pink princess

-1 MONTHS

“Oh my God, Garrett!” Your lips part in a pornographic moan, the veins in your neck popping out as your head thumps against the bed frame. Currently, you were in the Hawks House, Garrett thrusting into you slow and deep as your head hangs over the bed—Hang Loose was always his favorite position. Your tits bounce lightly with each of his thrusts, his chain grazing over your skin as he lets out a soft grunt.

“So fucking good for me,” He murmurs, his hot mouth moving over your smooth skin until his lips wrap around your nipple. Your hips jerk up from the contact, nails digging into his back. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” He teases, flicking his tongue over the bud. You get louder, hands frantically moving from his back to his dark curls, tugging.

“Oh my God, I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum, ohhh, yes!” You whine, letting out a sob as you clench around Garrett’s dick. He chokes out a groan, his hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. “Where do you want—”

“Inside,”

“But you’re not—”

“I don’t care, just cum inside of me—oh my God, I’m cumming!” Garrett swears your moans echo across the entirety of Briar University’s campus—and he has to admit, it makes him even cockier than he was before. With a soft moan, he lets go, filling up your tight pussy with ropes of cum.

He pulls you up so you’re fully on the bed before collapsing on top of you, both of you panting, and you smile, letting out a soft laugh as you rake your manicured fingers through his hair. “That was fucking amazing,” He murmurs, pressing kisses to your sweat-soaked skin. You nod, humming, still a bit hazy from your orgasm.

You tap Garrett’s shoulder, and reluctantly, he gets up with a sigh, grabbing your silk leopard print robe from his desk chair and handing it to you. Most of the time, you were at Hawks House more than you were at your dorm with Hannah and Allie, and you had accumulated a small collection of clothes which Garrett kept in his top drawer.

You sit up and tie the robe around your naked body, going on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek as he puts on a pair of boxers. You’re about to open the door to go downstairs to the kitchen, but Garrett stops you, his large forearm wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into him. “Your legs aren’t shaking,” He murmurs into your ear, making you shiver, “do we need to go again?”

You laugh, twisting yourself out of his grip, “Maybe later. I’m plenty satisfied, baby. Mama needs some water.”

Garrett pouts, his eyes practically as soft as a puppy’s fur, “Oh yeah, mama needs some water? We can get you water,” He teases, throwing you over his shoulder. You yelp, hands flying to his lower back for stability, “Garrett, put me down!” You shriek, but Garrett shakes his head as he exits his bedroom and thunks downstairs.

“No can do, gotta get water for m’lady,” He laughs, “hey, boys,” He greets his roommates—who all look disgusted. Dean rises up from the couch as Garrett finally puts you down, grinning as he smacks your ass and jiggles the fat with his palm. Your brother gags at the sight, “Next time you guys want to fuck, can you please, for the love of all things holy, fuck a little quieter?” He pleads, pinching his fingers together.

“I’ve had to hear you having sex since we were fifteen,” You deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest, thanking Garrett when he hands you a glass of water and smoothes your hair with his palms.

“Yeah, but like—that’s different,” Dean grumbles, “I never had sex with your best friend.”

“You’re literally dating one of my best friends, Deanie.”

“That’s different!” He repeats, whining theatrically as he stomps back over to the couch, before throwing himself over the back of it and doing a backwards somersault, kicking over a bowl of popcorn in the process.

“Oh come on bro, that was perfectly buttered!” Tucker groans, putting his game controller to the side as he begins to pick up the buttered kernels. Dean does too, popping some in his mouth, which makes everyone in the room—including you and Garrett, who had been watching this scene together from the kitchen, unfold—recoil with disgust.

MONTH ONE

About three weeks later, you’re in a lecture hall for your major—Child Development. You wanted to be an elementary teacher, so you chose Child Development as a way to jumpstart your career.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea overcomes you—you quickly gather all of your things and exit the lecture hall as fast as you can, dropping to your knees in the closest toilet stall before heaving your guts out.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” A concerned voice says from behind you. You can’t turn your head, but are able to see strawberry blonde hair in your peripheral as the girl kneels next to you, pulling your hair back.

Kendall, one of Garrett’s ex-hookups.

Great.

You nod slowly, wiping your mouth with a piece of toilet paper that she hands to you. “Yeah, thanks—probably just stress from my classes,” You say softly, giving her a genuine smile.

You felt bad for the girl—she had been hooking up with Garrett before you, and as soon as you and Garrett had sex for the first time, he kicked her to the curb. He always told you the split was a mutual decision, but you could see in her eyes, now, that she was still pained by his words from that night.

“Of course,” She murmurs, “hey—you’re Dean’s sister, right? The one who’s dating Garrett?”

You nod at the first part of her sentence but quickly shake your head at the last part of her sentence, which you regret as soon as it brings on another wave of nausea as you retch into the toilet.

Kendall grimaces, handing you another piece of toilet paper, and you thank her, wiping your mouth before responding to her. “I’m Dean’s twin, yeah. Unfortunately,” You snort, “but I’m not dating Garrett—we’re just friends who like, fuck around, you know?”

You stand up from the tiled bathroom floor, dusting off your pants, and finally start to feel a bit better. “Oh, I just thought—you know, with all of the stuff posted on Fifth Line…” Kendall says shyly, scratching at her forearm.

“Jules just loves to stir shit,” You giggle softly, squeezing Kendall’s shoulder. “They’ve been like that since I met them. It was nice talking to you, Kendall, but I should probably get back to class—thanks for taking care of me!”

“Yeah, of course,” She smiles, waving goodbye as you exit the bathroom.

After a day of classes, you immediately flop down onto Allie’s bed with an exasperated huff. “Oh honeybun, what’s wrong?” She asks, setting aside her gel polishes from where she was doing her toenails.

“I spent half of today in the lecture hall bathrooms,” You mumble, lifting your head from her duvet. She frowns sympathetically, rubbing your back as you continue talking, “and my boobs are sore, but my period’s late, and all I want is Garrett, but he’s at practice.”

“Oh, shit.” Allie says abruptly, and you look at her confused. “What’s wrong?”

“When was the last time you and Garrett had sex?”

“Three weeks ag—oh, fucking shit.”

Two hours later, Hannah and Allie both have their hands on your arm, squeezing you from time to time. Hannah rubs your back as you whine nervously, watching the timer count down on your phone. When it beeps, you go to reach for it, hand shaking, but Allie stops you for a second.

“Hey, DiDi,” She says softly, “whatever it says, we’ll be right here. And I know it’s bad timing—but really, whatever it says, whatever you want to do, we’ll be here. No matter what.”

You nod, sucking in a breath, and go to look at it.

Your heart drops to your ass. You blink, twice, making sure that your eyes don’t deceive you.

Pregnant, 2-3 weeks.

You stifle a sob as your hands come up to your mouth, and your legs give out like jelly, both Hannah and Allie hugging you tightly as you wail on the bathroom floor.

MONTH TWO

You still haven’t told Garrett.

You’re eight weeks pregnant, still haven’t told your—whatever he is—and are trying to hide it at a party. Where there’s drinks.

You always drink at parties.

Dean can notice something is wrong—and so can Garrett, whose brows furrow as you reject his offer to go get you a Smirnoff Ice for the third time. “Baby, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been off for a few weeks.”

You smile as you twirl a toothpick between your fingers, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. Professor Nolan’s lectures are always a bore,”

He kisses your temple, dark brows furrowed as he stares directly into your eyes, “Do you wanna leave? Because we can go, baby.” You shake your head. “No, no—go, have fun. Dean has been waiting for you to go do shots with him,” You giggle, pointing over at your twin, who’s already drunk off of his ass and about to jump onto a wooden table.

Garrett sighs and kisses your temple once more before leaving to go take care of Dean, and Hannah walks over to you, nibbling at her lip. “You still haven’t told him?” Your walls immediately crumble, and your bottom lip starts to tremble, chin quivering, “Oh, DiDi,” She tuts, pulling you in for a hug.

“I’m so scared,” You whisper, “what if he hates me? What if he tells me to get rid of it?” Hannah shakes her head, “That’s not gonna happen, DiDi. You know Garrett, he’s a big softie under all of that hockey gear. You just have to be honest, okay? Go with your heart—and he loves you, DiDi. He may deny it whenever anyone asks, or teases him about it, but I see it in his eyes. You’re it for him.”

You sniffle, and Hannah wipes your tears away, before dragging you out to the dance floor. You giggle as she twirls you around, and for a moment, all of your worries are gone.

Until a week later, when you’re sat in front of Garrett, sitting on his bed in one of his t-shirts and baby pink sleep shorts. “We need to talk,” You say abruptly, and he pokes his head out from his closet, turning around to face you in only Calvin Klein boxers and messy curls.

“What’s up?”

You nibble your bottom lip, already nervous, and fiddle with your fingers. “Can you sit down? It’s important,”

Garrett nods, moving from the closet to his bed, sitting down next to you and taking one of your hands between both of his. “Baby, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“I’m pregnant,” You blurt.

Garrett’s brows furrow, and he goes stiff beside you. You hate that you can feel the change in his body from the way that his thumb has stopped rubbing the back of your hand.

“I’m pregnant,” You repeat, quieter now, but Garrett’s ears still pick it up. “Please say something,” You sigh, voice shaking with nervousness.

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

His words hit you like a slap in the face, and you pull your hand away from his grip. “What?”

“I mean, are you sure it’s mine? I’m trying to make sure you’re not baby trapping me—”

You stand up from the bed, angry now, “Baby trap you? Are you fucking serious Garrett?”

He stands up now too, crossing his arms over his chest, “What? It’s a very reasonable question to ask! We’re just fucking around, I didn’t ask to be a father!”

“And you think I asked to be a mother?” You yell, scoffing as you wrap your arms protectively around yourself, “I can’t even believe the words that are coming out of your mouth right now! ‘Just fucking around’? You tell me that you love me, Garrett! You call me baby, you-you cuddle me, you take care of me!”

“You say that too! You do those things too!” He exclaims, eyes widening as he extends his arms towards you as to prove a point.

“We’re not ‘just fucking around’,” You mutter, “we’re practically dating, and you know it.” You go to leave his room, but he grabs your arm, “DiDi, we’re not done with this conversation—”

“Ow—let me go, Garrett, you’re hurting me!”

Those three words feel like a punch to Garrett’s heart. He swallows, letting you go, but his eyes are pained.

You’re hurting me.

As soon as you leave, Garrett flops back down onto his bed. He lifts his arm above his head, tears beginning to sting at his waterline as he stretches and bends his fingers. The fingers that had just gripped your arm, so tense with confusion and irritation and anger that he had squeezed you hard enough to hurt you.

He never wanted to hurt you.

You’re hurting me.

Your words echo in his head. “Fuck,” He chokes out, sniffling as he turns on his side, trying to sleep.

He’s going to be a father.

As he drifts to sleep, on your side of the bed, all he can think about is your words—you’re hurting me—and the fact that he’ll probably be like his father.

Sick. Quick tempered.

MONTH THREE

It’s been a week since you told Garrett.

A week since he accused you of baby trapping. Since he had accidentally squeezed you too hard—the bruise was fading on your forearm—and looked at you after you had said those words—you’re hurting me—like he was a scared little boy.

God, you missed him. Missed his laugh, the way he laughed with his whole body, his smile, the dimples on his cheeks, the scar on his abdomen from where he had donated a kidney when he was in high school.

It’s only been a week, and he had already missed so much. The first ultrasound. The day that you popped, which Allie eagerly took a picture of as she suggested baby names and nursery themes, and the day that you got your first craving: a dill pickle, hollowed out, stuffed with cream creese, Takis, and popcorn.

You had asked Tucker to make the craving on the down low—and when he got suspicious, you spilled your guts to him. You told him about the pregnancy, the argument with Garrett, but left out the part where Garrett had accidentally hurt you—it wasn’t important. You knew he hadn’t meant to do it—he would never hurt you, or anyone he loves.

You had also sworn Tucker to secrecy—no telling Logan, and especially not Dean. If Dean knew, he would flip, and he would flip even more if he knew that Garrett had practically kicked you to the curb.

The doorbell outside of your dorm room rings, and you grin, squealing excitedly—you had been waiting for Tucker to bring you your newest craving, which he had to make in secret and also secretly bring it to your dorm. Coconut popsicles wrapped in Fruit Roll-Ups, dipped in Juicy Drop Pop syrup.

You open the door, and your face falls. Instinctively, you go to cover your stomach, the small curve of it visible underneath your butter yellow tank top.

Phil Graham stands at your door, a hardened expression on his face as he looms over you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “So the rumors are true,” He says quietly, glancing down at your stomach, “my son knocked up the Di Laurentis slut.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, hand gripping the doorknob as you stand somewhat behind it, preparing yourself to shut the door and lock it, if necessary.

Phil says nothing, just looks down at you with disgust, before pulling a hand out from his pocket and shoving a piece of paper into your chest—not hard enough to hurt, but it’s enough to make sure that you’re intimidated by him.

You’re not.

Garrett has told you about him. The things that he did, the things that he said, the bruises he’s left. But it didn’t make you scared, it made you angry. For Garrett. For his mother. For your unborn child.

“Two million dollars,” He sneers, “for you to do one of two things: drop out of college and raise this baby on your own, moving far away from my son. Or get a fucking abortion, and never talk to my son again.”

He walks away before you can speak. As you stare down at the check, you don’t feel anything for it—you only feel anger.

You arrive at Hawks House in a record time—two minutes, considering it takes seven to get there, and stomp up the porch, ripping open the front door. “Where the fuck is Garrett?” You seethe, chest heaving as you glare at Tucker and Logan, who both point upstairs.

You stomp up to Garrett’s room and rip open that door, too, throwing the piece of paper at his sock-clad feet. “You told your dad? Are you fucking kidding me, Garrett?”

A look of confusion crosses Garrett’s dark features. “What are you talking about?” He picks up the piece of paper thrown at him, and his fingers grip it so hard it almost rips a hole through the check.

“He gave this to you?”

“Just now,” You laugh dryly, “you know, I knew you were angry about me being pregnant, but I never knew you would tell your father to pay me off to abort my baby.”

“You’re fucking pregnant?” A voice says from behind you—and it’s definitely not Garrett’s. You freeze as you turn to face your twin brother. Your mouth opens as shock washes over your features. “Deanie—”

Dean charges into Garrett’s room, seething with anger, and it’s like he doesn’t even see you. He goes straight for Garrett, punching him square in the jaw. “Dean!” You yelp, but he can’t hear you as he goes for Garrett’s ribs.

“You got my sister pregnant and then paid her to get an abortion? Are you fucking serious, man?” Dean yells, letting out a grunt as Garrett lands a punch back. Soon enough, the two boys are scrambling, throwing punches at each other until they’re both on the floor.

“A little help in here!” You yell for Tucker and Logan, who quickly hurry up the stairs, both of them letting out a synchronized “oh, shit” as Tucker goes to pull Dean off of Garrett and Logan pulls Garrett out from under Dean.

There’s blood splattered across the wooden floors of Garrett’s room, seeping into the cracks between the panels, and you feel sick. You can’t tell whose it is, but there’s so much of it.

Ten minutes later, the blood has been cleaned up, Garrett and Dean have been separated, and you’re sitting on the bathroom sink, Garrett standing between your legs as you clean the dried blood from his face.

Garrett sighs softly as he continues to stare at you—your lips are parted, tongue poking out slightly as you focus, chest moving up and down as you breathe. “I’m sorry,” He says gruffly, his hands gripping the edge of the sink, “for what I said. About the baby. And for hurting you. I—I never meant to—”

Your breath hitches, and you try to ignore his words by saying, “This is gonna sting,” before you press a cotton ball to his sliced open cheekbone. He hisses, groaning as he white knuckles the counter and drops his head to your chest. You freeze, and so does he, before nuzzling himself deeper into your cleavage.

“Garrett!” You squeal, trying to pull him away, but he whines in protest. “These things are so soft…” He murmurs, “is there milk in them already?”

You flick the back of his neck. “Don’t be weird.”

He just hums, smiling against your skin, before lifting his head so you can keep attending to his wounds. His eyes are half-lidded as he continues to stare at you with a dopey smile. “I’m gonna do good by you,” He says seriously, one of his hands moving from the sink to hold yours, which was resting on top of your growing bump, “and this kid. When I turn twenty-two, I get access to a trust made by my grandparents—it’s got enough for us to live off of, baby. Us and the kid, on a giant piece of land in the outskirts of Boston.”

“Garrett…” You say softly, “you still haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend, you know.”

He stands up straight, puffs out his chest, and then grips your cheeks, squishing them so your mouth is in a pout. You giggle at his serious expression as he says your full name, before adding, “will you be my girlfriend?”

You nod, a grin on your face, and lean in to kiss him. “Yes,” You say simply.

Garrett pumps his fist in the air before returning the kiss, mumbling against your lips, “When’s your due date?”

“January,” You respond, letting him pick you up and take you to his bedroom.

Garrett’s birthday is January 1st.

Throughout the past few days in the villa, Sincere has been going back and forth between you and Sol. You knew he was up to no good when you walked past them one day unbeknownst to Sincere, and overheard him telling Sol how he was down for their connection and genuinely wanted her. Sincere slept coldly that night, not a cuddle in sight.

——————————

You sat on the couch with trinity, enjoying some sips of water while telling her about your frustrations with your connection.

“I’m just really pissed off I’m not gon lie.”

Trinity’s head turned to you, “Girl why?”

“Because Sincere be all up in Sol face! And his ass be lying about the shit they be talking about like I just know it in my soul he on some fuck shit.”

“Girl, you need to check that cuz that lying shit is not okay.”

“I know! He literally been talking to her for the entire fucking day and i know when i ask him about he hon try and downplay it like no if you wanna explore then fucking explore and be honest about it.”

As you were ranting, Aniya walked into past and commented, “Girl you are mad as hell what's going on?” Causing you and Trinity to burst into laughter.

You explained your situation to her while she made herself comfortable beside you two.

“Yep, he on some fuck shit, you really should go talk to him about that.” Aniya said after you finished.

You sighed, “y’all are right, I’m actually about to go pull him right now.”

——————————

When you pulled Sincere, he fiddled with his thumbs in silence before finally speaking,

“So what’s up?”

His casual tone infuriated you, “Sincere what the fuck do you mean whats up? You been lying to me and Sol.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You come to me and you say ‘oh, I don't like her ,you’re who i want, blah blah blah” you imitated his mannerisms while you quoted him, “but when you go and fucking talk to her, you tell her the same shit…come the fuck on!”

Sincere raised his hand, a quirk you knew all too well.

“Sincere put your damn hand down, you do that shit when you lie.”

Whatever words he was going to say found their way right back down his throat.

“You’re playing in my face, I dont fuck with that, and i honestly dont give a fuck about this exploring, its me or her.”

At that, Sincere forced down a smile, he clearly enjoyed how possessive you were. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him, “It's you baby, it’s always gonna be you.”

You made yourself comfortable on his lap, a small smile gracing your face. You faked an attitude with him, still wanting to be mad at him, “Okay, good…I still don't like you right now though.”

Sincere didnt fuck with that at all. Without even giving you time to think his hands met your sides and he started tickling you. He peppered your face in kisses while teasing you, “You still mad? huh?”

“No! I'm not mad! Stop!” You squealed, laughing.

“Good.” He used his arms to pull you impossibly closer to him, resting one hand on your upper thing and using the other to pull you in for a kiss.

You rested your head against his chest with a smile. As you were enjoying that, Aniya was chatting with Kayda & yelled at yall from across the villa, “My favorite toxic couple is back cool!”

You erupted into laughter, eliciting a chuckle from Sincere, “Hell yeah we are!” He yelled back at her.

—————————————

ayeee finally got this dishonest x reader out the wayyyy. sincere really too fine to be acting like that 💔💔 AND IM SOOO MAD SOL GOT SENT HOME LIKE IM HURT AFFFF.

me af:⬆️

somehow kenzie, corbin, melanie, AND sincere still reside on my island…UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR. but its okay cuz they wont be seeing that 100k no way so it dont matter.

and tbh melanie has a chance if she couples up w someone new in casa (sincere lie too much to deserve anyone imo) but know her they’re not gonna split at all, sincere is gonna play in her face and she’s gonna take him back like a bird 💔

Days have passed since your big fight with Caleb. You have not uttered a single word or even glanced at him. You were completely done with him after that night. Since then, you did everything in your power to avoid him.

When you had to be downstairs with the rest of the cast, you stayed on the opposite side. If you saw him in one area, you avoided him like the plague. If he were to try and walk past you, you would go the extra mile to walk around whatever was in sight just to not be in close proximity. You wouldn't even look at him.

And Caleb could see all of that. And he fucking hated it.

He hated the way you avoided him. He hated how you couldn't even stand to look at him or even be somewhat near him. Each time, only breaking his heart at the fact that this was all because of him. One day he couldn't take it and blindsided you when you were sitting on one of the tanning beds near the pool.

"Y/n....I don't want things to be like this between us." His eyes tried to meet yours, but you wouldn't even give him the time of day. Your eyes staring straight forward, face emotionless.

"You made your bed, so hump in it." was all she said coldly. No feeling. It made Caleb's heart ache. He watched as she got up and walked away. He wanted to go after her so bad, but doing that would only make it worse. But one way or another, he was going to prove to you that in the end he wanted to walk out of this villa with you. Not Jaiden, and not anyone else.

*Later that night*

Caleb was trying to rack his brain on what he could do. He was going to do everything in his power to try and get you back. But where should he start? How can he even try if you don't even want to look at him, let alone be in the same room as him?

His head lifted as he heard approaching footsteps coming his way. It was Bryce and Trinity walking hand in hand. They both sat on the same couch next to him.

"How you doing Bro?" Bryce asked him, his hand automatically grabbing a hold of Trinity's. They could see the misery straight up on his face. And while Trinity was one to hold back on the bullshit, a part of her did feel bad Caleb.

"I fucked up so bad.." he whispered, his hands coming up to grasp at his hair in frustration. Caleb felt so empty. And he felt this way because he didn't have you.

"I was so fucking stupid, and didn't realize what I had until I brought Jaiden in." he told them, his eyes looking at the ground, ashamed of himself. He doesn't blame anyone but himself. This was all on him.

"I miss her so fucking much..." his voice slightly cracked. hands gripping his hair even tighter. He could feel Bryce place a hand on his shoulder, trying to give him a comforting squeeze. One he felt he didn't deserve.

"I know you thought you were doing what you think was best, but you and everyone in here knows, the moment you and Y/n went to the hideaway that you shouldn't have brought anyone else back after being in Casa. The amount of times you spoke about Y/n and thought about her, should have been the sign you needed man." Bryce was not going to sugar coat it. But he also wasn't going to be a dick. Caleb was beating himself up enough.

"I just don't know how I can prove to her that I regret what I did and that I do want her. She won't even look at me unless its with disgust." he said softly, not wanting to speak normally or else he knew he would break right then and there.

"Prove it then." Trinity answered. "You want to show her how sorry you are and that you want her back, then prove it to her."

"But how? She won't even be within ten feet of me." Caleb questioned.

"Well its not going to be easy Caleb. You did a fucked up thing, that doesn't just go away really fast. She's going to be affected by this for a while. But what you can do is put in the effort to try and prove it to her that you're sorry. She may reject you at first, and may not even give you a second to listen, but if you consistently put in the effort, then eventually, she's going to see it. It's just going to take time." She explained to him.

"I can do that." Caleb affirmed. He will do that. Anything to get you back, he was going to try even if she still rejected him in the end. Because he could not leave the villa without trying to get his girl back.

*The next day*

He started simple to test the waters. He had made you breakfast, but he knew better than to walk in there and give it to you considering what happened last time. So, he had decided to have Bryce take it to you while he went to give Trinity her plate.

When Bryce walked in, he made sure to give Trinity her plate first and a hug and a kiss. Then he walked over to Y/n.

"Here you go Y/n." he said cheerfully, setting the plate down in front of you. You gave him a kind smile and thanked him, "You didn't have to." she responded, grateful for his kind generosity.

"Enjoy." he smiled at her. He gave her a friendly hug and walked out of the room. But not entirely. He stood behind the door, starting between the crack that gave him a perfect view of you.

You ate the food slowly, savoring every bite while having a conversation with the girls.

"What's that Y/n?" Jen asked as she peaked at her plate, her eyes furrowing at what she saw. Y/n looked down and down a folded note that was hidden under the grapes. She picked it up and inspected it carefully. The girls all gathered around her, curious as to what it said.

"Open it!" They all encouraged her.

She opened the note slowly, and then her eyes finally found the written words:

'I know you don't want to see me, but I will give it my all to prove to you that I'm sorry for what I did. I know it will take some time, but I will use all the time that I have left to show you that I made a mistake and regret hurting you.

-C'

You read aloud to the girls. They awed at the words that were written but you weren't falling for it. Now now, and not anytime soon. Bryce watched as you looked at it a second longer and crumbled it up. You threw it in the trashcan, not giving it another thought.

"If he's sorry, he wouldn't have done what he did in the first place." was all you said as you sat back down and continued to get ready.

Bryce walked away from the door and made his way back down to the kitchen. Caleb was sitting on the island, waiting anxiously for his return. The moment he saw him, he got off and walked straight to Bryce.

"Well?" he asked, nervous for the outcome. All Bryce could do was give him a sympathetic look and shook his head no.

"She read it, but she threw it away." Caleb knew that this was going to be extremely difficult. He understood why you threw the note away, but this was not going to stop him even though it hurt that you didn't even acknowledge his attempt to try and communicate with you to make things right.

"I'm not giving up." he stated. Bryce dapped his shoulder, giving him the support he needed at that moment.

"Let's try a different approach..." Bryce suggested. They both went to sit down at 'Say Less' and started to brainstorm ideas on how to get you alone with him.

*Later that night*

Caleb knew he was going to have to be careful on how he did this. He knew that you weren't ready yet to talk to him. But he could at least try and let you know that he was not going to give up on you in a subtle way.

As the girls were all talking at the fire pit, Caleb waited until they were deep in conversation to pull all the boys aside. "Can you guys do me a favor?" he asked them all quietly, making sure that you and the girls could not hear him.

"What the hell are they up to?" Kayda said as she could see all of the guys huddled together, discussing something that seemed very private and secretive.

"I don't know, but I hope they aren't doing some stupid shit." Melanie said as you and the girls continued to stare intently at the boys.

Suddenly, their huddle broke apart, and the boys started to make their way over. Their steps in sync, and their eyes staring right at you.

"Beautiful, Y/n" Zach started off dramatically, your face immediately showing a 'what the fuck' expression. "Can you please walk with me for a moment."

You looked around, trying to figure out what was happening. The girls were just as confused as you. you took his arm that he offered to you, and he guided you up and started to lead you away. You looked back at the girls, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

Zach led you to the dock, and you could see something, but what it was, you weren't sure since you couldn't see very clear yet. "What's going on Zach?" you asked him, your voice giving a sound of annoyance and nervousness.

"Just wanted to bring you here." was all he said. When you got closer to the end of the dock, you finally saw what was set up. On the floor was a giant heart made out of rose petals, and in the center, were the words 'I'm Sorry'.

"And last but not least" you turned to Zach who had a rose in his hand and was reaching out to give it to you. You look at it suspiciously, already knowing who was up to this. You didn't want to take it. You wanted to rip it apart if you were being honest. But before you could react negatively, you all of a sudden see all of the boys appear in your line of sight, minus Caleb. Each holding a rose in their hand.

"Take the damn rose Y/n." Zach finally said as you stood staring at it for a moment too long. You took it from him, apprehensively accepting the rose. Then next was Corbin, then Kc, Sincere, Carl, Dylan, Gal, and then last but not least Bryce. Aside from the final rose, you also notice he had an envelope in his hand.

"Why are you guys doing this?" you asked him, desperate for an answer. Your emotions are becoming hay wired. This was becoming overwhelming.

"Y/n, we all know he fucked up. But it's important that he realizes that and is trying to make things right." he started off. Your eyes roll automatically, not wanting to accept his answer. But Bryce continued on, not letting that stop him from continuing.

"But it takes a real man to own up to what he did and to try and prove that he is sorry for his actions." he finished. You stared at the now bundle of roses in your hand and the envelope that was addressed to you.

"You don't have to read it right now, that can be on your own time." he told you. You looked around the area, taking in what he did. You were confused. Your heart still hurt and was broken from what he did, and yet, a tiny, tiny, part of it was slightly open as you stared at the set up.

"I don't know what to do Bryce." You whispered helplessly, begging for him to help you figure out the answer.

"Yes, you do Y/n. You just need time to figure out what it is exactly you want." he told you and left it at that. He gave you a tight hug which you really needed at the moment. He left you alone, and you stood there on the dock for a good while, staring at the words on the floor, the roses in your hand and the envelope.

Caleb watched you from the top of the balcony, hidden from you, because he knew that if you saw him, you would throw everything away and not give his gesture another minute of your time. He could see you staring at the envelope intensely, he wanted you to open and read it so badly.

But you didn't. You stared at it for a while longer, before setting the roses down on the floor. Caleb's face began to sink in sadness. But a little bit of hope flickered in his eyes as he watched you at least walk away from the dock with the envelope still in your hand.

'That's a start..'

*Middle of the night*

You couldn't sleep.

Throughout the night, you were constantly tossing and turning. Your mind is not able to shut down and put you in that deep sleep. Finally, after giving up on trying to sleep, you quietly sneak out of bed, careful not to wake the others as you make your way down to the villa floor. Needing to be in the fresh air.

You made your way to one of the sun beds, lying down with your hoodie and sweats on since it could get chilly at night in Fiji and just stared at the sky.

So much was happening right now. You were stuck emotionally and mentally. There was no way you were going to forgive Caleb easily for what he did. You weren't even sure if you could. What he did was completely unforgivable.

But then why is your heart not closing him out completely?

Why is it that you still are allowing a tiny piece of him to stay within you?

You were starting to get a headache. You reached down to adjust your socks on your feet, and that's when you suddenly heard a voice that made you freeze.

"Can't sleep either?" you could hear the exhaustion in his voice. Immediately your body tensed and your guard went up. You didn't want to look up and come face to face with him. You couldn't trust yourself to do so considering your reaction could go two different ways.

Caleb knew you weren't going to speak right away, so he continued. "I can't sleep either." he mumbled, his hands digging into his pockets as a source of comfort.

"It's been hard to go to sleep the past couple of days." he said. Trying to find a way to get through the awkward silence. It was still quiet, and just when he was about to speak again, you finally spoke.

"I'm not sure why when you have Jaiden in your bed next to you." you said coldly, still not looking at him.

"I deserve that..." he said, and you continued to look anywhere but him.

"But Jaiden isn't you." he whispered. It was low, but you still heard it. You finally gathered the courage to look at him. Your face is neither happy nor upset, but stoic.

"Don't, Caleb." was all you answered. You didn't want to do this right now. So, you got up from the sun bed and began to walk away.

"Why didn't you read the letter Y/n?" he asked. His voice was slightly raised so he could make sure that you heard him. You paused in your steps, your eyes staring at the stairs that led to the rooms. You could hear him getting closer. So close, that you could feel his body heat directly behind you. Almost touching you.

"Why didn't you read the letter?" he asked again, only this time he let his emotions show as the pain in his voice became apparent. If he wanted to talk, fine, but you were going to have this conversation the way you wanted to have it.

"Because I'm not ready to read it yet." You said, finally looking at him in the eyes after what felt like months. Caleb was basically starved at not being able to see you or even talk to you. And although this was not how he wanted this conversation to go, he was desperate to have any kind of conversation with you even if it meant you would speak to him out of anger.

"I don't want to read it right now. Because I'm not ready to forgive you." you told him word for word. And although it hurt him so much, he knew that this was only a partial treatment that he deserved. He deserved worse treatment from you.

"What can I do to make you forgive me?" he asked pleadingly, his eyes trying to find yours again as you head flicked your head down due to your emotions starting to get the best of you.

"I don't want us to end like this Y/n. I don't want us to end at all." his voice slightly breaking just at the thought. "You should've thought of that before you brought her in here." you whispered back to him, your eyes still staring at your feet.

"You think I don't fucking know that!" he said, his emotions now getting the best of him as he laid it all out on the table.

"I know I fucked up Y/n. I fucked up so fucking bad, and I'm a moron. It shouldn't have taken me bringing her to realize that at the end that I still want to be with you." His voice finally broke, and when you finally looked up, you saw how much this truly affected him.

The disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes, but most importantly, the tears that began to fall. Caleb was crying. And he was crying in front of you, begging you for your forgiveness.

"Please don't do this right now Caleb." you begged, your voice becoming heavy, as you knew you were going to start crying as well.

"I don't know what else to do Y/n." his voice breaking down as he tried to maintain what was left of his composure.

"I can't let you go. I don't want to let you go. I know I fucked up, and I want to prove to you that I will do anything to earn your forgiveness." He explained as the tears continued to stream past his cheeks. You couldn't take it anymore, your own tears starting to shed.

"I can't do this right now Caleb please." You cried softly, your hands moving up to hide your face. As you turned to walk away, you suddenly felt him turn you back around gently. Caleb couldn't let you leave, not now, not when you were finally telling him how you felt.

"Y/n please, tell me what I can do. Tell me that this is fixable." He cried. Your own sobs mixing with his as that was all you could do. Just cry and cry and cry. "Please Y/n.." he begged, his knees hitting the floor and his arms wrapping around your waist to where he was not at eye level with you.

"Please let me fix this. Please tell me that one day you can forgive me." his hands squeeze your waist as he cried into your stomach. You place your hands on his shoulders, and gently push him away. He stares up at you, seeing the pain in your eyes that was all because of his doing.

"I don't know Caleb." was all you said as you continued to sob.

"I don't know if we can fix this." you finally stated. You slowly pull away from him, and Caleb wants more than anything to pull you back to him, to keep you in his arms forever. He watched as you turned around and walked away, your sobs still heard as you walked up the stairs.

All Caleb could do in that moment was still let his emotions out and cry right there on the floor where you left him.

*Two days later*

Since that night, Caleb has kept his distance from you.

You started to wonder if he was finally going to give up. If he was not going to try and talk to you again. The night after when you woke up, the girls could see how puffy your eyes were, and how exhausted you looked. They had pulled you in the dressing room where you explained what happened.

They understood where you were coming from, but they also acknowledged the fact that Caleb was doing everything in his power to get you back. It only made you more confused. Why your heart couldn't close him out one hundred percent, you weren't sure why.

When you had gone on with the day you didn't even see Caleb at all. He was nowhere in sight. And you weren't lying if you said that didn't make you worry.

Bryce could see your expression as you continued to try and discreetly look for him.

"He's in the speak easy...he's been in there since last night." he told you quietly as he sat with Trinity. You couldn't help but ask,

"Is he okay?" you looked at Bryce who gave you a solemn expression.

"He just needs to be alone right now Y/n. Its the least we can all do."

And flash forward to today and here you were. Still no Caleb in sight. You were starting to become worried, but you wouldn't let this sway you. You still felt the way you felt.

As you were getting ready, you noticed a folded paper on your mirror. You pulled it out of the mirror, your eyes looking around to see if anyone noticed. They didn't.

You opened up the note, recognizing the familiar hand writing.

'I remember when I first saw you, you literally took my breath away. You were so beautiful and I was so excited to get to know you.

I'm not giving up on you.

-C'

Your eyes read the note over and over. The sudden irregular pattern in your heart beat started to palpitate. Your hands closed the note, but only this time, you didn't throw it away. And Trinity immediately noticed that as she stood from the other end of the table, her eyes looking back at Bryce through the crack of the door and giving him a nod.

Bryce signaled back and made his way downstairs, finding Caleb's eyes and giving him a thumbs up.

'There's hope...'

*Couple days later*

Each day, you had gotten several notes from him throughout the entire day. A note in your breakfast plate,

'I remember the day when we had our first kiss, I was so nervous and you could tell. You let out this cute giggle, and since then I have wanted to make you do that everyday'

A note on your mirror.

'Everyday I can't help but look at you and tell myself how beautiful you are. I was so fucking happy when we were coupled up it was the best day of my life.'

A note on the sun bed.

'I remember making you laugh about a childhood memory that I told you about. Since then, I have only wanted to hear your laugh and be the reason for it.'

A note on the dock.

'This is where you told me off, and I was so scared but so proud of you for speaking up. You made me realize in that moment that you were the one person I did not want to lose.'

And then a note on your bed.

'Not to sound creepy, but when you fall asleep, I love staring at you. The way you looked so peaceful, and most importantly, the way you made me feel safe as I got to hold you in my arms made me fall for you even harder.'

You were so confused. You didn't know what to do at this point. While part of your heart was still closed off with Caleb, that tiny part in your heart started to grow.

He was starting to break you down. And the scary thing about it? You weren't upset about it. But that's what made you upset.

Why couldn't you close him out completely? After what he did, why couldn't you just turn the page? How is it that he was finding a way back to your heart?

You needed to talk to someone, and of course you knew just exactly who to pull.

"Help me Trinity." you begged as you both sat in 'Soul ties'.

"I don't know what to do. I'm so confused about what to feel right now about Caleb. And the gestures he continues to do are not helping me have clarity. Please help me." you begged once again, your eyes pleading with her out of frustration.

"What is your head telling you Y/n?" she asked you.

"To not forgive him for what he did." you replied automatically.

"Okay, now what is your heart telling you?" and you paused, you had to be honest with yourself as you reflected.

"My heart is allowing him to come back.....and I don't know why I'm letting it happen." you told her as the frustration in your voice became prevalent.

"Let's be real together Y/n, Caleb fucked up big time for what he did by bringing Jaiden in here. We can all agree with that. But we can also agree on the fact that he is taking accountability for his actions and showing you how sorry he is, right?" you nodded your head in response to her question.

"So, if your heart was completely closed off, then you wouldn't even be entertaining these gestures that he doing and would have shut it down and not let it happen again. But you haven't done that at all. Your heart is not one hundred percent closed off for a reason, and you know exactly why that is Y/n." You stared at her as she spoke to you. It was hitting you now that you finally understood what you meant.

"I....." you started, but you had to pause and take a breath.

"I..love him." you finally whispered out, too afraid to say it out loud cause then it would only solidify what you meant.

"I know you do, but you know that love is all about taking risks and testing the boundaries to see if it can truly be understood between two people. Your connection with Caleb was tested greatly, and if him bringing Jaiden in didn't hurt you at all, then it means you never had those feelings for him in the first place." she explained to you. It made sense with what she said. It was starting to hit you, you loved Caleb.

You loved Caleb.

"Fuck." you muttered, your heart heavy. "I really do love him." you admitted to her, her words sinking in.

"And Y/n," she said as she grabbed a hold of your hand and looked at you.

"We have no fucking doubt that he loves you too." she finished.

*Later that night*

You had looked yourself in the mirror, making sure to check for any imperfections. You were getting ready for the night with the girls. Just like any other night.

As you double checked your appearance, you walked away from the mirror and turned to see Trinity grinning at you.

"You look so beautiful." she complimented you. You smiled and thanked her while doing the same.

"Will you walk with me to go down there?" she asked you. You nodded your head, and you both walked out of the room.

"Is it okay if we go by the dock really quick? Bryce is there and I need to check something with him real quick." she explained to you. You agreed and let her take the lead. When you got there, it became apparent that Bryce was not there.

"I don't see him." you told her, your face scrunched up in confusion.

"What's that?" the gate to the dock was open, and out of curiosity, you couldn't help but walk with her to go see what was happening. When you got to the gate, your eyes suddenly go wide at the sight in front of you.

There were candles everywhere, and with the trail it led you to see a table that was surrounded by more candles and flowers with the beach serving as the background. Then your eyes landed on the figure that stood next to it, Caleb.

You turned around to look at Trinity who only gave you a mischievous smile. You tried to walk your way back up the steps, but she wouldn't let you.

"Turn your ass around, and go to him. I'm not letting my hard work go to waste." was all she said and walked away before closing the gate on you. You were in shock. You couldn't believe she tricked you, and you couldn't believe how gullible you were.

You turned back to look at him. He was dressed in his best pair of jeans, cowboy boots, and a black button up. But most of all, you could see the hope in his eyes, the nervousness and fear of possible rejection. You could just simply walk back up and enter the dock, but you didn't. You just stood there and stared.

Suddenly, he was right in front of you. A shy expression on his face.

"Hi.." he whispered.

"Hi.." you whispered back. Still unsure of whether to listen to your flight or fight mode.

"What is all of this?" you asked him, eyes still scanning the set up. You would be lying if you said this was ugly. But it was absolutely breathtaking.

"I remember you said that you always wanted a dinner date on the beach." he said. Your eyes cut to his, he remembered.

"You remembered that?" you asked him softly.

"I remember everything you tell me." he responded. He held his hand out for you to take.

"Will you please accompany me tonight?" he asked gently, his eyes silently begging for you to say yes. You hesitated, you wanted to run. But then you remembered what Trinity told you. To listen to your heart. So, you placed your hand in his.

"Okay." you answered him. Caleb couldn't help but smile at you, that handsome smile that made you fall for him in an instant.

He kept the date going smoothly, asking you questions he had already asked when you first met. It was a reset. A new start. And you were grateful that he chose to go this route because it would have been awkward to try and discuss events that happened after that night of the recoupling.

You had missed the way he made you laugh, the way he could keep a conversation going about anything and everything. How he would listen to you so intensely to hold onto every word that you spoke.

It was just like the beginning when you first met, and you didn't realize how much you missed this. How much you missed him. You watch as Caleb gets up from his chair and makes his way around, standing in front of you which makes you lean your head back to look up at him.

"Walk with me please?" he asked as he gestured for your hand. You let him take it, and you get up from your chair. He takes you away from the table and leads you towards the beach. He doesn't make you walk too far considering the heels you had on.

He stopped to where you had a perfect view of the ocean. His body directly behind yours as you both just stood in silence and watched the waves gently wash upon the shore.

"It's so peaceful here." you whispered aloud. Not directly talking to him, but you didn't mind if he responded back as if you did. He stayed silent, still letting you talk.

"I wish I could see this more everyday." a gust of wind slightly shook your body and caused you to shiver. He took that as a chance to move closer to you. His body heats you up, his chest to your back. But he didn't do anything else.

"Y/n.." he whispered, his voice soft, almost too quiet to hear. You turn to look at him. "Yes?" you asked him gently. You watched him take a deep breath, and pull something out of his back pocket. You recognized it instantly. It was the envelope he left you that he had yet to open.

"I have something I need to tell you, if that's okay with you?" he asked nervously, his fingers messing with the corners of the envelope. You nodded, afraid to speak at this moment.

You watched as he nervously opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. His hands were slightly shaking and you gave him a small smile of encouragement. He took a deep breath to compose himself, and then started to speak.

"I would be lying if I said that I am not afraid of leaving the villa without you. But the truth is, I'm terrified that this is the only time I will get with you and therefore, I want to be completely honest with you.

I fucked up big time that day at the recoupling. I thought I was making a choice that was sensible, but looking back, I realized how fucking stupid I was." he paused, his eye nervously glancing at you, afraid of your reaction, but you gestured to him to continue.

"That day was one of the worst days that in the end was my fault, because I ended up hurting you deeply. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness whatsoever. But I hope that my efforts and actions since then have proven to you that I am truly sorry for what I did.

I don't expect you to forgive me right away, or whatsoever if that is how you truly feel. But I can't leave this villa without telling you how you make me feel.

Y/n, I have never felt this way before. The way you make my heart beat irregularly just from staring at me, the way you make me smile just from being yourself, to the way you make me feel so safe to be around you.

Everyday that I have spent with you has been a privilege that I will never take for granted. I know I can be a complete idiot at times, and I hope that whenever that happens again that you beat my ass to knock some sense into me." you couldn't help but let out a chuckle which Caleb smiled in response.

"But the one thing I hope for is to never lose you. I came into the villa to find my person, and I know and believe one hundred percent that you are my person. I will do everything in power to prove to you everyday that you are my person. Because at the end of the day, I have grown to love you so very much Y/n. And I don't want to love anyone else but you." Your breath hitched as you listened to those words. He loved you. Caleb loves you. And you love him.

"So, please know that this is my promise to you, and I will dedicate myself to showing you that I truly love you everyday until you can say those words back." he finished reading the letter. Caleb was so nervous. This was it, either you would reject him completely or possibly give him that chance he so badly wanted.

"You love me?" you asked him, your eyes looking at his to make sure that you could tell that he meant it. You need to know.

"I do." he told you, stepping closer to you to where his chest was now touching yours.

"I need to hear you say it." you said quietly. You needed this affirmation otherwise you couldn't get yourself to truly accept it. His hand reached up to touch your cheek. He stared deep into your eyes and you could see the love. He did love you.

"I love you." He stated proudly. "I love you so much." he proclaimed.

"Caleb," you whispered as your heart continued to beat abnormally fast.

"I love you too." you told him. You watched as his eyes widened in response to your words. He couldn't believe them.

"You do?" he asked, the slight insecurity coming to light. Your hand grabbed onto his wrist that was still held to your cheek.

"I love you Caleb." you affirmed boldly.

And then suddenly you felt the impact of his lips slamming onto yours. You responded in the same manner. Both of you wrapping your arms around each other as you kissed.

This was never how you though you meet the love of your life. Not on a damn reality show. But here you both are. It only goes to show you that love can be formed in different ways, and while your story with Caleb was tested heavily, you were both able to overcome it and find each other again.

Because that's what you do when you truly love someone.

THE END

Brendon was coming out of the OR when he heard it.

A couple of residents- well, an intern and an annoying ms3, talking.

He just came out of surgery. Hadn’t even gotten a chance to piss yet, and it came from down the hall in front of him.

“I just don’t know how you do that” one said. He laughed. “I couldn’t even imaging fucking that blackout drunk.”

“Fuck, me neither.” Came the other. “Like, a butter face you can just put a fucking bag over it, hit it from the back. Face on her is fine I guess but the body-“ “it’s like a fucking beluga whale.”

The burst into laughter. “Maybe a fucking glory hole. Fat chicks always have good lips. They say they try harder, right?” “Ugh, but if I knew it was that fucking heifer on the other side? Bleh.”

Fuck were these kids disgusting.

Young guys were always piggish, sure, he’d been in enough locker rooms and frat houses to know. But this? This was grotesque. This is a fucking hospital. These were supposed to be medical professionals. And whoever they were talking about? That poor girl was someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister maybe. Fuck. She was someone okay? Just because you find someone unattractive doesn’t mean it’s any god damn reason to act like that.

“She’s bitching about dating apps? Please. All a bitch like that is good for it a fast fuck when the bars closing and you’re desperate. If she thinks she’s gonna find Prince Charming with a gut like that-“

“Hey!” He called.

They froze.

“Doc-“

“That’s enough. Shut the fuck up.”

Brendon rolled his eyes. “You realize we’re in a public place right? There’s patients around here- families. Your superiors. Watch your fucking mouth. I never want to hear shit like that again.” He snapped.

They stuttered out apologies, but he didn’t care, pushing past them to the utility stairs. He just needed to get upstairs to his office and relax for a couple minutes. Have a little time to himself before he had that zoom consultation with some U Penn lacrosse player who-

Oh.

Then he saw you.

He pushed past the stairwell doors and there you were, tears rushing down your cheeks, the knuckles of two beautiful manicured nails in your teeth teeth to muffle your tears. Your rosy pink iPad- not hospital issue, clearly your own- for charting and noting clutched in your arms with your clipboard and some pamphlets on rehabs with it.

You must have been on your way to see a patient- one of his patients. And you always took such good care of his patients. You’d once beamed, and elbowed him, calling you the dream team to a patient. “Dr Park is gonna fix you up, and I’m gonna make sure your recovery goes smoothly” you explained. And he chuckled. Sure, why not. The dream team. And he agreed. “Y/N is fantastic, she’s gonna come up with a great plan for you. No one I trust more with my patients recovery plans” he admitted, which you beamed to, again.

The first time you called him that was ages ago, to him atleast. He was used to it now. You were his lighthouse most days. A shining comfort in the chaos.

His heart twisted as he wondered what had happened to his sunshiney lovely social worker.

His stomach sunk, realizing exactly what had happened.

Rage creeping up his spine, he knew, those stupid fucking boys were talking about you.

“Hey, hey sweetheart. What the matter? You okay? Let’s get this hand out of your teeth before you hurt yourself.”

He knows he had a cliche level of soft spot towards you, but he always has. There was just something about the ball of bubblegum that rolled onto his floor one day that he couldn’t be cruel to. There was always something endearing about you, something that brought out a version of him he liked very much. A version of him that could be chivalrous and masculine in a way that wasn’t mean and tough. He could hold doors open and save you food speak to you softly, and use his manners. You just had an effect on him that he always liked.

Clearly you somehow didn’t have that effect on anyone.

“Sorry- I just need a second-“ you sniffled.

“Hey, no offense, you need more than a second and that’s okay.” He eased.

“Can you sit down for a second with me?” He offered. You nodded wetly with an unattractive sniffle.

You sat on the concrete stairs next to him, and let him take your things out of your hands to rest behind you both, and your saliva covered hand in his.

Clearly he wasn’t put off by that, uncaring as he looked you over for injury or damage. “I don’t care about a little spit. I just spent the last four hours up to my elbows in blood” he reminded you. So your apologies stoped. “Don’t care about germs. Care about you being okay. We’re bitting down pretty hard there.” He insisted,

“I’d ask what happened again, but I’m pretty sure I already heard it in the hall, huh?” He admitted.

The tears poured out again.

“You did? Oh my god, this is so humiliating.” You cried.

“Hey-“ he insisted firmly. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You didn’t do a damn thing. Those two? They’re in for an HR investigation now. They were fucking disgusting. They were mean, and sick, and gross. That’s not on you.” He insisted.

You swallowed.

“I mean. They were assholes. but. What hurts is that they’re right. You explained sadly.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” Brendon dismissed.

“They were wrong. They were disgusting and wrong. Those are the kinds of kids that pick a girl based on what they think will get them the most street cred with their buddies. And that’s no way to pick your woman. These are the kind of limp dick dipshits who call chicks like, fuckin’, Sabrina carpenter fat, okay? It’s not you, they just let 2000s porn fry their fucking brains.” Brendon insisted in a huff. Form and angry.

You giggled.

“You’re a Sabrina carpenter fan?”

You knocked your shoulder into his, momentarily distracted from your loathing.

He rolled his eyes. And… maybe blushed. “That’s what you’re talking away from this? Christ. I’m not, okay. Ive got tween nieces. I went to the short and sweet tour under extreme duress.”

“Sureeee” you teased.

“You’re laughing but you’ve got no clue how scary those kids are.”

“Must take after their uncle then” you teased.

“Anything to make my girls smile.” He admitted, smiling gently.

You could see in the soft look in his eyes that he meant it.

“Saw her here?” You asked. “In Pittsburgh. Or did you guys go to Philly or something.”

Brendon was surprised by the question.

“Oh. Yeah. At PPG.” “I ask cus I was there too” you explained. “Night one.” He smiled. He was glad at the natural change of topic. He hated to se you so sad. Hated to see you cry. Hated to see losers so low hurt you. Anything that would make you smile would go as far as he was concerned. “Us too. You dress up? They dressed up. Almost gave me a fuckin’ heart attack with those outfits. I thought I was gonna have to knock some perv out by the end of the night.”

He clicked open his phone, showing you his lcokscreen. Him and two girls, middle school aged probably, in glittery pastel outfits with little hearts and ruffles. One was in a dark denim jacket 8 sizes too big. It must be Brendon’s. She must have gotten cold. Oh. Of corse they’d be his wallpaper. He’s in the middle, infront of one of those photo op cardboard set ups. He’s got a grin on his face like he won the lottery, one arm around each girl.

“Oh my god. They’re to cute.”

He beamed. “Right? They’re the best.” He swore.

You clicked open your phone, riffling through your Instagram.

“I got dressed up too.”

You open your phone, pastel glittery case in hand, showing Brendon a photo from the same night last fall. You’re with a couple other girls, some looking vaguely familiar from around PTMC but he couldn’t care less about Eileen Shamsi’s kid or a sassy perfusionist from cardiology.

Brendon’s pupils blew up triple their size.

Your outfit was very, very different.

Knee high go go boots in bedazzled pink, a tiny little pink skirt and a pink bustier corset, hair in big, bouncy blowout curls, heavy makeup like a fucking starlet.

You were mind blowing. Stunning.

He but his cheek trying desperately to keep his responses in check.

“You looked lovely.” He settled on. “You’ve got the boots and everything.”

You smiled to yourself. “It was fun. I wasn’t gonna dress up but Tina really pushed it and I’m glad I listened to her.”

“Me too” he slipped. Oops. “You really look amazing here. You look great every day but this is something else.” He blabbered before he finally stopped himself. Thank god.

“I thought I’d be like. The only fat girl dressed up-“

“I don’t like that word.” Brendon shook his head.

You shrunk. “There’s nothing wrong with your body. You don’t gotta call it anything. It’s normal. It’s healthy. Its good to you.”

You swallowed, choosing to ignore Brendon’s statement.

“But i wasn’t. Quite a few of us there, and no one said anything mean so that was cool.”

You spoke about basic human decency like it was a luxury. Brendon hates that.

“I’m glad you dressed up. No point leaving yourself out. You’re the standout of your little group, no offense. You looked amazing, really.” He insisted.

He ignored how much he wanted that hair and makeup on his pillows, nothing but those boots on you. Perv.

That stream of thought died down naturally, shifting back to the previous topic.

“I- it’s not like they said anything I didn’t know, you know? I always knew I was too fat to date but-“

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

You shrunk at Brendon’s harsh tone.

“Um. Too fat too date?”

He made a dismissive, angry noise.

“Who the hell convinced you of something like that?”

Who didn’t?

“I-um. Alot of people?”

Many people. Your old friends who said ‘they couldn’t imagine you in a relationship’. Older ladies in your family who suggested you might finally find a husband if you tried working out more. So many men who made comments like those two doctors. Girls in highschool who made pig noises at you in the cafeteria, or gaged when you walked past.

“Fuck that” he dismissed.

“There’s no such thing” he swore, sure and sharp.

You didn’t believe him, admittedly.

“Brendon. Come on.”

“No. There isn’t. Really. No such thing. No one is too skinny. No one is too short. No one is too tall. Too dark too light. It didn’t exist. None of it. Eveyone has their own cup of tea-“

“I’m not most people’s cup to tea. I’m a little bit too much tea.” You tried to explain.

He shook his head.

“No such thing as too much of a good thing. Too much woman. Come on.”

He shook his head chuckling. “You. Who would complain about too much you? You’re the best god damn thing on this floor, and those clowns want to shrink you? They want less of you? Fuck that.”

Heat bloomed in your face at Brendon’s flattery.

His words had gotten away from them.

“You’re stunning. You’re just fucking stunning, okay? Not for anything, not a but. You just are. Your- this is probably fucking offensive, fuck it. Your weight suits you. Your body is fucking lovely, okay, you’d look weird any smaller to me. There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing to change. You’re not not good enough. You’re good enough. Fuck them. You don’t want the attention of losers like that.” He rambled.

Tears welled in the eyes from the sheer kindness of it all but it still-

He didn’t get it.

You said as much.

“Wha don’t I get?”

You barked a laugh. “You’re a hot doctor. You’re in good shape and have nice hair, and a pretty smile. You love your nieces. You’re like. The Wikipedia photo of an eligible bachelor. I’m just a fat-“

A pointed glare

“Social worker”

Brendon chewed on his cheek trying to decide how to say this.

“You’re a fucking smoke show. You’re a catch..”

Well. There goes nothing.

“I’m 40 and single, i’m no fucking catch. I work dogshit hours, I’m bad with words, I’m blunt to a fault. I’m a giant fucking dick. Only thing I really bring to the fucking table is my-“

He coughed. “Sorry.”

What the fuck is he fucking serious?

“Y/N. You sell yourself short. Despite what a couple dumbasses say you’re a stunning woman, with a respectable job. Anyone would be lucky to have you. Genuinely. I can’t wrap my head around how the fuck you’re single in the first place.”

“It’s not like you would date me. Just as like an example. I’m no one’s type-“

Brendon chuckled.

“You fucking kidding me? Of corse I would.”

You froze.

“Huh?”

Then swallowed.

“That’s not funny, Brendon.” You whisperer. It was cruel.

“Y/N” he swore solemnly. “I’m not kidding. I mean that. Come on. How- you know how I feel about you.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” You jumped.

“You serious? You think I’m this nice to everyone?”

“Well… no, but-“

His face was more amused now.

“Y/N. I’m an asshole. I figured you knew and were avoiding it-“

“No, Brendon. I didn’t fucking know.”

It was kind of a mindfuck.

“So you thought I was rejecting you?”

He rubbed his neck, cringing.

“Yeah. I did.”

You went deer in headlights esque.

“If I knew i-“

“If you knew you’d what?”

“I’d um. Id-“

He chuckled.

“You don’t even know? Cute.”

Did he just call you-

“You’re so fucking cute.”

He shook his head.

Oh.

“You busy after work?”

“Why?”

“Jesus Christ. You’ve got a thick skull huh. I’m taking you out. After work. That okay?”

Oh.

Oh.

“Grab it please.” He answered to the scrub tech who informed him.

“I think it’s your niece? It says Sophia.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Okay. Put her on speaker.” He answered worriedly.

And then Sophia’s voice filled the phone, with the sound of… a siren he swore, heart in his throat.

“Uncle Brendon?”

Wobbly.

“What’s wrong? Who’s hurt?” He nearly barked.

“Me.” Came Hayley, who was apparently also on speaker. “What happened? Are you in an ambulance? Who are you with?”

“It’s just us. We are. we told them to take us to PTMC- we’re supposed to do that right?”

“Yes, honey, you are. What happened to Hayley?”

His heart hammered. Bile in his throat.

“She fell down the steps at the park and really ate shit-“ “hey!-“ “and she like, really ripped her shin open. She totally needs stitches.” Sophia informed.

“Did you call your mom?” Brendon grilled.

“Not yet…”

For fuck sake.

The weekend his sister was in Michigan for work and the girls were with him this happened.

Damn it.

“For fuck sake Sophia. Call your mom.”

“Are we in trouble?”

He could see her little wobbly lip in her voice and it gutted him. Fuck.

“No, Princess. You’re not gonna be in trouble I promise.”

He heard her sigh in relief.

“Can you call her?” She asked softly.

“Are you kidding me? I’m in surgery, Sophie.” He sighed. Swore under his breath.

“Yes, I’ll call your mom. But it’s gonna be worse for you later and you know it.”

“Thank you!”

He shook his head. “Yeah yeah. You’re welcome. Look. When you get here, you’re gonna ask for Dr Robby. And you’re gonna say your uncle, Brendon Park told you to do that, okay. And tell them if anyone but him touches Hailes I’ll kill them.”

Sophie giggled.

“Not fucking around Soph.” He insisted.

“No hacks allowed. And tell them to page plastics for the stitches. Or else.”

Sophie winced.

“I don’t wanna be mean.”

“Sophia. It’s your little sisters health. You have to be mean.”

“Fine.” Sophia wavered.

“Are you gonna come down?” Hayley worried.

Brendon’s heart cracked.

“I’m in the middle of surgery, baby. Look. I will be there as soon as I can, I promise. But I just- I can’t right now and I’m so sorry. I- look. I’m gonna see if Y/N can come down to watch you guys. I know you’ve never met her but you can trust her.”

“We know.” Sophia swore.

See, Brendon had never let a girlfriend meet his girls before.

That was, as far as he was concerned, the most serious thing he could do.

So he was really hesitant to.

No one before you had gotten that close. That far. That serious and real.

But…

The girls knew of you. They’d heard all about you.

3 months into your relationship Brendon told them he was dating someone. He never really did that. Nothing was ever that serious. He was never that serious about someone.

So they asked questions. And he answered them. They’d seen photos. They were sweet about it. He told stories. They knew you existed. They knew the broad strokes. But he hadn’t gotten the chance to formally introduce you.

And this was far from optimal. But.

Well. What else was he to do?

You heard stories too. Many.

You knew just how important Brendon’s girls were to him. They were his entire fucking world. You got that.

“I mean I was literally the one who brought Hayley home from the hospital” Brendon explained one day while telling a story, making a slight detour for context.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. Erica and Craig got divorced when she was pregnant and he was already a useless sack of shit when Sophie was born, so I was there. They’re my girls.”

You understood. They were essentially his kids. So they mattered to you, simply on account of how much they mattered to them.

He’d called you in a panic a few weeks back, maybe 2 months now really, asking if you had pads at his place, that Sophia got her first period.

Your drawer in the bathroom, you informed him. You were pretty sure it was a full pack.

Which he yelled through the door.

“Do you… need help with it?” He asked, then, nervously, you overheard.

“No they show us in health!” You heard Sophia yell back.

He breathed in relief.

“Thank fuck” he mumbled to you.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver. I’ll restock if you just uh. Send me the details.”

“It’s fine” you swore.

“Is there anything else I should do?” He asked you shyly.

Cute. Cute cute 40 year old man.

“Not really. Tylenol or Motrin. Heating pad. You know.” You reminded him.

“Right. Right.” He nodded.

“She can have my good chocolates if they want.” You informed. “But those you have to restock.”

“You’re a lifesaver, baby. Thank you.” He sighed. “I gotta go.”

Is nausea normal? He texted you not long after.

You laughed.

Didn’t you go to med school?

Y/N please. Before I go to the ER just answer me.

Yes it’s normal. Unfortunately. She’s fine.

Thank you.

So is back pain, headaches, migraines, chills, soreness….

Ouch. Well. Thank you. Love u.

He turned his attention back to the girls.

“Y/N says the nausea is normal.”

Sophia barked out a laugh. “That’s what you were doing? Come on I could have told you that. Didn’t you go to med school?”

“Jesus do you two know eachother or something?” He shook his head.

So.

Yeah.

You were both familiar with the others existence.

This was just a final line that you hadn’t crossed yet.

“Page Y/N to the observation room if she’s available, please.” He sighed and asked his scrub again, bracing himself for impact.

You were there in 5 minutes, looking as gorgeous as you had that morning, looking worried through the glass.

“What’s wrong?” You asked immediately.

You were so good.

“I gotta ask you a huge favor. Hayley’s in the ER-“

“Our ER? Is she okay?”

Your concern for his niece’s mirrored his own, tugging on his chest.

“She sliced her leg open taking a fall. Sounds like she’s fine. Look I can’t get out of here. Can you-“

“Are you sure?”

You looked worried. “I know you have boundaries when it comes to them-“

“You’re different.” He swore quickly.

“You’re um- I wanted you to meet them soon anyway. This isn’t ideal but-“

Fuck, he hated having an audience for this.

But you nodded.

“Of corse I will. I’ll- I’ll keep you posted okay?”

He breathed in relief.

“Yes please. Thank you. You’re a saint, baby. Really.”

You nodded.

“I told Hayley that no one but Robby touches her, and to make sure he calls plastics. I don’t want her with a hack job scar, she’s a pretty girl she doesn’t need something to be self conscious of.”

You nodded in understanding.

“No clowns are touching my girl.” He reiterated.

You nodded.

“I’ll make sure. Does she have like allergies or anything I need to tell them-“

“Their PTMC charts are my Sistine Chappell” he informed.

You nodded.

“Okay. Uh, well. I’ll see you later right?”

You found your way to the ED circulation desk, to looks of surprise.

“If it isn’t Miss Y/N. Been a while. What can I do you for?” Dana grinned.

“I’m here on personal business I’m afraid.” You informed. She looked worries

“What’s the matter kiddo?”

“I’m here to check on my boyfriend’s nieces. It’s Hayley Park?”

You watched Princess’ eyes sparkle at the desk behind Dana.

There goes everything.

“Park huh. Jesus Christ kiddo good for you. C’mon I’ll bring you by.”

You stood outside a room, one of the few with a real door, a note on it stating who the patient was and who her uncle was, like a warning. Shark infested waters.

You understood the reputation Brendon had, but he’d always been so sweet to you. You presumed his nieces were equally oblivious to that reputation.

You knocked twice before opening the door.

“Hey, I’m-“

“You’re Y/N” Hayley confirmed instantly, looking you up and down.

“Yeah. I don’t know if your uncle told you, he can’t get out of surgery right now so he wanted me to come stay with you guys. How are you feeling?”

You sat on the family chair in the corner.

Terrified of making a bad impression.

She shrugged.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bad cut.”

You nodded.

“Has a doctor seen you yet?”

She nodded.

“But only for like. A second. He said he’d be back.”

“Dr Robby, right?” You confirmed.

Sophia nodded.

“Okay. Your uncle was very incessant on that. It’s just because he loves you” you insisted.

Despite your anxieties, the girls were so sweet. You got on so easily with them. Conversation flowed naturally. Some good natured jokes at Bren’s expense, some questions about music they liked and tv shows, and you were off to the races. The were so much like Brendon it almost hurt. You weren’t sure how similar Brendon and his sister looked, but the girls definitely took after the Park side of the family.

When Brendon finally got down to the pitt, he was exhausted and frankly, terrified.

He was worried. Really worried.

Not just about Hayley’s shin, but about you three meeting. He wasn’t there to referee if things went badly. wasn’t there to observe or monitor. He didn’t know how he’d cope with it if things went bad. He could never chose a woman over his nieces. And god, he really, really hoped he wouldn’t have to make that choice today.

So he’s surprised with the scene that greets him in Hayley’s room.

All three of you are in Hayley’s bed, whose leg appears stitched up neatly and cleaned well.

And your hands are in Hayley’s hair as Sophia explains the fucking Olivia situation to you- which Brendon has now heard 40 times, but is obviously new to you. And you’re listening with rapt attention, while you braid his fucking niece’s hair.

His heart is going to burst out of his chest.

“Hey” he breathed.

Eyes turned to him.

A smile broke out on your face.

“Hey baby.”

“Hi honey.”

He came over, greeting each of you with a kiss on the head which warmed your chest in a funny fuzzy way. Very domestic. It was almost like you belonged here.

“How was surgery?”

He made a dismissive gesture.

“Fine. But I’ve got bigger fish to fry. How are you feeling princess?” He worried, looking Hayley’s leg over.

“Fine.” She promised.

Brendon let himself into the charting station carelessly, looking over who’d seen her.

He grunted in approval.

“Okay. I like Walenski. He’s good.”

You couldn’t disagree.

“He said you’d met before. Told us some stories.” You winked.

“All bad I hope.” Brendon teased.

“Are they ever good?” You replied in jest.

He grinned.

“You two have no clue how much of an asshole I can be.” Brendon smiled. He joined the three of you on the edge of the bed, somehow fitting.

“They’ve both been very brave. You should be proud of them.” You insisted.

“Oh, I always am. Always. Was Soph mean like I told her to be?”

“No” Hayley giggled.

“We’ll get her there” Brendon smiled.

“You did good today. I am proud of you. Very brave.” He said softly to Sophia, squeezing her hand.

“Thanks.” She whispered.

“They ready to discharge?” Brendon asked you.

You shrugged. “No clue.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go bust some heads.” He grunted, standing up to go back towards the hub.

You believed that he definitely would.

You’d driven with Brendon to work today, so the four of you piled back into his car after Hayley was discharged.

“We’re hungry” Hayley announced.

“We have food at home” Brendon scoffed.

The backseat groaned loudly.

Brendon groaned back. “Don’t give me that!”

“I bet you don’t subject Y/N to your boring healthy food” Hayley snarked.

No. Y/N, much like the 4 other women in Brendon’s life, has his fucking balls in a vice grip. Y/N gets whatever she wants. Y/N unlike his mother, sister, and nieces, though, lacks the Park name. Which suddenly strikes him as a problem.

“You’re such a spoiled little brat.” Brendon snapped, with no malaise taken from his harsh tone by two little girls who saw the shark as their harmless uncle. “Whose fault is that?” For fuck same. “What do you want-“

Brendon stopped looking at you.

“Is that okay? You were up early I don’t want to-“

“I’m okay with dinner.” You insisted, cheeks warm.

He nodded.

“Okay. So? What’s your price?”

Dinner was… fine. It was weird to see Brendon Park in a junk food filed, crap from a freezer cheap chain restaurant, but his girls wanted, so they got. Your standards weren’t as high as Brendon’s. Clearly, looking at the two do you that was obvious. You were more than happy to partake in boneless wings and mozzarella sticks too. Things flowed so easy with the three of you. Comfortable, like you’d known them their whole lives. You were easy and comfortable, laughing about some sudden inside joke made at the hospital. He could weep. He could just watch the scene for hours.

You kept catching Brendon’s eyes on you, this look in them that you couldn’t quite name. Something deeper than love. Something more he was figuring out. It made something deep in you shine, too.

“Need anything anywhere before I drop you off?” Brendon checked with you, in the car as he reversed out of the spot.

Becuase he had the girls at his place, you’d been spending the longest time apart that you had since you met. The longest time out of each others beds.

Which. Sucked. But was appropriate.

“You’re not coming home with us?”

Sophia sounded devastated.

You and Brendon froze.

“Uh-“

You froze too.

“I… do have work clothes at your place” you admitted.

Brendon pinkened. That was different.

“If… you girls want that” Brendon asked carefully.

They confirmed. Loudly and quickly as tweens do.

“Okay” you agreed.

“Yeah.”

And so you went back to Brendon’s.

You’d spent so much time at Brendon’s the last few months. But the place was so different with them here. Two gigantic Stanley’s on the kitchen island accompanied your water bottles now. Things were louder. School bags by the door, homework still on the coffee table, sneakers by the door untied and messily abandoned.

Things were lively. It wasn’t like his house lacked life when you were in it, but this was different. The energy of children.

You’d say in the living room watching the horrible reality show the girls had apparently suckered Brendon into the last few days for a while, leaned against his chest, pretty out of it as you enjoyed the feeling of his hands in your back, and his heartbeat under your ear.

“You sleepy, baby?” He checked. You confirmed. “Then go to bed.” He insisted. “I’ll be up in a few. Really. Go.” He insisted.

It made you feel a bit guilty. Leaving the party. “These two gotta get to bed soon to anyway, school in the morning. It’s fine. Go.” He insisted, and you finally got up on wobbly knees.

“I’ll wait up.” You instead to Brendon who would rather you didn’t. He just rolled his eyes. “Night girls, it was nice to meet you.” You told them genuinely, to a harmony of “goodnight y/n” and “it was nice to meet you too.”

Brendon’s heart leaped out of his chest when his bedroom door clicked closed and Hailey informed him “we like y/n”.

A relief he didn’t know he needed.

When Brendon slid into bed behind you, you fit against his body like a glove like always. You fit perfect. In his hands and in his life. His arm settled over your waist in a cozy snug hold, his lips to your cheek.

“Did I do okay today?” You croaked.

Still awake apparnelty.

He kissed your cheek again. “You did perfect. The girls fucking adore you.” He informed you. “They love you. And you took care of them and kept them safe for me today. Thank you. I love you so much, baby.” He whispered.

It wasn’t on purpose.

When he was young, he was so deadset on becoming a surgeon that everything else became an afterthought. He maintained relationships here and there (he wasn’t a saint) but by the time he was an attending none of his girlfriends managed to keep up with his relentless schedule, demanding workload, and emotionally reserved nature.

Truly, he doesn't blame them. He wasn't exactly carving out the time for them either --- too focused on being the best and too single-minded in his career to put any relationship as a priority.

Long story short – good surgeon, bad boyfriend.

And then he woke up and he was 40 years old with a very pissed off mother.

When he reluctantly asked his friends about it, the warnings were immediate and repetitive.

Dating in the modern century is different now. The women are different. Difficult.

Too demanding. Too clingy. Too much.

By the time Yolanda sidelined him quietly with a proposition, he was already dreading the worst and preparing himself to disappoint his mother for the first time in his life.

You were a welcome (gorgeous) surprise.

Yolanda’s friend of a friend of a friend that she set him up with. Something about a ‘sweetie-pie that could just soften you up, big guy’.

What she failed to mention was the noticeable difference in years between the two of you.

He was never one to go for someone young just to compensate for a void in his life or make himself feel better about getting older. Even though he saw the appeal, it was never a requirement. If you had asked him before the date, he would’ve thought dating someone younger was more trouble than it was worth.

But watching you beam as he waits for you by the door of the café he had reserved a table for today’s date, holding a fresh pink bouquet of flowers just because Yolanda mentioned that it was your favorite, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was too confident with that assumption.

“Flowers on the first date? You’re winning me over already.”

He couldn’t help but frown in confusion, remembering a coworker's quip about not coming on too strong. Already feeling an unfamiliar feeling of minuscule panic creeping up his throat. “Is it too much?”

Your eyes widened, head shaking, “No! No, they're beautiful. It’s just – men don’t really – it’s less of a thing now.”

He hums, deciding that that was stupid. Especially when he saw just how beautiful the flowers looked when you held them --- like they belonged in your arms. He opens the door for you. “That’s a shame.”

You laugh, head back and so carefree. It warms something in his belly. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

The two of you continued a casual conversation as you lined up for your orders, an official introduction of sorts. Thankfully, it wasn’t as awkward as he dreaded, your cheerful disposition perfectly counteracted his restrained one.

He couldn’t help but notice you intimately checking out the pastries bar but not ordering any when you got to the counter. Thankfully, he was quick enough to take note of those that caught your eyes for longer than half a second, ordering it along with his drink and swiping his card for both of your orders.

As he pulled back a chair, he noticed the few seconds of shock on your face before you sat. A small touch on his bicep and a bashful ‘thank you’ had him concluding that this was also no longer ‘a thing’ in this generation.

If he were honest, he'd admit he was dreading this. It's been a while since his last proper date. He wasn't sure if he could muster up enough topics to keep the conversation going or accidentally say something rude or stupid that would turn this date into a humiliation ritual.

But you were pleasant company and a surprisingly great conversationalist. Picking up where he was prone to awkward silences. You carried the conversation with an ease that he admired. To his surprise, the conversation shifted from one topic to another, and by the end of the night, you somehow even managed to get him actually interested in the New York sports team you were dedicated to. A sport he had never given a thought to his entire life.

“You live in Pittsburgh.”

“So?” you giggle at his obvious accusation.

“Now, that’s just treason.”

That got an adorably loud laugh out of you that embarrassingly puffs out his chest – he knew he wasn’t exactly the funny type so to have you genuinely throwing your head back at his banter felt good.

Three drinks, 6 pastries, and too much caffeine later, he realized it had already turned dark outside and your friend (probably Yolanda wanting all the details) was already texting you incessantly about dinner.

“So, how much do I owe you?”

He looks down at you in confusion as he helps you put your jacket on.

“For what?”

A respectful palm gently leads you by the curve of your back and into his car, which was parked just a few feet from the café.

“Lunch.”

He shuts the door, still confused even as he pulls out of the curb.

“I asked you out, it’s on me.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask me out. We were set up.”

He rolls his eyes at that, huffing out a laugh. Cheeky brat.

“I’m the man. I pay for dinner.”

“That’s very old-fashioned of you, Brendon.”

“Well, I am 15 years your senior, baby." It doesn’t escape him how you press your legs together at that statement. Interesting. “I get to be old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

You turn your body fully toward him, blessing him with a shy, sweet smile.

“Old-fashioned enough to not to kiss on the first date?”

He takes a deep breath, pressing on the gas.

“Old-fashioned enough to ask first."

‘Busy morning and tied up in surgery this afternoon. I’ve got about 30 minutes for a call at 11:30 if you're free?’

‘Sounds perfect. Can’t wait <3”

“👍”

“What’s this?”

You flip the thick piece of paper back and forth as if the words were written in hieroglyphics.

He watches you register what he had just done.

“Tickets. For the Knicks game this weekend.”

You stare at him as if he just popped out a second head so he sighs and continues. “You said you loved them on our first date.”

“Brendon.”

“It’s the Eastern Conference Finals.”

“Brendon.”

“What?”

“It’s in New York.”

He cocks his head at another pair of tickets sitting on his coffee table.

“Those are our plane tickets.”

“You bought plane tickets?!”

“Can’t exactly walk there, sweetheart.”

“You bought Knicks tickets, plane tickets, and planned an entire trip without telling me?”

“Well, such is the nature of a surprise.”

You actually let out a snort of laughter before jumping into his lap on the couch pressing kisses and ‘thank you’s’ on whatever skin you could reach. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You haven’t even heard of the restaurant reservation yet.”

Or the fact that he somehow tracked down a friend of a friend of a friend who is somehow dating someone working game day operations just to make sure the kiss cam landed on the two of you during half-time.

And they said he wasn’t a romantic.

It took Park 3 months in your relationship to realize … you have never truly slept over his place.

When you mentioned on your second date that you were a virgin and that you planned to wait until marriage, he was – for the sake of honesty – taken aback.

Not that there was anything wrong with it and you had bashfully admitted that you were willing to do some 'other stuff' as long as you didn’t go 'all the way'. Something about a vow with the women in your family that the only man who should be able to touch you is the one who is willing to commit.

It makes sense, in theory. But they never took into consideration that the man who plans to worship the ground you walk on is a stressed-out orthopedic surgeon in a trauma center whose only source of relaxation is in between your thighs.

So, yeah. He was a bit taken aback. And frustrated.

But he respected it.

(He was too far gone for you to let this minor complication stand in his way.)

Sucked it up like a man, met your parents, swore to them that this relationship would end in marriage once you were ready, and now added meditation to his workout routine so he wouldn’t pop a boner every time you lounged around his place in just his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

He asks from the en-suite bathroom’s door, finally ready for bed after a long day of bullshit in the hospital only to find his girlfriend quietly trying to book a taxi from his bed.

“Oh! I figured you’d be too tired to drive me back home so I was just going to book a car.”

He frowns in confusion. Quickly walking to where you were lounging in his bed to grab your phone and cancel it.

“Wha – hey!”

“I think we’re past asking permission to stay over.”

You open your mouth to protest before hesitating, choosing instead to crawl to the edge of the bed so you can sit by where he was standing. The fresh smell of his soap, body wash, and clean skin lights your skin on fire.

“I don’t have my skincare stuff in here,” you weakly protested.

He hummed, hands petting the back of your head.“Let’s go buy it tomorrow after brunch. It’s my day off.”

You beamed, gasping in glee. “Really?”

"Really." He can’t help but chuckle at your delight – so pleased with a couple hundred dollars of products. Seems he wasn’t doing quite a good enough job spoiling you, he plans to change that starting tomorrow. “Anything else I should know before our first official sleepover?”

You rubbed your cheeks into his hands like a cat before shyly nodding.

“I know you’re having a hard time with the … abstinence thing,” you pout your lips up at him, your chin digging firmly on his navel which definitely didn’t help.

He clears his throat, taking a beat to look up at the ceiling and collect himself before letting his hands cup your cheeks, “I’m a grown man, babydoll. I can handle sleeping next to my woman without pouncing on her.”

“I trust you, Bren,” you insist earnestly. “But it doesn’t mean I want to frustrate you any more than I already do.”

“Hey, where is this coming from? I’ll behave,” he pokes the tip of your nose to lighten your mood but you only bit your bottom lip in even more hesitation. “Or is there another reason?”

He wouldn’t want to push you if you were truly uncomfortable.

“The thing is,” you groan, cupping the hands holding your face. “I can only sleep naked.”

If he had to go back to the bathroom for five minutes to listen to the calming meditation exercise his therapist recommended to him, it would be something the two of you agreed to take to the grave.

“Alright, my eyes are closed, babydoll.”

He prepared as best as he could.

Lights are off, sleep mask on.

Now he just needs to not think about his girlfriend sleeping naked beside him for the entire night. His adorable, sweet, angel of a woman who is not wearing a stitch of clothing on her bo –

“Thanks for doing this, baby.”

He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels you press a kiss to his cheeks.

He grips the comforter so tight he swears his nails ripped through it. “Warn a man next time.”

Your giggle disappears under the duvet. He makes it a point to put a pillow between the two of you – for your sake and mostly his.

It’ll be fine. Everything will be –

-- fucked! He is so fucking fucked.

The nudity wasn’t the challenge – difficult, yes but manageable with the proper monk-like focus. What you have failed to disclose was that you slept like a possessed octopus. Something he himself only found out when he felt your entire body weight on top of him at 2:47 in the morning.

Once he felt the swell of your chest on his ribs his entire body instinctively flinched so quickly, he almost developed a cramp.

“S-Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying to see if he could jog you out of your sleep gently to save him from the suffering of having to push you back.

To his horror, you just whined, grabbing even more tightly to his biceps as you dragged your body up the length of his so you could push your face in the juncture of his neck.

The contrast of the warmth of your skin on his, the small puffs of air a siren’s call on his ear, and the plump of your lips grazing his neck as you sleepily mumble mindless nothings was torture to his already frazzled sense of self-control.

He grips his bedsheet tightly, knowing his willpower would snap if his hands ever got ahold of you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“’luv yu’, Bren.”

He sucks in a breath. What the – did you just say – “Babydoll?”

“So nice to me,” you whimper the words on his neck. “Love you so much.”

That felt like a jagged knife of guilt to his heart.

The shame and responsibility you felt for what he could only believe other lovers saw as a drawback or a burden. It must’ve been a heavy weight to carry for his sweet girl.

He swears you won’t have to carry it anymore as long as he is here.

He holds his breath for 10 seconds and lets it out for 5. He thinks about surgical risks, antibiotics, anesthesia regulation, and proper post-op instruction. Thinks about Gloria on his neck, the pressure to live up to their expectation as the upcoming Chief of Surgery. He thinks about Robinavitch’s jealousy even though the both of them knew the pressure Brendon was in would eventually fling the ER attending from the roof he so often escaped to.

Anything and everything to keep his mind clear and disciplined as he refuses to be another weak man who resents your boundaries.

With a deep breath he finally gathers you in his arms, curling around you until his body threatens to swallow you whole.

Saying instead the words that always seemed to get stuck between his heart and his tongue whenever you looked at him. Reminding himself to repeat it tomorrow before you could say it first.

He’s an old-fashioned man, after all.

“I love you, babydoll.”

'Going to the gym but i'm gonna be busy all day. Text me '911' if it's an emergency and my assistant will track me down.'

'Go it. I'm planning to cook you steak for dinner tonight, can I use your kitchen?'

'DON'T SEND ME MONEY. It's my treat.'

'I know your fingers are hovering Brendon Park. Don't!'

'Fine'

'Fine <3'

'Check your jewelry box. I slipped a spare key to my place there.'

'Okay <3'

'Wait what.'

“Hi, babyyyy,” you jump into his arms as he drops his work bag unceremoniously on the floor.

Your text that said you were going to spend your day off going to the grocery store and preparing him a steak dinner genuinely was the only thing that pushed him through a long day of surgeries and consultations.

He lets you rope him into a kiss, sitting the two of you down on his couch as you continue to map out his face with your mouth.

“Missed you so much,” you mutter in between kisses. He smiles at your earnest confession. “Say you missed me too.”

You press a finger on his chest, and he glances down at it as if unconvinced. You squawk in offense and try to get off his lap but not before getting caught in his arms and flipped into the couch.

“You’re all I ever thought about all day, sweetheart.”

You hum, running your hand on his hair. “That’s a dangerous habit, doctor.”

“Don’t worry. I’m a professional.”

With one last deep kiss he lets you out of his arms and back into the kitchen. He prepares to stand up and set the table but you pressed a hand into his chest with an explicit instruction to go shower and relax.

“It’ll be ready when you’re out.”

By the time he was done, you were already getting the wine out of the chiller. “Oh, by the way, some important-looking envelope from your bank arrived.”

You point a finger at the side table by the door. He opens it, his eyes moving carefully with each line.

“Babydoll?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you give me your landlord’s bank details?”

A pause, he turns back to see you staring at him in bewilderment.

“Uh, what for?”

He drops the letter on the coffee table before walking towards you. “I need it to set up an auto-pay in my account.”

You blink up at him as he casually presses a kiss on your lips before sitting at his seat beside yours.

“Are you … moving?” You ask even though you had to admit how incredulous it was. Why would he switch his immaculate penthouse to your subpar building? Is he buying the building then?

“No, for your apartment, honey,” he continues patiently, taking your hand.

Your eyes widened, finally getting what he is implying. “What?! Why – you don’t have to do that! I-I know I complain a lot but I’m fine really!”

He presses a kiss on the back of your hand. “I know, sweetie. But I’m planning on moving you with me by the end of the year, and I want that transition to be as smooth as possible for you.”

Your mouth opens and closes in shock as he drops two bombs on you at once.

“Are … are you asking me to move in with you?”

He slices a piece of his steak before feeding it to you.

“By the end of the year,” he reiterates casually. “At least that’s the deadline I gave my realtor.”

You audibly swallow the barely chewed steak, pushing it down with large gulps of wine.

“I … I don’t want to make it seem like I-I’m a gold digger or something.”

His face hardens at that. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious. People talk.”

“Let them talk,” the reprimand was there but it was gentle. “I know why you’re here.”

That softens you.

“Because I’m funny and a good lay.”

You almost snorted your wine into your nose and he finally smiles hearing you laugh. He raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘see?’.

“Brendon –”

“Hey,” he takes your hand, pulling you closer and letting the chair screech in protest. “You’re allowed to like the things I do for you. I work hard, I make good money. And I’d rather spend it making you happy than letting it sit there in the bank.”

He holds your hesitant eyes, only letting a victorious smile appear on his face when you let out a resigned sigh.

You stand up and he automatically pushes his chair back so you can sit in his lap.

“Okay. Thank you. I love you and I will move in with you by the end of the year even though you technically didn't ask.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispers on your lips. “Also, that was your new credit card in the envelope.”

A tiny, shiny, ridiculously detailed thing hanging from your badge reel, half-hidden against the pocket of your scrubs. It swung every time you moved, catching the fluorescent light of the ED in little flashes of colour. Most people would not have looked twice at it. Most people would have seen it as just another piece of plastic merch, something cute and bright attached to a tired med student trying very hard not to look like they had no idea where they were supposed to be.

Parker noticed it immediately.

You were standing at the nurses’ station with Lena beside you, nodding along while she pointed out where things were kept, where you were allowed to stand without getting trampled, and which attendings were likely to teach versus which ones would make you regret choosing medicine. Abbott was behind the desk, already looking halfway done with the night even though it had barely started. Cruz was restocking a drawer with the concentrated frustration of someone who had done it three times already and knew nobody would keep it organized. Shen passed by with a chart tucked under one arm, offering you a polite smile that made you feel only slightly less like you were being dropped into deep water without floaties.

And Parker, who had been listening to precisely none of this, looked at your badge reel and said, “Is that the limited drop from the anniversary set?”

Lena stopped talking.

Abbott looked up.

Cruz’s hand froze inside the drawer.

You blinked, sure for one second that you had hallucinated the question out of stress, sleep deprivation, and the vending machine coffee you had chugged in the parking lot.

Then you looked down at the keychain.

Then back at Parker.

Your whole face lit up.

“Oh my God,” you said, with the kind of startled joy that made it impossible to pretend you were calm. “You know what this is?”

Parker’s expression barely changed, but something in her eyes sharpened with quiet amusement. “I know what it is.”

“That is not the same as answering the question.”

“I answered the question.”

“No, you dodged the question.” You held the keychain up between two fingers, the nerves of your first shift suddenly pushed aside by sheer disbelief. “This was online for nine minutes before it sold out. Nine. I had three tabs open and my phone in my hand. I nearly cried when the order confirmation came through.”

Parker tilted her head slightly. “That seems like an intense response to a keychain.”

“It is not just a keychain.”

“Clearly.”

“It is from the anniversary set.”

“I know.”

“And it’s the version with the alternate costume.”

“I can see that.”

“And the tiny symbol on the back is actually from episode seven, not episode eight, which means whoever designed this knew what they were doing, because most people confuse those two episodes even though the emotional context is completely different.”

For the first time since you had walked into the ED, Parker smiled.

It was not a big smile. It was barely even a smile, honestly. More like the corner of her mouth gave up resisting gravity in the opposite direction for half a second. But it was enough.

Enough for Abbott to stare. Enough for Lena to glance between the two of you with interest. Enough for Cruz to mouth, What the hell? to Shen across the desk.

You did not notice any of it. You were too busy looking at Parker like she had just revealed herself to be the only other person in the hospital with taste.

“You’ve seen the show?” you asked.

“No.”

Your excitement stumbled. “You haven’t?”

“No.”

“But you recognized the keychain.”

“Yes.”

“So you know the merch, but you haven’t seen the show?”

“Yes.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That is suspicious.”

“It’s not suspicious.”

“It’s extremely suspicious.”

“I collect limited releases.”

You stared at her. Parker stared back, perfectly composed.

“Limited releases,” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“Of anything?”

“Mostly.”

“That is somehow nerdier than if you just watched the show.”

From behind the desk, Abbott made a soft choking sound that might have been a laugh trying to escape and getting strangled halfway up. Parker glanced over once, flatly, and Abbott immediately became very interested in the chart in front of him.

You realized, belatedly, that you had just called an attending nerdy on your first night in the emergency department. Your stomach dropped.

“I’m so sorry,” you rushed out. “That was not professional. I didn’t mean—well, I did mean it, but not in a disrespectful way. More in a very impressed and slightly confused way. I’m going to stop talking now.”

Parker looked at you for a beat too long.

Then she said, “Don’t.”

You blinked. “Don’t… stop talking?”

“You were explaining episode seven.”

“Oh.” Your fingers tightened around the badge reel. “Right. Okay. So episode seven is actually where the whole thing shifts because up until then you think the main conflict is external, but it’s not. It’s about identity and memory and whether you can still be yourself if everyone around you only recognizes the version of you they need you to be—”

Lena slowly lowered her hand from where she had been pointing toward the medication room. Cruz had abandoned the drawer completely. Shen, who had only meant to pause for a second, remained paused and Abbott leaned back in his chair, watching Parker Ellis—Parker, who treated casual conversation like an unnecessary invasive procedure—stand in the middle of the nurses’ station and listen to a brand-new med student explain fictional lore with total, unwavering attention.

Parker did not interrupt you. She did not check her watch. She did not look around for an escape route. She simply stood there, arms loosely crossed, eyes on you, occasionally asking a short question that somehow proved she had actually been following every word.

“And the symbol?” she asked.

You lit up again. “Exactly! The symbol is the whole point.”

Abbott looked at Lena. Lena looked at Abbott.

Cruz whispered, “Are we all seeing this?” Shen whispered back, “I think so.”

Santos, who had picked up a double and was already regretting every choice that had led her there, rounded the corner with a stack of discharge papers and stopped dead. “Why is Parker talking to the med student?” she asked.

Nobody answered. Mostly because nobody knew.

By the end of the shift, you had survived two laceration repairs, one patient who called you “sweetheart” until Parker appeared beside you and corrected him without raising her voice, three cups of terrible coffee, and one near-death experience involving a supply closet door you opened directly into your own forehead.

You had also somehow ended up in Parker’s orbit. Not intentionally. At least, not at first. She was just there.

When Lena sent you to observe a patient evaluation, Parker was the one doing it. When Abbott asked someone to grab you before a trauma came in, Parker was already pointing you toward gloves and telling you where to stand. When you forgot where the clean blankets were, Parker walked past and said, “Second left, bottom shelf,” without even slowing down.

It was not warm, exactly. Parker was not warm in any obvious way. She did not fuss or soften her voice or make things easy just because you were new. She still expected you to keep up, still corrected you when you missed something, still gave you that unreadable look when you answered a question too quickly and not carefully enough.

But she also noticed.

She noticed when you were overwhelmed and sent you to get water before you could embarrass yourself by swaying in front of a patient. She noticed when your hands were shaking after your first code and quietly gave you a task simple enough to anchor yourself to. She noticed when your badge reel got caught on a drawer handle and untangled it before you accidentally yanked the whole thing off your scrub top.

And every now and then, in between blood work and imaging orders and the constant restless motion of the ED, she would ask something that made your brain short-circuit.

“So episode seven,” she said two weeks later, while washing her hands at the sink beside you. “That’s the one with the memory reveal?”

You almost dropped the paper towel dispenser key Lena had trusted you with. “You remember that?”

Parker looked mildly offended. “You talked for twelve minutes.”

“You timed me?”

“No.”

“You absolutely timed me.”

“I estimated.”

“That’s worse.”

She shrugged, drying her hands. “Was I wrong?”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling too obviously. “No.”

“Then keep going.”

So you did.

You told her about the memory reveal, then the cast interview, then the theory that had been floating around fan spaces for years. Parker listened while checking a medication order. She listened while walking with you to the vending machines. She listened while you both stood in the break room at three in the morning, the hospital humming around you, your untouched coffee going lukewarm in your hands because you were too busy explaining why one line of dialogue had changed the entire interpretation of a character arc.

Somewhere between those conversations, between exhausted midnight coffees and stolen moments beside supply carts, Parker stopped being the intimidating attending who had recognized your keychain and became Parker. Just Parker.

The person who remembered your favourite character even though she still refused to watch the show.

The person who sent you a link to a merch restock at two in the afternoon with no message except, This yours?

The person who once showed up to shift with a tiny enamel pin in her palm and said, “Found it,” like she had not spent actual time tracking down something you had mentioned once while half-asleep.

The person who kissed you for the first time outside the hospital after a shift that had left you both quiet and wrung out, her thumb resting gently against your jaw, her expression calm but her eyes careful, as if even then she was watching for the smallest sign that you wanted her to stop.

You did not want her to stop.

After that, it became both easier and more complicated. At work, nothing changed. Or at least, nothing obvious changed.

Parker was still Parker. She still had the social patience of a locked door. She still gave Abbott a deadpan stare whenever he tried to joke his way out of paperwork. She still told Santos, “No,” before she even finished asking for favours. She still made Cruz roll his eyes at least four times a night and could reduce an overconfident intern to humble silence with one raised eyebrow.

But with you, she softened in increments so small nobody should have noticed them. Nobody should have noticed the way she always left the last decent coffee pod for you. Nobody should have noticed how she angled her body toward you when you spoke. Nobody should have noticed that when the ED got too loud, Parker somehow always found a reason to send you somewhere quieter for thirty seconds.

Nobody should have noticed.

Unfortunately, the night crew noticed everything.

“I think she adopted you,” Shen said one night, as you both restocked gloves.

You frowned. “Who?”

“Parker.”

You shoved a stack of mediums into place and tried very hard to keep your face neutral. “She did not adopt me.”

“She definitely adopted you.”

“That’s a weird thing to say.”

“It’s a weird thing to watch.”

You turned to him slowly. “What does that mean?”

Shen shrugged, too casual. “She doesn’t glare at you.”

“She glares at me all the time.”

“No. She looks at you. Different thing.”

You were saved from answering by Cruz calling for help from trauma two, and you spent the next thirty minutes convincing yourself that Shen was just observant in the annoying way all good doctors were.

Then, an hour later, Abbott caught Parker handing you a granola bar. He stared. Parker stared back. You took the granola bar and pretended this was very normal.

Abbott pointed at it. “Where did that come from?”

“My pocket,” Parker said.

“You carry snacks now?”

“No.”

“You just had that?”

“Yes.”

“For who?”

Parker’s face went blank in the way it did when she had decided she was finished with a conversation. “For people with low blood sugar.”

Abbott looked at you. You looked at the granola bar. Parker walked away. Cruz appeared at Abbott’s shoulder, eyes narrowed. “That was weird, right?”

Abbott nodded slowly. “Very.”

“It’s like watching a wolf feed a baby deer.”

“Don’t say that where HR can hear you.”

By the time the trailer dropped, you and Parker had been dating for three months. Nobody knew. At least, you were pretty sure nobody knew.

The thing about dating Parker was that she did not become a different person. She did not suddenly turn sweet in a way that felt false, did not start using pet names in public, did not drape herself over you or make a show of affection in places where people could see.

Parker’s love was quieter than that. It lived in the details. In the spare hoodie that appeared in her car because you always forgot one. In the way she learned your takeout order without asking twice. In the fact that she never once made you feel silly for caring too much about fictional worlds and limited-edition merchandise and characters that felt real enough to hurt.

So when the trailer dropped during the slowest stretch of a Tuesday night shift, you forgot where you were.

Completely.

You had been standing near the nurses’ station, trying to update a patient note while your phone buzzed in your pocket once, then twice, then so many times in a row that you knew something had happened. Your fandom group chat only became that unhinged in very specific circumstances: a casting announcement, a cancellation scare, a surprise merch drop, or a trailer.

You checked your phone. Your heart stopped. Then restarted somewhere in your throat.

“Oh my God.”

Lena glanced over. “Everything okay?”

You did not answer. Your thumbs moved faster than your thoughts. The trailer thumbnail stared back at you, dramatic and glossy and real after months of rumours. You pressed play for exactly three seconds before realising you could not process this alone.

You looked up.

Across the station, Parker was charting beside Abbott, her face set in its usual expression of quiet irritation as Santos explained something with too many hand gestures.

“So I’m just saying,” Santos continued, “technically, if the patient said he swallowed one battery, but the girlfriend says she saw him with three—”

“Order imaging,” Parker said without looking at her.

“I did.”

“Then why are you still talking?”

Santos blinked. “Because I was providing context.”

“You provided it.”

Abbott snorted. Parker’s jaw tightened.

You moved before you could overthink it, crossing the station with your phone clutched in one hand. “Parker.”

Her head lifted immediately. Not slowly. Not with annoyance. Immediately.

“What happened?”

“The trailer dropped.”

Parker stared at you for half a second. Then, with complete seriousness, she said, “The trailer?”

You nodded, eyes wide. “The trailer,” you repeated.

Something shifted in her expression. Recognition, not of the trailer itself, but of your excitement. Of the scale of it. Of what it meant that you had come to her first. She turned away from her computer. Abbott’s typing slowed. Santos looked between you. “Trailer for what?”

Neither of you answered.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice like the two of you were discussing test results instead of television. “I haven’t watched it properly yet. I saw three seconds and paused because I think the opening shot is the archive room.”

Parker frowned slightly. “The archive room was destroyed.”

Your mouth fell open.

Abbott stopped typing completely. Cruz, who had just arrived at the desk with a stack of labs, froze. Lena looked up from a chart. Shen, passing behind them, slowed to a halt.

You stared at Parker with open adoration. “You remember that?”

“You complained about it for two weeks.”

“Because it mattered.”

“I know.”

“You said that like you actually know.”

“You explained the structural importance of the archive room.”

“I did.”

“Twice.”

“Because the first time you were half-asleep.”

“I was awake.”

“You had your eyes closed.”

“I was listening.”

You pressed a hand over your chest. “This is why I like you.”

The sentence came out too naturally. Too softly. Too honestly. For half a second, the air around the desk changed. Parker did not react in any dramatic way. She did not look startled. She did not look panicked. She simply held your gaze, mouth relaxing at one corner in that almost-smile you had learned to recognize as something private.

“I know,” she said.

Cruz’s eyebrows shot up. Abbott leaned back in his chair. Santos looked personally betrayed by the fact that she was clearly missing several chapters of context.

You, blissfully unaware of the way the entire night crew had started watching, leaned your hip against the edge of the desk and held your phone between you and Parker. “Okay, so look. This is the opening frame. That is absolutely the archive room, right?”

Parker leaned in. Actually leaned in. Her shoulder nearly brushed yours as she studied the screen with the kind of concentration most people reserved for scans and abnormal labs.

“Could be a reconstruction,” she said.

You gasped. “That’s what I thought!”

“Or a memory sequence.”

You pointed at her with your phone. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Casually drop a good theory like you haven’t been pretending not to care for months.”

“I don’t care.”

“You care a little.”

“I care that you care.”

That should have been nothing. It was not nothing. It landed softly between you, almost hidden beneath the noise of the ED, beneath the beeping monitors and distant voices and the squeak of Santos shifting his weight because he was apparently incapable of standing still. But you heard it, and Parker knew you heard it, and for one small moment the hospital seemed to narrow down to the two of you and the glow of your phone screen.

Then Cruz whispered, “What did she just say?”

Abbott whispered back, “I don’t know, but I’m uncomfortable.”

Lena, who looked far more delighted than uncomfortable, whispered, “I think it’s sweet.”

Santos leaned toward Shen. “Has Parker always been able to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Listen.”

Shen shook his head slowly. “Not to us.”

You started the trailer again, keeping the volume low enough that you had to lean closer to Parker for both of you to hear. The first few seconds played, dramatic music swelling from your phone speaker. You paused every few frames to explain something, rewinding when Parker asked a question, zooming in on background details that would have meant absolutely nothing to anyone else.

Parker followed all of it.

Not with the glazed patience of someone waiting for their turn to speak, but with real attention. She asked why one character’s jacket being a different colour mattered. She asked whether the symbol on the wall was the same one from your keychain. She asked if the actor in the final shot was the one you had sworn could not come back unless the writers were undoing an entire season of development.

You answered every question with increasing enthusiasm. The more you talked, the softer Parker became. Not obviously. Never obviously. But it was there in the way her shoulders loosened, in the way she stopped pretending to chart, in the way her eyes stayed on your face more than the phone because she seemed less interested in the trailer than in the way you looked while explaining it.

Around you, the department continued moving, but the nurses’ station had become a small island of stunned witnesses. Abbott stared like he was watching a rare medical anomaly. Lena rested her chin in her hand. Cruz looked between you and Parker with the intensity of someone solving a mystery. Shen seemed quietly vindicated. Santos looked offended.

“I asked her about my patient,” Santos muttered, “and she told me to stop talking.”

“She did not tell you to stop talking,” Lena said.

“She said, ‘Why are you still talking?’ That is worse.”

Abbott nodded. “It is more efficient.”

Santos pointed toward Parker. “But look at her. She’s letting the med student explain costume symbolism.”

“Character symbolism,” you corrected automatically, without looking away from your phone.

Everyone went silent. Slowly, you looked up. Five faces stared back at you.

Parker looked up too, and whatever softness had been there a second ago vanished behind a flat, dangerous calm.

“Do none of you have patients?” she asked.

The spell broke instantly.

Abbott turned back to his computer with suspicious speed. Cruz lifted the labs and pretended he had been reading them the entire time. Lena smiled into her chart. Shen coughed. Santos raised both hands.

“I’m going,” she said. “I am going. I just want it noted that this is strange.”

“It’s noted,” Abbott said.

“By who?”

“Everyone.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. “Was I being too loud?”

“No,” Parker said immediately.

Cruz made a tiny sound. Parker’s eyes flicked toward him. Cruz stopped.

You lowered your phone, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. I know I kind of ramble when I get excited.”

Parker looked back at you. Her face was calm, but her voice, when she spoke, was quieter than before.

“I know.”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“It wasn’t criticism.”

“No?”

“No.”

Your fingers tightened around your phone. “Does it bother you?”

Parker held your gaze like the answer was the easiest thing in the world.

“No.”

You searched her face, waiting for the joke, the teasing edge, the dry follow-up that would let you both move on without making it too tender. It did not come. Instead, Parker said, “You get excited. I like listening.”

The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. So Parker that they almost sounded clinical. And still, they made your heart ache.

You looked at Parker and forgot, again, that you were standing in the middle of the ED.

“Okay,” you said softly.

Parker nodded once, as if that settled it.

Then a call came in over the radio, pulling everyone back into motion. The incoming trauma scattered the station with practiced urgency, and the moment folded itself away into the rhythm of the hospital. Parker straightened, all focus again, already reaching for gloves. You moved with her automatically, shoving your phone into your pocket, the trailer forgotten for now beneath the rush of work.

But as Parker stepped past you, you noticed the collar of her scrub top had folded awkwardly beneath her jacket.

Without thinking, you reached out.

“Wait,” you said, catching the edge of the fabric.

Parker stopped.

You smoothed the collar down with quick, familiar fingers, then patted it once. “There.”

Parker glanced at you.

“Thanks,” she said.

Then, so briefly you almost missed it, her fingers brushed your wrist.

Not enough to be dramatic. Not enough to be a declaration. Just enough to be intimate. Just enough to be known.

Then she was gone, heading toward the trauma, already asking for vitals, already back to being Dr. Parker Ellis, unreadable and sharp and impossible to distract.

You turned back toward the desk, still half-smiling.

The remaining night crew was staring at you.

This time, you noticed.

“What?” you asked.

Lena pressed her lips together.

Shen looked at the ceiling.

Santos stared at you like you had just calmly performed a magic trick in front of her and refused to explain it.

“You and Parker,” Abbott said slowly, from several feet away.

Your stomach dropped.

“What about me and Parker?”

Cruz pointed vaguely between you and the trauma bay. “That.”

“That what?”

“The collar,” Santos said.

You blinked. “Her collar was folded.”

“So naturally you fixed it.”

“Yes?”

“And naturally she let you.”

You frowned. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Nobody answered right away. That was when it hit you. The trailer. The questions. The leaning in. The I like listening. The wrist touch.

The fact that none of those things looked normal to people who did not know that Parker had kissed you in parking lots and cooked you breakfast after night shifts and kept a limited-edition keychain you had given her tucked safely beside her keys.

Your face went hot.

“Oh,” you said.

Lena smiled. “Yeah.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then looked toward the trauma bay like Parker might somehow rescue you from a situation she had absolutely helped create.

Santos crossed her arms. “Since when?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That was terrible,” Cruz said.

“Awful,” Abbott agreed.

Shen nodded. “No one believed that.”

You lifted your chin, attempting dignity despite the fact that your entire face was probably glowing. “I am going to check on my patient.”

“You do that,” Lena said, still smiling.

You walked away as calmly as possible. Which was to say, not very calmly at all.

Behind you, Santos whispered, “Since when?”

Abbott sighed. “Apparently long enough for Parker to know lore.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It answers several questions.”

Across the ED, Parker glanced back just once, catching your eye from the trauma bay doors.

Her expression did not change. But yours did. You smiled despite yourself. Parker’s almost-smile appeared for half a second before she turned away again.

And the night crew, watching from the station, finally understood the one thing you and Parker had somehow failed to hide.

Parker had not adopted the med student.