#otr

The Pitt was not for the weak. Not many med students, or even residents, survived this place. It was chaos in its purest form. One second you’d be dealing with a simple case of allergies, and the next you were stuck three hours past your shift because of a mass casualty.

Nothing was ever predictable here, and that was one of the many reasons you loved it.

Sure, you were constantly exhausted and had little to no social life outside of your coworkers. And maybe finding the balance between work and academic demands would be what finally killed off whatever you had left of your sanity. But you couldn’t see yourself working anywhere else.

The last thing you needed to add to your growing list of challenges was having a crush on the night shift attending.

You tried to suppress it from the second you laid eyes on Dr. Jack Abbot. He was your boss, and feeling anything other than professional admiration toward him was way out of line. But he had these intense, engulfing eyes, a smirk that could have anyone on their knees in an instant, and a way of capturing everyone’s attention that had you clinging to every word that came out of his mouth.

Once you got used to seeing him for twelve hours straight during your shifts, it became a little easier to pretend your heart didn’t race every time he was near. You learned how to laser-focus on the cases in front of you, how to compartmentalize, how to save the yearning and pining for when you were finally off the clock.

Today, though, something else had you distracted.

The shift had been busy, way busier than the night shift was used to. You’d already had two codes, and even though you managed to stabilize both patients, the adrenaline crash left your mind and body completely wiped. Somewhere in between, you’d also dealt with a kid whose parents were beyond overprotective, asking a million questions about every single step it took to figure out he’d broken his wrist after falling from his skateboard.

The end of this shift couldn’t come soon enough.

The moment you got a free second, you dropped into a chair near the nurse’s station and tried to catch up on charting. Labs needed to be attached to files. Notes needed to be written and signed off. Orders needed to be updated. It was, without question, the most boring and grueling part of the job. 

You’d just started finding your rhythm with the mind-numbing task when your phone dinged in your pocket. You fished it out of your scrubs and glanced at the screen. It was an email notification. 

You didn’t even need to open it. One look at the subject line and the sender was enough to make your heart drop straight into your stomach.

“Fuck,” you whisper under your breath as you stare down at your phone. You slump deeper into the old, uncomfortable office chair, almost like you wish it could swallow you whole so you don’t have to deal with any of this.

“Everything alright?”

A familiar voice pulls you out of the spiral you’d started falling into. You look up from your screen and see Dr. Abbot leaning against the counter, arms crossed over it. His hair is a little messy, unruly from the midnight rush the night shift had just crawled out of.

You struggle to focus on his question, trying to hide your complete awe at how he somehow still looks good after five hours in the ER. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Sorry. I’ll get right back to charting.”

He squints at you, very clearly not buying it. “Are you sure? You can take five if you want. Things have quieted down a little.”

“No, it’s…” you start, but then you catch the look on his face, an expression that clearly reads cut the bullshit.

You exhale. “It’s my lease. My landlord’s cutting it short. Apparently he just got this huge inheritance he’s been waiting on and he’s moving to California. Someone made an offer to buy the building a while ago and I guess he finally accepted it. They’re tearing the whole place down and turning it into some kind of retail center.”

Abbot lets out a low whistle, dropping his head for a second. “That’s rough, kid. I’m sorry.” He pauses. “You got any other apartments lined up? Anywhere you can apply?”

“No, not really.” You shake your head, still trying to process it. “I had, like, ten months left on my lease. I didn’t even think about this. Not with the whole… you know. Third year of residency and all.” You glance down at your phone again. “I just got the email. I think I’m still in shock.”

You’re rambling, a little, but he has that effect on people. He makes you feel comfortable enough to let things spill out. Or maybe it’s just you and the crush you’ve been repressing for way too long.

“Alright,” he says, voice softer now, like he can hear the way your thoughts are starting to race. “Hey. Take a beat.” He holds your gaze. “Like I said, things have slowed down. Why don’t you go eat something? Grab some coffee, take a lap, whatever. Then you can do your rounds and check on your patients with a clearer head.”

“I’m really okay, Dr. Abbot,” you insist, even though you don’t sound convincing. “I have a lot of charting to catch up on—”

He cuts you off again.

“What if I take my break with you?” he says, tone calm, but there’s something in it, almost like he's pleading with you. “C’mon. Let’s go get some air outside and eat something. I’ve been starving for, like, three hours.”

You can never say no to this man. Not when he talks to you like that, as if there’s something more intimate, more personal, in the space between the words.

You give in.

“Alright,” you mutter, pushing back your chair. “Let me go grab my zip-up.”

A few minutes later, you’re walking out of the ER with him, heading toward the park bench right in front of the hospital. The night air is cool and a little windy, the kind that bites just enough to wake you up. You’ve always liked weather like this way better than the humid summer shifts where you spend twelve hours feeling sticky and gross with no chance to freshen up.

You both sit on the bench, a comfortable amount of space between each other. Abbot’s holding a brown paper bag and a coffee cup that says Best Dad Award, even though he doesn’t have kids. He must’ve grabbed it from the shared cabinet in the break room. You can’t help but snort softly.

He notices immediately. “What?”

You nod toward the cup. “Best Dad Award?”

He glances down at it like he forgot what he was holding, then shrugs. “It was the cleanest one.”

“Sure,” you say, amused. 

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile as he opens the bag. “So,” he starts, “how’s this shift treated you? Too chaotic?”

“Not really,” you answer honestly. “I mean, aside from the part where I was just informed I might be homeless in a few weeks. But you know…at least no one has died yet.”

His expression sharpens instantly. “Don’t they have to give you at least a month’s notice?”

“Supposedly, yeah,” you say, already tired just thinking about it. “But there’s a clause in the contract. Something about if the lease needs to be cut short, they have to pay financial compensation. And if the move-out is urgent, the compensation increases by twenty percent.” You let out a humorless laugh. “I was calculating what they’d pay me and it’s literally pennies on the dollar.”

Abbot huffs, jaw tight. “That’s bullshit.”

You sigh and lean back, staring up at the dark blue sky. There are only a couple stars visible, dulled by the city lights.

“Yeah tell me about it,” you mutter. “It sucks even more because I had a hard enough time finding this apartment in the first place. This is not even a very residential area, but med students have inflated the shit out of the rent prices. Landlords ask for an insane amount of requirements and finding a decent roommate is almost as hard as winning the lottery.”

His brows furrow like he’s actually trying to problem-solve with you. “Don’t you have any friends you can crash with until you figure something out?”

“Not really,” you admit. “All my friends are in one-bedrooms with their partners or already have like three roommates.”

His expression softens, and his voice follows. “I’m sorry, kid. That’s a lot to handle on your own.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, then glance at him with a guilty look. “Sorry for dumping all of this on you. I’m sure you have a lot more to deal with than the struggles of an R3.”

He straightens, turning more toward you so he’s fully facing you now. “Don’t apologize. If venting helps you feel less overwhelmed and gets you through this shift, I don’t mind.”

You swallow, suddenly aware of how close he is. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “I really appreciate it.”

He holds your gaze for a few seconds too long. He looks at you in that intense, unreadable way he does when he’s thinking about ten things at once.

Then something shifts in his expression, you can see that a thought lands.

“I have a spare bedroom,” he blurts.

You blink. “What?”

He clears his throat, like he can’t believe he said it out loud either. “I have a spare bedroom. You could crash at my place for a bit.”

For a second, you just stare at him, completely speechless.

Because your attending—the same man you spent months trying not to blush around every time he praised your work—is offering you his spare bedroom like it’s nothing.

When your brain finally catches up enough to function, you shake your head. “That’s really kind, Dr. Abbot, but I can’t. That’s too much—”

“It’s not too much,” he cuts in immediately. “It’s a room.” He says it like he’s stating a simple fact, like he isn’t massively underselling the situation. “You need a place to stay. And we’re both here all the time anyway.”

You hesitate, staring at him like the words might rearrange themselves into something more reasonable if you look hard enough.

“I’m sure I can find someone online who’ll let me crash for a bit,” you try again, even though you already hate how flimsy that sounds. “I really don’t want to bother you.”

His expression darkens, and his voice drops into that tone he uses when he needs to fully go into senior attending mode.

“You’re not bothering me. It was my idea, and you’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m letting you move in with some stranger from the internet. Even for a day.”

That shuts you up.

You sit there, chewing on the inside of your cheek, staring down at your hands. You should say no. You know you should. It’s the reasonable thing to do, the safe and professional thing. You also know he would drop it if he knew you were serious about rejecting his offer. But you can feel the hesitation on your face and you’re sure he sees it too, the panic you’ve been trying to swallow down all night.

You let out a long breath and finally mutter, “HR isn’t gonna like this.”

He chuckles, and it’s low and warm and unfairly attractive. “HR doesn’t have to know.” He takes a sip of his ridiculous Best Dad Award coffee. “It can be our secret.”

Your stomach flips.

“And besides,” he adds, voice calmer now, “it’s temporary, right? Just until you find another place and get back on your feet.”

“Right,” you say, even though you’re pretty sure you’re agreeing to the hardest possible trial. “Yeah. Temporary.”

You glance at him again, resigned. “Okay. I’ll take you up on your offer. But I promise it’s super temporary. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can, Dr. Abbot.”

“Jack,” he says abruptly.

You blink. “Huh?”

He looks at you like it should be obvious. “It’s Jack. If we’re going to be living together, I think we can move to a first-name basis.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks immediately. You pray to every god you don’t believe in that the wind can pass it off as cold.

“Jack,” you repeat, testing it out, trying to get used to the way his name feels on your tongue.