#love languages

He’s been quiet. Withdrawn. Solemn in the way that he gets sometimes, but tonight it’s worse than you’ve seen before. He isn’t exactly the most chipper person even on his best days, but you picked up on the minute change in his demeanor from the moment he greeted you at the beginning of the shift.

No one else seems to have noticed. If they have, they haven’t pointed it out.

But you’re hyperaware of him in a way that you have no business being. It isn’t your place to take such notice of him, and yet you do. Sometimes you think that your job would be easier if you only paid as much attention to him as you do Shen, or Robby, or Whitaker, or Santos.

Quite literally anyone else.

“He asked me to keep an eye on the patient in bay three and then wandered off,” Shen sighs. “Saw him going in the direction of the west stairwell when I was on my way back from the break room if that helps.”

“West stairwell?” You mumble under your breath. There’s only one reason he would be walking in the direction of the west stairwell that you can think of.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gone up to the hospital rooftop to clear his mind, though you can’t say you’ve ever known of him to do so in the middle of the night.

Especially not without his coat when it’s 25 degrees outside.

Call it a hunch. Something in your gut telling you that he isn’t in the staff lounge, or bathroom, or an empty on-call room. The grating voice in the back of your mind is telling you he’s on that damn roof.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” you call to Shen as you grab the black Columbia off the back of Jack’s desk chair, walking away before Shen can ask where you’re going.

Before you can think of grabbing your cardigan. Before you can think of anything, really. You haven’t the vaguest idea what you’ll say if your suspicion is confirmed when you open the stairwell door and find him on the rooftop, but you don’t let that stop you from putting one foot in front of the other until you reach the top of the stairs with his jacket clutched to your chest.

When you start to open the door, you pause with your hand on the knob. It crosses your mind that it isn’t too late for you to turn back - to walk back down the stairs and hang his coat on his chair and resume your job before he can ever know that you came up here to check on him.

That would be the smart thing to do. Then you wouldn’t risk crossing any professional boundaries or potentially blurring the lines between the level of concern you would show towards any random coworker, and one that makes your brain turn to static anytime you find yourself in his general vicinity.

But then you recall the forlorn look on his face as he typed up discharge papers at his desk when he thought no one was watching. The way he kept rubbing the bridge of his nose like he had a headache that just wouldn’t go away. How he hasn’t cracked one sarcastic comment in the last eight hours.

That pesky, persistent voice in the back of your mind tells you that he would do the same for you, though you doubt her reliability. She’s been known to tell you what you want to hear.

You listen anyway, and open the door.

He doesn’t turn around or glance over his shoulder at the sound of the creaking door - he doesn’t even flinch, and you have to wonder if he heard you at all over the low howl of the wind. You step out into the cold, mentally cursing yourself for not taking the time to grab your cardigan.

You stop when you reach the guardrail. He stands just beyond it, several feet from the ledge of the building with his hands in his scrub pockets. Light from the full moon reflects off his salt and pepper curls and even from here, you can see goosebumps on the skin of his neck.

“Beautiful moon tonight,” you muse. “Pretty sure it would look just as nice from behind the rail, though.”

His shoulders lift with a faint, amused chuckle. “I can’t give Mrs. Sawyer anymore morphine,” he says without turning to look at you.

You huff a laugh, crossing your arms over your chest to attempt to shield yourself from the cold night air as you will your teeth not to chatter. “Mrs. Sawyer is sound asleep. I’m here for you.”

He finally glances over his shoulder, an expression that you can’t quite read on his face. “How’d you know I’d be up here?”

“Just a lucky guess.” You shrug, then duck between the railing to come stand beside him. He glances down, noticing the coat in your arms at the same moment you hold it out to him. “Thought you’d be cold.”

He stares at you for a moment before accepting it, but he doesn’t put it on as you expect him to. Instead, he takes a step in your direction, stopping right in front of you, and drapes the coat around your shoulders.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he murmurs. He reluctantly drops his hands back down to his sides, but doesn’t step away from you.

“That does tend to happen when it’s below freezing outside, doctor.”

He looks like he’s fighting the urge to smirk, but then he looks away, back to the full moon and city lights in front of you. He’s silent for a moment and then sighs. “Today is the anniversary of losing my leg.”

You exhale, your breath clouding in front of your lips. He continues to watch the night sky before him as you watch him. His jaw tenses and he seems to try to swallow down whatever he’s feeling. “Oh, Jack,” you murmur. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

He never talks about his leg. Never calls any attention to it, if he can help it. Doesn’t let it define him. Hell, you didn’t even learn that he’s an amputee until three months after switching to the night shift, when you walked into the break room to find him adjusting his prosthetic.

This is the same man who didn’t hesitate to use one leg to donate his own blood while actively working on a critically injured patient, while his other is in a prosthetic. Of course he hasn’t mentioned the anniversary of the day he’d lost his leg before.

So for him to confess this to you now…that’s not something you take lightly.

Jack shakes his head, still not meeting your gaze. “Most years, it doesn’t even cross my mind. It’s just another day to me. But tonight, when Mrs. Sawyer wakes up, I have to tell her that she’s going to lose her hand. That it isn’t salvageable. I have to deliver the same news that I received on this same day.”

You glance down at the ground. The news doesn’t come as much of a surprise to you. You had seen Mrs. Sawyer’s mangled hand with your own two eyes when she first arrived earlier tonight. She’d dropped her wedding ring down the disposal, reached in to try to grab it without thinking, and the disposal turned on all its own. A stuck switch, electrical shortage, faulty wiring…who knows. In the blink of an eye, her life is changed by one freak accident.

You don’t know the specifics of how Jack had lost his leg, but you wonder if that’s how he had felt, too, all those years ago.

But you don’t ask. Instead, you grab his hand in yours and give it a tight squeeze. The warmth of his palm against yours offers the smallest reprieve from the cold and his hands are far softer than you would have ever expected, but you force yourself to let go when his gaze snaps back to yours.

“I’m sorry it has to be you,” you murmur. “But for whatever it’s worth…if it were me, I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

He exhales, the cold air turning his breath to fog. His lips part, then press together again like he wants to say something but can’t find his voice. The look on his face says it all, though.

I don’t know if I can do this. Not tonight.

“I mean it,” you implore. “It’s going to suck for you to say and it’s going to suck for her to hear. But she has you, and that’s one thing going right for her tonight. There’s only so many people in this world that can relate to what she’s going through, and she gets to have one of them as her doctor.”

He’s quiet for a moment as your words settle over him. Then, the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s something. “You know, I think the world of you as a nurse…but if for some reason you ever decide to change career paths, you should consider motivational speaking.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you snort, your cheeks warming at the compliment. “But until then…” You trail off, contemplating your next words. Not wanting to come on too strong while also needing him to know that you mean what you’re about to say from the bottom of your heart.

“Until then, you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be there when she wakes up. I’ll stay with you while you tell her. If you want, that is.”

Not just tonight, you almost add. Any night. Every night. If you’ll let me.

“And as much as I appreciate this—” You glance down at his coat that still hugs you, “I’d appreciate you coming back inside with me a lot more. She’ll be waking up soon. She needs you. I need you.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh and nods. “Alright. You win. Let’s go inside before you get hypothermia and I have to fill out an incident report.”

He starts to turn towards the guardrail behind you when he pauses, placing a tentative hand on your waist. It's barely there, a featherlight kind of touch - the kind you probably wouldn’t even feel if you didn’t glance down for visual confirmation.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For looking for me.”

You shiver. You tell yourself it’s because of the wind.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Always.”

✧˖*°࿐⭒.⋆˖࣪⭑

Gift Giving

“What are you doing here?” Cassie muses the second she sees you walk through the emergency department’s doors - just loudly enough to draw the attention of Dana, Santos, Whitaker, and everyone else within twenty feet of the nurse’s station. “You haven’t worked on your birthday once the entire time you’ve been here.”

You glare at her, making a mental note to get her back for that the first chance you get.

She knows exactly why you chose to work tonight - and right now, you’re just relieved that he has yet to arrive for his shift and therefore isn’t here to witness this conversation.

“I didn’t know today’s your birthday,” Santos says, seemingly intrigued by the teasing expression on Cassie’s face and the annoyance on yours.

“It’s not my birthday.”

“It’s not her birthday yet,” Cassie clarifies, glancing down at her watch. “But it will be her birthday in approximately five hours.”

“Jesus,” you sigh, staring up at the screen above you to see what kind of shitshow you have willingly walked into by agreeing to cover a shift for Perlah earlier this week. “I’m a big girl. Sometimes big girls have to work on their birthdays. Perlah needed her shift covered, so here I am.”

You omit the fact that you were more than happy to do so because it meant having an excuse to spend part of your birthday with a certain attending that you knew would be on shift, as per usual on Monday nights/Tuesday mornings.

It’s not as if you had any major birthday plans to begin with. Other than getting dinner with Cassie and Samira tomorrow evening, your only plans include binge-watching and bedrotting. Picking up an extra shift tonight interferes with none of that, but…

You do feel a little silly. You wouldn’t dare ever admit it to Cassie, but she’s right. You don’t normally work on your birthday. Someone else more than likely would have been willing to cover Perlah’s shift. You don’t have to be here right now.

But you want to be. As silly - and maybe even a little bit pathetic - as it may be, you want to be.

Unfortunately for you, by the time the clock strikes midnight and it’s officially your birthday, you’ve barely even had the chance to exchange a handful of words with your entire reason for agreeing to work this shift.

Jack has been in the middle of an emergency splenectomy for the last three hours, and you? Lena assigned you the time-consuming, meticulous task of removing hundreds of bits of gravel from a severe case of road rash.

Isn’t that how everyone dreams of kicking off their birthday?

It succeeded in keeping you occupied for a few hours, at least - even if it is the type of mindless work that allows your thoughts to venture into territory they absolutely fucking shouldn’t when you’re picking tiny rocks out of a bloody crater on someone’s leg.

The feeling of Jack’s fingertips on your waist as he stood mere inches away from you on the rooftop what feels like just yesterday.

Him walking you to your car damn near every morning since even though you’re parked farther from the hospital entrance than he is, and the way he hesitates a little longer to say goodbye each time.

All of the times he has shown up to work with two coffees instead of one, and one just so happens to be your go-to order.

And, most recently, the elevator incident just yesterday - when he had oh so casually asked what your plans for your next day off are.

Friday, you had told him. Your next day off is Friday, and you don’t have any plans other than deep-cleaning your apartment and catching up on laundry. He had leaned back against the elevator wall, looking at you in that way that makes your heart behave erratically.

“That’s too bad,” Jack sighed. “Someone should give you something to actually look forward to on your day off.”

Then the elevator came to a stop, the doors slid open, and he walked out like he hadn’t just made you forget how to string two words together.

It wasn’t until hours later, on the drive home after your shift, that you were able to think of what you should have said instead of staring at him with your mouth agape like a fish out of water.

Oh, yeah? And who is someone?

Is that your professional opinion, or personal one?

Let me know when you think of something that I can actually look forward to, then.

But no. You said none of those things, and then found an excuse to stay for nearly an hour after your shift had technically ended so that you wouldn’t make an even bigger fool out of yourself when he would inevitably offer to walk you to your car.

You replay the interaction over and over again in your head the entire time you’re removing gravel from the wound, but finally, you finish.

You’re pulling the bloody nitrile gloves off of your hands when Jack appears in the doorway, still wearing a scrub cap and looking like he could use a few shots of espresso.

“Hey,” you breathe, unable to stop the smile that blooms across your face as soon as you see him. “How did the splenectomy go?”

“He’s going to be okay,” he exhales, tugging off his cap and revealing tousled salt and pepper curls. “He’s in recovery now.” Then, he glances around, as if making sure no one is paying any mind to either of you. “Do you think you could sneak away for a few?” He asks, voice low. “Meet me in the empty on-call room in about ten minutes?”

Your heart thuds in your chest. He’s smirking, but there’s something in his hazel eyes that makes you think he looks a little nervous.

“Yeah,” you nod without missing a beat. “Yeah, of course. Just let me get him some more pain meds and I’ll be right there.” You nod towards the road rash patient scrolling on his phone behind you. “Is everything okay?”

He takes a step back and winks. “Everything’s just fine, birthday girl.”

And then he turns, walking away and leaving you speechless for the second day in a row.

You haven’t even had a chance to remind him of your birthday tonight. In fact, you don’t recall mentioning your birthday to him at any point recently. A few days ago, you told him that you would be picking up Perlah’s shift tonight, but you hadn’t said a word about it being your birthday.

Did Cassie say something to him? Maybe a playful comment as she was leaving earlier about you deciding to work on your birthday? But even so, why would that result in him asking you to meet him in an empty on-call room?

By the time you give road rash guy a maximum dose of Toradol and blurt out some excuse about needing to use the bathroom as you powerwalk past the nurse’s station, your palms are drenched in sweat and your stomach feels like it’s swinging on a pendulum.

You raise your hand to the knob, hesitate for half a moment - just long enough to recall the lilt in his voice when he practically cooed birthday girl - and then, before you can chicken out, push it open.

The first thing you notice is how dim the small room is. Aside from the pale orange glow of a lamp next to the bed, the room is dark.

But not so dark that you can’t see Jack sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a cupcake in one hand and a pocket lighter in the other.

“I would sing to you, but I don’t want to torture you on your special day.” He ignites the lighter, holding the flame to the singular candle until it catches fire. “Don’t tell Dana,” he murmurs, standing up to walk the few feet to where you stand frozen in shock. “I took her spare lighter from her desk.”

You’re at a loss for words - which is quickly becoming the norm for when you’re near him. The only coherent thought you can manage to formulate is that right now, you’re so grateful that Perlah asked you to cover her shift.

You take a step closer to him now that your brain seems to be remembering to send signals to your limbs to move. “Do you always bring the nurses cupcakes on their birthdays, or is this something new you’re trying out?”

He hums a laugh. “Only my favorites. Now go on,” he encourages gently. “Make a wish.”

You hesitate, pursing your lips as you wait to see if he’s joking.

The look on his face makes it clear that he’s not.

And you’re not about to tell him no, so you close your eyes, lean in closer, and blow out the tiny flame while silently wishing for the only thing you have really wanted since you met him.

He hands you the cupcake as soon as you open your eyes. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could persuade you to tell me what you wished for?”

You huff a breathless laugh. “I don’t think so. Gotta do everything I can to ensure that it comes true.”

“I didn’t take you to be superstitious.”

You shrug, thinking of your wish. Thinking of what he said to you in the elevator yesterday. Thinking of the way he’s looking at you right this second. “I’m usually not.”

It’s true. You’ve never considered yourself to be superstitious. But you aren’t going to take any chances with this wish.

Jack’s gaze lingers on your face for one impossibly long moment before he glances over his shoulder at the bed behind him. It’s only then that you see something that you had been too distracted to notice when you first entered the room and found him holding the cupcake and lighter.

A small gift bag with white tissue paper sticking out of the opening sits on the bed.

“Jack, you really didn’t have to get—”

“I know I didn’t have to,” he laughs lowly, cutting you off before you can finish protesting. “But I wanted to, so I did.”

The already tiny room suddenly feels infinitely smaller. The cupcake alone was thoughtful enough to have your heart performing cartwheels in your chest. Hell, the fact that he even remembered your birthday without you directly mentioning it to him is enough to make you swoon. But all of this?

You’re so fucked. Entirely and irrevocably fucked.

You don’t remember the last time you felt so nervous to open any gift. Not at any childhood birthday party or family Christmas when dozens of eyes were glued to you.

It’s just Jack. There’s no reason to be nervous, you think to yourself as you place the cupcake on the bedside table and take a seat on the edge of the mattress.

Exactly. It’s Jack. Jack, who went out of his way to …bake you a cupcake? Or stop by a bakery on his way to work and buy you a cupcake? And personally pick out a gift for you? And find you the second that he finished performing an emergency splenectomy so that he could give you the aforementioned cupcake and gift in private?

You will your hands not to tremble as you delicately pull the tissue paper from the bag. Jack takes a seat beside you, and even though you don’t meet his gaze, you can feel his stare locked onto your face as he awaits your reaction.

You peek inside the bag, and you see it. Already unboxed. A stethoscope.

But not just any stethoscope. A really fucking pricey stethoscope.

The tubing is your favorite color and your initial is engraved into the bell in cursive lettering.

“Oh,” you breathe, too stunned to remember any of the other hundreds of thousands of words in the English language.

He clears his throat and gives a tiny shrug that does little to conceal how intently he’s watching you. “I know you’ve been using the same one since you first started working here,” he murmurs as you pull the stethoscope from the bag and hold it in your hands as if it’s made of glass. “This one should last you a while.”

You trace the engraved letter with your fingertip. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper, finally looking up at him. “But this…Jack, this is too much. You shouldn’t have spent this much money.”

“It’s not.” He shakes his head, gently shushing you, soft but firm. “I wouldn’t have spent it if I didn’t have it, but I do.”

He smirks, pausing for a second as he takes the stethoscope from you. He leans in, lifting the tubing over your head and looping it around your neck. His knuckles faintly brush your collarbone as the bell settles just over your heart.

“And maybe, selfishly, I’ll enjoy seeing it around your neck knowing that I put it there.”

You exhale a breathless laugh, your skin ablaze at both his words and the timber of his voice. “I’ll wear it every day, then.” Then, feeling brave, you scoot closer to him, closing the remaining distance between you and him until the side of your leg rests against his. “How’d you know my favorite color, anyway?”

Even in the dim lamp lighting, you can see a hint of pink bloom on his cheeks. He grins, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s only the color of your water bottle, your phone case, your lunch box…”

You laugh to play off how it makes your heart swell that he noticed any of those things.

“And I might have asked Cassie,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Just to be one hundred percent sure.”

The look on Cassie’s face and her teasing comments when you’d first arrived for your shift earlier tonight suddenly pop into your head.

Of course she had known. Damn her.

At least she can keep a secret.

“It’s perfect,” you hum. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You deserve it. Especially since you’ve gotta be here on your birthday.”

You chuckle nervously, looking down at your hands in your lap to avoid his stare. “Yeah, about that…”

You hesitate before continuing, briefly considering regurgitating the same excuse you had tried to feed everyone else about only working tonight because Perlah needed her shift covered.

It isn’t a lie. But it also isn’t the truth.

The stethoscope hanging around your neck suddenly feels like it weighs fifty pounds. It serves as tangible proof that you don’t need to hold back, that he cares about you as much as you do him. That he isn’t going to make you feel silly. That, for whatever reason, he wants to be near you as much as you want to be near him.

“I was happy to say yes when Perlah asked me to cover her shift. I wanted to be here on my birthday. Well…wanted to be with you on my birthday,” you quickly amend.

Jack places his hand over yours with a heartfelt laugh. “I wish you had told me. I would have rearranged my shifts so I’d be off tonight,” he sighs. “I’ll remember that next year. But in the meantime…”

Next year. The words seem to ping pong around in your brain. You glance up at him to find he’s already looking at you.

“You said that your next day off is Friday?”

He’s so close that it’s dizzying. All you can manage is a small nod of confirmation.

“Here’s what I propose, then,” he starts, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the top of your hand, “Friday evening, you let me give you a birthday redo. Unless you’re too committed to catching up on your laundry, that is.”

The words you hadn’t said aloud when you made your wish just moments ago echo through your mind.

“I’m off on Saturday as well,” you hum. “I’m sure the world will keep spinning if I put it off for one more day.”

“Then it’s settled,” he says simply. “Friday night. Birthday redo. You and me.”

“Don’t you…always work on Friday nights?” You ask hesitantly. Every part of you wants to say yes, yes, yes, duh, of course - but in the entire time you’ve worked with Jack Abbot, you’ve never known him to be off on Friday nights.

Something about weekend shifts being more exciting than weekday shifts.

He huffs a quiet laugh that you feel the soft vibration of from where his hand rests atop yours and your thigh brushes against his.

“That’s not for you to worry about,” he murmurs. “Just get through these next few shifts and I’ll take care of the rest.”

✧˖*°࿐⭒.⋆˖࣪⭑

Acts of Service

The following seventy-two hours drag.

You would think that twelve hour shifts would make the days go by quickly, but no. Not when your first official date with Jack awaits you at the end of the week, occupying your every waking thought at work, at home, and in your fucking sleep.

It certainly doesn’t help that Jack refuses to tell you what he has planned for said date. You’ve asked, but every time you do, he just smirks and says he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Anticipation alone, you could probably handle. But anticipation and curiosity? You’ve been slowly losing your mind since Tuesday night.

Now, finally, it is officially Friday. It’s just after midnight, which means you just have to finish the remainder of this shift, go home and get some sleep, and when you wake up it’ll be time to get ready for your date with—

“Your admirer is back.”

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard as you’re working on charting for a patient who came in complaining of urinary pain. You glance up to see Lena looking down at you with what can be best described as an amused grimace.

She steps aside, giving you enough space to look over your shoulder to where an annoyingly familiar face is grinning at you from the bed in bay two.

“Jesus,” you sigh, turning back to your computer screen. “This is his third visit this month. What kind of insane health insurance does he have?” You grumble, more to yourself than Lena.

“Small laceration to the left palm,” Lena explains. “Says he cut it cleaning up glass from a broken liquor bottle. Judging by the way he smells, I’d say he’s telling the truth.”

Now it’s your turn to grimace. Trey - your admirer, as Lena had referred to him - has a habit of stumbling into the ER late at night after drinking too much and sustaining minor injuries that hardly justify a trip to the emergency room.

And every time, he asks for you.

He uses the same pick-up lines every time, stares a little too much, and reeks of whatever alcohol he’s been drinking that night, but he’s always been harmless enough.

This isn’t your first day on the job. You’ve had your fair share of Treys throughout your years working in the emergency department.

“It’s small and shallow,” she continues. “Doesn’t need stitches. Should be fine with some steri-strips, but I can ask Mateo to do it if you don’t wanna deal with him.”

“Mateo has his hands full with the lady with the dog bite that came in about ten minutes ago,” you sigh resignedly, pushing your chair back to stand up. “I’ll just get it over with. If I don’t, he’ll find some other way to fuck himself up enough to come right back here.”

You glance down at your watch. 12:36 am. Just six hours and twenty-four minutes left in this shift.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Trey greets you with slurred words and a shit-eating grin as soon as he sees you approaching his bedside. “I had a feeling you’d be here tonight.”

“This is my full time job,” you quip, not caring enough to try to conceal the annoyance from your voice or facial expression. Even from several feet away, you can smell the stout stench of liquor on him. “So, what is it now, Trey? Lena said something about you getting cut when you tried to clean up glass from a broken bottle?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, drawing out the word. “Clumsy me, right? Total accident.”

“Right,” you deadpan, sliding your hands into nitrile gloves. “Well, let me take a look.”

You take his hand as firmly as you can without technically being rough and turn his palm upwards. It’s exactly as Lena had described - short, shallow, already clotting well - and definitely not worth a trip to the fucking ER. He winces anyway, milking it.

“Ow,” he drawls. “Be careful with me, sweetheart.”

You ignore that, because you’ve become a professional at ignoring Trey and other men like him. You lean in slightly, inspecting the wound for any shards of glass.

“Okay,” you say, all business. “I don’t see any glass, so that’s good. I’m just going to clean it and then close it with steri-strips.”

“Whatever you want. I like when you take charge.” His breath wafts into your face in a thick cloud of cheap vodka and something soured - judging by the mystery stain on the neckline of his t-shirt, you wouldn’t be surprised if it were the stench of his own vomit. You purse your lips in a straight line to keep from making the face you really want to make.

You ignore that comment, too. You reach for the saline, starting to irrigate the laceration. He hisses dramatically.

“Oh, come on,” you mutter. You know you aren’t being professional, but you can’t find it in you to really care. “I’ve had cat scratches worse than this.”

“You could kiss it better,” he slurs, head lolling slightly in a poor attempt at a flirtatious grin.

“Not happening.”

You keep your eyes on the cut as you blot it dry, mentally counting down the minutes until you’re away from him. Mentally counting down the minutes your shift is over and you can go home and crawl into your cozy bed and sleep for hours, and then wake up and take a hot shower and put on something cute for Jack. The only issue with that is you don’t know what you should wear, because you don’t know where you’ll be going or what you’ll be doing—

A flash of silvery curls in your peripheral vision catches your attention. You glance over your shoulder and see Jack standing at the nurse’s station, leaning forward on his elbows, his expression unreadable as he watches you work. He must’ve just come out of trauma, or maybe he’s waiting on lab results; but either way, at this moment, he’s focused on you.

Warmth blooms on your cheeks.

“So…” Trey says, his voice dropping low. “What time do you get off?”

“Not soon enough,” you grumble under your breath, applying the first steri-strip.

“Maybe I could swing by your place later,” he continues, completely ignoring your uninterested, bored tone. “Y’know…hang out. You live at—” He pauses, face scrunching together as he tries to piece the thought together, “—at Carriage Park Apartments, right? In South Hills? You’re…what is it…unit 3B?”

Your blood goes cold and your hands stop moving.

“How the fuck do you know that?” You ask sharply, yanking your hands away from his.

Trey just grins. “Lucky guess, baby.”

It’s not a lucky guess. It’s spot on down to the exact unit.

Instinctively, you take a step back, but he immediately reaches toward you, clumsy but quick, grabbing the tubing of your new stethoscope where it’s draped across your chest.

“Hey—” You jerk backwards, but he doesn’t let you, inspecting the engraved initial on the bell of the stethoscope.

“This is nice,” he slurs. “You always wear this one? Or is it new? I saw on your friend Cassie’s Facebook page that it was your birthday the other day. Maybe it was a gift—”

“Let go,” you snap, trying to keep your voice even. You don’t want to draw the attention of any other patients, but you can literally feel your pulse spiking, hot bile churning in your gut—

But Trey doesn’t let go. His grip only tightens, and at that exact moment, Jack moves.

One second he’s watching like a hawk from the nurse’s station, and the next, he’s at your side, stepping in so quickly and decisively that you barely have time to register what’s happening. His hand clamps around Trey’s wrist - not hard enough to seriously injure him, but with enough strength that Trey’s face contorts in discomfort and he attempts to pull away.

“I suggest you take your hand off of her,” Jack’s voice is low but lethal.

Trey’s glassy eyes blink rapidly up at Jack. “Hey - hey, man,” he stammers. “I wasn’t - I wasn’t doing anything. Just talking to her and - and looking at her—”

“She told you to let go.”

You stand frozen as the interaction unfolds in front of you, your heart feeling as if it’s going to beat right out of your chest and onto the hospital floor.

“I was just joking around.” He says the words so quickly that they all run together. “You don’t gotta - hey, seriously, it’s fine. I’ll go—”

“Dr. Abbot, we’ll handle it from here.”

You vaguely register a security guard’s voice cut through the tension. Two officers appear at the entrance to the bay. You aren’t sure who even called them - knowing Lena, she probably had them on stand by when Trey stumbled in here drunk as a skunk and smelling like one, too.

Jack reluctantly releases Trey’s wrist. The moment he does, his hand finds your shoulder and he begins to guide you backwards, away from the bed and out of Trey’s reach.

“What’s going on here?” One of the guards - a new guy who you’ve never spoken to before - asks no one in particular.

Trey slumps back against the pillows, suddenly appearing very small. “I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” he mutters, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

The guards look to you and Jack for a legitimate explanation, which Jack quickly provides. “He grabbed her. She told him to let go, and he didn’t.”

The guard nods. “We’ll take care of it.”

Jack doesn’t wait for the rest. He already has his hand at the small of your back, steering you away from the bay and down a hallway until he reaches an empty consult room.

You don’t even realize just how hard your heart is still pounding until the door clicks shut.

Jack takes a step towards you, but doesn’t crowd you. He raises his hands like he’s going to touch you but stops himself, hands flexing awkwardly in front of him before dropping them back down to his sides.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, his eyes searching for any obvious signs of physical or emotional distress.

You can’t think clearly enough to answer him right away. Instead, you turn away from him and walk the short distance to the loveseat in the corner of the small room. You take a deep breath in and then exhale, wringing your hands together as you normally do when you’re particularly anxious.

“He won’t be back here,” Jack assures you, watching you carefully from where he stands a few feet away. “Not if I have any say in it. He can risk bleeding out while driving to UPMC Mercy or Presbyterian for all I care—”

“He knows where I live,” you say quietly - barely a whisper, but it shuts him up.

“What?” He asks, though his tone of voice indicates he heard you perfectly fine. “He knows where you live? You’re sure?”

You nod, a fresh wave of nausea washing over you as you recall the satisfied smirk on his face when Trey witnessed your reaction to learning he knows your address.

“Positive.” You grimace. “I don’t know if he has followed me home from work before or what, but he knows where I live. Exact apartment number and all.”

Jack doesn’t say anything for a moment. He rakes a hand down his face, perhaps as stunned by this as you initially were. Your thoughts are reeling, thinking of all of the safety measures you’re going to need to take. You already have a doorbell camera, but you should set up some security cameras inside your apartment, too. An extra front door lock and additional window locks, for sure. A restraining order certainly isn’t a bad idea. There may be a way to terminate your lease early if stalking and harassment are involved - you aren’t really sure. You’ve never fucking been stalked before.

“Okay,” he sighs, sitting down next to you and interrupting your trainwreck of thoughts. “You can’t go back there. Not alone, anyway. After work, you can come back to my place. You can stay as long as you need. As long as you want. We’ll both go to your apartment and get some of your things—”

“Jack, don’t be ridiculous,” you say with a humorless laugh, turning to face him. There’s no hint of uncertainty on his face. You know he means every word he says, but you can’t just take up temporary residence in his home - as tempting as that may sound to you, the last thing you want is to be such an inconvenience before you’ve even gone on one date with the man.

“I can’t - won’t ask that of you. I can get a hotel room for the time being, until I figure out the terms of my lease. Hell, I could stay in an on-call room here for a few nights and I’d be perfectly safe. I know Whitaker did that at one point—”

Jack laughs. Not a humorless, half-hearted chuckle, but full, deep belly laugh. “Honey, you don’t know me if you think I’m going to have you sleeping on a cot in an on-call room or at a hotel where that fucker could follow you just as easily as your apartment.”

He shifts slightly on the loveseat, angling his body toward you. “You staying with me isn’t ridiculous,” he says, quieter. No longer laughing, but his expression is still soft. “It’s safe. And you’re not asking anything of me. I’m offering.”

You drop your gaze down to your hands in your lap. “I’d just…feel bad. I don’t want to intrude. We haven’t even gone on one date yet.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not the point. I don’t care if we’ve been on zero dates or a hundred. A drunk asshole grabbing you and telling you he knows where you live isn’t something that you sleep off in an on-call room.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t want to be a burden,” you murmur.

Don’t want to be a burden, but don’t want to stay anywhere else, either.

You can’t deny it, even to yourself. The second that Jack intervened, you felt safe. Sitting here beside him right now, you’re surprisingly calm given what just transpired. And the thought of going home with him, rather than sleeping in an on-call room or the first hotel you can find? Rather than going back to your apartment where Trey could be waiting for you after your shift? The thought of that brings you more comfort than you’re willing to admit.

His eyebrows lift in disbelief. “A burden?” He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees and his face just inches from yours. “Sweetheart, making sure that you’re safe doesn’t burden me. It matters to me.”

Sweetheart. When Trey had called you the petname, it made your skin crawl. But hearing it from Jack…it’s a term of endearment. Instead of making your skin crawl, it makes your stomach flutter with an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies.

It’s that very feeling that gives you the gentle push you need to say yes.

✧˖*°࿐⭒.⋆˖࣪⭑

Jack and Lena each ask upwards of a dozen times if you’re sure that you’re alright to work the remainder of your shift.

Lena tries to insist that you take an extra long break and eat something. Jack offers to leave work long enough to drive you back to his place so that you can decompress in peace, but you refuse. You don’t have an appetite, and you don’t really want to be alone. You’re sure you would be completely safe at Jack’s, but you don’t want to be left alone with your thoughts. You just want to finish out the last few hours of your shift.

The best thing for you right now is to keep yourself busy, so that’s what you do. You take five minutes to freshen up in the employee bathroom, make yourself a coffee, and get back to it.

That is until the police show up and you, Jack, Lena, and the security guards all have to give statements as to what happened with Trey. You explain his multiple ER visits over the last month alone, how he always asks for you by name, and everything he said and did tonight. They take your statement, and ask if you want to press charges for stalking and harassment - to which you say yes, even though part of you is terrified of how Trey could react once he learns of this. You know it’s the right thing to do.

By the time it’s all said and done and seven o’clock rolls around, it feels like one of the longest shifts of your entire career and you’re beyond relieved for it to be over. So relieved, in fact, that you don’t even feel nervous about going to Jack’s condo until you’re literally walking through his front door.

You hadn’t let yourself dwell on it too much as he drove you to your apartment to collect some of your things. You swore that you were fine to drive your own vehicle and let him follow you, but he had insisted on driving you himself, and you were too tired to put up much of a fight.

As quickly as possible, you threw essentials into a duffel bag while Jack waited patiently in your living room. Hair care products, body wash, toothbrush and toothpaste, a few changes of clothes. Skincare and makeup essentials, perfume, and something cute to wear tonight - you do still have a date this evening, after all.

You were in and out in less than ten minutes.

Jack carries your bag up to his condo for you.

To no surprise, it’s significantly nicer than your apartment. Although you make decent money as an emergency department nightshift nurse, Pittsburgh rent prices are astronomical and you live alone, so you took the first apartment you could find that wasn’t going to completely break the bank every month.

You don’t even want to think about how much this place costs.

It’s damn near exactly how you had envisioned his home to be. There’s very little decor, but there’s still touches of him throughout the space. The large windows have thick blackout curtains - a telltale sign that someone who works at night and sleeps during the day lives here. The espresso machine that he’d been bragging about just last week sits on his kitchen counter. His coffee table is littered with random medical journals and books. It’s the perfect balance of clean and simple yet lived-in and domestic.

“Make yourself at home,” Jack murmurs, placing your duffel bag on the large sectional couch that you’re hovering beside awkwardly. Your heart skips a beat at the word home.

That’s just a thing people say. Make yourself at home - make yourself comfortable. He’s not being literal.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, voice low and warm. “Food? Sleep? A shower? I can make you coffee, breakfast, whatever you want. I don’t normally go to sleep until a few hours after I get home.”

Your stomach all but vibrates at the offer of food. You didn’t eat anything your entire shift. After Trey happened, the thought of eating was entirely unappealing. But now that some time has passed, and you’re away from the hospital, the hunger pains in your belly are becoming hard to ignore.

“At the risk of sounding needy…” You start with a breathy laugh. “All three of those things sound incredible right now.”

Shower, food, sleep. Preferably in that order.

“I’ll make us something to eat while you take a shower,” Jack hums, as if reading your mind. Your stomach does that erupts into hundreds of butterflies thing again that cannot be blamed solely on hunger. He takes a step towards you, placing a light, tentative hand on your waist. “How does that sound?”

It’s a simple question but it makes you lightheaded. You aren’t used to this - having someone take care of you in such mundane ways. Driving you around. Carrying your bag for you. Making you food. Getting you thoughtful, personalized gifts.

Part of you wonders if you’re even deserving of it. Any of it. Especially coming from him. But Jack’s a smart man. Rational. Self-assured. The kind of man who knows what he wants and doesn’t settle for less than that. And though you may not fully understand why…you’re the person standing in front of him with his hand on your waist right now.

You give a small nod. “That sounds good. Thank you.” You smile up at him. Then, remembering you don’t actually know your way around this place, you ask, “Where’s the guest room? I’ll take my bag in there.”

He sucks in air through his teeth. “About that…” He trails off with a shy laugh. “My guest room is currently functioning as a storage unit. You’ll be staying in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

“What?” You exclaim, eyes going wide. “No way. I’m not kicking you out of your bed in your own home, Jack.” You look at the giant sectional beside you. “There’s more than enough room for me on the couch. Get me a pillow and a blanket and I’ll be fine.”

“No way,” he snorts. Then, his other hand finds your waist, too. His chest is just inches from yours and you catch a whiff of something musky. You can’t argue back because you’re too busy remembering how to breathe. “Not happening. I end up falling asleep on the couch more than half the time, anyway. You aren’t kicking me out of anywhere.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” he interjects, gentle but firm enough to make you close your mouth. “You’re my guest. You’re sleeping in my bed. That’s final.”

Maybe it’s his tone of voice, or maybe it’s the look on his face - his words hit you straight in your core. You’re grateful that he can’t feel your skin through the material of your scrubs, because as soon as the words you’re and sleeping and in my bed left his lips, goosebumps bloomed across your flesh.

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip in an attempt to keep your composure. “You need to be careful,” you exhale, grabbing your duffel bag off of the couch. “You’re going to spoil me rotten.”

He smirks, turning to take you to where you’ll be sleeping. “Would that really be such a bad thing?”

✧˖*°࿐⭒.⋆˖࣪⭑

Physical Touch

As if you needed anything else to add to the ever growing list of reasons that you believe Jack Abbot might be too good to be true, he also makes a killer breakfast sandwich.

You’re not ashamed to admit that you took your sweet time in his walk-in, fancy-pants shower, scrubbing every microscopic trace of hospital off of your skin and letting hot water soothe the aching muscles of your back before rejoining Jack in the kitchen.

When you do, bare-faced and donning the first clean pair of sweatpants and t-shirt you could find during your brief trip to your apartment, Jack is already plating up breakfast for you.

You aren’t even really sure what you had been expecting - cereal, maybe? A protein shake? Instant oatmeal? You were so hungry that you hadn’t been very worried about what, but you were still pleasantly surprised when you entered the kitchen to see what he had managed to put together while you were in the shower.

Bacon, fried egg, Gouda cheese, and avocado slices all piled high on a bagel with hash browns on the side.

He watches in anticipation as you take your first bite. Your eyes flutter shut and he lets out a soft laugh.

“Good?” He slides a cup of coffee across the kitchen island to you (decaf, he said, because he knows you’ll be going to sleep soon).

“That’s an understatement,” you mumble around a mouthful of bagel. “Divine.”

You can’t help but think he looks pleased with himself.

He stands directly across from you, eating his own breakfast that mirrors yours. You’re so hungry, and it’s so delicious, that you barely say a word until you take the very last bite. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It feels natural, easy. Like you’ve sat on this very barstool eating breakfast with him after long shifts dozens of times before.

When you’re both finished, you offer to clean up - which earns you an incredulous look, like he can’t tell if you’re joking or not.

“It’s just a few dishes,” Jack snorts, walking around to where you’re sitting. “I think I can handle it.” He leans with his back against the counter, standing right beside you. “You should go lay down. Get some rest. We’ve got plans tonight, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” you laugh. “Although, I still don’t know what said plans are…” You trail off, looking up at him with raised brows and pursed lips, a silent plea for him to finally tell you what tonight’s agenda is.

He laughs, the lines around his eyes crinkling in the way that always makes you feel fuzzy inside.

“And you’ve been so patient.” He shakes his head and grins down at you. “You’ve made it this far. Why would I ruin the surprise now?”

You suppose he’s right. If you’ve made it all week without knowing, you can wait another eight…ten…twelve hours.

Jack walks you to his bedroom door even though you already know the way. He pauses just at the doorway, one hand braced lightly against the frame like he’s debating whether to stay or go. You hesitate too, your fingers grazing the doorknob but not yet opening it.

“Get some rest,” he murmurs. “And if you need anything - anything at all - I’ll be right in the living room. Just say the word.”

For a split-second, you swear he’s leaning in. Just enough to make your heart stutter and breath catch in your throat at the thought of his lips landing on your temple, your cheek, your mouth.

But then the moment passes. He pulls back instead, offering a gentle, almost apologetic smile. “Sleep well,” he whispers.

All you can manage is a small nod before you open the door and slip inside, closing the door behind you. You hold your breath until you hear his footsteps begin to retreat down the hallway. When the soft thuds fade to silence, you release a shaky exhale.

How the hell are you supposed to fall asleep after that?

The answer to that is you don’t.

Though Jack’s bed is plenty comfortable, you toss and turn for well over half an hour and still find yourself wide awake. You’ve been awake for sixteen plus hours at this point. Those sixteen hours have included working a twelve hour shift, learning that you have a stalker and getting harassed at your place of work, and answering dozens of questions from the police - you should have crashed the second your body hit the soft cotton sheets.

But you find that fucking impossible when his pillow smells so much like him.

You can’t stop yourself from inhaling the light, clean scent of whatever detergent he uses mixed with a faint essence of him - something earthy and masculine like aftershave or remnants of his cologne.

It makes the pitch black room feel like it’s spinning around you, the last words he’d said to you echo in your mind.

If you need anything at all, I’ll be right in the living room. Just say the word.

You can admit that it’s more of a want than a need, but he did say anything.

Before you can overthink what you’re about to do, before you can chicken out, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand. Then, putting one foot in front of the other, you ease down the hallway as quietly as you can in case he’s already asleep.

He’s not.

Jack’s profile is illuminated by the glow of the television in the otherwise dark room. He’s changed out of his scrubs, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that mirrors your own attire. His prosthetic is now detached, resting on the floor beside the couch.

“Hey.” He sits up a bit straighter, curiosity and concern etched across his features and in his voice when he notices you stop near the edge of the hallway. “Is everything okay?”

You just nod, and give him a small smile. You can’t bring yourself to speak for fear that you won’t recognize your own voice. You take a few slow steps towards the couch and he glances down to where you twist your hands nervously in front of you. His brows furrow in worry, though his hazel eyes can’t conceal his curiosity.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, patting the empty space right next to him.

But instead of sitting beside him, you stop directly in front of where he’s lounging. His eyes trail upwards, confusion merging into something akin to amusement when you lift one knee onto the couch, and then the other, hovering just over his lap. Your palms land lightly on his shoulders for balance, not yet putting all of your weight against his thighs.

He goes completely still the moment you settle over him, as if the slightest movement from him might send you running back down the hallway. His hands hover at your hips but don’t quite touch. You pause for a heartbeat, giving him the opportunity to stop you if he wants.

But he doesn’t. His normally hazel hues stare up at you, pupils blown so wide that his orbs appear onyx.

That’s all the confirmation you need to close the distance between you.

You lean forward slowly, your nose brushing against his. Your lips ghost over his in the barest tease of a touch that makes wildfire bloom across your neck and down your spine. The anticipation feels like electricity, your pulse thundering in your ears. You can feel his breath fan across your lips, shaky and uneven.

The initial press of your lips against his is feather soft, though his response is anything but. Something between a sigh and groan escapes the back of his throat, kissing you back with a tenderness that makes you melt into him. His hands finally settle against your waist, fingertips gripping the fabric of your t-shirt. Your hands trail from the broad planes of his shoulders to the nape of his neck, tips of your fingers intertwining in the short tufts of silvery curls.

His lips collide with yours in slow yet fervent kisses that could easily get you drunk off him. The faint stubble along his jaw tickles your skin in a way that makes you feel delirious. You think that you would be content to sit here and kiss him all day long, but you also don’t want to seem too eager.

Even if you are.

When you pull back, your lips tingle. Jack follows the movement for a fraction of a second, as if he can’t stop himself from trying to kiss you more. Your forehead rests against his and you exhale a shaky laugh.

“I tried to sleep,” you breathe, voice unsteady. “I really did. But your pillow smells like you and it was driving me fucking crazy.”

Even with only the light pouring from the television, you can tell that he’s blushing. His hands run up and down your sides. “I take it that’s a good thing,” he laughs, voice low.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum. “Indeed. You smell even better up close, though.” You close the distance between you once more. This time it’s the ghost of a kiss, your lips faintly brushing over his just enough to tease.

He peppers light kisses along your jawline. “Is that right?” The words are murmured against the skin of your throat.

Your eyes flutter shut and his name tumbles from your lips.

“Yeah, honey?”

You cup his face in your hands and pull back to look down at him. “Come to bed with me.” It’s intended to be a question, a request - but it comes out more of a breathless command.

His fingertips freeze along your spine. He looks up at you, hesitant. “You sure that’s what you want?”

You nod, the pad of your thumb brushing along his cheekbone. Another small peck to the tip of his nose this time. “I’m sure.”

He seems to search your face for signs of uncertainty. When he doesn’t find any, he exhales a laugh through his nose. “As much as I wish I could sweep you into my arms and carry you down the hallway…” He trails off, wiggling his leg beneath you. “I’m the one who needs a little assistance getting there.”

You follow his gaze to where his prosthetic sits a few feet away. It’s then that you notice a pair of crutches propped against the recliner, undoubtedly for getting around his place when he doesn’t feel like wearing the prosthetic. You ease off of his lap, standing up to retrieve the crutches for him. He pushes himself off the couch as you hand them off to him.

Once he’s balanced, he nods towards the hallway with a small smirk. “Lead the way.”

You do, walking slow enough that he can keep pace with you. Your heart thuds against your ribcage with each step you take, but it’s due to excitement rather than nerves.

Excitement at the prospect of simply listening to his heartbeat and inhaling the scent of his t-shirt as you both drift off to sleep.

Twelve hours ago, you never would have predicted that this would be happening right now. That you’d be in Jack’s condo. That you would shower in his bathroom while he makes you breakfast. That you would sit on his lap and kiss him and crawl into bed together.

It feels surreal. Like you’re dreaming and fully expect to wake up in your own bed at any moment.

When you reach the edge of the bed, you pull the covers back and lie down, scooting towards the middle of the large mattress so there’s plenty of space for Jack to crawl in next to you. He leans the crutches so that they’re within reach of the bed and then lowers himself onto the mattress with practiced ease.

He lies flat on his back, the mattress dipping beneath him. His arm extends outwards in a wordless gesture that opens the space closest to him for you.

“C’mere,” he coaxes, and just like when he’d said that to you minutes ago in the living room, you do. You slip into the space under his arm, tucking yourself into the solid warmth that is his chest. Your cheek settles just over his heart and his arms curl around you, cocooning you against him.

It’s too easy to melt into the embrace that is so new yet already feels so familiar.

You’re both asleep within minutes.

✧˖*°࿐⭒.⋆˖࣪⭑

Quality Time

“All I’m saying is that it would be a lot easier for me to pick an outfit if I know where we’re going.”

Jack’s chest vibrates with laughter against your cheek.

You aren’t sure what time it is. All you know is that you woke up in the exact same spot that you had fallen asleep - in his arms. That, and you feel incredibly well rested.

“How many outfits did you bring with you?” He asks, lips pressed against your temple and voice still raspy with sleep. It’s a sound you could very quickly get used to hearing when you wake up, you think.

“Three.” You lift your shoulder in a small shrug. “Option one is casual. Two is semi-formal. And three is a little bit fancier than two.”

You did the best you could on such short notice and with no knowledge of what tonight’s plans entail.

He hums in contemplation, running a hand up and down the expanse of your arm. “Do you trust me?”

You shift enough to look up at him. He’s smirking down at you. “Of course I trust you.” You roll your eyes. It’s true. You do. Though you can’t say you aren’t suspicious of where he’s going with this.

“How about you show me options two and three and I’ll tell you which I think is the better choice? That way you don’t have to guess what you should wear and you still get to be surprised?”

So that’s exactly what you do.

An hour later, you’re wearing option number two in the passenger seat of his truck. Semi-formal. On the nicer side, but nothing crazy fancy - though you would think it’s the nicest thing Jack’s ever seen by how he’s complimented you no less than a dozen times since you first walked out of the bedroom wearing it.

Just before sunset, he pulls into the parking lot of a cute Italian bistro that you’ve never heard of in a quiet part of town. Osteria del Cuore reads the sign - Tavern of the Heart.

“Ever been here before?” Jack asks, curious lilt to his tone.

“No.” You shake your head. “I haven’t. Have you?” You glance over to him in the driver’s seat to find him already smirking at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I have not. No one has, actually.”

You give him a confused look, but before you can question him, he’s opening his truck door and hopping out to walk to the passenger side. Ever the gentleman, he opens your door for you and offers you his hand.

“And that’s because we are the first customers,” he continues when you place your hand in his as you step down.

“First?”

“That’s right. They don’t officially open until tomorrow night, but I called in a small favor.” He opens the front door for you and waits for you to step inside.

Your eyes scan the room. There’s maybe a dozen or so tables in total. Sconces line the brick walls and strings of fairy lights twine around ceiling beams, illuminating the space in a muted amber glow. Each table is adorned with tiny flower bouquets and flickering candles inside glass holders. Bundles of dried herbs hang above an open kitchen window - rosemary, bay, thyme - filling the air with a faint earthy scent in addition to the aroma of fresh baked bread.

It’s warm. Cozy. Homey. Perfect for a first date - but all you can think about is the fact that Jack was not kidding when he said that you’re the first customers. There’s no other patrons to be seen anywhere.

A young woman, presumably the hostess, appears from around the small bar and welcomes you both.

“Dr. Abbot.” She smiles, greeting him by name. “Mr. Moretti is so glad you two could join us tonight. Come with me and I’ll show you to your table.”

Jack motions as if to say after you. You follow her, expecting her to take you to one of the smaller booths for two, but she walks right past them. And then right past all of the tables for larger parties, as well. You glance at Jack in curiosity, but he only places a hand on your lower back in response, giving nothing away.

She leads you both past the bar and down a small hallway, then opens an unmarked door without looking back. You aren’t sure if Jack even knows where she’s taking you, but he makes no objections, so you keep quiet, following her up a short stairwell.

You aren’t entirely sure what you’re expecting - another dining room, maybe. But what you aren’t expecting is the breeze of cool evening air when she opens a door at the top of the stairs.

If you thought the inside was lovely, then the rooftop is something straight out of a fairytale.

It feels like stepping into a secret garden above the city. Like inside, string lights zigzag overhead and candles twinkle on every flat surface. There’s an abundance of lush planters and flowering vines, their leaves rustling in the light breeze. Several tall, outdoor style heaters line the perimeter of the tables, radiating enough warmth to ward off the chilly night air.

In the center of it all, there’s only one table set tonight.

One round, intimate table draped in ivory linen and graced with a small glowing lantern, a mason jar of wildflowers, and two empty wine glasses.

“This is what you consider to be a small favor?” You laugh breathily as he pulls your chair out for you. The hostess places menus on the table before wordlessly departing, leaving the two of you alone momentarily. “A private rooftop dinner at a restaurant that isn’t technically open yet?”

Jack takes his own seat with a small shrug, though there’s a pleased look on his face at the awestruck expression on yours. “I treated the owner’s wife a few months ago. She’d been experiencing on and off again leg pain that her primary care doctor had dismissed as a strained muscle. They came into the ER one night, begging to be taken seriously because she knew something was wrong. Long story short, she wasn’t being dramatic. An ultrasound showed the beginning of a DVT. We got her treated before it turned into anything life threatening.”

Mrs. Moretti - you vaguely recall overhearing Jack tell Robby about the case.

“Her husband was so grateful.” Jack shakes his head with a soft smile. “He told me all about this restaurant that they were in the process of opening - insisted that he owes me a favor and gave me his business card. He made me promise to come by for a free meal as soon as they opened. Which isn’t until tomorrow, but…” He trails off, taking in the scenery around you.

“I suppose saving people’s lives does have its perks sometimes,” you tease, nudging his calf with your foot beneath the table.

A faint dusting of pink appears along his cheekbones. “I wasn’t planning on ever cashing in on that favor, but I drove by here a few days ago and saw the grand opening sign…” Another small shrug, and you can’t help but giggle at how bashful he seems right now. “I’m going to insist on paying for the food, of course. Them letting us have the place to ourselves the day before opening is already more than enough.”

Your entire body is buzzing at the revelation. At all of it - at the thought he put into planning this, at the ambiance, at the romance of it all.

It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. And so much fucking better than spending your Friday night alone doing your laundry.

“I don’t even know what to say,” you breathe, reaching across the table to take his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “No one has ever done anything like this for me.”

Not just this, you think. Everything he’s done for you, big and small. The engraved stethoscope he got you for your birthday, and the coffees that he always brings to work for you without asking. Defending you from a creepy jackass and then inviting you into his home without a second thought. Cooking you breakfast, caring for you, making you feel more safe and loved than anyone else has ever made you feel.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs. “I just thought it might be nice to be on a rooftop together again. Only under much happier circumstances this time.”

The memory replays in your mind instantaneously - the hospital rooftop, much different than the one you’re on right now. It wasn’t all that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, even if it does feel like a lifetime ago.

Like that night on the hospital rooftop, the moon above you now is also bright and full. And like that night, there’s no one else you’d rather be with.

But now, when Jack smiles, it reaches his eyes. And now, as you hold his hand in yours, it isn’t to console him because he’s having a hard night. It’s simply because you can - simply because you want to hold his hand.

Yes, much happier circumstances indeed.

✧˖*°࿐⭒.⋆˖࣪⭑

Epilogue {….a little more physical touch}

You aren’t quite sure how one night at Jack’s condo turns into two, and then three, then four…but you aren’t complaining.

He certainly doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You’d mentioned going back to your place multiple times. The last thing you want to do is overstay your welcome so early in your relationship, but Jack isn’t having any of that. He has assured you time and time again that the only reason for you to go back to your apartment is to get more of your belongings.

You put very little energy into objecting. You want to be here with him every bit as much as he seems to want you here.

Despite the fact that you’ve been sleeping in his bed for nearly a week, it feels as if you’ve barely seen each other the last few days. Your work schedules normally match up pretty nicely, but due to some people being out on vacation, or sick, or on maternity leave, your shifts have been all over the place this week.

So you’re beyond happy to hear him enter his condo not even ten minutes after your morning alarm wakes you up, knowing that both of you are now off work until tomorrow night.

You’re still laying in bed when he opens the door. Light pours in from the hallway, just enough to illuminate his silhouette.

“Good morning,” you breathe, voice still tinted with sleep. He walks to the edge of the bed and sits down beside where you lay.

“Good morning,” he whispers, leaning over to give you a tender kiss, the faint essence of coffee on his lips. “Did I wake you up?”

“No.” You shake your head, raising a hand to the back of his neck where you lace your fingers through his short curls. “I set an alarm so that I’d be awake when you got home. I missed you.”

You pull him down to you by his neck until his mouth is on yours once more. This kiss isn’t quite as tender as the first - you open to him right away, his tongue slipping between your lips. He braces one hand against the headboard, and the other comes to cup the side of your face, deepening the kiss. You can’t help but release a small moan into his mouth, your thighs clenching together beneath the covers.

He pulls away, as if reading your mind, planting a small kiss to the corner of your mouth with a shaky exhale. “I should probably shower off first, honey.”

You shake your head again like a petulant child being told no. “That can wait.”

Jack doesn’t need any further convincing.

He yanks the comforter away from your body, revealing you to be in only your underwear and an oversized t-shirt. You pull him back to you, crushing your lips to his. His hands grab at your waist, bunching the fabric of your t-shirt around your stomach. He smells sterile, just like the hospital he’s been at all night, but beneath that there’s the familiar scent of his body wash that you’ve quickly become obsessed with.

“Lay down,” you command gently.

He has worked twelve hours while you have been asleep in his bed, after all. You figure taking care of him is the least you can do if you’re going to jump his bones the second he walks through the door.

He looks like he’s about to object, his fingers toying with the waistband of your panties, but you pat the empty space on the mattress beside you and he gives in. Maybe it’s the pleading, eager look on your face or maybe it’s just exhaustion creeping into his bones, but he does as you ask without putting up a fight.

That alone makes you melt. You know that Jack isn’t used to being cared for - in any sense of the word. He’s been alone for a long time. Self-reliant and solitary.

But so have you. And just as it comes naturally to let Jack spoil you, he seems content to let you do the same for him.

He’ll more than make it up to you soon enough, you have no doubt.

He trades places with you, sinking down against the mattress and pillow with a soft exhale. You sit up onto your knees, smoothing a hand down his chest until you reach the hem of his scrub top.

“Can I..?” You ask, tugging lightly at the fabric.

He nods, sitting up slightly and lifting his arms so that you can maneuver both his scrub top and undershirt off in one go. You glance down, noting that he has yet to shed his shoes.

You crawl to the foot of the bed, making quick work of yanking off one, and then the other - leaving one foot and the base of his prosthetic exposed. He shimmies his pants down his thighs, letting you pull them the rest of the way off, tossing them to join his shoes somewhere on the floor.

Your gaze settles where his prosthetic meets flesh. You hesitate, not wanting to assume, not wanting to do something wrong or make him uncomfortable in any way. He notices your hesitation right away.

“I can walk you through it,” he says softly, thumb brushing your cheek. “If you’d like to learn how to remove it.”

The offer hits you square in the chest. It may seem small, but he isn’t just offering to teach you something - he’s showing you that he trusts you enough to let you into a part of his life that most people never see. That he trusts you enough to be vulnerable with you. That you mean enough to him that helping him with something like this could easily become a regular occurrence, so it only makes sense for you to learn how to do it.

You realize, right then and there, that you’re in love with him. And, wholeheartedly, you believe that he’s in love with you, too.

You smile, blinking away happy tears that threaten to spill over.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’d like that.”

✧˖*°࿐⭒.⋆˖࣪⭑

iwaizumi hajime & kuroo tetsurou :: loves to be close to you at all times. the gentlemen that loves pda too. likes parading around with your lipstick stains on his face and neck like the proud man he is. he definitely keeps his hand on the small of your back every time especially when you're walking, when he opens the door for you, in a protective manner. ultimate waist grabber too; grocery shopping? one hand on the cart, the other around your waist. he pulls you by the waist too when he wants attention bc he's clingy like that. cooking dinner? if he's helping, he still has his hands around your waist. if he's just watching you, back hug attack *nod nod*

tanaka ryunosuke & nishinoya yu :: loves pda too, is that surprising news? tanaka likes holding your hand, hand, hand at all times. slipping his fingers between your hands and he definitely does the thumb thing and loves keeping his head nuzzled in the crook of your neck and whispering random nonsensical things. he loves kissing your knuckles too randomly. noya loves your hands too but most especially when you cup his face and he would lean in and melt into your touch plus when you combo it with sliding your hands up and down his cheeks to the sides of his neck.

bokuto koutaro :: physical touch and quality time go hand in hand with bokuto. another man who can't keep his hands off you. this man pouts a lot and practically purrs when he's holding you (yes, he's the big spoon) swooning at how adorable you are in his arms. obsessed and literally melts when you touch him everywhere; the type that would hold your hand wherever it is on his body. loves cupping your face and thumbing at your facial features. forehead kisses!! he would admire you all the time and leaves kisses on every inch of your being–oh especially when he holds your hands and kisses every part and lingers a little too much on your fingertips.

matsukawa issei & suna rintarou :: they might seem like they're not the type to enjoy physical touch but that's only when they're not the one giving it. loves giving you back rubs and stroking your hair when you're pressed onto him. when you sleep, he prefers feeling your weight on top of him so he can cradle you, hand on your head while the other is on your back. that being said, they're great listeners and at comforting their significant other. when out in public, or whenever you're feeling overwhelmed, they would crouch down to hold both your hands in comfort, rubbing circles on the back of your hand soothingly.

kyotani kentaro :: more like physical attack jk bro calms down when he's around you. secretly loves throwing you over his shoulder because another love language of his is playfighting. ironically, he loves being the little spoon when you cuddle and that's because he loves feeling your body press on his softly. but when he accidentally goes too hard on you, he'd scramble to his knees, mumbling apologies, to just press his face on your stomach. he loves it. would literally die for it.

꒰ྀི১ ໒꒱ིྀ additionally! they love it when you do that hair thing to them—that thing where you would place your hand behind his neck, rub up and down and scratch up his hair or tussle with it gently. that's one of their very sweet spots and you can't tell me otherwise.