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Hour One: 2:47 AM

The thing about working night shift at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was that it turned you into a different species of human. You became nocturnal, caffeine-dependent, and fluent in gallows humor. Dr. Parker Ellis had made peace with all of this approximately six months into her residency.

What she had not made peace with was the way her heart did a stupid little flip every time she heard a particular laugh echoing down the hallway.

"Dr. Ellis! I come bearing gifts!"

Parker didn't look up from the chart she was reviewing, though her lips twitched. "If it's another inspirational quote written on a coffee cup, I'm having you removed from the premises."

"First of all, that's hostile work environment behavior," you said, rounding the nurses' station with two cups of coffee in hand. "Second of all, you loved 'You're brew-tiful' and you know it."

"I tolerated it."

"You smiled."

"I had gas."

You laughed—that laugh, the one that somehow made the fluorescent lights seem less harsh—and set one of the cups down next to her elbow. "Large, black, no sugar, because you're dead inside."

"Efficient," Parker corrected, finally glancing up. Mistake. You were wearing those ridiculous scrubs with the tiny sunflowers on them, and your hair was pulled back in a way that showed off your neck, and—nope. She looked back down at the chart. "Some of us don't need our coffee to taste like a dessert menu."

"Some of us know how to enjoy life's simple pleasures." You leaned against the counter, cradling your own cup—probably something with caramel and whipped cream and enough sugar to send a normal person into a coma. "Speaking of which, what do you call a doctor who fixes websites?"

Parker's pen stilled. "No."

"A URLologist."

"That's terrible."

"You're smiling."

"I'm grimacing. It's different."

"Is it though?" You tilted your head, studying her with those bright eyes that seemed to see right through her carefully constructed walls. "Because from here, it looks like the corners of your mouth went up approximately three millimeters."

"I don't smile in millimeters."

"You don't smile in anything," you said cheerfully. "Which is why I've made it my personal mission to crack that professional facade. I'm thinking by Christmas, I can get you to full teeth."

"It's March."

"I'm a long-term planner."

Parker took a sip of her coffee to hide whatever her face was doing. It was perfect, obviously. You'd been bringing her coffee for three months now, and somehow you'd memorized exactly how she liked it. Which was... thoughtful. Unnecessarily thoughtful. The kind of thoughtful that made her stomach do complicated things she didn't have time to analyze.

"Don't you have patients to attend to?" she asked.

"Don't you have a personality to develop?"

"I have a personality."

"'Tired' isn't a personality, Dr. Ellis."

"It is on night shift."

You grinned, and Parker felt that stupid flip again. This was getting ridiculous. She was a senior resident, for god's sake. She'd performed emergency thoracotomies, managed multi-trauma patients, and once talked down a guy high on bath salts who thought he was a pterodactyl. She could handle one nurse with a sunshine disposition and a terrible sense of humor.

Probably.

"Room 304 needs vitals checked," she said, turning back to her chart. "And Mr. Patterson in 312 is due for his meds."

"Aye aye, Captain." You gave her a mock salute. "But I'll be back. I've got at least four more medical puns queued up."

"I'm calling security."

"You love it."

You walked away before she could respond, which was probably for the best, because Parker wasn't entirely sure what she would have said. The truth was becoming increasingly difficult to deny: she did love it. Loved the terrible jokes, the bright scrubs, the way you hummed while you worked, the casual touches on her shoulder when you passed by, the fact that you'd somehow decided that making her smile was a worthwhile use of your time.

She was so screwed.

Hour Two: 3:15 AM

"You're staring again."

Parker blinked, turning to find Mateo Diaz, one of the night shift nurses, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face.

"I'm observing," she said coolly. "It's called being thorough."

"Uh-huh. And the fact that you're 'observing' the supply closet that a certain someone just walked into is purely coincidental?"

"I was checking inventory levels."

"From thirty feet away?"

"I have excellent vision."

Mateo laughed, shaking his head. "Dr. Ellis, I say this with all the love and respect in the world: you are terrible at this."

"At what?"

"At pretending you're not completely gone for her."

Parker's jaw tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right. And I'm sure it's just a coincidence that you only drink the coffee she brings you. Or that you time your rounds to coincide with hers. Or that you actually laughed—laughed, Dr. Ellis—at that joke about the skeleton last week."

"It was anatomically accurate."

"It was a dad joke."

"I appreciate precision in humor."

"You appreciate her," Mateo said, his voice gentler now. "And honestly? Everyone can see it. Everyone except apparently you two."

Parker opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. What was the point? Mateo had been working night shift longer than she had; he'd probably seen this exact scenario play out a dozen times. Hospital romances were practically a cliché. She'd always prided herself on being above that kind of thing, on maintaining professional boundaries, on not being one of those doctors who—

"She likes you too, you know," Mateo added quietly.

Parker's heart did something complicated. "She's like that with everyone. It's her personality."

"No, she's nice to everyone. With you, she's different. She lights up when you walk in. She goes out of her way to make you smile. She brings you coffee every single shift, and before you say it's just being friendly—she doesn't do that for anyone else."

"Maybe she feels sorry for me."

"Or maybe she's been flirting with you for three months and you're too emotionally constipated to notice."

"I'm not—" Parker stopped, took a breath. "I don't have time for this."

"For what? Happiness? Human connection? A gorgeous nurse who thinks you hung the moon?"

"For complications."

Mateo studied her for a long moment. "You know what I think? I think you're scared. And that's okay. But don't let fear make you miss out on something good."

Before Parker could respond, you emerged from the supply closet with an armful of linens, nearly colliding with a crash cart. You stumbled, laughed at yourself, and called out, "I'm okay! Grace is my middle name!"

"I thought your middle name was Marie," Mateo called back.

"Grace Marie! It's hyphenated!"

Parker felt her lips twitch despite herself.

"Yeah," Mateo said softly. "You're definitely not into her at all."

Hour Three: 4:02 AM

The thing about night shift was that it had a rhythm. Busy periods punctuated by eerie calm, the kind of quiet that made you superstitious about saying the word "quiet" out loud. Parker was in the break room during one of these lulls, reviewing labs on her tablet, when you appeared in the doorway.

"Knock knock," you said.

"We need to have a serious conversation about boundaries."

"Who's there?" you continued, undeterred.

Parker sighed. "Who's there?"

"Hippa."

Despite herself, Parker felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "Hippa who?"

"I can't tell you that."

This time, Parker actually smiled. Just a small one, barely there, but you saw it. Your whole face lit up like you'd just won the lottery.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Was that—did you just—Mateo! MATEO, SHE SMILED!"

"I'm calling HR," Parker said, but there was no heat in it.

You practically bounced into the room, setting down your own tablet. "I need to document this. Time of smile: 4:02 AM. Duration: approximately 1.5 seconds. Cause: exceptional comedic timing and a solid understanding of healthcare privacy laws."

"You're ridiculous."

"You're smiling again!"

"I'm not."

"You are! It's smaller, but it's there. I can see it. This is the best night of my life."

Parker shook her head, but she couldn't quite suppress the warmth spreading through her chest. "You need to raise your standards."

"My standards are fine, thank you." You dropped into the chair across from her, propping your chin on your hand. "Besides, making you smile is like... I don't know, climbing Everest. It's the challenge that makes it worthwhile."

"I'm not Everest."

"No, you're more like... K2. Technically harder, less traveled, but incredibly rewarding for those brave enough to try."

"Did you just compare me to a mountain?"

"A very beautiful, very intimidating mountain."

There was a beat of silence. Parker's brain stuttered over the word "beautiful," trying to process whether you meant it the way it sounded or if she was reading too much into—

"So," you said, mercifully changing the subject, "what's your plan for your day off?"

"Sleep. Maybe eat something that isn't from a vending machine."

"Wild. You really know how to live."

"What about you?"

"Oh, you know. Brunch with friends, farmers market, maybe a hike if the weather's nice. I'm trying to soak up as much sunlight as possible before I turn into a full vampire."

Parker found herself wondering what you looked like in sunlight. You were beautiful under fluorescents, which seemed impossible, but you managed it, so in actual natural light, you probably looked...

She shut down that train of thought immediately.

"That sounds nice," she said instead.

"You should come sometime."

Parker's head snapped up. "What?"

"To brunch. Or the farmers' market. Or whatever." You were fiddling with your pen, not quite meeting her eyes, and was that... nervousness? "I mean, if you want. No pressure. I just thought it might be nice to hang out outside of, you know, the fluorescent hellscape."

Parker's mouth went dry. This was... was this a date? Was she being asked on a date? Or was this just friendly? You were friendly with everyone. This probably didn't mean anything. But Mateo's words echoed in her head: She doesn't do that for anyone else.

"I..." Parker started, then stopped. What was she doing? She should say yes. She wanted to say yes. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled up with fear and professionalism and the certainty that she would somehow ruin this.

"You don't have to," you said quickly, and now you definitely weren't meeting her eyes. "I know you're busy. It was just a thought."

"No, I—" Parker tried again. "I'd like that. Sometime."

Your head came up, and the smile that spread across your face made Parker's chest ache. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Cool. Great." You were grinning now, that full-wattage smile that made the break room seem brighter. "It's a date. I mean—not a date date, unless you want it to be a date, but like, a friend date. A colleague's date. A... I'm going to stop talking now."

Parker felt something warm unfurl in her chest. "A date sounds good."

The words were out before she could stop them, and the look on your face—surprise melting into joy—made every ounce of fear worth it.

Then both your pagers went off simultaneously, shattering the moment.

"Trauma incoming," you read, already standing. "MVA, multiple victims."

Just like that, you both shifted into professional mode, the moment tucked away but not forgotten. As you headed for the doors, you glanced back at her.

"To be continued?" you asked.

"To be continued," Parker confirmed.

Hour Four: 5:33 AM

The trauma had been intense—three patients, two critical—but they'd stabilized everyone. Parker was finishing up notes when she became aware of someone watching her. She looked up to find Keisha Williams, the charge nurse, leaning against the desk with an expression that could only be described as smug.

"Don't," Parker said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You're thinking it very loudly."

Keisha grinned. "I'm just thinking that you and a certain someone looked very cozy in the break room earlier."

"We were talking."

"Uh-huh. And the blushing?"

"I don't blush."

"Dr. Ellis, I've worked with you for two years. I've seen you elbow-deep in a chest cavity without flinching. I've watched you handle the worst traumas without breaking a sweat. But one smile from her and you turn pink."

"I'm not—" Parker caught sight of her reflection in a nearby monitor. Dammit. She was pink.

"Look," Keisha said, her voice softening. "I'm not trying to give you a hard time. Well, I am, but only because I care. You're a great doctor, Parker. But you're also human. And that girl? She's good for you. She makes you laugh. She makes you smile. Do you know how rare that is?"

"It's complicated."

"It's only complicated if you make it complicated."

"We work together."

"So do half the couples in this hospital."

"I'm her superior."

"You're a resident, not an attending. And she's not your direct report. Try again."

Parker set down her pen. "What if I mess it up?"

There it was. The real fear, laid bare.

Keisha's expression gentled. "What if you don't? What if it's actually amazing? What if she's been waiting for you to make a move this whole time?"

"She asked me to brunch," Parker admitted quietly.

"And?"

"I said yes. I think. It might have been a date. I'm not sure."

"Did you want it to be a date?"

Parker thought about your smile, your laugh, the way you made the night shift feel less lonely. "Yes."

"Then make it a date. Be clear. Use your words. I know that's hard for you, but trust me—she'll appreciate it."

"What if she doesn't feel the same way?"

"Parker. Honey. She brings you coffee every shift. She memorized how you like it. She spends her breaks trying to make you laugh. She literally asked you out. What more do you need? A skywriter?"

Parker felt a smile tugging at her lips. "That would be clear."

"You're impossible." But Keisha was smiling too. "Just... don't overthink it, okay? Sometimes the best things happen when we stop trying to control everything."

Hour Five: 6:15 AM

The shift was winding down, that strange liminal time when night shift overlapped with day shift, when the world outside started to lighten, but the hospital remained in its own temporal bubble. Parker was signing off on her last patient when she heard your voice.

"Hey, Dr. Ellis?"

She turned to find you hovering nearby, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say—about earlier, the brunch thing—I didn't mean to put you on the spot. If you're not interested, that's totally fine. I don't want to make things weird."

Parker's heart clenched. You thought she wasn't interested. Because she'd hesitated, because she'd been too caught up in her own fear to be clear, because she was apparently terrible at this.

"You didn't," she said. "Make things weird, I mean. I want to go. To brunch. With you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And..." Parker took a breath, channeling every ounce of courage she possessed. "I'd like it to be a date. If that's okay."

Your smile could have powered the entire hospital. "That's very okay. That's extremely okay. That's the most okay thing I've heard all week."

"You're rambling."

"I'm happy." You stepped closer, and Parker caught the scent of your shampoo—something citrusy and bright. "I've been trying to get you to notice me for months."

"I noticed."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"I'm not good at this," Parker admitted. "The whole... feelings thing. But you make me want to try."

"That's literally the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, and it's still emotionally constipated. You're amazing."

Parker laughed—actually laughed, a real one—and the look on your face was worth every moment of fear.

"There it is," you said softly. "I knew you had a beautiful laugh."

"You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Parker gestured vaguely at the space between them. "Because we're at work. Because I'm supposed to be professional. Because—"

"Because you're scared?"

Parker met your eyes. "Terrified."

"Me too," you admitted. "But I think you're worth being scared for."

Before Parker could respond, Mateo's voice echoed down the hallway: "If you two don't kiss right now, I'm filing a complaint for blue-balling the entire night shift!"

"MATEO!" you both yelled in unison.

"Just saying what everyone's thinking!" he called back.

You looked at Parker, and Parker looked at you, and suddenly you were both laughing, the tension breaking into something lighter, easier.

"Rain check on that kiss?" you asked. "Somewhere without an audience?"

"Definitely."

"But the date's still on?"

"The date's still on."

"Okay. Good." You started to walk away, then turned back. "Hey, Dr. Ellis?"

"Yes?"

"What do you call a doctor who's also a rapper?"

Parker groaned. "Please don't."

"Dr. Dre."

"That's not even—he's actually—you know what, never mind."

"You're smiling again!"

"I'm leaving."

"You love me!"

Parker froze mid-step. The words hung in the air between them, too big and too soon but somehow exactly right. You looked equally shocked that you'd said them.

"I mean—not love love, obviously, we haven't even had our first date yet, I just meant—"

"I know what you meant," Parker said quietly. And then, because apparently she was capable of bravery after all: "But maybe someday."

The smile you gave her then was different from all the others—softer, more intimate, full of promise.

"Yeah," you said. "Maybe someday."

Hour Six: 7:00 AM

Parker was gathering her things from her locker when Keisha appeared, looking far too pleased with herself.

"So," she said. "I heard you have a date."

"News travels fast."

"Mateo has a big mouth. Also, he's planning your wedding. Just FYI."

"Of course he is."

"For what it's worth?" Keisha's voice was sincere now. "I'm happy for you. You deserve this."

Parker felt something warm settle in her chest. "Thanks."

"Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Don't overthink it. She likes you. You like her. Everything else is just details."

Parker nodded, slinging her bag over her shoulder. As she headed for the exit, she passed the nurses' station where you were finishing up your own charting. You looked up, caught her eye, and smiled—that smile that made everything else fade into background noise.

"See you tomorrow night?" you called.

"See you tomorrow," Parker confirmed.

"And Sunday? For brunch?"

"Sunday for brunch."

"It's a date!"

"It's a date," Parker agreed, and this time, she didn't hesitate.

As she pushed through the doors into the early morning light, Parker felt something she hadn't felt in a long time: hope. The night shift had always been her domain—the place where she was competent, in control, untouchable. But maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let someone in. To let someone make her smile, make her laugh, make her feel human again.

Her phone buzzed with a text. From you, of course.

What do you call a doctor who fixes broken hearts?

Parker smiled, typing back: What?

I don't know yet, but I'm hoping to find out on Sunday. ;)

Parker laughed out loud, right there on the sidewalk, not caring who saw.

That was terrible, she texted back.

But you're smiling, aren't you?

Maybe.

Definitely. I can feel it from here. It's like a disturbance in the Force.

Did you just make a Star Wars reference?

I'm multifaceted. You'll learn. I have layers.

Like an onion?

Like a PARFAIT. Everybody loves parfait.

Now you're quoting Shrek.

I told you. Multifaceted.

Parker shook her head, still grinning like an idiot. This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. And somehow, that made everything perfect.

See you tomorrow, she texted.

Can't wait, you replied, followed by a string of emojis—hearts, suns, and inexplicably, a taco.

Parker pocketed her phone and headed for her car, the morning sun warm on her face. She'd spent so long in the dark—literally and figuratively—that she'd forgotten what it felt like to step into the light.

But as she drove home, already counting down the hours until she'd see you again, Parker realized something: maybe she hadn't been waiting for the right person.

Maybe she'd been waiting to become the right version of herself. The version brave enough to take a chance. The version who could accept that she deserved good things. The version who could smile freely, laugh openly, and let someone in.

And if that someone happened to have terrible jokes, an inexplicable love of sunflower scrubs, and a smile that could light up the darkest night shift?

Well. Parker could think of worse fates.

Her phone buzzed again.

PS: I'm already planning my outfit for Sunday. How do you feel about sundresses?

Parker's heart did that stupid flip again, but this time, she didn't fight it.

I feel very positively about sundresses, she typed back.

Good. Because I look AMAZING in yellow.

I don't doubt it.

Was that a compliment, Dr. Ellis?

Maybe.

You're getting better at this!

I have a good teacher.

There was a pause, longer than the others, and then:

I really like you, Parker.

Parker pulled into her parking spot, staring at the message. You'd used her first name. You'd said you liked her. This was real. This was happening.

I really like you too, she typed, then hit send before she could second-guess herself.

The response was immediate: a gif of Kermit the Frog flailing excitedly.

Parker laughed, saved the gif, and headed inside.

She had a date on Sunday. With a beautiful nurse who made terrible jokes and wore sunflower scrubs and somehow saw past all her walls to the person underneath.

The night shift had given her a lot of things over the years: experience, confidence, a caffeine addiction that probably required medical intervention.

But this—this feeling of anticipation, of possibility, of hope—this was something new.

And as Parker fell into bed, already dreaming of sundresses and brunch and the way you smiled when you looked at her, she realized something else:

She couldn't wait for tomorrow night.

Not because of the work, or the adrenaline, or the satisfaction of saving lives.

But because tomorrow night meant seeing you again.

And that, Parker thought as sleep finally claimed her, was worth smiling about.

Sunday, 11:00 AM

Parker had changed her outfit four times.

This was ridiculous. She was a doctor. She'd performed emergency procedures in the back of ambulances. She'd made life-or-death decisions with seconds to spare. She could handle brunch.

Except this wasn't just brunch. This was a date. With you. And suddenly, Parker's usual confidence had evaporated, replaced by a nervous energy that made her feel like a teenager again.

Her phone buzzed.

I'm here! No rush, but I'm very excited and also I saw a dog and it was VERY cute.

Parker smiled, grabbed her jacket, and headed downstairs. You were waiting outside the café, and—

Oh.

You were wearing a yellow sundress, just like you'd promised, and you looked absolutely radiant. Your hair was down, catching the sunlight, and you were grinning at something on your phone, probably another dog photo, and Parker's heart did a full gymnastics routine in her chest.

"Hi," she said, suddenly feeling very awkward in her jeans and button-down.

You looked up, and your whole face lit up. "Hi yourself. You look great."

"So do you. The dress is... you were right. About the yellow."

"I know, right? It's my power color." You did a little spin, and Parker couldn't help but smile. "Ready to eat an irresponsible amount of pancakes?"

"I've been preparing my whole life for this moment."

You laughed, linking your arm through hers, and just like that, the nervousness faded. This was you. The person who made her smile at 3 AM, who brought her coffee, who saw her at her most exhausted and still chose to be around her.

This was going to be okay.

Better than okay.

As you walked into the café together, already debating the merits of sweet versus savory breakfast items, Parker realized something:

The night shift had brought you into her life.

But this—this bright, sunlit morning, this easy laughter, this feeling of rightness—this was all you.

And Parker couldn't wait to see where it led.

"Hey," you said, squeezing her arm gently. "You okay? You got quiet."

Parker looked at you—really looked at you—and felt that familiar warmth spread through her chest.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm really okay."

"Good." You smiled, soft and genuine. "Because I have at least six more terrible medical puns queued up, and I need you at full strength to appreciate them."

"I don't appreciate them. I tolerate them."

"You love them."

"I—" Parker stopped, met your eyes, and decided that maybe, just this once, she could be completely honest. "Yeah. I do."

Your smile could have powered the sun.

"Good," you said. "Because I'm not stopping anytime soon."

"I'm counting on it," Parker said.

"Told you I'd wash 'em," he says as he settles behind you, arms snaking around your waist. You huff a small laugh and shake your head gently.

The faucet flicks off and you set the plate you had been scrubbing aside. "It's your day off."

"That doesn't exempt me from cooking when it's my turn or doing any other chores." He kisses the back of your neck then a little lower, placing a couple more across your shoulder.

"It does today," you say matter of factly as you lean back into him.

"Oh, how come?" He asks with a brow raised. His chin comes to rest over your shoulder. The kitchen window in front of you holds a wisp of your reflection ensnared in his.

You shrug. "Because I said so."

"You shaved?" He questions.

While your enthralled in the back and forth his touch wanders. The hand splayed over your tummy slides south, slipping underneath your panties to—he freezes. You're completely bare. Jack is not met with the tuft of hair that he expects and is so fond of. A frown twitches at the corner of his lips.

Your eyes snap open, and you jolt at the question having been fully prepared to melt into his touch without so much as another fleeting thought.

"Yeah..." you say with the audacity to sound confused.

"Why?"

"I thought..." Doubt begins to cloud your voice. "I thought you might like it a bit tidier."

"I don't know what put it in your head that I don't adore you exactly as you are," he says, "but you don't ever have to shave for me, okay?"

And there it is. You've done this for him—out of some sort of insecurity that has taken root—and that's just not an answer he can accept. He tuts and his touch resumes, fingertips grazing your clit.

• 𝑒mery 𝓌alsh: who finds out you’re insecure and will absolutely not have it.

• 𝑒mery 𝓌alsh: who takes any opportunity to remind you just how pretty you are, murmuring things like ‘such a pretty girl.’, ‘god you’re so beautiful’, and ‘stunning’ in between kisses.

• 𝑒mery 𝓌alsh: who after finding out takes her time with you, kissing every inch of your body and whispering soft praises to it.

• 𝑒mery 𝓌alsh: who talks about just how lucky she is because she has you.

• 𝑒mery 𝓌alsh: who—if you’re having a bad day—will kiss your tears away and quite literally fuck the sadness out of you.

• 𝑒mery 𝓌alsh: who looks at you with nothing short of love because as sarcastic and ‘mean’ as she can be, at the end of the day you’re her girl and she cherishes you.