#er x reader

John Carter had never experienced true affection, not even as a young boy. His childhood was overseen primarily by nannies and boarding school dorm parents. His sister was uninterested in him, his brother took out his anger on him, and their family was never the same after his passing. 

The only person he really felt connected to was his Gamma, although she was still a woman of class. She’d hug him stiffly, kiss his cheek in greeting, but that was the extent. She wasn’t overly warm, or snuggly, like some grandmas were. As a kid, he’d see his friends get picked up from school, or at their baseball games with their parents cheering them on in the stands. Forehead smooches were wiped away in disgust, hugs shrugged off in embarrassment. And John couldn’t understand exactly why those sights always left him feeling just a bit hollow.

He’d never had affection, so he didn’t realize how much he missed it.

Until you.

When he met you, it was head over heels. Love at first sight. Ironic, seeing as you didn’t believe in those things, but he did. He knew they did because it had happened to him.

You were a paramedic, newly trained, and brought onto the scene as Riley’s partner when Shep moved out of the county. You knew there was history between Shep and Carol, who you became fast friends with. You didn’t prod. But Carter could feel Carol relax as you proved yourself time and time again to be the opposite of what Shep was. You were kind, steady, and always willing to help. You could take someone down if you needed to, but only then, and you were wonderful at getting through to the patients reluctant to ask for help.

And you were gorgeous. It always baffled Carter how you could look so ethereal after spending hours running around, sweating in the heat. Your uniform was drab, but on you? Carter loved to see it. Though, he’d love to see you in a potato sack, for all he cared. The look of concentration that fell over your face while working drove him nuts, and he’d been distracted by it more than once. Then you’d yell at him to focus up, and he’d get his head together.

See, you were witty and not afraid to make a joke, but when you had a patient in front of you, that was the priority. There was no pulling you from someone in need. While Carter certainly admired you for that, it made it difficult for him to find a natural time to talk to you, get to know you, and ultimately, confess his undying love for you in a relaxed, breezy type of way.

Because Carter was sure about you. You met on one of the first true spring days of the season, with an open ankle fracture and Benton breathing down your neck. Just four or five months of inane stuttering and acute fits of idiocy in your presence, and Carter finally summoned the courage to ask you out on a real date, and the rest was history.

A few months in, Carter was proving to be the sweetest boyfriend you could have hoped for. Attentive, loving, considerate, he regularly went out of his way just to make your life the tiniest bit easier. He saved your favorite recipes to cook, picked up the book you mentioned weeks ago on his day off, brought you little gifts just because they reminded him of you. But you noticed one thing he seemed to struggle with.

Touch.

Now, in the bedroom, all was good and well. In fact, a little better than that. But despite what he did in the sheets, he still asked to hold your hand. Still apologized if your legs brushed sitting next to each other on the couch. Still slid over to his side of the bed when you spent the night, allowing at least a foot of room between you.

The strangest thing was, he seemed to like touch. When you did hold his hand, he lit up like a Christmas tree, and if you scratched his head, he’d close his eyes and lean into you. He just seemed hesitant to initiate it, as if he was afraid of bothering you, or scaring you off. You tried to be patient, let him go at his own pace, but sometimes you just wanted to cuddle your boyfriend after a hard shift.

So one day, you decided to clear the air, for good measure.

“You know,” you said lightly, one night, over chinese takeout and Jeopardy. “You don’t have to ask to hold my hand. You can just hold it.”

He glanced over at you, eyebrows raised.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, setting your chopsticks down, growing smile on your face. “I mean, it’s very polite. I appreciate it. But… I like it when you hold my hand. I’ll never say no.”

He broke into a bashful smile, cheeks tinting pink, and he looked down at his noodles. You scootched over a bit closer to him, and ran a finger over his brow fondly.

“I just don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable,” he said, eyes still down.

“That’s sweet,” you said, heart burning for the softness in his voice. “But consider this a standing acceptance to hand holding. Or anything. If I’m not in the mood, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

He nodded timidly, and you kissed his cheek and picked up your chopsticks again. You let your attention turn back to Alex Trebek. Sometimes the contestants were so stupid, they made you want to try and get on the show. But as you shouted out answers, you felt Carter’s warm, slightly clammy hand inching up under your arm. You let your hand fall away from your box of food and he threaded his fingers through yours.

You didn’t look at each other, just grasped each other's hands tight and watched your show.

That was the start. Hand holding. At first, he was still a little nervous. Still working to accept what you said as true, that you wouldn’t be mad, or annoyed, or disgusted by his spontaneous touch.

After the third or fourth time, it was like a dam broke. At every turn, there he was grabbing your hand. He would wake up early on his days off just so he could hold it as he walked you to work. In bed, on the couch, on dates, even at work sometimes, you could always find his hands linked with yours. Even just pinkies crooked together under a table if there were people around. 

Eventually, as much as you hated it, you couldn’t keep holding things up for it. You couldn’t stop cooking, or reading, or fixing the showerhead to hold hands with him. So he expanded. He started keeping a hand on your lower back, or linking your arm through his, or running his hands up and down your sides. He’d dig his fingers in if he wanted to hear your laugh.

Soon enough, there was a constant point of contact between the two of you. Arms hooked, heads on shoulders, legs wound together. You found yourself with less of a boyfriend, and more of a koala. He’d cling to you like his life depended on it, headbutting you until you ran your hands through his hair.

You complained. But you didn’t mean it.

“John,” you said, as he nuzzled into your neck. “I’m trying — Johnny!”

He just hummed, hands running all along your body, your thighs, your butt, your tummy, your boobs, your armpits — any spot he could find. You couldn’t help but giggle as he pressed lazy kisses to your neck, which really undercut your stern tone.

“I’m trying to read this article!”

“Then read,” he drawled, and you could feel his grin against your skin. “I’m not stopping you.”

You huffed, amused, and playfully pushed his head away. To your surprise, and slight disappointment, it appeared to work, as he pulled back. But as you craned your head to see him at the foot of the bed, he began tugging on the bottom of your hoodie. You squealed as his cool cheeks pressed against your bare stomach, as he shoved his head right underneath the oversized sweater. You let your paper fall to the side as he pulled himself through and rested his head on your chest, eyes just barely peaking out from the collar. His arms followed, and his hands went right to your chest too.

You sighed.

“This is your sweatshirt, you know,” you said, pretending to be indignant. “So if you stretch it out —!”

“Worth it,” he mumbled, nosing your clavicular notch.

You wrapped your arms and legs around his sleepy weight and let yourself relax. He was warm, and soft, and grounding. It didn’t take long for his snores to lull you into a slumber of your own.

It was an amazing thing to Carter that he could feel such comfort whenever he wanted. That not only did he find an amazing woman to fall in love with, she loved him back. And you did. Every time you gave him a scalp massage, or kissed a pout off of his lips, or gave his bum a waggish squeeze as he made dinner, he could feel his heart swell.

Although to date you had never turned down his touch, whether loving, teasing, scandalous, or comforting, there were of course external factors to consider. Too many times would your lovely face distract Carter from work. He’d think about wrapping all his limbs around you, feeling you everywhere, senses completely filled by you. It was an intoxicating daydream.

“Carter!” Benton would yell. “Get your ass up and make yourself useful!”

Carter would mutter an embarrassed apology and rush off, not before catching the mirthful glint in your eye.

Carter spent most of his time at your apartment by the time you reached the six month mark. It wasn’t bigger than his, the heating and air conditioning went out at less than convenient times, and the washer and dryer were five floors down in a creepy basement. But it was homey, with tokens of your treasured memories adorning every possible surface, the fridge plastered with photos under souvenir magnets from all the places you’d visited. Home knit blankets, mismatched mugs, and movie posters painted the dingy apartment into something comforting.

He never wanted to leave. He loved knowing that you were never more than 15 steps away from him. Your sheets smelled like you. He used your lotion just to keep part of you with him throughout the day. You scolded him for it, but after hard days you’d smooth your most expensive face masks on him in the tub, and let him use as much of that lotion as he wanted.

One Saturday, the last free night you had together before some back to back shifts, he was getting ready for bed, and realized — the two of you had built a happy home. It was welcoming, and warm, everything his childhood home wasn’t. Yours was full of love and laughter, dancing in the glow of the refrigerator, and shopping together in pajamas. It was everything he never dared to let himself dream of.

And he didn’t ever want to live without it.

He turned to you, where you sat under the covers, reading an Agatha Christie book you’d read a million times before, eye mask ready on your head, hair up, a spot of zit cream on your face, and he could feel it in his whole body.

His eyes never left you as he crawled under the comforter on his designated side of the bed. He didn’t need to look to know his watch, tattered book, and vitamins were on the nightstand, and he knew his blue toothbrush was sitting next to your green one in the bathroom. As he settled down, you set Agatha aside and grabbed vaseline from your table.

It had become a sort of night time ritual, you moisturizing his hands with vaseline. You knew he never did it himself, just kept using hand sanitizer and antibacterial soap on his poor hands, which were already strained pushing meds, lifting patients, and suturing. You rubbed the vaseline into his cracked skin with such gentle care, and right now, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Your tired ones met his, and you smiled suspiciously.

“What are you looking at?”

“Just —” he sighed, eyes wide as saucers, in awe of you, of the privilege it was to see you like this. “Let’s live together.”

You froze, mouth parting a bit. “What?”

He scooted closer to you, removing his hands from your grip to cradle your waist. He was nervous, but smiling like an idiot.

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been,” he said. “And whenever I go back to my place, I — I feel so homesick. I can’t live when you’re not around.”

You just stared at him.

“You’re crazy,” you said, but it came out mushy.

“I don’t care,” he said, pulling you fully into his lap. “I really don’t. I just want you. More than anything.”

You couldn’t control your smile as he kissed your face.

“We’ve only been going out, what — six months?”

“And seventeen days,” he said, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck. “Look, I totally understand if you don’t want to. I just want you to know that I’m ready whenever you are.”

“I’m ready,” you breathed. “But are you sure you want to move in here? I wasn’t sure I was gonna renew the lease, and —”

He didn’t even wait for you to finish before he pulled you into a heated kiss. One hand roved under the almost ten year old high school softball tee you wore, while the other teased the edge of your granny panties, the cute ones with the polka dots. He knew you were always self conscious in them, but he might have preferred them to the white lacy pair you wore on Valentines Day.

He pulled back just to take a breath and pant, “We can move into a new place.”

You were smiling almost as wide as he was.

“With both our salaries combined we could probably get a bigger place,” he said. “Maybe even with a washer and dryer in the apartment.”

You giggled.

“Closer to work, too,” you said, as John began kissing down your neck. “Oh, and pet friendly! I’ve always wanted a cat.”

He resurfaced to raise a brow.

“Can’t we get a dog?”

You scoffed.

“When would we have the time to take care of a dog?” you snorted. “Besides, you’re a cat person, you just don’t know it yet. I had a cat growing up. She was my best friend. And she lived for like twenty years, too!”

“Thelma,” he nodded with a smirk. “I remember.”

You rested your head on his shoulder and he leaned back against the headboard, one hand still exploring under your top, in a domestic, familiar way, somehow.

“I promise you’ll love our cat,” you said, rubbing your nose against his freshly shaven cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, absorbing your touch. “I’ll give you a cat. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Three months later, you sat on the mattress of your partially furnished apartment. It was so close to work you could hear the L echoing in the distance, which Carter was worried about, but you loved. Your “bed” wasn’t really a “bed” yet, as you were still missing a frame. It was flat on the floor for now. 

The couch was up, which Doug and Mark were only too happy to complain about as they helped Carter lug it up the steps. Apparently, according to Carter, you were too pretty to do grunt work on a hot summer day. You were inclined to agree, so you worked on building some shelves for the living room.

There were still pizza boxes on the floor, and clothes in piles in laundry baskets, but you didn’t care. You were tangled up together in bed, compensating for the body heat with three fans pointed at you and no sheets; and between you lay a little sleeping kitten. Louise, Carter had named her.

You watched smugly as your Johnny gently stroked the kitty between the eyes, watching her with pure adoration. You were fairly certain he was minutes away from tears of joy.

“I told you,” you whispered sleepily, but proudly. “You love her.”

Without ceasing his petting, lest Louise protest, he squished his face right next to yours.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I love you more.”

---

a/n - would ppl be interested in a meet cute blurb with paramedic!reader? i actually kinda love that dynamic

requests open!

Your parents were never fully together, per se, but your dad was a fairly constant presence in your life. At every birthday, recital, soccer game. He’d go away for work, and come back with some kind of present for you, and a little gift for your mom too.

If somebody had told you that his ‘work trips’ simply meant that he was with his other, original, family, you would have laughed.

There’s no way.

How could a man maintain two entirely separate families in the same city, and not get caught until your mom has a massive heart attack and dies in her sleep?

As your newfound legal guardian, he’d been left to introduce you to Mark and his mother. The other Greene Family.

To this day, you’re still not sure how he broke the news. You’ve never asked Mark - it didn’t seem fair to reopen old wounds.

As a nine-year-old with no other relatives, you’d moved into the box room at the back of the house - barely enough room for a bed, much less a person. It didn’t help that Mark’s mom insisted every single trace of your life be confined to that room.

If somebody was visiting, they’d never know you even lived there.

In hindsight, you understand where she was coming from. Mark’s parents had been married, and your presence wrecked that. They didn’t separate, but it was never the same.

All of them, including your dad, would have been far better off without you.

Despite that, Mark was a saving grace. Never once did he hold your past against you, understanding that you had nothing to do with your dad’s grievances. Instead, he took you under your wing, even at eighteen. He played soccer with you, took you out to lunch, and looked out for you.

Of course, it couldn’t last forever, and soon Mark went off to college, leaving you caught between a depressed step-mother (if that was what you could call her), and an alcoholic father.

Life was hard, made brighter only by Mark’s occasional visits. He’d call and write, telling you all about medical school - how he had a girlfriend named Jen, and they were going to have a baby. Sometimes, you liked to pretend that you had no parents at all, and simply lived with your brother.

Even now, you wonder if you would have become a doctor without Mark’s influence.

You hadn’t quite taken the same path as him, training as a nurse during undergrad, before landing a scholarship for medical school. Even with the extra help, you wouldn’t have been able to afford to move to Chicago without him.

The nursing job at County? Definitely something Mark managed to wrangle on your behalf. You can pick up locum shifts whenever you need some extra cash - Carol always needs the help.

You moved into his and Jen’s spare room, barely bigger than your one back home, but endlessly more inviting. You paid your rent in babysitting Rachel until you had enough saved to get your own shoebox, and life suddenly started looking up. Now, finally, it’s all making sense.

You’ve started your clinical rotations. Practicing the job you’re going to be working until you’re sixty. Being at County helps - you’ve grown very familiar with Mark’s friends over the years. Doug, Carol, Susan.

Feels a little less like being thrown to the wolves.

After a harrowing six weeks in surgery, spending as much time as possible in the ER with Benton, you’re finally back until Christmas. You love it here. It’s exactly your speed.

There’s just one problem.

In your entire medical school career thus far, nobody has terrified you the way John Carter does. Not because he’s scary, or unpleasant, or anything of the sort.

But because you can’t think straight whenever you’re in a ten-foot radius of him. Which, unfortunately, is most of your day.

It’s not your fault. Carter is exactly your type - practically tailor-made to your tastes. If you’d been asked to build yourself a boyfriend at the age of ten, you’re pretty sure you would’ve come up with somebody almost identical to him.

Maybe he wouldn’t be quite so popular with women. You’ve never been one for competition - ironic, since you’ve chosen to devote your life to medicine.

You had been clocked immediately by Doug and Carol for your crush, leading to some interminable teasing during your surgical rotation. After all your time in Chicago, they’ve become as much siblings to you as Mark.

Unfortunately, Doug Ross is far more perceptive than Mark Greene, and likes to lord that fact over you. Thus far, his meddling has included shoving you into Carter, tricking you both into wearing matching costumes at the ER Halloween party, and even locking you both in a supply closet under the guise of a dodgy hinge.

Things have only gotten worse now that you’re in the ER every day, with a whole new group of students.

There are four of you. You, Iain, Madeline, and Emil. All entrusted largely to Carter for the duration of your placement.

Emil is nice. Quiet, and very obviously not cut out for Emergency Medicine (he’d confessed to you on day one that he was gunning for geriatrics), he’s smart in an entirely non-judgemental way, and you’ve studied with him on more than one occasion.

You tried your hardest to like Madeline. As one of the few other women on your course, you’d felt like it was important to have some kind of sisterhood. Support each other in a field dominated by men. She didn’t quite share the same sentiment. While she doesn’t seem to have a huge interest in the ER, she does have an interest in John Carter.

A big one.

If you thought your crush was obvious, Madeline is shameless. She’ll try and flirt with him over the most severe traumas, while the rest of you are elbow-deep in some guy’s guts.

The worst part was, you thought it might be working at the start. For the first week or so, he seemed to entertain it, leading to all sorts of rumours in the ER.

You’re not proud to admit it, but it made you sick with jealousy. Pulling some strings with Mark, you cited an interest in paediatrics as an excuse to work with Doug instead, and tried to put John Carter out of your mind.

It worked for all of a week, before you went to a hospital gala with Mark and the others, and Carter was suddenly everywhere.

It was like Madeline didn’t exist anymore. He was calling for you with traumas, showing you how to suture, and helping you with your charting.

You have no idea what changed.

According to Doug, Carter is into you. But given his track record with Carol, you’re not jumping to take his advice. You’re too scared to ask for anyone else’s opinion, for fear it gets back to John.

It’s only so long before Mark figures it out.

He may be oblivious, but he’s not stupid.

“What’s your problem?” He asks, dropping down next to you in the doctor’s lounge.

You jump slightly at the intrusion, having spent the last ten minutes lost in your thoughts. Madeline’s been even more overt with her flirtations today, and you’re starting to worry that it might be working. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Mhm,” Mark replies, entirely unconvinced. “You sound like Rachel. And she’s seven.”

You shoot him a glare. “I do not. I just don’t want to come running to my brother every time anything goes wrong. Gives the wrong impression.”

“You know - you don’t have to make everything as hard as humanly possible for yourself, just because you don’t want to ask for help.”

“I ask for help!” You protest, and Mark snorts.

“Sure. And I’m not getting a divorce.”

Finally, there’s Iain. The worst of them all. Before he even opens his mouth, it’s obvious that he wants to go into surgery. Trauma surgery, to be specific. He carries himself like he’s already an intern, like this placement is just a formality before someone hands him a scalpel and a title.

And for some reason, he’s decided you’re the easiest one to bait.

Carter is tied up with a complicated trauma, Madeline hovering nearby like a shadow, Emil buried in charts, and you’re left with Iain and a patient who needs sutured - simple enough on paper.

“I’ll do it,” You say, a little too quickly, trying to sound confident.

Iain doesn’t stop you. He just steps back, folding his arms. Watching.

It’s almost worse.

You prep the site, hands steady at first as you gather the needle. You’ve done this before. Plenty of times. But there’s something about the way he’s standing there - silent, expectant - that makes your fingers feel heavier than usual.

“Local?” he asks, after a beat.

“I’ve got it,” you reply, sharper than you mean.

A pause. Then, mildly, “Just checking you weren’t going to skip steps.”

Heat creeps up your neck. You inject the anaesthetic, wait a moment longer than necessary, just to be sure. The patient winces, then settles.

Taking a breath, you angle the needle and press it into the skin. You realise immediately that your bite is wrong, and that the stitch won’t hold. Instead, it tears the flesh at one side. Thankfully, your patient isn’t watching, instead opting to look out the window instead.

God, you wish it was a cannula. Or bloods. You’ve been doing them for years - can get even the most tricky veins with your eyes closed.

But suturing is almost exclusively medical students and doctors. You haven’t had nearly as much practice. Especially with Iain’s presence.

You’re totally off your game.

“Depth’s wrong,” Iain says.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Your jaw tightens. “I said I’ve got it.”

A small pause.

“Right,” He says. “Looks that way. You’re overthinking it. Or maybe underthinking. Hard to tell.”

You don’t respond, teeth gritted as you prepare for another attempt..

“Hand it here,” He adds, already reaching for gloves.

“No,” You snap. “I’ve got it.”

“Based on what?” he replies evenly.

You feel the patient shift under your hands.

“I said I’ve got it,” You repeat, quieter now.

His voice is devoid of all emotion, “You don’t.”

He steps in before you can stop him, close enough now that you have to move aside or be in his way. The decision is made for you.

God, you can’t believe he’s making such a fool of you in front of a patient. In private, you expect that kind of thing. But you’d hoped he would have slightly more respect for you in public.

“Watch,” He says, the word edged with a derision that makes your stomach ache. “This isn’t complicated.”

You leave him to it, for fear that you’re about to cry in the middle of Curtain Two. You’ve had enough embarrassment for one day, and stick to charting, to small tasks, to anything that doesn’t involve someone standing over your shoulder waiting for you to mess up again.

By the time things finally start to quiet down, you slip out under the excuse of grabbing supplies you don’t actually need.

The staff room is empty when you get there. Fluorescent lights humming faintly overhead, vending machine buzzing in the corner. You lean back against the counter, pressing your palms into your eyes for a second, willing the tightness in your throat to go away.

It was stupid.

It shouldn’t matter. You’ve done cannulas before. Nobody gets all of them first time. That’s not how it works. You shouldn’t be letting a stupid comment from a rich prick stick in your head like that. You’ve worked harder in the past year than he has in his whole life, just for the privilege of getting to be here.

A few tears come anyway.

Maybe Mark’s mom was right. Maybe you did just follow him out here because you had nothing else going for you.

“Hey.”

You drop your hands immediately.

John is standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, like he’s been there a second, like he’s been watching you.

“You alright?”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”

He doesn’t move. “Carol said you were upset.”

You sigh. Of course she did.

You let out a small breath, shaking your head. “I’m okay. Just - long shift.”

“You’ve had longer. Worse. What’s different about today?”

If he keeps looking at you with such a tender expression, you think you might bawl. “Just Iain being a dick. I don’t really want to talk about it. Exam stress, portfolio stuff, it all just caught up with me. M’fine. Promise.” You offer him a smile, though you can’t imagine it’s in any way convincing.

“Want me to give him the impaction in four?”

You snort. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. Guy's a dick.”

“I think… that would make me feel a little better, yeah.”

“Consider it done,” Carter muses, before continuing. “I know you don’t like to use the Mark connection, but if Iain’s really bothering you-”

“I’m fine, John. Promise.”

He nods, and steps back towards the door, when you speak again.

“Carter?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you could maybe give me some suturing tips tomorrow? I think I could use some practice.”

He doesn’t seem at all surprised, and you wonder how much he knows. Just as he’s about to leave, he pauses. “You know, she had chronic steroid use. Makes skin really fragile.”

“What?” Your head whips round to face him.

“Not your fault,” Carter shrugs, and then he’s gone.

*****

You manage avoid Iain until your final hour, when Carter appears at your back. “Greene, McDougall - I want opinions.”

You fall into step behind John, Iain a few paces behind, barely able to hide his disinterest.

“Middle-aged male,” He says quickly. “Chest pain. Came in about twenty minutes ago. Central obesity, history of Type 2 Diabetes, currently taking Metformin, Propanolol and Atorvastatin. Here,” He passes you a chart, “is his ECG. Talk to me.”

You examine the patient in the bed first, while Iain goes straight for the ECG. The patient - Michael Murray, you note - is diaphoretic, pale, one hand pressed flat against his chest. Not sweaty, the way you’d expect from a straightforward MI, but you can’t rule it out yet.

Iain answers first, of course.

“Likely non-cardiac,” he says, glancing briefly at the chart. “Could be reflux. Maybe musculoskeletal. He’s overweight, risk factors unclear. When patients are that obese, they can’t really tell what’s chest and what’s stomach pain.”

You reach for the ECG, examining it carefully. On first glance there’s nothing hugely wrong - no obvious STEMI, or tented T-waves. But there is some ST-depression. “I would do another ECG. Posterior this time. Make sure it’s not an MI before I move onto other differentials.”

“Based on what?” Iain asks.

“ST-depression in the anterior leads. And I think I see some prominent R waves in V1 and V2.”

“It’s non-specific,” He cuts in. “You can’t call a posterior infarct off that.”

“I’m not calling it,” You reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m saying it’s a possibility.”

“A remote one. Much more likely indigestion given the presentation.”

The patient shifts again, visibly uncomfortable. You glance at Carter, who remains quiet, and you suddenly realise what he’s waiting for. He wants you to fight for this, for your patient. “I’ll do another one,” You say, reaching for the leads. “Posterior, this time.”

Iain’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “It’s not necessary,” he says.

“Maybe not,” Carter replies evenly. “But it’s quick, cheap, and if she’s right, it matters a hell of a lot to this patient.”

It’s a strange feeling when the ECG comes back with massive ST-elevation in the V7 to V9 leads. On the one hand, you know the patient has just had terrible news delivered to him, and you empathise greatly. On the other hand, you’re so relieved to finally get one up on Iain.

Within minutes, the trolley’s being wheeled out, heading upstairs to the cath lab. As it disappears through the doors, Carter turns back. His eyes land on Iain.

“You see the problem?” He says.

Iain doesn’t answer.

“You didn’t even glance at the patient. You went straight for the ECG, and treated him like a textbook case. Pain, presentation, risk - those matter more than your first impressions.”

Iain’s expression is tight. “It wasn’t a classic presentation.”

“They rarely are,” Carter replies. “That’s the point.” He checks his watch, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Anyway, I think that’s a good place to stop for the night. Go, try and enjoy the rest of your nights, and be here for seven sharp.”

You all disperse, and make for the lockers. Despite the save at the end of the day, you’re still desperate to get home, and clean the hospital grime that lingers for weeks out of your hair. Carter follows, chatting absentmindedly about the MI. How he doesn’t think he would’ve caught it at that age.

Madeline tries to catch him on the way out of the lounge. Asking for some kind of favour regarding her portfolio.

“Hm? Yeah, I’ll catch you tomorrow. We can talk about it then.” Carter’s voice is distracted, and he doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t stop.

Madeline falters, just slightly. “Oh - okay.”

But he’s already looking past her.

At you.

“You heading out?” he asks.

You nod, adjusting your bag. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says. “Come on - I’m done too.”

You push through the hospital doors together, the air outside cooler, quieter - for a second, neither of you say anything. You wipe at the sweat on your forehead, and let out a small sigh.

Finally, he speaks, “You did well back there.”

You glance over at him. “I almost didn’t say anything.”

“I know,” He shrugs. “I watched you hesitate. But you spoke up, and that’s what matters. You saved a man’s life today.”

“You knew it was a posterior MI,” You argue.

“I suspected - you confirmed.” He pauses for a second, as you walk up to your respective platforms. “Get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Me too,” he admits. “Long shift.”

The train pulls in, brakes screeching slightly as it slows. “See you tomorrow, Carter.”

He offers you a soft smile. “See you round, Greene.”

*****

You hear them before you see them. Heading into work first thing, you’d been planning on getting a head-start on some scut work to free you up for studying later. It appears some of your colleagues have beaten you to it.

You don’t mean to overhear, but the lounge door is creaked open, and when you pause to tie your lace, you catch a voice.

“…it’s getting ridiculous.”

Madeline.

You pause, just out of sight of the doorway.

“What is?” Iain’s voice, lower, disinterested.

“Carter,” She says, sounding annoyed. Like he should just immediately know what she’s talking about. “Or have you not noticed?”

A beat.

Then, dryly, “If this is about you not being the centre of his attention anymore, I’m not interested.”

“It’s not that,” She snaps, a little too quickly. It definitely is.

You should leave.

You don’t.

“It’s about her,” Madeline continues. “He keeps pulling her onto cases. Showing her things he doesn’t show the rest of us. I mean, I know she’s his boss’ sister, but come on.”

“He’s overcorrecting,” Iain says. “People do that. Get fixated.”

“On her?” Madeline scoffs. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” Iain says, quieter now, but sharper.

Madeline doesn’t answer straight away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, guarded.

Another pause. You can almost picture the look on his face. “Come on,” He says. “You’re not that naïve.”

Your stomach twists.

Madeline lets out a small, incredulous laugh. “You think - what? That they’re…?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

“I think,” Iain says finally, “that kind of attention usually comes with a reason.”

“No,” Madeline says quickly. Too quickly. “That’s not - no. He wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t?” Iain repeats, almost amused. “I thought that was actually kind of his thing. If you’re to believe what the nurses say.”

“He’s not like that,” She insists, but there’s something strained underneath it now. “And she-” a scoff, sharper this time, “-she’s not exactly-”

She stops again, like even she doesn’t quite know how to finish it. She doesn’t have to.

“Right,” Iain says, unconvinced. “Because this makes so much more sense otherwise.”

“It doesn’t have to be that,” Madeline snaps. “Maybe he just… pities her or something.”

That stings in a completely different way.

“Sure,” Iain says. “That must be it.” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t believe that for a second. “Either way, it won’t last.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means,” He says, “if it’s about performance, she won’t keep up. I mean, she’s a fucking nurse, for Christ’s sake.” A pause. “And if it’s not,” He adds, “that kind of thing burns out fast. She’s just pretending, and they’re all indulging her because they like her.”

Madeline doesn’t respond.

You don’t wait to hear more. Your pulse is loud in your ears, drowning everything else out.

She won’t keep up.

That kind of thing burns out fast.

Not only do you have to deal with the very real prejudices against you for your background - now there’s apparently a sex scandal, so obscure that even you and Carter aren’t aware of it, despite allegedly being involved.

You just need to keep your head down, and ignore them entirely.

A patient needs reviewing. Then another. Observations, notes, small jobs no one else wants - you take them all, keep moving, keep your hands busy so your head doesn’t catch up.

When there’s a lull, you pull out your notes, leaning against the counter, flipping through exam checklists. Cardio, Neuro, GI, Breast - just a few of the practical exams you need to be able to perform flawlessly for your OSCEs coming up next month. You mouth them under your breath, like if you say them enough times they’ll stick in your brain.

“Practicing or hiding?”

You look up.

Carter nods toward the empty treatment bay. “Come on.”

You follow him in without question.

He sets up a practice pad, hands you the needle holder. “Show me.”

You start slower this time. Deliberate. Thinking about depth, angle, tension - getting the perfect bite. Already, things are looking better - all you had to do was remove Iain from the equation. He gives you a few tips, showing you how to do other stitches for different injuries, and you get to practicing on a banana.

He watches your next stitch. “OSCEs coming up, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll be fine,” He says. “They’re more interested in whether you think about what you’re doing than whether it’s perfect.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It’s true,” John shrugs. “Talk through it. Show your reasoning. Half of this is just convincing people you know why you’re doing something. Tell them what any sign you spot could indicate”

You nod, tying off the stitch a little more neatly this time.

“See?” he adds. “That’s already better.”

Before you can respond-

“Carter - trauma incoming! We need you in the bay.”

“Shit,” Carter scrubs a hand across his face. “I’m sorry-”

You’re about to interject and tell him it’s fine, that he’s done more than enough already, when he keeps talking.

“You want to run through some examinations later?”

“Oh,” You reply. “I uh, I get off at five.” It’s not that you aren’t grateful for the offer. But you’ve been here since six-forty-five this morning, and the idea of overtime is not an appealing one.

“Yeah, I know. I do too. You could come round to my place - we could order pizza, do a practice exam?”

You must be dreaming. This cannot be real. And yet, Carter’s scribbling something down on a piece of paper, and pressing it into your hand. An address.

“Any time after six is fine.”

*****

It’s only when you’re trying to pick out an outfit that you realise what a terrible idea this may be. Half of your classmates already think you’re sleeping with Carter - anything that could come out of tonight would surely only further that.

Then, you really start to consider Iain and Madeline’s position in your life. Realistically, once this rotation is over, you’re unlikely to ever see them again. Your graduating class is huge, and soon you’ll all be picking electives anyway.

In an ideal world, you’ll match to County. Neither of them want to stay in Chicago after graduating.

You’re overthinking.

This is fine.

Carter is your friend, and that’s all this is.

You manage to get out of your head, and land on an outfit - a slightly-nicer-than-average top and jeans. Casual, but definitely a step up from scrubs.

Unfortunately for you, Carter had neglected to mention the fact that he lives in a literal castle. You’re still trying to get your bearings when he opens the door, smile wide. “Hey, you made it!”

“Are you like a Kennedy or something?” You mumble, glancing around the foyer as he leads you inside. Your whole apartment could fit in one tiny corner of the hallway “Jesus.”

He has the decency to look a little embarrassed, rubbing at his neck. “Uh, yeah - the Carter Family isn’t really known for subtlety. But my grandparents are away on holiday, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

“I don’t think we’d be encroaching on their space even if they were here.”

Truthfully, you’re glad there’s nobody else here. While the red cotton is nicer than scrubs, it’s certainly not nice enough to meet Carter’s rich-as-God grandparents.

His room isn’t quite as extravagant - very Carter, but still obviously full of items that cost more than you make in a month. “Make yourself at home.”

You let your backpack drop to the floor, and perch at the very edge of the bed, too scared to touch anything else. “So… uh, how do you want to do this?”

“Well,” He starts, leaning back against the headboard. “I figured I could be your mock patient, and you can just treat this like an OSCE. Then we can go over anything you missed at the end over pizza?”

“Are all the medical students getting such special treatment?” Deep down, you know the answer already, but a part of you wants the confirmation.

Carter scoffs. “God, no. Emil, I would consider helping him out within my working hours. The other two are on their own though.”

“Really?” You murmur, leaning forward to rest your chin on your elbow. “Thought you were quite fond of Madeline-”

“Who said that?” Any teasing has disappeared from his tone, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Nurses talk,” You shrug. “You’re forgetting I still do the occasional shift. Lydia knows all.”

“Well, she doesn’t know that,” He grumbles. “I do not like Madeline. At all.”

“Got it,” You reply, suddenly desperate to change the subject. Maybe he’s regretting suggesting this. “Shall we get started?”

“What do you want to do first?”

“Um, Cardio.”

*****

“Okay,” Carter breathes, face only inches from yours. “What’s next?”

“I need to listen to the valves of your heart now,” You reply, trying to drag your gaze away from his. “But uh, first I need to feel your apex beat.”

“Good girl.”

You stiffen just slightly at the phrase, praying that he hasn’t noticed the shift. Your mind races ahead of you, wondering what it would be like if he was saying that in a different context, while you were writhing under him-

No.

You can’t think of him like that. Especially not now. He’s your friend, and he’s doing you a favour, and all you can do is think about how much you’d like him to-

“Mid-clavicular line,” You say, voice barely more than a squeak. “Fifth intercostal space.”

Your fingers press down his bare chest as you feel his ribs, moving slightly until you feel the familiar thump against your hand. It’s strong and regular, but definitely a lot faster than you’d be expecting from a guy Carter’s age.

“What do you notice?”

“It’s a little fast. I should listen to make sure.”

He just nods, and lets you reach for the stethoscope, before you press the diaphragm to the mitral valve. Just as you felt before, his heart is hammering.

You swallow heavily. “Still tachycardic.”

“Why do you think that might be?”

“Um, I guess it could be stress, high caffeine intakes, exercise…”

“Close proximity to a pretty girl?”

“What?”

“S’a good differential. Definitely one you should consider. Now, c’mon. Keep going.”

As if you can think about anything else after that admission. But he’s looking at you expectantly, and you try desperately to make your brain start thinking straight again. You listen to the other valves, and start to check for thrills and heaves, praying that he can’t tell how clammy your hands have gotten.

You press the bell of your stethoscope to his carotid, pretending not to notice the way his eyes keep flitting to your lips. “No sign of aortic stenosis,” You say softly, and Carter nods.

“Good sign. What next?”

“Um…” Shit. Your mind has drawn a total and utter blank. Your brain is too occupied with the way Carter’s cologne tickles your nose. “I don’t remember.”

He watches you for a second, before deciding to put you out of your misery. “You should check my back next.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Thanks.”

You check for scars or deformities, before listening to his lung sounds. Because of the way he’s sitting up, your back ends up bent at an awkward angle while you try and check for sacral pitting. “You know,” He murmurs. “Might be easier for you to just sit there.”

The idea of being any closer to John than you are right now makes you positively dizzy, but you’re not in the habit of not listening to him. Mostly.

Bracing your hands across his bare shoulders, you hoist yourself behind him, and get settled. Really, it’s unnecessary. You know already that Carter doesn’t have sacral pitting.

“Nothing interesting?”

“Nope.”

“Can’t really hear you from back there,” He replies. “Sit up a little closer to my ear, honey.”

You comply, getting ready to give him a rundown of the examination, when Carter tilts his head, and kisses you.

Even though the entire study session has arguably been preamble for this, it still manages to catch you off guard. His lips are soft but intentional, parting your own with his tongue.

God, you can’t believe this is happening.

In just a single movement he twists, bracing over you as you’re crowded up against his headboard. Your hand tangles in his hair, pulling him further into you.

As close as he can humanly get.

“Nobody would dare fail you if this is the kind of exam you give,” Carter mumbles between kisses, and you groan.

“You’re so mean.” There’s no real bite to it, but you pout against his lips anyway.

His fingers tug at the hem of your sweatshirt, and you lean back to let him discard it, leaving you in only your bra. It’s definitely not one of your sexier items of clothing - focused entirely on comfort during long shifts in the ER - but up until twenty minutes ago you’d assumed that this was simply a study session.

If it were anybody else, you’d feel self-conscious.

Something about John puts you at ease, though. It always has. Even when you were deeply terrified of him, of embarrassing yourself in front of him, you’d known deep down that he’d never make fun of you, even if he didn’t feel the same.

Based on the way you can feel him hardening against your thigh, you figure that’s not an issue. “Prettiest girl in the world,” He mumbles, lips returning to your neck. Eyes fluttering closed, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, and he allows you to tug them downwards. Yours go next, leaving you both in your underwear.

When it comes to foreplay, you’re used to a finger or two, scissoring you open just enough for the main event.

You’re not expecting John to draw back entirely from you, as he starts to press kisses down your navel.

You’re almost embarrassed for him to reach your panties, given how much you’ve managed to soak through them in just a short time. “Is this for me, or do cardio exams just really get you going?”

He shoots you that shit-eating grin, and you roll your eyes, before allowing your upper half to flop back onto his pillow. If he wants to be a dick, two can play at that game-

“Oh.”

Carter wastes no time, mouthing at your cunt through the wet fabric. One hand settles on each thigh, holding you firmly in place for him.

There’s no build-up - just John and his tongue, relentless against your skin. You don’t even register when he gets the fabric out of the way, your hand finding a home in his hair to guide him to where you need it most. “F-Fuck, John-”

“Yeah, honey? You like that?”

The coil in your belly is tightening, and you feel the familiar wave of panic start to wash over you. You’ve never been good with orgasms - it’s always felt too scary to let yourself go like that with another person. What Carter is doing feels really fucking good, but you also know that you don’t want to ruin this. “Need you up here-”

He complies immediately, clambering back up to press his lips to yours. You taste yourself against him, moaning into his touch.

Everything’s going so well, Carter’s reaching for his bedside table, when…

“You have had sex before, haven’t you?”

You pull back. “You did not just ask me that.”

“What? You're… young.”

You stare at him, jaw dropped. “I'm twenty-five, not sixteen. What are you - twenty-nine?”

“Twenty-eight,” He grumbles.

“Well - I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Not worried,” He replies, more earnest than you expected. “Just want it to be good for you.”

You’re suddenly overwhelmed with a deep affection for the man in front of you, and lean forward to kiss him again. The wrapper crinkles as John fiddles to get the condom out without breaking contact with you.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks, and you laugh.

“Not sure I could get a better anatomy lesson if I tried-”

Your voice cuts off in a sharp gasp as he pushes in just slightly, before pulling out again, cock head dragging through for folds. “Fuck.”

He does it again, pushing just a little further, and then retreating. Only on his third time, does your hand cup the back of his head, to draw him against you. Carter bottoms out with a low moan, hips rolling so he catches your clit.

Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, and he starts to move.

“Thought about this so much, sweet girl,” He grunts, peppering kisses across your cheeks as he rocks against you.

It’s a real effort to form a coherent thought, and you lace your fingers through his. “You h-have?”

“Haven’t been able to get you out of my head since that gala. H-Had to get myself off in the shower as soon as I got home, ‘cause of that dress. ‘Cause of you in that dress.”

“Didn’t realise you even noticed.”

“S-Should’ve taken you home right there. Shouldn’t have left you wondering how I felt.”

Carter looks just as overwhelmed as you feel - a bead of sweat is trickling down his chest, and there’s a vein on his forehead that looks like it’s in serious danger of bursting. He picks up the pace a little, and you whimper.

You’ve never whimpered in your life.

You hope you remember this moment for the rest of your life. “Kiss me, Johnny.” Your voice is breathless, almost unmoored from your body.

You can feel the coil tightening again, but it doesn’t feel quite as scary when John is looking at you so sweetly, and pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth in between his praise.

It creeps up on you, and soon your face is buried in the crook of his shoulder as you cry out his name.

*****

“God. Your brother is going to kill me.”

“Mhm, he’ll get over it.” You’re currently tucked into Carter's side under the duvet, fingers tracing soft patterns onto his chest.

“Easy for you to say,” John snorts. “You won’t be the one he kills.”

“I’ll make sure that you’re remembered,” You hum, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you bite back a laugh. “I’ll throw you a memorial, get Benton to eulogise you. It’ll be the event of the season.”

“Glad to hear it. “Make sure to make it tasteful,” He adds, deadpan. “I want something upbeat. Something that says ‘he died young, but at least he had good hair.’”

“You do have good hair,” you murmur, carding your fingers through it like you’re proving the point. “I’ll make sure that’s mentioned. Extensively. Very pullable.”

“I’m sure my grandmother will love to hear that that’s my defining trait.”

“Well, you also give really good head. I’m not sure she’d want to hear about that, though.

A comfortable silence settles over you both, Carter’s arm tightening round you. “…You really think he’ll be that mad?” He asks after a moment, voice dropping just a notch.

You shrug against him. “Mad, yeah. Murderous? Probably not. He likes you.”

“He tolerates me. But just so we’re clear - if I do die, I want you to erect a statue in my honour.”

You groan. “Absolutely not.”

“Life-size.”

“No.”

“Bigger than life-size. Ten feet fall.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Bronze,” He continues, ignoring you entirely. “Dramatic pose. Maybe a sword.”

“You’ve never held a sword in your life.”

“Details.”

It isn’t until an hour later, when you’re cross-legged on John’s bed wearing only his shirt, a pizza box perched between you both, that you have the courage to ask. “So… like, was this just a one-time thing, or… what?”

Not your most eloquent of phrasing, but you figure you’d scare him off if you admitted that you’ve been in love with him pretty much since you saw him for the first time.

“Technically it’s already a two-time thing, since we fucked again in the shower.”

“John-”

“Okay, okay,” He concedes, hands in the air. “Comedy surrounding the sex is not appreciated. Noted. Well… on that note. I think I’d really like to take you out for dinner. Celebrate your catch yesterday properly. Celebrate you properly.”

You smile, so wide that it almost makes your cheeks hurt. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Greene.”

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eight lots of sutures, two ruined shirts, a broken shoelace and a pair of wet socks later, carter was ready to call it quits and head home feigning sick. he had already been here thirteen hours anyway, it wasn't like he had just showed up and felt like leaving early for the sake of it.

the sight of you made him envious. you look as good as you did when you pulled up to pick him up from the kerb thirteen hours ago. you'd been practically living in the hospital's on-call room since yesterday, but you looked so lively that it was hard to believe you'd been here that long.

your scrubs still looked pristine, but that was only because your bloodied ones had been discarded a few hours ago after a cyclist trauma rolled through the doors. there was the tiniest amount of frizz sticking up from the back of your ponytail, but overall your smile said a thousand things that blinded him into oblivion. maybe that was why you looked so refreshing.

the lights dimmed, the faded roar he could hear faintly in the background raising the hairs on the back of his neck with suddenly proximity until he found himself face-down on the floor, the stool he had been sitting on to mindlessly fill out paperwork skidding away from him until it hit the nearest gurney.

was the power out? he thought briefly before swarming clouds of dizziness flooded his line of sight, building up a blurriness that canceled out the harsh hospital lights. black spots swam across his vision, a distant groan slipping past his lips, and a very warm set of hands brushing across his face in the gentlest manner.

your silhouette blocked out the remaining light that filtered through the dark spots, and a dizzy smile pulled his lips upwards.

"CARTER," you called out, fishing your penlight out of your pocket and flashing it across his eyes. he flinched away from the light and tried to roll onto his side.

your heart had sank when one of the patients admitted under carter's care earlier had shoved wendy out of the way to pick up his IV stand and bash it over carter's head, shouting something about his results taking too long or something . . . you had ignored it completely with sudden tunnel vision because john carter was on the fucking floor bleeding from his head. you had been the first to his side and he had relaxed his head into your hands so tenderly that if you weren't so worried you probably would've noticed it clearer.

"jesus," you huffed, looking up from carter to where the aggressive patient was still kicking and screaming. "someone sedate him and help me out over here!"

you were strong but you weren't strong enough to pick up carter's borderline-dead weight. you half-hoisted him up and then let mark help support the rest of him until he was placed on the gurney carol had rolled over.

"okay, uh," you looked around the ER until you spotted deb helping the nurses pick up medical supplies that the patient had knocked across the floor. "move him into exam room 2, please."

"got it," carol smiled before helping mark guide a groaning carter away.

carter was probably fine, you knew that much. at most, he'd likely have a concussion and a bump on his head for a week or so . . . you were hoping it wouldn't become your problem.

knowing mark greene, it probably would become your problem.

THE EXAM WAS BRIEF. you quickly cleared that it wasn't anything serious, nothing more than a moderate concussion and some bleeding from a gash on the back of his head.

"am i dying, doc?" carter's voice was fluttery from the morphine. his eyelashes fluttered in a similar fashion, blinking his glassy eyes open and shut, following your every movement.

you scoffed, "baby."

"aw," carter pointed a finger at you like he knew something you didn't. "how sweet of you. look at you, being so lovely."

"no," you deadpanned, rolling your eyes and desperately trying to stop the smile that was threatening to pull your lips upwards. "i'm calling you a baby. i know toddlers who let me check for injuries better than you did."

carter waved it off, hardly remembering the way he whined and moaned about needing morphine before he 'perished'. it was quite the entertainment. "my brain hurts, okay? you try getting . . . wait," he paused, squinting before wincing. "what happened again?"

"one of your kind patients bashed you over the head with an IV stand," you said it simply, writing a few notes down on carter's chart attached to your clipboard as if it wasn't a big deal that this incident had occurred. you were absolutely not going to be telling him that you had been worried and therefore nonchalance was key. "and you have a moderate concussion and are gonna need stitches."

"stitches?" he sighed and shook his head. you hadn't had the time to properly close up the wound when examining him earlier, and you used a temporary fix until you could go find one of the med students. "speaking of . . . which med student do you want? or d'you want me to randomly pick one?"

carter paled impossibly further. "don't you dare."

"what?" you flashed him an innocent smile. "they have to learn at some point."

"and that learning will not be on my head, thank you," carter's lips were pulled into the straightest line you had ever seen. you couldn't help but let a chuckle slip when he crossed his arms and sunk back into his fluffed pillow. "can you do it?"

you sighed, "carter, i'm busy. your patients are now my patients and—"

"please?"

he was doing this annoying pouty thing with his face. his glassy eyes looked so wide and innocent, tears collecting carefully in his waterline like a weapon. you were stupidly falling for it just like every other stupid thing he did in your presence.

how could you say no to that face?

"fuck me," you grumbled under your breath, shaking your head. "fine, whatever, but you owe me the second your concussion is gone."

"mhm," he hummed, deep in thought as he stared ahead at the white wall across the room. "would a nice dinner suffice?" he asked, and you kept quiet to stop your smile from appearing in front of his eyes.

CARTER was brave the second the suture kit came out.

it was like a switch had been flipped and he was suddenly convinced that he wasn't dying . . . you had a feeling him wanting to take you out to dinner had something to do with that.

he liked watching you do sutures, and so it was a shame that he couldn't watch you do his. there was something so magical about your hands and their steadiness; something about the way you could do them so perfect every time that when patients came back to have them removed, there was hardly a visible mark. he envied it to some degree, but he made it his goal to do them just like you instead.

you impressed him every single day, and he wanted to do the same thing back by not being a baby about his injury.

"you doing okay?" you asked quietly, checking in for the fifth time since you had started. you were taking a little longer to perfect his, wanting them to perfect so that he hardly got a gnarly scar.

carter scoffed like it didn't even bother him. "me? yeah, totally fine. this is nothing at all. doesn't even hurt."

that's because you are literally numb, you thought, rolling your eyes and tying another knot. you smiled now that he couldn't see you, "aw, so you don't want me to kiss it all better for you, dr. carter?"

he spluttered, and you were smart to stop stitching him up when he started moving. "that's not— i wasn't— i mean . . . but—"

your laugh was airy, light and carefree in its quietness. "i'm fucking with you."

"so . . ." carter said after a moment of silence. "you . . . don't want to kiss me? i mean— you don't want to kiss it better, then?" you could see his frown and it made your heart beat a little faster.

"mhm," you hummed, focusing back in on his wound. "take me out to that dinner first."

“carter,” her small whine echoed against the pallid walls of the empty resident room. john was hunched over a thick textbook, his head in his hands. without looking up he muttered, “yes?” she took a few steps closer and dangled her bloodied extremity in front of his face.

he shot up out of his seat, “what the hell did you do?” he cradled her hand between the two of his like a broken baby bird, gently inspecting it.

“got in the way of benton’s scalpel,” she huffed. lifting poorly packed bandage, john could see the laceration was deep. gaping with an almost perfect incision. rbenton’s steady hands were a blessing, otherwise the resulting scar would be quite unsightly. at the loss of the makeshift clot, blood pooled around the wound and dripped into carter’s palm.

“were you in on a surgery?” his jealousy was thinly veiled. still, he turned her hand to look for any other scrapes. she smirked, “it was just a truama. i excised a bullet. no big deal or anything.” her voice was dripping in an unadulterated pride. she didn’t have much to be proud of, really. immediately after removing the bullet she got in the way and missed an opportunity to pull out another one for the sake of saving her own hand. but john didn’t need to know that.

“you’re kidding,” he drops her hand in surprise, or anger, she wasn’t sure. she yelped at the movement. john’s eyes widened as he hurried to softly pick it up once more, “sorry, sorry,” he winced. “benton said you’d doctor me up. now doctor me up.” she shoved her hand against his. he hurriedly nodded.

john sat her down on the bed and snapped on blue latex gloves. he rolled between her legs with a suture kit. he softly placed her hand upon the overbed table, which was dressed with protective blue paper. he scooted a little closer to her. his legs were spread wide, knees pressing against her dangling claves.

finally he began to remove the clumsily clad ace wrap. she hissed as it pulled against her skin. a soothing thumb rubbed over her knuckles as he shushed her like a child. “jesus,” he whispered.

she felt a rapid wave of nausea wrack her body. so she made a point to look at carter’s face rather than the open flesh of her limb. “how’s your day going? any fun stories?”

the apples of his cheeks swelled as he smiled, “someone’s been hogging all the fun.” one hand laid beneath her’s - warm and comforting - as he searched the kit for saline.

she snorted, “yeah open wounds are real exciting.” he shook his head, gap toothed grin still prodding at his cheeks despite his better judgement. that smile made her face all hot. every time she made him laugh at one of her jokes, or he threw her a lopsided smirk, without fail, her heart skipped a beat. she would have to rasp her next breath, heat flooding her chest.

he placed a small metal bowl beneath where he held up her hand. she had never noticed just how big his hand was compared to her own. he was so big. tall. “this is gonna burn,” he warned. she nodded. fluid flooded the gash. she whimpered, flinching away at the pain but john’s grip was unrelenting.

with wide doe eyes he whispered, “sorry.” she bit her lip, “it hurts like hell.” john dabbed at the blood on the surrounding skin with a tissue. “need me to kiss it better?” he teased, flashing those pretty teeth. she rolled her eyes. “shut up and fix me.”

john pushed the metal tray to the side and began to prep his needle. “any deeper and youd’ve been out of surgery for weeks.” his nimble fingers steady against the back of her hand. “i bet you’d like tha-” she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp as the first stitch goes in, “fuck.”

before she can apologize carter lightly squeezes her fingers, “it’s okay.” she screws her eyes up tight and twists her neck as if looking away would make the pain go away. “we can’t have you out of comission, i think the whole place might go up in flames.” she bit back a smile, “yeah right.” he nodded, “no, really. who would wrap all the sprains and do the paperwork?” that made her giggle.

a calm quiet settled over the two. he made quick work of sewing her back together. intermittently he would give her a gentle squeeze of encouragement to fend away the hurt. after tying off her stitches he wrapped her up neatly as an extra precaution.

finally he sighed “all better,” in the sickly sweet voice he put on for little kids and dementia patients. it made her stomach flutter. he haphazardly threw his reddened gloves into the metal pan.

“thank you.” her uninjured hand floated above his head to pick at his hair idly, “next time there’s a bullet to pull out of a guy’s ass i’ll let you have at it.” her hand fell to her lap, though his head distractedly followed the motion in desire for more of her doting touch. head dipped, big eyes flickering about her face he muttered, “his… his ass?” he had processed her words seconds late.

she nodded and with a shared look they both laughed. john was closer now, he had pushed the table away. “you lost your hand for ass surgery?” he hadn’t let go of that injured hand since he had removed his gloves. both hands enveloping her smaller one.

“it was for a noble cause,” she giggled. his thumbs gently traced over the bandaging. he snapped back into doctor mode. “i’ll take them out next week. if they snap let me know.” she hummed in agreement.

“you’re good with your hands, doc,” she teased, leaning down toward him. soft silence befell them. he played with her small fingers, pad of his thumb running over every one of her polished nails.

john shot her a distant look, “your nails are pretty.” he seemed much giddier than normal. it was a tad unsettling but she was in no hurry to get away from him. his kindness made her heart swell. it took everything in her not to grab him by the hair and shove her tongue in his mouth.

“carter?” she poked her toe into the side of his thigh. he finally fully met her eye, “hm?” his cheeks were bright red. her smile hurt her cheeks, “you okay?”

he shook his head. her brows knotted together in concern. but he was leaning up toward her. it didn’t take much to close the space. and suddenly his soft pink lips were so close and her head felt fuzzy and concern for him was the last thing she felt.

“john.” she warned breathily. the tip of his nose brushed her cheek, “you’ve never called me that. don’t start now.”

“carter - i -“ her sputtering was cut short by his lips crashing into her own.

john was gentle. slow. his big hand cupped her cheek, the other on her shoulder. afraid she may disappear if he got too eager. she was the one who became all excited and sloppy. her fingers threaded into his messy hair and tugged him closer, though it wasn’t possible to get any closer. her tongue grazed his lower lip and his breath quickened.

he wrapped his arms around her waist tightly, pulling her to the very edge of the bed so they were chest to chest. spit swam messily between their mouths, teeth clashed, and as he pulled away for a taunt gasp of air a string of drool pulled between them.

forehead resting against his, she snorted, “ew,” and wiped at the dribble. a pager screeched a blaring chorus of beeps making them both jump. john patted his lab coat.

“it’s me,” he huffed in frustration, showing her the face of the device. she wiped at her mouth, “go on,” she motioned to the door.

he began to stand up, “but - but you’ll be here, right?” she laughed, “john i’ll be here for another eight hours. yeah.” he looked around, shy as an alter boy despite his kiss-chapped lips.

“i… i like you,” he muttered. she nodded, “you know, i think i’ve put that together now.” outside the door someone shouted his name in a deep, gruff voice. he instinctively made for the door but stopped clumsily in the doorway. she watched him in childish delight.

santos’s finger was curled like a hook as she dredged it down the corner of your mouth as if she was cleaning up, “doctor down, you gonna drown us in your saliva?” thwacking her outstretched arm and finger away, you brushed past her and grabbed a tablet.

you heard her scoff behind your back as god received your prayer that she would shut up and move along to literally anyone else besides you. perhaps she could return to tormenting javadi or whitaker.

yet the gods most likely didn’t have a good relationship with you since trinity appeared right next to you, snatching your tablet. “trying to ignore me? cmon i’m just kidding, sweetcheeks.”

sweetcheeks.

the dreaded nickname she had bestowed upon you first day in the pitt. exhausted and borderline starved, she’d been ordered to locate you as soon as possible. where did she find you? stuffing your face with a snickers bar by langdon’s locker.

“buzz off already trinity.”

“buzz off! woah since when are we using big girl words?”

“santos, get back to your patient. she’s starting to complain of chest pain,” michael robinavitch was truly a godsend. trinity sighed in annoyance, she’d been looking forward to poking around you for as long as possible. so with a quick nod of acknowledgment to robby, the short haired girl turned swiftly on her heel to join mckay.

feeling slightly anxious with the close proximity, your fingers began to drum against the back of the tablet, past task at hand forgotten in the depths of your mind. robby had his glasses on again, god he looked good in them.

his large hand waved over your face in an attempt to bring you back to the world of the living and speaking, “you still with us? or had your sixth week crushed you entirely?” michael’s concern made you smile.

you placed your tablet back in the holder to give him your undivided attention, “i- yes i’m fine. i think santos made me forget what i came to grab a tablet for. th-thank you, for getting her to back off. nice. doing that was nice. you’re nice. but you should know that already since someone mean and bad wouldn’t- did i say bad? woah that’s a childish word to use. i’m gonna… yeah?” your thumb jabbed the air behind your shoulder, pointing to the break room before making an escape.

dana stood against the desk, having watched the whole scene play out, “this batch of kids is even weirder i’m tellin’ ya.” michael held his arms up in surrender as a ‘you said it’ expression came over his face.

“i have faith in them.” robby exhaled a deep breath, watching your smaller frame practically run down towards the break room. a small smile graced his aged face, eyes crinkling. you were undeniably one of the cutest additions to the pitt. and a welcome one.

a few shifts later came a surprisingly chill day. a few drunk and disorderly men from a pub that encouraged day drinking, a soccer mom brawl, a scooter incident that you and mel gladly rode around on when no one was paying attention, and a couple other non fatal accidents.

for once, majority of the residents, doctors and nurses had time to complete their work during their shift. yourself, javadi, whitaker and santos were all given time to be perched at your desks, typing away on your respective charts. melissa had already finished and left to talk to her sister outside.

dr robby had been checking in with you most of all. dana had agreed with him that whilst you were more than capable and reliable like the others, you tended to doubt yourself easily. so after a back and forth with the stubborn charge nurse, michael had agreed to give you extra support.

“looking good kid.” he patted your shoulder as his eyes flew side to side, taking in your charting, “very thorough work, good job.” you had to bite down on your lip to not grin widely, you opted for a simple, “thank you dr robby.” he shook his head and waved you off, as if his words meant little and not the whole world in your eyes.

victoria nudged you slightly before whispering in punjabi, “you’re smiling to yourself you know that right?” it earned a cheeky poke of the tongue towards her from you as she rolled her eyes.

your phone pinged, the grunts groupchat consisted of victoria, dennis, mel, trinity and of course you. trinity made it a few days after your first day, annoyed that all she did was ‘grunt work’ in her eyes.

the grunts

trinity 🫩: gee get on your knees why don’t you sweetcheeks

sweetcheeks 🥺: i hope garcia cuts you open one day

javadi 🫶🏽: guys can we not? i got in trouble last time i was on my phone too long

mel 👑: From who?

dennis 😚: her mom 💀

you couldn’t help but giggle at the admission. javadi rolled her eyes before giving you the finger, “javadi,” she froze at the sound of robby’s voice, sterner than usual. victoria closed her eyes and mimed a quick ‘shit’, whilst you held onto trinity and dennis’s hands and ran to the open exam room one to laugh your asses off.

the three of you sat on the floor and wiped your tears off, imagining victoria shitting herself at the idea of being told off. “oh she’s gonna cry later.” trinity wheezed.

your friends knew you well, especially since you all bonded outside of work whenever you could. being around the same age helped your relationships tremendously. you were honest with eachother, and never hesitated to tell another anything that happened. your groupchat never ran out of reels, random videos sent in rambling about your grocery store run, or the movie night you were all planning on having at trinity and dennis’s.

so when you finally met someone who drew your thoughts away from the very handsome older chief attending of yours, they all immediately received the thousands of texts flooding in from you.

the grunts

sweetcheeks 🥺: hoooooly fuckballs

sweetcheeks 🥺: can i die and go to heaven, or have i already and that’s why i saw that hot lanky man with very fluffy hair

sweetcheeks 🥺: someone reply for the love of dana

trinity 🫩: love of dana?

sweetcheeks 🥺: of course you show up when i’m talking about older women

trinity 🫩: 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️ what can i say

sweetcheeks 🥺: holy moly guacamole i’m calling you guys when i get home someone please pick up or i’m pissing my pants

dennis 😚: what kind of threat is that?

sweetcheeks 🥺: low-key a good threat, i’m wearing the sweatpants you gave me

dennis 😚: NO.

the call had lasted over two hours in which you informed that you had met a super sweet, handsome yet cute, smart young man who also was a third year medical student, albeit not super experienced. but now he was going to be transferring to a new place in a few months, perhaps your very own trauma center.

laughter, lots of laughter and tears was what you were met with. “please, that sounds like a dream. you sure this isn’t your brain hallucinating to cope with unrequited love sweetcheeks?” covering her face with her t-shirt, trinity sat on camera next to dennis as the two were watching a show at their apartment.

melissa had her camera off per usual and was muted, “guys, surely it isn’t impossible for her to meet a nice man.” melissa usually listened intently to everyone, only ever coming off the mute button when she wanted to say something again.

victoria was currently in her bed, flipping through another medical book, “it is kind of sudden, i mean you said you were going grocery shopping and you all of a sudden meet the perfect guy? he’s nice, but handsome, and also funny? clumsy and cute? and a student? and well dressed?”

it was an epidemic these days, in your words. “men used to be so well dressed, trench coats, button up shirts, polished shoes, watches, scarves, nice hair cuts. chandler bing type shit.” you’d all been watching friends together as a re-run played on the ER television.

dennis held a hand over his heart, “you don’t like how i dress?” had you forgotten he was next to you? yes. “no no, sweetie you’re an exception i swear dennis.” he smiled brightly at the praise, “thank you.”

“i swear he’s not fake!” you whined, “his name is john.”

victoria peered at her phone, not hiding behind her large, hard cover book, “ooh white boy huh?” scratching the back of your neck, you nodded in confirmation.

adjusting your phone so your friends could see you properly, you began cutting strawberries as a snack for yourself. afterwards you’d pick up a knight of the seven kingdoms to read since you knew the show was releasing soon, “i know, i know, i never really have dated a white guy yet. but trust me, he’s so… nineties hot? like chandler bing in the way he dresses. old money?”

melissa finally graced the group and took herself off mute, and turned her camera on, “maybe he is old money? they tend to dress well in my opinion.” considering her words, your fingers paused in cutting.

tossing the sliced strawberries into a bowl, you turned to put the bowl of chocolate pieces into the microwave for melting. “honestly, i have no fucking clue, we were staring at juice together. but he gave me his number and said we should go out when we’re both free. and god i want to run my hands through his hair.” dennis rolled his eyes on the other side of the phone whilst trinity and melissa tried to put together why you were staring at juice.

“how are you horny for someone you just met?” he bit down on a slice of pizza as he waited for you to turn back around from the microwave.

“dennis!” victoria squealed in disbelief.

the microwave beeped as you carefully transferred the bowl back to the kitchen island, “it’s fine javadi, he’s not even wrong. he had such cute eyes ugh, he was only here for a layover since his plane fucked up. he’s headed back to chicago, and in a few months, he’ll be back here. god i can’t wait,” you threw your head back in a dramatic fashion as they all chuckled at your antics.

and about 650 kilometres away in chicago, john was lovestruck as well.

john bolted upright in the hospital bed, “carter!” he was dragged away from his daydream at the sound of benton yelling for him to get up. john had been staring at the ceiling for the past hour where he could have caught an hour of sleep. he recalled browsing through the juices in the cold section of the mini grocery store in pittsburgh yesterday.

cranberry, apple, orange, strawberry?

the last choice had him repeat the word out loud, “strawberry? really?” next to him, stood you, also gazing upon the seemingly infinite choices of juices for the human body to consume.

crossing your arms, your eyes settled on the juice which had instigated his surprise, “pretty weird no? strawberries i love, but i’d never consider smushing them in order to drink them. not with all those seeds. even if you can’t really taste them when you eat them in my opinion. but i like dipping in chocolate when i can.”

john blinked in a stupor, had you been talking to him?

quickly glancing around the store for any stragglers, he came to the conclusion that yes, you had infact been talking and replying to him. “i like chocolate.” a stupidly wide smile came across his face, teeth on show along with the sharper teeth on each side of his mouth.

a large, outstretched hand waited for your smaller, softer hand.

fingers interlacing, you were finally turned towards the taller gentleman. he had a smooth baby face, deep brown eyes, a larger nose than yours, and fluffy brown hair. he was again, tall, much to your glee, and lean based on the lack of bulging muscles against his white button up and black dress pants.

john’s gaze was fixated on your hair. long and dark, ending by your elbow it seemed. it seemed silky, and his fingers itched to run through the locks. your skin was a light brown, like the colour of a cappuccino. the sun was setting through the window, and it hit your eyes and face, a soft glow emanating from you.

his chest felt tight.

“me john. i’m john. john carter. that’s- that’s me!” he chuckled, shaking your hand.

“it’s nice to meet you john, me- i mean my name,” you paused, having made the same mistake he did. the two of you laughed softly.

god he needed to hear you say his name more often, and laugh. it was soft, and airy, polite. he wondered how you sounded when you weren’t holding back.

your hand withdrew from his grip, “so what’re you doing in town? besides being disgusted by strawberry juice?”

benton pointed towards his watch, fingernail clanking against the glass, “i do not,” he paused, stressing the word, “have all day. get up and tend to the whining lady, abdominal pain and nausea.” john nodded vehemently, groaning at the slight pain in his neck.

doug stood with susan, coffees in hand as they watched a very messy headed john rush to the patient whilst benton simply walked the other way, toward the elevator and up to OR.

county general and the pitt were both busy places, and now also respectively housed lovestruck medical students.

susan placed her coffee to the side and turned to whisper to the paediatrician, “john met a girl.” doug raised an eyebrow at the gossip tidbit. the piece of news had been floating around the whole day since john let it slip to jerry after being caught starry eyed staring at a chart.

doug followed after the blonde, placing his own coffee cup down to give her his full attention, “is that so? here? or in pittsburgh?” taking a glance around their surroundings, susan pulled him around the corner into the empty trauma room.

making sure the door was closed, she turned back to ross, “he ran into her in a store and the two talked a bit before grabbing dinner.” the older man crossed his arms, holding onto either of his biceps. shock was the right word to describe what he was feeling. john? the same john who had fainted multiple times, runs into iv’s, and the same john susan and himself had put a cast onto his leg as he slept as a joke. he’d hobbled around the whole shift. doug was sure john barely had any game at all.

and doug was right. the story had been twisted around since jerry found out, then nurses, bob, carol, everyone. a piece of the story had been taken out, or added onto.

“good on the kid. god knows the last time he went out with anyone.”

susan rolled her eyes at doug’s joke, “he’s not ugly. the kid is good looking, it was a matter of time.” doug opened his mouth for a rebuttal.

“i never said he was!”

susan stepped out of the trauma room as doug followed after her, “i didn’t!”

four months.

late night texts and calls, spontaneous selfies throughout your busy days, getting to know each other more and more. john refused your offer of flying out to see him everytime, opting to come to you since he definitely had more than enough funds for it.

stolen moments in alleyways as you two went on dates, opting to walk together to spend more time outside. showing him around pittsburgh so he could know the best spots for late night food, clothes, even if his wardrobe was way out of your reach in pricing terms, study spots etc.

you had only been on four dates in person, all in pittsburgh. but each one had meant the world to both of you. it wasn’t the same as talking over the phone or texting or videos sent back and forth. it was real. it was tangible, you could hold and touch him and he could do the same with you.

your camera roll and phone were pushed to their limits as you both took about a million photos toghetwhr when you had the chance. knowing it would most likely be a while to you meet again.

the first had been bowling since you both trash talked about being better. you severely underestimated the man. on his final bowl, you simply flopped onto the leather seats of the alley john had booked, “this is in person bullying. different to the bullying you inflict on me over the phone carter.” he simply grinned at you, hands outstretched, claiming himself king.

the pins fell as the words strike came up on the overhead screen, kingjcarter was officially the winner.

“baby i told you, i reign supreme.” the snort that came out of you at the corny sentence made john bend over as he laughed uncontrollably.

the second had been a movie marathon at his hotel room, you had found out that he had never watched any of the harry potter movies.

settling into the comfortable covers on his king sized bed, you picked up the remote and scrolled through the various streaming platforms on the television as john finished ordering room service.

you had just gotten off a lengthy day shift with overtime, which meant you got to carter around 11pm rather than the agreed upon time. he’d immediately waved off your countless apologies since he understood how busy the emergency department always was.

that was one of the many things you love about him. he worked in the same area you did, even if you were both only students at the time.

dressed in his old sleep shirt and nothing else, the two of you relaxed in his bed as john gladly absorbed the information you threw at him.

“and she’s been using the thing on her neck to turn back time so she can go to more classes.”

john perked slightly at your explanation of the time turner, “god you know how helpful that would be for us?” he ran a hand through his hair, thinking of all the time on charting he could save. what a dream.

instantly, you shot up to sit cross legged instead of lying on his bare chest, “that’s what i said!” you slapped his chest with the back of his hand, excited he was on the same wavelength.

third consisted of, activities, john’s hotel room laid with roses, candles and the very amusing sight of john waiting with a single rose in his mouth. when you’d questioned your boyfriend, john gladly showed you a scene from friends where richard waited for monica. it also consisted of a very big complaint from his hotel room neighbours, and you being late the next day to work, and him for his flight.

both dressed finally with crazy hair and mismatched socks, your low cut socks on him and his full length socks on your feet. you kissed him at the doorway of his hotel room, “god i love seeing you.” a goofy smile directed to you should’ve been warning enough.

carter picked you up and spun you around in the hallway before biting at your neck, “carter!” the squealing was also mentioned in his neighbours complaints.

and the fourth.

john knew little about music, where you absolutely adored it.

“if the government ever has a program where they install chips into our brains, i’d be first in line if they offer music.” you were currently in the bath together, his arms around your neck as he softly palmed your chest.

carter shook his head at the absurd declaration, he was used to you randomly blurting random thought by now, but the amusement never died down.

“and i would be right there with you sweetheart.” you craned your neck to look at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and then reaching his lips. hand threading into his soft hair, “i know you would.”

so when you excitedly told him that a band you liked was in town, coincidentally when he was visiting, he immediately booked tickets for the both of you. john rented a car this time, considering he’d managed to somehow get a whole day off on account of his very serious food positioning. he loved the er, but he also loved you.

you’d told him to wait outside, that you would meet him there.

but carter tended to get overexcited at times so was it really his fault when his feet walked him into the pitt? “and who’s this new piece of meat?” an older lady in a wheelchair, cuffed to the arm, wheeled her way closer. he was smart enough to take a step back.

“woah there, getting a bit close don’t you think?” john got out of her pinch zone as she blew a kiss towards the younger man.

she raised her arm to show off the cuff, “i’m restrained here kiddo, you don’t have to worry.” john decided to turn around and head the other way when the voice he’d been waiting for called out.

“back off myrna he’s mine!” your distinct giggle sounded like heaven and his saviour. the tight grip of your arms around his neck made him sigh in relief, “i thought i was a goner there for a second.” you withdrew to take a step back, remembering where you were.

grasping onto his hands you shook your head, “she’s fine. i think you actually just have to worry about me these days.” john liked the idea of that.

he pressed a kiss to your forehead before taking your bag from you, “thankfully we have all day, or night, i guess, to do that. was your shift okay? nothing too bad?” you glanced around before taking his hand and guiding him into an empty hallway to talk.

leaning against the wall you spun your finger around, motioning to him so he could follow your instruction. pulling out your water bottle so you could hydrate before speaking again. “kind of like hell decided to take a few steps back up onto earth. i swear i never got a break the whole day. and then my attending… it’s like i couldn’t find him all day. so annoying. but i’m done, ready to go. so please whisk me away carter.”

he took the water bottle back, slipping it into your bag before placing it on the ground. john’s cold hands rested on each of your cheek, “i promise today, the music, all of it will take your mind off of this. i’m proud of you.” it was music to your ears as he kissed you, soft and tender, enough to make your head spin.

john ate up the heavy groan you released, pent up frustration seeping away from you. “john,” the drawl of his name made him hold onto you tighter. “i haven’t even signed off yet, god.” his left hand dropped to your waist as he untucked your scrubs, finding home in the soft and warm skin underneath.

“ahem.”

you think your heart dropped to your ass at the sound of michael robinavitch and his clear disappointment at your inappropriate behaviour in the workplace. a string of saliva connected you to john as you slowly came back down to your heels instead of your tip toes. at an agonising pace, your head peeked out from behind john.

john’s back was currently towards michael as he winced, knowing he had gotten you into trouble within ten minutes of being at the centre.

picking up your backpack, you handed it to john before facing the music. stepping out from behind your boyfriend, you made your way to the open area near michael’s desk. “since when was it make out with people at work day?” his hand came to smooth out his beard, a slight chuckle emitting from the man.

that caught your friend’s attention, dennis shot up from his desk as he noticed trinity’s pointer finger stalled on the tablet, “sweetcheeks is making out with people?” trinity’s questioned brought more unwanted attention, probably the worst you could get. princess and perlah.

the two women immediately smirked to one another, and began whispering in filipino. you held your hands up in defence, “sir- robby, sir robby,” you squeezed your eyes shut at the mix up, “robby. i am so so sorry. i was not thinking straight, and i usually don’t get to see him very often so- i guess seeing him here made me over excited. it will never happen again.”

michael felt endeared by the sight of your nervous rambling, he hadn’t been on the receiving end in a while. “it’s alright, at least it wasn’t out in the open. but again, hr-,” your eyes widened at the mention.

you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “oh god, are you reporting me?” that earned a few smiles and laughs, john stood by the same hallway you’d been caught in. his posture straightened immediately as he finally saw the face of your attending.

“uncle robby?”

heads turned towards him, including yours. john made his way with a slight jog as robby held his arms out, “johnny boy!” the two hugged in right in front of you.

trinity burst out in laughter as dennis’s jaw was wide open, “you two shut up.” teeth gritted, you walked over and pinched the both of them. they opted to back up from you, busy pointing at you. you should have been gone a long time ago, and now you stood getting humiliated by your friends.

michael’s hands clasped onto his nephews shoulders, super joyful, “what’re you doing here kid?” the sight genuinely made you feel insane, they now looked similar. tall, brown eyes, lean, and also family to your surprise.

john nudged his uncle to look at you, the ditzy smile on his face was a prominent indicator of his love for you, “i’m taking my girlfriend to a band she likes, uncle robby, i would say meet her, but it’s not like you don’t already know her.” you took his outstretched hand with a firm grasp, hugging his waist as you got the guts to look up.

“oh this is so good,” trinity wheezed uncontrollably as she pulled out the phone for a photo.