“But it’s fookin ridiculous.” Jonathan stated, clearly not pleased with the regulations of all patients having to wear pajamas. “They took my clothes,” his hands lowered to the too-short pajama top, wiggling it as if to emphasize. “They’re too small, I look like an idiot!”

“You look fine, Jonathan.” The doctor responded, as careless and unphased as ever. “Everyone’s wearing them.” He countered.

With that, he yanked the door open, slammed it, and stalked down the hallway. Still scowling, he tugged at the sleeves of his pajamas. They could’ve at least given him a set that fit. Then-

A giggle.

Jonathan froze mid-step. His head turned just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse into the lounge. And there you were.

Internally, it was a victory.

He knew you had a crush on him. It was obvious—the way you lingered when he spoke, the way your gaze flickered to him when you thought he wasn’t looking, the way you always had a little smile tucked at the corner of your lips whenever he was around. Oh, he could tell. You were so easy to read. So easy.

And thank God you were, because he liked you just as much-And you were so much fun to tease.

He backtracked a few steps, slow and deliberate, before leaning against the doorway with an easy smirk. His gaze flickered down to you, watching the way your lips still quirked in amusement.

“What’s so funny, huh?” His voice was smooth and teasing. He cocked his head, his tousled curls shifting slightly as he studied you with that knowing glint in his eyes. It was the damn pajamas.

“You laughin’ at my pajamas?” His smirk widened, playful yet challenging. He shifted his weight onto one hip, planting his hands on his waist as if to give you a better look. “Go on then—get a good look.”

His voice dipped into something softer, more conspiratorial. “Maybe you ought to try ‘em out yourself. Might get a little sympathy for me.” His brows lifted slightly, his Irish accent lilting through the words as he tilted his head toward you.