men, but for Robby you might just throw every common sense out the window.

Robby’s big nose smushed into your cheek, he kissed the tears off your skin, telling you how good you were doing for him, how good you felt for him, while a ceaseless, barely comprehensible string of daddy and please tumbled off your lips and into the cushion he’d shoved your face into.

Within minutes - or had it been hours? You weren’t sure. You sure as hell couldn’t trust your mind in this situation - Robby had reduced you to a whimpering, drooling mess. Your own arousal mixed with his pre-cum ran down your thighs and slicked up every thrust, causing an obscene symphony of wet noises paired with the telltale slap slap slap of skin hitting skin to fill up your dim living room.

Robby pressed his face into the space between your shoulder blades. He reached around you, pressing two fingers to your swollen clit, rubbing the pads of his fingers over it at just the right rhythm to make you fall apart with a strangled scream, his name still on your lips.

He thrust into you once, twice more before following you, grunting against your skin and coming inside you. His hips kept moving, almost automatically, fucking his cum deeper inside you until it covered his whole length and dripped down his balls.

You’d turned to putty under him. Drooling, happy, satisfied putty. You let your body slide down the backrest, collapsing on the armchair that was no doubt traumatised now, covered in your own arousal, cum, tears and drool as it was now.

You rubbed a hand over your face, humming in contentment.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

Robby’s voice was soft, caring, the way it only got with injured, scared children and hearing him address you with it after he just wrecked you and called you a useless, disgusting slut had your insides turn all mushy and warm.

You gestured down the hall, unable to get enough of your bearing to talk. You didn’t expect him to stay. You certainly didn’t expect him to pick you up bridal style and carry you to your bedroom, or to fetch a warm washcloth from your bathroom and use it and his tongue to carefully but thoroughly clean you up.

He set you down on your unmade bed and dragged the warm cloth over your thighs before, almost as an afterthought, cleaning himself up. He settled himself between your legs, face smushed against your heated flesh and lapped at your cunt until every last drop of him was gone and you were clinging to his hair, whimpering his name sweetly.

And because Robby was apparently a depraved, wretched old man, he stayed there. He stayed there, kissing and licking and sucking at your skin until he’d dragged another orgasm from you and Jesus, you sounded so fucking sweet and tasted so fucking good- Robby couldn’t pull himself away. No matter how much he should. No matter how much guilt crashed down on him now that the lust and hunger had subsided. 

You wanted it, but how could he talk to you like that? Use you like that? You were such a sweet, young thing… how could you even know whether this was something you truly wanted? Not something you were made to believe you should enjoy? Robby had seen it before, and he had never wanted to be a part of it.

Even when you smiled at him, fingers playing with his hair and beard absentmindedly, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d done something terrible to you.

“Stay.” You croaked, and Robby felt himself nod before he could really think about the request, but yeah… what else was he going to do? Leave you? Fuck no.

He tossed the washcloth into your hamper and fetched you a glass of water. You gulped it down greedily before settling down, curling up against his side and nuzzling your face into his chest, your hand resting on his belly, drawing lazy circles onto his skin and playing with his hair. Robby buried his nose in your hair, the exhaustion of his shift finally crushing down on him, eyes falling shut…

Your alarm dragged you out of the easy, content, warm nap you’d slipped into. Your body felt pleasantly loosened, limbs still tingling faintly. Your arm felt sore, and a sharp, but not entirely unpleasant sting between your legs tore through you when you shifted.

Robby had wrapped his arms around you tightly, and it took some effort to extract yourself from him without waking him.

You tried to be as silent as you could as you took a shower and gathered your things for work. You left a note on the bedside table, telling Robby to stay as long as he wanted, and off you were.

You had an extra pep to your step as you strolled into the ER at midnight, just in time for your shift, and Lena commented on it right away - of course she did - gifting you one of her warm grins and peering at you over the edge of her glasses.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.” You smirked and promptly slipped away to put your lunch in the fridge and your things into your locker before jumping into the nightly madness.

Your good mood stayed, and it did not go unnoticed by the rest of the Pitt either. Abbot shot you a questioning glance, a brow raised when your reply to his question came out a little more chirped than it should have. Ellis slapped you on the shoulder, grinning at you. Shen seemed a little intimidated, if not downright scared.

Seven a.m. rolled around, and you snuck away, grabbing your food and soda from the fridge, and made your way outside for your break you did not negotiate on. Seated on your wall by the entrance, you waited, perhaps with a little more anticipation than usual.

You watched Robby pull up on his motorcycle, the same motorcycle you saw parked outside your place when you left, a sight that put a grin onto your lips.

Whatever giddy, girlish delighted joy had carried you through the night, it withered the moment Robby got off his bike.

He didn’t look at you.

He didn’t acknowledge you.

He got off his bike, grabbed the helmet he never wore and marched right past you into the ER.

Tears stung in your eyes, and you didn’t know whether you hated yourself more for crying or for having had sex with him in the first place.

You knew he never committed to anyone. You knew his dating pool was basically limited to the hospital and the women who got into ill-advised affairs with him despite his reputation. You hadn’t even asked for anything. You had just had sex. Of course that didn’t have to mean anything you expected- you thought- that he’d at least look at you.

You chewed on your bottom lip, fingers trembling around your can of soda, trying not to let your thoughts spiral into self-loathing or self-deprecating versions of He is disgusted with you, of course he is. You are disgusting, playing on repeat in your head.

You finished your soda despite the nausea welling up inside your throat and dumped the rest of your lunch before heading back inside.

The change in your mood was felt viscerally by the whole ER, questioning looks following you on your way to your locker to deposit your lunch box. You didn’t notice Robby following you with his eyes, nor the concerned crease forming between his brows, but he was pulled away on an urgent case before he could make up his mind about whether to talk to you.

It was two hours into his shift when the silence between you became too much for him. The first chance he got, he slipped away, grabbed your wrist and tugged you with him into the family room.

You steeled yourself for another lecture.

It didn’t come.

“I-” Robby started, but stopped himself. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I was. Until you started ignoring me again.” You shrugged.

Robby winced. “Look- I shouldn’t have come to your place. We shouldn’t have- that-” He sighed. “It can’t happen again.”

“Why? Am I that disgusting to you?”

“Wh-what? No! How would you even come to that conclusion?!”

“Well, everything was fine last night, and now you’re back to being a dick. What else am I supposed to think? I’m sure most women don’t ask you to call them a slut while fucking them.”

“I don’t- Do you think most guys get off on calling the woman they’re with a slut?”

“Yeah, actually, they probably do.”

Robby hesitated. “Okay… point taken. Not that it was about calling you awful things for me. It was about you- about knowing I was making you feel good…”

You crossed your arms. “Then where’s the issue, Robby?”

He gestured vaguely at you. “You. All of you.”

“Wow. Thanks.” You deadpanned, glaring up at him.

“No! Not like that! Jesus. Look, you’re too young, yeah? And far too good to waste your time on someone like me. You deserve someone who’s kind and sweet and gentle. Not whatever the fuck I did to you last night.”

“You don’t get to tell me what’s good enough for me.” You sniffed. “You did what I asked you to do, you don’t think I deserve someone who does what I ask?”

“Come on, sweetheart, you don’t have to pretend with me. You didn’t actually enjoy that-”

“Why not? Oh, so you can be into BDSM but not me? Is that it? Leave me alone with that internalised sexism bullshit!”

“Woah, I’m not sexist.” Robby blinked at you.

You snorted.

“I’m not! I respect women.”

“Yeah, the thing with internalised things is you are not usually aware of them, but I’m not fucking getting into that with you now. Are you coming over tonight?”

Robby opened his mouth just to close it again. He had an odd resemblance to a fish in a moment, and you briefly wondered how it was fair for a man to be so handsome that even that didn’t turn you off.

“What?”

You rolled your eyes. “You need hearing aids or something? I asked if you’re coming over tonight.”

“Why?”

You shrugged and took a step forward, letting your hand trail over his protruding, soft belly. “I want to feel this against my forehead while I choke on you.”

Robby all but sputtered. He looked around frantically, as though to make extra sure the family room was empty, just to hiss your name under his breath.

You grinned.

Slowly, you lowered yourself to your knees. Robby didn’t stop you. You popped open the button of his cargo pants and dragged down the zipper, all the while looking up at Robby. He glanced from you to the door and back to you.

“I wanna suck you dick, daddy.” You purred. Robby cursed under his breath. He braced his hand against the door before slumping against it with his back when you curled your hand around his soft dick to pull it from his boxers.

“Jesus, kid-”

“Is that a yes?” You asked in a painfully fake, high-pitched, whiny tone.

“Yeah-”

You grinned to yourself as you parted your lips to take him into your mouth. He grew hard under your touch, under the insistent drag of your tongue over his velvety skin. You sucked on his tip until he was cursing, and giggled around him when he grabbed your hair to force you down, burying himself as deep in your throat as he could. He squished your nose into the coarse, dark curls at his base and your forehead into his soft belly.

You moaned around him, eyes fluttering shut.

It was so much better than you ever thought it would be.

A few minutes later, throat sore and hair more or less smoothed down, you emerged from the family room with a renewed pep in your step. Robby slunk out behind you a while later, once you’d cleared the hallway and hopefully nobody would put two and two together.

Dana shot him a withering, disapproving glare from central, Jack next to her merely raising his brow before shaking his head.

Robby blushed.

That night, after his shift, he found his way back to your apartment, and the night after that, and the night after… He was fucking addicted, and he didn’t even care when you sucked his cock like that or cried his name out so sweetly while coming around him - and especially not when you lay in bed next to him, playing with his stomach hair and smiling up at him so prettily…

Green and gold?

Or maybe red with light blue; that could be a statement…

Although blue, brown, and white have always been staples together. 

But it was a Christmas Gala. The Manhattan Heirloom stupid fucking Benefit. And it was on Christmas Day, so rather, maybe red, white, and green were the way to go. But you seriously did not want to look like a Christmas tree your first event out—

“I’m sorry, you spent how much?”

You shrugged your shoulders, staring at your reflection in the three mirrors that surrounded you. They were all huge and caught every angle of you, and they especially showed you the most important part: the shocked face of the man sitting behind you.

Why you invited Joel, you didn’t know. It was your first gut reaction. He wanted to support you—you were drunk enough to sleep well, but not enough to forget his promise—so you took him on it.

You turned fast on the little circle stage, twisting your legs and cocking your head to the side. “I said: two thousand for a dress wasn’t anything crazy. At least, when I was constantly going to these sorts of things.”

Joel looked baffled, sitting stiff against the leather of the viewing couch. 

He gaped like a fish on land, “Sorry, didn’t quite hear you the first time. Repeat?”

“It’s a whole look, Joel. I don’t have much of anything. I need actual good heels that’ll last me; I need a bag, I need jewelry. A whole wardrobe refresh, at this point. I only—seriously—have work clothes and some normal shirts.”

“I just ain’t used to it, that’s all. You’re payin’ more than my electricity bill in a whole outfit. For one night.”

You arched an eyebrow at him, “It’s the New York City elites, baby, how else am I supposed to show up?”

The nickname ‘baby’ had truly been a slip of the tongue. But you saw in that moment the effect it had on him. His eyes widened, mouth slightly parting, before it all melted into one, goopy, happy look on his face. Any shock he had toward your spending habits promptly melted away as he leaned his head closer to you. 

“You’re right, what am I talkin’ ‘bout?” He nodded along with his words.

“Do not just start agreeing with me because I slipped up.”

“No, no. Never. I always give you hell for everythin’.” Joel’s said in a low chuckle, his fingers now playing with the threads of the seats. You watched his index and middle fingers trace up and down, clearly seeing that he was lost in his own world. When you zoned in on him, you saw how his glasses had slightly slipped from the perched position he had them in. Instead, now they were sliding over the hard bump of his nose. 

Instinctively wanting to clean him up, you stepped off the little stage and silently padded to him. He saw you and gaped, but you ignored him and stood between his knees. He blinked at the sight of your finger, focusing on it as it pushed his glasses up. You couldn’t help yourself, though, now fidgeting with stray pieces of hair and even finding melted snow on the collar of his jacket. You wiped that away.

Joel made a deep noise in your chest over your fussing, “I don’t look good ‘nough? Sorry, threw some stuff on right when you called.”

“What?” You blinked yourself out of your gaze, fingers grazing the side of his neck, where you paused, “No, you look fine. Just was seeing… seeing if you need a new wardrobe for this trip.”

“Me? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

You shook your head and laughed. “It’s just not New York-winter-proof." 

Joel glanced down at the jacket, flannel, jeans, and boots he had on. His eyebrows furrowed completely in thought, “I ain’t that cold.”

“I was wearing a button-up, a blazer, and a fur-lined jacket, and I was still freezing getting here. I don’t know how you even managed to step outside to get into the car.”

“I’m just—”

“You’re not built for the cold. The heat, more likely.”

“I was gonna say the extremes.”

“Well, you aren’t. And I will annoy you the entire ambulance ride to the hospital if you get frostbite.” Your Birkin lay right by his side, which you had carelessly thrown to the side, but he was the one who fixed it to stand upright. “Michelle’s designer works well with guys; I’ve seen a couple of his works. We’ll get you some things.”

“Um, that ain’t why we’re goin’.” Joel instantly deflected, “If this is such an important event, then we should focus on you, not me.”

“I have the entire space cleared out for my appointment. I’ll use my time and money to my will, guests included, too.”

“I’m serious, you don’t gotta—”

“So you have a suit.”

Joel blinked, “Huh?”

You nodded your head toward the glass windows to the snowy city outside, “In your backpack that you lugged over here. You have the suit from Dallas that fits you perfectly just sitting there waiting to be used, right?”

“I see what you're doin’ here.”

“Do you, or do you not?”

He lifted his head, meeting your gaze with the same intensity. He always met you at your level, always gave you a challenge. 

And he also made it really easy to win.

“No… no, I don’t.”

“Exactly, and the dress code doesn’t really allow for… ordinary wear.” You played with his collar to emphasize. 

Joel tilted his head, a smirk sliding across his lips, “I thought you loved my clothes. Last time I checked, there’s been many times where it’s been me in my clothes and you in nothin’ but—”

“Shush, shush!” You smothered your hand over his mouth, keeping whatever very inappropriate thing that he had in his head. “We’re in a public space. With cameras.”

“Like Tommy’s office.” The words came muffled through your palm.

“You’re being very difficult on purpose, aren’t you?”

You felt his hands graze over the back of your thighs. Even though you were in your dress slacks, his skin was hot, and you could feel it through the fabric. He clicked his tongue innocently, “I’m just tryin’ to be different.”

“With what, you’re flirting?”

“Is it workin’?”

“Oh you—”

Bam!

The interesting thing about this room wasn’t the abnormal amount of colors that seemed to work, or the twisting furniture that made abstract shapes, like the orange couch Joel was pressing himself harder into, suddenly very interested in the things surrounding him. 

No, it was the way it all worked. Michelle wasn’t the type of woman who enjoyed constant chatter in her ear. So, when she recommended this place, you knew it was catered to her tastes. Simple research taught you that her wardrobe stylist simply studied her clients’ fashion sense over the years and curated a handful of outfits. All without meeting face to face.

This city brought the strangest people together. 

With your hand on your heart, you watched as three long racks of clothes were wheeled in, each containing three dresses. Heels lay just underneath each dress on the bottom rack, along with a small card. They all came to be parked right next to the small stage, and each assistant stood still after they finished their job.

“All of these dresses are fit to match you, given your tastes,” The first assistant said, his voice professional. “If anything else is needed—different sizing, different accessories, different shoes—please direct yourself to the buzzer near the door.”

You nodded, inching toward the racks. “Thank you, I will.”

As quickly as all three came, they all left. Silence was all that was left as the doors clicked shut behind them. 

“We’re glad they ain’t nosy. Now that would’ve been bad.”

You turned to him, huffing, “That’s the first thing you have to say?”

“Better than what I was gonna actually say.”

You muttered, ‘idiot’, rolling your eyes as you went back to the racks. Your fingers grazed over the expensive fabrics, eyeing all the expensive beadings and colors. No one dress was the same, each with its own unique cut and neckline, with the only similar characteristic being that they were all floor-length. 

You brought each one to your wrist, seeing how the colors would match you. Overdoing it and making yourself stick out wasn’t what you wanted, but you also didn’t want to feel like a piece of unnoticeable furniture.

The first dress slipped off the hanger; a red piece with thin straps, exposing your shoulders completely. You were sure you saw this on a runway during the spring. It’s fabric glowed in the low light of the stage as you brought it over, leaving its heel behind. 

On the stage, it felt like everything else slowed down around you, as if you were the sole focus of everything. The spotlights naturally tilted toward you, casting the rest of the room in a darker view despite the rare breach of sunlight outside. 

After leaving the dress on one of the nearby hooks, you used your now freed hands to flip the clasp of your heels and shake them off to clatter onto the floor. You quickly made do with the button and fly of your dress pants. They came off swiftly and were placed into the growing pile 

You rubbed your hands over your thighs, shivering at the A/C and the bareness of your skin. You tilted your head behind you, keeping your eyes on your figure. “Joel, if you go into my bag, there are some files from work. Could you pull them out for me?”

There was no response.

“It should be black. A Birkin—do you even know what that looks like?”

Another beat of silence.

Losing your patience, you turned your head around quickly, with an amused look on your face. “Excuse me? Earth to—”

Your words died in your throat when you saw the look on his face, because all you were greeted with was an expression of pure awe. Joel had his lips slightly parted, and not even the shadows from his glasses and the lack of light could hide how dark his eyes were. 

They were perfectly still, not flickering like they normally would. They were trained onto one spot, on your back and near your thighs…

Your hands quickly went to cover yourself the best you could. A furious flush crawled up your neck and cheeks. “Joel Miller, get your eyes off my ass right now!” 

Like he was snapped out of a daze, Joel blinked and looked straight into your eyes. A matching blush grew over his face, making him completely pink. “I didn’t look!”

“Liar!”

“You were askin’ me to find somethin’ in your bag, and I was—” He turned suddenly to fumble with your Brikin, “—I was just lookin’ for it.”

“Please, spare me the theatrics. You're making this worse for yourself."

Joel shook his head, hands managing all the beige files without a noticeable shake—though you were sure there was one—and held them up, “I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“Don’t act all chaste now.” You looked back over to the mirrors and started undoing the buttons of your blouse. “We’ve done too many things together to be shy now.”

“That’s—that is true—but still! I ain’t ‘posed to just look at you like that. I’m sorry.” 

Ever the chivalrous knight. You slipped your top off and stood there, almost completely naked. “If it’ll ease your conscience, Joel, you can make it up to me by helping me go through those papers.”

He looked happy to be moving away from that topic of discussion, “What, these?” He held them up, then flipped them open, “There’re all… profiles.”

“Yep.” You confirmed, undoing the zipper of the dress and slipping it off the hanger, “There should be… around three or four.”

“There are. Even color-coordinated, too.”

“Good. Emma did her job nicely, then.” You started putting the dress on. You could hear the flip of a file being open, “Those are the guys that work with Michelle. They were clients of her ex, Jason Delaroche. But after a huge divorce lawsuit where she won everything he had built—the company, the clients, a shit ton of money—they became hers.”

“And that’s the asshole that accused you of sleeping with him when you threatened to expose him?”

“The one and the same.”

Joel went quiet for a second, and you were sure he was thanking every lucky four-leaf clover, star, and penny that Jason was reduced to nothing.”

“How much did she win?”

“Millions. Close to a billion, really, if you look at the property and company values.”

“Deserved, but Jesus Christ, that's an expensive marriage.”

“They come from old money,” As carefully as you could, you slipped one strap over your shoulder then the next. Through careful maneuvering, you flicked off the clasps of your bra and escaped its confines, throwing it with the rest. “And money marries money.”

“Not millions.”

“Especially millions. Keep it from the regular  folk.” You turned to him, smoothing out your dress to make sure it sat perfectly on you. “But talking about those two does nothing good for my mood. Here, how do I look?”

When you looked at Joel, hands on your hips, you expected him to do a lot of things. Mention how things didn’t look right or how the next dress would look. You were sure he had experience; after all, he had a teenager.

But all he could do was stare, open-mouthed, as the papers in the file slid down toward the floor because he wasn’t paying attention to them. No, he was completely enraptured by you. Everything about you. All your curves and edges. All your virtues and flaws.

For a while, it was like that until you started crumbling a bit, looking away. “You know, if you hate it, you don’t have to think about the reasons; you can just say it.”

“I never said I hated it.” Joel suddenly had the words to speak, “It’s just… you look…”

You waited, but he seemed to get lost again. You supplemented words, “Too bold? Too scandalous? Too much? Too little?”

“Too perfect. You look too damn perfect, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the flush that flooded your face. “That’s… that’s not—” 

“But it’s true, ain’t it?”

“I was going to say that doesn’t help.” You placed a hand on your cheek, lying through your teeth so he didn’t know how much his words affected you and built you up. You turned back to the mirrors, critically looking over your appearance. “I don’t know, it just doesn’t give me anything. It’s just… red.”

“Then it don’t work.” He said plainly. You saw him through the reflection, looking back at the file. You groaned and started removing the dress. You listened as he continued: “So we got… Prescott Ellsworth. Sorry, who the fuck names their kid like this?”

“Probably after some ancestor,” You covered your chest as the dress came off, using only one hand to put it back onto the hanger and find a new one. You picked up a dark blue—almost black—asymmetrical-neckline dress with intricate gems woven through it. 

When you got back onto the stage to put on the dress, Joel was still reading. “Says here he owns a real estate company.”

“He was just a kid last time I saw him, a kid of that older generation.” You sighed as you pulled up the dress and tried to jog your brain for any memories. “But now he owns it all and is now united with his fellow ego strokers, building their money… oh, and their mutual hate for me.”

“Hate you?”

You wince, “Might have blackmailed him with his secret, second family. Especially his secret daughter.”

“What?! Second family?! Secret daughter?! You didn’t.”

“Oh, and I’ve done worse to others.” You snapped the one strap of this dress on, smoothing it out before turning to Joel, “Let’s just say he’s just one out of the many in the elite society whose toes I stepped on.”

You expected judgment from him. Telling Joel about what people could do to get what they wanted was one thing; showing him actual examples of you doing so was another. Would he look away? Would he call you sick?

Would he no longer see you for who you were?

You were still the woman who loved him, who cared for him, who stayed by his side. You were still the woman who had worn his shirts as if they were her own and danced around the living room with him. You were still the little girl who had stuck her tongue out at him when he said something, a grin on her face.

Would he—

“I’m sure he deserved it.” Joel spread his thighs a bit wider as if to get close to you, despite how far he was. “Says here that Michelle wanted to buy some property from him to start buildin’ warehouses down near Jersey.”

“Any more specifics?”

“Been multiple meetin’s ‘tween their lawyers, but he ain’t headin’ any closer to a deal. Here it says—and I quote—’Seller has been delayin’ or holdin’ out on finalizin’ the transaction; now, therefore, in consideration of the mutual promises and covenants contained.’

“Hmm, so she wants us to do more dirty work.” You scoffed, “Has to be some sort of punishment.”

“You sayin’ it ain’t worth it.”

“No, it is.” Sighing, you tilted your head side to side to crack it. “We could seriously increase production, but I don’t like how I have the heavy work.”

“It’ll all work it ‘cause you’re doin’ it. You could blackmail all the men you want, hell, even threaten ‘em.” Joel lifted his head and studied you once again, looking over your curves. “I like this dress too. Reminds me of the sky.”

You blinked at how fast he moved on from the idea of you being cruel, like it was a matter of fact that he had accepted. You then cleared your throat, trying to find something smart, “The sky's light blue. Well, more grey than anything.”

“Night sky.” Joel corrected himself. “You look like the night sky, with all the stars in it.”

Had they turned up the heater in this fitting room? You fanned your face. “Thanks, but we don’t get stars in New York. Too much light pollution.”

He could see you deflecting so hard because, for some reason, compliments from him made you dizzy. You could absorb anyone else’s praises and build yourself up. You knew how you looked, how you presented yourself. A certain level of confidence came with the line of work you did.

But with Joel, it was all thrown out the window, lit on fire, and then dumped into the Hudson River to drift off, lost forever. 

No man had ever made you feel that way.

“Then y’look like the city lights. Yeah… that’s better.” He tilted his head as if he remembered the sight. “I remember, after you left durin’ my first night here, I sat and watched the city as long as I could. I see that now, and that dress.”

You smiled softly, looking down at your dress. You could see what he did; the glittering lights, the reflective colors of different signs that blared a million ads. “I can see that. Especially during New Year's. God, I know you’ve watched the ball drop, Joel, but seeing the city in full blast is something else.”

“Oh, I saw it all,” Joel reminisced with you, “I remember havin’ Sarah on one knee as the countdown would be on the TV.”

“Yeah, there’s the TV, but the noise, the lights, the confetti.” You gushed, “You just had to be there. I mean, I hated New Year's because I would be trying to study, but after ‘92, when I started helping out, I love New Year's more than anything.”

“Wait, helped out?” He asked, “You helped out with… New Year's.”

Your eyes sparkled, and you rushed off the stage to come stand right before him, the best you could. “I only had the best job in the whole world, Joel Miller. I was a confetti engineer.”

Joel went silent as you smiled so wide.

“A what?”

“You know, the people who toss the confetti, and when the New Year hits, it all comes down?” When he didn’t respond, you groaned, “It’s a volunteer job? The ‘confetti blizzard’, by Treb Heining? How do you think all the confetti gets over all those people each year?”

“That... was you?”

“Me and about a hundred volunteers.” You plopped yourself to sit beside him, crossing your ankles. “When I was a senior in college, my friend gave up her spot for this new volunteering thing—something about her cat—and I went. I stood alone at one of the corner buildings, and twenty seconds before the drop, we tossed. When it hit… it landed perfectly over everyone when they screamed ‘happy new year!’. Ever since then, it’s been my one good deed.”

“That’s amazin’.” Joel said earnestly. “Seriously, that’s incredible. I had no idea people actually threw that stuff, and you did it every year?” 

“Without fail, except this year, of course.”

To that, a frown fell over his features. “You didn’t sign up?”

“What time, Joel?” You suddenly laughed dryly. “I left New York with no intention of coming back, then came back and worked. Plus, applications ended in January, when I was dealing with the scandal. As much as Mr. Heining knows me, he has a program to run, and I’m not about to ruin it by my tardiness.

“There was just this quietness to it all.” You looked down at your bare feet. “I could be having the worst times of my life, and none of it would matter because it was me, that box of confetti, and the millions of people I was going to shock with my confetti. Stupid, right?”

You could picture every version of you in those nine out of thirteen years standing on the edge, looking down at the crowd and the chants of numbers. All by yourself, where no one knew who you were and nothing mattered except yourself. The peace it brought you was otherworldly.

“Never, it ain’t ever stupid,” Joel placed a hand on yours, bringing your attention to his face, “We all got our strange little thin’s that click. I’m sorry that you ain’t able to go this year.”

“It's fine, really,” You said, despite the ache in your heart. You put a smile on your face. “At least I get to spend this New Year's with you. Our first in… in almost fourteen years, and I want it to be special and good, for both of us.”

There was no response from him for a little bit. You could see him thinking. Before you could tell him not to act on whatever he was rummaging around in that head of his, he was already patting your hand and standing. 

You called his name, but he didn’t respond. Joel walked over to the racks of dresses, running his hands over the fabrics. He stopped right before a green dress, dark and sultry and everything you would wear with confidence then, but now? Now you weren’t sure.

“Christmas is soon.” Joe murmured, turning to you, “We missed almost fourteen years of that, too.”

“We did, but we have the gala. Trust me, we’ll be too tired to do anything until the afternoon the day after.”

He hummed, as if he accepted that as fact. “You should try this one.”

“Why, you like me in green?”

“I do. It’s always been your color.”

❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜

You considered yourself a grateful woman that Joel liked to be silent.

He was more of a listener than a talker. That much had been apparent since the day you met him, and it was a quality that you enjoyed a lot. Of course, it had its own downsides—it made it harder for him to open up, made it harder to see what was going on, but now, he had transformed it into an ear that would take what you gave him.

However, it was even better because when you had nothing to say, he was content to keep the silence.

There was no radio playing in the car, only your mind running through every name Joel had been muttering to help himself remember while he fussed with his bowtie. You eventually got tired of hearing and seeing him struggle, and did his tie for him while you corrected him. 

Now, in the car, Joel was tapping his hand on his thigh, playing some imaginary beat in his head. He looked crisp in his suit—he made sure to iron it twice, even though it arrived in mint condition—and trimmed his beard and hair himself. He told you something about “betraying his barber, and that the kid would feel bad ‘bout it.”

You didn’t understand; even your dad and Uncle Ray had said the same thing many a time. Whoever the ‘kid’ was, though, probably wouldn’t be too mad. From the way you looked to your right through your peripherals, you could tell he did perfectly fine.

That neck of his was cleaned up, and he had ditched the glasses, so now he was squinting a bit more at the signs that passed by. He was following the dress code perfectly: a black suit with a black bow tie and a White Calla Lily boutonniere pinned to his left lapel. 

His entire get-up was a very lucky adventure. Joel had been busy all day, barely making it back to your penthouse to start getting ready for the gala. You had lifted your eyebrow when you asked him where he had been, but he could only give you a flushed smile.

Whatever, let him enjoy the city.

You had that green dress, this time with accessories exactly as you would wear it. A long necklace threaded around your neck, with a stone in the center, placed perfectly just above where your breasts rose. Your brown fur shawl clung to your arms, and you wrapped it tighter despite the car’s heater. And of course, the gold heels Joel picked out lay on your feet.

You did your makeup as you used to, to make yourself more recognizable. Though you knew being recognized wouldn’t be an issue. 

Physically, you were prepared the best you could.

Mentally…

“You were right.”

You turned your head to Joel, your earrings grazing the side of your neck. With your full attention on him, he wrung his hands together. 

“You were right,” He repeated, clearing his throat this time, “All the accessories really pull everythin’ together. You look…”

“I look like…?”

“…stunnin’.” Joel decided, with a small smile on his face, “You look stunnin’.”

For the first time since getting into the car, a smile slid over your lips. Then, the flower on his chest caught your eye. It was slightly crooked and leaning away.

Frowning, you leaned over and worked to fix it up. Joel kept his back unnaturally straight as you worked, keeping his eyes on your face the whole time. 

“Now, you need to remember what I told you,” You lectured as you smoothed down the long white petal. “You stay by my side no matter what. I’m sure that someone’s going to try to pull you into some pointless conversation and talk your ear off.”

“That wouldn’t be too bad, would it?”

You glared at him.

“Sorry, bad timin’ with the joke.”

“As I was saying,” Patting his chest and sliding back to your seat, you crossed your legs over each other, “A lot of business talk is going to be going down. Say one wrong thing, and they’ll latch onto it and try to summarize you like that.”

“And it’ll reflect badly on you.”

Your eyes softened, “Don’t think just about me. Think about how it’ll be perceived on Miller & Miller. Your integrity as a businessman is at risk here if you slip up, so just… stick by me, alright?”

“I’ll stay by you. I’m here for you, nothin’ else.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, playing with the ring on your finger, squeezing your eyes shut. “Good. Good.”

Then, you felt something place itself gently over your own. You gripped Joel’s hand hard. His thumb ran over your knuckles in soothing ovals, going back to being silent.

The creaks of the car seats were louder than the engine as he slid toward you. His body was now in the middle seat, close to your body. Yet, you didn’t feel a bit overwhelmed. Instead, you felt like your breath came a bit easier.

You opened your eyes, and he was staring straight into your eyes. Concern flitted over every color in those terribly dark eyes of his, and you couldn’t help but lean into him. You almost placed your head on his shoulder, but to keep your hair and makeup perfect, you didn’t.

“I’ve been sorta strict on you when we were researching about… well, everything. Actually, I’ve been on your ass a lot. I wanna say—”

“If you say the words ‘I’m sorry’, I’mma throw myself outta the car so I don’t have to hear it.”

You laughed and bumped his shoulder. “Asshole.”

“I’m serious. This is your whole livelihood. I'd better get it right.” He said in his serious voice. It still made you laugh, though, and it made him raise an eyebrow. “You don’t know how many hours I’ve got on that computer of yours. Hell, if you asked me one of those rich bastards’ birthplaces and date, I’d get it on the first try.”

“It seems like you're gunning for my assistant’s position. I’ll have to tell Emma she has competition.”

“I’ll moonshine. Work in at a site with Tommy, then take a quick four-hour flight to plan your meetin’ schedule.”

“If you do, you'd better do it right. I’m a strict woman.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Just then, the car came to a stop, halting not at a light but joining a long line of stagnant cars that circled the block. Workers directed the traffic, running up and down along the sides of all the cars. There were even physical dividers in orange cones that separated this line from the usual New York traffic. You craned your head to look, but the divider separating the back and the front lowered itself.

He told you that the car was approaching the venue entrance and that it was quicker than usual. You nodded and said thank you, waiting in silence as the divider made its way back up.

It was only when you knew for sure that the front was completely sealed off that you whipped your head to Joel.

“There’s still so much I have to tell you about. I don’t know how much I can tell you in the time we have, but I’ll try my best.” You cleared your throat. “As soon as you get out of the car, there’s gonna be a lot of flashing lights. I’m used to them, but you might need to cover your eyes. Also, don’t stop for any reason. Our goal is to get inside, so ignore any question that the paparazzi might throw at you, no matter how much they make you angry.”

“I’m assumin’ they ain’t gonna be nice.”

“It ranges. Sometimes it’s about where I got my outfit or any business news surrounding me, like any recent big deals, purchases, meetings, that sort of stuff. Worse, and most likely, they’ll start asking if I’ve whored myself around anywhere recently or if we’re fucking, thanks to my wonderful scandal.”

Despite your warning, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. “No manners in any of ‘em.”

You pointed a finger just beneath his nose, but kept your other hand still so his could remain on yours, “See? You’re doing it right now. I know you’ll be able to handle any questions thrown your way, but the second they start on me—”

“‘Course I’ll get fuckin’ pissed,” Joel grumbled, “They ain’t got a right to ask you if we’re together like that.”

“They don’t, but is that gonna stop them? No, it won’t. So we might as well let it roll off our backs.”

“It’ll be hard to say what you’ll say afterwards when it’s just you and me.”

“Please, you know how many times I’ve cursed out paparazzi when I’m home?” You waved your hand like it was no big deal. “It’s their job to get on your nerves. The bigger the reaction, the bigger the paycheck. These are people who’re trying to make rent. They just have a terrible way of going at it that makes it unforgivable. So the best you can do is not give them a piece of your mind.”

“That’s… a very mature way to think ‘bout it.”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Joel frowned, clearly in his own head for a second about some memory you couldn’t see. You didn’t need access. You just squeezed his hand and brought him out of it. 

And in that moment, it felt like just you and him. No gala, no Michelle, no old scary ex-colleagues of yours you used to terrorize. If you could get out of this line and the whole event, you’d demand your driver to take you and Joel to the nearest McDonald's and sit there eating as much as you could in this dress.

Reality checked you soon, with the car taking a slow right as it turned the corner. Through the tinted windows, you could see the glittering lights and decorations lining Cipriani Wall Street. The large Greek-like pillars were covered in white and red lights, and winter decorations lined the closed-off sidewalk.

You could see the large crowd of paparazzi on both sides of the white carpet, shouting and waving their expensive cameras for a chance. That would be you and Joel, very soon.

“You’re sweaty,” Joel commented, as the car rolled closer and closer.

“I’m sorry, should I dump my hands into the snow to cool them off?”

“Your jokes ain’t really doin’ a good job of deflectin’.”

Curse him.

You shook your head hard, trying to keep your eyes on the goal, but it didn’t work.

You didn’t want to be shamed for something you didn’t even do, yet couldn’t change because you were helping Michelle divorce her sick husband. You didn’t want the old standards of who you were to be something you could never reach.

You wanted—

“Speak.” Joel urged, holding your hand tighter, “Y’know better than anyone else once we exit this car, we can’t let a single thin’ slip. So you either crack now and lemme help you fix it, or never.”

That was all it took.

You pressed the side of your head into his shoulder, damning your hair and look. Your confession was soft and so unnaturally vulnerable it hurt:

"It just feels like everyone's already watching. Like they know I don't belong here."

There was a moment of heavy silence as the car waited, next in line to be opened for the carpet and the whole world to see. For them all to see how nervous and sweaty your palms were, and how you just somehow couldn’t grasp that old mask you wore.

But Joel did know what to do.

He leaned in, breath brushing your ear, voice low enough to melt straight into your skin.

"They are watchin’," he whispered. "But only ‘cause of how damn good you look."

You couldn’t even respond because the car started, then immediately halted, and the door was wrenched open, light spilling through. 

The noise of the crowd was all-consuming, clouding up your senses and making it hard to focus. But Joel remained that light for you to keep your eyes on, like being at the doctor's and they flash that light in your face, making it the only thing one could look at.

He—smoother than you ever saw him—slipped out the door. Joel paid no mind to any of the words being thrown his way, which seemed to grow louder at the sight of his face. He simply turned his attention to holding the door open for you, taking the job of the man who originally cracked open the whole moment.

His head peeked down at you, and his secret Miller smile just for you appeared. 

You looked down; his palm was turned upright and reached for you.

You had a choice, you realized.

Your first option would be to be scared, slip into the mindset that was plaguing you worse than your breakup. That you were broken by this world you had struggled through and by these people who owed you their livelihoods. You could turn your head, shake it, and cower in the corner, and let the rats consume you. It would prove you weren’t fit.

Your other option would be to be cruel, slip into the mindset you once were, and torch these fucking pigs for daring to underestimate you. To show that their rumors and words meant nothing in the face of your determination. You would reclaim the prestige and life you once dominated, with a smile on your lips. Hurt without remorse.

There was a third option, though. 

That option was the one that had shown up recently. Not when Joel came to New York, but when you went to Austin. A realization that had evaded you, just like how you evaded your family.

Just like how you evaded Joel.

This option was simpler: be who you were with compassion that they didn’t deserve. Be the untouchable one, and don’t give them the satisfaction of being their angry monster. That’s all those rich people wanted, was it? Someone they could hire to do all their publicity and image without blinking twice at. 

Now, you could be more. Now, you could take Joel’s hand and set your own path that didn’t rely on any of them. Not with fear or hate.

No, with love.

When your fingers slipped into Joel’s hand and curled as you lifted yourself out of the car, your mind was set.

When your heels hit solid carpet, and you were standing tall beside Joel, and he looked at you with utter devotion, your heart was set.

When you pressed yourself against Joel’s side and leaned close to keep warm from the cold as the cameras flickered and snapped and popped, your soul was set. 

You needed no more affirmations; this was where you were meant to be.

Yet, Joel—the man he was—brushed his lips to your left ear once more with soft words that made you hum.

"You do belon’. Not just here, sweetheart. With me. Right by my side."

That was all you needed. 

Joel held out his arm, and you looped it through. Together, you walked down the carpet. Somehow, Joel knew the perfect pace; not too fast so that no one would notice either of you was here, but not too slow that the lights would soon overwhelm. 

Moreover, he wasn’t flinching or covering his eyes in the face of the lights. He kept his face completely neutral, almost uninterested in the whole thing. You matched his look, a tall stone wall of unmoving force that didn’t give anything to the barrage of questions now being screamed at you.

The crowd and the cameras zoomed in on you, forgetting the people before you who were waving and trying to get as many pictures as possible. All of a sudden, people smushed and pushed each other to try to get close to you, as much as the physical boundary would let them, and the security guards. 

“Picture, please, ma’am!”

“Holy fucking shit, that dress—”

“Who’s that man beside her?!”

“Tell us your name, sir! Tell us about—”

“Can you please tell us about your stance on the Heyward v. Delaroche case and your involvement?!”

“Those heels have to be Prada.”

“Is that a new tattoo?!”

“Where?!”

“On her back, look! Get the camera closer, zoom in!”

 “Is it true you slept with Mr. Delaroche?!”

“Over here, give us a smile!”

“Is this your boyfriend?!”

Despite the loudness of it all, you could hear Joel’s displeasure. It was a hard rumble that came from his chest, but at least he was internalizing it rather than yelling as he would’ve. He helped you up the stairs, making sure your dress looked good from the back. 

He was so respectful, so kind, in all the ways a companion at these types of events should be. 

At the top of the stairs, you felt your dress snag on your heel. You softly cursed, but Joel rushed to help. You unlooped your arm, and he bent down slightly to fix it. He muttered something about making you feel perfect, and it made you smile.

So when he came back up to lead you through the doors, you wordlessly took his hand and placed it on the small of your back.

Joel’s hand was familiar and large, and placed so low that his pinky grazed the very top of your ass. He felt it in an instant, his palm freezing up, but he didn’t show it in his body, walking you through the large glass doors without a word. 

The noises became muffled in the grand entryway, replaced by music already and the chatter of staff members. The clicking of your heels became more apparent, and so did Joel’s grumblings. 

“Asshats.” He cursed. You rolled your eyes and walked a bit to the left, away from the main herd and from prying eyes. “Ain’t got no decorum.”

“Hey, what did I say?” You turned your head to him.

“Don’t make a scene, which I didn’t. And you said keep complaints ‘til after the paparazzi were gone.”

“Which you did.” You lifted your hand and patted his cheek. “Good boy.”

He went so pink so fast you swore steam blew from the top of his head. “Me?”

“Is there another Joel Miller here with his hand touching my ass?”

“No, I’m the only one.” 

You fake-gasped as you both strided through another pair of doors, entering a darker hallway that pushed all the guests into one funnel toward what was the main ballroom. “Well, I’m certainly glad about that.”

Joel laughed at that, ducking his head to shake off your words. But you knew exactly where you had landed in that brain of his, and you were more than happy to stay there and dig yourself a bit deeper.

Soon, the light from the other end illuminated, threatening to reveal much grander than anything you were sure Joel had ever seen. But there were no words you could say to him quick enough that would get your point across.

All you could do was walk in and hope he would find his footing fast enough. 

The music got louder and louder until you were spit out into the main hall. The ceiling arched and was decorated to the brim with glittering lights that twinkled, lighting up the wide floor below. Circular tables were spaced out sparsely, clearly not meant to be sat at, but were still an option. 

Extravagant, small stages were built, dotting around. Performers stood on top, dazzling everyone in the low light. Contortionists, a brass quartet, and more all tried their hardest to provide the entertainment necessary, but it felt more like background noise than anything. 

You moved toward the edge of the room and stopped. You took a moment to breathe it all in, especially all the people that had shown up. 

The same flowers on Joel’s chest were pinned onto every man attending, while all the women wore extravagant, floor-length gowns. Every piece of clothing—regardless of gender—was picked and styled for very particular reasons. It represented the cream of the crop, the one percent of America who lounged around and did nothing but spend money. 

Joel didn’t find it amusing either. He looked around, spotting the lack of food, the staff rushing around to serve alcohol and finger foods, and the laughs echoing from little groups clustered together. “This… this is it?”

“This is it.”

He frowned when a staff member offered you and him champagne—though you both took it with thanks. He looked at the bubbling liquid, swirling it. “It’s just a bunch of rich folk peacockin’ ‘round.”

“I knew you weren’t going to be impressed.”

“You thought I would hate it.”

“Not hate it, exactly.” You shook your head side to side slightly, “More like… neutral. It’s just all too superficial.”

“Yeah, that’s the word I was thinkin’ of. Superficial.” Joel rolled the word around in his mouth, “It’s just, why’re there people twistin’ and turnin’ on stages? That can’t be good on anyone’s back.”

You watched as a woman bent herself in half to reach for her feet. “I’ve always found all the decorations—live or not—a bit over the top. One time, I went to a gala like this, and they had people breathing fire through hoops.”

“Huh, they’re that bored at home?”

“I mean, if you were sitting on seven hundred fifty million dollars since the day you were born, you kinda end up doing everything by the time you're twenty-five. Soon, other people’s talents become your entertainment.”

“Why wouldn’t they just… disappear? Lord knows no one would hear from me ‘cept my family and live out the rest of my days in peace.”

“Greed, Joel.” You shrugged, because it was a fact, “Runs this entire world.”

“But you're immune.” He sipped his champagne and cringed at the taste.

“Because of how I grew up. One income, basically one parental figure, had to fight for everything I had. It made me—”

“Stick out.”

“Exactly. I stuck out like a sore thumb. All these people, they grew up together, like me, you, and Tommy. They went to the same school, the same college, the same events, the same meetings, the same everything. They knew each other's faces, or at least knew their names. I didn’t have any of that.”

“New kid on the block stirrin’ up trouble.” Joel mused. “Now, where have I heard that ‘fore?”

“Oh, shut up.” You hissed back, but there was no attack in it, only humor that he and you knew. “I’m already stirring shit up. Look.”

As you predicted, eyes were already latched onto you and Joel, especially you. Eyes went wide like saucers, then ran to glance at the person next to them, who looked the same. Then, they whispered a couple of words to each other before scurrying to the next person to tell them.

Joel’s chest was back to rumbling, “You’d think a place so wealthy would teach all these folk some manners.”

“Gossip runs this place. Probably the more interesting parts of it all. I’ve never really been keen on it, but it helps my reputation.”

“Y’think this’ll help your reputation?” Joel said while watching a group of people loudly gasp—way too dramatically, you might add—then turned all their heads toward you.

“The myth, more like it.” You shrugged, unfazed. “Now, ignore them; we aren’t here for petty things like this.”

“Yes.” He completely abandoned the attention they were throwing toward you both, looking down at you and only you. 

“Do you at least remember everything I taught you?”

‘’Course I do.” Joel took the initiative to walk, taking you with him as you both circled wide around the whole room, “Scan ‘fore you do anythin’, see who’s here, who’s clickin’ with who—”

“Good. We’re already at a disadvantage because I’m not in any loops about gossip. I don’t know how anyone’s relationship has changed in the past seven months, so I have nothing to use.”

Joel hummed, taking in your words. You both slowly strided, keeping your heads turned towards the middle where everyone was gathering. You could see his brain cataloging who was with whom and how they were moving. Is this how it felt when your mentors would look at you, fresh from college and gunning harder than anyone they had ever seen before?

You leaned in close, whispering in his ear: “What do you see, baby?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I see maybe… three groups.”

You knew exactly which groups he saw—you had found them as soon as you walked in, thanks to practice—but you wanted to see if he got them right. “Tell me.”

“Well, first you got the boys.”

You laughed, “Not men?”

“No, boys. You can tell ‘cause they’re nervous and clean-shaven, ‘cause their beards are patchy. They’re all wanderin’ ‘round, talkin’ to just ‘bout everyone. I think some of ‘em are even tryin’ to converse with the staff.”

“They’re the young ones. Fresh out of college, probably the first time daddy’s told them to try and go do something on their own. So, they get desperate and think the staff will help them, which they won’t. They would rather help their own than some pompous rich boy getting his feet wet for the first time. Next.”

Joel moved around a table, “The women.”

“What about them?”

“Well, all the age groups are talkin’ to each other, and they’re the only ones sittin’ down, touchin’ each other’s jewelry and laughin’. Is there really anythin’ funny?”

“Oh, it’s a performance. They care for their family, Joel. Their kids and husbands, sisters and brothers and their parents. Maybe two friends here and there, but other than that, they’re in it for themselves. And they have the luxury of being stay-at-home wives who have their husband’s card in the palm of their hand.”

“But they have influence.”

You tilted your head to the side, looking back at Joel. “You think that.”

“I know it. My mama ran our house. Sure, my dad made every cent and bought everything, and she never worked a day in her life, but her word was the final say. She said that she wanted a new couch; it was hers the next day, even if he had to go all the way to Dallas. She wanted to try somethin’ new for dinner; he bought it.”

“It’s sorta like that. Your dad and mama actually loved each other. A lot of these marriages—especially the older ones—are pressured by family. And men of this level never give up their command for a woman, even if they’re married. But you know what they do have over the guys?”

“What?”

“Attention, Joel. These guys love attention. You know how many times I’ve found them cheating on their wives with prostitutes or strippers because those women gave them a listening ear—even though they don’t give a fuck ninety-nine percent of the time and are just trying to get their money. So, if a woman gives her husband just enough to keep him by her side… then she has his mind in her hands.”

Joel mused, “Play the system ‘fore it plays ‘em.”

“Exactly. See? You’re a natural.”

“More like a wallflower. I ain’t gonna be able to talk to any of these people once we actually start movin’.”

“I’m not expecting you to. That’s my job. Plus, being a wallflower's good. I could never be one because I put myself right in the center right out of the gate. In all my thirteen years, I had eyes on me constantly. It has its perks, but being off to the side is good too.”

“Guess my skills’ll have some worth here,” Joel muttered.

“They will. You already are.” You reassured. You looked toward the last group. “Now, tell me about them.”

Joel found the people you were looking toward and spoke easily:

“A bunch of older men. Starts in the mid-thirties ‘til death. They’re all near the middle just conversin’, just like the ladies, but they’re drinkin’ way too much already. Seriously, why’re some of ‘em kinda red already…”

“Oh, those are the younger ones. The older men know not to touch alcohol tonight. After all, the best deals are made sober.” You stopped walking and placed your glass on a nearby table, leaving it there. “Good job. You found all the people whom I was also looking for.”

“So I did good?”

“Oh baby…” You cooed, “...you did so good.”

The praise clearly made him happy. That look in his eyes that got his smile looking droopy appeared, though he cleared his throat and played it off, “Well, I’m glad I’m catchin’ on.”

“Then, are you ready for the next thing?”

Joel, with some newfound courage, nodded. He placed his champagne glass down right next to yours and stood up straighter. “What is it? Are we lookin’ out for the people Michelle mentioned, or we headin’ to find Michelle? You said she was gonna be here—”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his naivety, grabbing the cuff of his sleeve, walking straight to the group of older men. “Now, we’re going straight in.”

“‘Cuse me?”

“Told you I jumped straight in when I started. Gotta do it one more time.”

“Wait, I look like a fool, lemme fix my tie—”

But you completely forwent whatever words he would have stumbled out to stop you both. Your heels clicked, and his shoes thudded against the freshly polished floor as you got closer and closer. You eventually slowed to catch your breath and calm your heart, still making your way.

You saw when they noticed you. One of the men who was facing toward the circle on the other end met your eyes, and they widened and darted around as if he had seen a ghost. He quickly turned and whispered something to the man next to him, which caused him to choke on his champagne. 

Before anyone else could ask him if he was okay, you came to a stop right outside the circle. “Have room for two more?” You said as warmly as you could. 

Almost immediately, all the heads turned to look at you. There was a range of shock displayed on all of their faces. Some of them didn’t try to hide their disdain, while others looked downright worried. 

The oldest man in the group—a retired tycoon owner who had moved to New Jersey years ago—nodded, “I knew something was missing from these events for the past few months. It was strange not having you. And a Merry Christmas to you.”

“I missed it too much to stay away,” You lied. “And thank you.”

“And who's this with you?” 

“This,” You held out your hand to display the awkward man next to you, “Is Joel Miller.”

“Hey.” Was all he could muster up. He shook the hands of all the men in the circle. “As she said, I’m Joel.”

“Different accent… something southern…”

“Texan.”

“Ah!” Ellsworth suddenly spoke up. He was the one who had looked at you like you were some cockroach on the heel of his shoe. “Makes sense. Y’got cattle or somethin’, cowboy?”

They all laughed like imitating his accent was funny. Joel didn’t find it a bit amusing. “No. I run a construction company.”

“Oh, blue collar?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we thank you for your service. Someone has to do all the dirty work no one else wants to,” He smiled wide to Joel as if they were friends. “What are you even doing on the East Coast? Trying to expand business? See, I could help you with that. I own a lot—”

“I’m just here for support, that's all.”

“Well, I’m sure she doesn’t need it. Do you even know who she is?” Another man asked, “Only the most dangerous snake in this godforsaken city! Shame that they ran you out.”

“No one ran me out.” You clasped your hands together in front of you. “I simply found a new position elsewhere, and then found a new position here.”

“Underneath Michelle, of all people. Say, tell us how that’s going.” Ellsworth jabbed, “Worked for her husband, now with her? Seems like that family’s got you on a leash.”

You ignored Joel’s huff of barely contained violence and spoke, “I go where the money is.”

“Right. Always been money, money, money with you.” Clearly, this child of a man couldn’t let go of the fact that you blackmailed him. And from the fact that he had the gall to speak to you and Joel like this was a clear sign he never told anyone anything about his second family, “And that’s probably why you're here? Michelle’s dirty work.”

“You know about her wanting to buy land from you.”

“Of course I do! I was there in the meetings.” A round of laughter.

“But you’ve been holding out on her. And she’s not the most patient woman.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me twice." He gave a noncommittal shrug. “But it’s clear she doesn’t have any leverage. I’m waiting for something to come up to give me more benefits—stocks, cuts, percentages—but she just won’t budge. And she doesn’t have… have anything on me, you see.”

He looked at you then. Studied your face and darted down to your mouth to see if you would say something. 

But you had nothing.

You had no information on Ellsworth or anything recent that had happened to him in the past year. Not only did you have nothing, but you had also completely fallen flat, with all these men staring you down like they expected something big to come out of your mouth. The real thing that would seal the deal.

But you had nothing.

Your mouth was dry, and your mind was going a million miles. You already threatened him with his second family years ago. Probably everyone knows and just doesn’t talk about it. So it wasn’t any real leverage.

And he could see that. When he noticed you hadn’t started talking, a wicked grin placed itself over his lips, as if he had won. “Well, I didn’t know you’d come so unprepared. And I’m sure this is boring for your guest here; he probably doesn’t understand a thing we’re talking about. It’s unlike you to be so… unprepared.”

He was right; it was unlike you. You hadn’t done enough. The hours of research with Emma, the time spent with Joel in your living room looking through documents only you could understand, the sleepless nights turning in bed, wondering what everyone would think when they saw you couldn’t do it.

You were failing. You were failing at the one thing you were good at. 

They all moved on with their conversation, forgetting you. They, forgetting you, of all people. 

This is why you shouldn’t have taken a break. This is why you should’ve worked harder and not been distracted. 

You should have learned more. Dug in deeper. Not been so foolish in thinking that he could do what you did with thirteen years of no break. 

Being the man he was, Joel’s hand ran up and down your spine in a comforting manner. It soothed your running mind, but it didn’t help with the hurt. 

It was only when he leaned in close and whispered in your ear that you stopped pining for yourself and tried to act normal. “What do you want me to do?”

What could he do? 

Honest, you shook your head, “I don’t know.”

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. It was rare for Joel to see you so stuck and hopeless. You never wanted him to see you like this. It hurt you more than you liked to admit. You couldn’t even meet his eyes, even when he tilted his head to get you to look at him.

“Alright.” He said, a look of determination washing over him. You blinked at how surely he said that. He patted your back, stepping back. “Do your job here. I gotta do somethin’.”

Your voice locked in your throat, “Where are you going?”

“You’ll see,” he murmured against the lobe of your ear. With that, he didn’t even excuse himself, leaving the group and you behind. You almost called his name, but he had already turned away into the crowd. 

You felt alone, standing in this group, more than you ever had. 

One of the men noticed Joel’s absence in a second, “Where did your guest go?”

“He had to take care of something.” Your mask slipped into place. “He’ll be back soon.”

“Scared him off, did we? Not our intent, of course, but what’s the phrase? If you can’t handle the heat… get out of the kitchen!” 

“Joel is finding more uses of his time.” Your defenses went high. “He’s merely… doing what he has to.”

“He’s different. Completely not the man I’d expect you’d bring around.”

You didn’t let your voice hesitate. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you surround yourself with men who have a certain… taste to them. Expensive, work-oriented. Someone who matched you. This guy, well, he doesn’t really demonstrate that.” They gave this advice like they were your big brothers taking care of you.

“You don’t even know him. And that’s perfectly fine.”

“Maybe he’s a charity case. You ashamed of that?” One of them asked.

You kept quiet.

“Or he’s running something shady down South.” Another one chuckled. 

“You’re not telling us cause he probably has some sort of criminal record.” Said a third. 

You frowned.

“Oh shit, he does!” Ellsworth spoke up. “What did he do—”

“Nothing.” You snarled, temper flaring, “He’s a perfectly normal man. He lives a good, normal life. He works every day, pays his taxes and bills on time. He takes care of his family like his life depends on it and doesn’t complain. A complete contrast to all of you.”

“Excuse me—?!”

“Doesn’t matter how much money he makes, because he doesn’t have to buy his manners. He knows how to treat people correctly. He knows how to treat—” You stop before you finish that sentence with ‘me’. “I’m saying, if we had a competition on who was more masculine, he would win every time.”

“A man who clearly rents a suit?”

“A man who clearly has better taste than you, Ellsworth.” You looked him up and down in annoyance. “Can’t buy taste, either.”

And awkward overtook the group. No one had anything to say, and you didn’t want them to. Whatever they had to say couldn’t make you change how you viewed them; disgusting pigs who still thought of you as having had an affair with a married man even though it was disproved. 

Not that it mattered.

To them, you could only be boxed and kept on display, just like all these performers. 

All of the men moved to turn to each other, talking to each other instead of targeting you. You stood there, an outsider in this group, not mixed in like you used to. Then again, were you ever a part of anything?

Bored of the conversation, you glanced over the crowd, searching for anything else interesting. Some of the contortionists were now holding hands as they balanced on one another. Servers passed around a new round of drinks for all the guests.

Same gig as—

You nearly choked on your spit, but managed to cover it up. It was a mere squeak in your throat, yet it felt like a lot when you zoomed into the group of women you and Joel had pointed at earlier. 

The same group Joel was being surrounded by.

And worse of all, one of them was smiling at him. 

They were all smiling at him. 

All of their lips were turned upwards for Joel, placed onto his strong forearms, and they all hung onto his every word as they all talked. Joel always had that proper boy charm that played every older woman like a fiddle. You’d heard his tales from Lorraine about how he was such a good boy at church and that her older friends loved him. 

Was it terrible that you couldn’t hear whatever these men were talking about? You couldn’t function in the slightest as you zoned in on him. It consumed all your attention. 

“I mean, I haven’t heard from Delaroche in months. Heard he’s living his life on one of his foreign properties.”

“He’s got enough money to last him three lifetimes, even after the divorce. Right?” Ellsworth directed it to you. “You spent a lot of time traveling with him to all those international meetings. He left no expenses.”

“Hm.” You kept it short, craning your neck to keep track of Joel. “He’s rich.”

“We all know that.” Someone else piped up—you didn’t really care for who it was, “But it seems like his ex hasn’t done anything really fancy. No hosting as she used to.”

“She always knew how to manage a party.”

“I could kill for a party hosted by Michelle. Though it seems like those days are over since she decided to wear the big girl pants.”

“I’m sure you want to go to a party of hers, wouldn’t you?” Another man asked you.

What you wanted? You wanted to get into the gossip that you clearly hadn’t been in touch with for the past few months and use it to your advantage. You wanted to leave, more so. You wanted to find Michelle—wherever she was sleuthing around—and tell her you were done for the night.

You also wanted to get all those women away from Joel.

Possessive and greedy were not words that could be used to describe you. You could pull back and let people be. You didn’t owe anyone, and you didn’t control what happened.

Yet…

Yet when they all looked at him like he built this whole city by himself, and he smiled the whole time, it twisted something in your heart. What was he saying? You wanted to know and laugh about it, too. What story was he recounting that made all of those ladies talk a bit faster?

You licked your teeth, feeling each ridge to keep yourself in check. 

You had to be here, doing your job.

“She’s tuning you out,” One of the men said, “Too focused on her boy toy.”

They all laughed like it was funny. It wasn’t. “Where’d you find him anyway. Jesus, he’s way too… rough to be here.”

“He’s a man.” You said shortly, crossing your arms and digging your nails into your arms as a lady—closer to your age—tilted her head toward him, “Takes one to know one.”

“Can’t blame you for having something fun to take home and dance around with. God knows we’ve all indulged in a bit.”

You snapped your head toward the man speaking. A nobody, as you had expected. “He’s my companion to this event.”

“So… your boyfriend?”

When you didn’t respond fast enough—because in this situation, who was Joel? Your ex? Your complicated man, whom you still had your heart on? Your childhood family friend? Your greatest annoyance? Your greatest love?—they all clapped as if you had accomplished something great. Someone even clapped you on the shoulder.

“Finally!”

“Someone to keep you steady.”

“More like someone to keep her homey.”

Again, laughter. 

You didn’t pay any mind to their clearly backwards way of thinking. Joel didn’t make you any more of a woman than you already were. He made you more whole, just as you did him. He didn’t make you ‘wife material’ or managed to ‘get you inside the home’. In fact, it was the opposite.

He pushed you. Made you bigger and better and all the things all these men wished they were. He had his own struggles, and despite it all, he could make anyone feel empowered to be better. You know you’ve been affected by it the most.

He was encouraging.

He was kind.

He was—

He was being touched.

You felt your heart in your throat as you watched a lady with her hand on his bicep, and from the way she flexed her nails, she was clearly feeling his muscles.

Your muscles.

Your arm.

Yours.

Without missing a beat, and not even an ‘excuse me’ or any reason as to why you were leaving, you left the circle. You ignored all the calls of your name or whatever short joke they would make at your expense. 

The distance between you and Joel became shorter and shorter as you made your way to him, rounding the table to not be in his line of sight. Of course, the ladies noticed you first, eyes slightly popping and glancing between you and Joel. 

“And I thank you for that,” Joel said to the woman next to him, who also hadn’t noticed you. She was an older, probably around Lorraine’s age. “I’m sure your peach cobbler is amazin’, and I’d love to try it.”

“Oh, a sweetheart you are!” She gushed over him, making your eye twitch. “You know, my daughter has always loved cowboys. You don’t happen to be… single? She likes them a bit older, too, so I’m sure.”

“I’m not—”

“He doesn’t have the time for dating,  I fear,” You spoke up, sliding your way on Joel’s right opposite the woman on his left. Joel jumped slightly at your voice, but still, letting you loop your hand through the crook of his elbow, “He’s too busy helping me tonight.”

All the women studied both you and Joel, the not-so-causal way that you pressed your side against his, and you darted your eyes around the group. You couldn’t have been making it more obvious. 

“Well, it’s good having you around here. You usually hang out with all our men, so it’s a shock to see you here.” The same lady who had been mentioning her daughter cocked her head to the side. 

“It’s all business with them.”

“I thought business was all you were for?” Another woman piped up.

“All the time off has changed you, then. You must have been… reflecting on yourself while you’ve been wherever you were.” 

“I would be too if I had been caught with Mr. Delaroche. The case was everywhere! In fact, it has only now calmed down.” 

All their voices overlapped with each other, probing and digging at your disposition. You didn’t let it faze you, despite the burn that you felt while they coolly jabbed at you. 

You had never been invited to the women's circles. From day one, you put yourself exactly where the money and men were, and that, in turn, isolated you from the rest of them. Except Michelle, but you were sure that if you hadn’t been her college roommate, she would have treated you as these women had. 

Maybe that was your own fault. Maybe you should’ve tried to be their friends, but you had seen the way they looked and whispered behind your back.

The nobody from nowhere. The outlier. 

So, you learned to grow without having any other woman to lean on. No friends, no stay-overs at your expensive houses. You had been alone while they all glowed in each other’s friendships. 

There was never you and them, only you.

“I’ve come back to work with Michelle.” You explained.

They all gasped as if they didn’t know, “Mr. Delaroche’s ex?! What a bold… woman you are.”

It didn’t fly past your head, the other ‘w’ word they wanted to use.

“Business is business. Plus, I’ve missed the city. It’s a shame that it’s Christmas today and I can’t see the lights.”

“They are actually beautiful this year. You really should’ve put some effort into going to see them.”

“Next year, then. Right, Joel?” You turned to the man next to you, expecting that smily look on his face.

You didn’t see that.

Instead, it was this dark, mulling look that he only gave off when he was deep inside his head. He was glaring at every woman before him, even though they hadn’t noticed. You knew in an instant he hadn’t appreciated anything they had been saying about you. He clearly caught on to the way they were putting you down. 

Before you could say something to tell him not to say something, you felt his arm—the very one you were holding—slipping down your spine and resting on the small of your back once more. 

“I will.” Joel nodded, looking down at you. “I’ll come every year for you, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, but that nickname furrowed the brows on all their faces. 

“‘Sweetheart’? Are you two—”

“Together?” He said it so casually you nearly choked. You coughed while he continued, “Yeah. I’m blessed by the Lord Himself that I’ve been graced by a woman like her.”

“Joel, what are you—”

“Known each other since we were babies, you see. So I know a lot ‘bout her character, somethin’ none of you do. She’s very kind and welcomin’, and you’d know it if you weren’t so cold. Shame, and I was havin’ such a nice conversation with all you lovely ladies.”

Silence came over the group, thick and awkward. You could only gawk at Joel, a man who looked completely different than the one at S.U.C.K.I.T. who was fist-fighting at the first slight against you. He had kept himself in line in every possible way, keeping this night perfect so that you could work. 

It was like he was protecting you while also letting you breathe and mingle with everyone properly. 

He looked so damn sexy doing it.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like you have that close of a relationship,” The older lady on his left said. “There was no mention of you ever having a man, or boyfriend, or husband.”

“I ain’t a public person,” Joel rebutted.

“She is. Makes sense she showed the world she’s taken for—”

Now, you know you have better control. You had the skill of breathing through a situation with a level head. You had honed it for so long. 

You were better than petty rage.

You were better than all their mean remarks about you.

You were—

Oh, what the hell. 

You moved quicker than you anticipated possible in this dress and shawl, placing your hand on Joel’s cheek to tilt him toward you. It was very obvious he was going to snap back on your behalf, but you didn’t need to.

Actions did speak louder than words. 

You didn’t expect him to move so easily, but he did. Maybe he was following the natural course of ducking his head and tilting his head as he always did, but he made an unnatural noise as you pressed your lips onto his. It was only heard between you both, but you relished it.

You kept your eyes shut the whole time and moved your lips against his. For a second, he didn’t move, and you were afraid he had forgotten how to kiss you. But when he suddenly moved his body to face you and open his mouth to kiss you back, you found out he hadn’t. 

Rather, he had been very patient and was now letting go of that chain that held him by the neck. That gentleman side of him that these ladies got to know, the one who always regarded you with care and loved moved aside for the hungry man he was hiding. 

It showed how that hand on your back moved to your neck, holding your jaw so tight that you go. It squeezed just enough for you to gasp when you pulled back, but it gave him room to lay two short pecks on your bottom lip. 

He was the one who straightened his back, tearing his mouth from yours. He looked completely and utterly fulfilled. A throat was cleared, and that was your sign to turn and face the chorus of faces who expressed they understood your intent now.

“We’ve known each other for a long time.” You enforced, “Any more proof might be too much for pure eyes.”

They all started muttering to each other, unable to keep it to themselves. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joel swiping at his bottom lip, where your lipstick had stained his lip. 

You would’ve cleaned him up, but it seemed he was more intent on smearing it, and you swore if you looked close enough, you saw the pink of his tongue dart out and lick at his bottom lip. 

“If you’ll excuse us.” Taking a step back, you took Joel’s hand. You slowly inched farther and farther away from the group. “We have to go find Michelle herself. She’ll have my head, you know how she is.”

With that, you made your way from that group of sharks into neutral waters. Joel was silent behind you, and despite your curiosity, you didn’t turn to see if he was staring at you. You were sure he was.

You scanned the room, keeping your eyes peeled over the crowd for any sign of privacy. You abruptly stopped in front of one of the lonelier round tables, and Joel bumped straight into your back, and you squeaked. 

He placed both his hands on your hips, stabilizing both you and him. Of course, he kept it professional and didn’t press his chest to your back—no matter how much you wanted him to—but couldn’t resist leaning down and whispering into your ear.

“Great way gettin’ ‘em off you. Should do it more often.”

You scoffed, placing a hand on his to weakly push him off. “Please, the only reason I did it was that I was tired of their poking. I already have the media breathing down my neck; I don’t need these ladies doing the same.”

“That’s the only reason?”

You turned to him, “Excuse me?”

“That’s the only reason you—” He tapped his lips to translate wordlessly “—me? Not that I mind, but I feel like there was more—”

“There wasn’t more.” You said smoothly. “The only thing extra was that I wanted you by my side again. I felt like you were gone for far too long.”

“‘Cause I was helpin’.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Huh?”

“Clearly, I ain’t welcome with the gentleman club over there.” He nodded his head to the older men who had gone to the bar. “So I went where I was. Those ladies make it really easy to learn gossip when you ask ‘bout their weekend plans.”

You had your mouth slightly open in awe, “Attention. You gave them attention.”

“I did. And it seems like they got the other side of the story we didn’t.”

“What—”

“See, you told me that he had a secret daughter. Well, I managed to talk to some of the older ladies ‘bout their youngest kids—’round twelve to fourteen—and said I was enrollin’ my daughter into a school near here. They gushed over my single daddy act—”

“Actor, are we?”

“—and told me all these names. Fancy schools I could never afford. Then, they mention this one school: Waterfront Montessori. Said it used to be real good until all this new soon-to-be construction happenin’. The kids complain all the time ‘bout the noise already and how it affects their tests.”

“Construction…”

“A bunch of warehouses, apparently.”

Your eyes widened, “Michelle’s warehouses.”

“But ‘course; ain’t ‘nough reason to bar Michelle from settlin’ down there. So I asked who would send their kids there now? They told me all the names of the rich parents droppin’ off their kids. Then they get to whisperin’ ‘bout the kids—a bit of nasty work—and talked ‘bout your Mister Ellsworth.

“One of the ladies mentioned how they’re next-door neighbors, and her husband works for Ellsworth. Now, her husband gets to work at ten, an hour ‘fore his boss. Yet Ellsworth is leavin’ at eight sharp, with his work suit and briefcase, so he ain’t goin’ to the gym or somethin’ else.”

You blinked, trying to connect the dots.

Ellsworth leaving his home early…

Potential construction near a school in New Jersey…

His still—very-secret—second family… it has been six years since that event where you confronted him about said family—

You gasped, “His daughter! His daughter goes to that school.”

Joel blinked like he hadn’t gotten it, as if he hadn’t had all the puzzle pieces. “Huh?”

“Agreed, whose daughter goes to what school?”

You whipped your head around and found where that voice came from. 

Michelle stood a bit away from you, wearing a red dress with long sleeves and a slit up to her mid-thigh. She looked over you in amusement and eventually looked over to Joel. She studied him openly, not sparing any decorum to keep to herself. 

Unfortunately, Joel had decided to do the same. He looked at her with barely contained disdain, inching ever so closer to you so that you were forced to place a hand on his chest to give yourself some semblance of space. Michelle smiled at the sight. 

“You must be Joel.” She finally said, holding out her hand, “My name is—”

“I know who you are.” Joel’s voice was cold and uncaring, and he didn’t meet her handshake.

It was only a second or two where her hand was outstretched, but it was enough for her to twitch her eye and drop her hand. She flexed her fingers. “That’s great. I hope you’ve been enjoying our city. I could always get you into all the best possible seats for all the sights. Except the Knicks. Love them, but trust me, it won’t be a fun game.”

Joel didn’t laugh or make any response. You cleared your throat. “Michelle, I have something for you.”

“That’s good. The way I hadn’t seen you throughout this gala, I thought you were avoiding me.”

You didn’t deny it. “It’s about Ellsworth.”

“Well, I hoped so. It’s what you're here for.”

“He has a daughter.”

“Common knowledge. She’s only six years old, so I have no idea why that would be important.”

“No, she has another daughter. Actually, it’s a whole second family, but that’s beside the point—”

“Hold on—”

You didn’t stop for her, “And she’s probably in private school. After some digging done by Joel, we figured out that she goes to one right next to the property you want to build on. Ellsworth doesn’t want to give you the property because it would disturb his daughter's learning.”

There was a beat of Michelle processing this information. You watched as she frowned, pinching her lips together to a thin line that slightly smeared her lipstick. Even her fingers had started tapping together in thought.

You glanced up at Joel, but he hadn’t moved away from you at all. He kept his gaze on Michelle, as if watching her like she was the one who might pounce and jump.

Michele seemed to make her decision when she started nodding.

“And you know for sure he’s cheating.”

“It’s the whole reason why he worked with your ex. I blackmailed him with it a long time ago.” You waited for a moment to see what she would say, but a seemingly dark cloud covered her features. You continued: “I’ll go talk to him now. Joel, would you wait with—”

“No, I will,” Michelle said in a still voice, like she was accepting a cold, hard fact. 

You frowned, “It’s my job.”

“You did your job, didn’t you?” She flashed her eyes up to you, “You mingled, got your information, and gave it to me. I can close this deal out on my own.”

“And take credit for our work? I think not—”

“Of, for fuck’s sake, I’ll write your names down on the official documents! How about that?”

“What would you have us do then? Go home? It’s only been an hour and a half.”

“Do you want to stay any longer?” She looked up at Joel, “Do you?”

Joel didn’t respond again, but he did look down at you with a glimmer of questioning in his eyes. He was giving you the choice. You could stay, and let yourself be made a fool. You could stay and take this opportunity for yourself and be who you were.

But you could also go home. With Joel, the penthouse had become a sort of solace for you. It warmed you up now, walking out of the elevator and seeing him there. It was even better going in and out with him. 

You wanted that more than you wanted to be powerful., 

You wanted to feel peace.

With a sigh, pressing a hand to the back of your neck, you squeezed the skin there. “And why are you doing this?”

She scoffed like it was obvious. Michelle turned around, heels clicking as she walked away, but not before she looked over her shoulder and stared at you dead in the face.

“Men like Jason don’t get to hide from the consequences, do they?”

You went quiet, then shrugged your fur shawl higher over your arms to keep from going cold. “They don’t.”

And with that, she left you as quickly as she came, with a smile and a strut to her next victim. Joel let out a heavy breath, slightly dropping his head closer to you. 

“I don’t like her…” He murmured, close to your hair. 

“I barely do either.” You agreed, 

“…but I agree with her.” He took your hand in his, thumb running over the veins in your wrist, “Hated how those men talked ‘bout you, and I felt like shit for not sayin’ ‘nough. Those ladies, too. Glad she’s gonna give ‘em hell.”

You smiled, tired and slightly heavy-eyed, “She’ll do what she wants, whatever will ease her mind.”

“What do you want to do?” Joel asked, looking at you, checking over your face, “We can stay. We can go. We can go eat, and I’ll pay for both of us—”

“Home.” You shamelessly placed your forehead on the very edge of his shoulder, “I want to go home.”

“Then we’ll go home.”

That was his promise. And he held onto it well. 

Joel moved to guide you out toward the main doors, not bothering to hide his very clear display of affection as he kept his hand between your shoulder blades, touching the edge of your tattoo. He was right beside you as you both went through the tables, keeping up with your strides with no issue. 

No one was leaving this early. Usually, it ended with a couple of drunk elites stumbling out the doors toward one a.m. as their PR and teams tried to keep them as hidden as possible. Yet, you and Joel stepped out into the cold air completely sober and clear-headed, perhaps a bit tired and in need of some warmth. 

On cue, the car pulled up to the end of the carpet, and Joel opened the door for you before you could even say a word. You got inside, letting him shut the door behind you as he rounded the car and got in. 

The drive was quick and silent. Joel didn’t talk at all, content with keeping his eyes shut. It was clear that his social battery had been drained completely, as you could see from the conversation with Michelle. You didn’t expect him to do anything more; he had already done so much.

You placed your head against the window, watching the city pass by. You watched the dazzling light charm you in every way, swaying you as it always had. You had countless memories of leaving the conference, meetings, events, or just the office so late that the lights were the main focus of your mind. 

Eventually, your building came into sight. And of course, before you could get out yourself, Joel was already out and jogging to your side. How he didn’t slip on black ice, you had no clue. But he got you out, and together, you went inside and through the lobby.

The night staff were tiredly speaking to each other, but tilted their heads up to see who was coming in. When they realized it was you and Joel, they all whispered to each other and pointed to the computer screen. 

You paid no mind and headed to your elevator and got inside quickly. Joel pressed all the right buttons, and the doors slid shut and lifted you both. Free from prying eyes, you slipped your shawl off your arms, folding it to hold in your hands.

The elevator door slid open with a ding, and your freshly cleaned penthouse greeted you. You’d never been happier to see this place. You contained your own as you tossed your shawl mindlessly over one of your lone chairs as soon as you got inside. 

Joel stayed silent behind you, his shadow disappearing as the elevator’s doors slid shut, cutting off the yellow glow. The darkness of the freezing night took over.

When you turned your head to look at Joel, you saw his hands were in his pockets and were fidgeting inside them, like he was debating whether to say whatever was on his mind.

“You seemed mad,” Joel decided to say casually.

“What?”

“‘Bout those ladies talkin’ to me.”

“Still on this, are you?” You shook your head, walking further from him. “You’re reading too much into this.”

“Oh, I can read ya like a book, sweetheart. Know your tells, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like how your eye twitches when you’re tryin’ not to think too hard. Or when you clench your teeth real hard, I’m ‘fraid you might crack somethin’. My personal favorite—you speak in a sickly sweet voice. Don’t match you at all.”

“Amazing, great, wonderful, you know so much about me. What’s the purpose of even pointing those out?”

“Just want you to admit it.”

You turned around, eyes blazing. “Admit what?”

“That you hated it when those ladies talked to me.”

“They weren’t just talking to you.” You laughed, leaning on your couch for support as you slipped your right heel off, “They had their hands all over you. And I didn’t want you to leave my side for too long, and bringing you back was the right thing to do, and—”

“So you were jealous.”

You froze. Your eyes were lowered to the floor, but you could feel all his smile. You slowly lifted your head and saw he had his thumbs hooked through the belt loops, and you were right; his face was bright despite the dark living room. 

You scoffed, playing dumb. Your voice went high and fake. “No, I wasn’t. As you said, you were just… conversing.”

“Is that right, sweetheart?”

“Yes, it is.”

“So you wouldn’t have minded if one of those women touched my hand.”

Your jaw hurt from how hard you clenched it. “Of course not.”

“Not even if she played with this flower?” He tapped over his left lapel at the white flower. “One of ‘em even offered to fix it up.”

“Did they?” Your question was quick, and you hated how you felt your eye twitch.

Joel reveled in your sharp words. He leaned one side on the couch, using his thigh and hip to hold himself up. “Didn’t even get close to touchin’ your handy work. But ‘course, these are just hypotheticals. I wanted to ask though; how’d you feel when that lady asked if I was single?”

“You are single. Can’t shame her for asking.” 

There was every shame in asking.

“Really? So none of that ruffled your feathers?”

“I have better emotional control than you think, Joel. It’ll take a lot more than just baseless flirting to get me possessive over—”

“Not even if they placed a hand on my cheek—”

You suddenly rushed to him—only one heel on—and grabbed his collar. He made a pleased noise as he was brought to your face level, that goopy, stupid smile now back on his face.

“You’re getting some sick pleasure out of this, aren’t you?”

“I like seein’ you get all riled up.”

“You think you’re really funny.”

Joel hummed, glancing from your eyes to your lips in fast motions, “So you were mad.”

“God—if you want me to fucking say it… yes!” You hissed at him. “I hated how they looked at you, how they laughed at your jokes, how they—how they acted like you were they’re entertain. Like you were… theirs.”

“Y’know sweetheart, some would call this jealousy.”

“Fine, I’m jealous.” You pushed him away, sending him stumbling back. You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed, looking away. “Happy?”

Shaking his head, Joel found his footing quite easily. “And that’s why you kissed me.”

“And that’s why I kissed you,” You mirrored back, turning on your heel to unevenly stride away, putting that distance between you both, “Most of them are married anyway, so the only way to remind them to stay in their own lane was by claiming—”

“I liked it.”

You turned your entire body. Joel had been following you, keeping that space short so that you could never go too far. For every step you took, he took one to match yours. Soon, there was nowhere to go; the wall pressed firm against your back as Joel stalked closer and closer to you.

He had a curious look on his face, with a hint of pride and smugness that made all his handsome features turn upwards. He came to stand right in front of you, the tops of his shoes grazing your toes. His right hand came to cup the side of your neck, and his thumb tilted your head up so that you could only see him. 

You swore your pulse throbbed against his palm. You also swore he loved it.

“I liked it,” He repeated, softer this time, “‘Cause in the whole event, you only looked at me. You looked like you wanted to kill me, sure, but I think that was one of the few times durin’ this entire trip of mine that I was the sole object of your attention.”

“That’s a bit greedy of you, isn’t it?” You couldn’t help but press yourself into his hand. “I was just trying to do my job, and I couldn’t focus because I was too busy focused on you.”

“Hmm, but I ended up helpin’, did I? Old dog still got some tricks in him.”

A laugh burst through your chest.

You lifted your hand and threaded it through his hair. You could feel some sticky, dried-up gel, but it broke apart and smoothed out at the heat of your hand. “And thank you for that. I had no idea about anything circulating, and you found it all on your own.”

“Don’t give me too much credit. Still made you mad.”

“Yeah, well, now that I’m thinking about it…” You mused, “...it doesn’t affect me that much anymore.”

Joel blinked a couple of times, as you had shocked him. You saw a hint of poutiness quiver on his bottom lip, like he was disappointed. “It doesn’t?”

“You said it yourself, Joel Miller, you’ve been mine since we were kids. I got something over you no one else does.”

Oh, he got something out of this. The way he looked so happy and content being in your hands, he was a couple of words away from melting through your floor. You felt the way his hands shook as they tried to act normal.

“So why do I have to worry about what those ladies do to you? They can ask questions about you, but I know you the most. They can probe about your thoughts, but I plague you more than anyone.”

“Yes, you do sweetheart.”

“So what does make you?”

“Yours.” He said, crisp, “Only yours.”

You didn’t need words of your own to tell him what you had on him. Your skin did the talking, roaming over his shoulders, his biceps, his forearms. He shivered at the feel, but didn’t dare move.

You found yourself caressing that chest of his, moving up and down the tense and hard muscle you had gripped many a time. Sometimes, you dared to reach toward his navel, where you felt his hips jerk every so slightly. But you pulled away before he could get anything more.

Lastly, his back. It forced you to press yourself a bit against him, the swell of your chest against his. Joel lost all his decency then, looking straight down and smirking. You liked it when you lost that gentlemanly look of his. It felt much more raw and true, like his real feelings were less constricted. 

You reached underneath his suit jacket and dug your nails through his dress shirt. Your mouth was slightly agape, and so was his. How many times had you held onto his back as he pounded you into the mattress? Too many times, truly. So much so, you craved it.

Throughout all this, though, he didn’t break his control. His left hand didn’t move from the side of his body, while his right hand 

You eventually found your way back to his hands, intertwined both your fingers together, pulling them up. Tilting your head, you looked up at him with a small smile. 

“Must hurt,” Joel murmured, looking down toward your one heel still on.

You smiled, slipping your hands from his own and looping them over his neck, bringing both your chests flush together. “How are you going to help, then?”

Joel shook his head, laughing silently to himself. His now freed hand lowered itself to your side, and right by your knee, he pulled and bunched up the fabric of your dress, exposing more and more of your smooth calf, and even a sliver of your thigh.

Then—with a swift tug—he moved your whole leg to perch it on his hip. You held it there while he traced his fingers down your calf to your ankle. He kept eye contact with you the entire time as he unclasped the strap and shucked the whole heel off. It clattered onto the floor, the only noise echoing throughout your penthouse. 

“Like that.” He said with a soft smile. 

“A very helpful man, you are.” You shot back, but it had no bite. Instead, it was all thanks and appreciation, everything you knew he deserved.

Joel heard that in your tone and shook his head, “Gettin’ all soft, I see.”

“I feel like I can be soft around you.” You confessed, “My work is all deadlines and yelling and scheming, but with you it’s all so… simple. Like I can let myself be taken care of.”

“I love takin’ care of you.”

“I know. I miss this.”

“Do you?”

“I miss all of you. You’ve been here for me in… so many ways I’ve lost count.”

“It ain’t nothin’. I just want to support you no matter what. Just as you helped me a thousand times more”

“And thank you for that,” You expressed. You didn’t want him to think that you unappreciated him, or didn’t see how new this all was to him. Joel Miller wasn’t the type of man who could so casually throw himself into a new situation. Yet, he managed to and flourished all the while. “I know I’ve been so absorbed in my work, but I just got into this mindset, and I’ve worked so hard on building everything I own and have. But I don’t want you to feel like I don’t see all the good you’re doing for me. You’ve been here, coming to a new city, trying to fix us while I’ve been consumed by—”

“I’mma say this once, and once only,” Joel interrupted you before your thoughts could jerk tears from your eyes. He slowly placed your leg back down onto the floor so you could have a steady footing. “Never apologize for choosin’ your work.”

“What?” You looked up at him, dazed.

“You’ve built a powerful career. How many people can say they’ve accomplished what you have? I saw the way ‘em folk turned their heads to you, like you were the only thin’ in that room. And I am honored to be by that person. I’m honored I have the chance to love you.”

“And I’m honored to have you.”

“Don’t make this just ‘bout me.”

“No, I’m not.” You retorted, “It’s about us. We’ve changed so much, together and apart. But…”

“But?”

You leaned in closer, too close, “...but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

That was something you would etch into your very soul if you could.

Joel tilted his head, slotting his nose close to your own. His breath fanned over your lips, and yours on his. You could see the freckles of color that gave his eyes so much dimension. The scar on his temple that was hiding underneath his strands of hair peeked through, lighter than his weathered skin; you knew all too well.

“I’d do anythin’ for you,” Joel confirmed in a low tone.

“You’ve done a lot of things for me. I’m not even sure anything could top this.”

It was like those words reset something in his brain, because Joel blinked once, then twice, then that flustered look—the one you knew so well—popped up. It completely took over whatever smugness or heavy heat that was just plaguing him. 

You couldn’t ask him what he was thinking because Joel suddenly stepped backwards, catching your wrist to take you wherever it was he wanted. You squeaked at the sudden force, nearly tripping over your discarded heels, and how fast he was moving. 

No matter what you asked him as you made your way through the living room and down the hallway toward his room, he gave you noncommittal answers. Even when you said you had to take off your makeup, he said that this would take priority.

Whatever that meant.

Joel’s room—or rather, one of your guest bedrooms—was completely lived in, to the point where you were sure he was probably living there for a while now. His backpack was limp and neatly folded on the side, the dresser drawers slightly open from use. The sheets had been made, but the wrinkles made it apparent he spent many hours wrapped warm against the snow.

He let go of you, leaving you to stand there awkwardly as he rushed over to his side table, pulling out his phone, flipping it open, and pressing buttons.

You frowned, “You left your phone here?”

“I wasn’t gonna be on it either way, so it was just dead weight.” He said casually, coming back to stand in front of you. “But that ain’t the point. You remember when we went out to try on those dresses at that fancy place?”

“I do.”

“Well, you mentioned that one college story—” The phone nearly slipped from his hands from how hard he was moving. You both reached for it, but Joel caught it and kept rambling, “—your confetti… throwin’ activity.”

“Being a confetti engineer?”

“Yes! That’s—that’s what they’re called.” He snapped his fingers.

You frowned, unaware of where he was taking any of this, “But, I mean—I would’ve loved to continue the tradition, but there’s no way. The applications start and end very early in the year.”

“But what if I told you we were in?”

It was your turn to dumbly blink at him, “Excuse me?”

Joel nodded, “Well, after you told me ‘bout it durin’ that fittin’ room day, I went straight onto your computer in your office and used my email to find… what was his name? Treb Heinin’. Anyway, I emailed him, and he responded pretty fast, and when I told him you were back in town, he asked for a meetin’, which was why I was late comin’ back here to get ready.”

The relaxation dawned on you, all at once.

“You got us into the confetti engineers this year…?”

“It was mostly your connection with the man, but I managed to get us two spots. He said you were a ‘staple’ and was sad you didn’t sign up for this year. See?” 

Joel handed you his phone, and sure enough, a text message between Heining lit up your face. They went back and forth, with the last text of Heining being what caught your eye:

[HEINING (CONFETTI MAN)]: And tell her that I’m more than happy to have her back. 

[HEINING (CONFETTI MAN)]: Location

[JOEL]: Thank you, I’ll make sure she hears it.

Your eyes shone, and you bit your bottom lip. “I can’t believe… I can’t believe you would do this for me.”

“I saw how happy you were when you talked ‘bout it. Wanted to continue your tradition… and maybe be by your side this year—oof!”

You didn’t let this soft, kind, gruff man go. You couldn’t. You wrapped him in the tightest possible hug, intent on squeezing all the air and good things out of him and inhaling it all. Tears blurred your vision and fell in streaks over your makeup, but you couldn’t care.

Nothing mattered other than being swung around the room, arms tightly wrapped around each other as Joel laughed in your ear. Even his phone landed on the bed because you couldn’t focus on holding it. The whole room spun, but that didn’t matter.

It only stopped when Joel’s breath went ragged, and you forcibly pulled yourself back, not wanting to exert him too much. Joel still didn’t let you go, keeping his hands on your elbow and the small of your bare back. He frowned at your tears, and you instantly shook your head, huffing out a laugh.

“This is a good laugh. God, Joel, you’re an incredible man, you know that?”

His ears went pink, “It’s nothin’ sweetheart. It’s just your Christmas gift.”

 “Christmas?”

“It’s still the holiday, last time I checked. I mean, we went to a Christmas gala.”

“I didn’t get anything for you!” Guilt flooded you instantly, “Oh, Joel, I’m so—”

“What did I say?” He shushed you, “No sayin’ sorry.”

“But I have to do something.” You pushed, wrapping your fingers over his biceps, “Tell me, what do you want? I can buy you anything and everything, just say the name.”

“I’m sure you can buy me anythin’.”

“I have a lot of money, I can get you whatever—”

“I don’t want anythin’ like that.”

“What do you want, then?”

Joel looked down at his shoes, then back up at you with a sudden shyness. Before you could reassure him that you wouldn’t judge him—your dad had once asked you for foot cream as a gift, so how weird could this get?—he blurted out the words that knocked you on the side of your head:

“I wanna sleep in the same bed as you.”

You didn’t have anything you could say to this man. Your brain went slightly silent as Joel stood before you, keeping his gaze locked into yours as he waited for your response.

The question was: what was the response?

You and him weren’t together, as much as that pained you. He’d been here for a couple of days, and he was already winning you back over. And you would be a liar if you said you didn’t miss him physically, too. 

Not just in the sexual sense—though that came with its own territory—but you missed the steadiness that was his body. You got a taste of it tonight; his hand on your back, your palms gliding over his suit, the only thing separating you too. He was solid and there, perfectly ready to jump into the deep pool that was you and him.

Joel seemed to be able to read your mind, because he clarified himself, “Not sex, ‘course. I don’t want sex—I didn’t do any of this to find a way into your pants, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. Please don’t be thinkin’ that—”

“Relax,” You soothed, a small laugh on your lips, “I don’t think you’re some weirdo, if that clears your conscience.”

“Good. That’s good. I just wanna be by your side tonight, just as I was at the party.”

“Then you’ll stay.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

You both went quiet for a moment, just looking deep into each other's eyes, until you both burst into short little bubbles of giggles. You weren’t even drunk, not in the slightest, but the thought of Joel Miller—a man who had seen and touched every single part of you—asking if he could sleep in your room felt silly.

Joel shook his head, breathlessly and softly laughing as he quickly made his way to his dresser and pulled out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Before he could start his way to his door, you took his hand, leading him out as if you were children stealing candy from Lorraine’s cookie jar. 

Together, you made your way back through the hallway and the living room, this time taking the winding stairs to your bedroom. You didn’t bother flicking any lights on, keeping that dark, hazy look that only snowy nights could conjure up. 

Dropping Joel’s hand and leaving him to slip into your closet, you casually threw over your shoulder that you were showering. He said, ‘‘Course’, and sat himself on the edge of the bed, slipping out of his suit jacket, careful not to crush the flower. He even took it out of where it was pinned and placed it right beside himself.

Your shower was quick and breezy, enough to take off your makeup and clean your hair. It left you with enough time to do what you usually did to take care of yourself before bed after a long event, like you used to: skincare, haircare, and even a couple of massaging movements over your shoulders to beat at the knots there.

Eventually, you pushed yourself back into your room, the hot steam floating out. You shivered against the cold, despite the long and baggy pajamas you had on. You carefully laid the dress down over your dresser, careful not to wrinkle it, while your bra, panties, and used towel went straight into the hamper. 

Grunting from the bed made you turn your head, and the sight was a familiar one. Joel was still—somehow—tugging at his tie. The thing looked awkward and way too tight. You shook your head in disbelief and came to stand between his thighs.

Without a word, you took over the job, helping him unloop and undo all your work. He could only stare up at you. 

“You can use my soaps,” You said to combat the silence.

“Are they the ones you use all the time? Or are they all new and fancy?”

Shaking your head, you snuck off his tie and let it hang from your fingers to take. “Same old, same old.”

That seemed to satisfy him, as he took the tie and stood up, passing close by with a smile on his face. He tossed the tie and suit jacket in with the rest of your dirty clothes, and quietly shut the door behind him. 

All that was left was you and the flower still on your comforter. You picked it up, its soft, white petals still firm and pure. You couldn’t help but stare down at it, turning your fingers over it and bringing it close to your heart as you slipped underneath the covers. It found its place right on your nightstand, right where you could watch it.

The shower’s hiss told you that Joel was enjoying the heat. You even heard a curse—probably him underestimating how hot it got—and a sigh. 

With your head on the pillow, you stared up at the ceiling, the quick whurr of the fan providing a layer of background noise. It played as a soft landing for all your fast-moving thoughts that seemed to have consumed you. 

The gala was everything you wanted and more. You felt powerful. You felt that you had found your footing once more, just bigger and better. There wasn’t any part of you that really cared what they thought about you. Not the men or the paparazzi or even Michelle. It had all become what this fan was to you: background noise.

You lay there for a while, about to close your eyes—not because you were tired, but because you could—when you heard the door open with a soft click. When you looked up, you saw Joel in his clothes, tossing everything dirty into the hamper. 

The lights were turned off, the door was shut, and all that was left was you both staring at each other. 

Joel spoke with his body, coming around toward his side of the bed. The same side he had always kept since you were dating. He opened the covers, saw you shiver, and got in quick to bring back the heat. You both turned to each other, heads on separate pillows as the only thing that filled up your vision was him.  

You held your ground and didn’t hesitate to keep his stare. “Well, if you’re going to be in my room, there are rules.”

He didn’t lose his gaze. “What’re they, dare I ask?”

Nuzzling closer into your pillow, you smiled, “You can’t kick or snore, obviously.”

Joel frowned, “I don’t kick.”

“You clearly haven’t been conscious, but trust me, you do.”

“No, I don’t.” He came closer to you, a sly smile on his lips, “‘Cause if I did, you would’ve kicked back. I can accept the snorin’, sure, I admit to my faults. But if anythin’; you’re the kicker between the both of us.”

A faux gasp left your lips, “Don’t you dare falsely accuse me! Where’s your evidence”

“I’m sure I got a couple of dents in my bones ‘cause of your feet. Wanna see?”

“The jury will trust the witness—”

“Victim.”

“—the victim’s word. You don’t have to show me anything. It’s way too cold to even think about lifting this cover.”

Joel’s brows knitted together, “You’re cold?”

“It’s probably… thirty-six degrees outside. I’m going to be freezing no matter how many layers I put on. The heater's useless at this point.”

“I don’t notice it much.”

You prop yourself up with your elbows, looking down over his face, “Yeah, well, you’re a built-in furnace. Maybe that’s how you were able to survive for so long after you left the airport.”

“Could give it to you, y’know?”

You tilted your head away, “That sounds like somethin’ you’ve said while we’ve—”

“I ain’t bein’ dirty!” Joel exclaimed, throwing his forearm over his eyes, chuckling. When he finished, he peeked beneath his arm, “I was sayin’—we could… I don’t know… get real close and share body heat—”

“Is this you asking to cuddle, because if so I’m going to laugh from how nervous you’re acting.”

“‘Cuse me for bein’ considerate.”

“Apologies. I should’ve deciphered your riddle a bit more quickly.”

You both laughed, the noise coming easily for both of you. Humor and banter came naturally, despite everything that happened between you both. You could picture yourself being young, alone with him as you both laughed about something so stupid. 

Your hair fell over your cheeks, tickling your skin. Joel’s chuckles quieted as he noticed that those long and rough fingers of his brushed the strands away. You fell silent, just watching him watch you with an unreadable expression. You felt his warmth when he cupped your cheek.

“Can I?”

“Of course you—”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before his hands were pulling you down to him. So fast that you had to grab his biceps to keep you steady. He pulled you right over his body, so that your head was placed square onto his chest. It was warm and strong, a perfectly familiar place to rest your body. 

Slowly, your arms came to snake around his waist, feeling all those strong muscles pulled taut and corded. A happy noise left him, vibrating throughout your entire body. .

“I’ve been wantin’ to do that since the carpet.”

“That was three hours ago!”

“I’ve been wantin’ to do that since the carpet three hours ago.”

You buried your face deeper into the fabric of his shirt, and threw your legs over him for good measure. Both his arms wrapped around you; one around your shoulders to keep you from slipping, another right by your knee, but close enough to your thigh. “Consider this my thanks.”

“Ain’t it my Christmas gift?”

“It’s both.”

Joel looked down at you, tilting his head. Then, he placed a kiss on your temple, so close to your cheek his lips caught the corner of your eye. You scrunched your nose at the feel, and he left with a big, dramatic smack from his lips.

Not wanting to be outdone, you pressed your lips to his mustache, right at the corner so that you got all the scruffy strands that burned so good against your lip.

But you knew why you picked that spot.

He did too, from the way he grunted and squeezed your shoulder and thigh. 

The corner of your lip had met his, ever so slightly, but the seams were so close you could feel his mouth open to gasp.

When you pulled back, you whispered, delighted in his ear: “Merry Christmas, Joel Miller.”

He looked at you as if you were evil and everything he wanted: “Merry Christmas, my sweetheart.”

This chapter is so so long it took years off my life to write!! But I love what I do, so am I really ever working...?

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Jack Abbot had never believed in timing, not in the kind people romanticized or wrote about, not in the idea that two people could simply meet at the right moment and everything would fall into place as if life had been quietly aligning itself just for them. His world didn’t work like that, and neither did The Pitt. There was nothing poetic about fluorescent lights that never turned off, about blood that never fully washed away, about the way loss lingered in the air long after a patient was gone. Everything here was messy, complicated, unfinished, and most of all, heavy.

And then there was you, who somehow existed in that same space without letting it hollow you out.

You weren’t naive. That was the part that unsettled him the most. You saw everything he saw, you stood in the same rooms, watched the same monitors flatline, heard the same cries from families in waiting areas, and yet you didn’t let it turn you into something closed off or distant. You still spoke gently to patients. You still found ways to smile. You still believed that what you were doing mattered in a way that went beyond survival rates and statistics.

Jack noticed it in ways he didn’t want to admit. He noticed how your presence changed the tone of a room, how people relaxed just a little when you spoke, how even he felt steadier when you were nearby. It wasn’t dramatic or obvious, but it was there, and that was enough to make him start pulling away before it could become something he couldn’t control.

He told himself it was because you deserved better. Someone lighter, someone who hadn’t already been worn down by years in a place like this, someone who wouldn’t look at you and immediately think about everything that could go wrong.

It didn’t happen all at once. At first, it was subtle, almost unnoticeable unless someone was paying close attention. He stopped lingering near you after shifts, stopped initiating the small conversations that had once come so easily. He kept things professional, efficient, distant in a way that felt deliberate but never openly acknowledged. If you stood too close, he found a reason to move. If you looked at him like you wanted to say something more, he gave you just enough to shut the moment down without making a scene.

You noticed, of course. You always did because you knew him. And eventually, you asked.

There was a night when you finally said something, leaning against the nurses’ station with your arms crossed, watching him instead of whatever chart he was pretending to focus on. You didn’t look angry or upset, just thoughtful, like you were trying to understand something that didn’t quite add up.

“Did I do something?” you asked, your voice calm but steady.

He didn’t look up. “No.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

You let out a quiet breath, the kind that suggested you didn’t believe him but weren’t ready to argue about it yet. “You are, but okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push.”

That was the thing about you. You gave people space even when you deserved answers. You trusted that if something mattered, it would be said eventually.

Jack used that against you without meaning to.

He let the distance grow, convincing himself that it was the right thing to do. Every time he saw you laughing with someone else or focusing on your work with that same unwavering attention, he told himself he was protecting you. You didn’t need someone like him complicating things. You didn’t need someone who had already been worn down by this place, someone who didn’t believe in the same things you still held onto so easily.

The breaking point came on a night that felt too familiar, the kind of shift where everything seemed to pile up at once and there was no time to breathe. A patient didn’t make it, a kid not much younger than you, and Jack saw the way it affected you even though you tried to hold it together. Your hands were steady when they needed to be, your voice controlled, your movements precise, but there was something beneath all of it that he recognized immediately because he’d felt it too many times before.

You stepped outside for air, and he followed without thinking.

You were sitting on the curb, your posture slightly slumped, your gaze fixed somewhere distant. When he approached, you didn’t seem surprised, just aware.

“He wasn’t supposed to die,” you said quietly.

“They never are,” he replied, but the words sounded empty even to him. “But there is nothing else you can do.”

You turned your head slightly, looking at him in a way that made it clear you weren’t going to let that answer stand. “That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

He didn’t argue, because you were right.

There was a moment of silence before you spoke again, your tone shifting just enough to make it clear that this wasn’t only about the patient anymore. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He exhaled slowly, already feeling the conversation slipping into territory he had been trying to avoid. “I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t do that,” you said, your voice still calm but firmer now, you were getting angrier.

“Do what?”

“Pretend like I don’t deserve a real answer.”

That landed harder than he expected, not because it was harsh, but because it was true.

He finally looked at you, and for a second, he considered telling you everything, explaining the thoughts that had been running in circles in his head for weeks. Instead, he chose the version that would push you away cleanly, the version that would hurt enough to make you let go.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you.

Your expression shifted, confusion mixing with something more guarded. “What isn’t?”

“This. Whatever this is.”

You let out a small, disbelieving breath. “There is no ‘this,’ Jack. At least not officially. There never was.”

“Exactly.”

The response didn’t land the way he expected. Instead of ending the conversation, it only made your gaze sharpen, like you were trying to understand how something that had felt so real could be dismissed so easily.

“Then why does it feel like there was?” you asked.

He didn’t answer that, because he couldn’t.

“You deserve better,” he said instead, and even as the words left his mouth, he knew they sounded like an excuse.

Your reaction wasn’t immediate heartbreak, which almost made it worse. You looked frustrated, like you were hearing something you fundamentally disagreed with.

“I didn’t ask for better,” you said. “I just asked for you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Why?”

Because I will ruin this. Because I don’t know how to keep something good without breaking it. Because you’re still whole in ways I stopped being a long time ago.

“I’m not what you think I am,” he said instead.

You shook your head slightly. “I work with you. I see you every day. I know exactly who you are.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Then tell me.”

He didn’t. Instead, he took a step back, creating distance that felt final in a way neither of you had said out loud yet.

“I’m trying to do the right thing,” he said.

“For who?” you asked.

“For you.”

Your expression softened then, but not in a way that meant you agreed. It looked more like disappointment, like you were realizing something you didn’t want to accept.

“That’s not your decision to make,” you said quietly.

“It is if I’m the problem.”

“You’re not,” you started, but he cut you off.

“I am.”

The certainty in his voice stopped you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, after a pause that felt heavier than anything else that had been said, you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

He hadn’t expected that. He thought you would argue more, push back harder, force him to confront the things he was avoiding.

But you didn’t.

“If that’s what you want,” you added, your voice steady even if your eyes weren’t.

He nodded, even though it wasn’t what he wanted at all.

“Take care of yourself, Jack,” you said, and then you walked away.

The Pitt didn’t change after that. Why would it do? It remained exactly what it had always been, loud and relentless and unforgiving. Jack kept working, kept moving from one patient to the next, kept doing everything he was supposed to do without hesitation. From the outside, nothing about him seemed different.

But you were no longer part of his routine, and the absence of you settled into everything in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

He noticed it in small moments at first, like when he reached for a second coffee out of habit before remembering you weren’t there to take it, or when he caught himself looking up during a shift because he expected to see you nearby. He noticed it in the break room, in the hallways, in the quiet seconds between tasks when his mind had nothing else to focus on.

You were still there, of course, just not with him. You smiled at other people, talked to other coworkers, moved through the hospital with the same presence you had always had. You hadn’t changed, and that had been the entire point.

So why did it feel like he had made a mistake?

Then everything went wrong at once.

A trauma case came in fast, louder than usual, voices overlapping as the team moved to receive the patient. Jack shifted immediately, stepping into place, his focus narrowing as it always did when things escalated. There was blood, there were shouted instructions, there was the controlled chaos he knew how to navigate without hesitation.

And then, in the middle of it, something else happened.

It wasn’t even part of the case.

A crash from the other side of the room, sharp and sudden enough to cut through everything.

Jack’s head snapped up before he could stop himself.

A piece of equipment had gone down hard, metal hitting tile with a sound that made everyone flinch, and in the movement, in the confusion of too many bodies in too small a space, someone had been caught in it.

You.

For a second, nothing made sense. The noise, the movement, the way people shifted around you—it all blurred together until his brain caught up with what he was seeing.

You were on the ground.

Not moving.

Something in his chest dropped so fast it felt physical, like the air had been pulled out of his lungs before he could react. He didn’t remember crossing the room, didn’t remember leaving his patient or handing anything off, only that one second you were across the chaos and the next he was there, kneeling beside you.

“Hey—hey, look at me.”

His voice sounded wrong, too sharp, too tight.

There was blood, not a lot but enough, a thin line near your temple where you must have hit something on the way down. Your eyes were closed, your body too still, and for a moment that stretched longer than it should have, there was nothing.

Then you shifted slightly, a small, disoriented movement, and his breath came back all at once.

“Hey,” he said again, softer this time, one hand hovering near your face before he forced himself to focus. “Can you hear me?”

Your eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first before landing on him. “Jack…?”

Relief hit him hard enough to make his hands shake, but he kept them steady as he checked you over, his movements automatic even while something inside him was unraveling.

“Yeah, I’m here. Don’t move, okay? Just stay still for me.”

“I’m fine,” you murmured, already trying to push yourself up.

“No, you’re not,” he said immediately, more forceful than he meant to be. “Just—stay.”

You blinked at him, clearly still dazed, but you listened, settling back against the floor as someone else moved in to help. Around you, the ER kept going, the original trauma case still unfolding, voices still calling out instructions, but Jack’s entire focus had narrowed to you in a way that felt dangerous.

Because for that moment, nothing else mattered.

Not the patient he had left behind. Not the noise, not the urgency, not the rhythm he had spent years training himself to follow without deviation.

Just you.

The realization hit him before he could push it away.

This was what he had been trying to avoid. This exact moment. The loss of control, the shift in priorities, the way his entire world tilted because you were hurt.

Except it wasn’t hypothetical anymore.

It was real.

And it was worse than anything he had imagined.

They got you onto a bed, started running checks, voices calmer now that it was clear you were conscious, responsive. Jack stayed close, closer than he should have, watching every small reaction like it mattered more than anything else in the room.

“You hit your head,” someone said. “We’re just going to make sure everything’s okay.”

“I said I’m fine,” you insisted, your voice steadier now, though your gaze kept drifting back to Jack.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t trust himself to. His chest still felt tight, his thoughts louder than they had been in weeks.

You could have been seriously hurt.

You could have—

He stopped the thought before it finished, but it didn’t matter. The fear had already settled in.

The idea of losing you wasn’t abstract anymore. It wasn’t something he could distance himself from with logic or excuses.

It was something that had just almost happened right in front of him.

And he had felt it.

Fully.

Completely.

There was no going back from that.

—

He found you later, after everything had calmed down, after your scans came back clear, after the incident had been reduced to something manageable, something explainable.

You were sitting on one of the empty beds, a small bandage near your temple, looking more annoyed than anything else.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said as he approached.

You looked up, surprised. “I am resting.”

“That’s not resting.”

“It is compared to what we usually do.”

Despite everything, he almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, he stopped a few feet away, his expression more serious than you had ever seen it.

“What?” you asked, your tone shifting slightly as you picked up on it.

“I thought—” he started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair like he needed a second to get the words right. “When you went down, I thought—”

You watched him carefully, something softer settling in your expression.

“I’m okay,” you said gently.

“I know,” he replied. “But that’s not the point.”

Silence stretched between you, but this one wasn’t empty. It was full of everything he hadn’t said before.

“I was wrong,” he said finally.

You tilted your head slightly. “About?”

“Letting you go.”

Your gaze didn’t waver, but there was something guarded there now, something that hadn’t been before. “Jack—”

“I didn’t do it for you,” he continued, the words coming more easily now that he had started. “I told myself I did, but I didn’t. I did it because I was scared of this, of what it would feel like if something happened to you and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Your expression softened, but you didn’t interrupt.

“And then it almost did,” he said, his voice quieter now. “And it wasn’t easier, it wasn’t better, it was worse. So much worse.”

You let out a slow breath, looking down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “You don’t get to decide what I’m worth risking, Jack.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “I know that now.”

“And you hurt me.”

“I know that too.”

Another pause, but this one felt like something being weighed instead of avoided.

“I’m still the same person,” you said. “This didn’t suddenly make me fragile.”

“I know,” he repeated. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you?”

He held your gaze, not looking away this time, not trying to soften the truth into something easier to accept.

“Because I don’t want to do this without you.”

The honesty in that settled into the space between you, heavy but not unwelcome.

You studied him for a long moment, searching for hesitation, for doubt, for any sign that he might pull away again.

You didn’t find it.

“You’re an idiot,” you said finally, but there was no heat behind it.

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t get to run next time something scares you.”

“I won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” he admitted. “But I can promise I’ll stay.”

That seemed to matter.

You nodded slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “Okay.”

That word again, but this time it felt different.

Stronger.

More deliberate.

Jack let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” you repeated, a small smile forming despite everything. “But if you ever try to push me away again, I’m not making it this easy for you.”

“That’s fair.”

“And you’re buying me coffee for at least a month.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound unfamiliar after everything that had just settled between you. “Deal.”

You shifted slightly, wincing just a little before settling again, and he instinctively moved closer, his hand hovering near yours before he let it rest there, light but certain.

For the first time, he didn’t pull back.

Because the fear was still there. It hadn’t disappeared, hadn’t softened into something manageable or distant.

But now it wasn’t something he was running from.

as you stare down at the positive test in your hands, the overwhelming urge to be sick in the toilet you’re currently sat on tugs at your stomach.

your fingers tremble around their hold on the stick, eyes beginning to burn as your vision grows foggy.

“you still good in there?”

samira.

you swallow harshly, sucking in a breath that gets lodged in your chest and sits there like a permanent reminder that this is real. reluctantly, with sweat starting to dot across your nape, you swing the stall door open.

the brunettes brows pinch as she pushes off the adjacent wall, arms crossed as she takes a few steps forward. then her expression shifts, more steady than yours but sharing a similar panic.

“shit.”

“yeah.” you sigh, hoping the continuous, deep breaths will calm the way your pulse has become erratic.

“was this intentional?” you can tell by the hesitant look on her face she most likely knows the answer, she just wants it confirmed to her. you’d roll your eyes if you weren’t so busy nearly hyperventilating, sniffing as the accumulation of tears has caused your nose to run.

“no.”

“do you want this?”

“i don’t know,” children, it’s a conversation you’d never had. you’d been focused on your career for years now, something so very important and overall time consuming you’d never stopped to really think about it. did you want kids? even if you did, it wasn’t the right time, you were still an R2, your life was constantly hectic, “i’ve never put much thought into it.”

“how will you tell him?”

your eyes squeeze shut. that was the first thing that came to mind when the two lines appeared. how would he react? would he lash out at you? no, he wasn’t that kind of man, you knew him better than that.

“will you tell him?”

your eyes snap open at that, gaze darting up to land on samira who’s looking at you with an expression that makes you want to shrink. sympathy, she was a sympathizer after all.

“of course i’m gonna tell him,” even if you wish it was all just a dream, and any second you’d wake up and it would all have just been-, “but what if he reacts badly?”

samira hums, like she’d thought of that as well, shifting from one foot to the other.

“honestly, i don’t know how to answer that for you, but what i’ve seen, he’s a pretty good guy,” somehow she always knows what to say, and you appreciate her words, “plus if anything happens, you still have me. and mel, and pretty much everyone, you’re well liked.”

you laugh softly, wiping at a tear that escapes your eye.

“you’re just saying all that to make you feel better.”

samira smiles.

“doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“thanks, seriously.” you stand, capping the pregnancy test and pocketing it before passing samira to wash your hands. your eyes meet your own in the mirror, soap lathering as scalding water runs over your palms. the warmth is a decent distraction from hoping no one will notice your now puffy cheeks and wet lashes.

samira raises her brows at you through the mirror.

“will you be okay?” you’re not sure how to respond, hands gripping the edge of the sink counter. your eyes meet hers.

you decide to just nod.

“hey, can we talk?” you jog up to where robby stands in the ambulance bay several hours later, hands in his jacket pockets. he turns to you as you stop beside him. there’s a look on his face you can’t place, maybe fatigue, something you’ve seen countless times before and yet different.

“yeah, we need too,” those words throw you a bit off balance, and suddenly you’re anxious that maybe he found out before you could tell him, “and fortunately, i have a minute.”

“great, um,” you falter, heart rate picking up as you glance down at you sneakers, “it’s kind of important.”

robby looks at you again, this time however, you see a hint of concern behind his rough exterior, one he doesn’t hide but is picky with who gets to witness it. although just as soon at it appears, his face falls blank, forehead lines deepening as his brows furrow.

he motions for you to speak, an action so unlike him you stumble over your words.

“oh, uh, you go first, mine will kinda need a conversation,” you grimace at the way you stutter, so foreign to you yet so human in your worries as the attending in front of you just stares, “seriously, tell me.”

your smile is brief, full and bright as the man takes a deep breath, the corners of your mouth falling in tandem with your heart as his next sentence renders you speechless.

“we need to end this.”

what.

you pause, taken aback.

“what?” robby sighs at your response, turning away from you and shaking his head like he didn’t say something that’s left you nearly gasping for air even while outside.

“i’m ending it,” and you feel a sting across your face as if you’ve been slapped, accompanied by a painful throbbing in your chest, “our relationship, fling, whatever you’d like to call it.”

fling? is that how he saw it? sure he said relationship first, but to throw out that other word? is that really all it’s been to him?

“i love you.”

“mmm it’s mutual.” is giggled as you’re perched in his lap, nuzzling into his scruff as he nurses a scotch.

“that’s what you wanted to tell me?” it’s like your senses can’t process this information, the incessant buzzing in your head growing as the seconds tick by.

robby nods, lips forming a tight line.

“i think it’s best to end this before it gets too serious, before my sabbatical.”

your knees wobble, eyes blinking rapidly as tears begin to form.

“how’d you find me?” the sun sets beyond the horizon.

“would you believe me if i told you i looked in every room?” robby walks up beside you, shrugging off his jacket at the sight of a shiver running across your arms. the smell of the anti septic and his cologne invade your nose as the fabric is draped over your shoulders.

you laugh, face suddenly warmer.

“do you offer your jacket to all your residents?”

he smiles, crooked and real.

“only the ones i look in every room for.”

you can feel the test in your pocket, practically burning through the cotton of your zip up as you stand unable to even move.

“oh, okay,” is all that comes out at first, choked up and coming out less assertive than you had intended, “that’s.. really how you feel?”

you miss the way robby glances at you, the look he gives you as you stare down at the pavement, blinking back the glossiness to your eyes.

“yes.” it’s definite. almost like he’s been thinking about this for awhile, and yeah, he’s been a bit withdrawn lately but you wouldn’t have expected this.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip, fingers fidgeting against your jackets hem, the pitter patter of rain begins against the overhang.

“can we talk about this?” you plead, taking a step towards the man.

“ambulance is en route,” that’s all he says, like he can’t be bothered to discuss the bomb he just dropped, “now isn’t the time.” ouch.

“alright,” it’s not alright, and you think you might be sick all over the pavement, “i get it.”

you don’t.

you want to demand an explanation, grab his arm, beg him to tell you why and then convince him to stay.

maybe it’s the hormonal shift, maybe the way the rain has begun to come down harder. but you just want to summon the courage, something so suddenly broken in you just wants to cower away and lick your wounds.

you ignore the throbbing in your chest, the way your body sways at the fear setting in, and you simply turn, and walk back inside.

“she’s an R1?” brows raise.

“about to be on year 2, she’s-,”

“and you’re her superior?”

robby listens to your footsteps fade into the distance, until the doors shut and the howl of wind against the weather leaves him in silence.

his eyes focus on a pebble beside his shoe, watching it roll as he kicks at it. his eyes shut, head leaning back as the sound of sirens grow near. his hearing makes the distant screeching somewhat fuzzy, eyes suddenly snapping open and body lurching forward.

he holds a closed first to the front of his mouth, inhaling deep breaths to calm the way bile has risen in his throat. he swallows it down, sweat dotting his forehead as the gravity of the silence around him sinks in.

he inhales again, this time slightly choking on the air.

his head shakes, face pulling into a pained grimace.

“fuck.”

he kicks the pebble again, this time sending it halfway across the parking lot as the ambulance pulls up.

“i can’t take this.” robby is compelled by your tone, the way your voice is heavy and desperate. he steps closer, body heaving unsteady breaths as you don’t move away.

his hands raise to his hair, ruffling the short brown locks. he sighs, a noise that pulls a sound of complaint from your throat.

“don’t, don’t act like i’m imagining things,” your voice is quiet, almost so much so robby nearly misses it, then your confidence seems to dim, “but… just tell me i am, and i’ll back off.”

his eyes snaps to yours.

“back off?” you shrink beneath his gaze.

“yes, i-,”

“you think i want that?” you’re unsure if that’s rhetorical, you almost laugh.

“michael,” you’re exasperated, “i’m asking you!”

the breath he takes is fast and shallow, head cocking to the side.

“it’s exactly that.”

you falter.

“sorry, what is?” you’re flushed warm to your ears as the man takes another bold step into your personal space, your back gently coming in contact with the wall behind you. you gasp at the startling contact, jaw shutting seconds after when a half bent arm is pressed beside your head.

then he’s leaning in, so close you can practically feel his bodies warmth, feel his breath across your face. he smells like cheap break room espresso, hand sanitizer, that heady musk of someone who’s been on their feet all day. every breath you take is just robby, it’s everywhere, all around you.

“you.”

you lick your lips, trying not to tremble at the way his eyes follow the movement of your tongue.

“you greeting me in the morning like i haven’t spent another sleepless night thinking of only you,” you feel something throb behind your ribs, “always so sweet to me, too good for what i deserve.”

you want to correct him, place a hand on his cheek and tell him that’s not how you see it. not at all. but before you can move against your outwardly nervous hesitation, he’s lifting one of your hands and placing the palm firm against his sternum.

you can feel the way his heart is beating, it’s fast, skipping a beat as your touch presses to him.

“you’re not imagining anything.”

you smile, fingers digging into the open zipper part of his navy zip up, pulling him down to meet your lips. his hands come up to cradle the sides of your face, fingers rough and calloused against your delicate skin.

your spine sparks with tingles as one of his hands drops to caress your back, holding your body steady against his.

as you pull away, you can’t contain the soft laughter that follows.

“i was wondering when you’d say something.”

“are you.. okay?” trinity is staring at you like any minute you’ll fall over.

“yeah,” and she’s not wrong on that assumption, considering the slightly slurred way you responded, “totally.”

the totally is choked up as vomit rises in your throat, lips shutting tight as you squeeze your eyes shut and place your forehead against the nurses station. trinity scowls, stepping back.

you sigh against the cold counter, not bothering to think about any germs you’re currently pressing your face against. your knees shake, joints burning as you stand.

a chart is handed off above your head, groaning as the back of someone’s hand presses into your forehead.

“you’re hot.” cassie.

“thanks.” is muffled.

you can practically feel the eye roll.

“kid, your temperature.” the redhead smiles down at you, removing her hand from your face.

“wait, you’re sick?” dennis walks up, eyeing the board as he does.

“she’s definitely coming down with something gross.” trinity retorts from her position still a yard or so away, looking at you like you’re a ticking time bomb of contagion.

it’s probably morning sickness, you think.

“fuck off,” you snap, well, as tough as you can despite the crack in your voice and the shiver down your spine, “i’m not contagious, trust me.”

the three of your colleagues watching your utter misery exchange looks as they hold back laughter.

“where’s the ducklings?” trinity refers to joy and oglivie.

“um, probably causing problems i’ll have to clean up.”

the clock ticks, the board updates.

chaos unfolds within mere seconds.

heavy footsteps echo as dana runs towards the little group thats accumulated.

“we’ve got a mvc 5 minutes out, it’s all hands on deck,” she’s rushing, going through all the paces of preparing for a massive trauma, her rapid gaze slows as it focuses on you, her brow quirks, “is she alright.”

cassie pulls a face, glancing down at you as more commotion fills the ED.

emma runs past carrying too much gauze, nearly slipping on the floor as she rounds a corner.

“i’m fine,” you able yourself to stand, holding back tears as a wave of pain shoots down your midsection, “totally fine.”

you briefly scan the ED, eyes landing on samira who’s saying goodbye to an older patient. she turns, eyes immediately landing on you as if she knew she was in your sights. her brows furrow, face growing taut with a look of concern you’ve seen on her many times before. she mouths a ‘are you okay?’ and you nod, a slow, steady motion as to now further nauseate yourself.

you attempt a smile, the curve dropping the second robby walks around the corner in a conversation with abbot.

“we need to talk.” you finally managed to get robby alone, albeit it’s the break room, but it’ll have to do.

he says your name, and it practically tears your heart in two.

“i can’t do this right now.” you want to scoff at his words.

“well when can you, especially considering you’re leaving tonight off to god knows where.” he’s been avoiding you for days, 3 whole days of acting uncomfortably professional whenever you interact. and can’t exactly confide in anyone about the breakup, no one even knew the the relationship to begin with.

excluding samira, and at least you could rely on her.

“its like you can’t even look at me,” you gesture towards him, watching how he evades eye contact, “case and point.”

“i have a patient to check on.”

“we always have patients to check on.”

robby stands, making his way to the door, still without glancing at your face.

“michael-,”

he says your name in a way that has you inhaling deeply, heart picking up and eyes growing glossy. you suck it up, it’s now or never.

“please, just listen.”

maybe it’s a stroke of luck, or maybe he’s just decided to pity you, but it’s a chance the minute his eyes meet yours.

“i’m pr-,”

“robby, we need you.” javadi pauses in the threshold, eyes wide and panicked. you don’t hesitate to step aside, making space for robby as he casts you a look you can’t quite read right before leaving.

there’s blood streaked across the white, tile floor. footprints trailing away from it, wheel tracks where gurneys had been moved. there isn’t much time to worry about that however as your hands are currently busy giving compressions.

you’re breathing heavy as you do so, trying to ignore a drop of sweat that dips through your brow and stings your eye. it’s cold, the ac is on high, you can feel the cool air on the back of your neck. although it’s doing nothing against the heat your body has built up.

you inhale, the thick smell of iron entering your nostrils and practically coating the inside of your mouth.

something tugs at your gut, then lower, a dull sensation rapidly beginning to cramp painfully.

“16 gauge bore iv going in,” that’s abbot, he’s to your right and although he’s inches away you think it could also be miles, your vision blurs, the sounds around you fade into a indistinct hum, “… .. ….”.

you think you hear your name, body faltering slightly as you miss the count of the compressions.