He knows not to stare. Well, he should know. It’s no secret that his continuous gaze has led him to rather awkward feelings from their recipients and even more awkward conversations about it. Especially on the job. His own mother had always reprimanded him on this habit. He never could help it, though. Not even tonight, when he really knows he shouldn’t look.

He shouldn’t look at the way the neckline of your white top dips low enough that a spot of black lace peeks out.

He shouldn’t look at your hands covering your face when you giggle at some story Whitaker seems to be sharing to all of the residents and students.

He really shouldn’t look at how your fingers play with the plastic straw before taking it to your red stained lips.

Still, he does.

Jack tries to stop, to look away and focus on the conversation the other attendings are having around him. He hears his best friend complain about patient satisfaction scores, or maybe it’s about some other thing someone from admin has tried to talk to him about. Shen agrees with Robby and both start to ramble on about it. Jack’s focus is unwavering, though, his vision stuck on the pretty resident, so he doesn’t make an effort to listen to his friends or join in.

Time must have passed without him realizing, because suddenly your glass is empty and it’s Mel’s turn talking. Your smile hasn’t left your lips all night, a tipsy grin that makes your eyes almost squint away from your face. Mel gets interrupted by Langdon at some point, triggering a remark from Santos. The two doctors go back and forth with their bickering and everyone finds themselves looking away from the table.

You look down at your empty glass and try to come up with arguments in your head to stop yourself from getting another drink. You really don’t want to wake up tomorrow, on your rare day off, with a sickening hangover. You have errands to run, a cat to pet and a new recipe to try.

The music pumps loud, people are having louder conversations, and a night out with your friends and coworkers is nice. However, the tiredness your bones hold from the past few shifts crushes you from the inside and threatens to scar itself into you. Your bed and more than eight hours of uninterrupted sleep sound even nicer. As your mind tries to argue with a list of pros and cons, you look up and scan the bar.

Jack’s reflexes are quick and he looks away before you catch his eyes. He wishes he was a bit braver, a bit less scared, but when it came to you, Jack Abbot always struggled with his composure.

The man has been in countless situations that have almost landed him on the tricky edge of life; he is an emergency doctor, was an army medic and helps out with the SWAT team whenever he can. He has loved and lost. Hell, he had half his leg blown off. And yet, he looks away, frightened by the idea of you returning his gaze. Or maybe, he thinks, more frightened that you wouldn’t even stop to look at him. That nasty thought always presents itself in his head, taking up too much room, leaving him rather crestfallen.

You would never want him. He is older, rough around the edges, with more baggage than anything else to offer. He is also an attending, one of your superiors. And even if he wasn’t, you could never want him, he thinks.

You are nice, and smart. You have one of the highest patient satisfaction scores, you fight for the right reasons and always stand your ground. You, who got nicknamed sugar when you brought home made baked goods on your second day as a medical student at PTMC years ago and never stopped, always keeping the department happy and fed with your sweet treats and smile.

Of course Jack likes you. Of course he thinks you can not like him back.

From your table the bar looks like it might burst at the seams. There’s barely any space left between one person and the next, faces blurring into one another under the warm lights. It could be almost impossible to recognize anyone from the crowd. But you’re you, the sweet resident with a debilitating crush, the one who shouldn’t blush like a teenager every time your superior looks vaguely at your direction when working night shifts. So spotting Jack is quite easy, even after two cocktails.

He sits at the bar, a whiskey glass on his hand and the other two male attending at each side. Their conversation like a tennis match, with Jack left as the referee. He nods at something but seems more entertained by the glass on the coaster.

It is a nice view, he is a nice view, there’s no denying. You can only really see his right side. His hair is almost long enough for his curls to form, his stubble is barely there, maybe he hadn’t had the time that morning to shave. It looks good on him, you think. It probably feels better if you could softly scratch it with your nails while laid in bed on a lazy morning.