#lesbian!reader

“Get off me, dude.”

The guy behind you pulls back immediately, to his credit, and you relax again. You feel a little light-headed; you’ve been on the dance floor for the last half hour, navigating sticky limbs and wandering hands, and the last thing you need is some jackass who won’t take no for an answer. 

“Ya dazhe devushku sebe nayti ne mogu. Chert, chto on so mnoy delayet? Eto prosto zhalko.” The guy mutters, and you can barely pick up the Russian in between the bass of the music. 

I can’t even get a girl anymore. Fuck, what is he doing to me? This is pathetic.

You grin at the familiar language, then whirl around, suddenly interested. “Kakoy paren’?” What guy?

The man behind you is huge, towering easily over you, blonde curls matted slightly to his head with sweat. He’s wearing an absolutely atrocious leopard print shirt open about three buttons too far, his cheeks stained red and eyes hazy.

“Chto?” What?

The guy’s slightly swaying in place, and you guide him off the dance floor, concerned. He collapses back into one of the cracked vinyl booths shoved at the sides of the club with a light push, and you settle across from him. 

“Ty v poryadke, chuvak?” You okay, dude? 

The table’s sticky, the heat of the club almost oppressive. You’re more than a little concerned for the man. 

He raises his head to meet your eyes, squinting at you in the low purple light. “Do you know who I am?” He asks in English, accent thick. 

“Am I supposed to?” You shoot back. “V takoy rubashke vy tochno zapomnites' okruzhayushchim.” With that shirt, you’d certainly be memorable. 

He grins at the gentle ribbing, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Eto podcherkivayet moi glaza, ne tak li?” Brings out my eyes, doesn’t it?

“Certainly distracts from everything else, sure.”

The guy’s clearly drunk, and when he reaches across the table to clasp your hands in his, you wince and squeeze his palms once, trying to be comforting, before withdrawing. 

“Can you keep secret?” He asks, then repeats it in Russian, slurring the vowels. 

“Konechno, da.” Sure, yeah. “Is this about the guy?”

He looks panicked, eyes cutting up to you. “Otkuda vy o nem znayete?” How do you know about him?

“You were doing some pretty heavy-duty yearning out there, dude. You talked about him.”

“Blyat.”

“Look, uh, if you want to talk, you can. I can put my two cents in.”

“Dva tsenta? Chto, chert voz'mi, eto znachit?” Two cents? What the fuck does that mean?

“Eto idioma.” It’s an idiom. You grope for the Russian equivalent. There are some words in your vocabulary you know only in a specific language; and, of course, most of the English idioms didn’t have a direct translation. 

“Uh, like… lezt’ so svoimi sovetami.”

The guys nods in understanding. “Oke. I… uh…”

“We can speak in Russian, if you’d like.”

The guy opens his mouth, closes it. “You can keep secret, yes?” 

You nod, once. The guy squeezes his eyes shut.

“Yest' odin paren'. I ya dumala, chto u nas chto-to poluchitsya, no on sbezhal, i u nego teper' yest' eta chertova ideal'naya devushka. I, konechno zhe, on povsyudu, kuda by ya ni povernulas'. Ya ne mogu ot nego izbavit'sya. Khotya ya i ne khochu ot nego izbavlyat'sya.”

There’s this guy. And I thought we were going somewhere, but he runs off, and now he has this stupid fucking perfect girlfriend. And, of course, he’s there wherever I turn. I cannot escape him. I don’t want to escape him. 

“Mne ochen' zhal'. Eto neprosto. On zdes'? Pryamo seychas?” I'm sorry. That's difficult. He's here? Right now?

“Da,” the guy says, miserable, letting his head thunk back. “I cannot believe I tell you this.”

You let him have a moment. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Mm. No. Maybe I will dance.”

“Khochesh', ya pridu? Ty vyglyadish' sovsem rasteryannoy.” Do you want me to come? You're pretty out of it. 

The guy pulls a face, but offers you a hand and pulls you up. “Vy govorite kak zhitel' yuzhnykh shtatov. Ya vas s trudom ponimayu.” You speak like a Southerner. I can barely understand you. “Speak up.”

“Oh, fuck you. I think that shirt’s loud enough for the both of us.”

The guy growls, shoving his face into your neck, and drags you back out onto the dance floor, laughing slightly. t.a.t.u’s All The Things She Said floods through the club, and you let the guy sway against your back. 

I keep asking myself, wondering how / I keep closing my eyes but I can't block you out / Want to fly to a place where it's just you and me.

“I miss him,” he mutters in English, and you reach up a hand to pat comfortingly at his head. “Dumayu, ty vryad li soglasish'sya na seks iz zhalosti, verno?” I don't suppose you'd be up for a pity fuck?

“Nope. I don’t like guys. Nice try, though. Hey, what’s your name, anyway?”

He hesitates, but only for a beat. “Ilya.”

“Nice to meet you, Ilya. I’m Y/n.”

“Spasibo, Y/n.”

An easy silence falls over you, letting the low beat of the song guide your movement, before you feel Ilya suddenly go tense against your back, muscles locking. His face drops down into your hair. 

And I'm all mixed up, feeling cornered and rushed / They say it's my fault but I want her so much.

“Blyat. On zdes'.” He’s here. 

You flick your eyes up, glancing surreptitiously at a built guy in a plain white t-shirt staring at Ilya like a doe in headlights. He’s almost shaking. “Him?" You ask, incredulous. "And you're sure it's one-sided?”

Ilya’s hands drop to your waist, shaking slightly where they squeeze at your hipbones. “U nego yest' devushka.” He has a girlfriend. 

“Then he shouldn’t be looking at you like that.”

Ilya’s shaking more now, and you let him press his face into the hollow of your throat. 

“You okay?” You ask.

“Chert. Pochemu tak sil'no bolit?” Fuck. Why does it hurt so much?

The guy’s still staring at Ilya, drink in one hand. He looked like someone had just run him over with a fucking truck. 

“Idi. Posmotri na nego. C’mon,” Go. Look at him. You encourage, trying to nudge Ilya subtly forward. He raises his head and makes eye contact with the man across the dance floor, but doesn’t move otherwise. 

“​​On sdelal svoy vybor.” He made his choice. 

Jesus Christ. Ilya drops his head to kiss lightly at your neck, eyes still locked with the man across the dance floor.

“Pozhaluysta. On ne dolzhen videt' menya v takom vide.” He murmurs against your skin, and you sigh before tilting your head back. Please. He cannot see me like this. 

“This is a mistake,” You respond. 

“He cannot know he affects me like this,” Ilya responds in rough English. 

“This is why I don’t date men,” You mutter back. “Emotional range of a fucking teaspoon.”

“I am Russian. Cannot help it.”

“Shut the fuck up and dance, zasranets.”

The man in the white t-shirt vanishes into the crowd, and Ilya slumps like a puppet with it’s strings cut.

//

“A eto Svetlana.” And this is Svetlana.

As soon as the man in the white t-shirt had left, all of the fight had gone out of Ilya, and you’d been able to hail a cab and bundle him into the backseat. 

Now, after managing to wrangle his address out of him, you were shoved into the back of a cab to make sure the Russian didn’t manage to get himself killed on the journey home. Ilya had done nothing but scroll morosely through his camera roll — which admittedly did lead to him offering to introduce you to his friend Svetlana, so there was a plus.

“I cannot believe you did not open with this. That was a major oversight on your part.” You slide the phone out of his hand to marvel at the beautiful woman on the screen. “I yey nravyatsya devushki?” And she likes girls?

“Too much, I think.” Ilya responds. 

You pull a face. “No such thing.”

You feel a little guilty discussing your own romantic prospects while Ilya’s clearly having a meltdown, and reach out to drag a gentle hand through his curls. He’d crowded you on the left side of the cab, a solid line of warmth against your side.

“You want to talk about it?”

He clicks off his phone and shoves it back into your purse. His pants were basically painted on, the slut. You’d told him so affectionately earlier in the evening, when he’d shamelessly asked to deposit his things in your bag. 

“Nyet.”

“Alright,” you shrug. “You want to hear about what I read in People this morning?”

“Skazhi mne.” Tell me. 

“Well, you won’t believe this, but…”

//

ending headcanons:

you and ilya are papped leaving the club, and the internet explodes in dating conspiracy rumors. ilya posts a picture of himself on instagram in answer, face long-suffering, as you make out with svetlana in the background, draped across her lap. he captions it "i am not her type."

ilya, still feeling salty about when rose wore shane's jersey to his game, demands that you attend a boston match. you have literally never seen a game of hockey in your life, but get way too into it, screaming at the top of your lungs in russian, ilya's name on the back of your jersey. ilya fucking loves it but you are escorted from the box seats (oops).

ilya facetimes you in tampa from the bar right before he meets shane, worried that he looks silly in his red shirt. you tell him he looks fine. he still calls back twenty minutes later with the stupidest grin on his face to tell you that "hollander has his own personal stylist, so you will be mine, da?"

you and svetlana are instantly obsessed with each other. ilya will never know a moment of peace again.

✧ councilor!sevika who loves her wife and daughter more than anything in the world.

✧ councilor!sevika who moved her family out of zaun some years after joining the council.

✧ councilor!sevika who leaves her office after long days and comes home to her fourteen year old babbling about everything under the sun, and even though she wants nothing more than to lay in bed with her lovely wife and sleep for an eternity, she listens to everything her kid has to say — she might fall asleep during it though.

✧ councilor!sevika who is informed during a council meeting that an explosive went off at the cafe her wife frequented.

✧ councilor!sevika who rushes to the hospital, enforcer in tow, giving her all the information they know.

“it looks like the explosive went off just outside the window of the establishment. not too many people were hurt, but i…”

“you what? spit it out!”

“i… well i think your wife might’ve gotten the worst of it. i think this might’ve been a targeted attack.”

✧ councilor!sevika who shows up at the hospital demanding to see her wife.

✧ councilor!sevika who damn near throws up when the doctors tell her the extent of her wife’s injuries.

“when they found her, the wall had toppled over her. there were shards of glass in her skin from the window. her eardrums were ruptured and she is concussed. her ribs are broken and one of her lungs were punctured. she also has a globe rupture in her right eye. in most cases, those are somewhat easy to fix but i’m not too sure about this one, so i want to perform a vision test when she wakes up. as for her legs…”

“what? what about her legs?”

“well, as i mentioned before, the wall fell on top of her. the rubble, it… it crushed her legs. just below her upper thigh. honestly, it’s a miracle she’s alive.”

✧ councilor!sevika who, while she waits, sends a few enforcers to watch her daughter until she can get home.

✧ councilor!sevika who sprints when she’s finally allowed to see her wife.

✧ councilor!sevika who’s heart stops and feet falter when she sees the light of her life hooked up to the countless machines, the upper right half of her face wrapped in bandages and casts on both of her arms. the hospital blanket covers her from the waist down.

✧ councilor!sevika who chokes up when her left eye flutters open and round lips part.

“… ‘vika?”

“i’m here, doll. i’m right here.”

“where… where's my baby? is she… is she alright?”

“i sent some enforcers to watch her at home, she should be just fine.”

✧ councilor!sevika who watches her wife’s face flash with several emotions.

“what do you- what do you mean? why isn’t she here? she’s not hurt?”

“wha- what do you mean? wait. was she… was she with you?”

“yes, i… i think so? i don’t… i’m not sure. sevika, where’s my baby?”

✧ councilor!sevika who storms out the room just as the enforcers she sent to her home are running down the corridor toward her looking frantic.

“we went to your home, councilor. the housekeeper said your daughter left with your wife this morning. she isn’t there.”

✧ councilor!sevika who, for the next week, balances consoling her wife and trying to let the enforcers do their job. so far, all they’ve come to her with is the obvious: this was a targeted attack, someone from zaun was responsible, and her daughter was taken from the scene.

✧ councilor!sevika who breaks a little every time she has to tell her wife that they haven’t found their little girl.

✧ councilor!sevika who eventually takes it upon herself to find her kid.

✧ councilor!sevika who rolls her eyes and glares fiercely at the other council members when they try to talk her out of it.

“councilor sevika, we understand your pain, but it is in your best interest to just wait while the enforcers handle this. finding your daughter is priority.”

“shut the hell up and listen to what i’m saying. i’m telling you this as a courtesy; i am going find the son of a bitch that took my kid and hurt my wife, and i am going to kill them.”

✧ councilor!sevika who ventures into zaun everyday, armed with nothing but a pistol, going to every bar she can find. she knows whoever is dumb enough to pull a stunt like that is dumb enough to gloat about it in some way, shape, or form.

✧ councilor!sevika who walks into a newly renovated bar three days into her own investigating and makes eye contact with the bartender who visibly cowers at the sight of the woman. bingo.

✧ councilor!sevika who gets in the bartender’s face, demanding to know everything they know.

“someone hurt my wife and took my kid. tell me what you know.”

✧ councilor!sevika who reaches forward and grab the bartender by the collar of their shirt when they hesitate. she grabs them by the back of their head and pushes them into the bar, their head hitting the surface hard.

“now.”

“i- some woman came in. a- a couple days ago! she- she said something about finally uh- about getting her closure! said you killed her brother and- and she was gonna get her lick back! she was mumbling a lot, really drunk! i- i swear that’s it!”

“where?!”

“i don’t know! i swear i’ve told you everything i know! please!”

✧ councilor!sevika who, two days later sees a flickering light coming from a mostly abandoned building. the same building she spent most of her days.

✧ councilor!sevika who takes two steps at a time to get to silco’s office, ignoring all the memories flooding her mind.

✧ councilor!sevika who doesn’t hesitate to kick the door down just as a woman is bringing a chainsaw down on her daughter who lays tied to silco’s desk, tears and snot running down her bruised and beaten face.

✧ councilor!sevika who doesn’t even stop to think and just pulls the gun from her waistband and shoots at the woman, the bullet piercing her wrist and causing the electric tool to fall and clatter on the floor.

✧ councilor!sevika who stalks over to the woman stumbling away from the desk and grabs her by the hair on her head, dragging her to the clear space in the room.

✧ councilor!sevika who slams the woman to the ground, and stares her in the face. all she sees is the anguish that’d been on her wife’s face for the past two weeks. and then she sees the fear that was on her daughters face when she barged into the office.

✧ councilor!sevika who blacks out as she drives her fist into the woman’s face over and over and over again until she can’t hear the woman’s pleas. and then she continues to punch the woman in the face.

✧ councilor!sevika who doesn’t stop until she registers her girl crying for her mama, the woman in front of her no longer even recognizable as a person.

✧ councilor!sevika who staggers over to the desk to untie her daughter, face and fist covered in blood that didn’t belong to her.

✧ councilor!sevika who is still running on adrenaline, but immediately comes down when her daughter flinches as she approaches her.

“hey, i’m not gonna hurt you. you’re okay, i’m gonna get you home, hon. everything’s gonna be okay.”

✧ councilor!sevika who has to carry her daughter down the stairs and through vaun because she holds onto her so tightly (realistically she wouldn’t have let her walk even if she wanted to).

✧ councilor!sevika who is overcome with so many emotions as she tells her wife that their daughter is safe.

“after they make sure everything is okay, they’re gonna move you two into a recovery room together. that way i can keep an eye on both of you.”

✧ councilor!sevika who, as she holds her weeping wife, thinks about the fact that she came this close to losing everything and can’t help but cry into her wife’s shoulder.

𝘚𝘐𝘟 𝘍𝘌𝘌𝘛 𝘛𝘈𝘓𝘓 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘚𝘜𝘗𝘌𝘙 𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘖𝘕𝘎 (*/∇＼*) 𝘺'𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘬𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘳𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 "𝘍𝘌𝘌𝘋 𝘔𝘌!" 𝘣𝘺 @uhlunaro. 𝘪 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘭 (𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 18+). 𝘪 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘬𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦. 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘢'𝘥. 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦n𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘬? 𝘣𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘪 (≧∇≦)/

— 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯

His eyebrows raise quickly, his arms just the same. “I mean, no offence. Looks… Cool? I guess?” He follows. You wonder how he’s still got so much energy left.

“No, it’s fine. You’re right anyways. Not sleeping well again. It’s whatever.” You shrug, the yawn finally escaping you. You haven’t been “sleeping well” for months. Some days you’d come in all chipper, other days it’s obvious you were up before your alarm. Jack was getting concerned, obviously. Since you started working nightshift, he’s taken a liking to you. Of course he liked most of the staff, but he took a bigger interest in you. 

It wasn’t the same interest as he took with the other attendings and residents. It was completely different. It felt like that odd uncle who you barely see but still makes sure to persuade your mom into letting you sit at the adults table. It wasn’t romantic, far from it. You cared for each other, on a different level.

“Alright. You really need to get something for that-” He’s cut off by the ringing of his work phone, rolling his eyes and answering. He flashes you a thumbs up and a wink before scurrying off to wherever he was needed. You nod, waving him a quick goodbye before continuing with practically flicking the keyboard and hoping it presses. Soon later, when you’ve only done half a paragraph more, another person comes by. This time you know who it is. You can smell the perfume from beside you. You had been near it enough to know. “Wow, you are really working hard over here.” Dr. Ellis says sarcastically, a faint grin on her face. You chuckle slightly, sitting back in your chair, stretching for a moment.

“I know, I’m an incredible worker.” You sigh, watching as she leans a little closer, you could see the tiredness, but it was clear with everyone anyways. She reaches for your hand gently tugging you off the chair. You don’t budge yet, unsure of what she’s making you do.

“Come on, you’ve still got till 8:15. Let me help you stretch out a bit.” The moment you hear her words, you shake your head, a smile on your face. You try to hide it, trying to play it off as just something funny was said. Can’t have anyone at work knowing otherwise someone will probably blabber and you’ll go through four months of HR meetings on your lunch breaks.

Silently, you stand up slowly. Even if it’s more like pushing yourself up and hoping you make it. She leads the way, leading you to the more empty part of the pitt. Though none of it is really that empty. “Jesus, Parker. Going so far out of the way, what’re you gonna do with me?” You joke, crossing your arms to seem more natural. Just two doctors walking towards a supply closet. Calm and casual. “That, I haven’t decided yet. We’ll see.”

She makes it sound fun but realistically, it’ll probably be cut off within two minutes. She pushes the door open. Letting you slip in first before glancing around and walking in herself. “Smooth, real smooth.” You mutter, watching as she locks the door like clockwork.

You’d found yourself in here countless times, whether it’s for actual medical reasons, or for other reasons. Either way, whenever you and Ellis are on shift together, you find your way in here. According to Parker it’s really common, but you’ve yet to see anyone do the same so you beg to differ. But to her, she says it’s a plus. “Obviously no one’s gonna suspect us then?” She says almost every time.

Quickly, she pulls you in. One hand grabs your side, the other rests on your jaw. She sways for a moment, it’s soft and slow. Like keeping you moving might help your throbbing back. Then, she moves closer pressing her lips against yours. It’s gentle, it’s sweet. It’s almost exactly what you need. Except you’re stressed and you’re tired and you’d rather be anywhere else. So if you can forget you’ve been at work for hours, you’ll do whatever.

Soon, you’re rushing desperate for anything. Your hands on her sides fumble with her scrubs. She notices immediately, trying to match your moves. In seconds, your bodies are pushed together, there’s barely an inch separating you, if that. Your shirt is on the floor, hers you couldn’t quite manage. One hand is between your legs, the other still on your jaw. Your eyes are screwed shut and you’ve lost almost all of your senses. So it’s no surprise you don’t hear the lock clicking and the door pushing open in front of you. What you do hear however is the sound of a one Jack Abbott. Senior Attending. A close friend. And your fucking boss.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Your heads snap towards the door, seeing the light spilling in. Parker quickly pulls her hands back, the elastic on your scrubs snapping against stomach. He’s quick to look behind him, making sure no one else can see you both standing there, eyes wide. In his hand holds the keys to all the maintenance rooms and bathrooms in the ER. Normally attendings don’t have them so he must’ve asked a cleaner for a set. 

“Jesus Christ, are you insane? You must be. Both out of your minds!” You try to reply, Parker’s the same. She actually says some things before being cut off by him. “Just get your clothes on and get the hell out. Dumbasses.” He grumbles. Suddenly he’s not so upbeat unlike earlier. His demeanour changed in twenty minutes tops. You both rush to do what he says after he closes the door behind him.

Soon you both walk out like two teenagers who just got caught smoking weed. Except it’s ten times worse because you tried to have sex at work. Again, Parker goes to say something, but again, she’s cut off by the ringing of her own work phone. You’re hoping yours goes off too, but it doesn’t. She answers it, listens to barely a sentence before sighing. “Shit, I’m sorry I’ve gotta go. Got a patient in a bad way.” You don’t even have time to tell her anything before she’s halfway down the hall and around the corner. 

So, instead you’ll have to be your own attorney in court. He doesn’t say a word, just walks towards an empty room. One he hopes you’ve not had sex in also considering it’s a patient room. He gestures for you to sit down, putting the curtains behind you both. You shuffle onto the bed like a nervous puppy, your hands rested in your lap. He takes a deep breath before he starts. “Are you actually serious right now? The both of you but especially you. What were you thinking?” His voice is calm but his words sound like they should be anything but.

You cut him off, trying to defend yourself to the judge. “I’m sorry, I just had a stressful day and I wasn’t thinking. But it wasn’t right… At all.” Your defense is weak, the jury thinks you’re not sincere. You are, kind of. Sure, you shouldn’t have, but it’s not like many others haven't. Well, according to all the gossip you’ve heard. Looks like you’re going to be next.

“Well, you should be sorry. I mean hiding something like that from me? What is wrong with you?” Your brows furrow, you’ve probably just misunderstood.

“Jesus, it’s so obvious now. You’ve been tired cause you’ve been sleepin’ around. I just thought that you had like a disorder or something. My God, kid. You worried me for a second.” Nope, didn’t misunderstand. Was he seriously just mad you didn’t tell him you were sleeping with her? He sits on the bed next to you, shaking his head. His eyes bore into the wall. “You’re like, being weird right now. You’re not mad?” You ask, eyes still wide in shock. He laughs, you don’t. Still trying to figure out what’s happening.

“Fuck no, I really don’t care. Everyone has done it at some point. Really I just wanted Ellis to think that you were both in major shit. She did it to me years ago. Also she owes me five dollars.” He nods, running his hand through his hair, the other lets him lean back against the bed. “Plus, I’m happy for you. Thought you were depressed and lonely. Almost called psych the other week. Glad to see you’re sleeping around.” You can tell he amuses himself, the way that he’s laughing at his own jokes. Especially with your confused and worried face.

“I’m not sleeping around.” You defend, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t listen. “Wait, so you’re really not going to call HR?” You’re ready to start pleading and crying if he says he will. You can’t have a bad record when you’ve only been a resident for two years. “No, God no. How much time do you think I have? If I wanted you both to suffer I’d just tell Princess and Perlah. It’d make its way up here in no time.” He’s still giggling to himself, you’re holding back a laugh now, until he laughs for a second more and it slips. You have to cover both of your mouths, not wanting to take the patients on either side of the wall. His hand is clasped over his stomach, you’re both trying to calm down. It takes you a minute, a couple more laughs just from glancing at each other, but after a while, you do it. Able to both stand up and pull the curtain back. “Thanks for not telling HR. I mean you nearly gave me a heart attack, but still. Thanks.” You nod, stepping out of the room and into all the tired chaos.

“‘Course kid, anytime.” He lifts a hand up, offering a high five you gladly take. He squeezes lightly, you squeeze back. You both shift to go into opposite directions. “I don’t need to wash this, do I?” He asks, pointing to his hand you’ve just let go off. He’s already chuckling while he says it.

All you can do is roll your eyes, while muffling a laugh. “Fuck off, seriously, honest to god. Fuck off.” You quickly reply, unable to hide a giggle before you both go to check on your patients.