𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢

With his late wife he had years to learn all her ins and outs until they had become a unit, working in tandem without having to think. Both of them had grown with each other, had become the people they were till the end, side by side.

With you it’s not the same.

Jack never knows what you will do next, what direction a conversation with you goes or how you interpret the things he does. He is more often out of his depth with you than in control, something Jack isn’t used to at all.

Still, you are a wildcard he has come to treasure beyond what he had ever expected and he is all too aware that he needs to make a move before someone else starts to value you so much that he risks losing you to them.

The possibility of that happening is becoming more real by the day. His mind going back to the way Mateo had looked at you a few days ago when Jack had found the two of you chatting away in the ER.

There was no more time to waste, not if Jack wanted at least a chance to reach his dreams. He still very much thinks he is hopeless. Partly because you are so far out of his league it’s ridiculous, but especially because he doesn’t know how to approach you.

Nobody is arranging a blind date with you, like Robby had done for him and Kristine. This time it is all on Jack to take the next step and it’s frightening. He doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself, he doesn’t want you to reject him and prove all of his insecurities to be valid, but most of all he doesn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, make you want to abandon your friendship because he had overstepped.

So, after days of mulling it over, Jack had come to a safe conclusion.

Flowers.

It’s a staple, subtle enough to be explained away as a purely platonic gesture if needed, but hopefully excellent to convey unspoken feelings.

His wife had loved them, had kept, and dried a blossom of every bouquet he had given her over the years. And it was the memory of his younger self and how he had wooed the love of his life, that had given him the idea for you.

Jack doesn’t want to dwell on the bitter taste clinging to those images of the past, the way he feels like he is betraying his wife by using the same techniques he used on her back then, now on someone else. Cruelly, with a heavy heart, he had pushed the thoughts away, stuffed them in a box inside his mind, hoping they wouldn’t break out again.

But he knows they are there, ever present like a ghost holding him hostage. And the guilt gradually consumes him, even when he pictures you and his heart starts to do summersaults, his hands begin to sweat and he forgets everything else but you.

He wonders, if it will ever stop or if his past will forever stain every aspect of the present and future. Is it even fair to put such a burden onto another human being?

Jack isn’t sure and yet he can’t stop himself.

It’s egoistical, heartless perhaps and if there ever comes a day his greed will suffocate him, he will be alone to mend the wounds.

That knowledge unfortunately doesn’t stop his feelings for you.

The elevator comes to a halt, Jack’s eyes flicking to the display, seeing that he hasn’t reached his level yet and has stopped on the ground floor.

The doors slide open a second later and for a split-second Jack catches himself expecting to see you on the other side, quickly hiding the flowers behind his back.

The sobering reality, that you two aren’t the only ones to use the lift in this building, slaps him right in the face when an unfamiliar man comes into view.

Jack is both relieved to have a few more minutes before confronting you, and disappointed at the same time. Lately, all he wants, is to see you at every possible moment. It’s become a problem but he isn’t all too invested in actually doing something against it.

The young stranger steps into the elevator, acknowledging Jack only with an impersonal nod in greeting before yapping away at his phone. Jack doesn’t start to listen in until his gaze passively moves over to the floor buttons and sees that apart from his own, your number is pressed as well.

His instinct kicks into overdrive immediately, eyes snapping to the man, taking only the bare minimum of him in.

“Nah, dude! She is so into me. You should’ve seen her look at me. Bitch was gone the second she saw me. I’m telling you! She’s going to be so easy. Bet she’ll let me tap that today!”

Jack tries to not react, but can’t help but frown at the words uttered and the repulsive laugh following. His gut clenches, mind racing through all of his neighbors, trying to match someone to this guy and getting stuck on the worst possible prospect of them all.

You.

“No, bro, really! She is a total jackpot. All innocent and a stuttering mess. She won’t even know what hit her, dude! I’ll send you some pics later. For real!”

The elevator comes to another halt, Jack barely noticing it, until the guy lowers his phone and turns around, looking at him expectantly. “Yo, this your floor? What’re you waiting for?”

It takes but a split second for Jack to make a decision, looking between his hallway and the stranger. He shakes his head. “Ah, my bad. Must’ve pressed the wrong button. I’m one floor up.” That earns him an annoyed huff and a look silently cursing his incompetence. It doesn’t bother Jack nearly as much as the ideas swirling inside his head.

Had this guy been talking about you? As far as Jack knows, there wasn’t anyone else living on your floor that would fit the nonsense he had just witnessed. Apart from a few elderly neighbors and a young couple, only you live on the fourth floor and Jack doubts this man was talking about visiting Miss Gertrude.

Not that Jack should be the one to judge. He himself is currently stuck coming to terms with an age difference that others would frown upon. But as far as he knows his own affairs are one-sided so far. Whatever is happening to this guy sounds quite different from his own circumstances.

“Are you a new tenant by chance? I’ve never seen you around before,” Jack asks, not able to contain his curiosity and desperately searching for evidence that he is misunderstanding the situation. Maybe he is reading far too much into it. He most definitely had been occupied much more with only one of his neighbors, that it’s surely possible, someone new moved in without his knowing.

“Me? Nah, just here to meet someone.” That doesn’t help whatsoever.

Jack can feel his throat tightening up but he doesn’t have any more time to find out if he is spinning things out of proportion or has every right to be worried.

The telltale ding sounds again, indicating the arrival at your floor and the second the doors open, the guy is out. Jack hurries after him, hiking the shopping bags further up his shoulder, relieved to find the man pausing and looking down at his phone for a second. It gives Jack enough time to catch up.

Unfortunately, they are making their way down to your unit and every step closer has the alarm bells ring louder inside Jack’s ears. He doesn’t care that he isn’t subtle at trailing behind the guy, dread creeping in further and further, until they both stop right where Jack feared the most.

Without thinking he speaks, “I don’t think you’re at the right door.” “Fuck, are you following me or something? What’s your problem, man?” The stranger turns around, irritated, hand already halfway raised to knock on your door. Jack doubles down. “That’s my apartment.”

He doesn’t feel bad for lying in that moment, despite interfering in your business without being asked to. But the thought of you letting someone so vulgar into your home has a chill creep down his spine.

Of course, there is also no denying that Jack is not just doing this for your own good and he has his own selfish motives. But then again, by the looks of it, he may not even have a chance to gain an advantage from chasing away unfit partners for you.

Jack’s fears, that he might be running a race he was never invited to in the first place, that he had joined under false pretenses and amidst misunderstandings, are gaining more and more momentum. But he is already here, has seen the finish line in the far distance and despite having only the tiniest bit of hope left to even make it that far, he can’t bear to let someone else win first.

So, he does the incredibly irrational and totally unfair thing and lies his ass off, disregarding the consequences he might have to deal with later and accepting that he might not even reap the fruits of his efforts.

“Wait, what? Are you sure, dude? This is the address I got.” The guy looks down at his phone again, eyebrows drawn in confusion, swiping on his display frantically. “I sure do know where I live, buddy.” “Are you? I mean, no offense, but are you sure that you didn’t mix up the floors, old man?”

Jack doesn’t let the comment phase him openly and commits to the bit.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve lived here for years. You must have gotten the wrong floor or apartment. Better go and doublecheck if it’s not the one below. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Jack raises his chin, indicating for the stranger to step away and make room. For theatrics he pulls out his keys, taking extra care to jiggle the bundle around.

There is a short pause, neither of the men moving, just staring at each other, before the younger one lets out an annoyed huff, rolling his eyes and starting to walk back to where he came from. “Whatever. This shit is not worth it anyways.”

Jack has to suppress a satisfied grin from spreading across his lips, eyes following the guy and watching him disappear behind the door to the staircase. He couldn’t agree less with the fellow, knowing you are worth every ounce of exertion. But Jack won’t complain about a rival throwing in the towel in early.

Delighted, he remains standing there, internally celebrating before turning back to your door and knocking.

You rip it open a few seconds later, seemingly winded but with a big, welcoming smile on your face and he has to remind himself to hide the bouquet of flowers behind his back again.

“Hi! Come i– Jack!” Your expression turns from friendly to confused in a beat and it has Jack’s heart sinking a bit. He doesn’t want to let it show, but the fact that you clearly expected to see the young man instead of your older neighbor, dampens his spirit.

 “Tch, why does it look like you’re not happy to see me?” he teases with a crooked grin.

“What? No! I am. Always. It’s just… I was expecting–What do you need? Everything alright?” You look at him with big eyes, a concerned little crease forming between your brows as you take a step outside of your door, leaning forward, looking down the hall, then focusing back on him.

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to drop by and bring you some snacks.”

Stunned you stare at him. “What?” He turns a little, showing you the bags he is holding as if it’s not obvious. “Why?” “We talked about this. Last time you went to get snacks, you got hurt. I brought you some things, so you won’t have to go out in the middle of the night again. Can I come in?”

You let out a sigh, not sounding as grateful as Jack would expect, but then you push your door open further and step aside.

“That’s really considerate of you, Jack, but sadly I will have to get my own groceries from time to time. I’m a big girl.” “I know. But you were the one telling me how shopping is overwhelming for you, so just let me do it. I don’t see the problem. I’m making the trip anyways. I’ll just get some things for you while I’m at it. I’m not doing this to make you feel incapable or to infantilize you. I just don’t want you to feel anxious and this is a small service I can offer, so I will. The safety aspect is just an added bonus.”

He turns to see your reaction to his explanation and to hide the bouquet, but you’re still at the door, peeking out into the hallway.

“What are you looking for?” “Well, I was kinda waiting for someone to come up. I feel like he should be here by now.” Jack falters a bit, afraid that he will be found out for chasing your suitor away. He clears his throat, turning back around and making his way to your kitchen.

You follow him eventually, coming up next to him, so he quickly puts his bags on the counter, hiding the flowers from your view as best as he can. Luckily, your curiosity is drawn by the contents of the totes and not what’s behind them.

“What did you get me? This is like…a lot.” You reach your hand out, ready to grab something, but Jack gently slaps your hand away. “It’s not all for you. I had to stock up my own fridge too,” he explains then pulls out a bag of chips.

You greedily snatch it from him, smiling brightly. “Nice! My favorite. Thanks. But wouldn’t it have made more sense to come up after putting your own stuff away? You know, you shouldn’t disrupt the cold chain for refrigerated goods for long. Well technically, it shouldn’t be disrupted at all. I could’ve waited. I mean, I wasn’t aware you would come up anyway.”

Jack refrains from commenting that this had been the plan originally before a mix of concern and–admittedly–jealousy had taken over his mind. Instead, he takes out some more treats for you, sliding them your way. “It’ll be fine.”

You gather all the goodies Jack keeps on unloading onto your kitchen counter but ultimately your attention drifts to you phone, focusing intently on the screen and seemingly forgetting all about Jacks presence. He watches you type away, frowning and lips turned down.

“What’s the matter?” “Oh, nothing. Just… like I said, I buzzed someone in just a few minutes ago and he is still not here. I wonder if he got lost.” You purse your lips, then grab at the bag of chips and rip it open. Jack watches you for a moment, unease filling his stomach.

“Who is he to you?” The careful question seems to confuse you even more while Jack feels like he might be drowning with the weight settling on his chest, pressing down without mercy.

You shovel a handful of chips into your mouth. “The guy? Oh, just some dude. I put some of my brother’s stuff on Craigslist, because for some reason I have it laying around here and he doesn’t want it back. So, I decided to sell it, but it’s stressing me out like crazy, because I hate to chat with strangers and rely on them. And with good reason! I mean, I am waiting on this guy and now he is a no-show? Like, seriously, he already rang the bell, why isn’t he coming up? It can’t take that long, right? And I texted him and he is not replying. So, yeah, fun!”

You shake your head, stuffing more chips in your mouth completely oblivious to his struggle while Jack has to grab at the counter to not fall over at the revelation.

“Craigslist, huh?” “Yeah. I think next time I’ll just throw the stuff away or put it out on the curb and hope someone will find joy in my trash. I put way too much effort into selling things only to either be let down completely or haggle on an already set price. What is wrong with people?”

Jack runs his hand over his face, unsure if he really should feel regret for making the guy leave or if you might not be better off without meeting him nonetheless. He still feels mortified for misreading the situation so phenomenally.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, snacking paused. He sighs, glancing upwards and meeting your eyes. “I–“

Jack wonders which path to take from here on out. Keeping you in the dark and blaming a stranger for being unreliable would at least leave him some dignity and not make him look like an insane, controlling loser. But could he really pride himself in being the better man if he was a liar?

The answer comes instantaneous.

“I might have fucked up.” Your eyebrows raise in question, but your hand slowly dips back into the chips bag. “How exactly?”

Jack can’t help but let out a derisive laugh at his own stupidity. But he already took the leap, better to get it over with now.

“I think I met your Craigslist guy in the elevator. And he was incredibly unpleasant and talking nonsense which falsely led me to believe he was here to meet you for…different reasons. So, I might have chased him away by telling him, he was at the wrong apartment.” He ponders about adding some more clarification, on how he wouldn’t have been so suspicious if the guy hadn’t made such lascivious comments, but Jack isn’t sure he would be telling the truth.

Maybe he would’ve flagged any guy as a potential threat to you or more realistically his pathetic crush.

Jack waits for your reaction and after a few more crunches on your snack, you let out a thoroughly entertained laugh.

“You’re joking!” “Unfortunately not.” “Jack,” you giggle, “What did you think he was here for?” Mortified he shakes his head, turning around so his back is facing you. “If I remember correctly, he was talking about ‘tapping that’.”

You burst into another fit of laughter, which has him looking over his shoulder, just so he can enjoy your amusement. Despite his own embarrassment he can’t help but grin.

“Oh my goat! Cheese, this is so funny. I cannot believe you did that.” You continue on giggling between bites, shaking your head in disbelief, while Jack feels relief for you taking the news so well. He lets you have your fun for a while longer, until you calm down again.

Then he clears his throat, thoughts finally making more sense again, reminding him that he might have accidentally made up one opponent, but there could be real ones lurking everywhere. Most concerningly a certain nurse.

The time to step up is now or never. His initial plan, no matter how different the walkup to it turned out, is still standing.

“I’m really sorry I messed that sale up. I’d like to make it up to you.”

Interest peaked, you let out a cute noise while perking up. Jack takes a deep breath, steeling himself to not fuck up even more today, then he grabs the bouquet and turns fully around, presenting the flowers like an offering to a goddess.

“Jack!” you exclaim stunned. He watches you take in the delicate blooms, how you set the bag of chips to the side to take a step closer and gently let your fingers graze the petals. “Why are you… Jack they are gorgeous. But this must have cost a fortune. Why would you buy this?”

He huffs out a breath, not all too surprised by your reaction. “Stop worrying about money. There isn’t a price I wouldn’t pay to see you happy.”

Your expression morphs into a grimace, lips pressed together and nose scrunched up. “That sounded like such a cheesy line,” you chuckle, then a smile curves on your face and you look at him with such amazement, that Jack swears he can see your eyes sparkle.

All of a sudden you rush forward, Jack having barely enough time to swing the bouquet to the side before your body can crush it against his. You collide with him a second later, your arms circling around his chest, fingers holding tight to the back of his shirt and cheek pressed above his heart.

Time comes to standstill, no sound reaching his ears, no thoughts running a marathon inside his head. There is only sensation where your warmth touches him, the weight of you against him, your scent invading his nose. There is only you, everywhere.

And Jack hates himself for the second of hesitation, the brief delay before he realizes what is happening and lets his own arms cage you in. Because he could have held you longer, could have had an instant more of you hugging him so tightly that he forgets everything else in this world.

He tries to rectify that mistake by pulling you ever closer, turning his head into you, so his stubble brushes against your head.

“Thank you, Jack,” you whisper to him, vulnerable. He never wants to let you go, wants to keep you right there for eternity, safe and content and in reach.

But the moment comes to an end, when you slowly retreat. Your eyes meet once more, Jack wondering if you can see the silent scream from inside that he doesn’t want you to go.

You smile at him, then turn your head to take the flowers in again.

“I should get a vase. Stay right here.”

Jack watches with both a soaring and aching heart as you spin around and run into your living room. He lets out a deep exhale, trying to clear his thoughts and return back to earth with a head feeling like it’s still sailing through space.

It’s harder than expected, your fraquance still lingering inside his nose as if engraved there, phantom pressure of your body and hands still holding onto him with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist yet.

He is almost glad you left him there, giving him some time to come to terms with what just happened and to calm down a little. He grins, shaking his head in disbelief before you come running back, your footsteps echoing around the apartment

“Oh, they will look fantastic on my coffee table. I think they should probably fit in he–Motherfucker! Ouch! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Your return is momentarily disrupted, when you come barreling back into the kitchen and promptly ram your foot right into the edge of your island.

Unfortunately, your momentum propels you forward despite the hurdle. With both focus and balance gone there is little else you can do but stumble, your arms flying in front of you, grip on your vase slipping.

Jack’s reflexes awaken without much input from his side, dodging the ceramic jug in favor for catching you before you can crash onto your kitchen floor. You land hard in his arms right as the sound of shattering stoneware can be heard behind him.

“Oh, you can’t be serious, that was my only one!”

“Are you crying?” your mother’s voice sounds through the phone. You laugh shortly, before sniffling, scrambling to grab one of the dozens of tissues surrounding you.

“No, mum. Not crying.” “Well, it sounds like it. You know you can talk to me.” “I know. What I mean is, I’m not crying because I’m sad. But I guess I have a slight allergic reaction to some flowers I got.”

To emphasize your words, your nose begins to tingle and before you know it, you start to sneeze like there is no tomorrow, body curling up with the pressure.

“Oh my. Bless you! Who gave you flowers then? You know you are allergic to pollen, why didn’t you decline them?”

With a wide smile on your lips, you admire the assorted blooms standing tall and proud in the middle of your coffee table, your tea kettle functioning as a makeshift vase.

“They are from someone special.”

next part

You find him seated cross-legged on the living room floor with an oasis of lethal order in front of him when you enter to your home.

As you approach, your eyes are drawn to each weapon laid out in neat rows, fitting together like a puzzle despite their different shapes and sizes. The disassembled pistols are arranged in orderly rows in the center, their metal parts aligned with geometric precision. The knives are placed at identical angles, arranged sequentially, even the dirty rags you can make out when the light helps, are folded impeccably beside them. There are several small bottles on the other side.

Dex is whistling casually with his shoulders relaxed as his hands are moving meticulously, rubbing the rag on the weapon in his hand. He only breaks his concentration when you're close enough for him to say a little goodnight.

And the problem you have with that is that his tone of voice is too familiar to you; he can't hide the amusement dripping from it, and you're aware that, thanks to your silence—which speaks volumes—he already knows what you're going to start complaining about.

So clever, it makes you sick.

Exhaustion seeps into your bones with every step you take toward him, the irritation building in your chest, ready to explode as you start “stop it,” your voice is sharper than any knife he's polishing.

Dex doesn't tilt his face up to see you; his eyes glance up at you, needling with such creep stare and if it weren't for this angle, you'd realize he's about to give you a little smile.

Instead, what actually comes next is him raising an eyebrow, a hint of confusion in his expression, pausing briefly before continuing with his activity. “Stop what?”

His innocence is so feigned it manages to surprise you.

“Stop following me around every time I step foot outside.” It sounds more like an order than an answer to his question. Your fists clench at your sides. “Seriously, you have to stop.”

He sighs at the aggressive, scolding undertone of your demanding voice. His eyes drop to rest on the cloth in his hand, which slides along the edge of a gorgeous kunai. His firm fingers massage the solid material through fabric, and you feel jealous of his calm demeanor because you can't afford to feel that way.

Dex places it with the others when he finishes polishing it, perfectly aligned, before picking up the next one and then saying, “wasn't following you.”

That's it. He doesn't give you anything more.

His attention fully returns to his weapons now, as if you've already been dismissed and you just close your eyes taking a deep breath, trying in vain to contain the anger that rises at how he acts so ignorantly, so dismissively.

It's exhausting and terribly sad that he lies to your face like this when you know he's been breathing down your neck for so long.

You know him too well, you can feel his breath on the back of your neck every time you go out, a prickle behind your head when you go out to eat with your friends, when you're walking around campus, anywhere, even at work, from afar. You know he's there in the distance, watching you.

The ironic part is that you can't hate it how you want it because there's something strangely comforting about it; you like having the knowledge that no matter where you are, someone lethal is paying attention and nothing gets too close without him knowing first.

Even so, that doesn't take away how suffocating it can become and the fear that runs through you when he's behind you, because if he's watching you, who's watching him?

This leads to the overwhelming stress of work and college; it's already too much to worry about to also feel afraid about him going out while the AVTF is on the streets, committing their disgusting brutalities at night like ravenous predators.

You're aware that they won't approach him because it's clear that Dex is a target who must be eliminated from a distance, which would lead to chaos that would be even harder to stop, engulfing people who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time without knowing it, people walking at night whose chances of being caught in the crossfire are never zero, terrified and with no way out of what will explode when the authorities discover that Bullseye is prowling the same streets every night.

Turning them into collateral damage.

Those animals would do horrific things to civilians to get information about him. Hurting innocents before planning to reach their dangerous target.

Your imagination takes flight, and the images that appear in your head cause a lump to grow in your throat, making you swallow hard in an attempt to get rid of it so you can continue with your little intervention.

Dex continues working, but you know he's listening closely; he can probably even hear the change in your breathing, how your voice falters before you speak again, this time in a more controlled way.

“I understand it’s hard for you to have nothing to do when I’m not around,” you begin carefully. “But Dex, I’m working. College is killing me, and sometimes I need time to be with my friends or just by myself.” Your lips seal, waiting for a reaction, but he knows you're not finished.

“You can't be following me around when that happens,” you continue, stepping closer, “you can't risk being discovered by someone including my friends... They know exactly who you are.” This finally makes him look up at you, his gaze now completely fixed on you. “And I know they would never say anything if they found out I live with you, but this is my way of protecting them, and if you keep following me everywhere they could—” You sigh, shaking your head. “...It's dangerous.”

He doesn't hide his negative reaction to your words. A small crease forms on his brow, becoming more prominent as you continue, and you hear him humming, absorbing your words. What he can process is that you're asking him to get away, to do something different than keeping an eye on you, and he can't do that to a certain extent.

Dex sighs, and you think maybe there's hope, maybe he'll agree with you, but he just looks up, and you can't tell if he's challenging you with that look.

“I said I wasn't following you... I went out to visit our counselor friend,” and there's a grain of truth in that, but that thread of truth is woven into a lie.

And you stare at him, feeling your composure crumble.

“Come on.”

“Hmm?”

“Don't treat me like I'm stupid,” you hiss. “Don't even think about it. You're good at hiding but you're terrible at lying,” you whisper dryly. “Don't give me that shit because I'm not our neighbor for you to lie to as you please, Tony.” you spit the false name he uses on his daily basis in a mocking tone and he rolls his eyes for then grin with amusement at your irritation.

“This isn't a joke,” you insist, raising your voice despite you trying to remain calm. “I like my time alone when I get it. But what do you do when you have yours, huh? What do you even do?”

That question hits him like a slap, and you don't stop; the absence of his smile gives you the urge to continue.

“You need a job,” you continue, relentless. “Something to do with your life besides following me around and that isn't just your little ‘good deeds’ while you’re stalking Daredevil like the guy didn’t throw you off a roof after you killed that attorney, man, your gay shit makes me want to kill myself in front of you.”

That elicits a genuine, natural reaction.

He smiles sharply, so smug and proud, with his bunny teeth on full display like you just said the funniest thing in the world and you can’t stand it. You’re tired, exhausted, your job sucks, your assignments are about to be due, and he’s laughing at you, not even trying to help and you close your eyes tightly taking a breath, trying to push away the need to grab one of the neat knives and slit his throat.

“All you do is kill people, eat crackers, and follow me around!” you spit suddenly, the words tumbling out. “And when you’re not doing that, you’re doing the first two.” Your frustration keeps you talking. “Your brain needs to be occupied with something, obviously that’s why you need to focus on anything other than what’s screaming inside your head, but oh my fucking God, focus on a job, Dex.” You order him, crouching in front of him, careful where you place your knee and your hand slides to the back of his head, your fingers threading on his short hair until you grasp it roughly and Dex tenses, frowning, but doesn’t back away.

“You are smart, dedicated, you know how to pretend when it suits you... you have amazing skills, you aren't—ugly and can be so charming and sweet for your own benefit.” Your grip tightens just slightly, “You could work somewhere where nobody cares about anything. A kitchen, night shifts. Sometimes you can’t even sleep, Dex, you could drive a damn taxi all night and just…” you huff out a breath, “anything. You could find a hobby if you don't want a job.”

“I have one.” he mutters, piercing eyes burning yours.

You let out a humorless laugh. “Throwing paperclips at flies when you're bored isn't a hobby.” You release his hair from your grasp, remaining crouched in front of him and he keeps his head down, his fingers pinching the rag in his hands, and you feel bad for a second.

“Why are you doing this?” you hear him whisper and when his gaze flickers back at you his expression is blank, stripped of everything.

“Because you’re drowning me,” you admit, quieter now. “And I care about you too much to just ignore you, that's why I'm asking you to do something ”, Dex frowns because of the softness of your voice, as if your suggestion wasn't directly an order.

“I am doing something.” His voice sharpens as his eyes lock onto yours. “So why are you telling me to stop? I’m helping you. I’m doing it right. I don’t want to stop, and I’m not going to. You don’t get to—to tell me what to do.” his words quivered for a second there, but it was so tiny your brain didn't catch it.

He keeps going when you remain silent. “I never tell you what to do,” he adds, leaning forward slightly until your breaths intertwine and you are glaring at him, annoyed, despising his response when he adds at the end. “So don’t do that to me.”

“You are not helping.” you declare and you see the twitch in his mouth, slowly losing his composture.

“I keep this place stable for you.” he spits.

“Because you need to please me even if I don’t want you to!” you fire back immediately. “Don’t you see that? I offer to pay rent. I try to help you when you're dying on the floor and you refuse, you even threaten me. And yeah, I’m grateful when you take care of everything this place needs—but sometimes I feel useless, Dex. I want to contribute. I want to keep this shitty place standing too.” your voice trembles, cracking when you contine. “We’re in this together.”

“Yeah, we are so why are you ditching me?” he shoots back, a hoarse laugh slipping out as he's feeling his eyes suddenly wet and you freeze. “You just contradicted yourself, why?” he asks in a small voice, and you turn away from him, standing back to your place before you say something you can't take back.

“You know exactly what I meant,” you mutter.

The silence lingers, and when you turn around to look at him again, you see that vulnerability and fear in his eyes; all his previous behavior disappears, replaced by that part of him that you have seen too little of for your liking, and it hurts to see him this weak and exposed, small where he's sitting, thinking, processing, feeling so many things at the same time that he can't fully express them, burning his throat as his chest rises and fall, you think about getting close again, but you are tired of doing the same thing every time he cannot accept what you tell him.

“Stop following me,” you say firmly, “or I will leave.”

His eyes widen slightly, not so much surprised because his mind was already warning him that you would say that, but hearing it is much worse than just imagining it.

“You won’t,” he says immediately, not able to stop what comes out of his mouth.

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “Or what?” you challenge, “you’ll kill me?”

His hands curl into fists and there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, clenching his jaw and you don't wait for an answer.

“Find a hobby.”

Those are your last words before walking to your room, closing the door with a quiet click that feels louder than any slam.

Dex stays on the ground, his heart pounding, the air suffocating him with a nonexistent toxicity in its element. The silence is dulled, becoming a loud, familiar buzz that used to be under control most of the times and his blurry gaze is dropping, taking in each weapon, observing the organization, and feeding off the control he wields over them with just a glance.

Thoughts overflowing in his mind beg him to pick one up and let whatever happens, happen, because your words are still penetrating his brain, burying themselves in every flaw in his neural connections, making him feel as he did in those times when he was lost, alone, trying to find structure in less-than-ideal forms, and suddenly he misses those tapes that burned before him.

The blond man closes his eyes tightly, relaxing the tension in his shoulders, adjusting his posture, twisting his neck from side to side, clenching and unclenching his fists.

He inhales, exhales.

Again.

And when he opens his eyes, there's a relaxed smile, regardless of how his body is throbbing all over, how the control was about to slip away, and your last words are all that stick in his head in the end.

Hobby, hobby, hobby, hobby, hobby…

If you want him to find a hobby, he'll find a fucking hobby and make you proud, so proud.

Days pass after the argument.

And for the first time, Dex stops following you.

As expected, you had to test whether your argument had finally paid off first, and so you did for about three days, taking longer routes home, stopping to enjoy the fresh air, double-checking once or twice just to be sure, and finding nothing. It was liberating, and you feel good, trusting that Dex will take care of the suggestions while you're busy enjoying the space you demanded.

At home, everything remains the same.

However, Dex moves carefully around the apartment, replaying and taking into account everything you said and evaluating what he can do to make it up to you and help you feel good again.

During this process of improvement, he gave you a detailed list of how much you could contribute towards the bills, without much debate about him keeping the larger amounts. Both of you also discussed which days you would alternate cleaning and which days you would do deeper cleanings, among other things. He also gave you simple tasks that you could do without affecting your studies or work to contribute. Of course, if you ever can't do them, he will take care of them without hesitation.

Although it all stemmed from that intense conversation, the topic hasn't been mentioned again even once. You both act as if nothing happened, as always, but the positive change is palpable, and you keep in mind that Dex thinks about the argument every minute.

The guilt remains under your skin because you believe you were harsh, and yeah, maybe you said some things out of pocket, and yeah, you were also overwhelmed; both can coexist.

You still bother him as always, he still watches you obsessively, but he doesn't leave when you leave.

Things are going well.

It's late one night when you return home.

Your keys jingle softly as you push open the door, and you find Dex sitting at the table with a laptop in front of him and you're one hundred percent sure he didn't buy it, so there's no need to ask.

You pause, staring at him for a second and he doesn't even look up when you enter, completely absorbed, his posture slightly hunched forward as he listens intently to the voice coming from the device. You walk over to him, curious, and on the table is a small knitting kit along with thin white and blue yarn resting on the left, and you focus on the video, your eyes wide with curiosity, drawn to the title.

Knitting for Beginners: Basic Chain Stitch Tutorial.

You can't help but smile with pleasure. Dex's hands move with careful precision, a hook between his fingers, yarn looped and pulled with methodical intent. He takes his sweet time with each step and grumbles under his breath when he makes a mistake.

The sad reality of a perfectionist: he's not good at something he has just started learning.

He's watching, pausing, rewinding occasionally, but every movement is clean. He's memorizing the rhythm, scanning the video, rewinding it with a quick click when a step isn't clear. You feel good seeing him like this. You want to ask him so many things, but you don't interrupt.

For once, he's focused on something that isn't you.

And you're not about to ruin that.

You put a hand on his shoulder and feel him relax at the touch, and while his fingers are busy, he mutters “night” with a small smile.

“Goodnight, Dex,” you murmur back, turning away to head to your room.

And the next morning, you wake up earlier than usual, wishing anyone would investigate in depth the phenomenon of waking up early on weekends while on weekdays opening your eyes is a chore.

You're yawning while rubbing the back of your neck, and stop just outside your room when you find him already at the table.

Correction, Dex hasn't moved.

He's in the exact same position as last night, laptop still open in front of him. The only change is the natural light illuminating him, and the final results of his nighttime process are placed besides the laptop. You raise an eyebrow, curiosity urging you to basically run over to him for a good look, and the laptop displays a different video.

This one's not for beginners. The person on screen works quickly, hands moving in a blur, creating something intricate, multicolored, moving those hands in hypnotic loops.

Dex mirrors it perfectly.

His hands move faster than they should for someone who started last night, two strands of yarn running through his fingers, switching seamlessly, tension controlled with surgical precision.

It looks like he's been doing this for weeks.

There's disbelief settling in your chest; it's just too impressive. His brow is furrowed, his mouth tightly closed, and his gaze is intense over the screen.

“Dex…?”

He hums, clearly waiting for you to speak while he's still on his thing and you take a good look at what he's doing.

It's beautiful.

A compact, clean spiral with colors that blend smoothly into one another; there are no loose stitches, the yarn obeys him so devotedly leading it into becoming art, and your surprise must be evident, because he finally looks at you with an expression full of pride, with a touch of arrogance.

He says nothing.

You let out a little laugh, shaking your head slightly, making no attempt to hide the joy you feel.

“…of course you can do all this in one night, freak.”

“Mhm,” he smiles.

That's the moment when nothing will ever be normal again.

Hours later, a navy blue cushion appears on the sofa, with the same muted spiral pattern he was knitting that morning.

Then another cushion appears the next day.

After that, a throw, folded perfectly over the armrest.

Five days later, you return home and find a thick, heavy, circular rug, with a spiral much larger than the one on the cushions. It's placed in the small living room, and he seems pleased with it.

“Dude—”

“I made it.” he doesn't even look up when he says it, hands already working on something smaller.

The thing intensifies, spreading like a pretty mold, reaching the bedrooms.

Now there are covers on the beds, custom-made with impeccable edges and no imperfections; he doesn't expect you to use them suddenly, they're a silent suggestion. But they're so soft and large that you do consider it.

After the large comes the small... Oven mitts, coasters, table runners.

Your eyes widen as you realize there are also holsters for guns, holsters for all his weapons that don't even look good, but it's obvious he does it for reasons other than just aesthetics.

Each one fitted so precisely over his weapons it makes your skin prickle.

“…Are they necessary?” you begin, asking somewhat worriedly, picking one up and frowning because it looks like a sock.

“They protect the metal.”

You don't know what to say.

At some point, he acquires an open bookcase that appears out of nowhere. It's very tall and full of compartments; inside there are countless of yarn organized by thickness, texture, and color. The dark tones are grouped together, the light ones separated, the materials arranged like a catalog display.

Now there's polyester fiberfill too, bags full, carefully stored for stuffing.

The sofa is piled high with cushions, the kitchen looks nicer, the apartment becomes… warmer, so soft, and you hate how much you love it because, if you analyze it too much, you worry about how his dark circles are spreading.

But you stop thinking about it when he gives you an adorable keychain; it's small and it's about something you love, with such a pretty shape, recreated in wool with incredible attention to detail.

You stare at it for a while in your hand, so well made, so soft and cute. “For me?”

“Yes,” he says, looking at you with a slight smile at the corner of his lips. This time there's no arrogance; he's pleased to see the gleam of adoration in your eyes for the little gift.

“It's really nice, thank you.” you say eagerly, feeling the need to hug him and slap his face for being lovely whilst concerning.

A month has passed and he hasn't stopped; on the contrary, it's getting worse, because now Dex is always knitting and you feel like you're losing your mind.

Sitting, standing, talking… he always has yarn in his hands. His fingers move without him even looking, looping, pulling, hooking unconsciously, muscle memory doing the work, and you've seen him talk to you while finishing an entire section of yarn work without even looking down.

With thicker yarn, he doesn't even need a crochet hook anymore because his fingers work with experience.

One of the worst parts is that you don't even know which rich piece of shit he's currently terrorizing to get money for his fixation because, obviously, this is expensive, he enjoys very specific textures that are not easy to find anywhere.

And it's Sunday morning when you finally grasp the gravity of the situation.

You're on the couch, half asleep, watching the news more out of habit than interest, and that fucker is nearby with a ball of yarn between his dangerous fingers like a big cat; you just can't quite place him, but you can feel his presence.

“…In other news,” the reporter says firmly, pulling you from your thoughts, “several AVTF agents were found dead under unusual circumstances.”

You frown slightly, paying closer attention to what's on screen because Dex hasn't been out much since finding his new reason for living, so who could possibly be killing members of the task force? You wonder as the reporter keeps speaking.

“They were discovered with what appear to be small handmade dolls—”

The screen displays images, and your eyes widen immediately.

They're plushy, small knitted figures, clothed in dark blue and black, adorable little masked dolls.

Perfectly shaped little… Bullseyes?

The reporter mentions that each stitch was placed directly over the fatal wound on the corpses.

Like a signature... And you can't believe a single thing you're seeing and slowly turn your head.

Dex is already looking at you and the TV, and oh he's wondering if you'll make the same face when you discover that little chip inside your beloved keychain. He's wondering if you'll like his next project which is a life-sized replica of you so he can have two of you as friends.

The mere thought makes him smile with excitement, and he winks at you, so happy for his actions.

“What the hell were you thinking?” you mutter.

He just grins at you as he continues stitching.

“You told me to get a hobby.”

© machiavelliam | masterlist | 27 / 04 / 26

I was listening to I'm Just Ken on repeat while writing the first scene and ended up making some bullshit as usual.

series ; tag-list

pope doesn't come in for weeks after that first night. and it's embarrassing to admit that you're a lot more upset about it than you'd like to be.

craig came in over those few weeks, though. sometimes with baz or just one of his friends, mostly by himself. but never with pope. and you would know. because you were always keeping an eye out.

you even went as far as to ask billy, the club's and frank's personal security guard, if he ever saw this guy. and everytime you asked, he always answered you with the same reply. "nah, sorry, shimmer. haven't seen him. but you stay safe and stay clear of those cody guys, alright? they ain't good people."

cody, huh? that must be his last name, you had thought to yourself when you first heard the name. how did billy know their last names? and more importantly, why did he tell you that they weren't good guys? well, no shit. most of the guys who walk through that front door are straight scummy assholes. but pope? pope was probably the best one you've ever met.

girls come in and out of the dressing room, all rushing to get ready or change before going to their respective stages and rooms. thankfully, you're on your break. you pick at the fries you ordered yourself, scrolling on your phone, when sasha calls your name.

"yeah? what's up, shay?" you ask, setting your phone down.

"uh, there's some guy here to see you."

"he say his name?" she shakes her head 'no.'

"all he said is that he wants a private room with you."

"but what about my shift? i'm on the stage in like, ten. can't he just book one with one of the other girls?"

she shakes her head. "believe me, we've already told him all that. he said he only wants shimmer."

"he get violent?"

"the opposite, actually. he's quiet and calm, but insists on seeing you."

"okay, fine," you sigh, packing up the rest of your food. so much for your break. you shrug off your zip up hoodie, brush out your hair, and touch up your lip gloss. you then pop a piece of gum in your mouth, hoping to get rid of that greasy food smell. and with that, you're ready for whatever this guy will bring you.

sasha's eyes catch yours in the mirror, and you notice that she's wearing regular clothes, bag over one shoulder. "hey, where are you going?" you ask.

"home. my shift's done," she replies.

you turn around to fully face her, noticing how most of the girls bags are now gone from their cubbies. "oh, shit. it's my turn to play cleaning girl tonight, isn't it?"

sasha gives you a small smile. "you want me to stay and help you out? i can call my sister and tell her to keep nicky for the night."

"no, that's okay. you don't have to do that. you get yourself home, yeah? tell my favorite godson that i love him," you say, squeezing her arm as you pass.

"and you stay safe, babe!" she calls out to you.

you poke your head back into the room, giving her a wink. "always, shay."

you make your way to the showroom, searching the crowds of men for anybody who looks familiar. it's highly unlikely you'll recognize this mystery guy anyways. hundreds of men come in everyday, so it's hard to keep track of them all. if you had a name, it would make it easier to remember.

but your searching is all in vain when mystery man finds you first. turns out he's not such a mystery after all, considering he's been the one guy on your mind these past few weeks.

"andrew," you say with a smile. "it's good to see you again. i'm assuming you're the guy who was looking for me?"

he nods. "yeah, i am. i just... i wanted to see you again. maybe we can, uh, talk?"

you ignore the way your heart skips a beat. "of course we can. i would love that. but, i can't right now. i have to get on stage soon and if i don't-"

a loud, booming voice interrupts you. the last voice you wanna hear right now. "hey, shimmer! get on stage, you hear? i don't pay you to sit around on that ass of yours. i pay you to fucking shake it."

"i'm taking care of a customer right now, frank!" you retort, turning to look at him. that wasn't the right thing to say to him, because he starts stomping over to you, fists clenched at his sides. "clearly, you're not, because you're not on his lap, girlie. get on that fucking stage before i force you on there, understand?"

with your back turned to pope, you miss how his jaw clenches at the way your boss is talking to you. he steps closer, broad shoulders casting a shadow over your body. frank's eyes flash over to pope, seemingly recognizing him, and muttering, "get on stage," he repeats, backing off for now.

"i'm sorry about him. really, i am. he can be such an... ass." turning back around, you realize how much closer he is than before. his chest is pressed up against yours, and all you can now smell is him. he smells like smoke and sweat, mixed with a cologne that definitely isn't cheap. it takes your breath away. "i gotta get on stage before he comes back. you just stay right here, okay?"

"any way you can guarantee no one bothers me?" he asks, and you don't fail to notice the slight humor in his tone. your smile grows wider at that.

"not really, no. can't give you a private room if you're not with one of the girls. but, i can do this..." thankful for the heels, you barely have to lean up on your tiptoes to press a kiss on pope's cheek. your thumb swipes at the dark gloss, purposely smudging it. marking your territory in a way. "there, that'll help. i'll come find you later."

that was the last thing pope expected you to do. maybe you would hide him in the bathroom, or suggest for him to stay outside in his truck. all because you were ashamed of him to be seen with you. that's what pope expected because that's the treatment pope has always gotten. but to kiss him? to be so gentle with him and give him the softest smile he's ever seen? it wasn't at all what he thought you'd do, but he was glad you did it.

he's so focused on the kiss that he doesn't realize five minutes have passed, and you're already done with your time on stage. you walk up to the booth, lightly brushing his shoulder. "i'm done with my shift so i'll be right back. then we can talk, okay?"

he quickly stands up, asking, "where are you going?" he hates how his voice slightly shakes when he asks you that.

"uh, just to the changing room. you can come with if you want. the rest of the girls have already left, there won't be anyone but me in there."

"are you sure? don't wanna bother."

you nod, already grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the room. "yeah, everything will be fine, promise. let's go."

now back at the changing room, you lock the door behind the two of you, moving over to the cubbies and grabbing your bag. "you can sit over there on the bench."

he mumbles a small 'ok'. you slip on a old t-shirt and pair of shorts, slightly embarrassed that this is what pope is seeing you in right now. while packing up your makeup, you realize just how dirty the vanity is. "shit," you mutter, letting out a small 'tsk.' pope is by your side in an instant, asking you, "everything okay?"

how the hell did he get by you so fast? "i'm okay, yeah. just didn't realize how much i needed to clean up."

"why do you have to clean?"

"well, when the girls and i get ready, we don't always have enough time to clean up after ourselves. so, after every shift, a girl is picked to clean up the remaining trash. and i was the one chosen to play clean up crew for tonight."

as if that was his cue, pope immediately starts cleaning up the vanity for you. when you try to stop him, he doesn't let up, continuing to pick up the stray trash that is around him. so you help him out. you grab the wipes for him, before you begin to pick up all the left behind makeup products and hair tools. with the two of you working together, you finish cleaning in less than half the time it would've taken for you to do this all by yourself.

"you know, you really didn't have to help me clean. or carry my bag," you repeat for the umpteenth time, but pope just shrugs, holding your bag strap tight. when you pass by billy on your way out the door, you give him a smile and he nods back, eyes not leaving pope. there's a tension there, but you don't know why. the two of you are silent as you walk to pope's truck, steps falling in sync.

"where's your car?" he asks, tossing your bag in the backseat.

"don't have one," you reply. he helps you into the truck, and you thank him.

"then how do you get to work?"

"i take the bus, or hitch a ride with whoever is on my shift and lives closest to me. but most of the time i walk."

he shakes his head in disbelief as he starts the engine. it's not safe for you to walk to and from work, especially since you get off in the early morning. would you let him drive you if he offered? why the hell is he thinking of offering? why the hell would you say 'yes' is a better question, actually.

"i highly doubt you came all this way to talk to me about my mode of transportation to work, andrew. what did you really come and see me for?" you question, but he avoids your question with one of his own.

"do you like the beach?"

"of course, who in oceanside doesn't?" that's all the answer he needs before pulling out of the parking lot, and driving down towards the beach.

halfway there, you realize just how bad of an idea this is. you just got into the truck of a guy you barely know, who is a part of a family that's apparently not a good one, and no one knows you're with him. to top it all off, he's driving you down to the beach, a pretty secluded area, especially this early in the morning. and yet... you're not as scared or nervous as you know you should be. but deep down, you believe that pope is one of the good ones. maybe not greatest, because nobody is, but better than most. then again, you've only interacted with him like, twice. kinda stupid of you, huh?

pope parks the truck on the gravel road that leads down to the shore. you unbuckle, reaching for the handle, but he moves quicker. he opens the door for you, stepping aside to let you hop down. when you thank him, all he does is nod.

"follow me," he says, walking towards the shore. and against all better judgement, you do. the sand crunches underneath your sneakers and seeps into the hole on the bottom of your left foot. time to invest in some new shoes. you trail behind pope, watching the way he walks. shoulders tight, chest puffed out, his arms are practically glued to his sides, barely swinging.

he comes to a sudden stop, making you almost run straight into him. he sits down on the sand, and you follow suit. even sitting down his back is perfectly straight. neither of you speak for a few minutes. instead, you just sit silently, watching the waves lap against the shore. you take quick glances at pope, but he barely reacts. barely moves, actually. like he's some kind of statue. he just keeps on staring. in the short time that you've been around him, you've noticed that he does that a lot.

knowing that he isn't gonna speak a word unless you do, you bite the bullet. "so, why did you want to see me?" finally, he looks at you. but he still doesn't speak. "look, is this about the money that craig gave me? if so, tell him i can give it back if he cares so much about it. i haven't spent any of it so-"

"this isn't about the money," he says.

"okayy, so if it's not about the money, then what is it about? did you change your mind about not sleeping together? because if it is, we can do it right here and now. free of charge. consider it a late birthday present from me to you."

"it's not about that either."

"what is it then, andrew? c'mon, you gotta give me something here because i'm out of ideas," you say with a shrug.

his fingers dig into the sand, clenching roughly. not mad at you, but mad at himself. mad that he can't get out the words that he wants. "i usually hate going to places like where you work. bars, strip clubs, i hate them all. they're always loud and crowded, making my head feel stuffed. but when i was with you, it was quiet. you were easy to talk to and didn't force me to do or say anything that i didn't want. i liked that. i don't get that often."

now you're getting somewhere with him. "i liked talking to you too, andrew. but, if you don't like crowded places, how'd you end up in a strip club on your birthday?"

"it was craig's idea," he shrugs.

you chuckle. "sounds like something he would do, yeah. for what it's worth... i'm glad you came in that night."

a large gust of winds passes by, making you shiver. you bring your knees to your chest, hoping it'll warm you up. should've brought a jacket, you think. as if he could read your mind, pope shrugs off his leather jacket, and holds it out to you.

"won't you get cold?"

"no, you can take it."

you grab it from him, muttering a small 'thanks.' the jacket nearly blankets you, falling right below your ass. it smells like him. your hands find place in the pockets, and you feel a small and familiar shape. when you pull it out, there lies a half full pack of cigarettes.

"mind if i have one?" you ask.

giving you the go ahead, pope pulls a lighter out of his pocket, gesturing for you to come a bit closer. when you lean in, he cups the flame and brings it to the butt of the cigarette. the light brightens the small space between your faces, allowing you to see the freckles that dust his nose and cheeks. his eyes are a nice brown too, maybe even hazel. you're so focused on him that you don't realize the cigarette's already lit. quickly, you jolt back, taking a long inhale. you hand it over to him, but he declines the offer.

"so why do you work there?" he questions.

"at the strip club?" he hums. "well, why does any girl work at a strip club? most of the girls actually enjoy it."

"and you?"

you shrug, tapping away some of the ash from the cigarette. "i needed money, and i needed it fast. planned for it to only last a couple months, a year, tops. but here i am, six years later... and it's the only job i got."

six years? but you're only what, twenty three? "you were seventeen?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing.

"yep," you say, popping the 'p'. "not exactly legal, i know. but what can you do?"

fucking beat the shit out of frank, that's what i can do, pope thinks. hell, he just might.

"what about you, huh? what do you do for work?"

"real estate. it's a family business of ours," he replies.

real estate? that wasn't at all what you were expecting to hear. neither he or his brothers looked like the real estate type. "that must get you guys a lotta money."

now it's pope's turn to shrug. "it gets us by."

"clearly. considering the fact that craig is always at the club blowing his money," you reply with a snort. and for the first time, you get a chuckle out of pope. well, it's more like a huff of air, but you figured that was the best you would get. it makes you smile, though. and when pope looks at you? he has a small tilt to his lips. a chuckle and a laugh? oh, you are definitely making progress now.

you're not exactly how much time passes by. it has to be hours, at least. the sun is coming up now. you talk about nothing and everything at the same time. you talk while pope mainly listens, but you don't mind it. it's been a while since you've had someone in your life who just listens. who doesn't judge.

pope walks you back to the truck, still letting you wear his jacket. you give him the directions to your house, which isn't that far from the beach. but you live in a poor neighborhood. shutters falling off the windows, railings are rotted and stripped of their paint, a few screen doors look like they've been punched in. he hates thinking that you live in an area like this while being all alone.

"wait, stop here. my house is on the left," you gently command, tapping his arm. he pulls over and parks in front of your house. it's a soft coral color, with a white trim. the exterior is definitely aged, but it's not overgrown with weeds or covered in garbage. he walks you to the front porch, leaning on the railing. "you wanna come in?" you offer. "i can make you some coffee and breakfast."

the offer is tempting. god, is it tempting. but he knows better than to say 'yes.' smurf will get curious and ask questions. and pope wants to keep you away from her for as long as he can. he wants something of his own for once. "i can't." he hates the way your face drops.

"oh, yeah, that's fine. wait, here's your jacket back." you begin to take it off, but he stops you.

"no, it's okay. you can keep it. for the next time your cold."

the smile you had earlier returns. "thanks, andrew."

he ducks his head, suddenly shy. "yeah, no worries." he's already retreating, body turned towards the steps to leave, but you move quickly.

"before you go," you grab a stray eyeliner pen out of your bag, using it to write your number on his arm, "next time you wanna talk, just give me a call, okay?" standing on your tiptoes, you give him another kiss on his cheek. "see you around, andy." is all you say, before disappearing into your house.

you kissed him again. you gave him your number. you called him andy. he'll have to wipe away the evidence of your number before he gets home, that way no one will notice. but not before he puts it into his phone.

a/n: second chapter is finally here !! once again, i'm sorry if still sucks but i promise that we'll dive more into the plot and romance in the next one. i hope u love it and pls lmk if u would liked to be tagged !!

Shen gives him a meaningful look which Jack dismisses silently by letting his eyes wander through the ED, checking for irregularities and problems he missed during his latest trauma and a quick toilet run.

It’s a habit he can’t shake after years of adopting it. The hustle and bustle have turned into white noise by now, a constant assault on the ears that have carved out dents inside his brain, helping him store away the unimportant sounds and focus only on the worst things around.

Lately though, he has some other matters on his mind whenever he has a moment to breathe or think and they turn out to be much harder to shut out and ignore.

Memories of you, moments you shared, conversations you had the last time you saw each other and the everlasting trepidation that something might be happening to you right now, holding it all together like a big bow on a present.

He thinks he is subtle with it, managing to mask his lapses behind his professionalism and experience. But maybe Jack had slipped up and let it show this time.

There is little else he can come up with, why John Shen of all people would bring up a person he shouldn’t even be aware of. Not after Jack carefully kept every little detail hidden away, afraid the fragile and precious little bud that had started to emerge could disappear without ever growing further.

He still tells himself that the chance of it blooming is zero to none. But hope is the last thing to whither and what harm could it really do to hold onto this little pipe dream of his for some more time?

“Are you fishing for information because you want to know if you have a chance at asking me out?” he can’t help but pose the question, curiosity at the sudden interest peaked. Shen doesn’t outwardly react apart from a small uptick of the lips. “Oh, I don’t mix and mingle with the folk at work, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t elaborate on the initial matter, either because he can’t be bothered to care anymore or because he wants Jack to desperately seek the motive of the implication.

Jack deliberates for a moment, weighing if intrigue is heavier than pride.

Ultimately, he decides to gamble a little and not give in, turning as if to walk away.

His plan works like a charm, Shen’s need to share with the class winning over the potential of losing the trump card on Jack, while simultaneously proving that he knows more than Jack would like.

“Are you really not going to ask why I brought the mystery lady up?” “As far as I know, there is no mystery lady, so I don’t need to ask.”

Jack spins back around to John, waiting for the reveal or turning point of the conversation, which ultimately comes a little too much like a hammer to the head.

“Ah, I see. Mateo must have been talking about someone else’s neighbor then. My bad.”

Jack’s heart stutters traitorously in his chest, the world around him coming to a sudden standstill despite the many people running around him.

“Why was he talking about her?” There is little shame to be felt while Jack rasps out the words, his mind completely gone from caring that he is blowing his cover and outing himself as a liar.

It’s both a nagging jealousy and the usual worry barreling down on him. Later he might beat himself up for feeling the former, but right now, he has bigger fish to fry.

Shen smirks, relishing in the final win. “So, you do know her? Fantastic. The more the merrier. She was brought in a while ago by the EMT’s with a head injury.” “Where?” There is no humor left in Jack’s voice, clearly signaling that he won’t appreciate the slightest delay for an answer. His eyes jump to the patient board up top, just in case he can find the information quicker there than from his coworker.

Shen clocks the urgency and seriousness of Jack immediately, yet keeps his casual, slightly smug composure when telling him the room you’ve been parked in.

Jack is off with no hesitation, mind racing to every possibly scenario of a head injury and what state he could find you in, only slightly consoled by the fact that you aren’t situated in a trauma room. He has the way cleared quicker than he ever has, pushing the door to Central 10 open with gusto and searching for your figure.

Eyes lock onto you sitting on the bed, his thoughts still reeling and screaming at him to help you, make you better and keep you safe.

You look up at the sound of the door–recognition blooming on your face–and smile. “Jack!”

His name is like a trigger word, snapping the tightly wound rope around his chest in two until he can breathe easier again. He feels the tips of his fingers tingle, as if the blood flow there had been restricted and only now returned, eating away at the numbness.

Jack rushes to your side, taking in every detail he can make out. The rumpled clothes, the exhausted expression and the neat dressing applied to your forehead. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

You wave him off at once, looking away, “Oh nothing! I’m totally fine.” “You don’t look fine to me.” “Are you telling me, I’m ugly?” It’s said in a joking manner, but Jack’s answer is anything but. “You could never be ugly. But you look like you’ve got run over by a truck. What the hell happened?”

He reaches out to you a second later, fingers carefully taking your jaw in his hand, thumb brushing gently over your cheek, turning your head this way and that in search of any other signs of you being hurt other than the obvious one. “Eh. That’s a little dramatic. Surely, I don’t look that rough? I only slipped and hit my head.”

Jack lets out a deep breath, pressing his eyes closed for a second, before peering back into yours. “I need a few more details on that. I heard you came in via ambulance? Did you call them? It must have hurt a lot if you called them for yourself. Who was assigned as your doctor? What did they say? Did you get a CT yet? Let me check your eyes.”

His pen light is out and ready to go before you can answer a single question and Jack quickly proceeds with his test, which you let him do without complaint. Only after he puts the light away again, do you speak.

“Doctor Ellis already did that. She also made me do a bunch of other tests. Mateo was here too! I mean, he told me he changed to night shifts a while back, but I didn’t really realize that I would be seeing him. He patched me up and then brought me to the CT scan. I’m waiting for the results. But I’m fine, Jack. Really.”

He tries to skip past the fact that Mateo knew you were here before he did, tries to push away the frustration that you must have been around for quite some time and didn’t ask for Jack. But his annoyance over bad timing and not being your priority has to wait now. Swallowing the bitterness, Jack focuses back on the important matters at hand.

“Cut me some slack here and just go through it with me again. I trust my colleagues but I need to hear this–that you are okay–for myself. Can you do that?” He absentmindedly takes one of your hands in his while grabbing a stool with the other and sitting down in front of you.

“If it makes you feel better, be my guest. It’s not like I have anything else to do anyways,” you smile.

Jack feels relief at your willingness, eyes tracing the contours of your face–still needing the confirmation that you are well. He never wanted to see you at his work again, definitely not under these circumstances, and the adrenaline his body produced when he heard the ominous report of your being here is slow to dissipate.

“How are you feeling?” “Good. A little woozy. Nauseous maybe and my head hurts,” you contradict yourself, having his eyebrows draw together. “Did you pass out at any point? Before or after falling?” “I… I mean yeah, I think I did. Maybe I just closed my eyes when I hit my head and mistook it for passing out though. But not before the fall, I only slipped. I didn’t fall because I passed out. Doctor Ellis said a few seconds of passing out aren’t necessarily the worst thing as long as I don’t show any other problematic symptoms. I probably only have a concussion.”

Jack frowns at that, wishing he could make you feel better but knowing there is little he can do that wouldn’t count as too drastic. His thumb unconsciously traces over your knuckles, enjoying the physical contact, anchoring him to you and reality.

“So, you do remember everything from before and after the fall?” “Yeah? I think so. I mean, how do I know I haven’t forgotten something? If I did forget, I wouldn’t know that I forgot, right? Or would I know I’m missing something but just wouldn’t be able to pinpoint what it is?”

Your free hand raises to your forehead, fingers skimming over the covered wound with a thoughtful expression. Jack gently pries your hand away. “How bad is the pain? On a scale from one to ten.”

Your shoulders lift and fall with a sigh before you whine, “I don’t know, Jack. I mean, pain is totally subjective, right? What if you interpret my rating differently because you’ve felt much worse pain in your life? I don’t know how to rate it. Maybe it’s a two, maybe it’s a six? I mean, I imagine giving birth would be a ten and I’ve never gone through that, so I can’t really go up too high. You know what I mean? I’d have to experience every possible pain in the world to accurately rate it and then everyone else would have to do the same to understand the rating. And maybe we all experience pain so differently, that we would never come to the same conclusion.”

“Darling, just give me an estimate, so I know you are not dying from severe pain. Does your head hurt or not?” You bite your cheek, then determine, “A bit. I hit it on a corner and it bled, so that’s to be expected.” To drive the point home, you again try to touch your forehead. Jack intervenes a second time, gently placing your wrist back down, noting the dried blood on your fingers.

His own tighten around your other hand, silently berating himself for neither being there when you got injured, nor when you got patched up. It’s a weird impulse of wanting to stake a claim on you by being the one to treat you. Now the disappointment that he wasn’t by your side while you were hurting, despite the fact that he keeps on saying he will help you with whatever, is crashing down on him.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. I’ll survive. It’s just a little ouchie.” You grin reassuringly and it lifts a tiny bit of the weight from Jack’s chest.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on that, when the door opens behind him.

“Everything alright in here?” Shen’s voice resounds through the room and Jack refrains from pointing out that he is his senior and can very well take care of patients without the help of someone else, not to mention that you have already been taken care of by Ellis.

A quick glance over his shoulder is enough to recognize the faux nonchalant expression on the other attendings face.

Jack has an inkling that Shen’s visit stems less from concern for patient or doctor and has everything to do with him being nosy and rubbing it in that Jack is fucked, and he knows it.

“Peachy. Also, as far as I know this is Doctor Ellis’s patient, so you don’t need to check in on her.”

He doesn’t bother to turn around again but Jack knows his coworker lingers at the door instead of following the not very subtle hint to fuck off. He watches your eyes drift to Shen, taking him in and sending him a tentative smile which has Jack grinding his teeth together.

He has half a mind to physically push the other doctor out of the room to get your attention solely back on himself, but restrain wins in the end.

“I’m curious, how do you two know each other?”

Jack makes sure to send a withering look towards the door but his dark-haired colleague doesn’t seem too torn up by it, grinning lazily at him before looking to you. He doesn’t give him the satisfaction of answering, hoping that silence will be the key to get the guy moving, but totally missing that the question is equally directed at you.

Of course, you don’t follow Jack’s lead, probably uncomfortable with the awkwardness of ignoring someone.

“We are friends. And neighbors. I live one floor above Ja- uh- Doctor Abbot.” “Oh, really? Friends?” At the repeat of that word, you suddenly must be coming to the realization that Jack is still holding your hand in his, something he too had forgotten about, and sheepishly draw your back.

“He hasn’t mentioned you before,” Shen notes mystified, forcing Jack to quickly rotating on his stool, sending him a death glare.

To you this approach might seem innocent but Jack sees it for what it is. A sly tactic to get back at him while also laying open everything he so carefully tried to keep private.

You let out a barely audible sound, nothing more than a breath, which is enough to show your dejection. When Jack realizes how that must have sounded to you, he almost stumbles over his words to correct it. “Because my private life is none of your business,” he says directed at Shen before quickly looking at you, “not because I don’t care about you.”

It stays quiet for a long moment, your eyes darting between the two men, unsure. Then you nod slowly, lips pressed together.

“Ah, I see how it is. I better leave you two love birds alone. You seem to be able to handle this, Abbot. See you around, Miss Neighbor.” Shen raises his chin in farewell, expression saying that he’s seen everything he needs to know, before retreating from the room with a satisfied grin on his lips.

“He seems nice,” you remark once he is gone. Jack scoffs. “Is that you trying to tell me you want to switch doctors?” “Wha- No! Of course not. I’m glad you’re here. I mean, technically Doctor Ellis is my doctor and you are just a visitor. Wait, you shouldn’t even be here though. I mean, you are still on shift and you have other patients, right? I don’t want to keep you from helping others.”

Jack shakes his head decisively. “If I’m needed elsewhere, someone will find me. So stop worrying about my job and let me worry about you.” “Well, I got taken care of and now I’m just waiting around, so there isn’t much to worry about anymore, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

It’s a nice try to ease his mind, but until the results of your scan are back, Jack doesn’t plan on stopping his mind from racing a mile a minute in preparation for worse, hidden injuries you might need to be treated for. He just keeps those thoughts to himself, not wanting to scare you without prove.

He watches you intently, looking for any signs of discomfort on your face but finding little apart from your tired eyes.

“What were you even doing at night that ended with a trip to the ER? Did you miss me so much, you came up with a ploy to come see me?” His teasing tone has your jaw falling open, an incredulous expression appearing on your face.

“Of course not! Believe me–and I don’t intend to sound mean–but even if I would miss you, it could never be enough to make me willingly come into the hospital. I can imagine many, many better things I would rather do than be here.” You stare at him intently, before adding a little quieter, “That’s not to say that I’m not happy to see you. Honestly, between you and Mateo this has to be the best-case scenario that could have happened to me. Back home I frequented the ER as well, but I never had friends there.”

He really tries to not let his face fall with the mention of your favorite nurse, concentrating on the part where you said you are happy that Jack is here. He manages a slight smirk.

“Being friends with me gets you all the perks in here. You picked your person well.” Your laugh rings in his ears like the purest form of joy. Jack is all too aware of the heaviness with which his heart thrums because of it.

“I don’t want special treatment.” “For once, I might need to disregard your opinion. The cat’s out of the bag already, people know you have a relation to me and that guarantees that you will get noticed, if you want to or not.”

You groan, your hands coming up to hide your face. “Really? Oh no. Maybe you should go now, so nobody else will know. Quick, quick!” Your wide eyes and frantic gesture urge him to leave but there is no chance of Jack following your plea.

It’s too late anyways. One slip-up in this place–one person having the opportunity to spread a rumor–is enough to get the ball rolling. It wouldn’t be surprising if come morning the entire night shift staff is ready to hand over patients along with all the newest gossip to the dayshift.

Jack can already picture the betting board taking shape with him being the main topic of discussion.

He has yet to decide if he will let the others have their fun with it or interfere by snitching that certain people in the department have an unfair advantage to win the pot with firsthand information gathered already. He supposes, it will depend on what the bet will actually be about.

“Don’t worry, if someone makes you uncomfortable, you tell them and they will stop,” Jack assures but knows his words are lost on you with the less than thrilled look that crosses your face. He chuckles, then fixes his mistake. “Or you tell me and I will deal with whoever bothers you.” Promptly your smile graces him.

Satisfied you hum. “Thanks, Jack.” “Any time.” “Are you sure you don’t need to go back out there?” “I’m taking my break right now. What is anybody going to do about that?” Jack doesn’t disclose that there is no such thing as a break in the Pitt, but if he doesn’t come up with a valid excuse, you might never stop thinking about his other responsibilities and keep begging him to leave you alone. That’s really the last thing he wants to hear from you.

Jack wouldn’t normally do this, wouldn’t leave the rest of his colleagues and more importantly patients to fend for themselves. Yet just this once, he can’t leave this room with a clear conscience, wouldn’t be able to focus on anyone else even if he tried. So, it really is the best option to just stay here for a moment longer. Only until his heart has settled a bit more.

There is a short lull between you both, him being content with just being in your presence and seeing that you are doing relatively okay, you tapping your fingers on your thigh in a nervous tick. Eventually, your eyes skip to his for a beat before quickly darting away again. Clearing your throat, you break the silence.

“So, uhm… how is it going with Kristine? I hope she is well.”

It’s like the floor is ripped out from right under Jack’s feet, or rather the stool he is perched on. Perplexed by the sudden change in topic, he takes a second to grasp it and come up with something to say in return, words tumbling all about in his head without forming a clear line.

He starts of by speed-running through possible replies until an actual word escapes. “Wh- Krist- No!” “No? She isn’t doing well? Oh, I’m sad to hear that, what happened?”

Your body leans forward, closer to him, in a show of interest and sympathy while your forehead creases. Again, your hand reaches up, gently hovering over the dressing on your wound, wincing.

“No, I don’t know how she is. I assume she is great, but we haven’t talked since–“

He is interrupted by the door opening again and a person entering, leaving him horrified with the newest development in this conversation. Judging by the glare you fix on him, you seem visibly miffed with him, but Jack doesn’t understand what he has done this time.

There is no opportunity to ask or clarify further, not when Doctor Ellis positions herself next to Jack, the side eye directed at him not even remotely subtle.

“Doctor Abbot. What are you doing here? Something the matter?” she asks, looking between you and him, silently judging. Jack sighs, shaking his head. “Nope. Just checking in.”

“With my patient?” “Oh, we are neighbors,” you provide the answer yet again. Jack doesn’t miss the exclusion of being his friend this time around. He hopes that is only because he made you realize that any closer correlation between you puts a bigger target on your back. Not that you suddenly decided he had said something that was upsetting enough to drop your relationship status back to the basics.

“Great, you can just see Doctor Abbot in case you’ll experience complications then. Seems like you both might need to move to a safer area, though.” Jack is confused about that comment, frowning at his senior resident but not getting anything in return. The moment passes, attention shifting when Parker starts to steer the conversation back to your injury.

“So, good news all around. CT results are back and don’t show any anomalies. No fractures, no bleeding, nothing unusual. Which leads me to believe you’ve got lucky and only sustained a slight concussion apart from that laceration on your forehead. Treatment is pretty straight forward for that and by that, I mean, there isn’t much you can do. Literally. Resting and taking things easy for the next few days is the main goal–limited screentime, no strenuous activity. I would strongly recommend not to drive for at least the next forty-eight hours and no alcohol. In case your headache gets too unbearable, you can take acetaminophen–so Tylenol. Please keep away from ibuprofen and the likes. Other than that, if your symptoms get worse, seek medical attention immediately.”

“Yeah, I know the drill,” you chuckle resigned to your fate. “Not the first time I’ve done this.” “You make it a habit to get caught up in robberies?” Ellis questions bemusedly.

Jack pauses for a moment, trying and failing miserably to follow along. He frowns at you, hoping for you to enlighten him, but all of a sudden you are back to avoiding his gaze at all cost, biting on your lip, and laughing rather uncomfortably.

“Oh, no. I… uh usually don’t get involved in something so dramatic. But I-I have a talent to slip into precarious situations. I mean, you’ve seen my medical history.”

“Fair enough. I’ll keep to the script though, even if you’ve heard it all before. Regarding your wound care–we obviously stitched you up nice and clean, with any luck it won’t leave an obvious scar. You can remove the dressing after about two days and you can get the sutures taken out in about five. Urgent care or your primary physician will be the place to go for that. Any more questions?”

You shake your head no. “Perfect. We’ll get your discharge papers ready and then you’re good to go. I’ll be right back.”

Jack waits for Ellis to leave the room, not paying her any mind when she gives him a scrutinizing look. His attention is set on you and when you are finally alone again, Jack scooches closer to the bed, eyes fixed on your face.

“What was that about?” “What do you mean?” you ask without looking at him, obviously trying to appear innocent and not like you know exactly what he is alluding to.

“The comment about safety? Asking about a robbery? Care to explain, because apparently you understand the context but I’m struggling. So, help me out, will you?” Jack moves his head around, searching for a position in which he can establish eye contact with you but you stay resolute in watching your fingers dwindling in your lap.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just… you know, I went to the corner store because I needed a snack and I didn’t have anything at home. And, you know…” you trail off. “No, I don’t. And what?” You scratch the uninjured side of your forehead, grimacing, before saying your next line with the speed of a bullet. “There might have been a robbery.”

It takes a moment for Jack to comprehend the words, a second ticking by before the actuality hits him and a wildfire breaks out inside his mind.

“Fuck! Are you telling me you got brought in here because were involved in a robbery? Someone hurt you?” Jack is up from his sear without hesitation, hands finding your shoulders and causing you to look up at him with wide eyes.

He doesn’t know what to think, what to do with the emotions wreaking chaos inside him after this latest revelation. Anger and fear seem almost misplaced, with you already patched up and safe in front of him, but the feelings don’t follow rationality and continue to overwhelm Jack with a ferocity he can’t fend off.

He sees pictures and scenes play out in front of his mind’s eyes, someone attacking you, laying hands on you, threatening you. He has seen countless cases of assaults with varying outcomes. That you have come away from something like that with nothing but a concussion and headwound makes him almost believe you had been lucky for once.

He can feel a chill run down his spine, his fingers tingling with fury at himself for not being by your side when it happened and at the perpetrator for causing you pain.

“No, no! I mean, I witnessed it, yeah, but nobody hurt me,” you say quickly, your hands coming up to grab onto Jack’s forearms. Your flustered tone doesn’t convince Jack and neither does your visit to his workplace.

“Why keep lying now? Your head is obviously bashed in. Did the police at least get the guy?”

For a moment you just stare at Jack before sighing loudly in defeat. Your hands fall away from his arms again and you crumble into a more subdued position, head hanging low as if ashamed. You explain yourself, mumbling under your breath, embarrassed.

“Nobody hurt me. I… well, I was a witness to a robbery, true. But nothing happened and basically nobody had the chance to take anything, because I kinda… slipped when trying to run away from the checkout counter and then I fell and hit my head on said counter and apparently that scared the shit out of the dude that was robbing the place. So, he fled.”

Silence reigns while Jack tries to come to terms with what you’ve just told him. His grip on your shoulders loosens a fraction and a relieved breath escapes his nose.

“Fuck me, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I know, Jack. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you about it, because you already worry too much about me. And nothing happened anyways, so it doesn’t really matter under what circumstances I got hurt. It was my own fault.”

He refrains from clarifying that his concern is only a small part of the emotions you are evoking from him. The rest he isn’t brave enough to lay out in front of you yet, not when he can barely acknowledge them for himself.

“I won’t even try to ask you to never do something like this again. You won’t listen, will you?” “Given that I’m a grown up and that my need for a midnight snack will overpower any other logical thought… no.” You can’t help but grin at him and Jack is equally as helpless to the slightest bit of amusement breaching through the tension in his body.

“You’re the reason why I’ll end up early in my grave.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be out of your hair soon, just waiting for the discharge papers.” You smile at him apologetically and Jack feels like melting right on the spot. “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to make you leave because you bother me.”

“Of course not, Jack. But you should probably get back to work instead of hanging out with me. And I’m tired, I really just want to get home and sleep if I’m honest.”

He looks closely, searching for signs of deception–finding nothing but vulnerability seeping through the exhaustion due to your unplanned trip to the ER. Pity takes a hold on his heart, squeezing hard until no retort is left in him and Jack woefully realizes that he can’t stay by your side for the rest of his shift.

“Alright. Fair enough. Get some rest. I’m going to look for Doctor Ellis and see that she comes back soon. I’ll be back in a second.”

Jack doesn’t think about his next move; his instincts kick in, revealing more of the truth than he would be comfortable with if he were thinking more clearly.

One of his hands slides to the back of your head while he leans down, getting closer to your face, breath fanning over your skin with his exhale and your fragrance dulling his senses when he drags it back inside.

And then his lips are pressed to your hairline.

He stays no longer than a second in this position and maybe it’s his desire showing, holding onto the illusion with every ounce of strength, but time seems to stretch, to contort into a sweet endlessness, holding him captive. Jack relishes in it, soaks it in, knowing this is a sacred opportunity that could blow up in his face as soon as he lets go.

Only when his moral sense speaks up and reminds him that he shouldn’t get lost in a dream, does he break away.

As soon as he draws back, Jack turns around, scared to see rejection on your face and have a definitive confirmation that he overstepped.

He makes his way to the door without another word, but when his hand presses against the cool surface, pushing if open, your voice calling his name interrupts his flight attempt.

He turns his head, slowly looking over his shoulder, being met with a half-smile on your face.

“Uh… how likely is it to find a snack around here?”

“So, are you dating your neighbor or what?” Shen asks casually with his eyes fixed on the tablet in his hands. Untrained eyes would think he has no interest in the details, Jack obviously knows better.

He regrets coming up next to him right away, but he supposes the question would come up eventually unless he would find a way to avoid the other doctor for eternity.

“No, I’m not.” “Are you two aware of that?” Jack glowers at him, tucking away the chocolate bar he got out of his locker. “We are friends.” “With benefits? Not bad, old man. You’ve got game.”

Jack clicks his tongue in frustration. “No, not with benefits. Strictly friends.”

That has Shen turning towards him and checking him out. “You serious? Again, I have to ask. Do you know about that? Because it looks like you’re down bad.”

“I’m serious. Have you seen Ellis?”  The lie slips free without effort and sounds authentic enough, despite the contradicting feelings culminating in his every nerve. Luckily, Jack doesn’t need to hold the mask up for long when the doctor in questions struts over.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” “What did I miss?” she asks, looking between the two attendings, eyebrows raised. “Jack is apparently not dating his neighbor.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me,” Ellis says, expression turning into one of earnest surprise. It has Jack wondering how damn obvious he must be, for his colleagues to wholeheartedly agree with one another.

“What makes you think that? I don’t get it.” The question is somewhat genuine, trying to understand where he might have shown his hand, but laced with defensive confusion as if the idea of Jack pining for you is absurd.

Evidently, he can’t fool either of his coworkers, both sharing a silent look that speaks volumes. “The eyes, Chico, they never lie,” Shen finally reveals in form of a movie reference making Ellis chuckle under her breath. Jack scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck, head hanging.

“It’s not like that. What would someone like her even want with me?” His question lets much more vulnerability show than any of his coworkers are used from him, but the insecurities are rearing their heads again and it’s getting harder and harder to not listen to them with every step he takes closer to you.

Jack isn’t usually someone caring all that much what other people think of him. But the opinions on him are exclusively regarding his person and not involving someone else. Even thinking about being with you has his mind racing with all the possible scrutiny you might get for dating an older man.

“True! No idea what anyone could see in a successful doctor. But if you can’t pull a chick, I might need to start worrying about myself.” “Can’t relate at all.” Ellis butts in, expression sober. “I don’t have any issues with the ladies. But honestly, losing your confidence doesn’t suit you at all, Jack. Come on, man up! I really don’t see the issue.” “He is having doubts because he is an old man, can you blame him?” John quips and hits the bullseye with his assumption.

“I mean, you’re not my cup of tea, but if she is interested in you and you are interested in her, just try it, right? You are both consenting adults and know each other, so if she does like you, she would know what she’s getting into. It’s not like you’re getting married straight away.”

Jack regards Parker’s words for a moment, letting them bounce around his brain, trying and failing to see a real issue with what she said. Still, once he raises his head again, he waves both her and John off.

“Okay, I did not ask for relationship advice. Let’s just forget this happened and get back to work.”

The two other doctors graciously accept his wishes without further ado.

“Don’t you want to see your neighbor off though?” “Yeah, I was just waiting for you and the discharge papers,” Jack says, expectantly looking at Ellis. “Oh, Mateo already grabbed them. He said he was going to say goodbye.”

Jack hastily turns back around, muttering a low “Fuck” and rushing back to your room, both hoping you would still be there waiting for him and your snack while simultaneously not wanting the nurse to have an opportunity to spend more time with you.

next part

pope didn't even remember agreeing to come to this place. he had just assumed that when craig brought it up, it was just a suggestion. not a for sure thing that he and his three brothers were doing. and yet, here he is, entering into the siren's cove.

he had heard of it before, both from his brothers and fellow inmates. he could still remember the way they would talk about this place during eating or recreational hours. like it was heaven on earth, sent from above.

"man, trust me, once i get out of this shit hole, that's the first place i'm going to. gonna get me some good fucking pussy." that was what his cellmate said to him. poor guy later got himself beat to death for shit talking another inmate.

the smell of cheap booze and cigarettes flood pope's nostrils, making him scowl. he didn't want to be here. it was too crowded, too many people in such a small space. he didn't like it. made him feel shut in. but his brothers wanted him here, so he'd play pretend for now.

"c'mon, man, it's your birthday! let loose a little bit," craig exclaims, clapping pope on the shoulder.

"yeah, he's right. you got all these sexy girls around you, enjoy it," deran chimes in, slapping the ass of one of the stripper's who walks by. and she giggles, winking at him. "we also get free booze and half off private dances, don't forget."

that's right, he forgot about that. apparently the owner, frank ricci, is one of smurf's "friends." he gets shipments of things that the boys and smurf can sell, as long as they give him 10% of the earnings. and originally, the free booze and half off private dances weren't apart of the agreement. but after frank gave the cody family fake diamond necklaces a few years back, it did.

a girl with blond hair and a pink, sequins two piece stops by the table they're now sitting at. she places glasses of whiskey in front of each of them, but when she gets to pope, she caresses his shoulder. "and a special happy birthday to the birthday boy," she whispers in his ear, making his brothers holler.

"you tell her it was my birthday?" he asks baz.

baz just shrugs his shoulders, but there's a smirk on his face. "wanted to make sure you get special treatment on your special day."

the four of them sit at the table for around an hour, and pope is ready to go. girls come and go, each of them offering lap dances and wishings of 'happy birthday' with false sincerity. he shoots back his last shot, ready to call it a night, when craig starts yelling.

"oh, hell yeah. guys look!" he talks loudly over the rock song that begins to play, making his brothers turn their attention to the stage.

"this is her?" baz asks, and craig nods. "shit, she is sexy, bro," deran adds.

but pope says nothing. he doesn't think he could if he even tried. his eyes are glued to the stage, more specifically you, who's dancing on top of it. the way your body moves like water as you swing around the pole, letting your legs drape down. your black hair sways with your movements enveloping you like dark mist. and the light catches on the bright silver strands in your hair.

you then slide your body down the front of the pole, hips swinging from side to side. this makes not only pope's brothers cheer, but damn near the whole club. seems like you were a known dancer. customers throw handfuls of money on the stage as your song comes to an end. to everyone else, it seems as if you're basking in the attention everyone is giving you, but to pope? he notices how shy your body language is as you grab the money, how you flinch when some drunk guy stuffs a $20 in the string of your bottoms and slaps your ass. but he also notices, how your eyes meet his from ten feet away. and when it happens, pope feels as if he can't breathe.

he doesn't smile back, he just stares back at you, eyes never leaving you once. not even as you leave the stage or as you walk over to the table. wait, you're walking towards the table?

"hey, there she is, the best girl here," craig greets, wrapping his free arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him. pope clenches his jaw watching this, before turning his head away to look at his empty shot glass. "guys, this is shimmer. shimmer, these are my brothers. deran," he points to the guy with shoulder length blond hair, he looks like the youngest, "baz," he points to the guy on his right, he could be the oldest, "and lastly, this is pope."

no, pope is definitely the oldest you realize. and definitely the most handsome. he glances at you sideways, before dropping his gaze again. "it's nice to meet you," you say to the table, even though your eyes never leave pope. the two other brothers nod their heads and give you a greeting, while pope says nothing. you don't take offense. he seems like the quiet type, nothing wrong with that.

craig tugs you closer, whispering in your ear so quietly that only you can hear it. "it's pope's birthday. give him something special, won't ya?"

you shake your head. "craig, you know i don't do that."

"shimmer, c'mon. it'll only be an hour. here, does that change your mind?" he slaps a stack of hundreds in your hand. you were the only dancer that craig paid full price for, but you didn't know that.

you count them one by one, adding up to a total of $1000. well shit. you hated doing private rooms, but unfortunately, they usually paid more than dancing.

"fine, but only because i like you," you tease, but also because pope doesn't seem that bad.

you slip out of craig's grasp and walk over to pope, dragging a nail across the expanse of his large back. "why don't you come back with me, birthday boy?" you whisper in his ear, letting your glossed lips brush his earlobe. and much to his brothers' surprise, he doesn't put up much of a fight.

you grab his wrist, gently tugging him up and down the hall to one of the rooms.

"lucky ass man," baz says, but you're too far to hear him.

pope doesn't talk as you lead him, and you kind of like that. at least he isn't attempting to make poor small talk like some other guys. it's either that or they go into full detail of everything they're gonna do to you. instead, you let yourself bask in the silence and that you have for now. when you make it to the room, you knock twice, making sure it's not occupied. sasha, one of the girls, and the closest person you have to a friend, stumbles out.

"my bad, girl. i had to touch up and the lighting is better in there than those stupid dressing rooms," she says. her eyes move from you, to pope. "oh, you got a customer! i'll get out of your hair."

you smile at her, waving your free hand. "don't worry about it. stay safe out there, yeah?"

"you too, babe," she replies, leaving you with pope.

"after you." you finally let go of his wrist, gesturing for him to enter. he does so, and you follow after, shutting and locking the door behind you.

he doesn't move, doesn't speak, you can barely even tell if he's breathing. he just... stands. and stares. you turn your back to him and grab a condom, customers always have to wear one. with you facing away from him, pope finally gets the chance to look at you. not in a perverted way, but more in a studying way.

the dark purple two piece you wear compliments your skin complexion well. your hands shake when you open the condom, he notices. and there's a handprint already forming on your ass from where the drunk guy slapped you. pope's eyes quickly leave your body, and he instead focuses on the wall behind you. you turn back around and walk towards him, placing the condom in his hand.

"you have to wear one, it's the rules-" you begin to say, but he cuts you off.

"it's been a while since i've gotten it up." his voice is smooth and rugged, but warm. just like his looks. you ignore the way it sends shivers down your spine.

"well, that's okay. i can give you a blowjob or something. see if it'll get you up," you offer, but he shakes his head.

"sit down," he says. it doesn't come out as a demanding, though. but you still know better than to disobey. you've learned what the consequences for doing that, and they don't feel good the next morning.

"you seem nervous," you say. "it's okay if you are, there's nothing wrong with it. i was nervous my first time doing this, but it's really not that-" you cut yourself off with a chuckle. "sorry, i know i'm talking a lot."

he doesn't answer, but joins you on the couch. he leaves space between the two of you. there's no flashing neon lights down on you, allowing pope to get a better look at you. your hair frames your face perfectly, and he notices that the silver in it wasn't shining because of the light, but it sparkles all on its own.

he can see the piercings on your face now, too. there's one on your left eyebrow, a diamond right above your cheekbone on the same side, a small stud in your right nostril, and lastly, a piercing on your tongue. he sees it when you open your mouth to take a deep breath. but what sticks out to pope the most, is how young you look.

he hadn't noticed it before, under all the neon lights and such, but he can see it now. there's still a youthful glow on your face, minimal wrinkles. but your eyes... they don't have that same glow. so it makes him wonder, "how old are you?" pope asks, his eyes finally meeting yours.

that definitely wasn't the question that you expected from him. "uh, i'm sorry?"

"how old are you?" he repeats.

"...twenty three."

pope takes a shaky inhale. jesus, you were young. much too young to be doing a job like this. "we're not gonna have sex," he says bluntly.

not exactly the kind of thing you expect to hear from a guy who just paid five hundred dollars for a private. well, technically craig paid, but still. "that's fine too. like i mentioned earlier, i can give you a blowjob or something. i mean, you paid for the hour, might as well get some enjoyment out of it." you chuckle, but it's weak, not really filled with any humor.

he shakes his head, hands gripping tightly at his jeans. "no, i don't want that either."

you nod, understanding. "okay, that's okay. then you can take this back." you grab the money that you slipped into your bra, holding it out to him. "i'd just feel bad taking money for not doing anything."

he glances at you, then the money, then back at you. "keep it. it's yours now."

"thank you, that's... that's really kind of you." the smile you give him is soft. he hasn't seen one so soft in a long time, especially directed towards him. "it's- it's no problem," he stutters, dropping your gaze once again. he stands up suddenly, now looking towards the door like he's ready to run.

"you can leave if you want. you don't have to stay for the whole hour," you offer.

he nods once, then again. "oh, yeah, okay." he unlocks the door, and gets halfway out of the room before you call out his name.

"hey, pope? happy birthday." you smile at him again, and it's even more pretty than the first time, he thinks.

he's not sure why he's feeling this way. why he has a weird tingling in his chest. why his heart is racing. or why the palms of his hands are so sweaty. but he gives you a small nod and mutters, "it's andrew. you can call me andrew." and with that, he leaves you alone. alone with a thousand dollars and a hoping heart that pope, now apparently andrew, will make his return to your place of work.

"andrew..." you whisper, testing the name on your tongue. and to surprise, you like how it feels.

a/n: sorry that it's kinda short and if it's kinda booty cheeks 😔 i'm only on s1 of the show so i'm still trying to work out how to write well for him. this is the first chapter of the series so hopefully i can make the future chapters longer as i flesh out more details and ideas to add to them ! i still hope u loved this and plspls lmk if u would to be tagged in the next chapters ! <33