wherefore art thou

By the time exhaustion finally won, sunlight had already begun creeping through the blinds.

You’d fallen asleep sometime around seven in the morning, tangled together beneath the sheets, and hadn’t resurfaced until nearly three in the afternoon.

You stirred softly.

For a moment, you weren’t entirely awake. Just floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness, warm and comfortable enough that you didn’t particularly care which side you landed on.

Then memory slowly caught up.

Jack.

A small smile pulled at your mouth before you even opened your eyes.

The last time you’d gone to sleep at seven in the morning and woken up in the afternoon had been the first day of quarantine.

Back when you’d been sick, miserable, and convinced you were spending two weeks trapped with the most frustrating man in Pennsylvania.

The memory almost made you laugh.

How quickly things changed.

No—not quickly.

That wasn’t fair.

The last two weeks had changed quickly.

The rest of it had been happening for years.

You shifted slightly, blinking your eyes open against the muted afternoon light filtering through the bedroom.

Jack was still asleep.

That alone was unusual enough to earn a longer look.

His arm remained draped across your waist, face relaxed against the pillow in a way you rarely got to witness. The sharp edges he carried through the hospital weren’t here. The attending physician, the veteran, the man who always seemed to have a plan for everything—none of them existed in moments like this.

Just Jack. Your Jack. 

You studied him for a second before catching yourself.

A second turned into five.

Then ten.

God, you were becoming one of those people.

The realization should have embarrassed you.

Instead, it made you smile.

As if sensing the attention, he stirred slightly.

His brow furrowed before one eye cracked open.

Immediately finding you.

“You’re staring at me.”

His voice was rough from sleep.

You smiled innocently. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re literally on top of me.”

You glanced down.

Unfortunately, he had a point.

At some point during the night—or morning, technically—you’d migrated until you were half draped across him.

“Coincidence.”

“Mm.”

His eyes closed again.

You waited.

Then waited some more.

“That’s it?” you asked.

One eye reopened.

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know.” You propped your chin on his chest. “A grand speech about how beautiful I look in the afternoon.”

“You do.”

The answer came so fast you nearly choked.

Jack looked entirely unbothered.

You, meanwhile, felt your face heat immediately. “Oh.”

A faint smirk appeared without him even opening his eyes.

“Got you.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“You’re annoying.”

“I’ve been told.”

His arm tightened briefly around your waist, pulling you slightly closer.

“Has it really been fourteen days?” he continued, his free hand coming up to scrub over his face.

“Does it feel longer?”

He thought about it for a moment.

“Yes and no.”

You hummed. “I know what you mean. It feels like it was yesterday and also five years ago at the same time.”

“Yeah.”

A quiet settled between you.

“And now it’s time to go back,” you said.

The words hung heavier than you intended.

Jack’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling.

“Not sure what I’m gonna do without you here.”

Your head tilted toward him.

“Well, I mean, I can always come over after shifts.”

“Mmm.”

The sound was thoughtful.

“I don’t think it’s enough.”

Your brows shot up.

“What?” You pushed yourself up onto an elbow. “What, you want me to move in?”

That earned a snort.

“Whoa. Slow your roll there, buddy.” His hand landed on your hip, steadying you as he looked up with a grin. “I barely know you.”

You swatted his chest.

“Besides,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I can barely afford to pay Santos rent, let alone you and this giant house.”

“Sweetheart,” he sighed dramatically, “don’t offend me with the prospect of you paying your way on anything here.”

Your mouth fell open.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You really are eighty.”

He groaned immediately.

“Here we go.”

“No, seriously. That was the most old-man thing you’ve ever said.”

“I am literally forty-six.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not old.”

“It is when you’re offering to financially support women.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I wasn’t offering to financially support you.”

“You absolutely were.”

“I was not.”

“You basically just told me I could squat here indefinitely.”

“That’s a gross mischaracterization of what happened.”

You laughed as he pulled you back down against him.

“Admit it. You’d have a heart attack if I tried to hand you money.”

“I’d survive.”

“Barely.”

His chest shook beneath your cheek with a laugh.

“Maybe.” 

“How the fuck do we proceed?” You sighed again. “You’re the attending. Attend.” 

He scoffed. “We proceed like any normal people would do in this scenario.” 

You glanced up at him expectantly. 

“You move in here permanently, we carpool to and from work, and eventually…” You hung onto his words, and he knew it. “…get a dog.” 

You couldn’t help but bark a laugh. “A dog.” 

“A dog.” 

“We work in the emergency room, you idiot. The fuck are we going to do with a dog?” 

“Have a lazy dog.” 

“You’re insane.” 

“That’s what my shrink says anyway.” 

You turned fully onto your side, tucking your hands beneath your cheek.

Noticing the shift in your expression, Jack mirrored you almost immediately, rolling onto his side so you were facing each other.

“Seriously,” you said. “When we clock in today at six o’clock, what do we do?”

“What do you want to do?”

You groaned.

You knew why he was doing it. After years of being your attending, years of holding authority over you, he was making a point to let you steer this.

It was thoughtful.

It was respectful.

It was also incredibly annoying.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

Jack studied you for a moment before nodding.

“Okay.”

“We have two options,” he continued. “We face PTMC head on and basically confirm what everyone with functioning eyesight has apparently suspected for years.”

You laughed despite yourself.

“Or?”

“Or we keep it to ourselves.”

His voice remained easy.

Steady.

Like either outcome genuinely sat fine with him.

“I’m good either way, sweetheart.”

You believed him.

If you wanted to walk into the ED holding his hand, he’d do it.

If you wanted to pretend absolutely nothing had happened for a while, he’d do that too.

Neither option seemed to threaten him.

You, meanwhile, felt like your stomach was performing acrobatics.

“You’re being suspiciously calm about this.”

“I’m a calm person.”

You gave him a look.

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s not.”

“Jack.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Six months ago, you nearly argued with a cardiologist because he used the phrase ‘heart vibes.’”

His expression remained completely neutral.

“He was wrong.”

You barked out a laugh.

“He was trying to explain something to a patient.”

“He was explaining it poorly.”

The familiar banter softened the tension for a moment.

Just enough—before reality drifted back in.

“Robby’s going to know immediately.”

He nodded. “Robby already knows.”

“That’s fair.”

“Santos definitely knows.”

You buried your face in the pillow. “Oh, she knows.”

“She knew before we did.”

The thought made you groan louder.

Jack’s smile widened. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think we’re putting too much pressure on one shift.”

You looked back up at him.

His expression had softened again.

“Nothing actually changes tonight,” he said. “We show up. We do our jobs. We save lives.”

His hand found yours beneath the sheets.

Easy.

Natural.

“Then we go home.”

Home.

As though there wasn’t any question where either of you would be going afterward.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“We don’t have to solve the rest of our lives before six o’clock.”

You stared at him for a moment.

Then sighed.

“That’s annoyingly reasonable.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“It sounded like one.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shen’s definitely going to know.” 

“Shen’s been asking me for years.” 

“What if I quit tonight? Then we don’t have to tell HR—” 

“No one is quitting.” 

Jack walked beside you like it was any other day.

No hesitation. No visible shift in posture. No performative adjustment to account for the fact that, technically, everything between you had changed in the span of fourteen days. 

Just calm, steady movement through the automatic doors like he belonged exactly where he was going.

Like you did too.

Everyone was already gathered in the center of the floor the way they always were at shift change—half-circle clusters around the board, voices overlapping in that familiar controlled chaos of PTMC handoff. Day shift finishing up last-minute updates, night shift filtering in, everyone half-listening while still trying to catch their own assignments.

The second you stepped onto the main floor, it happened.

Conversations tapered off mid-sentence. Mel paused with her pen hovering above the paper. Whitaker literally stopped walking, frozen halfway between trauma bay three and the board. Even Dana looked up from the desk with slow, deliberate recognition, as though bracing for something dramatic to unfold.

Silence that didn’t feel accidental.

It felt collective.

Like everyone knew something had changed.

Everyone was just waiting to see how it would announce itself.

Your stomach tightened immediately.

Jack didn’t slow down.

He adjusted his ID badge slightly and kept walking toward the board like nothing in the world was out of place.

Then, without even looking away from the updates being scribbled up front, he spoke.

“Are we going to stand around,” he said evenly, “or are we going to fill me in on what I’ve missed?”

That did it.

The illusion of restraint broke instantly.

A few people glanced at each other. Someone coughed awkwardly. An intern snapped back into motion a little too fast, shuffling forward with a chart like they’d been personally called out.

The tension in the room shifted from frozen anticipation to frantic professionalism in seconds.

Just like that, he had taken the room back.

Jack Abbot, attending physician.

Nothing more.

Robby cleared his throat, insulated cup in one hand and tablet tucked into his other. “Welcome back you two, you’ve been missed,” 

You stood slightly behind Jack for half a beat longer than you meant to.

Because you could feel it.

Every eye that had been waiting for confirmation was now actively searching for you instead.

And you suddenly became very interested in the floor.

From your peripheral vision, you caught movement.

Santos.

She leaned against the counter near the desk like she had been waiting for this exact moment since the beginning of time itself. Her arms were crossed, expression already sharpened into something far too entertained.

Her eyes flicked to Jack first.

Then to you.

And stayed there.

You felt your entire face heat up on instinct.

Absolutely not. You knew Santos had an effect on you that got you to sing like a canary, and you would not be doing this now. Or here. 

You dropped your gaze harder into the chart in front of you like it contained the secrets of the universe.

Jack, meanwhile, was already in full attending mode—calmly asking about a trauma admit, redirecting a resident, scanning the board like the last fourteen days had been nothing more than a brief inconvenience.

Professional. Unbothered. Infuriatingly normal.

Santos, however, was still looking at you.

You could feel it.

You risked a quick glance up.

Bad idea.

Her eyebrows lifted slightly.

A silent, devastatingly smug: Oh. So that’s what happened in quarantine.

You immediately looked back down at the chart.

“Okay,” Jack said, closing a chart with finality. “Let’s move. Who’s covering north—”

His words cut off mid-sentence.

His attention snagged on something past the nurse’s bay, gaze sharpening in a way that made the shift in the room immediate. You followed his line of sight.

The security office.

More specifically, the whiteboard inside it.

You saw it instantly.

Dozens of brightly colored sticky notes layered over one another in chaotic, deliberate organization—the unmistakable sign of a PTMC floor wager. Something that had clearly escalated far beyond anyone’s attempt to make it subtle.

Your stomach dropped.

A few people shifted uncomfortably. The air in the room changed again, this time from anticipation to something closer to collective regret.

Because now everyone knew exactly what was about to happen.

Jack didn’t say anything at first.

He just walked.

Slowly.

He didn’t rush. Just controlled, purposeful movement toward the office like he had all the time in the world to dismantle whatever he was about to find inside.

The room watched him go.

And then watched harder when he stepped inside.

You couldn’t see him for a few seconds, but you could feel it—whatever he was reading in there. The silence stretched long enough to become unbearable, punctuated only by the low hum of monitors and the distant beeping of a patient you weren’t currently thinking about.

Then he stepped back out.

With something in his hand—a bucket.

Full.

And judging by the weight of it in his grip, absolutely not small change.

He looked at it once.

Then at the group.

“The hell is this?” he asked.

His voice had dropped into that controlled attending tone that meant someone was about to have a very bad time.

“I told ‘em to take it down numerous times,” Robby said casually from the side, taking a sip of his coffee like this was the least surprising development of his week.

Jack didn’t look at him.

“Take it down. Now.”

One of the security guys opened his mouth like he might argue.

Jack cut him off immediately.

“Don’t. This is not only unprofessional, it’s a violation of hospital policy. And if Gloria saw this, she’d have a heart attack before I finished the explanation.”

A beat.

“I said take it down. Now.”

Silence.

Then movement.

Immediate, slightly panicked compliance.

Around you, the group shifted uncomfortably, the earlier tension now replaced with the very real consequences of getting caught turning your personal life into a full-scale betting pool.

People glanced between you and Jack now with renewed intensity, like the stakes had somehow doubled.

Santos, of course, looked like she was enjoying every second of it.

You refused to look at her.

Jack walked back toward the board, still holding the bucket like it personally offended him. He set it down with a dull thud that made at least one resident flinch.

Then he finally spoke again.

“I’ll be keeping this. Are we done entertaining ourselves,” he said flatly, “or can we get back to doing our jobs?”

That snapped everyone back into motion.

You felt your insides warm at the way he’d just single-handedly shut down half the floor’s curiosity without even acknowledging what they were really trying to do. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t for show. It was just Jack, doing what Jack did—drawing a hard line and refusing to let anyone turn it into entertainment.

You watched him for a moment longer as he moved through the night shift handoff, already back in control of the room. 

Like none of it had touched him.

A throat beside you cleared. 

Santos.

You didn’t even notice her approaching until she was already beside you. Denim jacket already on. Work bag slung over her shoulder. Expression determined in that way that meant she was absolutely not letting this go.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Been a long two weeks, huh?”

You let out a quiet sigh.

“Do we have to do this here?”

She raised a brow.

“Seeing as you’ve dodged most of my calls, yeah, I’d like to.”

Fair.

You leaned slightly against the counter, lowering your voice.

“If I tell you it’s because I was in fact very busy discussing the future of our relationship, will you drop it?”

There was a beat.

Santos blinked at you.

Like her brain had to reboot to process the sentence you’d just delivered with full sincerity.

“…Yeah?” she said finally, slower now. “Shit, I actually was only about, like, eighty percent sure you two would come out of this in a fucking relationship.”

You let out a breath that turned into a laugh despite yourself.

“How much did you bet, Trinity?”

She hesitated.

Which was answer enough.

“Doesn’t even matter,” she said quickly, pointing vaguely toward the floor. “Your damn boyfriend took the prize pot so I guess we all lost.”

Your head snapped slightly to the side at that.

The mention of ‘boyfriend’.

The word still hit you like you were some lovestruck teenager remembering her crush liked her back.

You followed her gesture instinctively.

Jack was across the floor near Robby, speaking in low, clipped tones as they reviewed something on a tablet. Fully in attending mode again. 

Like it was just another Tuesday.

You exhaled slowly.

“I can’t believe you people were betting on us,” you muttered.

Santos scoffed.

“Oh, please. It was the most entertaining thing that’s happened on this floor in months.”

“That is deeply concerning for patient care.”

“But deeply relevant to morale.”

You shook your head, but your mouth was still betraying you with a smile.

Across the room, Jack glanced up briefly.

Not long.

Just enough.

His eyes found yours instinctively.

Like it was second nature now.

He held it for a beat.

Then, he winked at you. 

A quick, stolen moment—barely there if you weren’t looking for it. A subtle lift at the corner of his mouth, almost imperceptible.

A reminder that he was here. That he had your back. That none of this—the eyes, the whispers, the poorly hidden questions—was going to shake what had already been decided between the two of you.

Then he turned back to Robby as if nothing in the world had shifted at all.

You blinked once, caught between the absurdity of it and the warmth that followed it too quickly for you to properly process.

Across the floor, Dana moved past the edge of the group.

She was in her street clothes now. And in her hands—

The bucket.

Full of money.

She looked far too pleased with herself as she carried it like some kind of hard-won trophy, chin lifted just slightly as she made her way toward the exit.

Your brows knitted together.

Your attention snapped back toward Trinity.

“Uh,” you said slowly, still watching Dana disappear toward the doors, “what did Dana bet?”

Trinity followed your line of sight, squinting like she was trying to remember.

Then she let out a low laugh. “Oh,” she said, like it suddenly clicked into place.

 “She bet that it started the day you started working here.”

jack exited trauma three, peeling off bloody nitrile gloves with a sharp snap that echoed sharply in the corridor.

dr. parker ellis followed two steps behind him, talking too fast, her fingers flying across an ipad.

"the repeat lactate's worse, and radiology still hasn't called back about the abdominal ct—"

"then call them again." jack said, his tone carrying a tired but dryly amused smirk as he tossed his gloves into the biohazard bin.

"i did."

"well then call them louder."

ellis let out a theatrical puff of air, her own lips twitching slightly. "that's not a real medical instruction, abbot."

"it is if you say it with authority." jack smiled faintly, though it quickly faded as the sheer exhaustion of the night settled back in.

his scrub top stuck unpleasantly between his shoulder blades from sweat.

he hadn't eaten since six—unless stale graham crackers from the patient nutrition room counted as a food group—and his lower back ached with the deep, familiar throb that meant he had been standing too long again.

at the nurses' station, lena was arguing with mateo over which patient stole hospital socks from supply.

"they're hospital socks, mateo."

"it's the principle."

jack reached across the desk, snatching a chart from the top of the pile. "tell psych in room nine if he throws one more urinal at my staff, i'm going to be the one sedating him personally."

lena pointed a finger at him immediately. "see? that's leadership."

mateo sighed, tapping his stethoscope against his clipboard. "you people are why i've been considering blood pressure medication."

against jack's thigh, his phone vibrated.

he almost ignored it. on a thursday night, a vibration meant a page, a lab alert, or a consult.

but a specific, rhythmic pulse against his hip made him pause.

he pulled it out, glanced down at the screen, and saw your name.

everything inside him stilled.

the flatlining beep of a heart monitor down the hall and the squeak of sneakers on linoleum all of it compressed into static because you didn't call him during shifts anymore.

recently, it had been a carefully curated dance of text messages. you both kept it strictly to short, sterile logistics, mostly because of a strange new tension that had started bleeding into every single interaction.

neither of you wanted it there. you were fiercely determined to keep your boundaries razor-sharp.

jack felt the exact same way. he respected your life, and he had no intention of complicating things again.

which meant he was working twice as hard to lock his own thoughts down.

he pressed the phone to his ear, stepping away from the desk. "hey," he answered normally, his voice natural, but already laced with an undercurrent of sudden, sharp focus.

there was chaos bleeding through the receiver.

the distinct, terrifying sound of heavy footsteps on pavement and people talking over one another in a panic.

"jack—"

every nerve ending in his body snapped painfully awake. he straightened, his spine cracking, a motion so sudden and violent that lena's banter died instantly. she looked up, her eyes narrowing as she read the sudden rigor in his posture.

"what happened?" jack asked, his voice dropping an octave.

your breathing sounded wrong. you weren't crying and the thing is crying he could handle, crying was a release.

this was worse.

this was the ragged, suffocating sound of someone trying desperately not to break apart in public.

"chase, she—she had something with cashews, they think. she was at sarah's house and her mom used an epipen and they're taking her to—"

"here?" jack was already moving before you could finish your sentence. dr. ellis jumped back as jack blew past her like a freight train toward ems intake. "when did symptoms start?"

"i don't know maybe like eight minutes ago? they said she was having trouble breathing and—"

his stomach dropped, a cold, violent plunge into freefall. panic, sharp and suffocating, clawed at the back of his throat, but years of trauma medicine forced his voice to do the exact opposite.

he clamped down hard on his own terror, deliberately softening his tone into something  reassuring for you.

"hey," he murmured, his voice smoothing out, thick with a warmth he hadn't used in years. "hey, breathe. it's going to be okay. i promise you, she is going to be completely fine."

"i think so, but sarah's mom sounded panicked, jack, and i—"

"i know, i know," he interrupted gently, his heart hammering against his ribs as he kicked open the heavy double doors of the ambulance bay, stepping out into the thick, humid evening air.

"listen to me. the epi is most likely already working, and i am standing right out in the bay waiting for her. she's coming straight to me."

silence stretched over the line, save for the low hum of your car's air conditioning blasting on your end.

then your breathing caught, a hard, broken sound.

jack closed his eyes briefly, leaning his forehead against the brick wall of the bay, his own chest aching with a phantom tightness. "how far out are you?"

"thirty minutes. maybe forty five with all this stupid fucking traffic."

"okay. do me a favor and drive safely. take your time, don't speed."

"our daughter can't breathe and you're telling me not to speed?"

fear always made you sound angry first.

even now. even after everything that had torn you apart, he knew the cadence of your terror perfectly.

jack gripped the aluminum railing of the bay. "i just need you getting here in one piece," he said, his voice dropping into something quiet, incredibly tender, and devastatingly familiar.

"let me handle this part. i've got her, okay? i won't let anything happen to her. i promise."

a long pause. the anger drained out of you, leaving only a fragile, trembling "yeah."

he hung up just as the red and white lights of the ambulance flooded the bay, the tires screeching softly against the dry asphalt.

the back doors swung open before the vehicle had even fully stopped.

and suddenly, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

"sixteen-year-old female," the paramedic started breathlessly, guiding the stretcher down the ramp.

"known tree nut allergy, likely cashew exposure approximately twenty minutes ago at a friend's residence. one epi administered on scene by the friend's mother—"

jack's eyes flicked to the side as sarah's mother scrambled out of the back of the rig behind the stretcher.

she was shaking, and visibly sweating from the summer heat. "dr. abbot, i am so sorry, they were just watching a movie and i didn't realize the snack mix had—"

"you gave her the epi," jack cut her off, his voice firm but surprisingly gentle as he placed a brief hand on her shoulder.

"you did what you could" he reassured her.

he gestured toward the double doors, where mateo was already jogging out. "get her checked in at the desk, get her a cold water, and keep her updated."

"on it." mateo said, quickly guiding the distraught mother inside.

then jack looked down at the stretcher to his daughter.

she looked so small, curled slightly inward on the stretcher beneath the thin, scratchy ambulance blankets.

her face was blotchy with angry, blooming hives and her eyes behind her glasses were terrified. her breathing was shallow, a whistling sound catching in her throat.

something primitive and terrifying ripped straight through jack's chest, tearing away the doctor, the degrees, the decades of experience. for one half-second, he wasn't a doctor. he was just a father watching his baby girl struggle for air.

the cold, brutal machinery of his training slammed back into place, locking down the panic.

"hey, bug."

chase's head lolled toward him, her eyes tracking his face. "dad."

her voice sounded rough and sandpapered.

jack stepped alongside the moving stretcher, keeping pace as they wheeled her through the trauma intake doors. "can you take a deep breath for me, sweetheart?"

her chest hitched, her shoulders tensing as she winced.

his heart nearly stopped, but his hands remained perfectly steady. "okay. that's okay. you're doing so great."

dr. john shen appeared beside him instantly, already snapping on a pair of fresh gloves. "what've we got?"

"anaphylaxis. epi given about fifteen minutes ago. airway is tight but patent."

shen nodded once, sharply, and immediately began hooking chase up to the monitors. "hey, your dad is pretty important here as you know, which means we're going to take extra good care of you."

chase nodded weakly, her head heavy against the thin pillow.

mateo pushed into the room next, a syringe already primed. "steroids and benadryl are ready. going into the iv now."

everything moved with the fluid, practiced speed of controlled chaos. jack took a stethoscope from around his neck and listened to chase's lungs himself.

he trusted everyone in this room with his life but he physically could not stop his own hands from checking.

a faint wheeze but it was improving.

thank fuck.

"bp's pretty stable," shen announced, eyeing the monitor. "tachy at 132."

"expected post-epi," jack answered automatically, his voice a flat line of professional calm.

but his body language said otherwise.

only the people who had bled with him on the night shift for years would notice the telltale signs.

the white-knuckle grip he had on the stethoscope, the rigid tension locked across his broad shoulders, and the fact that he hadn't looked away from chase's face for more than three seconds.

shen noticed. he caught his eye briefly over chase's chart, giving him a microscopic nod. i've got it. go be her dad.

jack exhaled once through his nose, the air hot and shaky.

on the bed, chase shifted weakly against the pillow, the color slowly returning to her cheeks as the steroids kicked in. shen and mateo quietly slipped out of the room to grab a warm blanket and update the desk, leaving father and daughter alone for the first time.

"dad?"

he stepped closer instantly, taking her small, cold hand in both of his. "i'm right here, bug."

"is mom coming?" her raspy voice cracked, her fingers tightening around his with a sudden burst of anxiety.

"she's on her way," jack murmured, his tone incredibly soft as he used his free hand to carefully brush damp, dark curls back from her forehead. "she's driving through the city right now."

chase swallowed hard, her eyes pooling with sudden, glassy tears. "she's going to be so fucking mad at me. i didn't check the bowl, dad. i just took a handful. she always tells me to check."

he winced at her language but a breathless, choked laugh escaped his throat. it nearly destroyed him, the sheer vulnerability of her fear.

he forced his features into a warm, unshakable smile, leaning in a little closer to ground her.

"your mom is not going to be mad at you, sweetheart. she loves you more than life itself. she would never, ever think that, okay? you don't get to worry about anything except resting."

her mouth twitched into a faint, exhausted smile, the tension draining from her small frame. "okay. i'm sorry."

"nope. it's not your fault. it's never your fault."

mateo quietly stepped back into the room, adjusting a freshly warmed blanket higher over chase's shoulders and dimming the overhead trauma lights. the small, human kindness of the gesture hit jack unexpectedly hard.

because suddenly, the adrenaline began to clear, and the reality of the situation rushed in to fill the vacuum.

you weren't here yet.

which meant you were out there, somewhere in the dark, driving through the warm summer night, trapped between panic and catastrophe.

you were probably gripping the steering wheel until your fingers bled, blaming yourself for letting her go to a friend's house, trying not to cry so you wouldn't blur your vision on the highway.

the thought landed badly. heavy with the weight of old ghosts and broken promises.

jack crushed it immediately. not tonight.

still, a quiet, heavy realization settled deep beneath his ribs.

in the worst moment of your day, when the world was spinning out of control and your daughter couldn't breathe... the first person you called was him.

not just because he was a doctor. not entirely.

but because somewhere underneath all the wreckage between you, some stubborn, unbroken part of you still believed when things fall apart, jack would show up.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

the doors of the er lobby hissed open, letting in a brief gust of the late sticky, muggy summer night air.

jack knew your stride before he even saw your face. through the low hum of the waiting room, it pulled his head up instantly.

the lobby around you was loud and suffocatingly crowded. a man three chairs down was groaning into a plastic basin and an overworked triage nurse was repeatedly shouting a patient's name.

people bumped shoulders, and muttered in the cramped space, but when your gaze locked onto jack's through the chaos, the rest of the room faded into a distant hum.

you looked entirely consumed by panic. you looked smaller than usual, your eyes wide and frantic as they swept the crowded room, looking for the only anchor that mattered.

the breath left your lungs in a visible shudder.

jack was across the floor before you could take another step, deftly navigating around a security guard and a family waiting near the vending machines.

he didn't think about the logistics, or the rules, or the boundary lines that had been carefully drawn over the last twenty-four months.

he just reached out, his hands catching your upper arms to steady you before your knees could give out right there in the middle of the crowded lobby.

at the sudden, heavy contact, a sharp tremor went through you.

instinctively, your body remembered the boundaries of your new life, and you involuntarily flinched, pulling back half an inch.

jack froze. his hands dropped instantly, his chest tightening with a familiar, dull ache. the rejection was silent, but it cut through the lingering adrenaline like ice.

an orderly pushed past them with a rattling linen cart, forcing jack to step a little closer to keep you from being bumped.

"sorry," he muttered quickly, his voice dropping into a rough, defensive register as he took a half-step back, shielding you from the passing foot traffic. "i didn't mean to—"

"no, it's okay," you interrupted breathlessly, shaking your head, your hands waving through the air between you as if you could physically push the awkwardness away. "it's fine. just... tell me. please."

a loud burst of static whined from the overhead pa system, followed by a monotone page for a doctor in triage, but you didn't even blink. you didn't have the emotional bandwidth to unpack the sudden, overwhelming intimacy of his touch right now.

that flinch was a symptom of a much larger complication—one you would have to dissect later, in the quiet of your own mind.

right now, your entire universe was narrowed down to one terrifying question.

"she's okay," he said immediately, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative frequency he kept specifically for you, easily cutting through the surrounding chatter of the waiting room.

it was the tone that meant the crisis was finally over. "she's okay. airway is clear. lungs are clear. she's resting.

you let out a broken, choked sound, your shoulders finally dropping from around your ears. a couple walking past glanced over at the sound, but you didn't care. "i thought—the nurse said she couldn't breathe, jack. i couldn't get the car to start, and the traffic on the bridge—"

"hey. have i ever lied to you?"

you swallowed hard, your eyes swimming with unshed tears as you searched his features. the familiarity of his face was almost painful.

technically, he had.

he had lied once, in a tailored suit, when he looked you in the eyes and swore before god and everyone you knew that he would love you until death did you part.

"no," you whispered despite yourself.

"she's fine. the epi worked, we hit her with steroids and benadryl, and she's already complaining about my bedside manner. you can go back right now."

a tear finally spilled over your lashes. jack's hand twitched, wanting to brush it away, but he kept his fingers firmly locked at his sides this time.

your eyes flicked past his shoulder toward the main entrance doors, and whatever fragile bubble you were in popped completely.

"is she alright?" daniel asked as he reached you, his hand immediately settling on the small of your back.

it was a protective, possessive gesture, and jack's tired eyes tracked it.

"she's stable," jack answered for you. "she's back in trauma 4. only one person can go back at a time while we finish the observation period, though."

daniel looked at you, his thumb rubbing small, comforting circles into your lower back. "go," he urged gently, raising his voice slightly over a sudden argument at the triage desk. "i'll wait out here and grab us some coffee. call me if you need me to come back."

you nodded weakly, offering daniel a small, grateful smile. "thank you."

jack turned, leading the way through the secure double doors, leaving the roaring chaos of the lobby behind for the slightly more clinical hum of the secure corridor.

he stopped outside the door to trauma 4, his hand on the stainless-steel handle. he turned back to look at you, his voice private again, shielded from the noise of the hallway where nurses were hurriedly moving between rooms.

"you did good. keeping your head on the drive. you did exactly what you were supposed to do."

you looked up at him, your fingers twisting together, the guilt that had been clawing at your throat finally spilling over.

"daniel wanted to drive," you admitted quietly, your voice cracking as you looked down at your boots. "but i couldn't... i knew if you told me she was going to be alright, i'd believe it. because jack... it's my fault. it's entirely my fault."

jack frowned, taking a half-step closer, his professional detachment slipping despite the staff bustling around them. "what are you talking about?"

"she's had this allergy her whole life, jack. sixteen years, and i have always stayed on top of it. i vet every single kitchen, i read every single label twice, i'm the one who handles the logistics," you whispered, your chest heaving as the tears finally came fast and hot.

you felt utterly distraught, stripped bare by the realization of how close you had come to losing her. "i let my guard down. i let her go over there without calling sarah's mom first to double-check. i got careless. if she had—if the epi hadn't worked, it would have been because i failed her."

"hey," jack said, his voice dropping into that fierce, unyielding gravity he used when he absolutely refused to let you sink. "she's still a child. she went to a friend's house and had a freak exposure. you have carried the weight of keeping her safe every single second of her life, and you have done a flawless job. this is not your fault. it is nobody's fault."

you swallowed down a sob, staring at his chest, desperately wanting to believe the absolute certainty in his voice.

the admission hung between you, heavy and deeply complicated.

it wasn't a betrayal of daniel—not explicitly—but it was an acknowledgment of a ghost that still lived between you.

the fact that in your darkest moment of self-blame, you needed his absolution.

before jack could let himself reach out again, he pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you pass.

chase was propped up on the pillows, the color finally returning to her cheeks, though she still looked exhausted.

the moment you saw her, you crossed the room in three strides, dropping into the bedside chair and wrapping your arms carefully around her shoulders. "oh, baby," you breathed, burying your face in her hair, the lingering terror making your touch slightly fierce.

"i'm okay, mom," chase mumbled, her voice still a little raspy, but her arms tightened around your waist. "dad saved me."

"the paramedics and sarah's mom saved you," jack corrected smoothly, stepping up to the opposite side of the bed.

but there was a softness in his eyes that usually took a three-day weekend to appear. he reached down, checking the line of her iv with practiced, gentle fingers.

for the next twenty minutes, the rhythm of the room shifted into something kind of complicated.

you could say it was the domestic muscle memory of a family that had been broken but never entirely destroyed.

"you look exhausted," jack murmured, his voice laced with a quiet, familiar fondness that made your throat ache with the weight of things left unsaid.

"look who's talking," you replied softly, a faint, genuine smile tugging at your lips. "when was the last time you drank water?"

"i had coffee at four."

"that doesn't count, jack."

"it technically has water in it."

it was an automatic exchange, spoken with the rhythm of a conversation you had had a thousand times before.

the first time, chase had been barely three years old, a heavy, warm weight balanced against your hip as you hurried down the hallway of your old house.

jack had been halfway out the door, already late for a shift, and you had been chasing him down with his silver water bottle in your free hand.

he had stopped, turning around with that tired, handsome smile that always softened just for you. “what would i do without you?” he had murmured, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to your lips before leaning down to press another against chase's forehead.

the memory snapped back to the present, leaving a cold, hollow ache in its wake.

the words had slipped out so naturally, driven entirely by pure, mindless habit, that a sudden, suffocating stillness fell over the small space the moment the sentence ended.

pulled under by a wave of sudden self-consciousness, you shifted your gaze down to the floor, intentionally creating distance.

jack cleared his throat, pulling his eyes away just as quickly, his fingers suddenly very busy adjusting the side rail of the bed.

the tension in the air was thick, heavy with the silent realization of how dangerous that familiarity still was.

from her spot against the pillows, chase watched the entire exchange, her glassy eyes darting back and forth between you.

she saw the way her dad's shoulders had finally unknotted the second you walked into the room.

she saw the specific, heavy way the two of you looked at each other—like you were the only two people in the entire hospital who spoke the same language.

daniel was nice, but daniel was a guest in your lives. daniel didn't look at you like you were the only thing that was keeping his lungs full of air.

not like this.

chase leaned her head back against the pillow tonight had been a complete, terrifying accident, and she would never actually put herself or her parents through that kind of horror on purpose.

but looking at you both now, the desperate, childish part of her couldn't help the thought from forming anyway.

if this is what it takes, she thought to herself, her chest aching with a weird mixture of physical exhaustion and sudden, fierce hope.

if it takes me almost dying to get them to actually look at each other again... i would eat a whole bowl of cashews tomorrow.

"what are you smirking at, bug?" jack asked, his voice breaking the silence as he caught the tiny twitch of her lips, his hand dropping away from the bed.

chase looked at her parents, who were now standing shoulder-to-shoulder by her bedside, your shadows overlapping on the floor in the dim light of the trauma room.

"nothing," chase said innocently, closing her eyes as a sleepy, knowing smile spread across her face.

“i’m just really glad the epi worked.”

There was an unspoken rule in the apartment; if the bathroom door was shut, you stay out, if the bathroom door was open, then you were free to talk.

After Jack had gotten home from his shift, you kissed him, hung in his arms as he fawned over you and you him, then promptly encouraged him to eat dinner and then shower to ease his sore limbs.

You weren’t far off from hitting your forties, and already you could feel your body protesting after a day of doing anything. So christ knows how Jack must have felt after a twelve hour shift at 50 with a prosthetic into the bargain.

“Go, I’ll catch up” you encouraged him along with several kisses to sweeten the deal.

Jack mumbled something before reluctantly pulling away from you. Over your shoulder you watched him walk off in the direction of the bedroom and en suite, clearly favoring his good leg.

When you heard the shower hissing to life, you waited about fifteen minutes, busying yourself doing the dishes and putting leftovers away for Jack to take to work on the next shift.

Once the kitchen and living space was tidied up, you flicked off the lights and made your way into your bedroom. Jack had tossed his clothes into the laundry basket, and propped his prosthetic onto his side of the bed.

You looked over at the door to the en suite, and saw it halfway open. Smiling lazily, you approached the bathroom, despite the rule, you knocked.

“Hey” Jack hummed, slightly muffled by the falling water.

“Hey” you replied, eyeing Jack as he sat in the shower, his hands resting on his thighs as his head leaned back against the wall, relaxed and drenched in steaming hot water.

“Can I cut in?” You asked gently.

“Get in here” Jack smirked and lowered his head back down to look at you.

He watched adoringly from his seat in the shower as you began to undress, setting your clothes down in the corner of the room before sliding the shower door open. Immediately jack reached for you, his strong hands taking yours as he widened his legs for you to stand between his knees.

“Sore?” You asked as you looked down at his stump.

“Got a little sweaty around the 9 hour mark, chaffing n stuff” Jack grumbled with a sigh as he looked down at his leg.

You kissed your teeth in concern and bent down into the wet floor of the shower, your knees pressing into the grippy shower mat as you skimmed your fingers across Jack’s thigh and knee, coming to a stop just shy of the red skin near his stump.

Jack looked you over, the way you didn’t budge as your tied up hair got a little wet from the shower spray, your focus entirely on your husband’s ailment. Time and time again, Jack thanked his lucky stars that you were in his life. A small and sentimental part of him thought perhaps you were sent by his wife, a reminder that good exists, love exists, and he was allowed to experience it even after losing so much.

“We’ve got some salve left over, the one with dimethicone in it. There’s actually a new one I saw out grocery shopping - had to pick up vitamins and more oranges for the kitchen- anyway; it was something called Derma Prevent something something. Whatever its called, it has zinc oxide in the formula so I’ll pick it up and we can try-

“I love you” Jack suddenly interrupted you, his hand skimming over the back of your head affectionately.

You looked up from where you knelt, you saw him smiling at you, adoringly, as if you were the only woman in the world. To him you were. How you thought of him, even in the domestic mundane like grocery shopping, he played into your mind just as much as you did to him. Often through out his shift, Jack would think of you.

Wonder if she hit traffic this morning

Gotta text her on my lunch to ask if she’s eaten

Hope that co-worker leaves her alone today

I’ll buy dinner tonight

I wonder if she’d like take out

Gotta ask if she made that dentist appointment

I’ll pick up more coffee for her, she’s already close to finishing that jar I got us last week…

There were times where in the ER, Jack would receive patients he saw glimmers of you in. He hated when that happened, it made him feel vulnerable to imagine you in similar situations, but more so that you weren’t indestructible. And that you could hurt, you could be here. You could slip through his fingers.

“I love you too” You smiled as you turned to face Jack, leaning forward and up, tempting Jack to meet you halfway down and kiss you.

Jack huffed an amazed smirk at you, hair damp from the water, naked, beautiful, his. He reached to cup your cheeks in the palms of his hands, and bent forward to press his lips to yours.

“C’mon, before we prune up” You smiled against Jack’s mouth, your noses grazing.

“Few more minutes” Jack protested as he pecked your mouth. “I like our shower talks” he said, smirking as you chuckled lightly.

Jack didn’t expect to be working after the end of his shift.

It’s Thursday morning, and he’d like nothing more than to crash into bed, but that’s not possible considering he’s trapped in the elevator with his neighbor. His pregnant neighbor, who just so happens to be in the pushing stage of labor. 

He’s kneeled down in front of her, taking note of her dilation. He shifts most of his weight to his left leg, but the prosthetic sleeve is starting to chafe the sensitive skin around his right limb, and the air in the elevator is stifling, making the socket overly warm. 

Over the past week, Pittsburgh has been experiencing a major summer heat wave, causing blackouts and power outages all over the city. They’re both stuck in here, but there’s also very little light filtering in through the crack of the elevator door, and the temperature and humidity are making it difficult to breathe.

Jack is nothing if not prepared, however, and has an emergency kit in his bag that includes a military flashlight and other supplies he’ll need for this.

He wipes the bead of sweat lining his forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re in good hands, but you’re going to need to start pushing.” 

She shakes her head, and her shadow mirrors her movement against the steel walls of the trap. “Dr. Abbot, I’m scared. I can’t do this. Not here.”

“It’s okay. Take a few deep breaths in and out. Emergency services will be here soon. But you need to push, and soon.” He holds his hand out to her. “Hold my hand, if that’ll help.”

She looks at his outstretched hand for a second, then grips it.

“Breathe.”

She nods, then starts breathing into the deepest part of her belly and exhales slowly, repeating the exercise a few times. With each breath her hand only tightens around Jack’s, but he doesn’t mind. 

“Okay. I think I’m ready. It’s—it’s time.”

“Good. I’ll guide you, alright? Just push when I say.”

After a grueling two hours of pushing, his neighbor has given birth to a baby boy. She’s all smiles—though drenched with sweat and exhausted. Her son is too, because he fell asleep shortly after Jack made quick work of the umbilical cord and discarded what he could of the placenta in a waste bag.

He’s being cradled and rocked to and fro within her arms as she hums a lullaby, with Jack’s scrub top being used to swaddle him.

The corners of Jack’s lips curl up at the sight, relieved everything went well, but the fire department has yet to arrive, and she needs to get to a hospital.

But luck seems to be on her side today, because the doors are suddenly being pried open, and a flood of light shines into his eyes as he turns around. 

He finally stands from where he’s seated and grunts in pain. The uncomfortable kneeling position he was in during her labor did nothing for the ache in his limb that started during his shift hours prior. But it’s nothing a massage and a few painkillers can’t fix.

“Time to get you to the hospital.” Jack helps her stand as she holds onto her son, and then he ushers her in his arms to the firepersons, who are waiting patiently by the door.

“Let me get the baby first, ma’am. Don’t worry, we’re here now,” a firefighter says with outstretched arms.

As his neighbor passes her son to the fire woman, she turns her head to Jack, who’s still holding her up in case she starts to feel weak. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot. Really.”

“Just call me Jack. And it’s no problem.”

Jack is back in the Pitt after joining his neighbor and her son in the ambulance for a necessary checkup. They’ll most likely be okay, but he can’t know if there were any invisible complications after the birth—not without proper medical equipment. 

Robby throws his hands up in the air and chuckles when he sees Jack walking toward the nurse’s station after seeing her to the maternity ward. “Now what are you doing here, brother?”

Jack huffs a laugh. “It's been one hell of a morning so far.”

“You’re not here to work, are you?” Robby digs his hands into his pockets and does his signature lean forward.

“Might as well. I’m already here.”

“Going to tell me why?”

Jack twists his lips to one side and slightly shakes his head. “Another time. Let’s get to work.”

It isn’t until the evening of the next day that Jack is scheduled to work.

He salutes Robby, Collins, and Langdon goodbye as they handoff and turns to Shen and Ellis, who are leaning against the nurse’s station.

“Is everyone gathered for rounds?” he asks.

“There’s a few others that’re missing,” Ellis says, giving Shen a sideways glance with a smirk playing on her lips. He just laughs to himself.

“Where is everyone? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” Shen says.

Jack raises a brow at him. “It better not be nothing, or I’ll start to worry that folks don’t want to keep their jobs.” His voice is serious, but the quirk of his lip and the shine in his eyes betray that he’s only teasing.

“Okay, fine. You got me.” Shen raises his palms up. “Parker, wanna show him?”

“I’d be glad to.” She smiles brightly and pulls out her phone. “You haven’t been online or on your phone since yesterday?”

Jack scoffs. “Are you really asking me that? No. I haven’t. I’m too busy working. Unlike you two.”

“Figures. There’s such a thing as too much work, you know.” Ellis chuckles as she presses play on a video, and Jack’s brows raise and forehead lines crinkle as he watches it.

“What am I looking at?” All he sees is a radio show host and her co-host in what looks to be their amateur studio.

“It’s you!” Ellis points back and forth between the screen and Jack, almost giddily. “Well, it’s not you. But they’re talking about you. About what you did yesterday.” She slaps his shoulder lightly. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re a hero?”

“What?”

Shen cuts in. “You’re all over the internet, man. TikTok, Instagram, Reddit—how do you not know?”

“How did people find out what happened?” 

Shen swirls his iced coffee as if winding himself up to give an explanation. “Some bystander got a video of you as you were leaving the elevator with a woman and her newborn. Went viral. Somewhere down the line your name came up. Now Dr. Jack Abbot is everywhere,” he says with a dramatic flair of his hand. “Local or national news didn’t seem to care much, but hey, I saw you on my feed—shirtless—so that’s something.” He shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip of his coffee.

“I don’t get it. What’s the big deal? I was just doing what any person would do. I’m no ‘hero.’” Jack air-quotes, then recrosses his arms. 

“Well, according to everyone online, you are,” Ellis says. “You’re the hot doctor and baby-saver extraordinaire. I’ve already seen thirst traps of you—against my will, mind you.”

“Christ,” Jack forces out. How else can he respond? 

It’s difficult to see himself being heralded as a hero—especially when he’s felt life slip through his fingers more times than any person should. He’s just doing what he’s trained to do. Did what he had to do in that elevator.

He doesn’t particularly mind being adored by people for his good looks, however. Maybe this will help in the love department.

“So that’s why no one’s here? They’re watching… this?” He gestures to her phone with an irritated wave.

“This is Renegade Radio. They’re a broadcast on Fringe FM and have a pretty decent following.” Ellis holds out her hand. “This could be a good thing for PTMC, Jack. They’re not NPR, but I still think you should go on.”

“Go… on?”

“They invited you to their show. At the end of the segment last night, they said they’d be reaching out. Hell, you might already have an email or phone call waiting for you,” Shen says.

“I am not going on a radio show.”

“The host said you’re cute.” Ellis wiggles her brows.

“And for an old white guy.” 

She points her thumb to Shen. “That part.”

Jack scoffs, but as he looks at the screen again, he thinks about it. “She is pretty… isn’t she?” Ellis only showed him the briefest bit of the video, but the image of you is burned into his mind now, and all he can think about is you calling him cute. 

It’s not his usual description of himself, but he’ll take a compliment where he can get one.

“If this is something that could be good for the hospital, I’ll do it.” He says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Gloria has the final say.”

Ellis and Shen give each other a look. 

“I’m rooting for you, Dr. Abbot. I’d definitely tune in to that,” Shen says with an adamant nod. “We’ll, uh, go ahead and gather everyone now.”

He and Ellis fist-bump each other as they walk to the break room with their backs turned to Jack.

“Think he’ll actually do it?” he asks.

Ellis laughs. “I seriously doubt it. But it’s worth a try. Maybe he’ll go on just to try his luck with the host.”

Shen sighs dreamily. “All I want is a shout-out. That’s all I care about.” 

Your station director walks into your broom closet turned office—or more like barges in—with a few clicks of her worn heels and a tight-lipped smile. 

You think twice about taking your feet off the desk, but reconsider it when you remember this is your office. At least, right now. You don’t rotate with the next host for another several hours when they need to come in for the morning show. 

You can do as you please for now. And it’s not like it isn’t dirty already. You throw the pages of the script for your upcoming show onto the desk and cross your arms over your chest. 

Don’t let her intimidate you.

She rolls away one of the chairs, then rests her palms on the cracked oak wood, leaning over as she does so. She doesn’t deign to sit so that you're eye-level with each other, and that puts you in a sour mood.

You glance at the clock on your desk. It’s almost midnight.

“Working late tonight, Morgan?” you ask, plastering a smile. 

She glances at the loose script pages before replying. “Station never sleeps, nor do I. Did he reach back out to you yet, or what?” 

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘yet.’ He may never. But I already told you, we don’t need him. We have a perfectly good script right here.” You gesture to the pages.

“We do need him. Our sponsorships are drying up, and our viewer count isn’t where it needs to be. If our little station is to survive the next quarter, we’ll need something big.”

You scoff. “Our viewer count has never been higher.”

“But it’s the same as last quarter. Stagnation is death for us. You know that.” Morgan cocks her head to the side. “I thought you were more motivated than this. You’ve brought on more difficult guests before. It’s a really good idea too. Everyone is falling head over heels for the handsome doctor who delivered a baby in a freaking elevator.”

You shake your head. “I just... haven’t had the time to really chase him.” 

The power in your apartment has been on and off all week because of the heat wave, and you’ve been having car troubles. That, on top of being behind on rent after a side gig fell through, has made you less than motivated to go above and beyond for work.

These are problems for later, but if the station really does go bust, you’ll most likely be out of a home. 

Is Abbot really the saving grace this station’s hoping for?

“I just don’t see a reason to go for something that’ll never happen. We have a good script and guest prepared already, anyway.”

Morgan huffs and crosses her arms. “I don’t think Pittsburgh cares about Grandma and her startup sex toy business.”

“Well… I do,” you say, very seriously, then burst into laughter after a few seconds of staring each other down. Morgan’s face morphs from serious to jovial as she does too.

Your working relationship with her has always been tumultuous. She’s hardheaded, strict, and pushy. Very pushy. 

And yet, in moments like these, you remember that she’s just doing her job and she really does put her faith in you to produce a quality show (with the help of your wonderful producer, of course).

She’s no stranger to hard work, and you’re sure that she’s pulling her hair out trying to figure out how to keep Fringe FM afloat.

It’s hard being the most popular broadcast of the station (out of three), though. Renegade Radio is held for two hours every Friday starting at midnight EST, which only goes to show how willing people are to cancel their late-night plans or stay up late to tune in. But because of how much the station depends on your show to bring the money in, only you bear the brunt of her uptightness, and it puts an inordinate amount of pressure on you. 

But you’re good at your job. So you decide to give things another go, even if you don’t really have the bandwidth to at the moment. 

“I’ll reach out to the doctor and the hospital again—it’s only been a few days. But the show is Friday. If we get him, I still have to prep-call him, see if he’s a good fit—”

“—That’s all I need to hear. You got this, Luna.” Morgan taps her lacquered nails against the edge of the desk in acknowledgement, then turns around to leave.

You call her before she exits the room, and she leans on the doorframe. 

“Yes?”

“Do you—do you really think this is a good idea? I mean, I saw the video, thought what he did was amazing, but… I don’t know. Grounded, serious stories like his aren’t what we usually go for. Viewers might think it’s weird.” 

She purses her lips before responding. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Make the interview fit the style of Renegade, and viewers will still enjoy it. People will move on to the next hot topic, which is why we need to capitalize on this now—regardless of our reputation. Money’s already tight as it is; you don’t need me to remind you of that.”

No, no, she doesn’t. 

“You know this is a shot in the dark, right? Like last time? We were barely able to make payroll with our last ‘superstar’ guest.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re successful and we pick up some more sponsorships with this guy. Otherwise…”

With that, Morgan closes the door behind her, and you let a sigh escape you. You pick up your phone that’s been lying face down on the desk to check if FFM’s potential “savior” got back to you. 

You see that you do, in fact, have a missed phone call from one Dr. Jack Abbot.

Jack is waiting inside a little coffee shop with his hands on his knees, rubbing them against the starchy jean fabric. The loud hum of the fans running inside an already busy and cramped shop only makes him feel more out of place, but at least it keeps him unnoticed. He’s already been approached by a few people just from the walk from his truck to here.

He’s not used to this. Not used to taking photos or exchanging numbers with pretty strangers. Not used to being anxious about having coffee with one, either. One who happens to blow everyone else out of the water.

He did a little research and found your portfolio online—though it took him more effort than he’d like to admit. Luna—your host name—who’s the lead host for Renegade Radio and has been for the past few years, is a gorgeous, charming, funny, witty human being, and one who he isn’t sure he should have the pleasure of meeting. But he has to remind himself you’re here for the story. His story, but not for him.

Jack doesn’t know what to do with that. Or with the burden he feels because he’s developed somewhat of a crush on you after binging all the uploaded recordings of your show on YouTube over the past few days.

It was only yesterday that he called you and told you that he was willing to go on the show. As Ellis and Shen suspected, Gloria agreed that being a guest would be a good chance for one of PTMC’s finest to talk about their heroism and garner publicity. She urged him to accept, comms gave him a folder with a list of rules, and now here he is.

But it was Robby who gave him the final push to call you.

When you called back, he picked up right away. It was odd, hearing your voice on the other end. It was just as he’s heard a million times already while watching your show, but it almost didn’t seem real—like your voice was meant for his ears only. 

You both decided on meeting here to discuss show logistics, and he couldn’t help but get here a bit early. He doesn't have much longer to wait, however, as he sees you walking through the entrance when he hears the bell ding. 

If the shop owners know what’s good for them, they’ll keep the door propped open. It’s way too hot in here.

You’re dressed in a flowery blouse and a thigh-high split skirt that reaches your ankles. The color is light—for what he assumes is to ward off the sun’s rays—and complements your skin tone. It looks as though you may have walked here, because your décolletage is glistening with sweat and you look out of breath. 

Jack’s heart rate picks up a bit, and he silently curses himself. He should be more equipped to handle a little crush than this, but he can’t help it. He tries to convince himself that he’s just starstruck and nothing more.

He stands from the upholstered bench against the wall, waving his hand slightly when you look around and don’t see him. Your face flashes with recognition, and you go to sit on the opposite side of him on a rickety chair. 

He coughs lightly into his fist before speaking. “Do you want to sit on the bench? It’s more comfortable.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m just really happy to be finally meeting you.” You give him a warm smile and outstretch your hand as you sit. “I’m Luna,” you say with a wink.

He chuckles lightly as he introduces himself. “Jack Abbot.” He shakes your hand and notices it fits perfectly clasped within his. “But that isn’t your real name, is it? I couldn’t find it online.” He smirks and takes a sip of his now lukewarm iced coffee. 

“Oh, looking into me, are you?” you say with a lilt in your voice. “But no, no, it’s not.” You go on to give him your real name, and he thinks it’s much more fitting. 

“I’m surprised you called back, to be honest—especially with it being last minute and all. I wasn’t expecting the hospital to accept one of their doctors going on our show of all places,” you say.

Jack cocks his head to the side and shrugs a shoulder. “Me neither. But our CMO says any attention is good attention. And I made a case for it. I liked your show a lot… from what I saw.”

He doesn’t divulge the fact that he’s seen every video, every clip of you out there, that he could find. He could direct an episode of your show at this point.

He insisted that he only go on your show—otherwise none at all. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Gloria huffed and puffed, saying there were other more “reputable” and “legit” stations that reached out to get in contact with him, but ultimately she relented due to his stubbornness.

“Thank you. Really,” you say as you rub the nape of your neck. “You don’t know how much it means to me—to our station—that you’re doing this. We… well—I’ll trust you to keep this to yourself—but we’re struggling a bit right now. Even with as many viewers as we have—”

Jack raises a brow in confusion. It could be true; he’s no expert, but from what he’s seen, you deserve nothing but the biggest success. 

Your show is funny. Borderline insane. And yet… heartfelt. He can see why Ellis and Shen always rave about it, but he never bothered giving it a chance. Not until now.

“—Ah, it’s nothing you need to worry about. We’re… fine.” You wave your hand in dismissal. “I just want to let you know that I appreciate this.”

Jack isn’t sure what he was expecting before he met you, but not this. Not someone who’s so… honest. He thought maybe you’d have an air of strict professionalism or practiced theatricality about you, but it seems you’re exactly who you portray yourself to be on the show. 

He likes that.

“So what’s the plan?” he asks. “I’m out of my element here.”

“Yeah, great question. Let’s walk through it together.” 

You run through an extensive list on your fingers, but only a few key points stick out that he saves for future reference: today is the pre-call interview, there’s a pre-show prep, and his portion of the show starts at 1:00 a.m. on Friday. He’s on for an hour.

“Does—does that make sense?” you ask.

He nods slowly. “It… does.” 

“I guess it’s good that you’re used to staying up late, huh?” You give him a small smile.

“Guess so.” The corner of Jack’s lip twitches as he reaches down to the floor to rifle through his bag for a folder. 

“The hospital—they have strict rules about what I can or can’t say.” He hands you the folder, and you glance at the document inside.

“Oh... okay. Could’ve just sent this over email but…” you mumble. “Um—that makes sense. We don’t usually have to worry about censorship, but we can adjust the script to work around whatever’s in here.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” 

“I wouldn’t be good at my job otherwise.” You stuff the folder into your purse, but it still sticks out more than halfway after you hang it back on your chair. “So, you said you’re familiar with the show? What do you like about it?” 

He considers it for a moment before responding, but he already knows the answer. “Well—”

“—Sorry, I’m not trying to interrogate you or anything. Not yet, anyway. I just like hearing people’s thoughts.” You hold your head up with your fists as you wait for Jack to say something.

“I—”

You lean toward him conspiratorially, and his eyes zero in on how your breasts squish and plump up against the table as you do. “—Between you and me, I’m not completely sure why we have such a loyal fanbase, but I just keep doing what I do, and it seems to work.” 

Jack’s humored by the fact you keep interrupting him. It’s cute. 

He rests his arms on the table and leans in close to you—just barely feeling your sweet, yet minty breath on his face. “I think I know why.” Your eyes widen in excitement, and he can feel the table vibrate from the shaking of your legs underneath. “It’s because you’re you. Show wouldn’t be the same without you. Not one bit. And you’re the same reason why I’m willing to go on.”

You’re the only reason he even considered going on. That and the fact that other media outlets don’t suit his tastes quite like yours does.

He doesn’t want fame or glory. He doesn’t want to be broadcast in front of a huge audience with hosts or podcasters who just want their piece of the pie.

He’d like to say his piece in the rundown, backroom studio with the eccentric decor and the host who seems to light up everyone in the room.

Your lips part in shock, surprise, joy, is what he assumes. “W-wow, that’s… such a big compliment. Thank you, Jack. I’m sure my co-host would disagree, but he's not here, so.”

You chuckle, sit back fully in your chair, and give him a mischievous look. “Now that we're meeting in person, I can see why that video blew up. I didn't realize you’d be this handsome and such a Prince Charming.”

Jack huffs and shakes his head slightly. “I’m surprised to be getting as much attention as I am. I’m really a terrible flirt—eye contact and honesty are usually how I get by.”

“Could’ve had me fooled,” you mumble, then look around the now empty shop. 

Has that much time passed already, or has he been too distracted by you to notice?

“I’m going to order something, but I’ll be right back. Let’s get into more show details after, okay?”  

He nods and smiles to himself once your back is turned to him. He’s more than starstruck, he’s realizing. 

Over the next hour or so, you run through the plan for the segment with Jack and answer any questions he has. He’s slightly worried about not knowing the exact questions that will come up on the show, but you’re doing your best to reassure him.

“You’ll be okay. Trust me.” You rest your hand over his that’s currently holding onto his empty cup.

“If you say so. I do have one last question.”

“What is it?” You feel his fingers twitch beneath your hand, and you pull back, unsure if you’ve made him uncomfortable. 

You don’t normally meet interviewees in person for pre-calls, but something about Jack made you want to. In a public setting, of course, but you could almost guarantee that nothing terrible would’ve happened to you anyway. 

From what you’ve gathered, he’s a very respected E.R. attending and is spoken highly of by everyone who knows him. He’s knowledgeable, reliable, and an excellent teacher. 

And yes, he’s handsome. You weren’t just complimenting his looks for the sake of it, nor was it just the camera doing him favors.

His gray curls, stubble beard, the wrinkles on his face and neck—which only give him dimension, in your opinion—his soothing voice, and calm, measured demeanor give you a mushy feeling within the deepest pit of your stomach. 

You’re not nervous. You can’t be. Your profession doesn’t allow it. But if you were, it would make sense that it’s because of him. 

Despite what he says, his combination of natural confidence and yet total lack of trust in himself to impress a woman appeals to you.

You’re glad that he’s still mulling over his question so you can admire him for a few seconds longer.

“Are you going to ask about my prosthetic leg? Make it a… talking point?” Jack gives you a serious look, and you immediately pick up on his distress.

You sigh. You figured this would come up sooner or later. You’re not sure how Morgan found out about his injury in the service, but she couldn’t have kept FFM alive for this long if she didn’t have her connections. 

He was surprised you brought it up, but you felt it was important to be open and honest about what you know.

“I won’t rule it out. My producer and I are working on adding your segment to the script right now, and we’re focused on the elevator story, but it might add to the overall picture if we talked a little bit about that too.”

Jack rubs the nape of his neck; clearly not what he wanted to hear. 

“But look, I always prioritize the comfort and safety of my guests.” 

The type of guests you usually have range from ghost hunters to mimes (that segment did very poorly) to volcano surfers. But as different as they all are, none have had a strict guideline they had to adhere to, and none have had a past like Jack’s that they’d rather keep off air. But you’ll do anything to make him comfortable.

“If you don’t want to talk about that, it’s completely fine. I understand. I wouldn’t want my whole life out in the world either. I might get lambasted by my boss, but… she’ll have to deal with it."

“It’s not that I’m embarrassed. I don’t give a shit if people know about my prosthetic leg. I just don’t feel like standing on a soapbox about it.”

“No. Of course not. I’m with you, Jack. You don’t have to worry. I'll give you my word.”

Jack loosens his shoulders a bit. “Well, okay then. I’ll put my faith in you.”

A smirk tugs at his lips, and you can’t help but want to trace his smile lines with your fingers.

You both stand outside the coffee shop and say your goodbyes. 

Jack is more disappointed than he should be—especially since you both stayed a few hours past what was necessary just chatting—but he’ll be seeing you again soon enough. What happens after Friday is what he’s concerned about. 

He tries not to worry about that right now.

“Did you walk here?” he asks, checking to see if his earlier assumption was correct.

You sit down at one of the patio tables—which thankfully has an umbrella—while he stands, and you hold out your phone to show him you’re ordering an Uber.

The late afternoon sun continues to beat down on you both, and Jack can feel himself already starting to sweat—but a westerly wind blows its way to the front of the shop, lifting the hem of your skirt and cooling him down the slightest.

“Yeah, but I’m getting an Uber back. My car hasn’t been cooperating with me lately. I usually walk most places anyway, but with the weather…”

Jack hums in agreement. He’s seen too many patients come in recently with heat stroke or presenting with major signs of dehydration. He doesn’t want to see that happen to you too.

“Why don’t you let me give you a ride?”

“Huh?”

“I can drive you home or to the station or wherever. Don’t want you waiting in the heat.”

You shake your head. “I’ve already ordered the Uber, Jack. Sorry. I would’ve loved to spend a little more time with you. You’re such an interesting person. And I’ve talked to some… really off-the-wall people. But it’ll be here soon, don’t worry.”

Well, fuck.

He’d do anything to prolong the inevitable goodbye, but he can only push so much before it seems desperate. Maybe he is a little desperate at this point. He’s clocking in later tonight, but for once, he doesn’t want to think about work.

He chides himself. He’s the interesting one? He could listen to you talk all day, every day about your work, yourself, your plans to one day quit FFM to do something you don’t feel like you're drowning in.

Anything. 

And you listen. To him. Genuinely. Almost as if the show is an afterthought and not your job. If he were a better man, he wouldn’t take that as a sign of your interest, but the seeds of it grow into saplings before him, and who is he to deny that?

In such a short span of time, he’s grown comfortable with you, just as you have with him.

After going over the plan with you today, he isn’t as worried about talking about the elevator incident on the show. But rather, his trauma, his grief, his past, his genesis are something he’d rather not discuss with all your viewers. 

But the story of how he came to be, which he’s reluctant to share over the air, didn’t seem as heavy falling from his lips when you asked about it.

You immediately apologized for being nosy, but he found it reassuring that you didn’t hold back your curiosity. His biggest fear is that he’ll drive away the people he cares about with the baggage that—while no longer weighing him down—still exists in the core of who he is.

You draw him from his thoughts with your sweet voice, and it’s like everything else washes away until he realizes that now you’re leaving him in the mud.

“Hey, Jack. My ride should be here any second. Thanks for waiting. Call or text me if there’s a problem.” You get up from the patio bench and give him a warm hug.

He hesitates for a split second before returning it, but you’ve already started to let go when your car parks right by the sidewalk.

“Gotta go.” You step into the car and give him a wave before shutting the door. “See you soon!”

“Get home safe,” Jack says, but the Uber’s already peeled off. He watches it barrel down the road before turning around to head back to his truck but notices the manila folder he gave you earlier sitting on the ground near the table.

It’s now late evening, and you’re in the studio with your producer when you “realize” the folder Jack brought you earlier today is not in your purse.

You sigh, and he gives you a quick look over his shoulder as you pace back and forth behind him—rifling through and looking for what you already know isn’t there.

“You don’t have it?” he asks.

“No. I don’t know why I didn’t just take pictures of the damn thing.”

“Well, the script’s almost done. We already streamlined and cleaned it up. I don’t think we have to worry.”

“I know that, but I just want to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble in case we missed something. I’ll text him to see if he happened to pick it up.” 

You really bent over backwards trying to fabricate an excuse to see Jack again. You had hoped he would notice the folder you left by the table and text you about it by now, but it seems like you’ll have to reach out to him first.

You know you’ll be fine without the hospital’s terms and conditions. From what you gleaned from it earlier today, it had the usual patient confidentiality rules and restrictions on speaking about politics and religion—nothing that’s infringed upon in the script you’ve drafted. But you aren’t satisfied with only seeing Jack again for the show. You selfishly want more of his time.

And maybe he feels the same way. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of man who hands out compliments for free. You replayed the scene over and over in your head, and you can’t help how warm your face feels when you think about it. When he said that you’re the reason he wants to do the show in the first place.

You’re not famous by any means. You get recognized here and there, and you love meeting fans of the show, but most times, praise comes in the form of comments or social media likes. It’s not bad, you think. You can still live a normal life.

It’s just that no one seems to understand how much of your own blood and tears have gone into building your show. But Jack sang your praises all throughout today, and, well, it’s nice to be recognized.

Maybe he did it so you could stop gushing over him, but still.

It’s ridiculous what a little praise does to you, but you can’t help feeling ecstatic. And he’s a complete package. He’s a little weary and stiff, but he’s kind, caring, interested in what you have to say, good-looking, obviously, and practiced. 

Experienced, if you will. 

Or, that’s what you hope to find out in due time. Even though he’s your guest, and he’s at least twenty years older than you, and he probably doesn’t like girls like you, and… it doesn’t matter. 

You’ve always been known to go for what you want. Except for when it comes to leaving this place and finding something better, apparently.

You do feel somewhat bad about lying to your producer, but he doesn’t seem to care all that much. He’s right, after all. The terms don’t really matter much for the script as it stands. 

What your producer doesn’t know won’t kill him. 

He waves you off. “If there needs to be any changes, we can adjust them quick. I have other things I need to work on.”

You nod, even though he isn’t paying you any mind. “Okay. Thanks for understanding.” You pull out your phone from the pocket of your jean shorts and shoot Jack a quick text. “I'm gonna fill up my water bottle. Be right back.”

You grab your bottle and exit the studio to the hallway with peeling paint, passing by the broom closet and approaching Morgan’s slightly bigger storage closet as you do. 

You stop and peek at her through her window, and she happens to look up. She makes a face that says, “Leave me the hell alone,” which you return with an outward poke of your tongue. You move quickly along when you see her start to get up from her chair.

She could be a little more grateful that you got Jack to agree to be on the show, but at least she’s not breathing down your neck anymore. You decide it’s best to leave her be.

The makeshift radio station sits on the top floor of an old, run-down, dilapidated building—not much unlike the one you live in—on the edge of town, but at least there’s an elevator. 

It’s times like these when you wish you would’ve bitten the bullet and paid to have your car fixed when you had the spare cash. The nearest bus stop from this building is only a ten-minute walk, but with the heat, it feels like a forever walk through hell. And you don’t have the money to spare to get rideshares back and forth. The ride earlier today already set you back more than you’d have liked.

Your side gigs keep you from going under, but managing that and your crazy hosting hours—not including the even crazier prep hours—is getting to be too much. Doesn’t help matters when they fall through, either.

The heatwave is also affecting your experience in the studio. You’re wearing less and less clothing each day that passes, and you think your co-host is using that as an excuse to flirt with you even more. 

Luckily or unluckily for you, he’s not responsible for most of the prep that goes into creating the show every week, and you’ve managed to avoid him thus far tonight.

You play up the flirting during the show, sure, but you don’t actually like him. Not like that. If only he would get the hint. Even Morgan doesn’t like him. But he brings in the views as a former, semi-famous lead singer of an indie rock band, so he stays.

You take the elevator, and once you get to the ground floor, two things happen. One is better than the other. 

You get a text back from Jack, and you see Kai—your co-host—walking through the creaking revolving doors. It gets stuck for a split second, and you almost laugh.

It isn’t worth it to hide from him, only because there isn’t anywhere to hide in the empty lobby. Instead, you head to the water fountain and open Jack’s text as you fill up.

Yeah, I got the folder. Do you need it right away? I’m working.

Your phone nearly slips out of your hand as you text him back while leaning against the push bar of the fountain.

No, that’s okay. Would you be willing to drop by my apartment tomorrow?

The bottle overflows as you wait with bated breath for his response. All you see are three dancing dots indicating he’s typing before Kai is tapping on your shoulder. Ugh.

“Hey you. How’s my favorite host doing?” His eyes not-so-subtly rake over your form, and you have half a mind to swing your heavy aluminum bottle at him.

You put your phone inside your pocket and screw the lid of the bottle shut. “Hey Kai. I’m alright. Busy. What’re you doing here?”

“I need to talk to Morgan, and I left my favorite guitar pick upstairs. Did I tell you that we’re getting the band back together?”

Your brows shoot up. “No… really? Fearless Rash? Huh. Didn’t know people still had an appetite for you guys.”

Kai laughs mockingly. “Nice. You’re so funny. Of course they do.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “So, you’ll be around even less?” 

“Why, going to miss me?” He smirks, and your already thin patience grows even thinner.

“No. It’ll just be more work for me and our producer.” You pinch your fingers together in front of your face. “Just that much.”

He pushes your shoulder lightly with a scoff. “Whatever you say. I know how you really feel.”

It’s not a joke. He doesn’t do much. But even the little bit he does makes all the difference. Not that you’re willing to admit that to him.

“Get one of the morning or afternoon guys to help out if you’re really that swamped.” He bends down and puts his hands on his knees so he’s eye level to you. “But Morgan told me what’s going on with the finances. This is a sinking ship. If I were you, I’d start looking for something else.”

You furrow your brows. “Friday’s show will change that.”

“You sure?”

No. 

Even if Jack’s segment does bring in the numbers, sponsorships, whatever—how long will that hold things over for? 

Morgan’s flying by the seat of her pants here, and this time, she’s hovering a little too close to the sun. This isn’t the first time FFM has been in dire straits, and with each near miss, it’s getting harder and harder to climb back.

“Yes.”

Kai pats your shoulder condescendingly and pouts his lips. “Don’t worry, princess. There’s space on the bus for you to be my very own personal groupie if you decide to quit. Which you might want to do soon. I’m planning on letting Morgan know I’m done after this week’s show. Doing the band thing full-time, baby.”

“W-what?” you sputter. “You can’t just leave without a replacement!”

He shrugs. “What’s she gonna do? I have to focus on myself. This was fun while we were still making money, but we don’t have the clout to survive. Cult following or not.”

You can’t argue with that, but it still stings. You like your job. You talk to people, listen to their stories, share them with others, play the hottest music (and ads) in between, and it’s all under your creative control.

It just sucks that this station happens to be falling apart, and you along with it. 

“I…” The lower half of your face blows up as you hold your breath because you cannot believe you’re about to say this to him. “You’re right,” you force out, with a heavy sigh. “You gotta do what you gotta do, I guess. But I’ll be here until the very bitter end.”

Kai sucks his teeth and shakes his head. “Ah, well, there’s no changing your mind, is there? Then maybe after Friday’s show we’ll do something to celebrate my goodbye. Make a memory for me to take on the road.” He taps the tip of your nose and blows you an air kiss goodbye as he walks over to the elevator, ending the conversation there. 

He winks as the doors close and you cringe. 

You tap your foot against the grime-covered floor for a few seconds, wondering what the hell you’re going to do after he leaves, when you finally feel a text vibrate in your pocket. 

Jack. 

You pull out your phone.

Sorry. Got pulled away. Patient. Give me your address, and I’ll stop by after my shift. Is 8 a.m. a good time?

Your heart rate picks up, and you have to stop yourself from jumping up and down like a little kid. You send him your address and let him know you’ll be home (although barely awake) at that time tomorrow morning.

How do you convince him to stay for a while?

Jack texts you that he’s parked at a free spot only a few paces away from the entrance of your apartment complex, and it’s only a few minutes passed when he sees you walking toward his car. 

The sun is rising, and the temperature is not yet at its hottest, but still, he’s blasting the AC and taking advantage of the few seconds he has left of it before he has to roll his window down. 

He should’ve probably gone home to change and eat before coming here, but he wanted to see you right away. And now he does, very clearly, as you wave at him through the window. 

He rolls it down, and you rest your head sideways on your arms after crossing them over the sill. 

“Hey—”

“—You look nice today,” he blurts out. He holds back a groan. Really?

“Thanks… I guess?” You smile bashfully. “I’m just in my PJs.”

“Still.” He looks at you for another second, then turns to grab the folder sitting on the passenger seat and hands it to you. “Here’s the folder. Sorry I didn’t let you know sooner. Had to check in for my shift and didn’t have time.”

You nod in understanding while taking it in your hands. “No big deal. Rough night?”

Jack blows out a puff of air. 

It was a rough night. There weren’t any deaths, but there also wasn’t even a moment for him to catch his breath. He barely had enough time in between codes to send you those texts. His ears are still ringing from the momentum of the forces that pulled him from one trauma room to the next—Ellis and Shen buzzing like bees in his ear notwithstanding.

How was the date? It wasn’t one. 

Are you still doing the show? Yes.

What’s Luna like? That’s not her real name. 

What is it? That’s only for me to know.

It went on like that for a few hours before he stopped giving them responses altogether. 

He hunches over the steering wheel and crosses his arms over it. “It was… fine.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t do that. Be honest. Think of it as preparation for the show.”

You hesitantly reach a hand over and gently rub up and down his back. He can feel the heat of your palm through the thin layer of his scrub top, and it feels alien to him. It’s been… too long. But he’s comforted by it.

“Just a long and busy night, sweetheart. That’s all. Swear.”

You roll your eyes and tug on the curls at the nape of his neck admonishingly. “Then why didn’t you just say that? You can tell me if you’re tired. I am too. I just got back from the studio a few hours ago.” 

Jack frowns. Maybe he should have let you rest more before coming here.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“—Have you had breakfast yet? I—I can make breakfast.”

He can barely hold back the frown turned smile. “You offering?”

You immediately nod your head and say “yes”—too quickly for it to be just polite, he thinks.

Jack doesn’t know what he’s doing—he’s not that hungry. But he knows why. 

He doesn’t want to go back home yet. He wants to help you make breakfast and eat together and get to know you better because he knows it’s something worthwhile. Even as he trails behind you through the hallway entrance leading to your kitchen, he’s liking you more and more. 

The view of your ass jiggling in your loose PJ shorts certainly helps.

It appears you live alone, and you so much as implied it when he coyly asked if you’re single during the elevator ride up here. He was extremely pleased to hear you say yes. 

Despite that, your walls are decorated with photos of friends, present and former co-workers, people you have in your life that you love. Lush rugs sink under his weight and line most of the apartment floor in a fun array of colors and designs. Overgrown plants surround the large window sitting in the middle of the living room, well nurtured and preening their flowers in gratitude. 

You obviously care about your home. You care about having a comfortable space for yourself when you need it after a hard day at work or whatever else. And it’s refreshing. 

As he continues to look at your space from top to bottom, wall to wall, he’s quickly realizing how much his own home is completely lacking in personality. Of any real substance. It hasn’t occurred to him that making his house (condo) a home is something he’s neglected to do, as he doesn’t have the time for it or a real good reason for it, either. 

He could furnish it with luxury decor, or he could paint murals on his walls. He could change the lighting fixtures, or he could fill his empty shelves with trinkets. And he most certainly has the money to. But it seems pointless. Not unless he has someone to share it with.

He follows you to the kitchen, and you pour him out a glass of water, handing it to him with a smile. The glass is decorated with strawberries, and he can’t help but think how adorable it is. 

“I’m sure you need it after your shift and with the heat.” 

“Thank you,” Jack says. He takes the glass, and your fingers brush, but you don’t flinch or jerk back. You don’t widen your eyes or look down in embarrassment. And what started as a seedling is now growing into something far beyond his wildest dreams.

Or, that’s what he thinks after hyperanalyzing every second you’ve spent together and gathering the evidence.

He’s noticed you’re not touch averse. Not in the slightest. Hell, you’ve initiated every touch between you two so far. You revealed your name to him, which you didn’t have to do. You gave him your address and invited him into your home with the promise of breakfast. 

If that isn’t interest, he’s not sure what is. And if you’re affected by him, at least a percentage of how affected he is by you, something might happen here.

He doesn’t want to believe that the sparks he sees flying are only one-sided. He knows that you’re supposedly only here for the show, your worlds don’t typically cross, he’s older, the list goes on. 

But he also knows how unfairly he sees himself through your eyes, through most people’s eyes, and it’s just not reality. So he’s compelled to try his luck. 

He downs the water in one gulp, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“This is a nice place.”

“Oh! Thanks. I like when my space looks cute and cozy. The building is pretty shitty, though. I’m actually surprised the power is still on, thank god,” you chuckle, “it’s been pretty unpredictable with the heat wave and all.”

“Heard it’ll be breaking after this week, so that’s…” Jack shakes his head, not knowing where he’s going with this. He’s never been that good at small talk, but you just make things ten times worse. “… good.”

You gloss over his awkwardness, and he silently thanks you for it. How the hell is he going to do this interview? With a bag over your head so he can’t look at you?

If he can just get an answer from you, maybe he won’t feel as awkward.

“Yeah, it’s great news. I don’t think I can handle it much longer.” You take the empty glass from Jack’s hand and place it in the sink. “Let me make the both of us something to eat. Take a seat anywhere you’d like.” 

“You don’t want my help?”

“No, of course not. You’re my guest after all.” You grin and turn to open your fridge in search of something to make, but he stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“That’s not really true, is it?” You look up into his eyes, and he holds your gaze—for longer than he probably should. 

His so-called penchant for straightforwardness is failing him at the moment, but you look so sweet staring up at him. He could look at you all day like this. 

All the videos in the world don’t do as much justice as when you're right in front of him, looking up at him, and batting your lashes with a twinkle of confusion in your eyes.

He waits for you to ask him what he means, but you don’t. 

“Why did you invite me here, really?”

A look of bewilderment etches across your features. “For… breakfast? As thanks for bringing—” you point to the folder haphazardly thrown on top of the kitchen counter, “—that?”

“Is that a question? Now who’s not being honest?” Jack tuts and gives you a sly grin, and if he’s reading you right, you look almost… shy. You? Shy?

Maybe his evidence-based analysis wasn’t so far off, after all.

“Um… yeah. I guess you got me. I mean, I was going to make breakfast anyway, but, well…”

“Just tell me, sweetheart.” He knows he’s being unfair. He’s already liked you days before even meeting you. But you need to tell him how you feel first. That’s just how it’s got to be.

Your shoulders slump as you sigh and look to the ground, wishing it would swallow you whole. He guesses you do have some flair for the dramatic after years of being on the show. “I do have a small, tiny, little crush on you. Even though I know it’s very wrong of me to, might I add.” When he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, you lift your head up to look at him.

Shit. He wasn’t expecting you to actually admit it—though he’s over the moon you did—and it’s probably as clear as day on his face. 

How exactly he’s managed to attract your attention, he’ll never really know, but he’s definitely not complaining.

“But!” You wave your hands in front of you when you see his stunned reaction. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m riding your coattails or anything. I know it’s crazy. You’re an internet celebrity, and… we did only meet yesterday, but you’re so… I don’t know what I’m trying to say…”

Jack can barely hold his laughter back. It seems there’s an over-thinker beneath the cool, put-together radio host personality. 

He does see your point about having only known each other for a little while, though. But isn’t that why he’s here? To explore this? He just wants to feel close to someone again. Why not take the opportunity the elevator gave you both and pursue this?

He pulls you in by the shoulders, and you wrap your arms around him, hiding your face in his chest. “I’m nearly fifty years old, honey. I think I can make my own decisions—which also includes having a crush on someone I’ve just met. And you’re the superstar here, not me.”

Jack isn’t one to revel in his own successes, but praise sounds nice coming from you. Maybe it’s because you see him in a way that feels… honest. In a way that goes beyond his “internet fame.”

“I’m really not. That’s my co-host, if anything,” you mumble, scoffing, but then you’re looking up at him. “You like me?”

“Yes,” he says, firmly. Seeing your confidence crumble a little gives him some he desperately needs back. He gives you a look that he knows you won’t be able to deny, and it looks like the gears are finally turning in your head. 

“My boss is going to be so mad if she finds out about this.”

He smirks down at you. He doesn’t mind pulling you under with him. Not for this. “She won’t. Not if you don’t tell her.” 

You chew on your lower lip and consider it for only half a second. “Want to make breakfast—together?”

Jack kisses the top of your head. “Sounds like a plan.”

You clear your throat and step back from his arms to open the fridge, avoiding his gaze. “You know I, uh, ditched that folder behind on purpose. To get you here.”

His lips curl to the side, and he shakes his head, laughing through his nose.

You’re too cute.

You spent some time making a simple breakfast together, chatted about this and that, and spent even less time wolfing it down. You wanted to get to the fun part. And—based on the way you can feel Jack’s cock twitch as you sit in his lap on the couch—so did he. 

He’s kissing you, and all you can do to not freak out about it is tug on the ends of his hair and hold on for dear life. One of his hands is playing with the hem of your shorts and sneaking underneath it, while the other is gently grabbing the side of your neck, encompassing the warm skin there. 

Fuck, if this doesn’t feel heavenly.

You start grinding in his lap, suddenly feeling very bold, but then he breaks the kiss, and you whine with a pout of your lips. 

His hand moves from beneath your shorts to your waist, holding you still. “Wait.” 

“Why?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, rattling it to show you it’s ringing. You were so caught up in the feel of his tongue sliding against yours, you didn’t realize.

He holds a finger up to his mouth as he takes the call, and you nod. But there are still things you can do while silent.

“Robby, what—” Jack cuts himself off with a held-back groan as you start pressing yourself as close to him as you can, rubbing your dampening shorts over his clothed erection. You nip at his neck and Adam's apple, and his eyes shut in frustration, pleasure, anger—some mix of all three. 

He mutters curses under his breath, but it seems like Robby’s filling the gap in conversation for now, so he’s safe for the time being. Though, you wouldn’t mind if he overheard what was happening. It’s not like you personally know this Robby fellow.

Jack can barely hold himself together as you kiss along his lower jaw, which earns a small squeeze on your waist. 

Robby may as well be spewing incoherent nothings against your ear as you continue your attack on Jack, solely focusing on him. His neck is flushed, and you’re sure you’ll leave bruises. You pull back to admire your work, and he shakes his head, a devious smile playing on his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

Instead of pushing you off him, he uses his free hand to help guide you along the outline of his cock—but the sensation isn’t enough with clothes on. You want to feel more of him. You get back off the couch to pull your shorts down.

You giggle into your hand when he throws his head back into the couch after seeing you have no underwear on. It’s doubtful he can understand you when you silently mouth out a “Do you like what you see?” But based on his reaction, you already know the answer.

Deciding to be mean, you sit back in his lap and split the seam of your pussy with a finger—feeding the slick into his parted mouth and maintaining eye contact as he sucks on your finger. You whimper at the erotic image, and Jack cocks a brow, as if daring you to make more noise. He quickly pulls your finger from his mouth when he has to respond to Robby.

“I—I’ll be there. As soon as I can. Bye. Okay. Goddammit, I said bye, Robby.” He hangs up with a huff and sets his phone down next to him.

You tug on his bottoms to pull his cock free, but he stops you by the wrist before you can. “You’re a little minx, you know that?”

“I’m sorry.” You’re not. “I just want to enjoy this. Don’t tell me that was work.” It’s obvious it was, but you can dream.

He nods. “I have to go back. A tire blowup caused an emergency pileup, and they need more hands.”

You could nearly cry. You’re pent up, half-naked and growing self-conscious about it, and you don’t want him to go. But you understand.

There have been many times when you’ve had to fill in for the other programs’ hosts when things came up, and this is no different. Still, disappointment eats away at you.

Your lips downturn, and you sigh, resigned. “Okay…” You shift to get off him, but he keeps you seated in his lap with two firm hands on your hips. 

Jack clears his throat to get rid of the rasp. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d have more time. I promise, I’d like nothing more than to stay and fuck you properly.” He drops a hand and circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, but it’s more of an exploratory gesture than anything.

He pulls his thumb back, inspects your arousal, and grunts. “Christ, you’re wet, huh? You get this wet for anyone? Give anyone a taste like you gave me?” 

You shake your head. “N-no. Just you, Jack.”

“That’s right. And you’ll be patient? Wait for me to treat you later?”

“F-fuck. Yes. I’ll wait.” You eagerly nod. “And here I thought that—that you were bad at flirting.” You gasp as he inserts a finger, prodding at your walls. “You—you have me falling apart, and we h-haven’t even done anything.”

“It isn’t flirting. I’m telling you how it is. I’ve wanted you since the moment you stepped foot in that shop. Nothing holding me back now that I know we’re on the same page. Nothing except for work.” He winks, and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes scrunch together, driving you a little insane.

Fuck him and his stupid fucking middle-aged man features for making your heart feel like snow on a warm day.

Jack stops the torture of your poor pussy with one final pet of your clit, then runs his palms over your upper arms, rubbing them gently. You let out a sigh of both relief and irritation. 

It feels so good when he touches you and even worse when he doesn’t.

“You better bring your A game for the show. Especially since you’re leaving me high and dry here,” you say with an eye roll.

He suddenly catches your lips in a brutal kiss, making you squeak in surprise. A few more pecks and a whispered, “I will. I’ll make it up to you tenfold. Don’t be mad at me” is his form of an apology.

You smooth down the curls lining his forehead. How could you stay mad at such a sweet man with a cock that big? Or, one that felt that big, at least. You suppose you’ll have to wait a bit longer to see, sit, and sink down on it.

“I—I’ll call you later. Tell me how your day went. I want to know. I’m sure a pileup that big will be a little more than tiring,” you say, giving him a small smile.

“I will.” 

You caress his cheek, and he holds his hand over yours. It’s obvious you both need your rest—based on the dark circles under his eyes and the way yours struggle to keep open—so you hold your tongue and don’t offer him to crash at your place tomorrow morning. It would be unwise to show up to the station together before the show, right? You have to be there pretty much all day to prepare for next week’s script, anyway. If the station still exists next week, that is.

“Hey, I know I said you don’t have to come in until eleven, but would you want to come in a little early? Like, at ten or something? I could give you a very short tour of the place, and you can watch us prep for the first half of the episode. It’ll be fun.”

He doesn’t even consider it before giving you a response. “Okay. I’d like that.”

You beam at him. “Great!”

You’re okay with waiting to continue this until after the show, because you believe him when he says he’s wanted you since he laid eyes on you. If all he meant was that he wanted a quick fuck, then, well, that would be… disheartening.

It’s not often you meet someone as genuine as Jack. Especially not in your line of work. But he did say he likes you, so you think that should be more than enough reassurance to calm your restless worry. He's not that kind of guy.

He looks into your eyes for another few seconds before finally pulling you off his lap. You grab your shorts and quickly throw them back on.

A quick hug and kiss goodbye is how you see him out the door, and afterward you’re immediately getting yourself off with a vibrator and thinking of him—and not the fate of your job that hangs in the balance. Or your rent.

Jack’s waiting for you inside the lobby of the radio station with his hands inside his jean pockets. He thinks about pinching himself to make sure this is real and this is happening—but reconsiders it when he sees you walking out of the elevator. He doesn’t want to wake up if this really is a dream. Or a nightmare. As long as you’re here, he can face whatever’s in store for him.

He’s more or less comfortable with the idea of tonight’s show (Robby gave him a pep talk like Jack’s done before so many times for him), and it isn’t the fear of an audience that’s sinking its claws into his heart. Rather, it’s the fear of somehow disappointing you that keeps him immobile against the precariously bowed column in the center of the lobby.

He was generously granted today and tomorrow off from work for the occasion, and all he could think about while lying in bed and preparing for his responses was you. Your soft lips against his, your cute little strawberry cup, the way your voice pitched up when he called you and told you about his day yesterday. Your wet heat.

No. He can’t think about that right now. He shouldn’t.

Not when he sees an unfamiliar man catching up to you from the elevator and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He’s laughing; clearly this is someone you know, but you’re uncomfortable—or so Jack wants to believe. The man doesn’t let go, and you’re both walking up to him like a penguin and her child.

“Kai. Let go. Please. Not in front of the guest.” You tip your head back to him and give him a pained smile, grabbing him by the elbows to unfurl his arms from around your shoulders.

“Sorry. I’m just going to miss you, is all,” Kai mumbles. He looks up from the inside of your tank top, sparing Jack a glance as his hands return to his sides.

“Hey, man. It’s cool you could be here. Not sure what the big fuss is, but if it's to make my boss and leading lady here happy, then I’m all for having you. Especially since FFM is going out of business unless—”

“—Kai,” you interrupt with a stern tone.

Jack furrows his brows. Out of business? You mentioned the station is struggling but not going out of business. Just how much is relying on him? How much are you relying on him? He can’t wrap his head around this right now, but the pieces are coming together regardless.

You’ve been avoiding fixing your car problems. You joke about the low pay the station provides, but now that he’s thinking about it, it isn’t a joke. He saw what were most likely overdue notices on your coffee table yesterday but was too distracted making out with you on the couch to really process them.

It’s something he’ll need to find time to bring up. But all he knows for sure is he isn’t some magical solution for a business that’s on its deathbed. 

“Who’re you?” he asks Kai.

Kai scoffs and spins you around to face him. “What the hell, you never mentioned me? What am I, chopped liver?”

You sigh and step away from him and closer to Jack. “Kai, meet Jack,” you gesture between them with a hand, “Jack meet Kai. He’s the co-host I’ve mentioned before.”

Kai holds out his hand to him, and Jack shakes it with a firm grip, a little more harshly than he should.

He has no right to be possessive over you. Your relationship—if he can even call it that—is delicate at best and flimsy at worst. But this… Kai. He’s not someone you actually care for, is he? You might give his behavior a pass, but he’s already on a short list of people he wouldn’t mind never seeing again.

Now is when Jack should say “nice to meet you,” but the moment passes, and he’s left awkwardly shaking Kai’s hand for longer than he’d like. 

You put your hand over theirs and stop the perpetual motion before the handshake of death takes them both. “Let’s, uh, head on up. C’mon,” you say with a tilt of your head. 

You walk back to the elevator, and they trail behind you. Once everyone is inside, you swipe your key card and hit the button for the top floor.

It takes all of an hour for you to show Jack around the floor and prep him. You show him the “office” for the hosts, your boss’s office, the studio room itself, and with it, the viewing room. There’s also a bathroom at the end of the hall right by the elevators that looks like a health concern, but apparently the owner of the building already came by and said it was fine.  

It’s not like he’s completely out of touch. As he stands inside the studio, he recognizes the computer, the audio mixer, the on-air light, the microphones, the headphones, the overall setup. All things he’s already seen a glimpse of in the recordings of your show. 

What he hasn’t seen is the mini fridge in the corner of the room and the couch tucked against the wall right next to him. He goes to sit on it and realizes it’s a mistake a little too late.

“Oh shit, don’t—” you start to say as he sits in the middle of the couch.

It collapses in on itself and brings Jack right down with it. It’s more of a beanbag than anything now.

“—Sit there.” You chuckle and offer your hand to help him stand, pulling him up and directing him to sit in the chair he’ll be sitting in during the show. He rests his forearms against the table and fiddles with a headset connection.

“Sorry. It’s a couch we found. It’s vintage and looks great, but broken. We’re planning on moving it at some point so the camera picks it up. Not really meant for its function.”

Jack huffs a laugh. “I figured.” 

You sit by him in your designated host chair. It’s just you two at the moment. 

Morgan left early to tune in from home, your producer is yet to arrive, and Kai decided to kick back in the broom closet until the start of the show. 

“So, what do you think?” you ask, while spinning around in your chair. “Does it feel weird to actually be here and not behind a screen?”

“It does, I guess.” Jack goes quiet, and you stop your spin to tilt your head at him.

“Are you nervous? Don’t be. People were nothing but supportive when we put you in our lineup for this week. Our socials have never been more active.”

“It’s not that.” You wait for him to continue, and he’s a sucker for your curious, gleaming eyes. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

You scoot closer to him. “You won’t. How can you? It’s really not a big deal. Well, to us it is. But you’ve probably given press conferences with a bigger audience than ours.”

“That’s different. And not the point.”

Your brows pinch together. “You’re really losing me here, Jack. What is the point?”

His eyes pierce yours. “Is this place going under?”

Oh. So that’s what he’s getting at.

You groan and flop against the back of the chair before sitting upright again. “Ugh, fucking Kai.” You can’t stand looking at Jack’s worried face anymore, so your eyes flick to the ground instead. “Look. I don’t know. Probably. I told Morgan from the start that this might not even work. Getting you on here is just a chance to save us. Not a guarantee.”

“What’s going to happen to you?”

“I… I’m just going to keep working here until we’re decommissioned. That's all I can do. It’s fine. I’m fine.” You look up at him and reach for his hand, interlocking your fingers. “Don’t worry.”

Jack rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, but you quickly let go when Kai opens the door to the studio. 

“Hey, princess. Producer’s here. Show’s starting in less than an hour. Let’s run through the script again?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” You look between Jack and Kai. “Jack—”

“—You need to step out. Can’t have you knowing the script ahead of time. Wouldn’t be copacetic or whatever.”

You and Jack both ignore Kai, and instead he gives you a “tell me what to do” kind of look. You nod an affirmative, and he goes to stand from his chair with an irritated expression, clearly directed toward Kai for bursting the peaceful bubble. 

“Sorry, Jack. You can watch us prep from the viewing room until your part comes up. It’ll be just like we rehearsed,” you say with a reassuring tone.

He nods in understanding and softly gives you a “Good luck, sweetheart,” just out of Kai’s earshot. He pats your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze before leaving the room—jostling Kai in the process.

Jack is almost up. 

Over the past hour, he’s watched you—live and in action—from the viewing room. 

You’re even more mesmerizing in person. 

He swears he’s caught glimpses of you looking at him from the corner of your eye, just staring back at you in awe.

Your conversations with Kai are fluid, you tell stories with ease, and with the expert work of your producer on the soundboard, there’s an atmospheric tension that builds with every conspiracy theory or wonky news story you cover. Your eyes light up, and jealousy almost eats away at him because it’s not him you’re looking at, but he gets it. He’s the same way when he brings new residents under his wing and shows them the ropes or when he successfully tries out a new and difficult procedure in the E.R.

Kai’s alright. He’s there. 

But you, you’re a natural. And your talents are set to go to waste if he doesn’t figure out a way to convince you to quit this place and pursue something else.

Maybe it’s presumptuous of him. He has no say in your career. But he’s seen too many stars burn out in front of him thanks to the black hole that is the Pitt, and your situation is no different.

He’s toying with an idea, but he doesn’t have much time to work out the details because suddenly you’re announcing that he's set to arrive after the next commercial break and a few songs from a debut underground rap album.

Time for him to sit in the hot seat.

The interview is going even better than you hoped it would. Jack was a bit stiff in the beginning, you’ll admit, but once he got used to the type of questions you asked, he really started coming into his own.

They’re silly, really. But that’s what your viewers like. That’s what you like. There are plenty of places people can get their serious, very important, but also depressing, news from. But there should be a space for all things. Even non-serious things.

“If you could go back in time, would you put on an extra shirt? Or do you enjoy being half-naked?”

“What’s the craziest DM you’ve gotten from a fan so far? Don’t lie; we’ve all seen the fan edits of you. No way people are actually normal about you.”

“Some people say this incident was all a desperate ruse to get close to your neighbor, while others vehemently ship you two. What do you say?”

Your ears were particularly perked for his response to that one.

“If you were to get stuck in an elevator with anyone, who would it be?”

You couldn’t help but laugh when Jack said he wouldn't mind being squished in between each member of the Rolling Stones.

It almost seems as if Jack’s only goal tonight is to get you to laugh. Even Kai is too, albeit somewhat begrudgingly. Jack Abbot can really work his charm if he puts his mind to it. You just know that listeners back home are eating him up.

You’re preparing yourself for the final question, which you know your boss is at home tuning in to. And you know she’ll blow up at you later for not sticking with the approved script. You tried to slip the fact that you removed the reveal about Jack’s injury past her, but it failed. She’s too sharp for that. She wouldn’t stamp her approval until the script was changed to include it.

But Jack made it clear he didn’t want to talk about his injury or prosthesis in the show, and you wholeheartedly want to abide by that. Instead of dropping a truth bomb on him, you decide to take things in a different direction.

“Okay, Jack. We’re coming up on the last question here. And, let me just say, it has been a real pleasure getting to know you and your experience in that elevator! I mean, c’mon. I don’t think we’ve applauded you enough for it.” Your producer plays an applause track, and it echoes over your headset around the room.

You know Jack probably hates this, but it’s important to remind folks back home of his achievement. Keeps them engaged, and all that. Plus, you enjoy seeing him squirm in his seat a little.

“That being said, before we get to the callers, I’d like to turn things around and have you speak about something. Anything you’d like.” In the corner of your eye you see Kai giving you a confused look, but you ignore him. “Is there a message you want out in the world? Someone you’d like to thank?”

Jack looks stunned for a moment. “That’s a good question. I, well—I’d like to thank my neighbor, for one. I wouldn’t be here without her. And I wish nothing but the best for her and her son.” 

“What a guy,” Kai says, but in a bored tone. Your producer plays a dramatic “awww” track for a few seconds before Jack continues.

“I’d also like to give thanks to my colleagues, specifically John, Parker, Robby, and Gloria. They, uh, encouraged me to join the show. And lastly…” Jack looks directly into your eyes and hovers close to the microphone, making sure it picks up what he says next. “I’d like to thank Luna here. For being the best host and letting me on the show. You’re… you’ve quickly become my new favorite person. You have yourself your newest, biggest fan.”

The hitch of your breath and the widening of your eyes betray your reaction, but you try to keep things cool. You weren’t expecting a personal shoutout. And especially not one so… intimate. 

Fuck, your boss is going to freak out on you for fraternizing, isn’t she? Did the cameras pick up how he looked at you? Or were you just imagining things? What’re people going to think? What’re Jack’s people going to think?

Kai notices you’re not speaking and decides to save you from further embarrassment. “Let’s hear it for Luna and Dr. Jack Abbot, folks! Stay tuned, because after the break we’ll hear from you guys,” he points to the camera and winks, “with questions.”

You’re stupefied, frozen in your seat, which happens to be perfect because you don’t have enough time to jump out and slap Jack or kiss him. So instead, you take a quick breath, try to collect yourself, and prepare for the onslaught of caller questions that’ll be coming his way. 

Over the next fifteen minutes, viewers from everywhere call in to tell Jack he’s hot, that he should’ve fully stripped down in the elevator, that he’s an inspiration, that they’d like to ride the cowboy (Jack could never prove it, but he’s always been sure this was Shen and Ellis).

Whatever that means.

One med student asks him what specialty he should pursue, to which Jack responds: E.R. medicine. 

Which, fair.

Calling the show successful is just within reach. But as luck would have it, just as the final caller asks Jack for advice on how to please a woman in bed, the lights flicker and the AC powers off.

If it weren’t for the cameras, you would throw something.

It’s going to get hot real fast, but you remind yourself that you’re almost done with the show. And you’re so damn grateful the power didn’t completely go out. 

Goddamn stupid heatwave. Dumbass building.

Jack answers the caller’s question with as clinical terms as he can muster regarding female anatomy and pleasure points before you call it. Seeing him forget that he’s on camera while making lewd gestures for a split second makes you want to keep it going, though.

“Thanks, Jamie from Utah. Didn’t expect to be getting a sex ed lesson, that’s for sure. Anyway… here we are at time. With that, I want to give a final shoutout to our guest, Dr. Abbot here, and a shoutout to our sponsors.” 

Sponsor. And you’re pretty sure it’s just Morgan bankrolling things herself at this point.

You start signing off. “Have a happy Friday, everyone. I’m your host, Luna—”

“—And I’m your co-host Kai—”

Together, you say, “And this… has been Renegade Radio.”

Kai pulls out three beers from the mini-fridge. With the AC out and the show finished, you might as well indulge.

You scoot your chair closer to Jack’s as Kai walks back over and hands you both a beer. He remains standing in front of you as he twists the cap with his other hand balled in his pocket. Your producer left in a rush to pursue other mysterious side quests and is sadly not here to distract him. 

“Great job, guys. I’m sure we made Morgan happy,” he says. “But not happy enough to give us raises, I'm sure."

“Yeah. That’d be the day,” you scoff as you clink your bottle with Kai’s and Jack’s before twisting off the lid and taking a sip. “I really wasn’t expecting the AC to go out. Glad it wasn’t at the beginning of the show. Not sure I would’ve been able to go through the rest of it without stripping.”

“I would’ve loved to see that. I’m sure the audience would too.” Kai winks, then turns to Jack. “Anyway, uh, Jack. I guess you can go now. Show’s finished. You did good, but it’s probably past your bedtime, am I right?” He slaps his shoulder and gives him a small shake.

Jack puffs his chest up in defense of Kai’s brash dismissal and shoves his arm away. “‘M very used to being up at this time of night, thank you.”

Your brows pull together in a frown as you look at Kai, and you turn to Jack. “Well, uh, I actually was going to ask if you wanted to stay a little while? Just to…” You chew on your lower lip. “… You know, celebrate? You did such an amazing job, and we really appreciate it.”

Jack’s eyes shimmer with interest at your proposal, but Kai ruins the moment and forces your attention back to him. 

He scoffs. “Celebrate? How about all the times I asked to celebrate with you after a job well done, huh? What, your panties get all in a twist for this guy? Is that why—” He looks between you and Jack and narrows his eyes in suspicion. 

You sigh and hold the dewy beer bottle to your forehead in an effort to cool down. “—Let’s not, Kai. We just became good friends, is all. Isn’t today your last day, anyway? You’re free to go now. It was nice working with you.”

His eyes unsquint, and he shakes his head. “My offer still stands. Let’s make the most of tonight while I’m still here, yeah? Why don’t we go back to my place?”

You see Jack giving you a curious look out of the corner of your eye, waiting patiently for your response. 

“I’d rather not,” you say, growing rather irritated. Maybe it’s time to tell him straight. No better opportunity than the present. “I don’t like you, Kai. Never have. You running off to tour around the country or whatever doesn't change that. Please, just leave me alone. This has been a long time coming.” 

Kai gapes as if this is news to him. He looks between you and Jack, who just gives him a devilish smirk and says, “You heard her.”

He rolls his eyes but ignores him. 

It appears he’s too prideful to acknowledge your rejection, and instead he waves you off. “Fine. Whatever. Was just offering you a good time to be nice.” He downs his beer and flicks you both off. “Good luck finding a better co-host. See you never.” He throws his empty bottle into the trash can and leaves with gusto. 

Your shoulders sag in quiet relief. “Sorry, Jack. He’s—”

“—So… we’re good friends? Is that all?” Jack’s voice is teasing, and he looks more amused than upset.

“What? No! I just said that so he wouldn’t mouth off to my boss as a last hurrah. But I guess, since the show’s over, there isn’t a conflict of interest anymore.” You swirl your beer and look down to the floor. “Sorry. Obviously, I like you. As more than a friend.” 

He hunches over in his chair to meet your unwilling gaze and stares into your eyes, discerning whether you're telling the truth. He seems satisfied with your answer after a good examination of your face. “Okay. I believe you,” he says, with a twitch of his lips. “You were saying you wanted to celebrate?”

You fan yourself with the hand not holding your beer. “Yeah. But not here. Let’s go somewhere with AC. We could go back to my—”

Jack cuts you off. “—Do you have access to the rooftop?” 

You give him a quizzical look. “… Yes?”

Jack pulls you through the door to the rooftop by the wrist and leads you to the railing.

“Why’d you want to come up here, anyway?” you ask. “It’s just as hot out here as it is in there.”

He looks back at you and winks. “I have a thing for rooftops.”

“Okaaay… that doesn’t sound strange at all.”

You both reach the railing, and Jack presses your back lightly against it. He warms his hands with the heat radiating off your body as he moves them from your shoulders, down your arms, then finally lands them on your waist.

He leans in close, leaving no room between you. “Great fucking job in there. You were amazing. And I was holding my breath, waiting for a question about my leg, but it never came. Thank you.”

You would take his compliment to heart and return it with a “you did just as fucking amazing,” but it’s kind of hard to focus when he’s pressing more than welcome bruises into your hips and ghosting his slightly chapped lips over your neck.

Your words rush out of you with a squeeze of your eyelids as Jack captures the delicate skin of your throat in between his teeth. “Y-you did good too. And no need to—to thank me.”

“I’m really glad to have met you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “Never in a million years would I have guessed doing my job would lead me here. To you.”

You manage to get some semblance of control back as your arms wrap around his neck. With a whisper, “Was it worth it?”

He breathes in your scent. A cloyingly rich scent filters through his nose and makes him sigh in satisfaction. “God yes.”

Your body presses against his even tighter, as if you want to meld into his skin. “Well, good. I hope Morgan thinks so, too,” you laugh dryly. “I’m sure we had good numbers tonight, but…”

“But it won’t be enough?” 

You nod. “Yeah, it might not—

Jack lowers a hand and lifts up the hem of your flowy skirt, grabbing the fat of your thigh between his coarse fingers.

“—Jack,” you breathe out. “What are you doing? Surely we’re not doing this… here?”

His voice is gruff, rasped from the show, and low against your ear. “Why not? No one will see us.”

Jack knows he’s got you when you don’t push back. The ends of your skirt are bunched up and tucked into its waistband, and he leans his body back to get a better look at you. Your hands reach for the railing behind you with a slight shake.

Your eyes are hazy, and sweat collects on your skin due to the simmering heat and the alcohol. That, in combination with seeing you in your underwear beneath the moonlight, makes him whistle.

“You look…” He can’t help but swallow the lump in his throat. “Good. Perfect.”

Your fingers clench and unclench around the metal bar of the railing. “Would you say... fuckable? Because I’ve been thinking about yesterday way too often. Amongst other things. And how you left me wet and—”

“—Even during the show? You were thinking about it? How I didn’t sit you down and make you ride my cock?”

Hesitantly, you say, “Yes. I’m a professional and can have multiple trains of thought.”

“Okay, well, how about the train wreck that is this station?”

Confusion and irritation etch across your features. “Bringing that up again? Now?” 

He nods and rubs your clit through your underwear with his thumb. His heart soars and blood immediately rushes south when he feels how damp you are. Fuck. Just what dirty things were you imagining the whole time?

He’s fighting his instinct to just fuck you first and talk later, but it’s proving difficult. Still, he knows he needs to address things, and that keeps his impatience at bay.

“I’ll take care of her.” He pushes a finger as deep as he can inside you through the thin barrier. “But after we talk about this.”

You keen as he keeps touching you, but he knows that you know it won't go anywhere unless you give in. And Jack’s firm in his stance.

“Okay, okay. Fine. Jeez.” You pull his wrist away from you, and your nimble fingers go to fix your skirt. “Guess we’ll pick this up after.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Just hear me out first.” You lean your elbows against the railing and cross one leg over the other, shifting under Jack’s heavy gaze. 

“Go on, then.”

Jack starts, “I think you should leave this place. Find something else.”

You laugh, and he’s delighted by the sound, but he’s being sincere. When you see that he isn’t joking, your laughs die in your throat.

“Wait, you’re not serious, are you? I can’t quit. Kai just quit.”

“I know you don’t care to hear this from me. But I'll say it anyway. I think you’re extraordinary. But you’re wasting your time staying here.”

You look at Jack with wide eyes and scoff. “I need to get paid somehow. And… I dunno. I’ve always been loyal to this place and Morgan.”

“I know you’re struggling with bills. I saw late notices when we were at your apartment. I’m not trying to pass judgment. I’m just saying—”

You interrupt him before he can continue. It doesn’t look like you're upset, so Jack takes that as a good sign. 

“—I know. But it’s all the more reason I have to stay, Jack. Look… you really don’t have to worry. Alright? I’ll figure something out,” you say with a shrug. “Station’s not dead yet.”

“What if you didn’t need to worry about rent? Or… anything? Move in with me. I have more than enough room. I’ll help you get on your feet until you figure something out.”

The breath is knocked from your lungs, and you look at him like he’s completely lost it. He has. But who wouldn’t lose their composure over you? 

“What? We barely know each other.”

“I know enough about you to know what we have is something we should explore. You feel the same way. You told me.”

“I know, but…” You look down to the ground, but Jack tilts your chin up with a finger.

“We could be roommates for all I care. Take things as slow as you want. Although, we’ve already—”

“—Living together is something else. And… why? Why is that something you want?”

“So you can pursue what you want. So I can be around you.”

Jack gives you a few seconds to think, and they’re the longest few seconds of his life. 

You pull his hand away from your chin and interlock both of yours with both of his. “I guess… I have thought about starting a podcast.” Your eyes flicker with hope, but they’re soon dulled. With a shake of your head and a resigned puff of air, you follow up with, “But I can’t do that to my boss.”

He tugs on your hands and squeezes gently. “You have to do the hard thing sometimes. Be selfish for once.”

“It—it isn’t easy, you know,” you stammer. “Even if I were to leave the station, it takes a lot of work and time to get things off the ground. I… can’t.” You purse your lips. “Can’t take advantage of you like that.”

“You’re not taking advantage of me. I want this for you. I want to support you. I want to figure us out, together.” Jack drops your hands and wraps his arms around you. He mumbles, “Don’t you trust me?”

A resigned sigh escapes your lips. “I… do.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

You nestle your head further into Jack’s chest. “Nothing, I guess,” you murmur into his button-up. “Fuck it. Let’s figure it out. Together. I hope you don’t mind plants.”

You look up at him while resting your chin on his chest with something akin to gratitude.

The corners of Jack’s lip twitch in approval. “Okay. Good. Glad to know we’re on the same page. Now turn around. ‘M done waiting.” He gently spins you so you’re facing the starry skyline and are bent over the railing. You clutch it while Jack gets down on his knees.

You turn your head over your shoulder and look down at him. “Jack, what’re you doing? That can’t be comfortable.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not that delicate. Just wanna taste you,” he mumbles. He flips up and tucks the back of your skirt, pulling your underwear to the side. “Hold that there, sweetheart.” 

You reach a hand back to keep your underwear from getting in his way.

“Good girl,” Jack slurs, warm breath hitting your folds as he splays you open with two thumbs. He groans from deep within the hollows of his chest as he watches your arousal collect and leak from your hole. “Fuck. You’re soaked. Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I ever saw.”

He almost can’t believe it’s for him that you get like this. Only for him.

“Please…” You look back down at him with a desperate expression, and it makes a fierce pride swell in his chest. At your pleading, Jack puts his mouth where you need it most. 

“F-fuck… Jack, oh my g—”

His tongue laps along your slit at a languid pace. He’s not in any rush. He wants to savor this. Savor you. Feel the tight clench of your cunt suffocate his tongue and pulse as she gives it your orgasms.

He wanted to eat you out so very badly yesterday. He palmed himself through his shorts during his drive to work and nearly pulled over to jerk himself off.

Is this infatuation? Pure lust? He sure doesn’t think so. He feels too much and too strongly about you for it to be anything other than genuine connection.

His palms squeeze your ass as he devours you. The mixture of your arousal and his saliva makes a wet slurping sound as his tongue flicks in and out of your hole.  The noises are lewd, slick coats his face, and it’s a fucking mess. You’re crying out to the city beyond you, crying out his name, and it nearly makes him come in his slacks. He humps the air to no avail, his cockhead begging to be freed and allowed to notch itself inside you.

Your legs start to shake, and you reach a hand back to push him away. It’s instinctual, he knows. Of course you don’t want him to stop, not with how wet you are and the noises that spill out of you. But Jack takes offense to it either way.

He wills himself away from the tight grip of your entrance and gives your pussy a light slap. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to get your attention and to make you return your hand to the railing.

“Don’t move. Don’t try to stop me. You hear me? Gonna make you come.”

Your breath audibly hitches, he can feel your entire body quiver in excitement, and he most certainly can see your cunt spasm around nothing as she awaits his tongue again. He wonders if anyone’s ever given you the proper attention and dedication you deserve.

“I’m the one making you feel good now. Let me do this.”

Jack, done with talking, returns his lips to you and gets back to work. 

You moans pitch higher as you start to get close, and you nearly scream when he sucks your clit into his mouth. He groans into your pussy as you buck wildly, flailing so much he’s likely pressing bruises into the soft flesh of your ass to hold you still. He flicks his tongue over your clit like heavy rain against a sidewalk, enjoying how much your little nub reacts to him.

He’s drunk off your taste. And, being the sensitive thing you are, you finally snap. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you come, and Jack draws out your orgasm with soft kisses against your swollen clit. He gently nuzzles the cute, twitchy thing with his nose when you start to hiss in overstimulation.

He then turns his attention strictly to your hole and folds—giving you a little break—keeping his lips locked on you for what maybe feels like forever. For you. But to him, time couldn’t move any faster. It’s all too fast. He wants this. Needs this all the time, or it won’t feel real—you’re really his now.

You twitch against the railing and almost collapse against it, arms limp from the strength of the orgasm that made you so pliable and jelly-like in his hands.

Jack laps your remnant juices and drags his tongue up to trace a cheeky circle around your puckered hole, pulling a ragged gasp from your pretty throat.

“Jaaack, fuck, that’s—!”

He works you open with the tip of his tongue and gives your hole a few strokes. “Jus’ a little taste. We’ll save it for later.”

With a grunt, Jack stands and finally pulls down your underwear. “Keep both hands on the railing, sweetheart. You’ll need the support.”

He pulls his cock out from within his slacks and lines himself up against your entrance, spreading your slick through your folds before slowly sinking into you. Your walls tighten around his length, squeezing him with a grip unlike any he’s ever known. As if your cunt weeps at the thought of not having his cock buried inside you. She does weep, considering how fucking drenched you are.

You force out your words in between labored breaths. “Hnn, Jack—god, you feel so—mmm—fucking good.”

Your praises do wonders for him and makes him really put his back into his thrusts. He grasps you by your hips, pulling you into him and making you take what he gives you.

“Yeah?” He bares his teeth and grunts when he looks down and sees the collection of your arousal rings around the base of his cock. “You like… ah, what ‘m doing to you?”

Jack sure damn hopes so, because your wet heat clings to him and pulses with every stroke, and he’s not sure how long he can last. 

He would have preferred to fuck you senseless somewhere nicer. Maybe in the comfort of his home, make things a little more romantic, but the off chance that someone might see or hear you both excites him. And he couldn’t wait. He likes rooftops, anyway. 

“Touch yourself, baby. Need you to come. Come on my cock. Your doin’ so damn good. Jus’ one more.” 

You do as he says as you bring a hand down to swipe at your clit, making your walls tighten up. God, you feel so good around him. He’d like nothing more than to be inside you like this all the time if he could. 

You’ve managed to worm yourself inside his heart, and, for reasons that are obvious, he’s let you. You’re so right for him. The heatwave, the elevator incident, the show, were all just precursors so he could get to you. He’s so damn glad he returned your call.

His pace falters as your second orgasm washes over you, and he has to pinch the head of his cock as he pulls out so he doesn’t come inside you. Of course he wants to. But right now the thought of tagging your ass and lower lips with his cum is more appealing.

“Fuck, Jack, please. Give it to me.” You give him a pretty, flustered, fucked-out look over your shoulder and he can’t do anything but obey.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, I’ll give it to you. Don’t you worry.”

He strokes his cock with a tight grip paling in comparison to that of your cunt, spurting his release all over you with a low groan and a rumble from deep within his chest.

You catch your breath, and mumbles of “what a mess” fall on deaf ears because Jack is battling a bone-deep exhaustion that’s slowly settling in and making its way through his entire body. He thinks about pulling you in his arms and crashing to the floor, but considering it’s concrete, changes his mind. He’ll just have to push through the drowsiness and somehow take you both home.

He shouldn’t be tired—he’s used to these hours. But you and your tight pussy really wore him out. He guesses he can at least build up his stamina now that you’ll be around to practice with him.

You quickly attempt to pull up your underwear and fix your skirt, but Jack tuts. “Hold on there, honey.” His fingers glide easily inside you as he scoops up as much of his leaking cum as possible, and feeds it into your hole. Still, there’s too much of it all over your ass and cunt, and it just seeps. “There you go. Now you’re ready.” You suck your teeth when you feel Jack’s cum stick to your garments as he helps redress you and it drips down your inner thighs. You turn around and give him a light slap on his shoulder.

“I’m sticky now. So, thanks for that. Thought you’d come inside me,” you say with a pout.

“Would you rather I do that next time?” Jack asks, a grin playing on his lips.

“I mean... yeah.” You chew on your lower lip, and he vows to make that happen. As many times as you want. To the brim and until he’s tapped out, if that’s what your heart desires. “But it’s fine. I’ll wash up in the bathroom. Um, I guess it’s time to go? I gotta call another Uber…”

He shakes his head and grabs you by the shoulders. “No, I’m taking you back to mine. You’re moving in. Right now.”

You tilt your head and blink back your astonishment. “B-but…”

“Hey. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of everything later, sweetheart. Let’s just go home for right now.” He pulls you into another kiss, sweet and saccharine, and it’s enough to keep you from putting up a fight. Jack traces your lips once you break apart and tugs your lower lip open, working the tip of his thumb slightly into your mouth.

“Okay?” he prods.

Your warm tongue licks along his finger, and you nod, clasping your hand in his other one. “‘M’kay,” you say, to the best of your ability.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into nearly a year since you’ve moved in with Jack. You were worried at first. You had no reason not to trust him and his intentions, but there’s always going to be some small part of your brain that tells you that something might be a bad idea.

It wasn’t. Not by any stretch of the means. You did take your relationship slow at first. Withholding from sex until you both got to know each other properly was the hardest thing to do—especially since you’ve already had sex. After sleeping in his guest room and going on simple dates for a few weeks, Jack couldn’t help but agree. 

He’s your person. And you’re his. And you both shared that sentiment after breaking your short vow of abstinence when he finally threw you on the bed and brought your ankles to your ears. He finally did come inside you that time. Many, many times. Maybe almost too many. He’s ruined you for anyone else, and you always feel a bit empty when you don’t take his load at least once a day. He does get tired, though, that poor old man. But even when you’re milking him dry and he’s shooting blanks with a pained expression, he’s half-smiling.

You did end up leaving not too shortly after your rooftop conversation with him. Morgan was understandably upset but (surprisingly) supportive at the same time. You supposed it was because she could see the writing on the wall. You did continue to work for a short while after announcing you’d be quitting to help her find a replacement for you and Kai, and FFM was even reached out to by a few sponsors who caught wind of Jack’s interview and enjoyed it. But it wasn’t enough. Jack didn’t have enough pull, and everything fell apart.

Joining an indie station was a risky endeavor; you knew as much when Morgan onboarded you that first day after passing the interview. It was a passion project, she said. But when the news got to you that the station was decommissioning, directly from her, she didn’t seem devastated by it.

That was a few months ago now, and since then, you’ve brought her, your producer, and some of the other folks at FFM to work alongside you on your podcast. Progress on your own was very slow-going, but with them by your side, everything rapidly fell into place. Jack teased you that you could finally get off your ass and stop leeching off him after months of building everything up to this point.

Morgan has the connections and industry know-how, your producer produces, and everyone else just helps where they’re needed. It’s perfect. It’s almost as if you’re still hosting Renegade, just… reformatted. And under a new name. 

Your first season wrapped up not too long ago, and it did more numbers than you would have thought possible. And the anticipation for the next just keeps growing. Money is flowing in from social media and lucky sponsorships you were able to secure, and you couldn’t be happier. You can actually pay your team livable wages. 

Who knew how much more popular a podcast would be compared to a radio show?

You can’t take all the credit, however. Jack financed what you couldn’t in order to set up everything.

He’s more than relieved to be back to being a nobody to everyone except for his patients, colleagues, and you, of course. 

You do worry that as the podcast grows, he’ll somehow be thrust into the spotlight again. But you still use your pseudonym, and your episodes are audio-only. As time goes on, more people will forget your face from your radio days and only recognize you by the sound of your voice. 

You’re okay with that. You get to do what you love. While being with the person who you have quickly come to love.

Jack knocks on the door to your studio, making you flinch in your chair and clutch your heart. He swings the door open and approaches you.

Your new studio is located in a much nicer building downtown compared to the one that situated FFM. It’s also conveniently close to PTMC and Jack's condo.

“Hey. What’re you still doing here? You’re supposed to be home. Came right back here when I didn’t see you there. Couldn’t have called me?”

“Jack. Jesus. You scared me.” You shake your head. “‘M sorry. Guess I lost track of time figuring out next week’s script. How was work?”

“Tiring, as always.” He stands behind you and rubs your shoulders, drawing a light moan from you. “Especially since Shen and Ellis have been bugging me about getting on your podcast. I give them one shoutout, and they go crazy…” he trails.

You laugh, and Jack chuckles. “I can make that work. From what you tell me of them, they sound like a riot.” You hold one of his hands over your shoulder and look up at him. “Why haven’t I met your coworkers yet? Robby not included.”

“Can’t I keep you to myself? I already share you with the world,” he mumbles.

You roll your eyes but smile. He says this, but he has always been and will always be your number one supporter. And he's kidding himself if he thinks the entire world tunes in. Maybe just a few tens of thousands of people, but who's really counting?

You spin around to face him. “You’re who I come home to, Jack. Not my coworkers or my listeners or anyone else. Just you.”

He leans over and cages you in by the arms of the chair, slotting his lips against yours. He kisses you with an intensity you’ve come to know is so him.

You pull apart and eye the string of saliva connecting you both with a dazed expression. Fuck. 

“Let me make you my wife first. Then I might consider it.”

Double fuck.

You press your thumb to his brow, smoothing out the frown, to do something to calm your racing heart.

“Then ask me already.”

He shakes his head and breathes through his nose, pulling your hand from his face. “Time’s gotta be right. Let’s go home.”

Jack is holding your hand in the elevator going down to the ground floor of the building when it suddenly lurches and stops. 

Why is it stopping? It’s not supposed to stop. You mash the button for the ground floor, but it doesn't respond, and that sets you off.

“Are you kidding me?” you blurt out.

You stare at Jack with bulging eyes. He’s cursed. That’s got to be it. Surely breaking down in elevators isn’t this common. This is your first time. Ever. This is Jack’s second. Within a year.

He shakes his head and chuckles. “At least the power’s on this time ‘round and we’re not in the middle of a heatwave.” Turning to you, he pulls out something from within his pocket. “Guess this is as good a time as any. Fated, maybe.”

“Wh—now? Like… now? Don’t tell me you have a ring in that pocket! I don’t want to see it! Not here!”

He smirks and pulls the ring out anyway.

Gorgeous, by the way.

Is this really happening?

“Too late. Make me the happiest man alive and be mine, sweetheart?”

The city had been just about everything you dreamed off.

You’d been a real touristy cliche, stumbling out of a taxi with a box of your belongings and your heart set on conquering the big apple. College had always been a part of your plan and you would sit in your childhood home, surrounded by the woes of suburbia, and tell yourself that if it wasn’t far away then you didn’t want to go.

You were happy to be a stereotypical freshman girl from a small town, navigating the streets of New York with a smile and too big of a heart.

Your time between classes got spent reading down in the park or trying out local coffee shops, taking the train across town just to find your way back to campus without a map. You wanted to know the city like the back of your hand, even if it took getting lost and missing lectures a few dozen times.

Everything was going exactly as it should be.

Eddie wasn’t necessarily a part of your planned out future, in fact he was pretty close to the opposite of something you would have prepared for.

He had stuck out to you from the moment you saw him, getting far too rowdy in the back corner of a bar your new friends had dragged you along to.

It already wasn’t your scene, you hadn’t been to a place with people like this back home, and the added volume from the drunk boys definitely didn’t help.

One of Eddies friends had noticed one of yours and made his way over like a snake through the tall grass, shoulders bumping carelessly with the other tipsy patrons that didn’t even spare him a glance.

She seemed to like him enough, especially when he bought you all your first round of drinks like he wasn’t on a college kids budget, and fate was practically sealed from then on out.

You didn’t really talk to Eddie much that first night and you figured he wouldn’t have remembered it even if you had, already slurring his words and laughing loudly at his friends jokes before he even made it over to get introduced to you all.

He had scanned over each new face as your names were rattled off by your friend that was now pressed against the side of his own, eyes a little glazed like he wasn’t really registering the difference between them all.

And then he reached you.

You watched his gaze pass you by and then immediately falter and bounce back in your direction, sticking on your features even after the other names began to follow yours.

You’d flushed and looked away, eventually making your way outside and bumming a cigarette off of some older woman outside who looked about as haggard as you felt. It made you cough, chest itchy and sore from the unfamiliar feeling, but you were halfway determined to be the type of girl who smoked under the rush of the city.

You hadn’t thought much about the boy and the backwards cap, even though his friend started to make an appearance weekly.

It became clear pretty quickly that things were getting serious between him and your friend, halfway roommate considering how often you escaped the dorms in favor of sleeping on her couch.

The merging of the friend groups was slow but then permanent as soon as it became a reality. Suddenly Eddie Hicks was at every social event you attended, as big as a party in somebody’s parentless townhouse and as intimate as a movie night with just the four of you.

There were plenty of words people used to describe Eddie and you weren’t necessarily a fan of any of them. He wasn’t exactly stupid he just didn’t care about his studies as much as your average peer and he certainly wasn’t as immature as others might think he was based off of a drunken night or a brief public interaction.

You thought he could be really sweet when he wanted to. His voice would get soft when it was just the two of you and he’d talk a lot more with a much lower level of volume, rambling about small subjects you didn’t really understand and showing you he had more depth than getting wasted and jumping into the fountain on campus.

He’d lose that softness when others were around and you felt a little thrown off the first few times he did it before understanding it was just how he presented himself.

It was easier for him to be the party boy that didn’t get embarrassed or nervous in a crowd.

You liked to be around Eddie and he wasn’t shy about showing you that he felt the same way. He was almost constantly at your dorm, knocking lightly at the door and encouraging you to come outside with him as soon as you would answer.

That was your favorite part about him, other than the general comfortability you had started to feel after the first few months. He loved the city more than you, more than anybody else you’d met since you’d first stepped out onto the busy streets.

Not many people around you had actually been born in New York but Eddie was a city boy down to his core. He still went to eat dinner with his mom at his childhood apartment twice a week, taking the train thirty minutes across town without hesitation, and he had barely left the zip code area he was born in before college.

He thought it was sweet that you liked to get a little lost so he wouldn’t correct you when you went on your adventures together, letting you find your way back home despite the fact he knew it was the wrong way almost every single time. You’d take a glance at his face when you would board a train car, groaning and hiding in his shoulder when you realized you had messed up again and feeling the way his frame vibrated as he laughed.

The touchiness was a whole different ballgame you weren’t sure how to navigate with him.

Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it. It just felt natural for you to gravitate towards each other in a crowd, his hand on your lower back or yours wrapped around his arm to make sure neither of you strayed too far from the other.

You’d press up against him during movie nights and he’d let your ankles lock together, playing with your fingers absentmindedly as he watched. You fell asleep together often on long study nights or at more lowkey house parties, his head in your lap or you resting against his chest and dozing off on his shoulder.

Eddie was your friend and you liked to be around him. You weren’t exactly an expert on boys so you didn’t think much of it until everybody else started to point it out.

At first it was curious glances between the two of you and then it was full out teasing confrontation, openly commenting on it in front of both of you despite how awkward you’d get.

“She’d never go for a guy like me.” Eddie would reply with a goofy grin like it was the easiest answer in the world, his arm going around your shoulder and shaking you softly for emphasis.

You would laugh and smile fondly but it made your chest feel a little weird and tight. You figured he was just being nice, playing it safe and rejecting you but making it sound like it was for your sake.

It could be blamed on your inexperience, the lack of willing suitors back in your hometown who didn’t get to see you in your college prime, or just plain denial. You assumed that if Eddie happened to like you then he would be just as eager to let you know as his friend Alex had been that first night at the bar with yours, immediately coming over to her and not leaving her side since.

But you weren’t too upset about it because you liked to be Eddies friend more than anything, even if it got a little confusing occasionally.

Now you were right back at the same bar almost nine months since the first time, pushing your way through the crowd with only a mildly disgusted look this go around. You’d started to get used to it along with the rest of the city and its liveliness.

You still felt a rush of relief when you got through the mass of bodies and saw your friends at the back table, your favorite drink already in the empty space besides Eddie.

You easily slid into the spot next to him, barely getting out a soft greeting before he was turning to look at you and wrapping his arm around your side.

“We thought you weren’t going to make it.” Sarah was frowning slightly like the idea was a lot sadder than it was in reality due to her already tipsy state.

You liked Sarah quite a bit despite how different the two of you were, her large apartment paid for by her parents and closet full of designer clothes painting a much different picture than your own humble upbringing. She let you crash on her fancy couch when your dorm mate was being obnoxious and occasionally gave you any tops she grew out of so you figured she liked you quite a bit back.

“I missed the train.” You replied softly even though she wasn’t even really listening to your reply, going to say something you couldn’t pick up to Alex.

You turned to Eddie instead who already seemed to be waiting for your attention, hand resting lightly on your side as he pushed your drink in your direction and watched you take a slow sip.

“Again? I thought we got that down by now.” He didn’t miss the opportunity to tease you for your lack of direction and you rolled your eyes.

“It was busy okay? I got a little bit distracted and it just flew past.” You explained over the noise, faltering between sentences to slightly grimace at his cigarette smoke that was floating in the space between your faces.

He didn’t hesitate to put it out when he saw your expression, waving the air to clear the rest of it and easily catching your weight when you leaned against him in thanks.

“You totally missed it.” Sarah was suddenly speaking up again and smacking a perfectly manicured hand down on the sticky table in front of you. “Eddies been trying to get the bartenders number all night.”

Your eyes went across the crowded bar to find the woman in question, definitely a few years your senior and intimidating enough that you quickly looked away before she caught you staring. You glanced at Eddie next to find him glaring at Sarah, eyebrows furrowed and his free hand turned up like he was questioning her

“Not going well?” You attempted to ask it as causally as you could, like you were just a friend equally as invested in your buddies attempt to pick up a pretty girl as everybody else.

You could feel his hand twitching against your side and you were suddenly hyper aware of the touch that normally came so natural to the two of you, stepping to the side just enough that he would have to awkwardly stretch to keep touching you.

He dropped his hand and gave you an almost guilty look before shaking his head.

“She’s just messing around.” He tried to smooth it over and that almost made you feel more upset.

You felt like this was the worst case scenario, Eddie somehow realizing you might feel something towards him and pitying you so much he felt like he needed to lie to keep your feelings from getting hurt.

“He’s been sitting here sulking all night waiting for you.” Alex was chiming in with an attempt to make things less tense but neither of the dismissals were helping especially now that your mind had gone to less than kind places.

“I’m going to get a fresh drink.” You managed to get out, sending them a tight smile before pushing your way back into the crowd. You vaguely heard Eddie saying something sharply, most likely directly at Sarah, but you were suddenly grateful for the loud music and voices to keep you from overhearing something you wouldn’t like.

You were leaning against the bar after requesting a drink, waiting patiently with your hands tapping on the wood, when you felt him behind you.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was and you had expected him to follow you regardless, sighing softly when you felt his arms go around you from behind. You let yourself get tugged back gently until your back was against his chest, your own hands reaching near your stomach to hold his wrist.

“Want me to get her number for you?” Your eyebrows raised as you looked at the bartender who was moving from section to section smoothly, feeling him tense behind you.

Now it was his turn to sigh and his forehead rested against your shoulder for a brief moment.

“Stop it, you know I wasn’t flirting with her. I don’t think I even talked to her.” He started to defend himself and you were once again wondering why he felt the need to, if it really just stemmed from pity and a friendly attempt to save you some dignity.

“It’s fine if you were Eddie.” You shrugged and you heard him let out another huffy breath at the words. “I mean it. You can have fun on a night out.”

“I have fun when you’re here.” He said back quickly and it was slightly muffled considering his face was now pressed against your shoulder like he was planning to hide in your neck.

Your drink got placed in front of you but you ignored it for a moment, turning to face him and rubbing your hand over his ribs and chest as he let out a deep breath of possible relief.

He’d told you before how much your touch made him feel better, whispered it in a quiet room when he was positive nobody was listening.

Your nose rubbed against his and his eyes fluttered shut when your lips brushed together, never fully touching but ghosting along just enough for the thought to cross your mind. His hands had moved to your lower back to keep you tight against him but you weren’t planning on going anywhere regardless.

You pulled back just enough so you didn’t accidentally kiss him, his eyes opening and looking a bit more dejected than beforehand.

“Let’s go back.” You said softly and he hesitated but nodded eventually, grabbing your drink for you and guiding you back to the table with a hand on your waist.

You and Eddie were always like that but you were suddenly unable to get used to it.

You were hyper aware of everything, including the looks Sarah and Alex would give each other whenever they saw the two of you standing closely or touching casually. His hands felt hot on your skin and you could barely stomach rubbing over his arms softly without feeling those nearly painful butterflies.

It was starting to feel that awful right now, sat on the couch together like you’d done dozens of times before.

Your legs were sideways over his lap, sides pressed together with one of his arms behind your back to support your weight and keep you from falling against the couch. His other palm was between your thighs right above your knees, just resting there in the warm skin of your closed legs.

You had one hand in his curls and the other on his arms. It was probably your most default position for watching a movie but you felt like it was beyond intimate right now, trying your best to try ignore the way it made you think and react so you could stay close to him.

The door was opening and you barely glanced up at Alex and Sarah coming in, grocery bags in hands and mid laugh like they always seemed to be.

She sent a look your way but didn’t say anything just yet although you tensed with the anticipation. It was a few more minutes before they got the food put away and came to join you in the dimly lit living room, plopping down on a loveseat and eyeing you curiously for a moment.

“Okay seriously, what’s going on with you two?” She asked abruptly and you sighed softly, already assuming she was going to pry as soon as she saw the way you were curled around each other.

“We’re friends.” You offer her the same line you always do even though you’re aware of how ridiculous it comes across when you’re holding each other like this.

Eddie doesn’t help much at all, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head that you’re half convinced he did just to drive her a little more crazy.

“This is hard to watch.” She sighs and sinks lower in her seat just in time to miss the handful of popcorn you throw in her direction.

Thankfully she doesn’t say anything else after the light teasing although Alex gives Eddie a wiggle of his eyebrows before getting his own spot for the movie, your eyes rolling once you catch it.

It’s almost constant lately but you really can’t blame them for their confusion considering you barely understand your relationship yourself.

The next week, you’re studying in his room, lying on your stomach in his bed and flipping through pages while you try to pretend you don’t feel him staring at you. He doesn’t even shy away when you glance up and raise an eyebrow, just giving you a soft smile and continuing watching you even when you go back to your textbook.

Eventually it starts to drive you so crazy that you have to set the book down to really stare at him.

“Hi Ed.” You keep your voice light and he finally leaves his place on the floor to come and join you on the small twin sized mattress, sitting up beside where you’re still flat on your stomach.

“Hey.” He sounds softer than normal, definitely distracted and maybe a little lost in thought.

His hand comes up to brush some of your behind your ear gently before he’s moving it lower, letting it rest on your lower back. He swipes his thumb right where the fabric of your tank top had ridden up, warming up your skin with his own.

You sigh blissfully and fold your arms in front of you so you can rest your head on them.

“You okay?” You nearly whisper and his eyes leave your back for a quick second to check your face before he’s back to staring at the area he’s touching.

“I’m… really really okay.” He says back and it’s still a bit far away sounding which makes you laugh lightly.

The air felt heavy and charged in a way you weren’t really used to and when he went back to watching your face, you almost thought he might lean down and kiss you.

You both jumped when the door swung open, intimate bubble popped immediately as Sarah and Alex burst in and barely acknowledged the fact they hadn’t even attempted to announce themselves before coming in.

Alex was sending you both a curious look and you focused back in enough after your shock to register that Eddie had taken his hand off of you rather quickly, still looking a bit suspicious with the off guard look he had on his face.

“Great news.” Sarah’s smile was bright and it was almost hard to be annoyed at her for interrupting when she seemed so excited, bouncing a little in her kitten heels and clasping her hands together in front of her. “I’ve got you both double dates for the poetry show tonight.”

“Sarah set it up.” Alex added on, she beamed like he was praising her but you figured he just wanted to shift the blame away from himself as soon as possible.

Neither of you said anything but you glanced at Eddie after a few long seconds to find him already watching you.

“No.” His voice was firm but calm, decisive despite not really having a reason to decline.

Sarah’s face fell immediately and she dropped her hands to her sides.

“But why not?” She asked desperately and shifted so she could kneel on the carpet beside the bed and really give you both a good view of her puppy eyes. “Please you know how much I love playing match maker and they’re both looking forward to it.”

“Alex.” Eddie spoke again in slight warning and your eyes went back and forth between each of your friends, trying to get a read on the silent conversation that seemed to be happy.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Alex shrugged and that made Sarah start to smile again. “And it makes her happy so.”

You didn’t realize you were frowning until you felt the familiar hand back on your skin, rubbing softly and drawing your attention right back to him. Eddie was staring at you in a way you really didn’t understand but you figured you could file it alongside the other mysteries you had surrounding him.

Sarah’s soft voice saying your name sent you spinning again, eyes meeting hers and slumping your shoulders in light defeat.

“You’ll do it?” She nearly gasped, hands reaching out to squeeze your arm.

“I mean I guess.” You sighed out, feeling terrible about disappointing her and also not being able to think of a legitimate reason you didn’t want to do it that wouldn’t immediately expose your weird feelings for the boy next to you.

Speaking of, he was getting up almost as soon as you voiced your confirmation. You tried to tune out Sarah’s excited squeals and the way she was squeezing your arm, watching as he left his own bedroom with a deep set frown.

Despite his initial refusal, the triple date ended up happening a few hours later.

You weren’t sure what Alex had said to get Eddie out of the apartment because you were too busy being dragged back to Sarah’s so she could give you a makeover.

Clearly it hadn’t been enough to get a smile on his face because he had been uncharacteristically stoic the entire night.

The bar had a much calmer crowd, soft spoken poetry replacing the usual loud music and sports television. Eddie still had never been this quiet during a night out and you felt overly guilty for agreeing to this arrangement and dragging him out in the process.

Your date was nice enough. He was supportive of the poets and asking you questions about yourself, putting your drinks on his tab and trying his best to get any type of positive response from you.

You’d given him your best attempt at a polite smile for the past two hours and your cheeks were starting to ache. You figured Eddie didn’t have the same issue because he hasn’t so much as grinned even once, instead awkwardly staring at you from across the table in an overly noticeable way.

His date was chatting his ear off enough that she didn’t even seem to notice his intense glare in your direction but yours surely did, shuffling in place nervously as he failed to understand the situation.

She was grabbing his arm and giggling obnoxiously every time she managed to get a small response from him even though they were few and far between.

“You’re liking the city so far?” Your date, maybe Zach something, was tilting his head to try and get your attention back on him and not the way her nails were curling around Eddies forearm.

“Yeah I…” You trailed off and cleared your throat, glancing at him and giving an apologetic smile. “I actually need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

You were pushing away from the table before he could manage out a reply, taking fast steps to the dimly lit hallway and pressing your back against the wall as you took a few slow breaths.

It wasn’t too surprising to hear the footsteps following right behind yours, the soft touch wrapping around your wrist as his frame moved in front of yours.

Eddie didn’t look at all like his usual goofy self, face far too serious for somebody as completely the opposite. You sighed in light relief when you felt him touching you and that only made him do it more, arm going around the small of your back and his forehead pressing against yours.

It was quiet for nearly a minute as you just stood there, your palms on his chest and the muffled sounds of a poem about grief coming from down the hallway.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was so quiet that you barely caught it but it still made you frown.

“Why not Eddie? She’s nice and she seems to like you.” It was hard to get out but you were trying your best to be supportive of him.

“Are you kidding me?” His eyebrows furrowed and he took a step back just enough so he could really see your face as you spoke. “I don’t care if she’s nice. I don’t want her.”

The word he chose to emphasize wasn’t lost on you and for the first real time, you let yourself think this might be about you. It was always in the back of your mind but that insecurity and fear of losing him kept it quiet, not wanting to let yourself feel any hope incase the disappointment that followed was too crushing.

“Ed.” You sigh softly and rub your hand from his chest to his shoulder.

He leaned down to bury his face in your neck and you fully wrapped your arms around the back of his so you could hug him tightly.

“I can’t watch this anymore.” He said eventually and that nearly confirmed it for you but you were stuck with that fear.

You couldn’t bear losing him, not while you were still surrounded by the city around you that he stemmed from. It would be a constant painful reminder of the good thing you had lost and you were in desperate need of this good thing.

Eddie was one of the best friends you’d ever had and you would happily, although torturously, never be anything more if it meant he stayed with you.

That fear was even more obvious to you when he was picking his head back up to really look at you, your noses rubbing together in a familiar way but with an unfamiliar tension hanging over your heads.

You could see the moment he decided to risk it all and your entire body locked up.

“Don’t Eddie.” You stopped him just as he was staring to shift his face closer to yours and his expression dropped.

He didn’t move away right away but you could see the way it stung him. You frowned with guilt and brought your hand up to cup his jaw, grateful when he nuzzled into it without any hesitation.

He may be hurt by your premature rejection but he still craved your touch and that made you feel much better.

“It’s okay.” You shift forward to kiss his cheek as you hold his face. His eyes are closed blissfully and his hands tighten around you at the contact. “Let’s go tell them bye.”

It was awkward to go back out there together and tell them bye as a pair, your dates sending you and each other confused looks while Sarah gave you a long disappointed stare.

You knew she didn’t mind the idea of you and Eddie together, in fact she encouraged it actively in the beginning, but she also was aware of your hesitance and she knew you well enough to know nothing had happened in that hallway. You were still choosing to waste the chance to spend a night getting to know a nice guy, just to go home with Eddie and stay in the same limbo.

You gave Zach a light hug goodbye but Eddie didn’t even bother with a parting wave to his date.

You waited until you got on the train back towards his apartment to bring it up, both of you standing on opposite sides of a pole.

“She was sweet.” You said softly and his eyebrows furrowed again for what felt like the dozenth time that night. “You could have been nicer.”

He winced and his shoulders slumped at your gentle scolding, looking a little guilty. Eddie wasn’t at all a rude guy, even when he got a little too rowdy to remember his manners. He was notably friendly and a good time so it was out of character for him to treat somebody so coldly.

“She was nice.” He agreed casually and now you took a long pause.

“She wanted to bang you.”

His face scrunched up at the idea of it as you both swayed with the sudden lurching of the train car departing.

“Yeah, no way.” He was shaking his head in disagreement and you eyed the way his curls had gotten a little bouncier after a long night. “She was flirting, yeah but.. I don’t know.”

“Why not?” You asked it with a tilt of your head like you were genuinely curious despite the fact you figured you knew his answer by now. He leaned back against the wall of the train car and crossed his arms, giving you a slightly disbelieving look. “How long’s it been since you hooked up with somebody?”

It wasn’t something you talked about even though you seemed to talk about everything else. You knew Eddie had a past of casual flings with a lot of girls, you’d heard it from Sarah after her first few times around Alex.

But you never actually saw the playboy antics yourself. He was at the college for a whole year before you even got there and either he had given up on the life style coincidentally as he became a sophomore or there was a secondary reason.

He looked just as thrown off by your question as you felt asking it although a little amused by the boldness.

“A while.” He admitted easily but he rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous, face just pink enough for you to tell he’s affected. “I don’t know exactly but maybe a year?”

Your eyes must widen because he lets out an embarrassed laugh that sounds nothing like himself, like he’d rather be the first to laugh than to wait for you to inevitably do it.

“Yeah I just… haven’t been into it lately.” His eyes land hard on yours and you can’t really find it in yourself to say anything in response, especially since you’re more than certain he’s lying with the weak explanation.

You lean against the pole and watch him carefully, suddenly very glad you had left the bar when you did.

“What about you?”

Your mouth parts a little in surprise, not at all expecting him to turn the question around on you. You haven’t to really think about it which he doesn’t seem to enjoy, frowning just enough for it to be noticeable as he shifts in place.

“A few months I guess.” You say softly with a light shrug, just a little bit shy with the answer.

You hope he doesn’t ask you to specify because you really don’t know how to explain to him that you’d been so pent up one night from the way he touched you that you had no choice but to go and seek other forms of release. It was somebody you didn’t even remember the name of which was evidence enough towards how good it had been, not at all satisfying that craving he’d built up and actually just making it much worse.

You’d heard stories about Eddie from random girls around campus, their faces flushing with embarrassment when they noticed you listening or passing by like you had some sort of claim over him.

You were curious about it both because you liked him so much and because you were his friend and wanted to know what exactly he did that made girls get so hung up on their time together in the bedroom.

He hadn’t replied since you spoke, staring a bit blankly.

“What’s on your mind?” Your head cocked.

He shifted at the sound of your voice and moved back towards you, hand wrapping around the pole you’d been leaning on. It was just above your head so you were slightly caged in by his arm, eyes turning upwards to blink at him.

“Have you… wanted anyone since?” His voice had gotten a little lower and you took a second to glance around the train car and ensure nobody was paying too much attention to two college kids flirting awkwardly.

You stared at him through your lashes for a few seconds before your hand was rubbing over his ribs, smiling a little. “Maybe.”

He sucked in a breath at the touch despite how often he felt it and you watched as his eyes very obviously dropped down to your lips.

The train car picked the perfect moment to rock violently and you made a small surprised sound as it nearly threw you sideways, too distracted by him to remember to brace yourself.

Eddie barely faltered, more than used to the abrupt stops. He easily slid his hands around your waist to steady you and you gave him a quick thankful smile before you were realizing you’d reached your stop and grabbing into his wrist to pull him out onto the platform before you managed to get the both of you lost again.

“Didn’t think you’d catch it this time.” He smiled softly at you as you walked and you rolled your eyes despite being overly fond of his habit to never give you directions.

“You’re not that distracting.” You teased back but you’re more than aware of how obvious that lie is.

He certainly is distracting you in the following weeks as you get closer to summer and the heat begins to rise and rise.

To only make matters worse, the AC goes out in the boys apartment and Sarah’s dad sets out a strict ‘no boy’ rule when he catches Alex sneaking out one morning.

You heavily consider just ditching all three of them in favor of your college funded air conditioned dorm that you’d barely used since moving to the city but you feel a little too guilty and you figured you’d miss Eddie far too much while sulking away next to your dorm mate writing her boyfriend obsessive love letters.

So you join them in their suffering, all lounging around the furniture in various states of undress as you try your best to catch anything that resembles a breeze.

It’s bad enough to be literally hot, sweat coating your forehead and making your hair stick uncomfortably wet to the back of your neck, but to also be a little warm under your skin from Eddie and his lack of a shirt was a new type of torture.

Alex was on the smaller side, body lean and just muscular enough to show some definition and you imagined he was the more stereotypical choice for the college girls surrounding you.

You however, felt naturally drawn to the way Eddie was built. He was so noticeably strong, defined arms and a round chest with enough hair on it to really make you start to sweat, and that was without taking in for account the slight softness of his stomach.

You’d been spending the entire day trying not to look at the trail of hair leading down into his gym shorts, staring up at the ceiling fan as it did its best to cool you off.

Sarah was practically stripped down to her birthday suit, using a bikini top to keep some modesty despite the boy short underwear she had below it doing the opposite. Alex wasn’t much better, giving up on real clothes completely in favor of some oddly tight boxers.

You weren’t exactly shy about your body but you were overly aware of Eddie being in the room so you stuck with a small tank top and some sleep shorts, trying your best not to abandon another layer like the others.

Eddie hadn’t moved in nearly half an hour, eyes closed and lying flat on his back like he was picturing himself floating down a lazy river. You glanced around the room at the other two who were also lounging out with soft heated groans, only the sound of Sarah’s magazine waving back and forth breaking up the silence.

Your hand lightly touched Eddies chest, still close enough to you that your knee was pressed against his arm as you sat with your legs crossed next to him despite the heat screaming at you to separate. It was a little damp under your palm but you figured you weren’t much better.

“Maybe we could go to the beach.”

The words had barely left your lips before Eddie was shooting up off the bed, looking a little dizzy from the sudden movement. “God yes.”

“Careful bubba.” You said softly as you lightly pressed on his skin to get him to lay back down for a second until the wooziness passed.

Sarah had perked up too at the mention of a trip to the beach, most likely already mentally picking out a matching bottom to go with her top. Eddie had taken your hand that was on his chest and pressed a light kiss to each of your knuckles, smiling crookedly at you when you sent him an amused look.

“I’m totally in. Beach day.” He nodded in approval and sat up again at a much slower pace, now face to face with you and rubbing your noses together until you let out a small laugh. “We can use my mom’s van.”

“Your mom’s van is a piece of shit.” Alex supplied from across the room, still refusing to move in the heat even when Sarah sent a sharp swat to his sweaty chest.

It was in fact a piece of shit so it was hard to argue, especially as you stood in front of it.

You weren’t sure how she had managed to keep her lot for as long as she had especially considering the van clearly hadn’t moved in the last few years, coated in dust and making an odd rattling noise when Eddie hopped in and started it up.

He looked too excited for you to rain on his parade and you were still internally trying to impress his mom, talking to her quietly in the kitchen while the boys dug around in Eddies old room for an extra pair of swim trunks that might still fit him after making sure the van started.

“He talks about you a lot. I figured he must be making you up.” She was clearly teasing and she immediately reminded you a lot of her son, down to the shape of the smile she gave you as she poured you all a glass of lemonade.

“All good things?” You mused and you relished in the way she chuckled lightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sarah scoffed from the kitchen table, you’d nearly forgotten she was there at all but the heat and unfamiliar sight of a rundown apartment had made her uncharacteristically quiet. “Eddie couldn’t even think a bad thought about you let alone voice one.”

Her teasing was already bad enough in general but worse in front of his mother, your cheeks turning red just as the boys came stumbling out in clear excitement for the road trip.

It was a bit of a chaotic start, all holding onto the prayer that the van would even make it to the first gas station stop. You felt a bit of relief as it rattled its way out of the city, especially since Eddie had confessed he didn’t have a license and let Alex drive, giving Sarah shotgun after she sent him a sharp glare.

He was pressed against your side in the second row, a little uncomfortably considering the AC was barely sending out a light breeze in your direction but the windows being down on the open road helped cool off your skin just enough for you to relax.

You turned to look at him just to find he was already watching you, your nose brushing his as you both mirrored the other’s bright smile.

“You excited?” You whispered, trying to keep your voice under the song playing from the CD Sarah had dug out from the middle console.

“Yeah.” He said it back just as quietly and you appreciated the imaginary privacy the volume offered. His hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear and then lingered near your jaw.

“I’ve never seen the ocean.” You admitted and you watched his eyes widen in surprise, multiple emotions passing over his face like he had suddenly decided this meant something different than just cooling off in the water. “Not from here, remember?”

Eddie nodded slowly but you could tell he was sinking into thought now, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours with something close to determination.

If his goal was to give you the perfect beach day then he more than succeeded. You couldn’t have had a better time with the three of them, barely getting the van parked before you were running into the water and falling into a pile of waves and splash puddles.

The chill of the ocean and the relief you felt had nothing on how magical it was to be with your favorite people, one in particular who couldn’t stop smiling and laughing as he watched you play around with Sarah and narrowly dodge water attacks from Alex.

Eddie didn’t last long before wrapping his arms around your middle and dragging you under the water with him, completely beaming when you resurfaced and pushed him lightly by his shoulders in mock upset.

It took hours for any of you to get bored and you stayed out there with him even when the other two had their fill and went to shore, opting for getting a tan and catching up on a book.

He didn’t seem to mind when you wanted to calm down, naturally gravitating towards each other as you let the water move your bodies together. You held onto his shoulders with your legs wrapped around his waist, his big hands rubbing over your lower back and keeping you from drifting off.

The sun was setting as you talked in soft voices and let yourselves float in unison.

It was perfect and getting even better as the sun fully set and you retired back to the van, laying some blankets on top of it and feeling the cooling metal under your back as you laid down. You’d almost forgotten how the stars looked outside of the city and away from the light pollution, lost in the sight of them and barely registering Eddie climbing the ladder on the side of the van until he laying down beside you.

You could distantly hear Sarah laughing softly at something Alex had said, growing more and more faint as you realized they were walking back down to the water.

“Think they’ll get married?” You whispered once you felt him settle next to you, his hand reaching between your bodies to grasp yours and let it rest on his chest so he could play with your fingers.

“Without a doubt.” He answered easily, not needing any clarification.

“Maybe we can be their maid of honor and best man.” You mused. “Walk down the aisle together.”

You looked at him after the comment just to see his reaction, to double check if the image of you together in a wedding scenario had any effect on him even if it wasn’t your own. He was always watching you with soft eyes, moonlight highlighting his freckles and the slight redness he’d gotten from the sun.

“You’re always staring at me.” You whisper.

“Can you blame me?” He sounded so sincere that you felt a little embarrassed and it took a lot to not look away from his strong gaze.

“What’s that mean?” You shifted so you were lying more on your side and facing him better, the ocean crashing in the distance offering a welcome break between the silences.

“Means…” He laughed a little at your curiosity and shrugged his shoulders, searching for the right words to use. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You know you’re flushed now and you have to stare at the stars for a breath just to gather yourself, looking back and wishing you hadn’t considering he has the same expression he did the last time he tried to kiss you.

He’s closer than you realized, noses brushing again in that familiar habit of yours.

“Eddie don’t.” You whisper softly even though it pains you. “Don’t kiss me.”

He freezes immediately and it’s much more extreme of a reaction than last time, embarrassment rushing over his face as he awkwardly shifts away from you on the blanket to give you some space.

“Yeah okay.” He breathes out in agreement but it’s so clearly forced.

“Wait.” You frown and sit up a little so you can see his face still as he moves away. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

His face softened instantly like the idea crushed him and he also sat up, resting on his elbow and bringing his free hand up to cup your face and lightly caress your cheek.

“Hey.” His singular word was so full of affection that you almost fell on your stomach in relief. “I’m not mad at you. I’m never mad at you but especially not for that.”

“I’m just…” You have the sudden need for him to understand that you’re not meaning to reject him, a bit frantic as you finally sit up on your knees and touch his arm. “Nervous okay? I don’t want to mess things up so we just can’t… can’t kiss.”

He was silent for a long time as he stared at you like he was trying to understand, eventually nodding slowly but looking just a little bit frustrated and disappointed. You knew your reasoning didn’t make much sense and you felt a bit sick knowing he might be longing for something you’re not willing to give.

“This is why I wanted you to hook up with that stupid blind date.” You sigh and it’s a little bit of an over exaggeration because you probably would have cried for a month if he did but the meaning is still there. You didn’t want him waiting around for something you might not ever give him.

“I get it.” He says it slowly like you’re a live wire which you figure you probably seem like one right now, rushed speaking pattern unlike your usual calm demeanor. “But I don’t want her.”

“You want me?” You assume openly for the first time.

“God yes.” He doesn’t hesitate to answer, eyes staring into yours with devastating raw honesty.

You’re not sure if actually hearing him confess it makes you feel better or worse but your stomach lights up with interest anyways.

You both fall silent, you because of the admission and him because he’s clearly shocked you didn’t somehow already know that.

His hand is suddenly on your back and then you’re overly aware of how much skin you’re both showing. You lean closer to him when he starts to rub you in small soothing circles and then you let out a deep sigh.

“Can I ask you something?” You whisper and he nods before you even really finish. “You said you hadn’t had sex with anyone in a year. Is that because…”

You trail off but it’s obvious what you’re implying, especially given the conversation you’re having.

Because of you.

Now he’s finally hesitating and it’s a long anxious pause before he’s nodding his head.

You both don’t speak, don’t even breathe, as his hand slowly trails up from your back to your shoulder. You stare closely at his face as he toys with the strap of your bikini that rest against your warm skin, still slightly heated from the sun.

“Are you going to take it off?” You whisper and it’s clearly all the permission he needs, eyes meeting on yours as he notes the soft nod you give him, before he’s letting his fingers push it off your shoulder softly.

He moves to the other one at the same time he fully sits up so you’re both half kneeling in front of each other, slowly pulling the second strap down and lean in to kiss your collarbone as he does so. You suck in a sharp breath and he falters at that, glancing up at you to double check.

“You can take it off.” You say softly immediately, a little breathy. “You’ve been so patient.”

Clearly that patience had worn out because Eddie is quick to reach behind your back and undo the tie holding your top up, eyes locked on your chest when it falls in your lap.

He stares at you for so long you start to squirm uncomfortably and then he’s gently moving the fabric to the side and shifting closer so he can go back to kissing your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and your hands go to his curls, softly running your fingers through them as he kisses up your neck down to your shoulders.

“You can go lower.” You encourage and you feel him lightly tense like the idea is a little too overwhelming for him.

It’s brief though and he follows the light instruction soon after hearing it, his hands moving to cage both of your ribs in his big palms. He just barely grazes the top of your chest with his lips before you can hear a sharp laugh from Sarah down below.

You’re both hit with the sudden realization of where you are and what you’re doing, your eyes wide with panic and he sits up rigidly.

You hear Alex next and that snaps you out of it, scrambling to grab your top and pull it over your shoulders. Eddie is just as eager to get behind you and help you tie it back up, shivers down your spine when his fingertips touch your skin.

“You two okay?” Alex calls from below and you can’t bring yourself to answer, grateful when Eddie gives a murmur of approval before helping you climb down the ladder and get the blankets back in the van.

You stay quiet until you’re back in the van, tucking your face into his neck and groaning softly as the embarrassment fully hits you.

“That was humiliating.” You whisper once you pick your head back up.

“Yeah a little bit.” He agrees with a soft smile and that only makes you let out another disgruntled noise before resting your head on his shoulder.

The car ride back is mostly pleasant if you can block out the thoughts of somebody having seen you topless but you feel a large amount of relief when the city skyline comes into view. Sarah gets dropped back off at her apartment before the boys find street parking near campus for the van, calling Eddies mom on the pay phone down the road to let her know you’d bring it back tomorrow morning.

You linger around the dorms before opting for heading back to their place with them, ignoring the pleased smile on Eddies face when you catch up with him and wrap your hand in his.

Sleepovers aren’t that rare between the two of you so you can tell right away that he’s acting strange.

He’s taking twice as long as usual in the bathroom and hovering around his dresser like he’s looking for something. You’d changed into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts you’d left there before, the air much more chilled now that the sun is set.

You sit on his bed and frown at him as he stalls climbing in with you.

“Eddie.” You call after ten minutes have passed and he freezes, blinking at you. “Are you acting weird because you saw my tits?”

The question lingers in the air for a few seconds before he’s sighing and facing you fully.

“Okay yeah.” He admits with surprising ease and you continue to frown as he finally comes over to sit next to you. “I’m just thinking about it.”

“My tits?” You specify and now he winces at the vulgar phrasing.

“Not necessarily your… you know. Just the situation in general.” He supplies and you can only stare at the side of his face.

It’s awkward for a handful of seconds before you’re standing up to turn off the lights, leaving you in near darkness outside of the orange hued lamp in the corner of his room.

“Come on, let’s try something.” You say softly as you go and lay down on his bed, facing the wall as you rest on your side. “Get behind me.”

You can almost feel his hesitation but he doesn’t eventually, the position coming naturally to you both as he curves his body around yours. It feels more intimate than normal considering the conversation you were just having but you still reach back to grab his hands and bring them to the front of your chest.

You just hold them for a moment before you’re taking a deep breath and lightly pressing them against the fabric of your tank top.

He tensed behind you and sucked in air sharply through his teeth but it didn’t take him long to relax and follow the instinct to lightly apply some pressure.

“I-it feels good when you squeeze.” You whisper softly, face warming up instantly at how vulgar it sounded. “So don’t be shy.”

That was all he really needed to hear before he started to really touch you, big hands cupping your breast repeatedly as you both laid there and took shaky breaths. You were making soft whimpering sounds which really didn’t help the temperature as it started to climb against.

“Mm feels good Eddie. Is this okay?” You whisper.

“God yes.” He breathed out before pressing a few light kisses to your shoulders, his hands starting to get a little rougher now as he groped your chest eagerly.

“Should we take it off?” You nearly whine.

“Is that what you want?” He asks softly and keeps kissing your skin, moving onto your neck and lingering there as he waits for your reply. You nod immediately and he doesn’t waste any type before shifting your body and pulling the shirt you borrowed over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

He was back to touching you instantly and you both made a strangled sound at the skin on skin contact, his hands getting rough again as he pulled your breast apart before squeezing them together. His thumbs kept brushing your nipples in a way that made you start to pant and he shifted behind you.

“Fuck I feel you getting hard.” You gasped and he made a nearly growl like sound, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.

His hips moved forward at the words on instinct before he was tensing and moving backwards like he was trying to avoid touching you like that.

“N-no I want you to feel good too. You can rub it against me.” You encouraged and it was mostly selfish, wanting to feel it so bad you could barely think.

He hesitated for a second before he was rocking his hips forward and going back to roughly groping your chest, his breath getting quicker in your ear as low grunts left his mouth.

You felt like you were on fire, stomach twisting in a coil of need as you tried to arch your back and rub yourself back with him as he moved almost feverishly.

The mixture of the two sensations was overstimulating in the best way possible.

“Say something. I love your voice.” You begged and you could barely recognize yourself and the high pitched tone you’d taken on in your pleasure.

“You’re so pretty.” He was quick to murmur it out, kissing your shoulder slowly again. “Fuck I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His hands were going back and forth between squeezing, lightly tugging at your nipples, and getting a bit more bold when he’d rest them on your neck.

You could really feel him now, your tiny shorts riding up so much there was barely any fabric to mute the sensation of him rubbing against you. He was hot and heavy, clearly large in size even if he wasn’t fully hard yet which you figured he was judging by the way he was almost whimpering into your neck.

“It’s so fucking good.” You gasped out and he full out growled now as he picked up the pace, bed rocking. “Oh god yes, keep humping me.”

Eddies movements were beyond frantic, moving a hand down to roughly grip your hips and keep you still so he could really grind himself against you. He swore under his breath and sat up abruptly, ignoring your whine so he could roll you over into your back and get on top of you.

You gasped and spread your legs for him instantly when you registered what he wanted, nodding his head and whimpering loudly when he rocked his hips against you from the new position.

Now you could feel his length right where you needed it most, your core so sensitive already just from the lewd way he was touching your body like it belonged to him. You loved the deep grunts he was making in your ear, foul words under his breath like he couldn’t contain them anymore.

You made a strangled sound and clung to him, arm around the back of his neck as he kept you pinned down with a strong hand on your stomach.

“Harder.” You whined impatiently.

“Fuck baby I’ll cum.” He groaned, shaking his head and kissing your neck so sloppily you got dizzy with the desire to have his mouth on yours.

He still listened to your request and started to really fuck against you, both of you panting and completely lost in the sensations as you chased the high of finally getting to feel eachother like this.

It was like you got thrown off the top of the mountain when you heard the familiar voice right outside the door, both of you stiffening as you tried to make out the words Alex was saying.

He sounded slightly panicked and definitely guilty but he was trying to tell you something about Sarah being in trouble with her dad and desperately needing a ride, asking Eddie if he could please take his moms van to go and get her.

Eddie sighed and flopped down ontop of you, waiting a long few seconds before he shouted out his approval. You listened to Alex walk away but you both already felt the side effects of being interrupted when you were potentially making a mistake.

You kissed the side of his face and he took the sweet cue, rolling off of you and tugging you against your chest while you tried to control your breathing.

“We can’t do anything with them around.” You whisper softly and you only realized after it left your mouth that it sounded like you intended to keep this up. “It’s too risky.”

He didn’t reply for a bit and you figured he had noticed the same thing, only confirmed when he softly hummed in agreement and rubbed your arm supportively.

That turned out to be a nearly impossible rule considering your friends were always around. Sarah had practically moved into the apartment after the disagreement with her dad and you couldn’t exactly give your opinion because it wasn’t necessarily your place either but the small space was getting a little too cramped.

You spent more time at the dorm just to get a little privacy but you missed Eddie too much to keep away for long.

Alex had currently turned the entire place into a full fledged party, no doubt welcoming a dozen noise complaints from the neighbors. You’d needed a break over an hour ago and you just now managed to get yourself away from the crowd, climbing out the window to settle up on the fire escape.

You were never surprised by how easily Eddie found you when you were disappeared so you barely blinked an eye when he was following behind you only a few minutes later.

He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth but he was quick to discard it as soon as he saw you looking.

“Hi.” You said softly once he was sat next to you, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hi baby.” He whispered back, taking a sip from his nearly empty beer can before gazing out at the city with you.

“Can’t believe you grew up here.” You said in a bit of a daze, truly content to have him by your side like this while you admired the view you’d dreamt of for so long. “Does it get any less beautiful when you see it everyday?”

He was quiet for a bit so you dragged your eyes off the buildings to look at him, meeting his stare and smiling softly.

“Gets prettier every time I see it.” He whispered and you knew right away he wasn’t talking about the city, his gaze darting all over your face like he was committing it to memory.

You had to look away because you were suddenly feeling very emotional over the entire setting, resting your head back on his shoulder so you could avoid seeing his face again.

Eddie warmed you under your skin and it terrified you.

“I’m really going to miss it when summer comes.” Your voice is quiet and he tenses a little bit like he’d forgotten what looms around the corner.

You’d considered staying in the city during the months you didn’t have school, maybe asking Sarah to let you permanently room with her and even debating if you and Eddie were going to be at a place where you could just stay with him without it being weird.

You didn’t think you were, in fact you had decided that it would be almost catastrophic for the two of you to be around each other every single day, sleeping in the same bed and sharing a space like you were something much more than you were.

And you missed your home town underneath the awe of the big city, thinking about it often as you laid in bed and wished for a break from the constant noise pollution and busyness.

“You could stay.” Eddie whispered like he knew what you were thinking and he shifted so you had no choice but to look at him again, your knees touching and his eyes on your face while yours stayed downcast.

“Are you going to be here for me when I come back?” You tried to lighten the topic by ignoring his suggestion, not wanting to outwardly say that wasn’t an option to you.

“Of course I will be.” He answered earnestly despite your attempt at a joke, shifting and rubbing your noses together while his hands moved to squeeze yours. “I’ll pick you up the second you get here.”

“Not going to run off with any city girls?” Your tone was still teasing but you really hoped he would answer this one genuinely.

You were already depriving Eddie and even though it was his decision to not do anything with anybody else, you still felt guilty about your hesitance. Especially knowing you’d be far away and he wouldn’t even get the small relief of feeling you touch him, getting to have you close to him still.

It made you feel sick to think about him with somebody else, somebody more permanent with their feet caught in the concrete streets you couldn’t seem to get used to.

“Just you.” He says back and rubs your knuckles softly, bringing it up to kiss your wrist lightly.

You stare at him for a few long seconds with overwhelming fondness.

“Maybe you could come with me.” You whisper and he freezes.

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s a really small town and super outdoorsy.” You start to ramble to try and make yourself feel less embarrassed for the offer. It’s clearly not casual at all to try and bring him back to your hometown for the summer, surrounded by your entire family and the friends you grew up with. “I’d just… I would really miss you.”

He blinks at you like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying but the small smile on his face slightly eases your anxiety. He starts to slowly nod in agreement so you squeeze his hands and shift closer.

“You’d have to meet my parents.” You remind him before he can confirm, wanting him to understand the stakes of coming along instead of just impulsively accepting because he’s desperate to be around you. “And my siblings and be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’d be with you.” He cuts you off and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth that almost makes you frown, a little overwhelmed by how much you like him.

You keep waiting for him to do something you dislike, to give you a reaction or even a quick glance that lets you believe he’s not this perfect guy. He’s never angry or judgmental, he’s friendly and calm when it’s expected but knows how to have a good time otherwise and you can never stop laughing when you’re around him.

You think of the way Sarah constantly seems to be laughing with Alex, less sharp and intense when they’re together. She loses the bite behind her teasing remarks like he steadies her internally.

It was on your mind now as you took the trip back home for the first time since you left it all those months ago, a nervous bounce of your knee that’s immediately soothed by the familiar hand rubbing over it gently.

Eddie gives you a soft smile when you glance over at him appreciatively and you return it.

You didn’t need to discuss the logic behind him coming with you because you both knew it was happening as soon as you mentioned it. Neither one of you wanted to be without the other for that long of a time and it soothed any insecurity of worry about what he’d be doing in the city while you were gone, although you were certain beneath the mean voice in your head that he would be on his best behavior.

He didn’t owe you any loyalty but he had offered it so consistently that you felt comfortable expecting it.

The three months you spent together in your hometown felt just as magical as that day on the beach had.

Eddie fit in perfectly and despite introducing him as your friend to everybody, you could see the knowing looks being sent your way and you didn’t bother correcting them.

It was a whole new experience to get to see him outside of the city he was born in, the furthest he’d ever been from it both in terms of distance and lifestyle. He’d wake you up in the morning with a soft whisper that he was going fishing with your cousin, come home around dinner time with dirt on his pants and a proud, nearly boyish smile.

You felt a jolt of happiness as you stood side by side with your mom in the kitchen and helped her prepare dinner, your dad talking to Eddie the next room over as they flipped through your childhood photo books.

He came in at one point to give you a soft kiss on the cheek and ask if you needed any help from him before he ran to town for some household items, telling him you were okay and then trying to ignore the fond look your mom was giving you.

It was a new side of your connection, getting to almost roleplay a domestic small town life as you navigated the warm days and his constant presence.

You kept up with your search for something you could dislike about him, expecting it to show itself now that you were together almost all of the time, but you realized pretty quickly that it was pointless.

You’d watch him interact with the older women at the farmers market politely, call Alex weekly from your home phone and update him on the more rural things he’d been learning with genuine interest, and play with your younger siblings endlessly until the sun went down.

It was pretty clear by the end of summer that you were in love with him.

There was still that frustrating limbo you’d put both of you in but you didn’t know how to break out of it yet. You had wished he would just disrespect your old boundaries and make the first move but he was too good of a guy for that, backing up whenever his hands would wander a little too intensely.

He kept them mostly off of you around your family other than a hand around your waist or brief greeting kiss to your cheek but you felt the heat that still lingered when you’d be back in your room each night.

Your parents thankfully hadn’t set any rules about the two of you sharing a bed even though you almost would have preferred that to the torture of having him that close but somehow still so far.

He’d let himself be a bit more bold then, his palms that had gotten rougher over the weeks of outdoor activities would run over your bare stomach as he pushed your shirt up higher.

You’d both stay quiet in the room any time anything happened like you were afraid to speak and scare the other, memories of that night after the beach where he’d touch you constantly on rotation.

His hands wouldn’t go past your ribs and you’d try to ignore the disappoint each time he kissed the back of your neck and settled into sleep instead of going further.

It was a rough adjustment to go back to the city but you missed it all the same, especially your friends who greeted you both eagerly at the bus stop once you arrived.

Sarah had made a cute sign with your names combined on it, shaking it and jumping up and down when she saw you coming with your luggage.

She’d demanded that you spend the night with her so you could catch up and you locked eyes with Eddie as she dragged you away, feeling the ache deep in your stomach as you separated for the first time in months.

“You guys didn’t even kiss?” She looked appalled at the revelation, pulling back the brush she’d been using to apply a face mask to your skin. She’d told you that the country air had made you look dry and ignored you when you said you lived in the suburbs. “Are you joking?”

“I don’t know okay?” You groaned and went to hide in your hands before remembering the sticky substance all over your skin and throwing them down into your lap instead.

She gave you that familiar judging look, perfectly tweezed eyebrow raising as she gave you a once over.

“You need to make a move.” She determined by the end of it and you sighed in defeat. “I’m serious.”

“I don’t know if he’ll want it still.” You shake your head and now she scoffs in disbelief.

“Are you stupid?” Her voice is biting but you’ve known her long enough to know it’s from a place of support. “You’re hot, he’s horny and obsessed with you. Obviously he’s going to want it.”

You thought about it non stop after that conversation because you weirdly were able to believe her when she said it like that.

All four of you went out the next night for drinks, celebrating the end of a summer apart and the start of the next school year together.

It was ridiculous how much you had missed Eddie after only a day and a half apart, sliding comfortably against his side as soon as you and Sarah got into the bar. He seemed just as eager to see you, kissing the side of your head a handful of times and bringing both arms around your waist so you couldn’t go anywhere.

“Missed you so much.” He was saying it softly but it was loud enough for your friends to hear, groaning immediately while he flipped them the bird.

“How’d you two only get worse?” Alex teased but you were in too good of a mood to be annoyed, especially since he wasn’t necessarily wrong.

For the first time in a long time, you drank as much as they did. Typically you stayed sober and collected while they had their fun and you were quickly realizing how terrible of an idea it was to be drunk around Eddie.

You were ten times more wanting of his touch, constantly clinging to him and getting uncharacteristically pouty when he would leave to go to the bathroom or get another drink. He didn’t seem to notice how extra affectionate you were being due to his own tipsy state, easily giving you the attention you needed like it was second nature.

You both went to the bar together at one point and it was clear to you right away that it was risky to be without the buffer of your friends.

Your hands were sliding over his ribs and you could barely make out anything he was saying to the bartender, thankfully not the pretty one from all those months ago.

He finished ordering and turned to give you his full attention, your chest pressed together as he lightly kissed your temple.

“You know..” You were speaking before you even realized you were and his eyes locked on yours, a little less glossy than your own but still dazed. “I was thinking about that night in your apartment. The one after the beach.”

It had been months now but you both knew exactly what you were referring to, the unforgettable memory of his hands getting rougher on you and your whiny voice begging him to keep going before you were interrupted.

His eyes were darkening a little at the topic and you kept absentmindedly rubbing him, up his chest and then back down.

“Yeah?” He offered back and you were nodding in confirmation, gaze more hooded when he let out a shaky breath and slid his hands onto your lower back so he could tug you closer.

“It felt so good, didn’t it?” You whispered and he was quick to mumble out an agreement that you didn’t quite hear.

You pulled your lip between your bottom tip with slight nerves, the most you could still feel with this much alcohol running through you and offering up an abundance of liquid courage. He leaned down just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth and your hands tighten where they’d been resting on his biceps.

The bartender was clearing his throat behind you and sliding your finished drinks closer to where you stood but you both ignored him, a small pout forming on your face as you rocked on your tiptoes to hide in Eddies neck for a second.

“You know I want you right?” You mumbled against his warm skin, thinking back on Sarah’s advice.

He tensed a little but held you closer, full on hugging you now as you rested against his shoulder.

“I want you too.” His voice was always so genuine when he was confessing something to you, a little innocent like he just desperately wanted you to know how much he liked you.

The bar area was getting a little too crowded and you felt a tinge of anxiety, sighing and pulling away from him to grab two of the four drinks.

“Let’s go back.” You encouraged and he hesitated before grabbing the remaining glasses and following you back to the booth you’d moved to almost two hours ago.

He set the drinks down before he was sliding into his spot and stretching his arm out like he expected you to sit next to him. You hesitated for a long few seconds, getting an eyebrow raised from Sarah that you took as encouragement.

You scooted along the wood until you were right beside him and then lifted yourself up and onto his lap, sitting sideways on his thigh and holding onto his shoulder so you didn’t sway backwards.

His eyes widened just enough for it to be noticeable but he was easily wrapping his arm around your middle to support you.

“Sorry. Just want to be close to you.” You explained to him and he looked a little choked up, nodding but not saying anything for a while.

You frowned as they all fell back into conversation even though Eddie was mostly just listening to the other two talk amongst themselves, his thumb pushing down the fabric of your jeans just enough to rub your hip.

Ten minutes passed before you were growing impatient again, taking a long sip of your drink before turning your body more and leaning down towards his ear.

“I want to talk more about that night.” You whispered and then pulled back to hold his gaze, his eyes curious and maybe a little bit confused.

Now it was his turn to lean towards you, lips brushing your ear enough to make a shiver run over you. “I think about it all the time.”

“Yeah?” You were desperately latching onto this information. “What about?”

“Just everything about you. The way you looked and the way you sounded when I touched you.” His eyes were leaving your face in favor of going up and down your frame repeatedly.

You shifted on his lap just to get more comfortable as you turned more to face him but his breath hitched, pausing the way he was rubbing your hip to instead hold it tightly and keep you still.

“I loved when you touched me.” You whisper next and he reaches up with his free hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face a little more in his direction so he can rub his nose against yours in that endearing habit of his. “Your hands felt so good.”

It was quiet for a few seconds and you moved in his lap again, not necessarily meaning to but still drunk and wanting so desperately to soothe that ache that was slowly building between your legs the more you spoke and thought back to that night.

“You got so worked up.” Your voice was getting a little whinier now and his breath was speeding up at the sound of it. “Probably would’ve came in your pants if we didn’t get interrupted.”

He nearly growled at that and you smiled, happy he was starting to crack a little bit the more you went on. Eddie was clearly doing his best to keep being respectful but you could tell how much he wanted to kiss you and speed things up.

You kept shifting and rubbing your thighs together and he swore under his breath, eyes going down to your lap. He snaked a hand between your thighs just to grip tightly and try to keep you from moving.

“Sorry.” Your pout was exaggerated. “Not trying to get you riled up.”

“Uh huh.” He kissed his teeth and sent you a playful glare, clearly not believing you considering the way you were acting.

“I wish I wore a skirt tonight.” You added and he let out a sigh at the idea, starting to rub your denim covered thighs instead of just holding them.

You were painfully wanting as he touched you, rubbing your nose along his jaw and closing your eyes to fully enjoy the way he was feeling you up under the table. It probably was overly obvious what you were doing but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about the others around you.

He helped you move so you were straddling him instead of sitting sideways, an instinctive move you both did without thinking.

His hands kept rubbing you, this time moving up and down your back with one of his palms going under your shirt to feel the bare skin.

Now it was impossible to not shift your hips a little bit on top of him, whining softly and burying your face in his neck.

“I-I’m needy.” You confessed in a near gasp and he groaned.

“I know baby.” His voice was lower than you’d ever heard it and that only spurred you on, closing your eyes and kissing the warm skin you were hiding against as you started to really gently rock ontop of him. It just looked like two drunk people feverishly making out, or at least you hoped so.

You were getting more and more worked up the longer you sat there together, his big hands moving to your hips to help you keep moving.

“Is this okay?” His voice was shaky and you were quick to kiss his jaw lightly in encouragement.

He adjusted himself on the seat, sliding a bit lower to give you a tiny amount of privacy and keep you slightly more covered by the table top. The movement just pressed you closer against him and you tried to muffle your needy whine in his shirt collar.

“Touch me.” You were firm in the request and he didn’t hesitate once he heard the tone you’d taken on.

You sighed in relief when you felt his hands leave your back and hips in favor of grabbing your ass through your jeans, back instinctively arching to give him better access. He massaged it softly just like he’d done with your chest all those months back, tugging you back and forth in his lap to keep building that friction.

“Fuck you’re getting so…” You picked your head up to look down at where you were connected, seeing the clear evidence of his arousal and locking eyes with him so he could tell how much the was driving you crazy.

His face was flushed like he was embarrassed and you noticed how overwhelmed he looked, slowing down and feeling a little guilty for your boldness before you felt him grunt at the lack of movement and furrow his eyebrows.

You hesitated for a few seconds to try and figure out what he wanted and then decided you were sick of guessing.

“You want to rub it against me?” You asked softly, leaning back in to kiss below his ear.

“Yeah.” He said immediately and squeezed your back pockets again. “Fuck yeah.”

He started to slowly tilt his hips up to move against your soft rocks, trying your best to not be so obvious while also feverishly chasing after that feeling.

It felt so good to finally get him like this, under you and just as wanting as you were. You couldn’t even contain yourself long enough to get to his apartment or even the bathroom, you needed him right now.

He was clearly getting overwhelmed again because his hips would jolt up against you like he couldn’t control it, soft apologies leaving his mouth when you’d gasp or jump at the sudden movements.

Knowing he was just as needy as you was only making you burn hotter.

“Fuck I wanna make you cum.” He almost whimpered it out and that was nearly too much for you, speeding up and letting your lips brush against his for a second before hiding back in his neck as you started to whine louder.

The friction was perfect, building up to the point you could barely even think about anything other than making him feel good with you.

“Hump me more.” You whined, not sure it was even audible considering how hard you were pressing your mouth against his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.

His hands moved from your ass to the back of your thighs to keep you moving even as you got a little too desperate to function, the way you were bouncing growing sloppier now that he was pressing up against you at the same time.

It was getting to be almost too much, your entire body tingling with the need to get off.

You could vaguely hear Alex awkwardly announcing they were going to get a drink from the bar, forgetting they were even there and silently hoping they’d get the hint and not come back for a while.

Everybody else around you was either too drunk or too tired to care about some horny college kids in the corner booth.

“Feel good baby?” He was speaking in a voice you’d never heard from him and that only made you speed up.

“Yes Eddie yes.” You whimpered

One of his hands moved to tangle in your hair, forming a fist in the locks and making you gasp at the light pain that spread across your scalp. You expected him to immediately release it once he heard that noise but he was clearly too buzzed or too caught in the feeling to remember how gentle he normally was with you.

You couldn’t complain, not with the way pleasure instantly followed the stinging sensation.

“Keep going.” You encouraged with soft pants, kissing alongside his neck. “I’m dripping.”

That seemed to really drive him crazy, like the idea that he was making you feel good was better than anything else.

His hand slid up under your shirt, rubbing your back and playing with the clasp of your bra like he was heavily debating taking it off. You’d started to sober up from the drinks but you were beyond drunk on him.

“Uh guys.”

You both froze but you didn’t dare look behind you at Alex’s awkward cough, burying yourself in Eddies neck and hoping he could just teleport you home instead of having to deal with this conversation.

His chest was lifting and falling heavily below you and making your frame move in the process. You knew him well enough to know his face was bright red, only confirmed when you finally slid off his lap and glanced at him with mild embarrassment.

“Yeah. Just friends.” Sarah quipped and you sent her a glare as she smiled and winked at you, clearly internally proud you’d taken her advice and made a move on him.

“Sarah.” Eddie's voice was still low and hoarse, another shiver running over you at how affected he sounded. “We’re just… tipsy.”

It was a weak excuse and a few months ago it would have hurt your feelings but you knew how much he wanted you, drunk or sober. He was clearly just trying to ease the tension and make you feel better about your desperate actions, a soothing hand landing on your thigh.

“We should go.” He said next and this time it was specifically directed at you, facing you finally and squeezing your leg to try to encourage you to agree.

“Yeah.” You were quick to nod and scoot out of the booth, grabbing his hand once he was standing beside you.

You both lingered by the table like you were trying to think of an excuse to give your friends that didn’t make it so obvious.

“Oh my god please just leave already.” Sarah groaned and pressed her forehead against the wood for a brief second to really showcase her exhaustion. “Don’t talk to us until you’ve fucked each other.”

Your face burned again at the comment and Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to try and defend you, stopped short when you tugged his arm and started to move towards the exit.

You walked in silence for most of the way, the night air thankfully cooling off how heated your body still felt especially since you could feel him staring at the side of your face.

Eventually you slowed to a stop under a flickering street lamp, avoiding his concerned eyes when he stopped beside you.

“I’m really sorry about that.” You said softly with clear humiliation. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“Stop it.” He said immediately and he cupped your face, tilting it back so you had to stare up at him. “It’s okay, I get it. We both were drunk and we really like each other.”

You smiled softly at that, how convinced he sounded.

“Yeah? You really like me?” You whispered back and you were half thinking he was going to tease you back about your own feelings.

Instead, he was surging forward to finally kiss you.

It was desperate and full of all the pent up emotions you’d kept for the entire time you’d known each other, all the times you’d nearly connected like this but not quite gotten there.

His mouth moved against yours urgently like he thought he didn’t have much time before you were telling him to stop like you always did so you made sure to eagerly lick into his mouth to make sure he knew just how much you wanted this too.

The heat from the bar came back with a vengeance, one of his hands instinctively going down to grab your ass tightly and tug you closer to him before it was resting on your lower back.

His tongue was rubbing against yours, coating your chin with saliva from how sloppy and needy it was on both ends.

You liked Eddie beyond words but right now you didn’t have time for the big romantic confessions, not making love and taking your time with each other. You figured you could do that for the rest of your lives but right now you needed him to fuck you.

You told him as much between kisses and his eyes darkened, tugging you into one more deep makeout before he was whistling down a cab and nearly pushing you into the back of it.

You kissed like that the entire ride back to his apartment, barely making it out of the doors in your refusal to let go of each other.

Thankfully it seemed like Alex and Sarah had no plans to come home tonight because you barely got inside before your clothes were coming off, falling back on the couch and gasping when he was landing ontop of you.

Your hands were all over him as you undressed, running over his stomach and chest while he eagerly groped at your nipples again and finally took them in his mouth like he’d been so close to doing those months ago.

It was euphoric, feeling him rub against you for only a few minutes before he was getting too impatient and pulling your panties down your legs.

The way you’d been humping each other at the bar was enough to ensure you both were ready to go, your legs easily parting for him so he could line himself up and push deep inside of you.

It felt like more than just sex, it felt like a connection that you’d been waiting for all this time. You felt whole with him like this, filling you up so nicely and giving you that perfect stretch you’d been dreaming of.

You wanted to take a second to really appreciate him, get on your knees and worship his cock so he knew just how much you loved him and the way he was always so gentle with you. But you decided to wait until after he fucked you stupid, his hips already struggling not to move the second he bottomed out.

“Fuck me, fuck me.” You gasped in a pant as you tried to get him to move, soaking up the low grunts he was letting out in your ear as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder and tried his best to not hurt you. “Please Eddie, I want it so bad.”

“Are you sure baby?” His voice was still that cute nervous tone you liked so much, kissing your cheek so gently despite the heat of the situation. You were quick to nod your head and try to adjust yourself to feel him more and he swore lightly. “Fuck okay yeah. I love you so much sweetheart, tell me if it’s too much.”

You wanted to focus on his words and let him know how much you loved him too but you couldn’t pay attention to his sudden confession once he started to really move.

He was fucking you with shocking roughness considering how sweet of a boy he was but you couldn’t have been happier, needing that pace after the year of dancing around each other.

It was perfect, just like every other day you got to experience with him before that and every single one after.

You didn’t forget to make sure he knew just how loved he was by you afterwards when you were holding each other in his bed, soft kisses on his freckled skin as he flushed over your words.

You told him it constantly in the morning after, whispering it when you cooked breakfast together and writing it in each other’s notebooks while you studied in the library.

The firefighter came in bloody, pissed off, and trying very hard to pretend he was not in pain. It was just after two in the morning, which meant the emergency department had settled into that strange night-shift rhythm where everything felt too bright and too quiet until it suddenly wasn’t.

Crus was at the nurses’ station attempting to fix a jammed printer. Shen was half a hallway down, talking to a drunk college student about the emotional consequences of a fractured wrist. Ellis was already pulling gloves on when the ambulance bay doors opened. And Jack was beside you at the foot of trauma two, expression calm in the way that meant he had already started building a plan before the stretcher crossed the threshold.

“Thirty-four-year-old male, firefighter, injured on scene,” the paramedic said as the stretcher rolled in. “Partial ceiling collapse during overhaul. Took debris to the shoulder and left flank. No loss of consciousness. Vitals stable en route.”

The firefighter on the stretcher opened one eye. “You make it sound dramatic.”

“You got hit by part of a ceiling,” another firefighter said, walking in beside the stretcher with the run sheet in one hand. “It was dramatic.”

The patient frowned. “I walked out.”

His teammate looked down at him. “You were carried out.”

“I assisted,” the patient said.

“You complained,” the other firefighter corrected.

You bit back a smile as you stepped toward the bed. “Sounds like he’s alert.”

The teammate’s mouth curved. “Unfortunately.”

Jack’s mouth did not move, but you felt the almost-smile in him anyway. Jack braced one hand on the rail. “On three. One, two, three.”

The team transferred the firefighter to the trauma bed. He hissed through his teeth, jaw tightening hard as you helped guide his injured side down.

“I’m fine,” the firefighter said.

Jack looked at him over the end of the bed. “That usually means you’re not.”

You almost smiled again.

The firefighter’s teammate noticed. His attention shifted to you, quick and interested, and his mouth curved like he had decided the night had improved.

You held out your hand for the run sheet. “And you are?”

“Mason Brooks,” he said, passing it over. “Station Four.”

You glanced down at the paperwork. “Patient’s name?”

“Ryan Hale,” Mason said. “Lieutenant. Stubborn. Hero complex. Bad at following directions unless there’s active fire involved.”

Hale turned his head on the pillow. “I can still hear you.”

“Good,” Mason said. “Maybe this time it’ll sink in.”

You scanned the sheet. “Any meds? Allergies?”

Mason shifted closer to the end of the bed. “No known allergies. No daily meds. Unless coffee counts.”

“At this hour, it does,” you said.

Mason’s grin widened. “See, I knew I liked you.”

Jack’s hand paused for half a second on the bed rail. Half a second. Nothing more.

You kept your attention on the patient. “Lieutenant Hale,” you said, leaning into his line of sight. “I’m going to cut through your shirt so we can look at your shoulder and ribs, okay?”

Hale grimaced. “Whatever you need.”

Mason leaned a little closer, eyes still on you. “That offer extend to the rest of us, or just him?”

Crus, who had just stepped into the room, looked up immediately. Shen appeared in the doorway at exactly the wrong time, chart in hand. Ellis stopped opening a pack of gauze. You did not look at any of them. You also did not look at Jack. You could feel him perfectly well without that.

“Patient first,” you said, sliding the trauma shears through the fabric of Hale’s shirt. “Flirting never.”

Mason laughed, low and pleased, like you had given him exactly the answer he wanted. His eyebrows lifted. “Never?”

Jack reached over and adjusted the monitor lead near Hale’s shoulder. He did not need to. You knew that because you had already placed it. Still, his forearm came briefly into your space, a clean line of muscle and restraint under fluorescent light.

“Brooks,” Jack said.

The room went still in the way a room could only go still while everyone inside it kept working. Mason glanced at him.

Jack did not look away from the patient. “She needs room.”

Mason lifted both hands, grin still there. “I’m out of the way.”

Jack finally looked at him. “More.”

Crus looked down at the supply cart with sudden, religious interest. Shen pressed his lips together. Ellis coughed once into her shoulder. Mason took one step back. But he did not stop smiling. That was probably what did it. Because he was not being creepy. He was not interfering. He was not saying anything you could not handle. He was just obvious. Obvious enough that everyone in the room knew exactly what he was doing. Obvious enough that Jack had to stand beside you and pretend he did not care.

You palpated carefully along Hale’s shoulder. “Left shoulder tenderness. Possible clavicle involvement.”

Jack moved with you. Again. He stepped in at Hale’s other side, close enough that the two of you fell into the old rhythm before you could think about it. You checked the shoulder. Jack checked the ribs. You reached for gauze, and he passed it to you before you asked. Your fingers brushed. Barely. It was nothing. It was everything. 

Jack kept his eyes on Hale. “Any trouble breathing?”

Hale shook his head. “No.”

Jack’s hand stilled near the bruising along Hale’s side. “Pain when you take a deep breath?”

“Some,” Hale said.

Jack nodded once. “Chest X-ray. Shoulder films. CBC, CMP. Pain control.”

You reached for the tablet beside the bed. “Already paging X-ray.”

Jack’s gaze cut to you. For one second, there he was. Your Jack. Not Dr. Abbot. Not the attending pretending he had not kissed you against your apartment door less than eight hours ago. Your Jack. The one who knew how you took your coffee on the night shift. The one who texted you to make sure you got inside when you drove home after dark. 

Then he blinked, and the wall came back up. “Good,” Jack said.

Not thank you. Good. Professional enough to pass. Intimate enough to make your stomach turn over.

Mason glanced between you again, and even though he could not possibly know, you hated that he sensed something. 

“So,” Mason said, looking at you while Jack checked the bruising along Hale’s flank, “you always make trauma look this easy?”

You reached for tape. Jack got it first. Again. He handed it to you without looking away from Hale. You stared at the roll in his hand for half a second before taking it.

“Only when men in uniform behave,” you said.

Crus made a strangled noise. Shen turned halfway toward the door like he needed a moment.

Ellis muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under her breath.

Despite yourself, your mouth curved. It was small. Barely there. The kind of smile you would have swallowed immediately if you had realized anyone was watching.

Mason saw it anyway. His own smile turned delighted.

“There it is,” Mason said.

You looked at him. “There what?”

Mason leaned lightly against the wall, still at the distance Jack had ordered him to keep. “That smile. I was starting to think you were going to make me work for it all night.”

Jack set the chart down. Quietly. Too quietly. Crus froze. Shen looked at Ellis. Ellis looked at you.

You kept your voice light, but final. “Mason.”

Mason held your gaze for one second, then nodded like he knew he had found the line.

“Too much?” he asked.

You gave him a pointed look. “Yes.”

Mason lifted one hand in surrender. “Got it.”

And he did. He stepped back, posture still easy, but his mouth finally closed, which you appreciated more than you wanted to admit. Jack moved to Hale’s other side, all precise hands and unreadable expression.

Jack glanced at Mason. “Anything else clinically relevant from the scene?”

Mason looked at him. This time, he did not smile. “No, sir,” Mason said.

Jack nodded once. “Good. Then we’ll take it from here.”

Mason looked toward Hale. “I’ll check back when they decide you’re not dying.”

Hale closed his eyes. “Bring coffee.”

Mason huffed. “You don’t deserve coffee.”

You smiled despite yourself. Mason saw it. Jack saw Mason see it. You knew because Jack stepped closer to the bed, blocking Mason’s line of sight like it was an accident. It was not an accident. Your breath caught. Mason’s gaze flicked to Jack’s back. Then to you. Then he nodded once, like something had finally clicked enough to make him curious.

“Nice to meet you,” Mason said.

You gave him a polite nod. “You too.”

Jack did not move until Mason left the room. Then the trauma bay exhaled. Crus was the first one brave enough to breathe like a person.

He looked at the supply cart. “I’m going to take these somewhere else.”

Jack did not look at him. “Good.”

Crus picked up a pack of gauze. “Great.”

Shen backed toward the doorway with the chart still in his hand. “I have a wrist fracture.”

Ellis gave him a look. “You personally?”

Shen ignored her and left. Ellis glanced between you and Jack, then dropped the unopened gauze onto the counter. “I’ll check on X-ray,” Ellis said.

Jack’s eyes stayed on Hale. “Thank you.”

Ellis left, too. Which left you with Jack, the patient, the beeping monitor, and the awful knowledge that Jack was standing close enough to touch you and still refusing to do it. Hale opened one eye.

“I’m on pain meds,” he said carefully, “so I’m going to pretend I didn’t notice any of that.”

Jack closed his eyes for half a second. 

You pressed your lips together. “Notice any of what?” you asked.

Hale looked at you. Then at Jack. Then back at you.

“Exactly,” Hale said.

The corner of Jack’s mouth almost moved. Almost. Then the wall came back up.

“Rest,” Jack said.

Hale shut his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

The trauma bay emptied out in pieces after that. Hale went to imaging. Mason left with the rest of Station Four. Crus disappeared the second Jack gave him another look, though you knew he would be back the moment he thought it was safe to breathe near you again. Shen pretended to have somewhere to be. Ellis actually did. Which left you at the counter outside trauma two, finishing the chart with one hip pressed against the cabinet and the leftover adrenaline of the call still humming beneath your skin.

Jack stood a few feet away, reviewing Hale’s orders on the computer. He had not said much since Mason left. That was not unusual for Jack during a shift. It was unusual for Jack with you. You were still trying to decide whether you should say something when another night shift nurse, Drew, slid up beside you with a fresh roll of tape in one hand and a grin already working its way across his face.

“So,” Drew said.

You did not look up from the chart. “No.”

Drew laughed. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were about to,” you said.

Drew leaned his shoulder against the cabinet. “I was about to say Station Four was looking very heroic tonight.”

You paused. Across the counter, Jack’s typing stopped. Only for a second. Then it resumed. You felt your stomach tighten. Drew did not notice. Of course, he did not notice. He lowered his voice in the exact way people did when they thought they were being subtle and absolutely were not.

“Brooks was flirting hard,” Drew said.

You sighed. “He was doing a handoff.”

“Please.” Drew rolled his eyes. “He was doing a handoff, making prolonged eye contact, and trying to get your number through trauma paperwork.”

Jack’s jaw shifted. Tiny. Controlled. You saw it anyway.

“Drew,” you warned.

Drew smiled wider. “What? He was cute.”

“I’m not dating a firefighter,” you said.

Drew frowned. “Okay, but we love a man in uniform.”

Jack went still. Not enough for anyone else to call it that. Not enough to be obvious. But the air around him changed again. You hated that your first instinct was to look at him. You hated more that you could not. Because looking at Jack right now would say too much. Instead, you kept your eyes on the chart and forced your voice to stay light.

“We?” you asked.

Drew pointed the roll of tape at you. “As a community.”

You gave him a look.

Drew shrugged. “A broad and beautiful community of people with eyes.”

Despite yourself, you almost laughed. Almost. Jack closed the chart on his screen. A little too carefully. You heard the click of the mouse. You felt it somewhere behind your ribs.

“I’m good,” you said.

Drew made a face. “You’re still doing that no-dating thing?”

You swallowed. The no-dating thing. Right. The harmless lie you had told people months ago when you and Jack had started becoming something neither of you had wanted to expose to hospital fluorescent lighting.

No dating. Too busy. Not worth the complication. 

A clean little excuse that had felt easy at the time.

Now, with Jack standing five feet away while another nurse encouraged you to go for a firefighter who had made him spend an entire trauma case pretending not to know you, it felt cruel.

“I’m good,” you repeated, softer this time.

Drew studied you for a second, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if Brooks comes back asking about you, I’m telling him you’re single and mysterious.”

“Drew,” you said.

He lifted both hands. “What?”

You pointed at him. “Do not do that.”

Drew grinned. “Fine. Single and terrifyingly unavailable.”

Jack looked up then. You felt it. His gaze on you. Not long. Not enough. Just a brief, controlled flick of his eyes that landed like a hand around your wrist.

Drew finally seemed to register the temperature of the room. His gaze shifted from you to Jack, then back again.

“Oh,” Drew said.

Your heart kicked once. Jack’s expression did not change.

“What?” you asked.

Drew blinked. “Nothing.”

“Drew,” you warned. 

“Nothing,” he repeated, suddenly fascinated by the roll of tape in his hand. “I’m going to restock three.”

He left too quickly. You stood there with your pen in your hand, your chart unfinished, and the awful knowledge that Jack was still looking at you. For one second, neither of you moved. Then Jack lowered his gaze back to the computer.

“Patient in four needs discharge papers,” Jack said.

Professional. Careful. A clean line drawn in the middle of the hallway.

You nodded, even though he was not looking at you anymore. “Okay.”

Jack clicked into another chart. You watched the muscle in his jaw move once. Then nothing. No comment about Drew. No sharp little confession. No hint that he cared whether Mason thought you were single, mysterious, available, unavailable, or anything else. Just Jack going quiet in the exact way that meant he was locking something down before it could get loose.

That was worse, somehow.

Because you knew him well enough to hear everything he refused to say. I know you are not going to go for it. I know you do not want him. I know this is not your fault. I still hated every second of it.

For the next twenty minutes, Jack stayed close. Not close enough for anyone to call it anything. Close enough that you noticed. He took the chart from your hand before Shen could reach for it. He stepped in beside you when Hale came back from imaging. He passed you gauze before you asked, tape before you reached, a fresh pair of gloves when yours tore at the wrist. Every touch almost happened. His knuckles almost brushed yours. His shoulder almost grazed your back. His hand almost settled at your waist when he moved behind you in the narrow space between the counter and the supply cart. Almost. Almost. Almost.

And each time, Jack pulled back before contact could become evidence. It was maddening. It was careful. It was so painfully him that you wanted to scream.

When Mason came back to check on Hale, Jack was already at your side. 

Mason stopped near the doorway, gaze flicking from Hale to you. “How’s he doing?”

“He’ll live,” you said.

Hale groaned from the bed. “Barely.”

Jack looked at the tablet in his hand. “No fracture. No pneumothorax. Observation for pain control and repeat exam.”

Mason nodded, but his eyes came back to you. “Good. I’d hate to think I left him in the wrong hands.”

You opened your mouth. Jack answered before you could. “She has it handled.”

The room went quiet. Mason’s brows lifted slightly. You looked at Jack. Jack did not look at you. His eyes stayed on Mason, calm and unreadable.

Mason’s mouth curved, slower this time. “I can see that.”

Jack’s jaw shifted. You set the tablet down before either of them could say another word.

“Lieutenant Hale needs rest,” you said, voice light but firm. “And I need both of you to stop having whatever conversation you think you’re having over his bed.”

Hale opened one eye. “Thank you.”

Mason laughed once, lifting both hands. “Fair.”

Jack finally looked at you. There was heat there. Frustration. Something too sharp to be professional and too controlled to be anything else. You held his gaze for half a second too long. Then Jack looked away first.

“Brooks,” Jack said, voice even. “You can check back in after he’s had some rest.”

Mason nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

He looked at you one last time. “Good seeing you again,” Mason said.

You gave him a polite nod. “You too.”

Jack moved before Mason fully cleared the doorway. It was subtle. A step to the side. A shift of his body. Nothing anyone could call possessive. But it put him directly between you and Mason’s line of sight. Your breath caught. Mason saw it. You knew he saw it because his expression changed just enough. Curiosity. Recognition. Not understanding, exactly. But close. Then Mason left.

Hale looked between you and Jack from the bed.

“I’m still on pain meds,” Hale said carefully, “so I’m going to pretend I didn’t notice that either.”

Jack’s eyes closed again. You pressed your lips together. From the doorway, Crus made the mistake of appearing with Hale’s updated paperwork. He looked at Jack. Then at you. Then at Hale.

“I can come back,” Crus said.

Jack turned his head. “Crus.”

Crus nodded. “Coming back.”

He disappeared immediately. You exhaled through your nose and grabbed the tablet from the counter.

“I’m going to restock,” you said.

Jack’s gaze followed you. “Now?”

“Yes,” you said, not looking at him. “Now.”

You made it halfway down the hall before Jack caught up. He did not call your name. He did not say anything at all. He just reached past you, opened the supply closet door, and said, low enough that only you could hear, “In.”

Your pulse jumped. You looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

Jack’s eyes held yours. “Please.”

That was worse. That was much worse. You stepped inside. The second the door clicked shut, Jack’s hand closed around your wrist. Not hard. Just firm enough to turn you back toward him before you could take another breath.

“Jack—”

He kissed you. 

The word disappeared against his mouth. For one stunned second, you froze, caught between the metal shelf at your back and the heat of him in front of you. Then your body caught up faster than your brain did. Your hands found his scrub top, fingers curling into the fabric as Jack stepped closer and kissed you like he had been holding himself back all night. Because he had. You knew it in the way his mouth moved over yours.

Controlled, but only barely. Careful, but not calm.

His hand slid to your waist, pulling you in once before he seemed to remember where you were and stopped himself from dragging you fully against him. When he broke the kiss, his breath was uneven. You stared up at him. Jack’s eyes were dark.

Your lips parted. “Oh.”

His jaw flexed. “Don’t.”

“You’re jealous,” you said.

Jack looked toward the closed door like it had personally offended him. “I’m not doing this here.”

“You pulled me into a supply closet and kissed me,” you replied.

Jack exhaled. “I needed to talk to you.”

You lifted your brows. “That wasn’t talking.”

Jack’s eyes cut back to yours. There he was. Irritated. Wound tight. Too handsome for your peace of mind.

“You’ve been acting strange all night,” you said.

Jack dropped his hand from your waist, but he did not step back. “I’ve been working.”

Your eyes narrowed, “You’ve been keeping me within arm’s reach.”

Jack did not answer. That silence landed harder than a confession.

You softened your voice. “Jack.”

His gaze stayed on yours, stubborn and hot and miserable.

“Is this because of Mason?” you asked.

Jack laughed once, short and humorless. “Mason,” he repeated, like the name tasted bad.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Jack looked away, but this time there was something grumpy and sharp tucked into the movement.

“Drew had plenty to say about him,” Jack said.

The memory came back immediately. Station Four was looking very heroic tonight. He was cute. Okay, but we love a man in uniform.

Your mouth curved before you could stop it.

Jack saw it. His eyes narrowed. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing.”

“That’s not nothing,” Jack replied. 

You tilted your head. “You’re mad about what Drew said.”

Jack replied instantly. “I’m not mad about what Drew said.”

You gave him a look.

Jack’s mouth tightened. “He said you should go for it.”

You sighed softly. “He was teasing.” 

“He said everyone loves a man in uniform,” Jack replied, short, slightly clipped. 

You stepped closer, letting your hands smooth slowly up his chest.

“And you think I was looking at Mason in uniform?” you asked.

“I think,” Jack said, each word too controlled, “Brooks knew exactly what he looked like walking into that room.”

You hummed. “Did he?”

Jack's tone sharpened into a warning, “Baby.”

There it was. The first slip. The first crack in the professional distance he had forced between you all night. 

Your stomach flipped, but you did not let him off the hook. “He’s not the man I want to see in uniform.”

Jack went still. Not tense. Not cold. Still. Like the words had gone straight through him.

“No?” Jack asked.

You shook your head. “No.”

The supply closet felt smaller suddenly. Too quiet. Too warm.

Jack’s eyes held yours. “Careful.”

You continued despite Jack’s warning. “You are.” 

His mouth parted slightly. You let your gaze move over him, slow enough to be cruel.

“And you know exactly what you look like in your SWAT gear.”

Jack’s hand braced on the shelf beside your head. He was not touching you. Not yet. But his body crowded yours, all heat and restraint, and your pulse jumped like it had been waiting for permission.

“I pulled you in here because I was jealous,” Jack said, voice rough. “And now you’re talking about SWAT gear.” 

“No,” you said, fingers curling in the front of his scrub top. “I’m telling you, Mason could never.”

Jack’s gaze dropped to your hands.

You tugged him closer by a fraction. “He could never make me feel like you do.”

Jack’s eyes lifted back to yours.

“He could never kiss me like you do,” you said.

Jack kissed you again. Harder this time. The shelf pressed into your back as his mouth found yours, and you made a soft, startled sound that disappeared into him. Jack swallowed it like it belonged to him. His hand returned to your waist, fingers tightening once, and the possessive edge of it made your knees go weak. He kissed you like a man trying to prove a point he had no business proving at work. 

Then he pulled back just enough to breathe. You should have stopped. You did not. You caught his wrist before he could move his hand away.

Jack’s eyes sharpened. “Baby.”

You held his gaze and guided his hand back to your waist. “He could never touch me like you do.”

Jack’s fingers flexed against you. You moved his hand lower, slow enough that he could stop you if he wanted to. He did not. His palm settled over your ass, firm and hot through your scrubs, and his jaw went tight enough to make your stomach flip.

Your voice dropped. “Never.”

Jack’s breath left him roughly. His hand tightened once before he forced it still.

“You need to stop,” Jack said.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his scrub pants and pulled him closer. Not much. Just enough. Jack’s hips pressed into yours, and the sound he made was low, wrecked, barely controlled.

You looked up at him. “He could never fuck me like you do.”

Jack snapped.

His mouth was on yours before you could take another breath. This kiss was not careful. Not at first. It was hot and rough and immediate, his hand tightening on your ass as he pinned you back against the shelf with the solid heat of his body. Your fingers twisted in his waistband, pulling him closer while his mouth opened over yours, swallowing the small sound that slipped out of you. For one dizzy second, there was no hospital. No night shift. No Mason. No Drew. No secret. Just Jack’s mouth, Jack’s hands, Jack’s body pressed hard against yours as if he needed you to feel exactly how much he had been holding back.

Your hand slid up his chest. Jack’s hips pushed into yours again, and your breath broke against his mouth.

“Jack,” you whispered.

He kissed you once more, deep and hungry, and then stopped like it hurt. His forehead dropped to yours. Both of you were breathing too hard. His hand stayed on you for one more second. Then his fingers loosened.

“Not here,” Jack said.

Your eyes opened slowly. “Jack.”

His voice was rough, almost unsteady. “Not because I’m jealous.”

Your fingers were still hooked in his waistband. You could feel the tension in him, the restraint pulled tight through every line of his body. He lifted his head enough to look at you.

“Not at work,” Jack said. “Not where anyone can walk in and make you pay for it.”

Your chest squeezed, even through the heat still crawling under your skin. “You think I’d regret it?” you asked.

Jack’s expression softened for half a second, but his voice stayed wrecked. “I think I care about you too much to find out in a supply closet.”

You stared at him. “That is so annoying.”

His mouth twitched, though his eyes were still dark. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” You let go of his waistband slowly, even though it cost you. “Responsible. Principled. Deeply inconvenient.”

Jack’s hand slid from your ass back to your waist. Just once. Firm. Careful. Then he let go. He leaned close again, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“Finish the shift,” Jack said.

Your eyes fluttered. “And then?”

Jack stepped back, putting space between you like it physically hurt. His gaze moved over your face, lingering on your mouth before coming back to your eyes. “Then you come home with me.”

Your pulse jumped. You tried to smile. “And?”

Jack reached for the supply closet door, but he looked back before opening it. “And then you can say all of that again.”

You stepped out of the supply closet first. That had been Jack’s idea. He gave you thirty seconds, like that would somehow fix your mouth, your breathing, your pulse, or the fact that your whole body still felt marked by his hands. You made it three steps before Crus appeared at the end of the hall. He looked at you. You looked at him. Crus’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth. Then he looked at the supply closet door behind you.

You lifted a finger. “Don’t.”

Crus nodded immediately. “Wasn’t going to.”

Your eyes narrowed, “You were thinking.”

“I can stop,” Crus said.

You nodded once, “Do that.” 

Crus pointed vaguely toward the nurses’ station. “I’m going to go over there.”

You nodded. “Great idea.”

Crus took two steps backward before turning around completely. You waited until he disappeared, then pressed the heel of your hand beneath your collarbone like that would keep your heart where it belonged. Thirty seconds later, Jack came out. You did not turn around. You did not need to. You felt him behind you the same way you had felt him all night. Close. Controlled. Ruining your life with restraint. Jack passed you without touching you, but his voice dipped low enough that only you could hear. “Breathe.”

Your eyes closed for half a second. “Don’t start.”

Jack paused beside you, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. “I’m not starting anything.”

You looked up at him. “You absolutely started something.”

His mouth twitched, but he kept his eyes on the hall. “Finish the shift.”

You exhaled shakily. “You keep saying that like it’s easy.”

Jack’s gaze cut to yours. For one second, the supply closet was there again. His mouth on yours. His hand at your waist. His voice against your ear. Then Jack looked away first.

“I didn’t say easy,” he said.

Your stomach flipped. He walked away before you could answer. You stood there for one more second, furious with him for being principled and even more furious with yourself for finding it attractive.

 You lasted eleven minutes. That was generous, considering the state Jack had left you in. Eleven whole minutes of pretending you could chart, restock, answer Drew’s question about room six, and not think about Jack’s mouth on yours in the supply closet. Eleven minutes of watching him move through the department like he had not just pinned you to a shelf and then ruined your life by being responsible about it. He was at the nurses’ station when you looked up again, one hand wrapped around a paper cup of coffee, the other scrolling through something on his phone. His shoulders were relaxed. His face was calm. He looked controlled.

That annoyed you. It annoyed you enough that you reached into your scrub pocket for your phone. The photo was not new. You had taken it two nights ago in Jack’s bedroom, sitting on the floor in front of his mirror while he was in the shower. Your face was hidden behind your phone, one knee bent, your other leg folded beneath you. Lace hugged your hips, one strap sitting soft against your shoulder, the whole thing intimate and quiet and unmistakably meant for him.

It did not show everything.

It did not have to.

Jack knew what that set looked like in person. Jack knew what it looked like on his bedroom floor. You stared at the photo for half a second. Then you looked across the department. Jack lifted his coffee to his mouth. You selected the photo. Underneath it, you typed: For the record, Mason never got one of these.

You pressed send. Across the station, Jack’s phone lit up. He glanced down. His thumb moved over the screen. For one second, nothing happened. Then his coffee stopped halfway to his mouth. Your stomach flipped. Jack lowered the cup slowly. Very slowly. His jaw tightened.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Jack: Fuck. You’re beautiful.

Your breath caught. For half a second, all the smugness drained out of you. Then another message appeared.

Jack: And you know exactly what you’re doing.

Your mouth curved. You typed back. You: Good.

Across the station, Jack looked up. His eyes found yours immediately. Dark. Focused. Not even close to calm. Your phone buzzed again. Jack: Careful.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and picked up the chart in front of you. Jack kept looking at you. You did not look back. That was the point.

For the rest of the shift, you behaved. Mostly. You answered call lights. You updated Hale’s chart. You helped Drew turn over room three. You gave Ellis the lab results she had been waiting for and listened to Shen complain about discharge instructions with the appropriate amount of sympathy. And every so often, you made Jack’s life worse. Not loudly. Never obviously. You were smarter than that. You brushed past him in the narrow hallway with just enough space between you for plausible deniability and not nearly enough for mercy. Jack’s hand tightened around the chart he was holding. You did not smile until you were past him.

Five minutes later, you reached around him at the counter for a roll of tape you did not actually need. Jack went still when your chest nearly touched his arm.

You kept your voice sweet. “Excuse me.”

His eyes cut to yours. “There are three rolls on the other side.”

You looked down at the tape in your hand. “I like this one.”

Jack’s mouth tightened. Drew passed behind you with a stack of blankets, looked between you and Jack, and immediately changed direction.

“Nope,” Drew said.

You turned toward him. “What?”

Drew kept walking. “I have no questions.”

Jack leaned closer under the cover of reaching for a pen. His voice dropped low enough that only you could hear. “You’re being a brat.”

Your pulse jumped. You looked up at him, all innocence. “Am I?”

Jack’s eyes held yours. “Yes.”

The word landed low in your stomach. You swallowed. Jack noticed. For one second, the corner of his mouth almost moved. Then he straightened, professional mask sliding back into place like he had not just knocked the air out of you with one word.

“Room four needs vitals,” Jack said.

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, doctor.”

His gaze flicked to your mouth. “Careful,” Jack said.

You smiled because you had no survival instinct left. “Trying.”

You were not trying. You both knew it.

By six, the department had thinned into the gray, half-awake quiet that came right before day shift started filling the halls with fresh voices and clean coffee. Hale had been admitted for observation. Mason had not come back. Drew had given you exactly one suspicious look and then wisely chosen to become fascinated by a supply cabinet. Shen had avoided the trauma hallway entirely. Ellis handed you a stack of discharge papers without comment, then looked at your face for half a second too long.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

Ellis lifted one shoulder. “Nothing.”

You exhaled. “That sounded like something.”

“It was internal,” Ellis replied. 

You nodded. “Keep it that way.”

Ellis nodded in return. “Absolutely.”

From the attending station, Jack signed off on a chart and handed it to Crus. Crus took it carefully, like it might explode.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Crus shook his head. “Nothing.” Jack stared at him. Crus swallowed. “Lots of nothing this morning.”

You pressed your lips together and turned away before you could laugh. Jack’s gaze found you anyway. It landed on the side of your face, warm and heavy and impossible to ignore. You looked down at the chart in your hand and tried to remember how to read. When your shift finally ended, you made it to the staff room before Jack did. 

A little after seven, you changed out of your scrub top with fingers that were not as steady as you wanted them to be. You shoved your things into your bag, checked your phone, then checked it again, even though nothing had changed. Jack had not texted. He did not need to. You both knew where you were going. Still, when you stepped into the hallway and found him waiting near the exit, your breath caught. He had changed into a dark jacket over his T-shirt, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding his keys. He looked tired. He looked composed. He looked like the man who had stopped himself in a supply closet and expected you to survive that information.

Jack’s eyes moved over you once. “You ready?”

You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Are you?”

His jaw shifted. You watched him fight a smile and lose by half an inch. “Car’s this way,” Jack said.

You followed him into the parking garage without another word. The walk to his truck felt longer than it should have. Neither of you touched. Neither of you spoke. Your hands kept brushing close enough that you could feel the almost of it, and by the time Jack unlocked the truck, you were so aware of him it felt embarrassing.

He opened the passenger door. You looked up at him. “Still being responsible?”

Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “Trying.”

You quirked a brow, “How’s that going?”

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Poorly,” he said.

You slid into the seat before you could do something stupid in the parking garage, too. Jack closed the door with more care than necessary. The drive to his place was quiet. Not awkward. Just charged. The kind of quiet that had weight. The kind that pressed between your ribs and reminded you of everything waiting on the other side of his front door.

Jack kept one hand on the wheel. The other rested near the gear shift. Halfway there, you reached over and touched his wrist. Jack’s fingers flexed once, but he did not look away from the road.

You traced your thumb over the inside of his wrist. “You okay?”

His throat moved. “No,” Jack said.

Your chest tightened. He glanced at you then, quick and honest in the dark cab of the truck. “But I will be.”

You nodded and left your hand where it was. Jack turned his wrist beneath your touch and threaded his fingers through yours. It was the first real contact since the closet. His thumb dragged once over your knuckles. Slow. Controlled. The way he did everything when he was trying not to lose his mind. You looked down at your joined hands and felt your pulse jump. He was touching you now. He was still holding back.

Jack pulled into the small driveway behind his townhouse and cut the engine. For one second, neither of you moved. Your hand was still in his. His thumb moved once across your knuckles, slow and absent, like he was reminding himself you were there.

You looked over at him. “Jack.”

His eyes stayed forward. “I know.”

You waited. Jack exhaled through his nose, then turned his head enough to look at you. The porch light cut across his face, catching the tired set of his eyes, the rough edge of his restraint, the stubborn line of his mouth. He looked like he had survived the shift. Barely.

“You coming inside?” he asked.

Your heart kicked. You nodded. “Yeah.”

Jack’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth. Then he opened his door. You watched him get out, watched him come around the front of the truck, watched him open your door like the silence between you was not doing half the work for him. He held out his hand. You took it. Jack helped you down, then let go immediately.

You frowned. “Really?”

He shut the passenger door. “Inside.”

The word landed low in your stomach. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and followed him toward the back door. He did not touch you while he unlocked it. He did not touch you when he stepped aside to let you in first. He did not touch you when the door closed behind him, and the lock clicked into place. That was how you knew you were in trouble. You stepped into the familiar quiet of his townhouse, and something in your chest softened before you could stop it. His boots were lined up neatly by the door. Your shoes from two nights ago were tucked beside them. The mug you always stole was upside down in the drying rack. The blanket you liked was folded over the back of the couch, neater than you had ever left it.

The sweatshirt you kept stealing was draped over the stair railing. Evidence. Everywhere. Tiny, domestic evidence that you belonged here. Jack set his keys in the bowl by the door. You watched his hands. Slow. Controlled. Infuriating. Then he turned back to you.

“Bag down,” Jack said.

Your breath caught. You lifted your eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

His eyes held yours. “You heard me.”

You stared at him for a second. Then, because apparently you had learned nothing from the supply closet, you smiled. “Is this the part where you get bossy?”

Jack stepped closer, not rushing, not touching, just taking up space until the air between you felt thinner. “This is the part where you listen.”

Your stomach flipped. “Because I sent you a picture?”

Jack’s gaze moved over your face. “Because you sent me that picture at work.”

“You liked it.”

His eyes darkened. “I loved it.”

The honesty in his voice nearly ruined your smugness. Nearly.

You tilted your chin up. “Then I don’t see the problem.”

Jack’s mouth curved, but it was not soft. Not yet.

“The problem,” he said, “is that you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You let your bag slide off your shoulder and drop gently beside your feet. “There,” you said. “I listened.”

Jack glanced at the bag. Then back at you. “Good.”

The single word moved through you like a hand. You swallowed.

His expression shifted by half a degree, the corner of his mouth barely moving.

“There she is,” he said quietly.

Your pulse jumped. “What?”

Jack stepped closer. “You were very brave at work,” he said.

You held his stare. “Was I?”

His hand came to the wall beside your head, not touching you, not yet. “Sending pictures. Brushing past me. Reaching for things you didn’t need.”

Your back met the door. Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “You had a lot to say for someone who still had a shift to finish.”

Your breath came shallow. “You told me to finish it.”

“I did,” Jack replied.

You inhaled. “So I did.”

Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth. “You made it difficult.”

You smiled, slow and sweet. “Good.”

His hand finally came to your waist. Firm. Warm. Possessive enough to make your knees feel unreliable. Jack leaned in, his mouth near your ear.

“That’s the last time you say that without thinking first,” he said.

Your eyes fluttered shut. For one second, the brat in you went quiet. 

Then you opened your eyes and turned your face toward his. “Or what?”

Jack went still. The room changed. His hand tightened at your waist once, not enough to hurt, just enough to tell you he had heard every bit of challenge in your voice. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark. But there was something else there, too. Something tired. Something honest. Something that made your chest ache even while your body was still humming from the way he had you against the door.

“Or,” Jack said, voice low, “you’re going to make me forget what I actually need to say to you.”

Your smile faded. “Oh.”

His thumb moved once against your waist. “Yeah,” he said.

You softened under his hand. “Jack.”

He looked at you for a long second. Then the confession started, quiet and rough and bigger than the jealousy. “I hated it,” he said.

Your chest went still. You searched his face. “Mason?”

Jack shook his head once. “No.”

You waited. His jaw worked like the words were fighting him on the way out. 

“I hated standing there like I didn’t know you,” Jack said.

Your throat tightened. He looked away, but only for a second. When his eyes came back to yours, there was no professional distance left in them.

“I hated hearing him talk to you like you were available,” Jack said. “I hated Drew saying you should go for it and knowing I couldn’t say a damn thing.”

You lifted your hand to his chest. “Jack.”

“I know why we’re careful,” he said.

His voice was low. Controlled. But not cold anymore. Never cold. “I know why it matters. I know what people can be like, and I know your career matters more than me needing to prove a point in a trauma bay.”

You stepped closer. “It’s not more than you.” Jack’s expression shifted. You held his gaze. “My career matters. So do you.”

He swallowed once. “I know you didn’t want him,” Jack said.

“I didn’t,” you agreed. 

“I know,” he said again, softer this time. “That was never the problem.”

You took another careful breath. “Then what was?”

Jack looked at you for a long second. Then he said it. “Careful felt a hell of a lot like pretending tonight.”

Your breath caught. 

His eyes stayed on yours, tired and dark and finally honest. “And I don’t want to keep pretending I’m not in love with you.”

The room went quiet. The kind that settled around the two of you and made every other sound disappear. You stared at him. Jack’s hand tightened once at your waist. For the first time all night, he looked uncertain. That did something worse to you than the jealousy had. Worse than the supply closet. Worse than his hand on your waist, his mouth at your ear, his voice telling you to finish the shift.

You slid your hand up his chest. “You’re in love with me?” you asked.

His eyes searched your face. “Yes.”

The word was simple. No defense. No sarcasm. No place to hide. Your heart folded in on itself.

You touched his jaw. “Good.”

Jack’s brows drew together. “Good?”

You nodded, your thumb brushing the rough edge of stubble along his cheek. “Because I’m in love with you too.”

Jack’s breath left him slowly. Your chest ached with it. “With me?” he asked.

You gave him a look, even though your eyes were starting to sting. “Jack.”

His mouth curved faintly, but the vulnerability in his eyes stayed. “I had to ask.”

You shook your head. “You did not.”

“I did,” Jack replied. 

You shook your head again and stepped closer until your body nearly touched his. “You are a ridiculous man.”

Jack’s hand finally settled more firmly at your waist. Like he had needed to hear it first. Like he had been waiting for permission to believe you. You covered his hand with yours and pressed it harder against you. His eyes darkened.

“There,” you whispered. “That’s better.”

Jack’s jaw shifted. “You have been a problem all night.”

Your mouth curved. “I have?” He gave you a flat look. You widened your eyes. “Was it the photo?”

Jack’s hand flexed at your waist. “Among other things.”

“I took that for you,” you said. 

Jack nodded once. “I know.”

You slid your hands down his chest, watching the restraint settle back into his body for a very different reason now. “No one else gets that,” you said. 

Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth. “No?”

You shook your head. “No.”

His thumb moved once against your waist. You let your voice soften into something sweet enough to be dangerous.

“No one else gets me in your room,” you said. “No one else gets your shirt on my floor. No one else gets those pictures.”

Jack’s breathing changed.

You lifted your chin. “And no one else gets to touch me the way you do.”

His eyes snapped back to yours. There he was. The same heat from the supply closet. The same jealousy. The same need. But now there was no hospital around it. No door someone could open. No chart waiting. No secret making him stand five feet away. Just Jack’s townhouse. Jack’s hand on your waist. Jack looking at you like he had finally stopped pretending.

“You said something like that earlier,” he said.

Your stomach dipped. “I said a lot earlier.”

His mouth curved, slow and rough at the edges. “You did.”

You held his gaze. “Which part?”

Jack’s other hand came to your hip. “The part where you said he could never.”

Your pulse jumped. You let your hands slide lower, fingers catching lightly at the waistband of his jeans this time.

“He couldn’t,” you said.

Jack stepped into you. Your back met the door again. The sound was soft. The shift in him was not. He crowded you slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, every chance to push back, every chance to choose something else. You chose him. You hooked your fingers more firmly into his waistband and pulled him closer. Jack’s breath caught.

You looked up at him. “He could never make me feel like you do.”

His hand slid from your waist to the door beside your head. 

You smiled, because apparently you had not learned a single thing. “He could never kiss me like you do.”

Jack leaned in, his mouth hovering over yours. His voice was low. “You’re still being a brat.”

Your stomach flipped. You held his stare. “Maybe you’re still jealous.”

Jack’s eyes darkened. “Yes, baby,” he said. “I’m jealous.”

Your breath caught. His mouth brushed yours, barely a kiss. “But I’m also in love with you,” Jack said. “So if you want to keep being a brat about it, you’d better be very sure.”

Your fingers tightened in his waistband. You smiled against his mouth. “I’m sure.”

Jack kissed you then. Not like the supply closet. Not like a man trying to steal something before the rest of the world noticed. This was slower. Deeper. Worse, somehow, because there was nowhere for either of you to go now. No alarms. No monitors. No hallway footsteps. No coworker who might round the corner and force Jack to become Dr. Abbot again. There was just his townhouse. The locked door at your back. His hand at your waist. His mouth moving over yours like he finally had permission to take his time. You made a small sound into the kiss and felt his fingers tighten.

Jack pulled back just enough to breathe. “Say it again.”

Your eyes opened. He was close enough that his nose brushed yours, close enough that you could see every careful piece of him coming apart.

You swallowed. “I’m sure.”

Jack’s gaze darkened. “Not that.”

Your chest went soft. Oh. You slid your hand up the side of his neck. “I’m in love with you.”

His breath left him. For one second, he did nothing but look at you. Then Jack kissed you again, harder this time, one hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other pressed at your waist and pulled you fully against him. You went willingly. Of course you did. You had been going willingly all night, even when you were being impossible about it. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and Jack made a low sound against your mouth when you pulled. You did it again, just to hear it.

He broke the kiss with his lips still brushing yours. “Careful.”

You smiled against his mouth. “You keep saying that.”

“And you keep not listening,” Jack replied. 

You tugged at his shirt. “Maybe you should do something about it.”

Jack went still. Only for a second. Only long enough for you to feel the air shift.

Then his hand covered yours, stilling your fingers against his chest.

“You are really committed to testing me tonight,” he said.

You opened your mouth, but Jack kissed whatever answer you had been about to give right out of you. Your back hit the door again, softer this time, his body crowding you in. He did not trap you. Not really. The space was there if you wanted it. You did not want it. You wanted him closer. You slid both hands beneath his jacket and shoved it off his shoulders. Jack let you get one sleeve down before he helped, shrugging out of it and dropping it somewhere near your abandoned bag. Your fingers went right back to his shirt. Jack caught your wrists.

You huffed against his mouth. “Jack.”

His grip stayed firm. “Slow down.”

“I waited all shift,” you replied. 

Jack exhaled. “You teased me all shift.”

You lifted your chin. “You survived.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. Your pulse jumped. “That mouth,” he said quietly.

You smiled. “You like my mouth.”

His gaze dropped to it. “I love your mouth.”

The words went straight through you. Before you could recover, Jack’s hand slid to the hem of your top. His eyes lifted to yours. You nodded. Only then did he pull it up. You raised your arms, and Jack drew the fabric over your head, tossing it aside without looking away from you. His gaze moved over your bare shoulders, your chest, the rise and fall of your breathing. Not rushed. Not careless. Like he was taking inventory of every inch he had been denied all night.

Your breath caught. “Jack.”

“I know,” he said.

His hand came back to your waist, his palm warm against your skin. His thumb brushed the line where your bra met your ribs, slow enough to make your stomach tighten. You reached for his shirt again. This time, he let you. Your fingers dragged the fabric up his stomach, over his chest, and Jack ducked his head enough for you to pull it off. You dropped it beside your scrub top and forgot about it immediately. Because Jack was there. Warm skin. Bare chest. The muscles in his stomach shifting as he breathed. The dark look in his eyes when he realized you were staring. Your mouth went dry.

Jack’s hand slid up your side. “Still thinking about Mason?”

You almost laughed. It came out breathless instead. “No.”

His brow lifted. “No?”

You set both hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I told you. He could never.”

Jack’s jaw shifted. You felt it under your fingers, that tiny fracture in his control.

“He could never what?” he asked.

You knew what he was doing. You knew he wanted to hear it. You also knew you had spent the entire shift making him wait. 

So you gave it to him. “He could never make me feel like this.”

Jack’s hand tightened at your waist. “Good girl,” he said.

Your knees nearly gave out. His mouth found yours again, and the kiss turned messy for the first time. Not uncontrolled. Jack was never uncontrolled. But rougher. Hungrier. His hand slid to your back, unclipping your bra with a practiced motion that made your entire body go hot.

You broke the kiss to look at him. “That was fast.”

His mouth brushed the corner of yours. “I’m a doctor.”

You laughed once, breathless and ruined. “That is not a medical skill.”

Jack slid the strap down your shoulder. “It is today.”

Your laugh caught when the bra slipped down your arms. Jack’s gaze followed. His expression changed. Not dramatically. Not in some obvious, theatrical way. But enough that your teasing vanished. 

His thumb brushed beneath your breast, barely touching. “Fuck.” Your breath shook. Jack looked back up at you. “Beautiful.”

Your chest tightened at the softness in his voice. You reached for him again, but Jack caught your wrist and pressed your hand back to the door beside your head.

“Not yet,” he said.

You stared at him. “Not yet?”

His mouth curved faintly. “You heard me.”

You swallowed. Jack leaned in, his lips brushing your jaw, then the sensitive place beneath your ear. His hand moved slowly down your body, over your ribs, your waist, your hip, stopping at the waistband of your scrub pants.

“You were very brave at work,” he said against your skin.

Your eyes fluttered. “Was I?”

“Sending that picture,” Jack said. “Brushing past me. Reaching around me for tape you didn’t need.”

You gripped the doorframe with your free hand. “I liked that tape.”

Jack’s teeth grazed gently beneath your ear. Your breath caught. 

“You liked making me watch you pretend you weren’t doing it on purpose,” he said.

You turned your face toward his. “Maybe.”

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants. Your hips shifted toward him before you could stop yourself.

Jack’s mouth curved against your jaw. “There she is.”

You hated how much you loved when he said that. You hated more that he knew.

Jack drew back enough to look at you. “Say my name.”

Your lips parted. “Jack.”

His eyes darkened. “Again.”

You swallowed. “Jack.”

He kissed you once, deep and slow, then hooked his fingers in your waistband and started to pull. You lifted your hips from the door just enough to help him. Jack lowered your pants inch by inch, taking your underwear with them, his eyes on yours until the fabric slipped down your thighs. You stepped out of them. He stayed standing. Still half dressed. Still in control. Still watching you like he had all the time in the world. You were bare in front of him, goosebumps erupting across your skin. Jack followed your gaze. His mouth twitched. 

You narrowed your eyes. “It’s cold.”

Jack’s hand slid to your bare hip. “Baby, you are shaking for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature.”

Your face warmed. “You’re very smug right now.”

“I’m very patient right now,” Jack corrected. 

You gave him a look. “Are you?”

Jack’s eyes moved over you once, slow and devastating. “No,” he said. “But I’m trying to make a point.”

Your stomach dipped. “What point?”

He stepped closer, his jeans brushing your bare thigh. “That you are going to remember exactly who you came home with.”

Your breath left you. Jack’s hand came to the back of your neck, tipping your face up.

“Who did you come home with?” he asked.

You stared at him. “You.”

His thumb brushed the side of your throat. “Say my name.”

“Jack.”

His mouth ghosted over yours. “Good girl.”

You surged up to kiss him, but Jack pulled back before you could catch his mouth. You made a frustrated sound. He smiled then. Just barely. Mean enough to make your pulse trip.

“Upstairs,” Jack said.

Your body went still. “What?”

His hand slipped from your neck to your jaw, holding you there gently. “Upstairs,” he repeated.

You looked down at yourself, then back at him. “Like this?”

Jack’s gaze dropped over you. Then came back to your face. “Yes.”

Your breath caught. You glanced toward the stairs, then at his jeans, still very much on, still entirely unfair. “You’re dressed.”

“I am,” Jack replied.

You glared. “That seems uneven.”

Jack’s mouth curved. “You had your fun at work.”

You blinked at him. “So this is revenge?”

His expression softened for half a second, just enough to remind you that underneath all of this, he loved you. Then his thumb brushed your lower lip. “No,” Jack said. “This is me taking my time.”

Your stomach flipped. You turned toward the stairs, trying very hard to pretend your legs felt steady. They did not. Jack stayed close behind you as you started up, close enough that you could feel the heat of him without him touching you.

You looked back over your shoulder halfway up. “You coming?”

His eyes dragged over you, slow enough to make you regret the question. “Keep walking,” Jack said.

You faced forward immediately. Behind you, Jack made a low sound that might have been amusement. You gripped the railing and kept going. By the time you reached his bedroom, your skin felt too tight, every nerve lit with the awareness of him behind you. The room was dark except for the faint glow from the hallway and the weak morning light edging around the curtains. You had been in this room before. You knew the dresser. The bed. The chair in the corner where Jack folded his clothes too neatly. The mirror where you had taken the picture that had started all of this. But with Jack behind you and your clothes scattered downstairs, it felt different. It felt like a consequence. Jack stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. You turned toward him. He looked at you for one long second. Then his gaze flicked to the bed. “Sit,” Jack said.

You sat. Jack did not move right away. He stood near the closed bedroom door, shirtless, jeans low on his hips, hair slightly mussed from your hands, and looked at you like you were something he had been waiting all night to get alone. Your knees pressed together on instinct.

His gaze dropped briefly, then came back to your face. “Don’t hide from me now,” he said.

Your breath caught. You eased your knees apart. Not much. Enough.

Jack’s jaw shifted. “Good girl,” he said.

The praise went straight through you. You gripped the edge of the mattress. “Jack.”

He stepped closer. “What?”

You looked up at him, bare and aching and already tired of him being so controlled. “Come here.”

Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “That sounded like an order.”

You lifted your chin. “Maybe it was.”

His eyes darkened. For a second, you thought he might make you take it back. Instead, Jack crossed the room slowly, each step measured, until he was standing between your knees. Close. Still too dressed. Still too smug. You reached for his waistband. Jack caught your wrist. Your pulse jumped.

His grip was gentle, but it stopped you completely. “No,” he said.

You blinked up at him. “No?”

Jack’s thumb moved over the inside of your wrist, the same place you had touched him in the truck. “You’ve had your hands where you wanted them all night.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You sent me a picture at work,” Jack said. “You brushed against me every chance you got. You reached around me for tape you didn’t need.”

“I liked that tape,” you murmured. 

“And now,” he said, ignoring you completely, “you think you get to decide when you touch me.”

Your mouth went dry. Jack looked down at your hand, still caught in his. Then his other hand moved to his belt. The buckle clicked open. Your fingers went still.

His gaze lifted to yours. “There she is.”

Your breath caught. “Jack.”

He slid the belt free slowly, leather dragging through denim, the sound quiet and devastating in the dark room. Your thighs tensed around his legs. Jack folded the belt once in his hand. Then he stopped. His expression changed, just enough that the heat in the room made space for something steadier.

“Tell me no, and it goes on the floor,” he said.

Your chest rose and fell once. Then again. You looked from the belt to his face. He was not smiling now. He was waiting. Making sure. Letting you choose.

“Yes,” you said.

Jack did not move. “Yes, what?”

Your pulse beat hard beneath his fingers. “Yes,” you said, quieter now. “Use it.”

Only then did Jack move. He brought your hand to your other one, gathering your wrists together with a care that made your throat tighten. He looped the belt around them once, then again, not tight enough to hurt, not tight enough to frighten you, just enough that when he held the end in his fist, your hands belonged exactly where he put them. Jack slid one finger beneath the leather, checking the space. Your stomach fluttered.

“Too tight?” he asked.

You shook your head. His eyes held yours. “Words.”

“No,” you said. “It’s not too tight.”

“Good.” He lifted your bound wrists and kissed the inside of one. The gentleness almost ruined you. Then he guided your hands above your head and pressed them to the mattress as he leaned over you. Your back met the bed. Your breath left you. Jack hovered above you, one hand holding the end of the belt, the other planted beside your head. His body did not cover yours yet. Not fully. He was making you feel every inch of space. Every second of waiting. Every consequence of what you had done to him all night.

“You still feel brave?” he asked.

You swallowed. “A little.”

Jack’s mouth curved. “A little?”

You tugged experimentally at the belt. His hand tightened. Not rough. Certain. Your body reacted before you could pretend it hadn’t.

Jack’s gaze sharpened. “Oh,” he said softly. “More than a little.”

Your face warmed. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Yes,” Jack said. The honesty made your stomach drop. He leaned down, mouth brushing your jaw, then your throat. “I loved the photo.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

“I loved knowing you took it for me,” he said against your skin. “Loved knowing no one else gets that.”

His mouth moved lower, over your collarbone, down the center of your chest. Your wrists shifted above your head. Jack held them there.

“But you knew exactly what it would do to me,” he said.

You arched when his mouth brushed your breast. “Jack.”

He paused. His eyes lifted to yours. “Say it again,” he said.

Your mind felt slow. “What?”

“My name.”

Your breath shook. “Jack.”

His mouth closed over you. Your back arched off the mattress. Jack’s grip on the belt held firm, keeping your hands above your head while his tongue moved over you with the same patience that had been ruining you all night. You pulled against the restraint. He did not let you move. You made a frustrated sound.

Jack lifted his head. “What do you want?”

You stared at him. “You.”

“You have me,” Jack answered. 

You exhaled, “Jack.”

His mouth curved faintly. “Use your words.”

Your thighs shifted restlessly. “Touch me.”

He kissed the center of your chest. “I am touching you.”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to never stop hearing him sound like that. “More,” you said.

Jack’s eyes darkened. “There you go.”

He kissed lower. Slowly. Too slowly. Down your stomach, over your hip, along the inside of your thigh until you were trembling before he had even put his mouth where you needed it. You tried to reach for him. The belt stopped you. 

Jack looked up from between your thighs. “Hands stay there.”

Your breath caught. “You’re holding them there.”

“I know,” he answered. 

You huffed. “Then why are you telling me?”

His mouth brushed your inner thigh. “Because I like hearing you try to listen.”

Your eyes closed. “You’re impossible.”

Jack kissed higher. “You love me.”

Your chest went soft and hot at the same time. “I do,” you whispered.

Jack went still. Not completely. Just enough. Then his eyes lifted to yours. “Say it again.”

Your breath caught. His hand loosened on the belt slightly, not enough to free you, just enough for his thumb to brush over your knuckles.

You looked at him, your chest tight, your body aching. “I love you,” you said.

Jack’s expression shifted. For one second, all the teasing left him. All the controlled heat. All the jealousy. There was only Jack, looking at you like he had heard something sacred. Then he turned his head and kissed the inside of your thigh.

“I love you too,” he said against your skin.

Your eyes burned. Then his mouth found you. Your thoughts scattered. “Oh—” Your back arched. “Jack.”

He hummed low, one arm hooking beneath your thigh to hold you open, the other still keeping the belt steady. His mouth moved like he had been waiting all night for this too, like every second of restraint had sharpened into focus. You tried to close your thighs around him. He did not let you. “Jack, please.”

He lifted his head just enough to answer. “Please what?”

You made a sound that was almost a sob. “Please don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened. “That’s better,” he said.

Then he went back to you. You lost track of the room after that. There was only Jack’s mouth, his hand, the belt around your wrists, the rough warmth of his voice when he told you to keep saying his name.

“Jack,” you gasped.

His fingers joined his mouth, careful at first, then certain when your body opened for him. Your hips moved. Jack held you down with one forearm across your lower stomach.

“Stay,” he said.

You shook your head against the mattress. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Jack replied. 

You started to say, “Jack—” 

“You wanted to make your point,” he said, voice rough. “Make it.”

You blinked down at him, dazed. “What?”

His fingers curled. Your whole body jerked. Jack’s eyes stayed locked on yours. “Who makes you feel like this?” he asked.

Your breath came in short, broken pulls. “You.”

He did it again. You cried out. “Say my name,” he said. 

“Jack,” you said immediately. 

His fingers curled inside you. “Again.” 

“Jack, please,” you moaned. 

His mouth returned to you, and the sound you made was not quiet. You pulled hard against the belt, your body tightening, thighs trembling around his shoulders. Jack did not stop. He did not rush. He kept you there, right on the edge, until you were almost crying with it.

“Tell me,” he said.

You could barely think. “Only you.”

Jack’s fingers slowed. Not stopping. Threatening to.

Your eyes flew open. “No, no, please.”

“Only me what?” he asked. 

Your breath broke. “Only you can make me feel like this.”

His eyes flashed. “Keep going.”

You shook beneath him. “Only you can touch me like this.”

“Good girl.”

Your body tightened at the praise. Jack felt it. His mouth curved against you, and then he gave you exactly what you had been begging for. 

You came hard.

Hard enough that your vision went white at the edges. Hard enough that your voice broke around his name. Hard enough that your wrists strained against the belt and your back bowed off the mattress while Jack held you through it, mouth and fingers working you through every second until you were shaking too much to do anything but take it.

“Jack,” you gasped. “Jack, Jack—”

“That’s it,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “There you go.”

You were still pulsing around his fingers when he lifted his head. His mouth was wet. His eyes were dark. He looked absolutely ruined. And somehow, somehow, he was still wearing his jeans.

You stared at him through the haze. “That is so unfair.”

Jack’s mouth curved. He withdrew his fingers slowly, and your whole body twitched. “Careful,” he said.

You laughed once, breathless and weak. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No,” you admitted. “I really don’t.”

Jack kissed your thigh, then your hip, then your stomach, moving back up your body with devastating patience. When he reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply. You tasted yourself on him and whimpered. Your wrists shifted above your head. The belt held.

Jack pulled back just enough to look at you. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His eyes searched your face. “Tell me.”

Your chest rose and fell beneath his. “I’m okay.”

The last bit of tension in his jaw eased. His thumb brushed over the inside of your bound wrist. “Still good?” Jack asked.

Your throat went tight at the care in it. “Yes,” you said. “Still good.”

“Any pain?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “No.”

His gaze stayed on yours for one more second. Then the heat came back into his face. Slow. Certain. Dangerous. “Good,” Jack said.

You reached for him on instinct. The belt stopped you. Your breath caught. Jack looked at your wrists, then back at your face.

His mouth curved faintly. “I didn’t say you were done listening.”

Your stomach flipped. “Jack.”

He stood at the edge of the bed, shirtless and still in his jeans, the loose end of the belt wrapped securely in his hand. You were naked beneath him. Still shaking. Still trying to catch your breath. Still so sensitive that the way he looked at you felt like another touch. Jack’s gaze moved over you slowly. Then he said, “Watch me.”

Your mouth went dry. He kept one hand on the belt as his other moved to his jeans. The button was already open. The zipper followed. The sound moved through the room like a warning. Your wrists shifted again.

Jack’s eyes flicked to them. “Hands stay there.”

You exhaled, “They are there.”

His mouth curved. “Good girl.”

Your breath caught. Jack pushed his jeans lower on his hips, just enough, and your whole body went hot. He was hard. Thick. Flushed. Affected. For all his control, for all his patience, for all the ways he had made you fall apart first, there was no hiding what you had done to him.

Your voice came out thin. “Jack.”

His hand wrapped around himself. You pulled against the belt before you could stop yourself.

Jack’s gaze snapped to yours. “No,” he said softly.

You swallowed. “I want to touch you.”

“I know,” he replied. 

“Please,” you said, barely a whisper. 

His hand moved once, slow and firm. Your breath caught so hard it almost hurt. Jack watched your face as he touched himself, his jaw tight, his eyes dark, the muscles in his stomach shifting with the effort of his restraint.

“This is what that picture did,” he said. Your body clenched around nothing. His mouth parted slightly as his hand moved again. “This is what you did every time you brushed past me,” Jack said. “Every time you looked at me like no one else in that hospital knew what you were thinking.”

“Jack,” you whispered.

His grip tightened around the belt. “Say my name again.”

You obeyed. “Jack.”

His eyes closed for half a second. Only half. Then they opened, and the look on his face nearly ruined you all over again.

“Only me?” he asked.

Your chest rose and fell too fast. “Only you.”

His hand moved over himself again. You whimpered. Jack’s gaze dragged down your body, then back to your face. “Only I get you like this?”

You nodded quickly.

His eyes narrowed. “Words.”

“Yes,” you said, breathless. “Only you get me like this.”

Jack’s breathing changed. You could see it now. The crack in him. The place where his control had thinned to almost nothing. He touched himself once more, slower this time, deliberately enough that your thighs shifted apart without you meaning to. 

His mouth curved, rough and pleased. “Look at you.”

Your face went hot. “Jack.”

“You came two minutes ago,” he said, his hand moving over himself again. “And you’re still looking at me like that.”

Your wrists strained against the belt. Jack’s gaze lifted to yours. “You want more,” he said.

Your breath shook.

His mouth curved. “Tell me.” Jack’s thumb moved over the head of himself, and your wrists strained against the belt. You glared at him weakly. His hand slowed. You made a small, desperate sound. Jack’s gaze sharpened. “Tell me what you want,” he said.

You answered immediately. “You.” 

Jack grinned. “You have me.”

Your breath shook. “I want you inside me.”

Jack went still. There it was. The shift. The end of patience. He let out a rough breath, then leaned over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other holding the belt.

His mouth hovered over yours. “Say it again,” he said.

You lifted your hips toward him. “I want you inside me.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Good girl,” Jack said.

Then he kissed you. It was not gentle. It was not patient. Not anymore. Jack kissed you like the last piece of his restraint had finally snapped, one hand still gripping the belt above your head while the other braced beside your shoulder. His body came down over yours, hot and solid and finally close enough that you could feel how much he wanted you. You arched into him. Jack groaned into your mouth. The sound went straight through you.

Your wrists pulled against the belt on instinct. “Jack.”

He broke the kiss just enough to breathe. “I know.”

You gasped. “You don’t.”

His eyes lifted to yours. “Don’t I?”

You shook your head, already gone enough to be honest. “I need you.”

Jack’s expression shifted. Something hot. Something pleased. Something almost undone. His hand tightened around the belt. “Say my name.”

Your breath caught. “Jack.”

His mouth brushed yours. “Good girl.”

You whimpered, hips lifting toward him. Jack’s gaze dropped between your bodies. Then he cursed softly under his breath.

“Turn over,” he said.

Your pulse jumped. You stared at him. “What?”

His eyes came back to yours, dark and focused. “Hands stay where they are. Turn over.”

Your stomach flipped hard. “Jack—”

He leaned down, mouth at your ear. “You said he could never.”

Your breath caught.

His lips brushed the side of your jaw. “You were right.”

You swallowed. Then you nodded. Jack loosened his hold on the belt enough to guide you carefully, never letting the restraint pull too hard, never letting your wrists twist uncomfortably. Even now, with his control hanging by a thread, he moved you like you were something precious. Something his. You rolled onto your stomach, then shifted onto your knees when his hand settled at your hip. The belt stayed around your wrists. Your hands pressed into the mattress above your head, and Jack gathered the loose end in his fist again, holding it with just enough tension to remind you that he could move you exactly where he wanted you. Your cheek brushed the sheets. Your whole body trembled. Behind you, Jack went quiet. Too quiet. You turned your face enough to look back over your shoulder.

He was staring at you. His jeans were pushed low, his hand wrapped around himself, his chest rising and falling like the sight of you had cost him something.

Your voice came out soft. “Jack?”

His jaw flexed. “You have no idea what you look like right now,” he said.

Your thighs pressed together. Jack’s hand came to your ass, broad and warm, smoothing over the curve of you once before gripping. Your breath caught. “Open,” he said.

You shifted your knees apart. His hand tightened. “More.”

Your face went hot, but you listened. Jack exhaled roughly. “That’s it,” he said. “Good girl.”

The praise made you clench around nothing.

Jack’s thumb dragged along your hip. “Look at you.”

You swallowed. “What?”

His hand tightened, just enough to make your body answer before your mouth could. “So good when you want something.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. “Jack.”

He bent over you, his chest brushing your back. His mouth found your shoulder. “You were very mouthy downstairs,” he said.

You shivered. “You liked it.”

His teeth grazed your skin. “I did.”

His hand slid along your side, then down between your legs from behind. You jerked when his fingers found you. Jack made a low sound against your shoulder. Your wrists strained against the belt. Jack’s gaze lifted to yours. “You want more,” he said.

Your breath shook. His mouth curved against your shoulder. “Tell me.”

You closed your eyes. “I want more.”

“More what?” Jack asked. 

You made a frustrated sound. “Jack.”

His fingers slowed. You almost sobbed. “More what?” he repeated.

You turned your face into the sheets. “More of you.”

His breathing changed behind you. “There you go,” Jack said.

He withdrew his hand, and you heard him shift behind you. Your body went tight with anticipation. Then Jack paused. One hand slid up your spine, warm and grounding. “Hey,” he said.

You turned your face enough to see him. “What?”

His eyes searched yours. “Still good?”

Your chest softened. “Yes,” you said.

Jack’s thumb brushed along your back. “No pain?”

You replied instantly. “No.”

“You need me to stop, you tell me,” Jack said. 

“I know,” you whispered. 

His gaze held yours.

You swallowed. “I promise.”

The last bit of tension in his face eased. Then the heat returned. Slow. Dark. Certain. Jack reached toward the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. You heard the quiet tear of foil, the rustle of movement, the sound of his breath catching once as he rolled the condom on. The waiting nearly killed you. You shifted back toward him. Jack’s hand landed on your hip.

“Still,” he said.

You bit your lip. He noticed. His thumb pressed into your skin. “Don’t.”

You released your lip slowly. Jack’s hand moved from your hip to your jaw, turning your face just enough for him to see you.

“That’s mine too,” he said.

Your breath left you.

He leaned over you, mouth brushing yours from the awkward angle. “Say it.”

Your eyes stung with how badly you wanted him. “Only you.”

His eyes darkened. “Only me what?”

“Only you get me like this,” you answered. 

Jack kissed you hard. Then he pulled back and lined himself up behind you. The first press of him made you gasp. Jack froze. One hand stayed on your hip. The other still held the belt.

His voice was rough. “Talk to me.”

You shook beneath him. “Don’t stop.”

His jaw tightened. “Baby.”

“Please,” you said. “Please, Jack.”

He pushed in slowly. Inch by inch. Careful enough to make you ache. Deep enough to make your hands curl uselessly against the mattress. Your mouth fell open. No sound came out. Jack stopped when he was only halfway inside you, his fingers digging into your hip like he was fighting himself.

“Breathe,” he said. You tried. It came out broken. He bent over you, his mouth at your shoulder, his voice low against your skin. “That’s it,” Jack said. “Take your time.”

You turned your face toward him. “I don’t want to take my time.”

A rough laugh left him. It barely sounded like a laugh at all. “You never do when you’re being a brat.”

You pushed back against him. Only a little. Enough.

Jack’s hand tightened on the belt. “Careful.”

Your breath hitched. “Make me.”

Jack went completely still. For one second, there was nothing but the sound of both of you breathing. Then his hand slid from your hip to the back of your neck, not pressing, just holding you there. His mouth brushed your ear. “There she is,” he said.

Your whole body went hot. Then Jack pushed the rest of the way inside you. You cried out. He groaned at the same time, low and broken, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his body finally met yours completely. For a second, neither of you moved. You could feel him everywhere. The weight of him behind you. The belt at your wrists. His breath against your skin. The stretch. The fullness. The way your body had no idea what to do with finally having him after waiting all shift.

“Jack,” you gasped.

His hand tightened at your waist. “Say it again.”

“Jack.”

He pulled back slowly. Then pushed in again. Your eyes rolled shut.

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s my girl.”

The words broke something open in you. You clenched around him, and Jack’s rhythm faltered. His curse was rough against your shoulder. “Do that again,” he said.

You barely managed a breath. “What?”

His hips rolled into yours, deeper this time, and your voice broke. “That,” Jack said. “When I call you mine.”

Your wrists pulled against the belt. “I am yours,” you gasped.

His pace changed. Not fast yet. Not careless. Just harder. More certain. Each thrust pushed you higher on the bed, and Jack held you where he wanted you, one hand gripping the belt, the other locked at your hip.

“You spent all night trying to make me jealous,” he said.

You shook your head against the sheets. “No.”

Jack thrust into you again. Your answer turned into a moan. “No?” he asked.

“I was trying to remind you,” you breathed. 

His hand stilled on your hip for half a second. Then his body covered yours again, chest against your back, mouth near your ear. “Remind me of what?”

You turned your face enough to find his eyes. “That I’m yours.”

Jack’s expression broke. Just for a moment. Then his mouth found yours, messy and desperate from the angle, and he kissed you while he started moving again. This time, he did not hold back as much. The bed shifted beneath you. Your breath came in short, helpless sounds. Jack kept his mouth close to your ear, voice rough and low and entirely yours. “Who makes you feel like this?”

“You,” you gasped.

His hips drove into yours again. “Say my name.”

You gasped. “Jack.”

“Again,” he said.

“Jack, please,” you cried out. 

His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, pulling you back into him, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “Please what?”

You were shaking now. “Please don’t stop.”

Jack exhaled. “I’m not stopping.”

You began, “Jack—”

“I’ve got you,” he replied. 

Your eyes burned. He did. He had you. Every part of you. The secret part. The soft part. The bratty, aching, desperate part that had sent him that photo and brushed past him all shift because you wanted him to know no one else even came close.

“Only you,” you said, voice breaking.

Jack’s rhythm faltered. “What?”

You swallowed a moan. “Only you can make me feel like this.”

His grip tightened. “Keep going.”

Your body tightened around him. “Only you can touch me like this.”

Jack made a rough sound behind you. “Good girl.”

You were close again. Too close. Already. It rolled through you fast, heat building low in your spine, your thighs starting to shake. Jack felt it. Of course he felt it. His hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you exactly where you needed him. You sobbed his name.

“There,” he said. “That’s it.”

“Jack, please,” you begged. 

“You going to come for me again?” Jack asked. 

You nodded desperately. His fingers slowed. Your eyes flew open.

“Words,” he said.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, please.”

“Only me?” he asked. 

Your breath broke. “Only you,” you said. “Only you can make me come like this.”

Jack’s control snapped. He drove into you hard enough to make you cry out, his fingers working you in tight, perfect circles, his mouth at your shoulder, his voice wrecked in your ear.

“Come for me,” he said. “Say my name and come for me.”

You did.

You came with his name in your mouth, your whole body locking down around him as the pleasure ripped through you. It was harder than the first one, deeper, dragging every sound out of you until you were shaking beneath him, helpless against the belt and his hands and the way he kept talking you through it.

“That’s it,” Jack said. “Good girl. I’ve got you.”

You barely heard him over the rush of your own pulse. But you felt him. The way he held you. The way his rhythm turned uneven. The way his breath broke when your body kept tightening around him. He lasted three more thrusts before his control finally broke. You felt it happen. In the sudden uneven snap of his hips. In the way his hand tightened around the belt. In the rough sound that tore out of him when your body kept clenching around him.

“Fuck,” Jack breathed.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder. You felt his whole body go tense behind you, every muscle locking as he drove in deep and stayed there. Your name left his mouth. Low. Broken. Almost helpless. Then he came hard, hips jerking once, twice, his breath hot against your skin as he buried himself as deep as he could get and held you there through it.

For a few seconds, Jack did not move. He just breathed against you, heavy and uneven, his chest pressed to your back, his hand still wrapped around the belt like letting go too soon might undo him completely. For a moment, everything went still. Jack’s body was heavy over yours. His breath was hot against your skin. His hand loosened on the belt, but he did not let go completely. Not yet. You both stayed there, tangled and shaking, while the morning light edged slowly around the curtains. Then Jack kissed your shoulder. Once. Twice. Softer each time.

“You with me?” he asked.

Your throat felt raw. You nodded. 

His mouth brushed your skin. “Tell me.”

You closed your eyes. “I’m with you.”

Jack exhaled against you. Then, carefully, he shifted his weight and eased out of you. Your body twitched at the loss. Jack noticed. 

He kissed the back of your neck. “I know.”

You laughed weakly into the sheets. “You do not get to be smug right now.”

His mouth curved against your skin. “I’m not.”

“You are,” you replied. 

“A little,” Jack admitted. You huffed, but it came out soft. His hand moved to your wrists. The belt loosened immediately. Jack unwound it with careful fingers, taking his time now for a different reason. When your hands were free, he caught both wrists and brought them down slowly, rubbing warmth back into your skin with his thumbs. You rolled carefully onto your back. Jack sat beside you, still breathing hard, still bare, still looking at you like he was trying to memorize whether he had hurt you anywhere. He checked one wrist, then the other. His thumb brushed over the place the leather had been.

“Okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Okay.”

His eyes lifted to yours. “Really?”

Your chest went soft. You reached for his face. “Really.”

Jack turned his head and kissed your palm. The room went quiet again. Not charged this time. Warm. Full. He leaned down and kissed your wrist. Then the other. You watched him, throat tight.

“You know,” you said softly, “Mason really could never.”

Jack froze for half a second. Then his shoulders shook once with a quiet laugh. He looked up at you, exhausted and amused and so painfully yours that your chest ached.

“Baby,” Jack said. “I’m begging you.”

You smiled. His mouth curved. Then he climbed back onto the bed and gathered you carefully against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other hand still holding yours like he was not quite ready to stop touching you. You tucked your face against his neck. Jack kissed your hair. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then you felt his thumb move over your knuckles. Slow. Absent. Tender.

“Still jealous?” you asked.

Jack sighed against your hair. You felt his mouth curve. “A little.”

You pinched his side weakly. He caught your hand and kissed your fingers. “Completely in love with you,” he said. “The jealous part is secondary.”

Your heart folded. You lifted your head enough to look at him. “Secondary?”

Jack’s eyes softened. “Very secondary.”

You smiled. He kissed you once, slow and sweet and nothing like the door. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “No more pretending,” he said.

Your chest tightened. You brushed your thumb along his jaw. “No more pretending.”

Jack kissed you again. And this time, there was nothing careful about the way he held you.

Only sure.

You have a recurring dream. Or is it more of a nightmare? You can't tell.

In your dream, your human form transforms into that of something markedly inhuman, a grotesque thing to see unfold behind your eyelids.

Your skeleton shrinks to a size just a fraction of what it is now, the excess skin, with nothing to cling to, spreading in a fleshy pool on the floor. Your spine bends out of shape like a pole vaulter's pole over the high horizontal bar, canted forward at an extreme angle and forcing you on your hands and feet. Bones break; your pelvis shortens, your arms lengthen, and what were two hands become two feet. Like the dinosaurs that evolved to carry their massive weight, you've become quadrupedal.

The excess skin retracts, like the tape of a leash being pulled back, and snaps securely into place. And you have a little tail, starting right around the sacral region, an extension of the canine spine.

Metamorphosis: the worst part of the dream. Becoming something other than human. The simulated pain that comes with it. But after, you're happy. Loved and cared for by a shapeless owner. You're a dear thing to them.

A pet.

But distantly, even while using your baser brain, you can tell that something is wrong. You're not meant to be like this.

And yet, you're happy.

So. Nightmare, or not?

You don't know, but you don't have the time to dwell on it. Your half hour lunch break is almost up, your ramen cup is empty, and today you're stationed at the cash registers.

It's a slow day—slower than usual, at least—though. Pittsburgh is just coming out on the other end of a big, freak snowstorm, and there is but one customer in the store right now.

You clock back in on the employee app and exit the break room to tend to him, tossing your empty cup into the bin on your way out.

"Ready to check out, sir?"

So, even though you told yourself to drop it, as you scan and punch in his purchases for dog food, chew toys, and other assorted items, you think back on your dream.

Being employed here should explain its origin. You see these kinds of owners all the time: people who cherish their pets, spoiling them rotten. Who wouldn't want to be doted on? Loved? Asked for nothing but companionship in return.

Hey!

The snapping of fingers rings out, cutting and sharp.

Are you there? Can you give me my receipt already?

You startle, and you're brought back down to earth. You shake your head.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir." You rip the glossy paper from the receipt printer, holding it out to him. "Here's your receipt. Thank you for shopping at Animal Kingdom."

The man scoffs, snatching it out from your hand. He collects the handles of his paper bags and murmurs, "space case," before leaving the store.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You were daydreaming again. In front of a customer. If your boss had happened to see that exchange, you would have never heard the end of it.

You can't lose this job. You don't have much else going for you.

The next day.

Or the next week.

Does it matter?

Work. Home. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

That is a short summary of your life as of the past near decade since you graduated high school and have been working at the pet store. It's not much, but you make do. There is the noticeable absence of a social aspect in your routine...

nothing new there, though.

You do not hate your life, but there is not much to love. It flashes by, but it is also stagnant. And it is lonely.

You peer into a tank, sighing when you see a dead one. The black of the comet goldfish's eyes stare inanimately at you. Its brethren clear the way as you scoop it out, then bag it, throwing it into the dumpster in the back of the store.

Goldfish do not have a three-second memory, as the myth suggests, but retain memory for up to three months. Its brothers could be mourning it in its death, for all you know.

Sometimes, you daydream about the ocean. Seahorses come to mind. Being one in a pair of mates. Having a partner for life. It's a heartwarming thought, but you imagine that the ocean is one hell of a scary place for a pair of frail seahorses.

You can't have it both ways. Tank or ocean.

So, then, maybe instead of a seahorse, what you are is a remora in need of a shark. Feeding on its bacteria and dead skin, you'd be set to roam the big blue, accompanied and safe. Survival by way of symbiosis. A sad existence, though, to need a creature so much more than they need you.

Scratch that. Tanks are safe. Not the ones here, but a good owner would take care of their fish.

The PA system squeals with feedback as it's turned on.

Associate to aquatics for tank five cleanup. Associate to aquatics for tank five cleanup.

You sigh. More dead goldfish.

You're stocking shelves in the avian aisle when a customer softly calls out to you. Finches and parakeets chirp in the background, rowdy in their cages.

"Excuse me, miss?" he says, approaching you, his steps audible and heavy.

You turn around and almost drop the bag of birdseed you're holding.

Hazel-green eyes and a sinful scruff. Middle-aged or so.

The man is handsome. More handsome than anyone you've ever laid eyes on in the store. Maybe even in the small world you live in between here and your apartment and the bus ride to the grocery store. You've never seen him before, but you get the feeling that you recognize him from somewhere.

"Let me help with that," he offers, taking the bag from your hands and placing it on the bottommost shelf beside you where it belongs. He shifts his weight to his left foot when he stands to full height again, a flicker of pain sweeping over his features.

"Thank you, sir. You didn't have to—"

"It's not a problem. Mind helping me with something in return?"

You nod, clasping your hands in front of you. "How can I be of assistance?"

The man holds up a dog collar from his cargo pocket.

"I'm adopting a dog soon. Want to make sure that I'm gettin' the right size."

"Oh, well, all our collars are adjustable and should be able to fit any size dog. May I?" You hold your hand out palm up so he can pass it to you, but he shakes his head.

"This one isn't. I think I got the right one, but I'd just like to check."

You're not sure where he got the collar. You look at it more closely and are stumped when, yes, it's a slip-on. Non-adjustable. It tightens when the leash is pulled, a corrective action, and is loose-fitting otherwise when the dog is compliant. There must be a new supply of them that was put up that you were unaware of.

He clears his throat and clarifies, "could you try it on?"

"Try it on?" you repeat, stunned. "Uh, that's..."

Your eyes widen slightly when you catch sight of your boss standing a few feet behind the man, nodding his head and giving you two thumbs up, as if he had heard the conversation and were encouraging you to... try on the collar.

The customer experience is our number one priority.

You gulp. Why does this make you nervous? Just get it over with.

"Sure. Anything to help."

The man releases the tension in his shoulders, relieved that you agreed. "Thank you, miss. You're a lifesaver." He stands closer to you, raising his hands up to your head to collar you.

You duck down a bit to make it easier for him, looking at the gray vinyl floor. You think of your dream, your body breaking and bending and twisting from a force beyond your control.

The dog he's planning on adopting must be a larger breed, because though you would consider yourself to have an average-sized head, it does in fact fit.

It sits, weighty yet comfortably, around your neck. You instinctively touch the cool, metal sliding ring resting at the hollow of your throat with your fingers.

"Beautiful," he says.

You're starved enough for attention that you pretend he's saying it to you and not to the fit of the collar itself.

He winks cheekily. "I think this'll fit my girl nicely."

He's adopting a female dog, then.

"Will that be all?"

"Yeah, I'm ready to check out."

You go to remove the collar yourself, your fingertips brushing the polyester material of the climbing rope, but he interrupts you.

"Here, I got it."

His fingers, thick, you note, graze the sides of your neck when he removes the collar. You smile shyly at him once it's no longer around your neck, your faces a bit too close to be polite.

You follow him to the register to ring him up, making idle conversation, "the weather's been nice lately, hasn't it?" "It sure has. I hope you take advantage of it, miss," and hand him his receipt, and then he's gone.

That was not the strangest thing you've experienced in this store, but it was strange.

You double-check the aisle with the collars, rubbing your fingertip along the circumference of the metal ring of the exact one the man had purchased. You don't know why you felt the need to confirm that they were here.

What attracted you to this position out of high school was that it had decent benefits, decent pay, and it was one bus ride away from your parents' home and then, when you moved out, walking distance to your apartment.

What's keeping you here now, though, you're not too sure. You planned to go to the community college at some point when you had saved up enough money to study something, but that never came to pass. You got trapped in the comfort zone.

A little too late now to regret not having done more for yourself, so you try not to. There's still time if you were to somehow get the courage to change your life.

The bell rings as a couple strolls in. You recognize them as two kids, now adults the same age as you, who went to your high school. It's been years since you've come across anyone from then, and you had almost convinced yourself you were the last of your class in Pittsburgh.

They don't recognize you when you ring up their cat food. A few cans of the wet variety.

It's better they don't. You don't have the fondest memories of your high school years.

"You two are a cute couple," you say, bagging the cans. Not for any reason besides to make some small talk.

Engage with the customers. Communicate. Connect. That's what separates us from them.

"Thanks! We just got engaged," she says, holding her left hand out, a giant, gleaming rock on her wedding finger. "Are you in a relationship?"

"Me?" you ask, almost appalled. "No, I haven't had the, uh, best of luck in the dating department."

She beams. "There's this speed dating event happening soon. I'm one of the organizers. You should consider signing up."

She hands you a flier from her purse, and you skim through the details before folding it up into squares, placing it in your pocket, knowing you'll likely find it in the washing machine later, torn to shreds.

"Thanks. I'll think about it." You pass her the receipt and bag of cat food. "Have a great rest of your day, you two."

Your boss, Mark, tends to hover. And in his hovering, he tends to overhear.

You're eating lunch in the break room with Katy, a woman who's long in the tooth and has a mean bite. She tolerates you, though. You're not sure what that says about you as a person, but you won't shoo away company.

Mark takes a seat beside you in what was an empty chair, and Katy stands up, her chair screeching as it's pushed back. She doesn't like Mark, so her lunch is as good as over.

He stares holes into her retreating back before turning his attention to you. "I happened to overhear that customer inviting you to a speed dating shindig. Are you going?"

You shrug, twirling your soggy noodles over and over again in the cup. "Um. I dunno. I haven't thought about it, to be honest."

"You have to go. How many years have you been working here, and you're still single?"

You're taken aback. "Why does that matter?"

He shoves his phone in your face, a selfie of him and his wife lounging on the deck of a beach bungalow, sick in love.

You remember when Mark went away on his honeymoon last year. You were temporarily assigned manager. It was one of the worst weeks of your life.

"You have to take chances. Put yourself out there. I swore off the apps, but I gave it one more chance, and look. I got married."

You don't know on the dot when you two got close enough for him to speak to you like this. But you are his longest-lasting employee and younger than the rest, so maybe he feels paternal toward you.

You do see him more than your actual father now that you think about it.

You sigh, yielding. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to check it out."

What do you have to lose? The event is Friday, and you're not scheduled to work. You can dip out the moment your anxiety spikes too high.

Mark claps a hand over your shoulder. "Excellent!"

He leaves you alone in the break room, and soon enough you can hear him getting into it with Katy.

Looking down into your cup, you frown. Your noodles are not only soggy but have now turned a ghoulish gray. You wouldn't feed this to your pet.

An elderly man brings in his sick cat, thinking that the pet store is an animal hospital. He's dizzy with worry and scarcely gets his words across. You feel bad for the pair of them and look up directions to the nearest clinic.

The cat, cradled in the arms of its owner like a baby, then pukes all over the front of your shirt and on the floor, some splashing onto the toes of your sneakers. Mark takes over, directing the man two streets down to a veterinary clinic, and you excuse yourself to clean up, using the paper towels in the employee restroom to fruitlessly wipe away the stains on your shirt. Of course you don't have spare clothes in your locker. You smell like cat puke the rest of the day.

One day, you're going to quit this place.

Mark and Katy get into a spat about pricing inaccuracies.

"I only label the prices. I don't set the prices. Don't pin this on me, Mark."

"But you're supposed to check that it matches the one in the POS before you stick them on the merchandise!"

And when you try to break up what is looking to become a fistfight, Katy accidentally slaps you across the face.

"Look at what you fuckin' made me do! Are you okay, hun?"

You're going to quit this place.

Today nothing bad happens. You clock in, and you clock out. But all through your shift, you have this crushing, despairing feeling in your chest because you know you're never going to quit this place.

Tomorrow is the speed dating event. As you think about what you're going to wear while mopping the floor along an aisle, a pair of boots comes into view.

The same ones he had on last time. You look up, and there he is, the man who collared you.

"Hey, there. Remember me?"

How could you forget? That interaction didn't leave your mind for days afterward. Every time you passed by the shelf with those collars, you thought of him.

"Of course. Is everything alright?"

You don't see too many repeat customers. Customers in general, quite frankly. Big box stores and online shopping and pet subscription boxes are forcing stores like these to close. It can be a ghost town at times. The dirt and dust tracked in from the outside are more imaginary than real.

You almost want it to happen—the store closing. Then you'd be forced to move on. You're not so lucky, though.

He rubs the nape of his neck. "I need to return the collar I bought."

You peer out past the endcap and look to the cash registers crowded in the middle of the store, a few aisles down.

Empty.

"Someone should be manning the registers. So sorry about that."

You set the mop and bucket to the side, the wooden handle leaning against a shelf with a wide array of cat and dog treats, and place down a wet floor sign.

He shakes his head. "I'm in no rush."

You lead the way to the registers and process his return, typing codes into the computer. You ask, curious, "is there a reason why you're returning this? Something wrong with it?"

He mulls over his answer. "No, it's not that."

You glance at him, quirking a brow. The cash drawer pops open, and you hand him his cash back, his fingertips skimming yours.

"The adoption fell through," he explains, shrugging. "Have no use for it now."

You wonder what made the adoption go sideways. Was it a behavioral issue, or was it simply a matter of personality? "Sorry it didn't work out. But I'm sure there's a dog out there waiting for you to be their owner."

He huffs a laugh. "You might be right."

You're home, immobile on the couch, when you should be on the bus that goes downtown. There's another one arriving in twenty minutes.

You showered and put on some makeup, but if you don't get dressed now, you're going to be late. And if you're late, you'd rather not go because then you'd be giving a bad impression.

Is anything good going to come out of this, though? Speed dating, as far as you know, is hit or miss. And you're like a magnet for misfortune.

Your phone vibrates in your lap. A text from Mark.

I want to hear all about your dates tomorrow!

You groan. You should've switched your schedule around to have tomorrow off of work.

Though you drag your feet, you get off the couch and get dressed. At the very least, you can tell him you went and showed your face. You make it to the bus stop just in the nick of time and are the last to board.

It rained earlier, and the inside of the bus smells like the aftermath of getting caught in it. Except worse. Like a damp dog instead of damp human skin intermingled with petrichor. You hope it doesn't rub off on you.

The speed dating is held at a small party venue. You feel out of place among the other women, who are dressed in nicer clothing and have bigger, prettier smiles. Your dress is itchy, and your heels pinch your toes. Already, you're regretting this.

You arrived a little too late to get yourself a drink at the cash bar to untangle your knotted nerves. You get signed in and are given a nametag, then are seated at a table by one of the volunteers. You're told to wait.