This Princess Saves Herself

“i’m executing a flawless vision!” oikawa protested, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

you were sitting on your own living room rug, thoroughly bound from the waist up in a massive, glossy pink bow. you looked like a very expensive, slightly confused gift basket. the aoba johsai third-years had broken into your apartment exactly twenty minutes ago under the guise of ‘intelligent birthday operations,’ and instead of screaming for help, you had mostly just been impressed by how fast hanamaki could tie a double-knot.

“honestly, i feel like a fancy ham,” you said, shifting slightly to see if you could move your arms. you couldn’t. they were pinned quite securely to your sides. “is the candlelit dinner really necessary if i can’t even pick up a fork?”

“iwa-chan will feed you,” oikawa said, waving his hand dismissively as he lit the final tea light on your coffee table. they had cleared away your textbooks, replaced them with a white tablecloth, and ordered an obscene amount of high-end takeout. “in fact, he will probably view this as the greatest day of his entire mortal existence. now, quiet! i hear his footsteps. everyone, to the balcony!”

in a flurry of squeaking sneakers and hushed arguments about who was stepping on whose feet, the three boys scrambled out through your glass doors, shutting the curtains behind them just as the front doorknob jiggled.

the door swung open.

iwaizumi stepped into the apartment, his shoulders tense and his brow furrowed in that permanent, default scowl he wore whenever he had been left alone with oikawa for more than five minutes. he was carrying his gym bag, looking thoroughly exhausted by the mere concept of his own birth anniversary.

“oikawa, if you hid my keys in the bushes again, i’m going to—”

he stopped dead in his tracks.

the apartment was dimly lit, glowing with the soft, flickering warmth of a dozen tiny candles. the scent of cherry blossoms and spicy takeout filled the air. and there, sitting precisely in the center of the room, was you. wrapped in a giant pink bow like a prize-winning show pony.

iwaizumi’s brain stalled. his brain completely derailed, flew off the tracks, and exploded into a spectacular fireball of adoration. his gym bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. his eyes dilated so fast they looked entirely black, his chest heaving as his lungs suddenly forgot how to extract oxygen from the atmosphere.

“hey,” you said softly, giving him a little helpless wiggle of your shoulders. “happy birthday.”

the sound of your voice seemed to snap a cord inside him. iwaizumi was across the room in a fraction of a second, dropping to his knees before you with a force that rattled the floorboards. his hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, utterly terrified of touching you too hard but looking so intensely starved for your presence that it was borderline feral.

“what did they do to you?” his voice was a raw, low rasp, thick with a terrifying amount of protective instinct. his fingers immediately went to the knot of the ribbon, his knuckles brushing against your ribs, sending a massive jolt of electricity straight down your spine. “are you hurt? did that dumbass hurt you? i’ll kill him. i’ll bury him in the school yard.”

“i’m fine, i promise,” you giggled, the sound light and bubbly in the quiet room. “they didn’t hurt me at all. oikawa was very specific about not wrinkling my shirt. they wanted to give you a proper present.”

iwaizumi’s gaze locked onto yours, and the sheer, crushing weight of his devotion was enough to make your breath catch. he looked at you the way an ancient, desperate traveler might look at an oasis after a century in the desert. there’s a terrifying, beautiful affection in his eyes—a silent admission that you held his entire heart in your hands, and if you squeezed even a little bit, he would gladly disintegrate into dust for you.

“you’re the only present i want,” he muttered, his voice dropping so deep it resonated in your chest. his thumbs stroked over the fabric of the ribbon, his eyes tracking the line of the pink silk up to your collarbone, before snapping back to your lips with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “you shouldn’t be wrapped up like this. it makes me want to lock you in this room and never let anyone else look at you again.”

your heart did a violent, joyful flip-flop against your ribs. “is that a threat, iwaizumi?”

“it’s a promise that once it happens again, i won’t hold back,” he growled softly, finally tugging the golden knot loose.

the ribbon slithered off your shoulders like water, pooling around your hips in a mess of pink satin. the moment your arms were free, iwaizumi didn’t waste another millisecond. he surged forward, his massive, calloused hands framing your face with a tenderness that completely contradicted his terrifying expression. his palms were warm, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your skin for the rest of eternity.

when his lips met yours, it was less of a casual kiss and more of a total spiritual surrender.

he kissed you with desperate, heavy hunger, his mouth moving over yours with a frantic need to consume and be consumed. it was a bruising, deeply romantic sort of worship. he groaned against your mouth, his fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you even closer, erasing every single millimeter of space between your bodies.

you wrapped your newly freed arms around his neck, pulling yourself up into his lap. he welcomed the weight instantly, his strong beefy arms locking around your waist like iron bands, anchoring you to him as if he were terrified you might evaporate into thin air if he loosened his grip by a single fraction.

“god, you taste so good,” he mumbled against your lips, peppering short, hard kisses along your jawline, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “i’m losing my mind. you’re going to kill me one day, i swear to god.”

“you’re doing great for a dead guy,” you whispered, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the crisp, comforting scent of sweat and laundry detergent that was uniquely him. you nipped gently at his earlobe, feeling the sudden, violent shudder that went through his massive frame.

“don’t do that unless you want this table knocked over,” he warned, his voice incredibly thick as his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin through your clothes with a possessive strength that made your toes curl. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with a liquid, molten heat. “i mean it. i’m so crazy about you it’s actually making me sick.”

“good,” you said, reaching up to smooth down the unruly spikes of his dark hair, your fingers lingering on his forehead. “because i’m not planning on letting you go anytime soon.”

he stared at you, his expression softening into something so purely, profoundly tender that it looked almost painful for him to hold. he leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he just breathed you in, his thumbs tracing slow, heavy circles against your waist.

“happy birthday, hajime.”

“it’s a happy birthday now,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering seal of absolute devotion.

from the balcony, a faint, muffled snicker broke the silence, followed by the distinct sound of oikawa being violently elbowed in the ribs by matsukawa.

iwaizumi didn’t even open his eyes, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction more as a small, wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “ignore them. if they stay out there long enough, they’ll freeze, and then i can throw them into the trash incinerator tomorrow morning.”

n: sweet, sweet iwa. happy birthday :3

i have a discord server haha hi guys :3 we got a tag thanks to eme, soup, and maddy !

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

another thing kita doesn't do is 'the down low'. to him, if a thing exists, it should be acknowledged.

you've already had to stop him from carrying your heavy bags three times this week, giving him a frantic, wide eyed glare until he slowly let go and walked away with a slightly puzzled frown.

today, you're standing at the long folding tables in the back of what you'd call the dining room, helping the other managers of various teams chop vegetables for dinner, and you can clearly see him through the window. 

kita's out by the gravel path, systematically lining up everyone's shoes by size and team.

"the inarizaki captain is kind of intense, isn't he?" yachi says softly, dropping a handful of grated carrots into a massive metal pot next to you. she follows your eyes to where they're glancing out the window, shivering a little. "every time i walk past him, i feel like i'm about to get graded on my posture. he doesn't even.. yell, he just kinda.. looks at people. it's like, being judged by a very polite spirit."

you keep your head down, focusing entirely on the onion you are dicing so she doesn't see your eyes darting toward him again. "well, someone has to keep their team from burning the building down. he's just being thorough. that's how he is."

"no, it's more than that," tsukishima says, suddenly appearing behind the table to grab a stack of water pitchers. 

he leans against the huge fridge, looking down at you with that obnoxious, half lidded stare that you've learned means he's figured something out and is going to torture you with it. "he's been thorough about our bench specifically. i. noticed he spent ten minutes this morning, fixing the loose hinge on our equipment trunk."

"he was just being hel‐"

"and yesterday, he spent his break neatly folding the karasuno bibs that tanaka left in a pile. it's almost like he has a personal investment in making sure our team runs smoothly.." he sidles a glance at you, lips quirking into a smirk. "or.. maybe just our manager."

your hand slips slightly on the knife, and you have to take a slow breath to keep from turning pink. "he just likes order."

tsukishima lets out a short laugh, apparently satisfied by your reaction, and strolls out of the kitchen. 

but not before muttering roguishly, "you seem to know him a great deal."

inhaling deeply, you try to shake it off. he knows nothing, he's just trying to get a rise out of you, you tell yourself, but..

"hey," yachi smiles at you. "ignore him, he's nothing but a pain in the butt sometimes." she scrunches her nose up in an endearing way before nudging your side. 

then her eyes widen with horror. "oh, i shouldn't have done that! you're older than me- my senpai! we're not close enough to- to nudge- i'm so sorry- i didn't even- we're not friends.. no! that came out wrong- i–"

you burst out laughing, setting your knife down. this shuts up the rambling girl, who has a small hand clamped over her mouth, a stray carrot danging from in between her middle and ring finger.

"we're friends, yachi. you don't have to panic, you could run me over and it'd be fine." you pause. "okay, maybe not to that extent, but you know what i mean." you nudge her back to show it's okay.

yachi slowly lowers her hand. then she beams at you.

ten minutes later, after your lovely conversation with yachi, the room fills up with a wave of hungry hungry hippos high school boys. 

you're standing by the rice cookers, handing out bowls to the massive forming line, when kita shinsuke, handsome kita shinsuke, your boyfriend kita shinsuke, in all his glory, walks in. 

he's already freshly showered, unlike most likely many of the other boys, his white and black hair damp and perfectly combed, wearing his inarizaki track pants and a plain white t-shirt. 

kita doesn't join the loud, chaotic swarm around the miya twins, though. he walks straight up to the end of the line, waiting his turn patiently.

when he gets to you, you try to keep your expression completely blank as you scoop a portion of rice into a bowl and hand it to him. "here you go, kita-san."

but kita doesn't take the bowl immediately. instead, he stares down at your hands, eyes narrowing as he notices the tiny bandaid wrapped around your thumb – the result of a situation with a dull peeler an hour ago.

shit. you know what’s about to happen. you know him far too well.

without a word, he reaches out, takes hold of your wrist with his firm grip, and pulls your hand up to eye level inspect it.

and you seem to have the best luck in the world, because it's inarizaki and karasuno who are closest to you right now. tanaka, who's in the middle of shoving three pieces of chicken into his mouth, stops mid chew, his eyes and cheeks bulging in disbelief.

"shinsuke," you hiss under your breath as you try to gently tug your wrist back. kita doesn't let go, his thumb just pressing lightly against the back of your hand to keep it still. "what are you doing? people– no, everyone– is looking."

"you used the wrong ointment for a kitchen cut," kita says, still eyeing the cut. he completely ignores the fact that almost the whole of karasuno and inarizaki have stopped talking to stare at him and you. "this is a standard plastic bandage. it breathes too much, and you didn't apply an antiseptic. i know you, y/n. the skin on your hands gets dry quickly in the winter, so if you don't treat it properly, the cut will split again when you handle the cold water bottles later."

"shin, i'm fine, really, it's just a tiny scratch," you murmur, your face burning so hot you're worried you might actually pass out right into the rice cooker. you give him a desperately pleading look, but kita's face doesn't change, remaining firm.

"it isn't just a scratch," he corrects you calmly, his dark eyes meeting yours with honesty. there's something else in there, too. "i told you yesterday that the equipment in the kitchens here are poorly maintained."

"shinsuke–"

"i have the proper medical salve and the waterproof zinc tape in my room. come with me after you finish so i can wrap it correctly." kita finishes, looking up to meet your eyes and smiling softly.

yep. dead silence follows. dead you too after that.

"in... his room?" you hear kageyama ask, holding an empty plate he's evidently already finished (no surprise there) and looking genuinely horrified, like his brain is trying to process a complex mathematical formula that doesn't make sense. (although for him.. more like an incredibly easy question). "why would l/n-san go to the inarizaki captain's room? is this a tactic to weaken our game?"

tsukishima sighs from his spot next to yamaguchi. "it's always volleyball with the king."

sugawara discreetly puts more food on tsukki's plate bc my boy needs to eat more poor guy

you're about to retort when atsumu suddenly drops his chopsticks onto his tray with a loud clatter, pointing a finger at his captain.

"aha! i knew it! i bloody knew it! you've been smellin' like this sweet floral laundry soap for months, kita-san! you've been sneaking around with her, haven't ya?!"

osamu doesn't even look up from his food, chewing slowly. "shut up, 'tsumu. everyone knew except you. you're just blind. right, sunarin?"

atsumu squawks. "oh, you–"

"wait, hold on a minute!" tanaka roars, finally swallowing his chicken and slamming his fists on the table, standing up so fast his chair screeches against the floor. "what do you mean sneaking around?! our manager? with him?! he looks like he's never broken a single rule in his entire life!"

nishinoya, who's next to him, swallows an equally as large bite of chicken and stands up as well. "we demand justice!"

sugawara is staring at you with his mouth slightly open, a slow, amused smile creeping onto his face as he puts the pieces together.

you want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. 

you wince as you turn to look at kita, who is still holding your wrist and completely unmoved by the absolute uproar he has just caused. "shinsuke, please," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. "i thought we were going to wait until after to tell people."

kita lets go of your wrist, finally taking the rice bowl from your hands, but his expression doesn't change. "i really didn't see the purpose in making a whole grand announcement, y/n. i'm yours, and you mine, that's all that's important. i thought about it last night."

he.. kita..

fuck. could this man be any more perfect?

"besides, you're injured, and it's my responsibility as your boyfriend to make sure you are taken care of. i'm not ashamed of that fact." 

kita turns his gaze to daichi, seated next to sugawara, giving your captain a polite and respectful nod. "sawamura-san. i'll ensure she returns to your share of the rooms before curfew. she requires proper attention tonight."

daichi merely blinks, left eye twitching slightly as he takes in the sheer authority radiating off the boy. "uh.. right. just... make sure she's back by then, kita-san."

"of course, good results need proper rest, after all," kita replies simply. he turns back to you, voice softening. "eat your dinner before the rice gets cold. i'll wait for you by the wash stations, okay?"

when he gets your nod, he smiles again, and walks away to join his table, leaving you standing there in shock (and fantasising about all the ways you're gonna show your gratitude to him later) while tanaka and nishinoya, the dynamic duo, weep out loud about the mole amongst them, and atsumu starts loudly demanding to know who asked out who. 

you sigh and drag a weary hand down your face, knowing that the rest of this camp is going to be a very long, very loud nightmare.

but you'll have kita.

tsukishima is going to remain that one guy who's incredibly observant and a pain in our asshole for probably most of them LMAO (apart from his, of course)

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Please not another Jane Doe. He thought to himself before going down on one knee to be level with her height.  “Hey, sweetheart.” he greeted her with all the softness he could muster, and the way she so easily beamed when he spoke disarmed him. This kid barely knew who he was, approached him and decided she actually did. Just like that, she completely trusts him. The second she spoke again he’s reminded of why. “Da-da!” she grinned, as if to say I found you!. “Oh-ho! I am not your da-da, but we will look for him and mama, because they are mostly panicking right now, and we don’t want that.” Robby manages a chuckle as he fixes up her overalls, smoothing the material once over before asking. “What’s your name?” 

“Kathy.” she replied. “Kathy, that’s a pretty name.” Robby nods, his hand settling back down to his knee, he’s going to regret being on his knees later but he didn’t really want to scare a child by towering over them. “I’m Robby.” “Robby?” Kathy tilted her head to the side, her brows furrowing before she insisted. “No, you da-da.” “Okay, very persistent.” Robby rubs the back of his neck, his eyes now looking for Dana at the hub. “Seems like there’s no convincing you, so for now, I’m da-da.”

Robby slowly stood up, his hands hooking themselves underneath Kathy’s arm to carry her on his hip. Kathy wasted no time tucking herself on his side.

“Da-da doctor!” Kathy’s hands find the stethoscope around his neck and pulls at it. “Da-da help people.” “Yeah, that’s what I do, sweetheart. I fix people.” Robby only nods at her antics as he takes off his stethoscope and puts it around her neck instead, letting the child find entertainment in what she sees in him. Robby catches Dana’s eyes as he walks towards the hub, her eyes drifting to the little girl in his arms. The questions didn’t need to be asked. Robby just answered them. “Can you please inform everyone that there’s a child in the ED right now,” Robby whispers to Dana. “This is Kathy, probably 2 years old. No parents or guardians in sight, she wandered in and called me da-da.” “Congratulations, father of the year.” Dana snorted, her eyes softening around the edges. Her hand reached out to squeeze Kathy’s arm, the child still focused on playing with Robby’s stethoscope. 

“You think she was abandoned?” Dana asked, her brows etched with worry. “She has a visitor pass.” Robby held her badge to Dana. “Her parents must be here somewhere.” “Okay, I’ll pass it along. You keep looking.” Well, fortunately for Robby, he didn’t have to look anymore. “Kathy!” your voice rings out across the ER, the surgical gown loose around your frame, the cap ajar, hair frazzled. You run across the department, the sight of her lifting the invisible weight in your chest. You waste no time carrying her into your arms. Your hand clamped tightly around her waist, the other cupping the back of her head. “Oh, my god! Kathy, where were you?” you placed her on the ground, and pulled her back from your embrace, eyes frantically searching for any indication that she might’ve been hurt, but nothing screamed alarm bells after your look over. “The nurses in the daycare didn’t know where you were— I thought something happened.” 

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” you pulled her back into your arms, her arms wrapping around your neck in return. “No sorry, Tete Y/N.” Kathy murmurs in your shoulder “I see Da-da. Da-da here.” Kathy declares, pointing to Robby. Horrified is an understatement. “No, baby— Robby’s not Da-da. Elijah is in a conference in California right now.” You shook your head as you quickly corrected her, your hand coming down to her arms. You turned to look at Robby, your face heating up with embarrassment. “Robby, I am so sorry. Her dad’s a doctor, and his littmann is similar to yours— I am truly sorry about that, she didn’t mean it.” 

“But Da-da here. Da-da check Kathy’s heart.” Kathy says, pointing to Robby’s littmann around her neck. Oh, if only the ground could swallow you right now. You see something flash across his face at the mention of Kathy’s dad before he schools it his features into something more neutral. “Kathy’s yours?” he asks quieter than you expected.

“No, no! She’s my niece.” you told him as you stood up, taking Kathy in your arms again. “Julia— my sister is out of town for the whole week so she's with me for a while.”

“Oh.” was the only thing he had, the information still processing in his head. “Okay— well, she’s a good kid. Might even have a future in medicine.”

“Trust me, she’s already giving her dad a run for his money.” you chuckled, your hand absentmindedly rubbing soft circles on her back.

“Thank you, Robby. For looking after her.” you muttered, your arms around Kathy tightening. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if she got hurt or— just…thank you.”

“No need to thank me. She was good company, weren’t you, Doctor Kathy?” Robby went to poke Kathy’s side, making her giggle.

“Well, we should go back upstairs.” you said, albeit hesitant to leave his department. But those MRI scans won’t just diagnose the patient by itself. 

“I’ll walk you.” Robby offered, guiding you towards the elevator that would inevitably separate both of you once again. Isn’t that funny? Working in the same building for the same administration, and yet still so far apart from one another. Once you stepped through, you told Kathy. “Say, bye bye, Robby.”

“Bye bye, Robby!” Kathy waved at him, smiling as widely as she could.

Robby waved back. “Don’t be a stranger you two.”

You didn't really think about it, the first time it happened. You'd been halfway through a chart, awareness pitched somewhere behind you in case someone needed you — someone always did, eventually — and when you heard the name Sharkbait, you knew instinctively Santos was talking to you. She's always giving out nicknames like that, and you didn't have one yet, and people had taken to dragging you over to present for Park the Shark, because apparently you were the only one who could handle him without getting your head bit off.

You didn't really get what the big deal was. It wasn't hard to figure out how to deal with him — that's what you do, after all, assess people and then figure out how to deal with them. He wants clear, concise answers, and respect, so you give him both. Easy.

He's not the kind of person you'd joke with, or get chummy with, not unless he crossed that line first. Even then, best to tread carefully.

But he's not complicated, and he's certainly not scary the way everyone seems to think he is — though you would categorize him as intense. Focused. It's what makes him such a good surgeon.

And sure, maybe he trains his laser focus on you more than anyone else in the ED. Maybe his attention is less sharp when it settles and finds you on the receiving end.

It doesn't mean anything, surely, but that didn't stop Santos from noticing, and it didn't stop her from making a shitty nickname, and if you were thinking a little more clearly, you'd have realized that you should've shut that shit down. Park is your much older, much more attractive, incredibly no-nonsense indirect boss, not to mention, you actually kind of like the guy. He probably wouldn't take lightly to everyone going around implying he's trying to get in your pants, and even if Santos is mean, she's not evil. She'd back off if you needed her to.

But you'd been tired, and distracted, and you hadn't really thought about it that hard. And when she called out "Sharkbait, get over here!" you hadn't corrected her.

Instead, you'd tapped out the last line of your sentence and carelessly called back, "Sharkbait, ooh-haha." It wasn't even a conscious decision.

It's from some fuckass movie you watched when you were eight, and you hadn't thought about it in years, but apparently that one word had been enough to trigger the call and response you learned in second grade. It shouldn't have stuck, either, but then Whittaker had called you Sharkbait while you were talking to a patient, and you'd muttered it under your breath, and now you just can't stop.

Everywhere you went, people called you Sharkbait. Even Robby does it sometimes, when he's calling you over to observe procedures. And you, in a true show of human adaptability, do not stop to think about why it's such a mistake. You hadn't caught it the first time, and you hadn't caught it the second time, and by the third it simply became another thing in the background. Another name, another title, none of them really you.

Everywhere you went, you'd parrot it back. Mostly it was an announcement, a way to say I'm here, I'm paying attention, tell me what you need, without quite so many words. In the more serious situations, it was a half-whispered thing under your breath, a reminder that there would be time where things weren't falling apart, and you would be capable of joy and whimsy again.

Either way, it always came.

Unless Brendan Park was in the room. The Shark walked in, and suddenly everyone was calling your full name like you're George fucking Bush. Even the mention of a consult from him was enough to dissuade the use of it for a few minutes.

All of which led to twenty minutes ago, when you'd been hunched over a trash can, shoveling a granola bar down your throat with such ferocity that you felt simultaneously like a starved horse and the kind owner feeding it.

You'd caught a glimpse of Park gliding through the ED like Moses parting the Red Sea, and had stuffed the last of your precious calories into your mouth in a desperate bid to be done by the time he reached you. Even when you weren't called over to present, he rarely came down without stopping by, so you'd gotten used to putting on your best face on a dime.

You could see that Dennis was going to call you over before he actually did it, so you'd already been shuffling over to the hand sanitizer when you it happened. "Sharkbait! Whittaker says you should present this one."

Your mind knew it was a bad idea — tried to stop your mouth from following through — but habit is a bitch. "Sharkbait, ooh-haha," you fired back, just loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the ED.

For a half-second, everyone froze.

Park turned to you, molasses slow. Arched an eyebrow. "You like that stupid nickname?"

You'd blinked at him. Refused to shrink under his gaze, or his tone, or the way it all made your blood sing and your skin burn. Forced your voice smooth and even, just as unbothered as he sounded about... well, everything. "I haven't really thought about it all that much, honestly. Mostly just reflex by now."

Maybe he genuinely believed you. Maybe it's because you've always been honest and efficient. Maybe he just doesn't think you have the balls to lie to him. Whatever it is, he hadn't commented on it further, so you didn't either.

You both pretended it never happened, right up until he disappeared back upstairs, and you allowed yourself a single moment to acknowledge the fact that you may have just lost all your goodwill with the best orthopod in the hospital.

What you don't know is that Park had been the one to start it with an offhand comment to Garcia about the ED dangling you in front of him like sharkbait every time he went down there. She'd repeated it to Santos, and soon it had spread like wildfire. Not what he'd intended, and he'd considered snapping at the mousy boy when he'd drifted by and heard him calling you that a few weeks ago — only to be stopped dead by your sweet little call-and-response, like you were fucking taunting him. Practically begging him to come bite.

The fact that you had the balls to do it with him right in front of you — and then look him dead in the eyes and call it reflex — has just cemented what everyone else already knows.

He wants you.

You didn't really think about it, the first time it happened. You'd been halfway through a chart, awareness pitched somewhere behind you in case someone needed you — someone always did, eventually — and when you heard the name Sharkbait, you knew instinctively Santos was talking to you. She's always giving out nicknames like that, and you didn't have one yet, and people had taken to dragging you over to present for Park the Shark, because apparently you were the only one who could handle him without getting your head bit off.

You didn't really get what the big deal was. It wasn't hard to figure out how to deal with him — that's what you do, after all, assess people and then figure out how to deal with them. He wants clear, concise answers, and respect, so you give him both. Easy.

He's not the kind of person you'd joke with, or get chummy with, not unless he crossed that line first. Even then, best to tread carefully.

But he's not complicated, and he's certainly not scary the way everyone seems to think he is — though you would categorize him as intense. Focused. It's what makes him such a good surgeon.

And sure, maybe he trains his laser focus on you more than anyone else in the ED. Maybe his attention is less sharp when it settles and finds you on the receiving end.

It doesn't mean anything, surely, but that didn't stop Santos from noticing, and it didn't stop her from making a shitty nickname, and if you were thinking a little more clearly, you'd have realized that you should've shut that shit down. Park is your much older, much more attractive, incredibly no-nonsense indirect boss, not to mention, you actually kind of like the guy. He probably wouldn't take lightly to everyone going around implying he's trying to get in your pants, and even if Santos is mean, she's not evil. She'd back off if you needed her to.

But you'd been tired, and distracted, and you hadn't really thought about it that hard. And when she called out "Sharkbait, get over here!" you hadn't corrected her.

Instead, you'd tapped out the last line of your sentence and carelessly called back, "Sharkbait, ooh-haha." It wasn't even a conscious decision.

It's from some fuckass movie you watched when you were eight, and you hadn't thought about it in years, but apparently that one word had been enough to trigger the call and response you learned in second grade. It shouldn't have stuck, either, but then Whittaker had called you Sharkbait while you were talking to a patient, and you'd muttered it under your breath, and now you just can't stop.

Everywhere you went, people called you Sharkbait. Even Robby does it sometimes, when he's calling you over to observe procedures. And you, in a true show of human adaptability, do not stop to think about why it's such a mistake. You hadn't caught it the first time, and you hadn't caught it the second time, and by the third it simply became another thing in the background. Another name, another title, none of them really you.

Everywhere you went, you'd parrot it back. Mostly it was an announcement, a way to say I'm here, I'm paying attention, tell me what you need, without quite so many words. In the more serious situations, it was a half-whispered thing under your breath, a reminder that there would be time where things weren't falling apart, and you would be capable of joy and whimsy again.

Either way, it always came.

Unless Brendan Park was in the room. The Shark walked in, and suddenly everyone was calling your full name like you're George fucking Bush. Even the mention of a consult from him was enough to dissuade the use of it for a few minutes.

All of which led to twenty minutes ago, when you'd been hunched over a trash can, shoveling a granola bar down your throat with such ferocity that you felt simultaneously like a starved horse and the kind owner feeding it.

You'd caught a glimpse of Park gliding through the ED like Moses parting the Red Sea, and had stuffed the last of your precious calories into your mouth in a desperate bid to be done by the time he reached you. Even when you weren't called over to present, he rarely came down without stopping by, so you'd gotten used to putting on your best face on a dime.

You could see that Dennis was going to call you over before he actually did it, so you'd already been shuffling over to the hand sanitizer when you it happened. "Sharkbait! Whittaker says you should present this one."

Your mind knew it was a bad idea — tried to stop your mouth from following through — but habit is a bitch. "Sharkbait, ooh-haha," you fired back, just loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the ED.

For a half-second, everyone froze.

Park turned to you, molasses slow. Arched an eyebrow. "You like that stupid nickname?"

You'd blinked at him. Refused to shrink under his gaze, or his tone, or the way it all made your blood sing and your skin burn. Forced your voice smooth and even, just as unbothered as he sounded about... well, everything. "I haven't really thought about it all that much, honestly. Mostly just reflex by now."

Maybe he genuinely believed you. Maybe it's because you've always been honest and efficient. Maybe he just doesn't think you have the balls to lie to him. Whatever it is, he hadn't commented on it further, so you didn't either.

You both pretended it never happened, right up until he disappeared back upstairs, and you allowed yourself a single moment to acknowledge the fact that you may have just lost all your goodwill with the best orthopod in the hospital.

What you don't know is that Park had been the one to start it with an offhand comment to Garcia about the ED dangling you in front of him like sharkbait every time he went down there. She'd repeated it to Santos, and soon it had spread like wildfire. Not what he'd intended, and he'd considered snapping at the mousy boy when he'd drifted by and heard him calling you that a few weeks ago — only to be stopped dead by your sweet little call-and-response, like you were fucking taunting him. Practically begging him to come bite.

The fact that you had the balls to do it with him right in front of you — and then look him dead in the eyes and call it reflex — has just cemented what everyone else already knows.

He wants you.

For as long as Y/N Robinavitch could remember, she was constantly behind her brother.

Most times it was literal. Sometimes though… It was a nagging feeling she’d get in the deepest parts of her chest.

Being raised by their strict, single, ER Nurse of a grandmother in downtown Pittsburgh wasn’t as easy as it sounded. And Robby heard the phrase ‘take your sister with you!’ more times than he’d like. Y/N would always stand somewhat behind their grandmother, smiling hopefully. Hoping this time he wouldn’t roll his eyes or argue back.

Or make her walk ahead of him and his friends.

She couldn’t remember when he started acting nice to her. But at a certain point in her late teen years and Robby’s early 20s, he began to actually like spending time with his baby sister.

He never really knew how much he inspired her to be better. To grow from where they came from. And so, even in her grown age.. Even with all her accomplishments..

Y/N was always behind her brother.

And not many people saw her there. His opposing frame hid her most of the time. But one man did.

Jack Abbot.

It had been a simple moment. One that Y/N wondered if Jack even remembered. Or even realized how significant it was.

One morning, she’d been at her desk after being told something by Robby. He’d walked over to check on her and then leaned in close to her ear. ‘Don’t listen to Robby. You’re doing. Fucking. Amazing..’

Those words.

They were casual enough to any outsider, but the look he’d given her afterwards, it had caused a blush to boil up to the surface. From then on, Y/N had a crush.

This wasn’t her first time having a crush on one of Robby’s friends. But this was the first time one of Robby’s friends made it clear they had a crush on her too. Jack found himself remembering the small things. He trained himself at being fluent over understanding the looks on her face.

Lips pressed tight? She’s thinking hard.

What does she need? Someone to listen to her idea.

Slight pout? She’s feeling drained.

What does she need? Coffee. Specifically from the deli a block away from the hospital because their coffee is stronger than the hospital’s.

Squeezing her eyes? She’s trying not to cry.

What does she need? Not you asking her what’s wrong. She’ll just say she’s okay. She’s Robby’s little sister after all. No, just get her something that’ll make her smile. Her favorite snack. Set it on her desk when she’s not looking. She’ll accept it only then.

Jack became an expert at reading Y/N like a book. And there were always new pages to explore. And then one night, drunk in the park from a terrible shift, Y/N made her move. The kiss ignited Jack. But he had to cut it short, much to her dismay. It had made him chuckle a bit. ‘If I’m gonna kiss you.. I’m gonna do it the right way..’

The very next day, Jack sat with Robby on the roof. And told him everything. Flat out. It wasn’t easy. They did fight. But once Robby let himself listen… He realized just how much Jack cared for her.

See… Life is too short. Being in this line of work, you get that. Robby could die tomorrow. He was the only family Y/N had left. And… It brought him some peace to know that even if it was his time to go… Y/N would still have someone. She’d have Jack.

Robby never thought about it the other way around though. He never considered that maybe one day… He’d lose the only family he had left..

And Y/N was guilty of this too.

Until she watched the red and black Subaru Outback run a red light and head straight for her…

*

*

*

“Where’s your better half?” Robby asks the minute Jack steps off the elevator. Jack slows his footing, eyeing Robby with humor clear on his face.

“First of all.. Ouch.” Jack taunts. “Secondly,” He continues as he walks over to his friend. “What are you talking about? She’s officially back on day shift..” He says to jog Robby’s memory. Robby frowns at that. If that was the case.. Y/N was late. Really late.

The red phone at the nurse’s station rings as Robby checks his phone. Usually there’d be a string of texts from her, apologizing and explaining why she’s running late.

But.. Nothing.

In fact, their last text thread had been from last night. Y/N had asked if Robby knew why Jack was acting so odd lately. Robby tried to push out the image of the ring his friend had shown him earlier this month, instead texting back ‘You know Jack. Could be anything..’

The two had ended their conversation with a goodnight and then an ‘I love you’ from Y/N’s side which Robby had replied to with a playful thumbs up emoji. Y/N had sent back a thumbs down, her last text being ‘You never say it back!’

Robby pockets his phone as Jack checks his. “I’m sure she’s okay. Uh… She left real early this morning. Something about uh… Your grandmother’s grave? I think? I think she was gonna go visit her..” Jack says softly. Robby frowns softly. She only went to visit their grandmother when she needed to rant about something. Probably about Jack acting weird lately.

“Sweet Jesus…” Dana breathes out as she gets the description of the two individuals coming in from a bad car accident just seven blocks away from the hospital. “Fuck.” She mutters as her eyes instantly move to the two men of Y/N’s life. Taking a deep breath, she gets off the phone with paramedics and rubs her forehead.

“Okay!” She finally shouts, needing all eyes on her. “We’ve got two incoming. Car accident. One code blue. One code green but intoxicated…” She shouts.

“You and me?” Jack asks Robby as he nods. Dana quickly walks over to them. “You two get the code green.” She orders. The two men frown at that. “Mel! Langdon! Code Blue incoming. Prep.” She orders them. They nod and run off to get ready.

“Shouldn’t we handle-“ Dana cuts Robby off.

“Shouldn’t you listen to me? Go. Prep.” She says to them, hoping they’d miss seeing Y/N get rolled in. They shake it off and go to get ready. Dana heads outside to the ambulance bay and paces a bit as the first ambulance pulls up.

“Male. 37. You can smell the drinks from here.” A female paramedic says as they jump out of the van and head to the back. Dana tries to keep the anger off her face.

Everyone deserves medical treatment…

Robby and Jack come rushing over, guiding the paramedics on where to go from here. The guy keeps slurring things like ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Came out of nowhere’ as they wheel him to an operating room.

Ambulance two pulls up and Dana can’t look, but she owes it to Y/N. “Female. (your age). Unresponsive on scene…” A male paramedic says as Mel and Langdon come rushing out but freeze as they see who it is.

“Not a fucking word to Robby or Jack. You hear?” Dana mutters to both shocked doctors as they quickly nod, knowing time is too precious to hesitate. “Go! Work!” Dana orders. They guide the paramedics to another operating room, focusing on Y/N as if she was just another patient.

But she was so much more…

Jack and Robby pull in Santos to help out. The guy’s got two broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, and a laceration to his spleen from the seatbelt and impact. They work to stabilize him, and only when they’re sure he’s okay enough to head up to the OR, do they leave him in the hands of Santos and now Javadi.

The two men step out into the hallway and with a heavy sigh, Robby checks his phone again. Still nothing. Dana watches from behind the nurse’s station as Jack tries calling her phone finally. The ringtone comes from a paramedic’s back pocket.

It’s like time stands still.

Robby has heard that phrase before from people. He’s never questioned what that means exactly. He just always assumed it felt how it sounded.

But here’s how it feels..

Everything around you… Is barely moving now. You are barely breathing now. Hell, you don’t even know when your last breath was. But you think you can go longer.

No breathing.

If you don’t breathe, it won’t hurt. He doesn’t remember the paramedic handing over Y/N’s phone. He doesn’t remember taking it. He doesn’t remember walking over to the other operation room.

He’s on the outside looking in for the first time in his career. And he doesn’t like this position. He doesn’t like the view. Jack and Dana try to stop him. He can’t say how he slipped away from them. He’s moving in slow motion. Or at least that’s how it feels. He hears nothing but a loud ringing in his ears as he enters the room.

Have you ever watched a scary movie?

Maybe you’re in the audience. Watching on the big screen as a figure stands in the middle of a room with a blanket over them. The main character inches closer.

The tension builds.

Maybe your shoulders tense as you mumble a quiet ‘no’. And then the sheet is yanked back. And you feel a jolt through your heart and travel down your body. That was Robby.

Watching his actions. Watching his body on autopilot as he finally pulled the blanket back and saw who was being worked on.

His baby sister..

“No!”

The word leaves a mouth, but it’s not Robby’s. It’s Jack’s. He grips Robby, standing in front of him to hold him back and only then does reality seep back in to Robby’s head. He’s crying.

When did he start crying?!

It’s like he’s broken through the surface again, gasping without meaning to.

Fuck, it hurts.

Jack holds him back, pushing him out of the operating room. He still had enough sanity to know Y/N needed to be worked on. And him or Robby in that room would do more harm than good.

“You two gotta go. You can’t be here.” Dana says as Jack gets Robby out of the room and back into the hallway. Robby feels like the whole ED is spinning. And then his eyes land on the operation room where their Code Green was still in. Laid out comfortably while he waited for his turn in the OR.

“Son of a bit-“ Dana cuts Robby off.

“Hey! Hey..” She gets in his way. “That won’t help a thing. I need you to go have a seat. And let the doctors do their job..” She says.

It’s like a blow to the gut.

Robby clenches his jaw at those words. Words that have left his mouth in the past with ease. What a cruel thing to hear now..

He slowly gives in when Dr. Al-Hashimi walks closer to lead him away. Jack’s feet stay rooted though. It’s as if now that he’s not holding Robby back, he actually has to face the reality too. That on that operating table is the love of his life…

“Jack. You should go too..” Dana whispers as she touches his shoulder. He shakes his head fast, eyes welling up. It’s like a rope is tightening around his neck.

“No..” He quietly whispers, practically mouthing it. “Not her…” He manages to wheeze out. He slowly looks at Dana, breaking her heart. “It’s not her..” He mutters. If he says it enough times it’ll be true.

That’s not his Y/N. It can’t be.

“Go sit down..” Dana tries again as he lets her lead him away from the operating room and towards the break room instead.

*

*

*

Robby can’t sit down. And Jack can’t stand up.

The irony of it, really.

Two of the most capable doctors of this Pitt, completely at the mercy of fate.

And both men know.. Fate can be cruel…

The break room door opens and Mel rushes in first. She freezes though when she sees what Jack is staring at in silent mournfulness. She’s still wearing her bloody scrubs. “Oh. Uh…” She quickly yanks at the white coverup and sheepishly hands it over to an awaiting Langdon. She then looks back at Jack and Robby.

“She’s a fighter.” She begins with a soft nod to assure them. Jack shuts his eyes. It feels like he’s been plunged into an ice bath. He breathes shakily as Robby rubs his sweaty face, also allowing those three words a moment to breathe in the silence.

“She pulled through real well.” Langdon says, voice a bit rough with emotion. Like he could just imagine the panic and pain of today for these two men. “Obvious signs of a concussion though. Slight whiplash of the neck, fractures of one rib, and.. The most concerning thing is a bruised lung, but…-“ Jack cuts Langdon off.

“Where is she?” He asks. He just wanted to see her. See her with his own two eyes.

“She awake?” Robby asks.

“She might be? She got moved upstairs…” Mel says softly as she fidgets a bit, watching both men with a deep frown.

They two rush out of the room before anymore can be said. Up to the eight floor they go. With heavy arms, they step off the elevator. And from the look the girl who’s running the nurse’s station up there gives them, it’s clear word has spread on who Y/N is..

She nods towards a room without having to be asked and Jack is faster than Robby. He wants to push past him though. Wants to get to Y/N first.. But he knows deep down Jack can only act strong for so long. He watches from outside the room as Jack drops to his knees by Y/N’s bed, grabbing her hand ever so softly so he can hold it to his cheek. He turns his back to give his friend this moment…

*

*

*

No one bothers Jack.

No one brings up how odd it is that he has yet to leave Y/N’s side.

No one brings up how odd it is that Robby came back down to work instead.

No one… Except for Princess, that is.

Robby sits at his desk trying to focus on the task at hand when he hears her and Perlah walking over to the nurse’s station together. “I’m telling you. I think they’re dating. 10 bucks on it..” Princess says.

“You really think that?” Perlah asks in surprise.

“Why else is he up there?” Princess raises an eyebrow back. “It’s obvious..” She shrugs. Robby has heard enough.

With a low huff, Robby gets up from his desk and walks over to the two women as they stand by the nurse’s station. “I didn’t know Dr. Y/N’s personal life was apart of your job description, ladies.” He states sharply as he watches the nurses. Princess stiffens a bit, as if she didn’t expect him to be here.

“I… Am so sorry, Dr. Robby..” She mumbles as he eyes both women.

“Why don’t we focus on work.” He suggests shortly before walking past. Dana watches the interaction from afar, sighing to herself.

Robby knew sitting in that room, watching Y/N in that bed, wouldn’t help him in any way.

He needed to keep moving.

He needed to keep busy.

So he worked.

He worked until 7:40pm or so. He kept his head down as he did, until he’s practically shoved out of the ED by Shen who had heard everything from day shift.

Stepping off the elevator, he nods politely to the night nurse at the nurse’s station. He moves over to Y/N’s room pausing as he sees Jack stroke her face and push back her hair to tenderly kiss her forehead. Y/N is awake and the two seem to be having a moment. He averts his eyes to give them some privacy before he finally taps on the glass door to make himself known.

Jack looks over and so does Y/N. She smiles a bit, some cuts on her face and a bruise on her left shoulder, but she smiles.

And Robby feels settled..

She slowly lifts her left hand with a slight wince, showing off the ring on her finger. Robby keeps his emotions down enough to whisper a soft ‘congratulations’ to them both. Jack eyes the siblings. “I… Uh… I’m gonna get you more pillows..” He says. Y/N gently touches his cheek before letting him go.

Robby watches Jack leave before looking back at his sister. “No more driving for you.” He says simply. She goes to chuckle and then winces, coughing as she touches her chest. She grabs a notepad on her bed tray.

‘Don’t make me laugh! Hurts!’

Robby reads it and chuckles quietly. He shakes his head at that. “Y/N..” He whispers, getting slightly choked up. She frowns softly and places her finger to her lips in order to stop him from talking before she goes back to writing. She turns the notepad towards him.

‘I’m glad you two had each other today..’

Robby stares at the sentence for a while as it begins to really sink in. See… Life is too short.

Being in this line of work, you get that.

Robby could die tomorrow, and he was the only family Y/N had left. It brought him some peace to know that even if it was his time to go one day, Y/N would still have someone.

She’d have Jack.

Robby never thought about it the other way around though. And as he watched Y/N, he realized the same thought brought her peace too.

The thought that if anything happened.. He’d have Jack too.

Smiling softly, Robby slowly sits down by her bedside.

“Let’s see that ring. It better be expensive.” He finally jokes, making Y/N smile as she lays back in the hospital bed, showing off her left hand again..

Trinity and Mel stare at you.

“Abbot,” you add.

“You can call Jack Abbot?” Trinity asks you, something almost teasing in her tone.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting on your feet. “Unless you wanna walk?”

“Oh, no. Please, call Abbot,” she tells you.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Mel says, smiling a soft, encouraging smile.

“Okay, I’ll just-” you point over your shoulder and step away, digging your phone from your purse. His contact is easy enough to find. You stare at it, your finger hovering over the screen.

You’ve had his number saved for a few weeks now. He’d given it to you after a rough shift, finding you by your locker and typing it into your phone himself with an urge to “call if you need anything.”

And you just… haven’t. You’ve pulled up his contact countless times. Looked at his name there as he’d typed it; Not Dr. Abbot. Just ‘Jack.’

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to just hit the call button. He’s your attending, and sure he’s flirty with you, but he’s a little flirty with almost everyone. And ‘call if you need me’ is just a thing people say. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself lately.

You suppose tonight you’re testing to see if he really meant it. If you’re not totally alone in wanting to get more of him somehow.

You press the button and hold your phone up to your ear, looking to see if Trinity and Mel are watching you. They are. Mel gives you a thumbs up.

And then you’re turning back around, because after only three rings, the line clicks, and a low “hello?” slides through the speaker.

“Hi!” you say, wincing at how awkwardly it comes out. “Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”

Jack ignores your question. “What’s going on?”

“Me and Mel and Santos are out and no Ubers are taking us. You know, Trinity’s actually a pretty good singer. Anyways, I was wondering if you could come get us? It’s totally fine if not, I mean, it’s warm, so we could walk-”

“How drunk are you?” Jack asks you, not judgemental or accusing, just curious.

“Just enough to let myself call you,” you say quietly. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing.”

“Okay,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” Like it’s that simple for him to drop whatever he’d been doing just because you asked him to. Like whatever he heard in your voice was convincing enough. Almost like he didn’t need any convincing at all.

He shows up only a few minutes later, pulling up to the curb right in front of you and leaning over to open up the passenger side door.

You wave at him. He wiggles his fingers back and nods at you, urging you to get in beside him.

Trinity and Mel climb into the backseat, chatting quietly between each other.

You watch as Jack pulls away from the curb, listening to Mel’s directions back to her place. Watch as he turns up the AC when he catches you fan yourself, an arm reaching over to aim the vent towards you.

“Thank you,” you say.

And when he turns his head to quickly wink at you, it’s hard to come up with anything else.

He drops Mel off, and soon enough it’s Trinity’s turn.

“You gonna be okay?” Santos asks you, more suggestive than anything, once Jack’s parked.

Only, Jack takes her seriously. He twists around in his seat to look at her and say “I’ve got her.”

You sink into the passenger seat, embarrassed and delighted.

She salutes him and climbs out of the car. And then it’s just you and Jack.

“Is it okay?” you start, a sudden nervous flutter in your stomach. “That I called? I mean, I hope you weren’t busy, or-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, that same low, patient but sure voice as on the phone. “I gave you my phone number. I want you to use it.”

“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good.”

Jack has the hand not holding the steering wheel resting on the centre console. He shifts his over just enough that his knuckles brush your arm once, twice, before pulling away again.

“Good,” he agrees with a little nod.

And before you can say something else, he’s parking outside your building. You only just realize then that you hadn’t been giving him any directions to get there.

You look at him, his black t-shirt tights across his shoulders, his hair curling around his ears. Then, there’s his fingers squeezing the steering wheel, his knee bouncing.

He’s nervous, too, you think. Or affected, at the very least.

It’s what makes you brave enough to say: “Do you want to come up?”

And Jack, turning his head to look into your shining, shy, hopeful eyes could never say no to you. Not even when he probably should.

He lets you lead the way to your door, a hand hovering behind your lower back in case you stumble. You fumble with your keys until he takes them from your hand and unlocks your door for you, holding it open with an outstretched arm that you have to duck under to walk inside.

It’s only when you bend down to take off your shoes that you feel the lingering effects of the alcohol, your vision a little fuzzy around the edges, your head swimming and focused all at once. Because every thought is about Jack.

Jack, standing in your living room like he was meant to be there, like the space just miles itself around his presence. Jack, leaning down to help you slip your shoes off when he catches you struggling, a warm hand on the back of your leg, letting you use his shoulder for support.

When he straightens up again, he’s much closer than before. You suck in a breath, eyes dancing across his face. His do the same, before settling on your mouth.

Your chin tips up the slightest bit, like you’re making room for him, inviting him, and Jack nearly accepts it. But you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t anything new for him. It’s not spur of the moment. He’ll want you the same tomorrow, more even.

So when he leans in, and you let your eyes slip closed, he doesn’t let himself kiss your mouth, but presses his lips softly to your cheek, then to the hinge of your jaw, before pulling away.

“You should get some rest,” he tells you.

You nod, a hand coming up to your cheek like you’re keeping his touch there a little longer. “Will you- do you wanna stay?”

“Sweetheart.”

“We don’t have to do anything, it’s just late, and-”

“I’ll stay,” Jack tells you.

You lead him to your bedroom, and if you thought his presence in your living room was something, this is entirely more destabilizing.

Where there’s an alternate reality where he’s in here for more. Where he’s leaning over you on the mattress, where his smell is etched into your sheets. And maybe it isn’t so far fetched, not with how he looks at you.

How he’s taking care of you tonight.

To that point, Jack goes into your dresser and picks out some pajamas for you once he finds the right drawer, setting them on the edge of the bed. He’d assumed you’d go into the bathroom to change.

Instead, he watches you reach for the hem of your top. His eyes widen slightly as you lift it, exposing your stomach. He turns around before it gets above your chest.

Jack’s meant to be a strong man, but the sight of your bare skin—skin that’s new to him—makes his heart stutter. Makes him weak.

“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you tell him, prompting him to turn back around to find you now changed. “And I have some sweatpants if you want to change. They might not fit you, but-”

“I’m alright,” he says. Really, he’s thinking similarly to you. Thinking about a world where his toothbrush lives beside yours and he’s got a spare change of clothes here already.

And when you settle into bed after brushing your teeth, Jack’s prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, facing him with your cheek pressed into your pillow, that world doesn’t feel so far away.

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sleepily.