seitmai

It wasn’t on purpose.

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

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

Long story short – good surgeon, bad boyfriend.

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

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

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

Too demanding. Too clingy. Too much.

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

You were a welcome (gorgeous) surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You live in Pittsburgh.”

“So?” you giggle at his obvious accusation.

“Now, that’s just treason.”

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

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

“So, how much do I owe you?”

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

“For what?”

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

“Lunch.”

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

“I asked you out, it’s on me.”

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

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

“I’m the man. I pay for dinner.”

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

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

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

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

He takes a deep breath, pressing on the gas.

“Old-fashioned enough to ask first."

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

‘Sounds perfect. Can’t wait <3”

“👍”

“What’s this?”

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

He watches you register what he had just done.

“Tickets. For the Knicks game this weekend.”

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

“Brendon.”

“It’s the Eastern Conference Finals.”

“Brendon.”

“What?”

“It’s in New York.”

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

“Those are our plane tickets.”

“You bought plane tickets?!”

“Can’t exactly walk there, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

And they said he wasn’t a romantic.

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

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

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

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

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

But he respected it.

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

“Wha – hey!”

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

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

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

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

You beamed, gasping in glee. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, my eyes are closed, babydoll.”

He prepared as best as he could.

Lights are off, sleep mask on.

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

“Thanks for doing this, baby.”

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

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

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

It’ll be fine. Everything will be –

-- fucked! He is so fucking fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“’luv yu’, Bren.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s an old-fashioned man, after all.

“I love you, babydoll.”

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

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

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

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

'Fine'

'Fine <3'

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

'Okay <3'

'Wait what.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry. I’m a professional.”

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

“It’ll be ready when you’re out.”

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

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

“Babydoll?”

“Yeah?”

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

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

“Uh, what for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m serious. People talk.”

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

That softens you.

“Because I’m funny and a good lay.”

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

“Brendon –”

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

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

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

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

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

Brendon Park was a certified doctor. He made it through med school, residency, and now was an attending doctor. The hospital decided he was good enough to be given responsibilities. He was responsible for med students and residents. He was capable. He was also an absolute dumbass outside the four walls of the hospital, at least in some areas. Romantically he was not very capable. Oh, he knew what to do. He could be romantic. He'd had partners in the past but when he was single there was always someone in the periphery of his life that he wanted but didn't have the balls to ask out: you.

You'd been friends for years. You'd met while in undergrad via mutual friends and you'd cross paths every now and then; as the years had gone on it would be at the weddings of friends. Every few months you'd send a text to Brendon and ask if he'd like to go see a movie you thought you'd both like or check out a new exhibit. He'd agree and you'd both have a good time and you'd have proof of life that being a doctor hadn't killed him yet. It was nice.

Most of the time your friendship existed on social media. One of you would post on Instagram and the other would like it…most of the time.

—

Brendon was having lunch with a friend, Joel. Another long time friend; a frat buddy from college.

“So,” Joel brought up your name, “how's that going?”

Brendon gave a small shrug, “I see her every now and then. Probably as often as I see you.”

Joel just stared at him, “you ever going to ask her out?”

Again, Brendon shrugged. He hated when the conversation turned this way. It happened every time. “Eventually.”

“Waiting until you're 40 or something? Get with it. You like her. She seems into you. Just ask.”

“It's more complicated than that. Besides, I have a plan.” It was a stupid plan.

“Oh? Why didn't you say so? What has that doctor's brain cooked up?”

Brendon huffed. “I…I'm posting on Instagram and seeing if she likes the photos.”

“And?” Joel asked, wondering where the fuck Brendon was going with this.

“And what?”

“You said you have a plan. That's not a plan. That's just… knowing you… posting thirst traps,” Joel muttered, looking around as if it was something scandalous. It was more embarrassing than anything.

“They aren't thirst traps…” they were but Brendon wasn't going to admit that.

Joel scoffed. “Now I know they are.” He followed Brendon on Instagram but didn't actually see what the man had posted.

Brendon rolled his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

“Call her up. Ask her out. It's simple. How did you pass med school if you're so dumb?” Joel shook his head.

“This is different.”

“Maybe you should ask out a nurse you work with.”

Brendon shook his head. “No, not dating a coworker.”

Joel nodded, “that's probably a smart idea.”

“Half the hospital thinks I'm an asshole so they'd probably say no anyways.”

Joel laughed, “why?”

Brendon shrugged, trying to look innocent. “I don't know.”

“Park, are you an asshole at work?”

“I'm a healthy dose of reality. That's all.”

Joel laughed again.

“The OR knows I'm not bad. It's the other departments…”

“That sounds like college all over again. The other frats thought the same way. Maybe you should smile more.”

Brendon rolled his eyes. “You want to pay for your own meal? Keep talking.”

“Ah yes, there's the warm and fuzzy Brendon we know. But to circle back. Ask her out. And not over a damn text message.”

“My plan will work.”

“Your plan is awful…it's not even a plan, it's just a dumb idea. Oh! Why don't you post hobbies or something?” Joel asked. He couldn't believe he was entertaining this stupid plan.

“What?”

“Instead of your thirst traps - we both know they are - post your hobbies or how useful you are.” Stupid is contagious and Joel caught it.

Brendon thought about it. It might work. The conversation then switched to a new topic.

–

Brendon listened to Joel. Joel was married, how could he be wrong? So in addition to the definitely-not-thirst-traps-just-gym-progress-photos Brendon normally posted, he added in different things. There was a short video clip he posted helping his sister with a small home renovation project. Maybe it was also a thirst trap but it was hot out. That actually got a like from you.

Once the weather cooled down, Brendon switched tactics. He'd still post the occasional project he had done or a book he had read but then he started posting pictures of a meal he had made. The thirst traps slowly went away when Brendon noticed you didn't ‘like’ those particular posts.

Brendon unlocked his phone one afternoon to see a text from you: ‘will you please share that soup recipe? 🥺’. That surprised him, he hadn't heard from you in months aside from brief social media interaction. He had wondered if you had gotten involved with someone. He was more surprised that a soup picture was what broke your silence.

‘Sure, want to come over and try it first?’ was the response. He grimaced into the emptiness of his house after he sent it. Maybe he shouldn't have asked.

He quickly sent a second message ‘You don't have to. I'll still send the recipe.’ and followed up with said recipe. Well fuck, there went the opportunity. Maybe it was for the best. Brendon groaned because how was he fucking this up so badly?

‘Thanks. Are you doing okay?’

‘Yeah. Work keeps me busy. The people of Pittsburgh love to break bones. You?’

‘I’m good.’

Brendon sighed reading the response. That was hard to follow up with. You didn't give details. He set his phone down next to him trying to figure out the next move. He could bring you some soup. He knew where you lived. But what if you had someone over? If you had questions about the recipe you'd ask. He'd spare himself the embarrassment of showing up uninvited. He'd wait.

-

‘Does a potential broken bone absolutely require a visit to the ER?’ was what the text said at 9 in the morning. Good morning to Brendon.

‘Did you break a bone?’ That got his heart beating a little faster. He wasn't going to wait for an answer. He called you.

“Hey Brendon,” you answered with a cheerful tone.

“Did you break something?”

“Oh no, not me. A friend I'm out with tripped and fell. Her wrist hurts but we’re trying to decide if she really needs to go to the ER.”

Brendon heard a voice further away say “I'd prefer not to go to the ER. I think it's just a sprain.”

“Did you get that?” You asked Brendon.

He sighed. “Yeah. I heard. She really needs to get it looked at. Urgent care should have an x-ray. If it needs to be set you don't want to delay care.”

“Yeah but what if it doesn't need to be set?” The voice from the background said.

“Can you move it?”

“I don't want to.”

“Go to urgent care. Get it looked at.”

“He sounds grumpy,” your friend said and you laughed.

“We probably woke him up,” you replied. “Thanks Brendon.”

“Do we have to go?” Your friend asked as you ended the call.

Brendon knew how that would end up and sent you a message hours later. ‘Did your friend go to urgent care?’

‘No, but she said it was feeling better. It didn't look swollen.’

‘And where did you get your medical license from?’

‘Be nice. She said she'd go tomorrow if it still hurt or was swollen’

Brendon responded with an eye roll emoji. ‘I’m trying a new stew recipe and it needs tweaking. Want to come by?’ He added a photo of the stew…and accidentally added his latest gym selfie. If she liked it, Brendon would consider it a win.

‘Sure. Looks beefy,’ Your reply had Brendon's head spinning a little bit. Were you trying to flirt with him? Was it a comment about the stew? Well, two could play that game.

‘Looks better in person.’

–

Once you had arrived at Brendon's house, he had let you in and told you about the recipe he was working on that he had found in a cookbook from his grandparents. He said he didn't think the stew tasted right and it needed something, but he didn't know what. You were agreeable to trying it out.

Brendon watched as you leaned against the counter while he finished with the stew. Finally, he grabbed a spoon from a drawer and dipped it into the stew. “Alright, moment of truth,” Brendon said, holding the spoon near your mouth.

He carefully studied your expression while tasting it, just in case it wasn't actually good.

“It tastes good to me,” you told him. “I don't think it needs anything.”

“Hmmm, must be me then,” Brendon said knowing good and well his stew didn't need anything. He just wanted to see you after entirely too long. “Oh…you've got a little something…” he trailed off moving his hand to wipe off the spot of gravy from near your lip.

At the same time he did that, you stuck your tongue out and ended up catching his thumb in the process.

Brendon didn't know what to do, so he brought his hand back towards him and tried to ignore the little groan that had escaped him. Maybe you didn't notice it.

“So…how's whoever you're seeing?” you asked him, trying to change the atmosphere of the room.

Brendon broke out of his little daze, giving you a confused look. “I'm not seeing anyone. I'm pretty sure I'm terminally single at this point.”

“Oh,” you said. “I thought you might be. Your Instagram changed again. Usually that happens when you're with someone.” So you did pay attention to his gym photos? That little bit of information was stored away for the future. At least he knew he didn't blunder by sending that earlier selfie.

“Changed? Oh. The gym pics…or lack thereof?”

You just nodded.

“That…was something different,” he said quietly. But hey, his plan worked, kinda. You noticed either way. “Can you grab bowls from the cupboard? I think this is ready.”

While you reached for the bowls, Brendon passed behind you, his hand lightly touching your lower back as he reached for a cutting board, “scuse me” he muttered. Did he need to be that close? No, not at all. But it was fun.

Within five minutes you were seated at the table, eating slowly. Both of you were struggling for what to say that wouldn't feel stunted and like you hadn't known each other for years.

Brendon broke the silence first. “Would you ever want to go out with me on a date, if you aren't seeing someone right now?” Joel would be so proud. Brendon had actually said the words.

You nearly choked on the food. That question came out of nowhere. To save yourself the trouble of figuring out how to breathe and talk at the same time, you nodded before finally being able to get out “for real?”

“Yeah, I…uh, wanted to ask you for a while. I just kind of…chickened out,” Brendon said, staring into his bowl.

“Oh. I've been kinda doing the same thing.”

Brendon looked up quickly. “Really?”

Your face warmed. “Yeah, but I thought you were seeing someone else so… I just didn't.”

“I thought you were seeing someone because you didn't talk to me for a while.”

You shook your head. “I haven't seen anyone in a year or so.”

“So you would go out with me? Something…not as friends?”

You placed your hand over one of his. “Brendon, I would love to go out with you. Just say when and where.”

Early on in life you had been thrown a curveball when you were diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

It had caused issues the first few years but with the help of family, doctors and medications, you had been able to manage it.

The only time it seemed to pose a setback was when you started medical school.

You’d think it would be more assuring to work in a hospital, especially if something went wrong. But while that might seem to be a good thing, you were worried others would view it as a weakness.

Being a nurse requires you to be careful, attentive, and meticulous in everything you do.

You weren’t ashamed of the fact you had diabetes, but you didn’t want to give people a reason to doubt your abilities. 

The only people at PTMC that knew of your condition was Gloria (for disclosure purposes) and your boyfriend, Brendon Park.

He was truly a blessing and beyond understanding of things. Brendon always had a sugary drink or snack on hand for low blood sugar, and extra medication for when it got too high. He was always prepared.

You appreciated him so much more for it.

He always tried to watch out for you since at times you would get overwhelmed with work or other things and not stay on top of things.

Unfortunately today was an extremely busy day for him and unfortunately it was for you too.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Budget cuts.

That was the biggest talk around the hospital. Word had it that it was happening in all departments and the pitt was the first to get hit.

This meant that everyone was on their A-game and working ten times harder to not be part of the cut.

You were one of the people who was working their ass off to not be cut. This meant showing up early, staying late, taking extra shifts, no sitting, and no breaks.

This posed an issue for you since you had to be a tad more vigilant with yourself and your diabetes.

Normally you would check your phone several times a day to make sure your blood sugar was in range and make sure your dexcom was letting you know if something was too high or too low.

But with the talk of cutting staff, you had neglected checking your phone so that you wouldn’t have anyone second guessing you.

—--

It’s late afternoon when it happens.

You’re at a slight jog all day moving from patient to patient, filling out chart after chart. The sweat is sticking to you and it feels like the a/c isn’t even working.

It starts when you take a short five minutes to catch your breath.

You had felt fatigued all day but it was now really starting to set in, more than usual. Your heart is also beating a bit too fast but you chalk it up to being on the move all day.

An hour later you feel the shaking begin. It’s barely noticeable to anyone else but you clock it immediately.

It’s not too bad, I’ll be fine for a bit longer.

That's the thought process you convince yourself to keep going.

You can’t afford to stop again.

You can’t get cut.

So you continue working.

Not even thirty minutes later you’re getting ready to discharge a patient when your sight gets a bit blurry.

You shake your head a bit hoping to clear things. When it doesn’t help you dismiss yourself from the room briefly.

Walking to the nurses station feels like you’re completing a race drunk.

The dizziness is getting worse and making you sluggish in movement.

“Sweetpea, you okay?”

Dana? Who’s talking to me?

Your vision still swims as you look up and see blurry figures not too far from you.

“Kid? You’re not lookin too good. What’s wrong?”

Robby?

I don’t feel good.

“Kid what’s wrong? Can you hear me?”

Yes I can hear you. I just told you I don’t feel good.

It feels like everything is in slow motion as you reach for the desk counter but you can’t feel it.

All you feel is how your world tilts.

Everything going black before you hit the floor.

—--

“Shit!” Robby hisses out before lunging towards your crumbling form.

He manages to catch your upper body before your head hits the floor.

“I need a gurney now!” he yells as he checks the pulse in your neck.

Dana falls to her knees with you and Robby.

“Sweetpea, hey! Can you hear me?”

She checks your eyes but they’re rolled to the back of your head.

“Her pulse is racing D. I don’t know what’s going on.”

A gurney is rolled over and they both get you lifted and rolled into an empty room.

“Does she have any medical issues? Did something happen recently?”

Dana looks over you checking for injuries. She lifts your left sleeve and then your right one.

“Robby, get over here!”

He rushes over and looks at what she’s found.

Your dexcom.

“She’s diabetic?” He questions in disbelief

Dana tears up as she shakes her head “I had no idea.”

“I need glucagon now!” he shouts to a resident in the room.

He then looks back to Dana “Get Park down here.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Brendon is finishing scrubbing out from a surgery. He’s exhausted as he dries off his hands but is pulled from his tired state from the door hitting the wall.

“Park” Garcia says as she catches her breath “get to the pitt now.”

His eyebrows furrow as he fully faces her “What’s wrong?”

“Dana called up saying your girl collapsed and to get down there quick.”

Brendon’s moving before she can even finish.

His heart races as his mind files through the possibilities at hand. He runs as fast as he can to get to you.

—--

He makes it to the pitt in record time and finds your room as its crowded by your pitt family trying to check on you.

“Park,” Robby gets his attention and he quickly pushes through everyone to get in, finding your side immediately.

He cups your face gently, thumbs rubbing over your cheeks.

“What fucking happened, Robinavitch?”

Robby turns to him “Why didn’t you or her tell us she was fucking diabetic?” he says with a clipped tone.

Brendon is taken aback by the question, anger slowly building.

“Excuse me? That’s something you guys should already know. Why would I have to tell you?” he grits out

Robby furrows his eyebrows “What? We never knew. We just found out when she collapsed from a fucking hypoglycemic episode. Her blood sugar tanked bad, Park.”

Brendon looks at Robby in shock “She didn’t tell you?”

He shakes his head.

Brendon looks at your resting form.

Why didn’t you tell them?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Your eyes feel heavy as you try to open them.

What the hell?

Shift must’ve been crazy if I can barely wake up.

As you open your eyes and things come into focus, you’re met with the frown of an upset boyfriend and concerned faces of your friends.

Wait what?

“B-Bren?”

“Welcome back sweetpea.” Dana smiles in your direction.

You look from her, to Robby, and then to Brendon.

“What happened?”

Brendon approaches you and cups your face as he kisses your forehead.

“Your blood sugar dropped, sweetheart. Why didn’t you take something when your phone went off?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you feel around your pockets and pull out your phone.

You tap the screen and it doesn’t turn on.

Shit. 

“I never heard it go off. I guess my phone was dead. Shit, I’m sorry Bren.”

He rubs your cheek gently “It’s okay baby. You’re okay now. But do you want to tell me why your friends and coworkers had no idea you were diabetic?”

You look back over at Dana and Robby who give off worried mom and dad energy.

Tears start to fill your eyes.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper out “I just– I never wanted anyone to doubt me or my abilities if they knew or saw me handling it. Then with the budget cuts I really didn’t want anyone doubting me. I usually look at my phone to check my levels but I didn’t want to risk any bad feedback that could get me in trouble.”

Robby walks to your other side and grabs your hand.

“Kid,” he starts “no one would doubt your abilities and if they did, me and anyone who really know you would squash that immediately.”

He looks up at the ceiling and you see his eyes wet with unshed tears.

“My stomach dropped when you collapsed. I didn’t know if you were hurt or if I was watching you die.” he sniffs as he puts his hands on his hips.

“Sweet girl, your health is more important than anything. You can’t do your best if you don’t feel your best. You have to tell us when you have conditions like this.” Dana tells you

“We’re not here to judge you and we would never tell anyone but we need to know these things so we can care for you better in case things like this happen.” Tears roll down your face as you nod silently.

Brendon wipes the tears away.

“Sweetheart, as soon as your phone is charged, you’re adding me on your app to keep me notified of your levels. I can’t see you like this again. I can’t, baby.”

Your hand covers his and you kiss the side of it.

“Deal” you whisper

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He'd been so focused on going over and over every interaction, wondering what he did wrong to make their relationship so.... transactional. He'd come up blank every time. Maybe the issue was something he hadn't considered. Sure they had an age difference, but he wasn't exactly old. He hadn't thought about what differences might still lie in wait.

He was well past 'casual' and flings. Relationships either fell into one of two categories: a few weeks of fun or a stable connection. She'd been the latter, or at least that's how he saw it. But that seemed to be an oversight on his part. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be young, when love was driven by lust and feelings came and go like the weather. 

His brain was starting to see things as they really were.

It'd take longer to harden his heart, but it wasn't an impossible task. Even for her.

"What do we got?" He hummed as he made his way into the trauma room. Of course he was starting his day with an emergency room consult, barely getting a chance to get his stuff in his locker before getting sent down to the pit. He hadn't gotten a chance to look for his shadow and part of him was grateful. Sure it felt like he was missing a crucial ligament, but at least he could focus. His mind wasn't constantly analyzing the space between them.

****************************************************

"You can't tell Robby." You half whispered, tucked into a corner of the emergency room. 

You'd come to the ED before starting your shift today, hoping to catch Jack Abbot before he slipped away. 

In the years since you'd become a part of Robby's life, his best friend had turned into a confidant for you as well. Robby was too judgmental, just as emotional and quick to react as you. But Jack was a much calmer soul, and somehow ended up being the person you trusted the most to vent to. If he hadn't 302'd your dad yet, obviously he knew how to keep things to himself. 

"I never do kid, now you gonna tell me what's been weighing you down? Robby's getting really worried." 

"So I may have been sleeping with Dr. Park and I thought we were like dating but then Gloria said some shit the other day and it scared me into wondering if he was just trying to get me to do residency in ortho and she may or may not have also accused me of sleeping my way into a residency so long story short I told Brendon to give me some space and he did except now it backfired and he's so cold and it literally feels like we're drifting further apart every time we talk." You let out a breath, watching as Jack processed your info packed word vomit.

"Brendon?" He asked quietly, almost laughing.

"That's what you're focused on." You hissed, smacking his chest. "Seriously Jack I don't know what to do, I feel like I'm in way over my head."

"Have you tried talking to him?" He raised an eyebrow and you felt incredibly stupid.

Once in awhile your emotional immaturity actually overtook your brains.

You hadn't thought things through.

It would be a shocking revelation to most of the people who knew you, but you didn't always think things through. Especially when feelings were involved.

Your mom had always told you you got that trait from your father.

She'd held you in her lap as best as she could when you came home after your first heartbreak.

The pain was worse than any illness or injury you'd ever experienced. An aching chasm in your chest that was blacking out everything good in your life.

"But mom it hurts. It's just... It's just a break up, that's what Ms. Small said." You'd sniffled, burying deeper into her arms and seeking comfort.

"Sounds like she's a head person." She'd said softly.

"Head person?"

"Some people are head people. We see the logic and it outweighs the emotions. But some people- like you, and your daddy- are heart people. Logic doesn't mean anything when it comes to how you feel baby."

The two of you had spent the night talking, and it was one of the few memories you had of her actually talking about Robby when you were young.

Truth be told, it shouldn't have come as a surprise when you let the fear take over. You didn't want space, you wanted the all consuming love you'd dreamed of since childhood.

But fear was a powerful motivator. The fear of being accused of sleeping your way into residency. The fear this was all just an excuse to get you to choose orthopedics. The fear that you'd let your emotions bury the logic.

"Dr. Abbot! Think I could have my med student?" Dr. Park's voice cut across the ED, causing you to jump. You hadn't expected him to be down here at all, let alone catch you venting your feelings.

What a way to start the day.

And oh a day it was. Somehow the day you realized you needed to talk to him was the day Park got a stick shoved up his ass. He was always cold. And rude.

Today he was a straight up asshole. 

You saw at least two nurses cussing him out when he turned away, and were pretty sure one of the first year residents had started crying. Which was hilarious because they weren't even the center of his ire. 

You were.

By the end of the day you weren't sure if you wanted to talk anymore, but it was necessary. Unfortunately it was also necessary to have it away from prying ears so you'd gathered your things and waited outside of his SUV for him.

You'd almost fallen asleep against the door by the time he made his way out to the parking lot.

"Thought you went home already." He grumbled, the same rough edge to his voice that had been there all day.

"Wanted to talk to you." You shrugged, giving him a sad smile. "Today was good, doubt anyone thinks we're together with how you laid into me."

You couldn't hide the way your voice broke and it was obvious he heard it. The silence stretched so long you thought you might end up staying the night right there in the dark.

... 

"Look, I'm sorr-"

"Are you coming over tonight or not?"

... 

You spoke at the same time, words overlapping, and you could feel the little courage that'd built up fall under the confirmation of your fears.

Of course he's asking if you're coming over. Why would he care what you have to say? This was.... Exactly what you'd feared.

Hell he'd only admitted actual feelings when drunk. That should've been your first sign right there.

**************************************************

Today Brendon Park learned something.

A really great way to stop thinking about how your kinda girlfriend seems to be pulling away is to find her having a heated discussion and standing only a few inches apart from another man.

Because oh boy was that all he could focus on now.

Her and Jack fucking Abbot standing chest to chest and clearly having an animated discussion.

Maybe kinda girlfriend was a bad word. What did the kids call it? A situationship?

Stupid ass term for a stupid ass relationship.

One of the pros of only knowing someone for five weeks is they probably haven't seen you at your worst. Well jealousy, as juvenile as it was, put Park in one of his worst moods. He wasn't trying to be cruel. He was just... so. fucking. angry. And standing around in a parking lot dancing around things was the last way he wanted to spend his night.

"Well?" He raised a brow, wanting to get on with his evening whether she was going to be in it or not.

"Uh no- no I, I'm gonna head home. Sorry I wanted to talk, I'm.. Sorry, just sorry." She'd stumbled over her words in a way that was so unlike her he could feel concern welling up inside him to battle the anger. 

When she turned away he almost swore he saw tears in her eyes and that one peek turned his whole mood on it's head.

He was still angry. But worried, and scared, and so so fucking confused.

You told Brendon to calm it down. You told him you didn't want to be labeled as more of a kiss ass then already came with having a parent working in the hospital.

Leave it to a man not to listen.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at there Ms. Underwood." Play dumb, at most she has suspicions.

"Just that there's been some talk. Dr. Park is especially nice to you is he not?" 

Fuck her and that stupid look. Like she knew what was going on when she had no idea.

"Dr. Park has expressed his interest in me staying in orthopedics yes. Every department head has."

Nothing like playing chess with your career in a darkening hallway at 8 at night.

"Yes but he's actually nice to you. You're probably the first medical student that hasn't put a complaint in about him."

"I can put one in if you'd like- he is an arrogant prick." 

You can love a man and still admit his character flaws.

"No no that's fine. Just trying to make sure you didn't take after your father too much." She tutted, leaving you to blanch at her blatant accusation.

"Excuse me?!"

"I'm just saying. Dr. Robby and Dr. Whitaker was enough of a headache. Thankfully he's a resident- one who isn't planning on staying in this hospital long term. You on the other hand...." She trailed off and you narrowed your eyes at her.

"If you're going to threaten me Gloria, just say it out loud." Your tone was steel, your fists clenched against the desire to lash out.

"Prodigy or not- at the end of the day you're still just a med student. One who should take more care with how she achieves her career." With that thinly veiled accusation she was off. 

You stood steaming for a moment, trying to collect your wits before you did anything rash when your phone buzzed.

On your way yet baby doll?

The emotions were still raw and you knew you wouldn't be of any use to Brendon tonight. Not as company or a lay.

Just gonna head straight home tonight, see you in the morning.

The typing bubbles showed up and disappeared a few times before a simple thumbs up came through. Lovely.

Did they have a talk about keeping it under wraps? Yes.

Was Brendon absolutely fucking terrible at it? Absolutely.

In his defense, he'd already made it clear to everyone that she was his favorite. It would've been more weird if he stopped showing her preferential treatment. 

It didn't stop her from hissing at him at least once a day to cool it.

So he got more creative with his love. Venmoing her money for her morning coffee instead of buying it and bringing it in himself. Bringing her snacks and lunches in a brown paper bag that was in no way distinguishable in the fridge.

And yet...

"Dr. Park, a word?" Her voice normally felt like a balm over his anger, but the last couple of days since she didn't come over she was slipping through his fingers like sand.

"Yeah, in here." He opened the door to his office, letting her step in before him.

She didn't pull away when he grabbed her hand, that had to mean something. Right?

"What's going on with you baby doc?" He pulled her closer, moving a hand to cradle her face. "You haven't been over in a few days, it feels like you're pulling away from me and I don't know what I did."

"You didn't do anything Bren." She hummed softly, putting her hand over his. 

"Then what is it? Did someone say something- I can fix it, just tell me what to fix." He hated the begging tone to his voice, but ever since he'd given into his feelings it was like all the bravado faded when she was concerned.

"No I just- I'm a medical student, your a department head. We need to be more careful at work." 

"You'll be a resident in a month."

"For now at least. Please just, treat me like everyone else." He wanted to push it. Get her to admit who said something, who was making her scared at work. But he was learning very fast that he couldn't say no to those big doe eyes.

"I will... treat you like it's the first week again. Best I can do." Her smile made it worth the restraint it was going to take to tamper his emotions down now that he'd finally let them out.

"And maybe no more kissing in your office?" She added, almost teasingly. There she was, that was his firecracker.

"You're going to make me go a whole 12 hours without feeling you?" He pouted and she laughed.

"Yes. I don't think the kiss swollen lips are helping keep anything under wraps."

"Fine, but you have to start coming over after shifts again." He slid his hands down to her waist, twirling her a bit.

"Deal. I'll see you tonight." She rose up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek before slipping out of the office.

He was still intent on figuring out what was bothering her. It just might have to wait till they were off shift.

He sat down to work on some paperwork before their next surgery, hoping he'd get his head screwed on just right enough to focus on work. He'd figure out what was bugging her at home.

You felt like your mind was tearing in two. You tried to let on like nothing got to you, but Gloria? She'd needled her way into being a constant paranoid voice in your head.

You already had the reputation of being a nepo baby. You weren't honestly sure how many of the offers for residency came from your skills and how many came from people wanting to steal Robby's prodigal daughter away from emergency medicine.

That train of thought just led to worse ones. Brendon had been saying since your first week that he was going to get you to change your mind and pick ortho.

At the end of the day, was that all this was?

Did he see your attraction and decide to use it to his advantage?

The Brendon you knew would never but... how many different people in the hospital had tried to warn you what type of guy he was? Maybe you were the one who'd read him wrong.

That made a lot more sense then someone like him falling into a whirlwind romance with you.

By the end of the week you weren't sure what you believed anymore.

The logical part of your brain told you to talk to him, ask him what was truly going on here.

But would he really tell you the truth while you were still his student? Best to wait. It's not like you were leaving town in four weeks, just switching to a different department.

He didn't get a chance to wear her down. Whatever it was was obviously bothering her more than he'd originally feared. 

They'd had a routine down.

Meet back at his place after shift, heat up one of his prepared meals, have a small dinner and talk about the brief parts of their days when they had been separated, roll around in the sheets until they were both satisfied and then cuddle for just as long. She'd be there for hours- once she told him it was actually easier to stay until it was late enough Robby was asleep rather than explain why she was getting home hours after her shift.

But now? Hell Brendon felt like a used whore.

She came over, let him talk for a little and then she was on him. The worst part? She's roll out of bed and get dressed within 15 minutes of him finishing. He never thought he'd be one to want the aftercare, let alone crave it- but he was starting to feel more raw by the day. 

He thought about bringing it up to her but when would he? They never got a moment alone at work. Was he supposed to grunt it out in between thrusts?

Hey by the way I know this has only been a couple weeks but I feel like a teenage girl the way I'm dying for just a little bit of attention from you when my clothes are still on.

That'd go great.

And maybe it was partially his fault, he'd waited too long and their conversation had gone stale. He didn't know how to bring it back up and he could feel his subconscious trying to jam his heart back into a little box. 

Today hadn't helped. They were both off tomorrow and he'd been planning on asking her to come over for a little. Watch a movie, just spend some quality time together for once. But then he heard Garcia asking if she was joining their little group for drinks tonight. And yeah, she'd glanced over at him before answering. But she still said yes.

Yes she was allowed to have friends, but he was allowed to be jealous of them when she spent more time with them then him.

P: Text me to let me know you got home safe. Please.

She'd responded with a thumbs up, and it was bordering on 2 am when he finally got a text.

BD: Do you still want me to choose ortho for residency?

P: Yes.

He should've known staying on this floor longer than necessary was a mistake. In his defense, since when does Robby actually start communication?

"Not entirely Robinavitch, did you need something?" He turned on the slightly shorter man, a tight smile in place. 

"I wanted to talk to you for a moment." Robby put a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards an empty patient room. "Since I finally caught you away from her- the fuck do you think you're doing with my daughter?"

"Excuse you?" Park's eyebrows shot up at the sudden sharpness to the other doctors attitude.

"She comes home at 3 am after abandoning all of her friends to 'make sure you're okay', reeking of alcohol, what am I supposed to think?!"

"That she's a good fucking person that's what." Park stepped closer, jabbing Robby in the chest with a finger. What the hell did he think he was accusing Park of? "For your information, she didn't even drink that night. She sat with me and helped me- not that any of you here seem to think I'm even capable of emotions."

Robby scoffed, backing away from Park to run his hands up through his hair before pointing at Park accusingly.

"Oh yeah? So I don't catch you staring at her when she's too preoccupied to notice?"

Fuck.

"That's none of your business."

So what if he found himself following her with his gaze during surgeries. And diagnosis's. And follow-ups. And just... walking down the hallway. So what if he found her captivating, she was capable. And smart.

And hot.

"She's my kid, I think that is my business."

"She's also a full grown adult- so any decisions she might make are hers to make." 

Not that he thought she's pick him. In any decision. He'd be happy if she just chose to stay with him in orthopedics. Just to be near her would be enough.

"Dr. Park-" 

It was at that moment that his pager went off- thankfully saving him from the growing urge to punch Robby. Unfortunately he was also a little shit, and couldn't resist at least a verbal jab.

"Gotta go help baby doc fix some broken bones, she's got some real skill for orthopedics. Might have to steal her for me. I mean, my department that is." He grinned wider at the bright shade of red Robby's face turned, ducking out of the room with a wink.

"This conversation isn't over Dr. Park!"

"Let's go get a drink."

Your head shot up when Park's voice cut across the previously empty hallway.

"What?"

Obviously you heard him wrong.

"I said let's go get a drink." He shrugged like it wasn't the most random thing you'd heard all week.

"Why?"

"Because." He sighed stepping closer to you and lowering his voice, even though you didn't see anybody remotely near the two of you. "Obviously I did something stupid or wrong last time we got a drink, and I don't want to spend the next five weeks with you walking on egg shells around me."

"I'm not-" He cut your weak attempt to leave the conversation with a hand on your arm.

"You are. And if you're not going to tell me what I did, that's fine, but at least let me show you I'm not always an idiot. We're both off tomorrow so you can actually drink with me this time."

You sighed, not having a truly valid argument other than just saying 'I don't want to', which wouldn't even be true. In fact, you'd spent the last few days trying to think of ways to broach the subject with him. Maybe tipsy you would have better luck than sober you had.

"Alright fine. But I'm picking the place this time." You huffed, hoisting your bag further up on your shoulders. "Also I'm stopping home to change."

"I can come with."

Maybe it was the five 12s in a row. But your brain white screened.

"Uh- no offense Park but I don't need supervision to change?" 

"N-not, no I just meant. I can drive you to the bar. That way we both don't have to leave our cars somewhere?" He sputtered and turned a shade of red you hadn't seen on him before. It was weirdly cute, and made you wonder if it was just embarrassment or something else. 

"Oh duh. Just do me a favor? Wait outside. Robby's still pissy about me checking on you last week and I really don't want to deal with him throwing a tantrum." You rolled your eyes as you spoke, still in that weird tense period after the argument with your dad last week.

"Pissy's one word for it." He mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah no problem."

He followed her down to the parking lot and then across town, debating on letting his car idle outside her house before remembering how long his mom and sister always took to get ready and sliding his key out of the ignition. He'd closed his eyes and honestly weighed the pros and cons of getting a small power nap in when the passenger door ripped open.

"Did I scare ya?" She hummed, and he shuffled in his seat awkwardly to try and hide the small jump.

"Just didn't expect you out so quickly." He shrugged, starting the car back up and trying not to stare at her.

She didn't have a top like the last few times he'd seen her in casual clothes, but somehow this was just as revealing. A higher necked top, but perfectly sleeveless leaving a new span of skin exposed for his eyes. And shorts. Actual jean shorts which left so..... so much leg on display.

You cannot adjust yourself in front of her. You are her boss. Just don't look.

His inner monologue was not helping matters.

"It's not like I was getting ready for a date or anything." She laughed, throwing her now loose hair over her shoulder. "I hate going out in my scrubs is all. Feel like I'll spread hospital germs."

Hearing her laugh had him realizing why he did something stupid last time. He still didn't remember what he did, but he was thinking about doing a lot of things right now that would be stupid.

"Where're we going baby doc?" He grumbled, turning towards the road as he pulled out of the neighborhood, intent on keeping his wits about him this time.

Don't do anything dumb this time Brendon.

Or at least remember them if you do.

The bar she directed him to was not something he'd of ever chosen for himself. In fact, he wasn't even sure it was a real establishment.

"You're fucking with me right?" He asked as they walked down an alley to what looked like a kitchen back door.

"Just trust me Brendon. Live a little." She rolled her eyes, pushing the door open. Thankfully stepping up into the building hid the way he almost tripped over his feet hearing his first name from her lips.

Unsurprisingly she was correct, and the inside was worth the sketchy entrance. It looked like someone had refurbished an old restaurant into some sort of half haunted, speakeasy almost vibes? Honestly he wasn't exactly sure what the theme was, just that there definitely was one.

"This is... interesting." He hummed as they saddled up to the bar and ordered their drinks.

"It's unique. I like it." She shrugged.

"Are the drinks uniquely priced?" He teased, feeling incredibly proud when she let out another laugh.

She was different outside of work. More relaxed. Free.

It wasn't helping his crush in the slightest.

"They are, but I think you're buying since coming out was your suggestion." She smirked at him and once again he started wondering if this has been a good idea.

He might just end up doing something more stupid this time.

"On one condition. You tell me what I forgot last time." Her smile dropped so fast it gave him whiplash.

"Um..."

"It can just be little things. Like... I'm guessing I told you to call me Brendon at some point?" 

"You did." Her smile came back, albeit softer and more vulnerable.

"And you talked a lot. I know that much. Tell me everything again so I can remember it this time. Please." His grip around the glass tightened, hoping he hadn't ruined the mood before they'd even finished their first drinks.

"Okay." She took another deep sip of her drink, turning towards him. "For starters.... I don't drink coffee."

You told him everything. Again. Your hobbies, your favorite food, even bits about your mom. Except this time you didn't feel like background noise, he was absorbing everything. In fact, he was listening so intently, you were sure he'd be taking notes if he had a pen and the attention was just as intoxicating as the drinks. Hours later and you were finally running out of things to talk about.

"You didn't tell me much about you last time." You prodded.

"There's not much about me." His guys got a little glassy look and you wondered if you'd ruined it again. "But you know what I am wondering?"

"Hmm?"

"You still haven't told me what I did that had you acting so weird this week."

"I wasn't-"

"You were. You practically avoided me at the beginning of the week." You shifted in your seat, the alcohol having your tongue loose enough the words almost slipped free.

I kissed you idiot.

"I can't avoid you, you're my boss."

"Only for another month."

"Five weeks."

"Moot point. Can you just tell me so I can fix it?"

"You can't!" Your voice shot up a little louder than acceptable and you shrunk a bit from the eyes that came your way. "You can't fix it because you didn't do anything."

"Bullshit- so you've just been pulling away for no reason? You're too smart for that baby do-"

"I kissed you!" You whisper shouted, dropping your head into your hands to avoid the look on his face. "You were drunk, and I kissed you and I'm so, so sorry. I wanted to help you and instead I was selfish and made a move."

The silence between the two of you was so loud it drowned out the rest of the noise in the bar.

"Doll I am so fucking sorry..."

"It's not your fault..." You tried to cut him off, not wanting to hear his 'gentle' letting you down.

".... so fucking sorry that I don't remember our first kiss."

"What?" You lifted your head a bit, peaking out between your fingers at him. He didn't look angry, or disgusted, he looked.... distraught.

But obviously you heard him wrong- because there's no way in hell THE Brendon Park was being emotional. About you.

"I'm sorry I don't remember it because I've been waiting three weeks for an opportunity and I was too drunk when it actually happened."

"No. No, you're talking like you actually like me or something. That's crazy talk. You're drunk again." You shook your head, pushing away from the bar a bit. You weren't sure where you were going, just that you needed away.

"Stop." He grabbed your arm, keeping you from bolting. "It's not crazy, and I'm not drunk. Maybe buzzed. But that doesn't change what I'm saying. I like you sweetheart. I care about you. Probably more than I should. More than I thought I could. You're wicked smart, more competent than half of colleagues, you have a killer sense of humor, you don't take shit from anyone- myself included- and yet you're still one of the kindest souls I've had the pleasure of knowing."

You gaped like a fish. You knew you should say something, anything, but you were struggling to process the words he'd just given you. The silence stretched longer than you realized when he spoke again."

"If I'm in too deep, if it's just physical for you, that's fine. I'll take what I can get. Any time spent in your presence gives my life just a little bit more light." He let go of you and started to pull away, this time leaving you to be the one to reach out and grab him.

"No! No it's not just physical. I... You have some, redeeming, qualities. Ugh- why do you turn into a philosopher when you're tipsy and I forget what words mean." You threw your hands up in frustration.

"It's okay doll. I think I get it." He gave you a smile so much softer than anything you'd seen on him at work. In fact, you were pretty sure his resting bitch face at work was carved out of stone it was so immovable. "So- my place or yours?"

"Neither." The thought of waking up tomorrow morning in his bed, and him having no memory of any of this left you with a nausea that had nothing to do with the alcohol. "Let's put a pin in this. Until we're sober?"

His smile morphed into something more understanding as he nodded in acquiescence. "Call it a night then?" 

He paid both your tabs, despite your insistence that you were joking about him buying the drinks, stepping out into the cold night air to wait for your respective ubers. You barely resisted the urge to kiss him goodbye when yours finally came, settling for a squeeze of his hand. A promise, if he'd remember it this time.

Come outside when you wake up. Please.

He stared at the text he'd sent an hour ago, still marked delivered, and glanced up at the house once more. It wasn't surprising she was still asleep with how late they'd been out the night before, but he was barely containing himself with the need to do something about last night.

The girl he liked, liked him back. He felt like he was in high school again saying it like that, but how else would he phrase it? This ethereal goddess he found himself working with somehow found his repressed ass attractive? That was somehow worse.

It was approaching the two hour mark when he saw the door crack open. He was out of his car and up the stairs before he was even 100% sure it was her. 

"What are you doing??" She hissed, obviously a little angry but he couldn't focus on anything past the little sleep set she had on and her messy bedhead.

"Hi." He grinned and she sighed exasperatedly.

"Hi Brendon. How long have you been out here?"

"Since 7."

"7!? What if someone saw you??" Her eyes went wide like it wasn't obvious he would've been here. It made sense to him. In fact, it was the only thing that made sense to him.

"Then they saw me? You told me we could talk about this when we were sober. I'm sober." 

"I-" She laughed, stepping closer and placing her hands on his chest. He hoped she couldn't feel his heart jackhammering beneath his shirt. "You're adorable."

"I'm not adorable." He grumbled, frowning as he backed her into the door, forcing her to tilt her head to look at him.

"Adorable. Capital A." Her smile was soft, and teasing, and he wanted to kiss it off her face.

For the first time since those thoughts started invading his brain, he could.

His hands came up to cradle her face, lifting her into him as he pressed his lips against hers. Her lips were like silk and he could smell... her. The faint smell of jasmine that seemed to have permanently sealed itself to her skin from whatever body wash or lotion she used. He couldn't decide if he wanted to treat her like the gentle thing she was, or break her. But then her hands came up around his neck, tangling in his hair and tugging him impossibly closer as a low groan slipped from her lips and his decision was made for him.

"Let me in. Please baby." He broke apart from her with a growl and a hungry look in his eyes. She nodded, chest rising like she'd just ran a marathon, not made out with her boss, and opened the door behind her, dragging him in with her.

NOTES:

This is Dr. Park- are you dead or dying somewhere? Lateness is not your m.o.

It took less than a minute for a response to come through.

I thought I was off today? I can come in if you need me to.

Just give me like twenty to shower and get over there.

Oh shit. He was stupid apparently, checking his phone and realizing what day of the week it was.

No it's fine. I apologize, I forgot it was Wednesday. Enjoy your day off.

Thank you sir, don't miss me too much. 🫡

He rolled his eyes as he shoved his phone in his pocket, without a response. He would absolutely not miss her, he just didn't like routines changing.

Obviously.

"Park was in a mood all day." Dennis rolled his eyes, having apparently decided once everyone was three drinks in that it was a good opportunity to tease you about your slight crush.

Just slight.

"Well yeah, he lost a patient- that tends to ruin anybody's day." Yolanda shrugged, taking a sip of her drink and pulling Trinity a little closer to her side.

"No but he was in a mood before that, I think it's cause his favorite student wasn't there." Normally you'd kick Dennis under the table to get him to shut up, especially with Robby right there, but your mind was still stuck on what Yolanda had said.

"He lost someone?" You turned on her with a frown. In the week and a half you'd been shadowing so far he hadn't even come close to losing someone and you knew his record was a smidge above average. His ego wasn't entirely unfounded- as annoying as it was.

"Yeah- wasn't his fault. Car crash victim, lots of internal bleeding. We thought we had him stabilized before we sent him up for surgery but something must've shifted in the OR. Guy ended up bleeding out on the table." 

"Still- was he okay?" 

"It's Park- not like he has many feelings to begin with." 

"Yes he does." You barked out as a well of anger began to build. "He's human, that would bother anybody. And nobody thought to check on him?"

"Even if we wanted to- he doesn't exactly open up to anyone." 

"Except you." Trinity chimed in from where she was half asleep on Yolanda's shoulder, gesturing slightly to you. "Shame you weren't there today- you're so worried, and you're probably the only person that could get him to open up enough to talk it out anyways."

There was dead silence around the table for a moment before you shoved away with a muttered excuse about needing some air. You were out there just long enough for the brisk night air to make the ends of your fingers start tingling when you heard the bar door swing open and a warm body join you leaning against the brick wall.

"That was interesting." Robby's work tone cut through the air as you lit a cigarette.

"Don't psycho analyze me Robby." You rolled your eyes, letting a puff of smoke fall from your lips.

"I wish you hadn't picked up that habit from Dana." He shook his head, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Plus you know you can call me dad when we're not at work."

"It never slips out easy." You shrugged, keeping your gaze firmly on the ground in front of you. "Are we talking about my bad habits or what happened in the bar?"

"Didn't realize you and Park were that close." 

Another shrug, paying him only half attention. You weren't necessarily close, but when you spend twelve hours a day with someone, most days a week, some wires are bound to get crossed. Feelings bound to develop.

"I just worry about you-"

"Don't." Your head snapped up as quick as your words when the lecturing started.

"All I'm saying is Park isn't-"

"You weren't there for most of my life, you don't get to decide things like this. Even if there was something to decide."

"That's a low blow." His words were whispered, but carried across the silence of the night by the gravity. "You know that wasn't my choice."

Same argument- different form.

You knew, you really did. Your mom was the one who never reached out, never told Robby about you, until she was dying and she didn't have a choice. And by then you were basically an adult. Robby made an effort, but there's only so much parental bond that can form in a few years.

"I know. But that doesn't change the fact that this is my life." 

"Park is a good surgeon. But I'm not sure if he's a good person." Robby reached a hand out to grab your shoulder, giving you a slight shake in an attempt to get some sense into you.

"I didn't say I was going to marry him. Or even date him. I just.... he's not as bad as everyone thinks. Or as even as bad as he seems at first." Robby's head shake told you everything you needed to know about his disagreement.

"Go home. Get some sleep." He turned back to the bar. "We'll be home in a few hours- you know how Trinity gets once karaoke starts."

You were moving before the door shut. In your car, out onto the main street, and then left towards the hospital. You didn't know where Park lived to check on him there. And while yes you could very easily just text him- you had his number now- something told you he'd be ruminating somewhere. Stewing in whatever emotions he was currently dealing with.

Regardless of what your friends thought, nobody needed to deal with that alone.

Not even Park.

He leaned his head back against the wall behind his desk, trying to contain his emotions long enough to finish charting and be released. Not that anything was really keeping him there aside from his own need to finish what he started.

"Dr.Park?" Her voice cut through the stifling silence of after hours. Apart from the occasional emergency surgery- this floor was practically dead after 8pm. Even he wasn't normally here this late unless....

"I heard you lost a patient." The door was pushed slightly open as she stepped into his office. Quietly, carefully. As if she had any experience with him when he was like this.

"I did." His words echoed through the office, somehow feeling ten miles across instead of ten feet. "Multiple spinal fractures from a car crash. Found some internal debris, then we couldn't get the bleeding under control."

"That sounds rough." She stepped a bit closer, and he lowered his head to meet her gaze. "According to Garcia that was hours ago though."

Garcia? Why were her and Garcia talking? He let his eyes drop down to her attire to find another low cut top like the one he hadn't been able to get off his mind last week.

"Out with your friends?" He raised an eyebrow, his exhausted mind finally catching up to the fact that she'd been off work today. Why was she...

"I was." 

"Why are you here then?"

"Because you are." She spoke with the clear simplicity she always did. Not opinion, not feeling, not lies..... just a statement of a fact. He was here, so she was. As if it was that simple. As if it could ever be that simple.

"That doesn't make sense."

"I was driving home from the bar and saw your car in the lot, figured I'd make sure you were okay." She sighed, like it should have been obvious. Should it have been??

"You can't see my car from the street." He pointed out.

"Holy shit- can't you just accept some help?" She huffed, crossing her arms. "I couldn't stop worrying about you after Garcia told us about the surgery, so I took a quick detour to make sure you weren't still here beating yourself up. Why're you arguing with me about it?"

"Because I don't get the why." He insisted, standing up and rounding the desk so they were closer.

"Because nobody worries about you. Not even you. And somebody should."

"What? You." He scoffed to cover the fluttering in his chest.

"Yes. So- what do you normally do after a day like this?"

"Drink." 

"Alright, let's go." She handed him his coat and held the door open. As if she expected him to just listen.

They were out in the parking lot on their way to their vehicles when it clicked in his head that she said she'd been out with friends.

"Did you drive here buzzed?" He barked out with a growing anger. He wasn't even sure if he was allowing her to care about him yet- let alone care enough to put herself in danger.

"What? Oh cause I was out- no, I have work tomorrow so I just drank mocktails. It was more a chance to catch up with everyone when our schedules did a rare alignment."

"Oh. Okay."

"Why- were you worried about me?" She asked teasingly and he almost tripped over a totally not made up crack in the asphalt.

"No! Just, drunk driving isn't safe. Any level of drunk. Can't let my future ortho resident get hurt in such a dumb way." He redirected, stopping when he realized they were at their cars.

"I'm not changing my mind about emergency medicine."

"I'll change it."

"Sure Park- get in your car, I'll follow." She gestured towards his SUV before sliding into the seat of the car next to his.

They hadn't talked about where they were going. What she was doing- what they were doing. But when he pulled out of the parking lot her headlights were right on his tail- all the way through the city and into his driveway.

"Uhh, this is a weird looking bar." You hummed as you got out of the car, staring up at the brownstone in front of you. You didn't think he meant drinking at home.

"Bar's a couple streets over, just easier to park at home and walk over so I don't have to leave my car anywhere." He gestured up the road to where you could see the lights of the city.

"Ah." You grabbed a heavier jacket from your backseat, double locking your car before joining him on the sidewalk and falling in step. It was about a ten minute walk to a small bar that was uncannily empty, even for a weekday. Park settled on a stool at the end of the bar furthest from the door and you hopped up on the one next to him. Neither of you spoke as you waited for the bartender to make his way over, an older man who looked like he'd been around as long as the bar itself. Two drinks and another fifteen minutes of awkward silence before you cracked. "So.... come here often?"

The snort that slipped out over the edge of his glass was an undignified sound you'd never heard from him.

You wanted to hear it again.

"Really?" He grinned slightly lopsided as he arched an eyebrow in humor at you.

"The silence was getting to me." You chuckled and shrugged. "Seriously though- do you want to talk about it or are we just gonna drink and forget?"

"Forgetting is the point of the drink." He hummed, tipping his empty glass at you seconds before switching it with the bartender for a new one.

"Okay then on a different note, I didn't expect you to drink vodka crans." 

"Excuse you- this is a Cape Codder, and you'll show her her due respect." He looked at you with such a serious look that for a second you weren't sure he was teasing you. 

"Hey no judgement here- I just expected you to be more of an Old Fashioned/Whiskey Sour type of guy." You shrugged, smiling warmly. This Park was nice. Outside of work, where the ego was left behind, you were left with what seemed like a simple, honest man.

It wasn't doing anything to help your little crush.

"I drink a lot of those too. This was just one of the first drinks I used to get way back in college. It makes me think of home which is always nice on days like today." His smile turned a bit sour, and it left you with an overwhelming urge to fix it.

"Y'know, you're kinda nice outside of work Park."

"Brendon."

"Hmm?"

"You can call me Brendon. Outside of work, feels weird to get called by my last name when I'm sitting in my favorite bar with a pretty girl." 

Your face turned bright red, and you weren't sure if it was from him telling you to call you by his first name or him calling you pretty.

"So you think I'm pretty?" You hummed, taking a sip of your drink to hide the tremor in your voice.

"Shut up. Curse Joe for having such a heavy pour." He glared down at the almost empty glass in front of him. "You are. Pretty- that is."

"Oh, um. Thanks. Same goes for you."

"I'm pretty?" He looked at you quizzically and you bust out laughing, reaching a hand out and steadying yourself on his shoulder.

"No, no. That you don't... you don't have to call be by my last name. Or baby doc when we're out of the hospital. My name will do just fine."

"That makes more sense." He chuckled, motioning for another drink. "I like calling you baby doc though."

"Suit yourself Brendon." You grinned, your hand falling off his shoulder but the proximity between the two of you staying. You stayed there for a few hours, laughing- talking- learning. You learned more about Park in one night then you had the last week and a half. It was only when your phone buzzed for the fourth time that you deigned to check it- seeing a few texts and then a missed call from Robby. 

"Boyfriend missing ya?" Park chimed in, a little quieter than he had been.

"Boyfriend? Nah nobody wants to deal with this." You waved him off with an eyeroll. "Just my dad. I'm gonna step out and call him back real quick. Don't leave me here."

You stepped out a side door, leaning against the cold brick wall of an alley for a second time that night- having the exact same argument with Robby. By the time it was over, you knew you probably needed to get back in the bar to check on Park, but the annoyance from the conversation had you craving another cigarette.  Park came out when you were about a third of the way through it.

"Thought you ran out on me." He hummed, walking down towards you.

"Nah- needed some stress relief after the argument with Robby."

"Argument?" He questioned, but you shook your head, not wanting to get into it again. "You know those things will kill you."

"Ugh, not you too." You pushed off the bricks, turning towards him and getting ready to fight off a lecture when Park tripped. Whether due to the uneven ground or the amount of drinks he'd pounded back, one minute he was walking and the next minute he was falling towards you. You didn't so much as catch him as he caught himself with you, one of his hands slamming into the wall above you and the other wrapping around your waist to keep you from slamming against the bricks. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, albeit didn't make a move to pull away even though he was so close you could feel his breath on the side of your face. "Still meant it, those things will kill ya."

"The number one precursor to death is life. We all go one way or the other." You shrugged as best you could in his hold. "Living kills."

"How do you always do that?" He groaned, head falling into the junction of your shoulder and neck as it arm tightened around your waist. "Everything you say is like pure fucking poetry."

"Bren..." Your voice was barely a whisper, the situation having spiraled so far in such a short time and leaving you grossly out of your depth.

"Stop.... please."

"You talk like you like me a little." You half-teased, trying to lighten the mood some.

"I would consume you whole if it wouldn't mean depriving the world of the brightest star she's ever known." He pulled back just enough to look in your eyes, moving the hand from the wall to cup your face.

"And you called me a poet..." You whispered before closing the remaining distance, crashing your lips into his. His grip instinctively tightened even more as he pulled you closer, closer than you thought possible, lips moving in time with yours. Every move either of you made was countered by the other, a beautiful dance of intertwined souls- leaving you both gasping for air when you were finally forced to break apart, pulling away just enough to breath, lips still grazing each others on every exhale. It was the smell of alcohol on his that made you come to your senses.

He was drunk. As in- multiple drinks with hard liquor every hour, make sure he falls asleep on his side so he doesn't choke on his own vomit drunk. Your heart fell a little at the realization that he would never be doing this sober.

"I think it's time we get you home Park." You hummed as you extricated yourself from his grasp.

"Good idea, come home with me baby doll." You almost tripped over your feet.

"Yeah, baby doc." Surely you heard him wrong. You could see him shaking his head behind you, but thankfully walking in a straight line took to much focus for him to respond to you. The walk back took twice as long as the walk there had been, and it was nearing 2am by the time you got him onto the couch at his house. He was snoring by the time you found a bucket to set next to him, leaving a bottle of water and some aspirin you'd found sitting on the coffee table. Your brain kept repeating the same thought over and over as you drove home and collapsed into bed.

What in the actual fuck are we supposed to do now?

The headache Brendon Park woke up with was nothing short of killer, and between that and trying to remember the night before, he was lucky he made it to work on time. He remembered baby doc coming into the hospital and shaking him out of a spiral. Agreeing to go for drinks with him and then... it all started to get fuzzy. He had to imagine she was in just as rough shape as he was, and stopped to grab two black coffees on his way in.

We'll need them if we're gonna be of any use on-call for emergency today.

But what he found on the ortho floor was the same upbeat student he worked with every day, if her eyes seemed a little stormier than normal.

"Thought you might need this." He slid one cup over to her. Maybe she was just better at hiding it?

"Um, thanks but I don't really drink coffee." Her face scrunched up like he should have known that, but he didn't recall her ever telling him something as mundane as that.

"Still- they're great for hangovers." He frowned.

"I... I was just drinking pop last night. Don't you remember?"

"Oh- to be honest everything is a little blurry." He shuffled on his feet, so caught up in the embarrassment of being seen in a less than competent state by someone he was supposed to be mentoring that he missed the way her face fell. "More for me than, I'll probably need them to keep up with the emergency department today."

"Oh we're not on call today." He paused with his hand halfway down his face to peer through his fingers at her as she spoke. "I got Garcia to take that, we're just doing some routine joint replacements. I told her I wanted more practice."

He frowned even deeper. She had those surgeries perfected already. And she loved being on call with emergency.

But he would just have to supervise those, which would be so much easier until he started feeling a bit more like his normal self.

For the second time in the past 24 hours he found himself wondering why she cared.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.

"Daddy!"

The shrill of childish excitement lights up the surgery department in an instant, eyes and ears cutting through the sterile floor towards the sound, eager for a reaction from someone, anyone.

It's even more satisfying when Brendon Park, the Shark of orthopedics, stops mid sentence, turning swiftly to the sound, his blank expression curling into a gentle smile as he bends down to pick up the three year old in his gigantic arms.

"What're you doing here, guppy?" he teases. Brendon Park jokes, and glances get thrown between residents, interns and nurses alike.

Ah gossip, the great equalizer.

"Wanted to see you."

The little girl manhandles him, pulling and squeezing his cheeks like he's not a great white but rather a pliable flounder, reducing him to nothing more than a sucker for his kid.

"Oh yeah, where's—?"

"Jesus trouble, how do you run so fast?"

The way Brendon Park lights up for the second time practically blinds everyone. Oh this is definitely making the rumor mill rounds today. So long boring ten hour surgery to come.

"I didn't run!" the child huffs. "I ski...skiddered."

"Skipped?" Brendon looks to you for confirmation.

You roll your eyes at her antics, nodding your head towards her father, gracing him with a smile that makes everyone understand exactly why their big, mean, scary boss is acting the way he is.

The floor returns to its normal shuffle after that, one more second of inaction and the Shark would've definitely snapped.

"Hey," Brendon greets you, a little reserved, definitely surgical in nature.

"Hey Mr. Park," you beam and he instantly stills.

"How many times do I have to tell you," he starts to chide. "At least call me doctor Park."

You sigh out a laugh at that, rolling your eyes playfully as you instinctively step closer. He can smell the faint sweetness of your perfume, the spilled apple sauce on your shirt, the hint of laundry detergent on your fingers.

"I'm glad we caught you," you tell him. "We didn't know if you'd started on time today."

"Just about to go in."

You nod, clinical, like you're absorbing information and processing how you're going to get out of his hair in the next twenty seconds.

"Gotcha, well, you got what you wanted trouble," you hum, moving to grab the child in his arms.

She knows what's coming and so she throws herself onto her dad, tiny hands fisting the purple scrubs, cheek pressed tightly over his chest.

"No! I wanna stay with daddy."

Brendon opens his mouth to speak, to defuse the situation before the guilt eats him alive. But you're no sucker, unlike him.

"Really?" you frown. "You wanna stay with your daddy while he does his surgery instead of going to the park to get ice cream with me?"

In all honesty, he stopped listening to you the second the word daddy left your lips. He's certain his kid can feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast, rattling against this ribcage and threatening to burst out of his chest.

All he registers is the toddler flinging herself out of his loose embrace, almost face planting against the sterile floors and practically buzzing with excitement.

"Brendon?" you turn to him, smile turning into a frown quickly.

He springs back into reality when your hand lands over his forearm, light and grounding, like an anchor he didn't know he needed.

"Yeah, yeah," he responds, pretends, shifts out of your touch like he's already late for something that isn't even remotely time for. "I'll see you for dinner, okay guppy?"

But she doesn't care anymore.

"Okay! Bye dad."

Instead, she grabs your hand, demanding and pushy, and pulls you down the hall.

"Bye doctor Park," you tease. "See you later."

And just like that, calm and cold return to the surgery department, and Brendon Park snaps back into the sharpness that defines him.

It's late by the time he makes it home.

Too late, too tired, too...everything.

He sneaks into his own home like a teenager, light steps, a soft touch as he turns the key, even takes off his shoes by the door before he even makes it into the house.

It's not the first time either, not gonna be the last.

He shouldn't feel bad, this is what he pays you the big bucks for at the end of the day.

It's when he peeks into his daughter's room, catching the two of you snuggled together in her tiny bed, butterfly printed comforter covering her and not you, a book forgotten, Mr. Stuffles the rabbit on the floor that it hits him.

Hard.

He'd been miserable that first year after his girlfriend left him. They'd been planning a wedding, the baby being just another blessing in the string of goodness that they had been experiencing.

At least it had been to him.

It took her a year to leave, to finally crack under the pressure and run away. He didn't know how to be a dad alone, much less navigate co-parenting with the woman who had torn his heart out of his chest with her bare hands.

If it hadn't been for his mother, sisters and brothers, Brendon would not have made it through it.

But even they could only get him so far. He needed to go back to work, needed to find something to keep him going, needed...help. Professional help.

And that's when he'd found you.

Frank Langdon's occasional babysitter, full time student looking for a summer job while you got yourself situated for your master's program.

The little guppy was two at that point and Brendon simply couldn't be there for her all the time. So he poached you away from the ED doctor.

To say the dynamic had started out a little toxic would be...an understatement.

Once Brendon returned to the OR with full force, he fell hard into it, into the love and thrill and control that he could exert over his patients, his work, his process.

All the control he'd lost, the scared man that he had become—frantic and powerless—disappeared the second he got back in those scrubs.

And so did the loving and caring father that had put his kid first.

You ripped him a new one about eight days after first meeting him, a night like this, one where he came back home buzzing from a procedure well done, pupils dilated and ego through the roof.

She was young enough to not remember then, but she was definitely old enough to hold onto broken promises now, and that is what tugged at his heartstrings.

Now, tea parties and recitals were just as, if not more important than getting to do a risky procedure no one at PTMC had done before.

Of course, this time around he'd texted, let you know there had been a complication with the surgery. The shaky intern typing out the message practically stopped breathing every time Brendon asked him to erase everything and start from scratch.

They all thought it was cute how he wanted it to be perfect and gentle for his daughter, but the truth is, he needed it to be for you.

Brendon steps into the room softly, bending down to pick up the stuffy and placing it in between his kid's arms before he closes the picture book and sets it on the nightstand.

Neither of you startle at the movement, the soft glow from the salt lamp casting shadows that you knew were never meant to harm you.

It's only when Brendon places a hand over your shoulder, squeezing gently that you blink awake.

"Hi," you whisper, barely turning back to look at him.

"Hi," he smiles softly. "Are you comfy?"

You scoff out a laugh, soft enough not to wake up the kid but loud enough to make his smile grow twice the size.

"Let's get you to bed then," he places a hand under your neck then, pushing you up by supporting your back with his forearm while you tangle your hands around his other arm and pulling yourself into a sitting position.

Certain you're awake enough not to topple over, he leans over you and places a kiss to his kid's temple, watching her nose scrunch ever so slightly before settling back into comfortable sleep.

You smirk at his antics, using his body as leverage to get up to your feet, hands clumsily digging into the muscles of his back.

He groans lightly, old man that he is, and quickly retaliates, holding onto you so that you'll hoist him up with you.

"So heavy," you joke, straining to keep the two of you upright.

Brendon shrugs. "Just full of love."

"Booo," you chuckle, making your way out of her room, Brendon's hands over your shoulders to steady you. "There's leftovers in the microwave if you want them."

He hums in acknowledgment, letting you go as you make it out to the hallway.

"Eat, then shower?" he asks you.

"I'll take advantage then."

He nods. "Yours is still busted?"

"Yeah, guy said earliest he could come is next week."

"Damn plumbers."

"Indeed."

He stares at you for a long second after the conversation settles.

He's...comfortable. Too comfortable with you.

The past year has been a whirlwind. One summer quickly turning into you deferring your master's program so you could finish out the year with them. Then one semester turned into two, into you moving in, into...this.

Don't get him wrong, Brendon knows where the two of you stand. It's not necessarily healthy, but it's innocent, it's professional, it's...just a pathetic crush, nothing more. A fantasy he'll never allow himself to indulge in.

And yet, he cannot stop himself every time his eyes fall on your lips, the plumpness calling to him, beckoning him forward, demanding attention, truth.

"Goodnight then," he manages, rough and exhausted, desperate yet...not enough. Never enough.

You smile dopily at him. "Goodnight Brendon."

It's his own fault really, he should've knocked. But it's his house for fuck's sake, why should he?

So that's how he gets a complete eyeful of you taking a shower the next morning.

He got a late start which meant making breakfast, taking his guppy to school and then going to the gym, all before nine.

Unfortunately for him, earbuds in, distracted as all hell, he completely misses all the warning signs, the closed door, the steam, your clothes on the floor, the music blaring from the speaker.

He's certain he's dead and this is both heaven and hell simultaneously when he finally dares to look up and—

Jesus fucking Christ.

He should look away, he needs to look away...but he physically can't, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of skin visible through the condensation of the glass shower.

If only he would've reacted a second earlier...

You turn in slow motion, your reaction catching up late. You yelp, hands coming up to wrap around your chest, only aiding in pushing your boobs up further.

He instantly snaps into action, blush taking over every inch of his face and neck as he curses out a long string of apologies, blood pumping through his heart and his...yeah, he needs to get the fuck out of there.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," he stumbles out of the bathroom ungracefully, fast enough that he doesn't catch your own reaction, the way your chest constricts, the way your legs rub together.

Brendon manages to hurriedly hide in the kitchen, heart hammering against his ribcage, eyes wide and mind absolutely running a million miles an hour.

He needs to forget he ever saw that, needs to erase it from his brain...but his stupid erection won't let him.

The tent in his pants becomes painful the second he gives it attention, the flimsy material of his work out shorts just not helping his case at all. He needs to take care of this, needs to stop being such a weirdo before you come out.

So he rushes into your bathroom, locks the door like a sane human being does, and pulls himself out of his boxers methodically.

This isn't pleasurable, no, not at all, never. This is necessity. Emotionless, cold and surgical. He spits on his hand, wrapping it around himself without much preamble, thinking of nothing, searching for only one thing, release.

But he looks down at himself and his brain betrays him.

Imagine her on her knees.

"Fuck no."

How beautiful does she look, skin wet, hair stuck to her neck, eyes wide, mouth open?

"Shut the fuck up."

Her mouth would be so hot, come on, Brendon, give into her—

"Go away."

And yet he groans, the mere thought of you knowing what he's doing two doors away, the way you pushed up your chest, the need to paint it—paint you—white with his spend—

He's biting down on his other hand quickly after as he cums loudly, making sure to aim for the toilet while does.

You're no longer in the shower when he comes back out, your movements confined to your room. He doesn't have the courage to seek you out, so instead he just showers in silence.

The two of you don't interact at all before he's making his way into work.

You left his food prepped on the dining room table, disappearing out of the house the second you did to run some errands.

The tinge of shame and embarrassment linger deep in his bones all throughout the day, following him around like an unwanted shadow.

How would he even start to apologize? You have to talk about it, there's just no other way around it, but...how could he ever tell you it was a mistake when a part of him wanted nothing more than for it to happen again—to get a better look?

Since he made it to work late, he leaves even later. As he makes his way into his home, the same stillness from the night before greets him, only this time, it's heavy, like a breath that's been held in too long.

He goes through his routine quietly, dropping his bag by the door, checking in on his kid before walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.

But before he can make it, something catches his attention.

A breath. A gasp. A moan.

He freezes in front of your closed door, body going rigid with goosebumps, head turning almost robotically as his senses sharpen.

Your light is still on, peeking through the bottom slit of the door. Not uncommon, you like staying up to wait for him before you go to sleep.

No, what catches his attention is the distant...humming.

He steps forward, tentatively pressing his ear to the wood. It's not just a humming, it's vibrations, soft and steady.

Another shaky breath escapes you, louder than you would've liked, and you readjust the toy.

A shiver passes through Brendon as realization hits.

His cock twitches painfully against his underwear. Fuck this cannot be happening right now.

His head falls against your door, stabilizing, grounding. He can't, he will not—

Another moan from you. You're close.

Whatever resolve Brendon has snaps as he pulls himself out of his pants, hot, heavy and leaking.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispers as he takes himself into his hand. He begins to pump quickly, the pace excruciating and borderline painful, but he doesn't care, he needs to—

"Brendon," you huff, a breathy moan curling around his name. "Please I'm—Motherfucker!" you curse through gritted teeth, the vibrations stopping abruptly.

Brendon's heart does a leap in his chest.

Oh my god.

He can feel how frustrated you are, can hear how you shift uncomfortably over your sheets, can practically taste how wet you are as you toss the toy with a thump on the mattress next to you.

And Brendon doesn't think. Can't think, can't process a logical thought to save his life as he lifts his unoccupied hand and—

Knocks.

Says your name in that soft, saccharine voice of his that he uses when his child is throwing a tantrum.

Oh how he wishes he could see your face pale in horror at the knowledge of your boss being on the other side of the door.

"Are you okay?" he keeps poking.

You swallow thickly, shame mixing with terror.

"Mhmm."

"Can I come in?"

A broken sound leaves your chest, unprompted and definitely surprising you just as much as it does him.

"Um...no?"

He says your name again, stern and fatherly. He hears you moving around frantically, hiding all evidence of what you were just doing.

"Okay."

"Okay." A Cheshire smile curls at his lips, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him as he tucks himself into his pants, the outline of his still rock hard dick on full display.

It's now or never.

He opens the door. You never seem to lock it, fucking adorable.

He has to physically hold himself back from pouncing on you as his eyes land on your heated cheeks, on your slightly tussled hair, on how you're gripping your comforter to save your life.

He shoots you a calming smile, boyish and embarrassed, as he steps into your room and closes the door behind him. Locking it.

He hears you gulp loudly as you notice his final movement.

"How was your day?" you barely manage to ask, your throat hoarse, your breathing broken.

He settles down on the bed by your feet, close enough to make your heart beat out of your throat, far away enough that he won't overwhelm you entirely.

"Good, good," he sighs, one hand tentatively inching closer and closer to you. "Lot of injuries today."

"I bet."

He smirks, a huff of a laugh cutting through the tension in the room.

"Listen—" he starts, looking up at you before continuing. You choke on your own breath, body becoming a statue with shame. "I'm sorry, I should've realized you were in the shower. It was very inappropriate of me and it will not happen again."

You let out a shaky breath, settling into the false sense of security, choosing to believe that he definitely did not hear you...yeah.

Brendon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning like an idiot. God, you're just so adorable.

You nod, shifting forward, closer to him. "It's okay, I know you didn't do it on purpose. It was just...weird I guess."

You laugh, awkwardly, because what a silly predicament the two of you have found yourselves in, clearly.

Brendon doesn't follow your lead, not at all. He just keeps watching you, eyes darkening as he leans into you as well, his hand finally coming up to grab ahold of your foot over the comforter.

He squeezes enough to punctuate the moment, the tension, the heat. Your gaze snaps towards his hand, towards him, towards—

Your eyes widen without your consent as they land on his crotch, on the straining in his scrubs, on his still practically throbbing erection.

"Brendon," you exhale, confusion and desire blending together excruciatingly.

He shivers over you, his grip tightening on you.

"Don't," he warns. "Don't start something you won't finish, sweetheart."

Your gaze meets his then. He looks like a caged animal, practically vibrating as he holds himself back.

Emboldened by your lust, by the pent up frustration left coiling in your lower stomach, you get up on your knees, letting the comforter fall around your waist, the slightest sliver of skin peeking through.

"Oh I intend to finish it," you whisper.

"Unlike your vibrator?"

That breaks the spell quickly, heat rushing up to your face, neck, back instantly.

"Oh my god, Brendon!" you smack his arm, falling back down on your heels.

He smiles dopily, his hand sliding up your thigh as your brain processes all this new information. Distracted, you don't even notice when he slides beneath the fabric. It's only when the backs of his fingers graze your dripping folds that your breathing hitches.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans. "You're so wet."

You whimper at the feather light contact, hips bucking towards his touch.

"Please," you're no longer thinking, finally. "I need...make me cum, Bren."

The smirk that adorns his face then, all self-righteous and proud, only gets you wetter.

"Is this what you need, baby?" he leans in, breath hot against your ear as he presses a kiss just below it. "Needed my fingers to get yourself to cum?"

You moan, hands coming up to grab a hold of him, nails digging into the toughness of his arms.

In response, Brendon presses his thumb over your clit, slowly moving the pad in torturous circles. You pull him closer, opening your legs so that he has better access.

"Tell me what you need," he commands. "Tell daddy how to make you feel good."

Oh your head is spinning. A tear falls down your cheek, frustration rocking you out of control.

"Need your fingers," you pant.

He grins against your skin. "You already have 'em."

You whine, patience wearing thin. Who would've ever thought, his good girl, so demanding.

"In me, please," you choke, swallowing the drool that has gathered in your mouth before continuing. "Please daddy."

It breaks him, his ring and middle finger thrusting into you in one swift movement as his thumb picks up the pace.

You instantly hide your face agains the crook of his neck, your breathy moan muffled against him as he hooks his fingers into you, curling them over and over again against you until your legs are shaking beneath him.

"That's it, baby, such a good girl for me."

You shiver against him, melting against his warmth.

"Help daddy out, baby, wanna—" he groans. "Wanna cum with you."

He slows down his movements, keeping you right on the edge between putty and alert.

You nod against him, timid hands grazing down his torso towards his pants. The second your hand slides under his waistband, a hiss escapes him, causing a shiver of praise to boost your ego.

You manage to pull him out, long and thick and hot and heavy against your palm, you can't help but salivate at the sight. You let your drool drip down on him, his hips jerking as the wetness lands over his sensitive tip.

You giggle, overly amused by his reactions, emboldened by how easy it is to tame the Shark with just a simple swipe of your hand over his leaking head.

"Fucking hell, baby," he groans, picking up his own pace in retaliation.

You pull back to look at him then, gazes locking in silent competition.

He looks completely disheveled, broken and almost...reverent. Gratification blooms in your stomach, your hand pumping his length in tandem with his own fingers inside of you, the pace causing the two of you to slowly start to unravel together.

Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan as your body clenches around him, so close to the edge, so, so, so perfect—

"Daddy," you warn. "I'm gonna—"

He grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling it back up to his tip, urging you to focus your efforts there.

It takes him no time to catch up to you, his own body tensing in anticipation.

"C'mon baby," he implores. "Let go for me, cum with me."

A choked moan ripples through you as the coil snaps. Your legs quake, your vision blurs from pleasure, your hand stills over him as you feel his own release take over.

It's overwhelming to say the least, his hot moans heavy in your ear, his spend spurting onto your hand, painting his scrubs and your delicate skin, his warmth...oh my god he's so everywhere.

You can't think straight. Can't breathe right. Can't—

You groan as he removes his hand from inside of you, wetness running down your inner thighs as he does. Pleasure clouds your brain as you watch him bring his hand up to his mouth, his tongue lapping up your release, humming contently at the sweet taste.

Hunger flares in your belly as you do the same, lifting your hand up towards your mouth and sucking down on the spot covered by his cum.

You can feel the moan that ripples through him, his body tensing up with lust once more as he watches you.

"Fuck sweetheart, who would've thought..." he smirks, leaning down to smash his lips with your own, mouth desperately seeking to combine your tastes into one sloppy, searing kiss.

You oblige instantly, opening up for him to take whatever he pleases.

He pushes you down onto the mattress, his imposing body slotting itself perfectly in between your open thighs.

He's about to join you on the bed when you break the kiss.

"Outside clothes," you grumble, sleepy and spent.

It tugs at his heartstrings, his mouth curling into a loving smile as he strips down to his boxers before slipping back into bed with you, pulling your body to nestle snugly against his.

"I'm sorry, baby," he kisses your temple, watching you settle into sleep beside him, completely oblivious to how he licks and cleans your skin before finally allowing himself to succumb to the darkness.

You're woken up by laughter.

Soft and airy, like a gust of wind rustling outside your window.

Your curtains are still drawn, only slivers of light peeking through into your room, the warmth from outside starting to become overwhelming as you toss the comforter aside.

You sit up with a start, memories from the night before crashing through you like a downpour.

You almost, almost could've pretended it had all been a dream. Almost, if not for the stickiness lingering between your thighs, for the Brendon sized dip in your mattress that he left behind.

It's impossible not to feel his lingering presence in your bed, the way the sheets molded to accommodate him, the way his woodsy scent mixed with hospital antiseptic lingers on the cotton.

Fuck!

You're so close to spiraling, to having your chest cave in from the pressure of guilt, but then you hear it again.

That laugh, like a tug, a spark, a lifeline.

School, you're supposed to up to help with drop-off today.

You're quick to dress, pulling on your sleep shorts, hastily forgoing underwear because you simply aren't thinking straight.

It's late, too late to be thinking instead of moving.

You burst into the kitchen, ready to hastily put together breakfast and Brendon's lunch when—

"Noooooo!" the toddler screams at you from her high chair. "Go back!”

You frown at her, moving slowly around the kitchen island to catch her dad, sweatpants low on his hips, topless for added effect, just finishing up at the stove.

Behind him, a plate with a mountain of pancakes, and beside it, a tray, decked out with cut fruit, a cup of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, even a cup with a little flower from the backyard.

He must see the flurry of emotions taking a hold of you, so he softens instantly.

"Morning," he steps forward slightly. "We were just coming to surprise you."

Your gaze snaps up to his, searching, panicked, overwhelmed and then...grateful.

Your cheeks heat up softly, not instantly, not rushed, just comfortable, safe, loved.

"I'm sorry bug," you lean over and plant a kiss on her head, unruly curls frizzy from sleep. "But now we can have breakfast together, yeah?"

She sighs, dramatically, before she turns to you, arms high up so that you'll pick her up.

You roll your eyes, obviously doing exactly what the princess wants.

You're about to walk out into the living room when you turn back to Brendon, the expression you manage to catch across his features just barely shy of adoration.

You've done this plenty of times before but it's never felt this...domestic. And you can't help how your stomach twists, how your heart blooms—you like this.

Breakfast continues on in that same way. Stolen glances, confusing feelings and an overly energetic toddler that get maple syrup over everything, especially her hair.

One rushed bath time later, you're putting her hair up into ponytail braids, her request, when his imposing frame slides up to lean against his daughter's open door, purple scrubs hugging his body deliciously.

"Ready to go, guppy?"

The kid nods, bashful, as she takes in the little hair clips in her hair, the beads from her ponytails.

"You look beautiful, trouble," you kiss her cheek and she responds by throwing herself around you, a hug so tight it melts you right into her.

"Thank you!"

"You're so welcome."

When she finally lets you go and runs towards her dad, you catch his stare through the mirror. It's...everything. Stormy, bright, hopeful, sorrowful, angry, pleading, you can't look away.

Later, he mouths. We'll talk.

You nod, shooting him a timid smile before he's being dragged out of the house.

Your brain is fuzzy for the next half hour, your movements slow and sluggish.

You focus on tidying up around the house, going through routine out of muscle memory. Cause the truth is, your mind is far away, stuck on the night before, on his lips, his fingers, his hot breath—

Jesus fuck you have got to get it together.

The postman comes through at the perfect time, envelopes snapping you out of inaction. You sort through them absentmindedly still—energy bill, invitation to the annual hospital gala, ortho research magazine, University of Pittsburg—

Your name.

His address.

Your heart constricts, your throat tightens.

Shaky fingers tear through the sticky adhesive, almost tearing the letter within its confines.

Rabid eyes scan the corporate jargon.

Final notice. Unable to push back start date another semester. Confirm attendance or forfeit spot. And then, a deadline.

Sink or swim.

Reality pounding at the door of your carefully crafted fantasy.

It all crumbles instantly.

You've grown attached, complacent, lost yourself as you found a new place, comfortable, easy, simple. You love your life, you love how easy it is to not have to think, to just do, to soak up the joy and the tantrums and the late nights and...

Him.

He's your fucking boss for crying out loud! He can't...he doesn't...you live in his house, you eat his food, you take care of his kid.

How can you take his money and be with him romantically?

You're taking advantage of him, this is so wrong, how could you ever do that to him? To them? To yourself?

But if you leave...if you leave you lose everything you've grown attached to, everything that makes up who you are now, everything—everyone—you love.

This isn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to go. How could you have been so stupid to—

Your phone blares, a reminder alarm goes off, effectively cutting off your spiraling but only making you even more panicked.

You're late for pick up.

You don't remember much, just that you're driving a little more on edge than you usually are. The lunch traffic is easing down, luckily, but it's just a reminder that you're late.

The school calls, you tell them you're on your way.

He texts, you ignore it.

The green light turns red after you cross—

And it all goes dark.

You're so out of it that your name doesn't sound real.

There's overlapping voices, bright lights, too many hands touching your sweaty skin.

You try to push them off, try to close your eyes for them to be pulled open, try to complain but your throat is so dry nothing remotely close to words spill out.

You know where you are before the nurses have a chance to ease your discomfort.

You can't be here. Nope, not here, bad place to be cause he's here.

You try to get up the second they transfer you into a bed, even manage to sit before Langdon's hands are pulling you back down against the pillow.

"No, nope, none of that," he chides.

"Frank—" your voice sounds so broken it scares you.

"You're okay, let us take care of you," he stares deep into your eyes, his baby blues reminding you of the exact person you're desperate to avoid. "Please."

Before you can continue protesting, they drug you. Yeah, not their finest moment, not yours either. Lorazepam, just enough to calm you down, to finish their exam.

You're lucid, you think, just...softer. It's only then that your body comes back to you, the weight of your bones, the exhaustion in your muscles.

You don't complain again, only answer questions when they're asked.

You're fast tracked to CT, nothing abnormal though you definitely have a concussion. Your body is littered with little cuts and bruises from impact, apparently a motorcyclist who decided to accelerate to sixty without thinking twice. He's being treated at Westbridge so you'll know more later.

Now...now you're just a guilty, crying mess, injuries wrapped, IV almost done, waiting for an ortho consult because everyone in the ED knows you.

But he's not here yet.

It's been hours and he hasn't shown his face.

Logically, you know why.

He had to go pick her up when you didn't know. He had to call out of work because you weren't reliable, he had to—

The curtain is drawn and a child's voice says your name.

You can't help but burst into tears again, desperately trying to hide away, to brace yourself for the impact that follows her around.

But it only makes her more afraid, more distressed, and it breaks your heart.

With your eyes shut, tears streaking down your face, you don't see him, but you hear him.

Hear how he steps into the room, how he refrains from speaking your name, how he pulls the curtain closed again, how he picks up his kid and settles down on the stool beside your bed.

And then you feel tiny, cold hands press over your cheeks, gently poking at you until you break, calling out your name over and over and over until he says it.

Low and soft, pleading.

You open your eyes, a fresh waterfall dripping onto her fingers, causing her to recoil adorably.

"Yucky," she shivers, wiping your tears on her father's shirt.

That gets a laugh out of you.

"There she is," Brendon's voice is heavy, like the emotional weight has solidified into his body and is crushing over his chest.

You finally look up at him then, relinquishing your fears and staring directly into the place you know is both salvation and ruin.

"Well hello baby shark," Dana's signature snark breaks the moment. "Y'wanna come with me and let the boring grownups talk? I got apple sauce and crayons."

Wow she's so easy to lure away it's a wonder she's still in one piece. Well...who wouldn't be, with a dad like that and a nanny who would kill anyone that even thought about breathing near her with wrong intentions.

She winks at you and shoots a stern look at Brendon before leaving the two of you alone.

He doesn't even let the room settle before he's pouncing, lips on yours simply to prove to himself that you're alive, that you're breathing, that you're still here.

You can't stop crying, can't stop shaking, can't—

He shushes you gently, warm hands cupping your cheeks and wiping away the wetness as it falls.

You choke out a half-hearted laugh. "Not yucky?"

He smiles against your mouth, kissing you one last time before he pulls back to look at you.

"I was so worried," the confession is a mere whisper but it hangs thick in the room, suspended in a web of all the things you've both left unsaid. "When Dana called—" he chokes on a breath. "Fuck, sweetheart I almost—I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, I was resetting someone's fucking shoulder and..." he chuckles at the memory. "Almost made it worse."

"The great Brendon Park, almost ruined by one phone call," you try to joke, try to lighten the mood but...it's impossible. The way he stares at you, his gaze searing, his hands holding onto you as if he's afraid if he lets go you'll disappear—"Brendon."

"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, we should've—I should've—"

You shake your head as much as the concussion will allow, your hands coming up to lace with his own.

"It's my fault," you sob. "I wasn't thinking—I...I got scared."

His brow furrows but he doesn't prod, doesn't force you to speak. He just waits, patiently, like you've seen him do plenty times before with a snotty, emotionally confused toddler.

So you take a steadying breath, grab his hand tighter, and tell him everything. The letter, your panic attack, your uncertainty, your fears, your...hopefulness.

It doesn't matter that your brain doesn't feel comfortable baring your soul to him, your heart does. With each word, the clutches of doubt and panic ease off, your grip lightening until you're unashamedly fiddling with his fingers, tracing lazy patterns over his skin like he...like he belongs to you.

He sits with your confession for a while, a few seconds turning into a few minutes but he doesn't pull away, doesn't make you feel unwanted. So you don't panic either, you just trace his nails with your fingers over and over and over agains until—

He lifts your hand up to his mouth and places a soft kiss onto your knuckles.

"What do you wanna do, baby?"

Baby, like it's simple. Baby, like it's normal. Baby, like you're his.

You search his eyes for malice, for a truth that you desperately need to push on him so that you can focus on a broken heart and not the overwhelming reality of choice, of making it work.

But all you find is patience, kindness, openness.

Fucking girl dad ortho bros that are emotionally intelligent—they're the worst.

You sigh, honest and raw. "I don't know. I just don't want to lose you."

He hums in understanding, rolling closer to the bed.

"I don't want to lose you either," he states, unflinching. "We can take this however you need, you can still live with us, you can..."

He trails off as he notices the hesitancy in your eyes.

"You don't want that?"

He doesn't say it maliciously, but it still sucker punches you all the same.

"I don't know...what about trouble? She's young but she's not stupid. I don't...I don't want her to think that I'm...that I don't love her because it's not the same—"

"She's a smart kid, she'll understand," he's too quick to catch your lie. "Now if you're afraid of things changing..." he catches your guilt flash through your eyes. "Then that's okay. We can go slow. We don't have to figure it all out right now."

You nod, accepting the easy way out.

One step at a time.

You can live with that.

Recovery is...boring as all hell.

The motorcycle guy lived, your insurance companies settled out of court, nothing to worry about according to Brendon who's been fussing over you for the past five days.

He's taken a temporary leave to nurse you back to health and "take care of his girls" as he put it, settling some stupid bet that the surgery department started a few days ago.

The little bug is practically glued to you, helping out her dad in whatever way she can, which isn't much, but it's always appreciated. She's even started reading you bedtime stories, but in truth she's just making things up as she points to the pictures.

At night, when she finally knocks herself out, Brendon settles into bed next to you, those first couple of days unable to get you into bed with him but finally, after much groaning and moaning, claiming he needed the extra room from his king for his back—which is a fucking lie since he always just sleeps tangled around you—he finally comes out victorious.

It's a Saturday when it happens.

No school, no early alarms, no nothing except his steady breathing, his safe embrace keeping you flush against his front, your leg straddled over his hip so that he can pull you in closer—

It's his own damn fault honestly.

You blink awake as a hardness pressed against your front. His heat pulls you in, your sleepy brain not thinking anything other than closer, warmer...so you roll your hips and a jolt of pleasure courses through you.

You're suddenly extremely aware of everything, frustration rearing its ugly head as memories flash from that night again.

You haven't touched yourself since then. Haven't wanted or been able to. But now, this morning you're just...very aware of how much you need it.

You roll your hips again, hoping to wake him up and have him take care of you. You can feel how much he needs it too, how much his body craves yours. If you can just—

"Baby," he groans against your temple, grip on you tightening, pulling you further into him. "What're you doing?"

You huff, desperate, sliding a hand in between your bodies and accidentally on purpose raking your nails along his length.

He hisses against your skin, question answered instantly as his eyes snap open.

"Oh sweetheart," he coos, merciful it seems. "Did you wake up needy, baby? Need me to take care of you?"

You nod, pathetically honestly, but you can’t care less.

He's got you sprawled under him in the blink of an eye, his mouth connecting with yours in a searing kiss before his lips begin to trail a path downward.

You're doing much better today. The cuts have scabbed over, the bruises are starting to fade from purple to brown, movement doesn't make you dizzy, if anything, it makes you just the right amount of lightheaded.

You feel his touch everywhere. Feather light grazes over your abdomen, nails raking up towards your breasts under his obnoxiously soft cotton t-shirt.

He removes his mouth off you so he can pull the shirt off your body, the offending fabric getting tossed to the side as his mouth latches onto your nipple.

You arch into his mouth, strangled moans escaping before his hand comes up to slide his fingers inside. He presses them against your tongue and you instantly suck on them as he too continues his assault.

When he's finally satisfied, he trails lower, hot tongue licking down your stomach until he reaches your pubic bone. His hand slips out from between your lips so he can hold your legs open for him before settling his mouth over your panties, taking a deep breath in and relishing in the way your breathing hitches.

Fuck he's so beautiful like this.

"Thank you baby," he grins against you. Fuck did you say that out loud?

He doesn't let you think on it as his mouth opens up, wide and predatory, and bites down on your mound, his tongue pressing against your clothed clit, working it through the fabric.

"Bren—please, I need—" you pant, already delirious.

"What do you need baby, tell daddy what you need."

Your head spins, heat blooms everywhere.

"Your mouth," you try, hoarse and needy. "Need your mouth."

He doesn't force you to beg, it's not the time for that. Instead, he shows you mercy, pulling your underwear to the side and diving right in.

His tongue is ravenous, licking a powerful stripe from your entrance up to your clit, groaning against your folds at the gathered wetness.

"So fucking good," he mumbles into your skin before his puffy lips latch onto your clit. He sucks and licks and pulls and tugs, all the while your body thrusts into his mouth. You almost hit him before his grip on your thighs tightens and he reminds you swiftly that he's much stronger than you.

You bite down on your tongue, hard enough to feel the sting, the faintness of copper lacing your taste buds. You know you have to be quiet but fuck do you want to scream.

"Bren fuck oh my god," you whimper, your hands threading through his soft waves, the lack of gel sending another shiver down your spine. No one else gets to see him like this.

He bites down on your clit then, pulling slightly before he slides down again, his nose perfectly hitting your bundle of nerves as his tongue and mouth fuck your entrance.

He feels you cumming before you even know what's happening, the coil in your abdomen snapping without even giving you a heads up. Your hands come up to muffle your screams while your body rocks, a tidal wave crashing through you as he does his best to hold you down, to work you through it.

He's gentle, diligent, devout almost as his mouth continues to kiss and lick and suck until you twitch from overstimulation. Only then does he detach himself from you, the bottom half of his face glistening with your release.

You look at him with the most gleeful expression, so proud of yourself, of his smugness.

He settles in between your legs again, pulling them tight around his waist, just reveling in being able to hold you against his naked front.

You're so blissed out, grateful and happy, planting your lips over every inch of skin he'll let you. But you're greedy now, you need more, want more.

You press your front against the bulge in his sweats and he hisses.

"We don't have to—"

"I want to," you kiss him again, your lingering taste euphoric. "Please."

You don't need to tell him twice. He rolls over towards his bedside table instantly, pulling out a silver wrapper and discarding his pants in what feels like seconds.

You can't help but giggle, the boyish smile on his lips and the way his cheeks tinge pink quickly sending you into overdrive.

You need this man inside of you right now.

You watch in awe as he tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling on the slick condom over his impressive length.

Yeah, he's perfect, and he's yours, there's not a shred of doubt in your mind. You don't know how everything will fall into place but you don't have to, because you'll figure it out together.

He settles in between your thighs again, his chest pressing down against yours, desperate to be as close to you as possible before he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly thrusts himself inside.

You're wet enough that with the lube, he slides right in, your ass flush with his thighs in a dizzying, all consuming instant. He's perfectly snug, fitting so perfectly inside of you that neither of you can help the moan of satisfaction that spills.

It quickly turns into a fit of laughter, easy and shy, like you're both making love instead of having sex. And that just feels right.

He kisses you softly, tentatively, letting you get used to him before he begins to move. But you're impatient, your hips rolling on their own as you seek some friction.

He groans into your mouth. "Fuck baby, trying to kill me."

You smirk against his kiss, cocky for exactly three seconds before he meets your movement with a thrust of his hips. With the air getting knocked out of your lungs, he begins to move, slow and unhurried, all the way out before he thrusts right back to the hilt.

You hold onto him like your life depends on it, pressing further into his skin, his warmth, his safety. You can't get enough of him, of the excitement of tomorrow, of the need that comes from wanting nothing more than to be close to him.

"Such a good girl for me," he praises into your ear. "Letting me take care of you, only complaining a couple times."

You huff out a laugh, remembering the first time he'd helped you to the bathroom and then waited imposingly on the other side of the door until you were done. He's lucky he never tried to get in with you otherwise you would've hit him.

His thrusts pick up the pace in response.

"Let me take care of you, baby," he pleads then. "Whatever you decide, let me help you, please."

You blink back tears, nodding against his cheek, nails digging into his chiseled back.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you moan. "Please daddy—"

You don't get to finish as he groans, hoisting your bottom half off the bed as his mercifulness finally snaps.

He fucks into you like he needs to show you just how much your words affect him. The bed rattles, the mattress squeaks awkwardly but neither of you cares. You need this, need each other.

"Come on, pretty girl," he pants. "Cum with me, cum with daddy."

You're just as affected as him, your second peak slowly but surely sneaking up on you again as he sneaks a hand in between your bodies, pressing the pad of his thumb over your clit.

You clench around him and he hisses, leaning down to capture your lips with his in a searing kiss as warmth floods you both. Your moans get tangled in between hungry tongues and teeth, your bodies vibrate against each other in bursts of pleasure and care and...love.

You're unsure how long you're stuck there, in between real life and whatever the fuck you're feeling, but finally when your body pushes him out of you, he rolls over and goes into the bathroom.

You watch him through hazy eyes as he cleans himself up, his adonis like body always such a sight to gaze upon. He blushes crimson when he catches you watching him, the apex predator reduced to a blubbering mess by just one simple look.

But it's not simple, and you both know that.

Pride swells up in your chest as he runs a wet towel in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you over and over again before he finally deigns the day worthy enough to begin, or rather, three soft knocks on his bedroom door startle you back into reality.

"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?"

You roll your eyes, sharing a glance with him that warms your heart.

Yeah, you're gonna be alright.

You barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at his flippant behavior. The last few days had been a constant war in your head between swooning over the man and wanting to push him off the roof. Was he hot? Annoyingly so- especially after every other department head had been a wrinkled prune. Working under someone that didn't have a bald spot or wasn't completely grey was probably making it that much harder for your brain to ignore the attraction to Park. 

If you'd encountered him at a bar instead of work you almost certainly would've hit on him.

Unfortunately, he was not only your boss, at least for the time being- but also a total dick. He never compromised patient care or downright insulted anyone that didn't somewhat have it coming. But he obviously considered himself one of the best doctors in the building(as true as that may or may not be) and he made sure everyone knew it. He'd even taken to calling you 'baby doc' after the second time you reminded him you were closer to being a doctor than you were to your pre-med classes.

All that considered, every inappropriate thought and tension filled moment between the two of you was firmly categorized in the box in the back of your mind that was only opened alone in your bed at night.

"You with me or not?" You snapped out of your musings to find Park waiting at the door for you.

Right. The ED.

"Sorry sir, coming." You pulled off your surgery gown and followed him down the hall to the elevators. Honestly it'd be easier to ignore the attraction if you weren't so sure it went both ways. But the weight of his gaze dragging up and down you as you stood in the elevator with your back to him told you everything you needed to know.

Brendon Park was just as attracted to you as you were to him.

"What do we have?" He asked shortly as he entered one of the trauma rooms with her trailing in behind him.

"Glad you finally graced us with your presence Dr. Park- and with my favorite student I see." Robby's face turned up slightly when he saw her.

Gloria wasn't kidding- every department head around the hospital had not only recognized her whenever they'd crossed paths- but asked about how she was doing and made a handful of comments about her going back to their respective department. 

None of those had compared to the reaction Robby was currently having. He looked like if he wasn't currently covered in blood he would've hugged her. The feeling building in his chest at the thought of Robby being that close to the med student he was quickly growing attached to would have to be examined when there wasn't a patient in front of them.

"Car accident, patient brought their arms up in front of their face, portable x-ray shows both ulna broken in multiple places, left radius is fractured and right radius seems fine although patient's response to pain when awake implies some bruising." Robby rattled off the patients injuries and both attendings watched her closely as she absorbed the information. Then Park did something he never did, partially because he felt like it and partially to see the shock on the faces around him.

"Well- what's your prognosis baby doc?" He crossed his arms, keeping his face flat and watching as everyone but hers jaws dropped. She just rolled her eyes subtly and launched into a treatment plan.

His pride only grew when Robby questioned part of it and she was able to not only defend her choice but explain why it was better than his suggestion. He'd never tell Gloria she was right- but the week wasn't even over and he was already trying to figure out how to convince her to choose orthopedics for residency.

Five minutes later they were wheeling the patient into an OR for surgery.

"Scrub in." He spoke firmly, motioning her next to him at the handwash station.

"Think I might've quit if you didn't let me watch this one." She muttered. He couldn't tell if she meant for him to hear it or not, but the short huff of laughter he let out seemed to shock her.

"Not enjoying the knee replacements?" 

"They're.... fundamentally important." She hummed with a shrug.

He liked that about her. The way she could phrase anything in a way that made opinion seem like fact.

He liked a lot of things about her but that was one of them.

After all of the equipment was laid out and the OR was thoroughly prepared, Park launched into an in depth explanation of what he was doing.

"Your turn." He gestured to the arm on the patient's other side.

"What?" Her face widened in shock and he couldn't help the small uptick on the corner of his mouth at her reaction.

"The right arm has fewer breaks- two plates should do it. Go do exactly what I just did on the other side and I'll finish this arm. The less time the patient is out the better." 

"You didn't let me operate until halfway through my rotation!" A voice came through the speakers of the room- one of the first year ortho residents standing up in the galley and glaring down. 

"I like her better."

"I like her better." 

You felt like your eyes were going to bulge out of your head with how wide they were.

I like her better.

It took an immense level of compartmentalization to not analyze Park's words and focus on the break he'd tasked you with fixing. Almost two hours later they were finally wheeling the patient out to recovery.

"Good job." His voice echoed through the now almost empty OR.

"Thank you sir." He sighed, removing his gloves and surgery gown.

"I told you to stop calling me that. Dr. Park is fine. Even just Park." 

"Noted Park." You shook your head as you disposed of your own surgery attire, following him out into the hallway. "What's next?"

"Next? You go home- our shift ended an hour ago." He glanced down at his watch before making his way towards the locker room. You trailed behind because... well what else were you going to do? You also needed to change into street clothes. 

You kept your gaze firmly on the locker in front of you as you stripped down to the cami and underwear you had beneath your scrubs. Usually you were alone in the locker room- Park having sent you home the last two days after the last surgery before returning to his office to do paperwork or something. You didn't actually know, but now that the temptation to turn around and possibly get a look at him shirtless was there and you really wished he'd stuck to his previous routine.

"So... you and Robby seem close- is that why you're choosing emergency medicine?" You tugged your sweatpants up the rest of the way and turned around to face Park when he spoke. Shirtless. He was gloriously shirtless and it took you a second to process his question.

"Huh? Oh yeah we're kinda close, we live together." You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when he finally pulled a shirt over his head and prayed he didn't notice you ogling him.

"E-excuse me?" He coughed and looked at you funny. Like he thought..... OH.

"Oh! Oh no- no not like that." You shook your hands and gagged at the thought. "Oh my god no- no he's my dad."

"I didn't know Robinavitch had any kids." 

"Neither did he until like five years ago. It's a long story." You turned back to grabbing stuff out of your locker, not entirely keen on spilling your life story to someone you still barely knew.

"You don't have his last name."

"I have my mom's."

"Oh. Okay." His tone dropped, as he finally took the hint from your short answers and dropped it.

"I'll see you tomorrow Park."

"Yeah, see ya baby doc."

He wanted to bring it up again. It plagued on his mind for the rest of the week.

But contrary to popular belief, he could actually read social cues. And he was very aware that he was at most a mentor and at worst an annoying boss to her- neither of which gave him the right to ask her about her childhood.

He did make an effort to be nicer to her though. If she was Robinavitch's daughter then he was gonna have to try double as hard to steal her for ortho.

He let her do more surgeries, especially with how fast she picked things up. By the time Saturday rolled around he was pretty sure he'd run out of stuff to teach her well before the rotation ended. He was supposed to have a whole 12 weeks with her- but normally it took people more than a week to start applying the knowledge. 

A week in and he'd probably let her do the simpler surgeries by herself if he wasn't legally required to observe her.

"See you next week Dr.Park!" She poked her head in the door of his office. He was way behind on some of the more mundane paperwork he was responsible for and had shifted her over to shadow Garcia for the day. The two apparently already knew each other because apparently two of the residents in the ED also lived with Robby and his med student- one of whom was the resident Garcia was seeing. He wasn't sure about all of the details- just that it had to be a nightmare for HR. 

"You look different." He raised an eyebrow at her. She was in street clothes, but her usual sweatpants and hoodie were exchanged for a pair of jeans that were clinging to her like a second skin and a top that hung loose but was cut so low he was pretty sure if she leaned forward any more he'd be able to see straight down it.

He almost dropped a pen just to see.

"Oh yeah- Trin, Den and I are going out for drinks. They got off an hour ago so I'm meeting them there." 

"Ah."

Now what did he say? Have fun came to mind, but the thought of her out- dressed like that- free and flushed from a few drinks- had his mouth watering. And he assumed it would catch the attention of any other man there with a pulse.

So no- he didn't want her to have fun.

"See you next week then."

"...Yeah. See ya." She turned with a small frown, and he had a feeling he was supposed to say something different.

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