It’s a typical Friday night at Joe’s Bar. The usual clinking of glasses and low chatter fills the air as you move between tables. The regular crowd is settled in their corner, already halfway through their second round. Among them, Alex Karev stands out. He’s always loud, confident, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place. But whenever you drop off their drinks, he quiets—just for a moment—and his eyes follow you.

You’ve noticed it for a while now. Alex is the only one who tips extra, and it’s not out of guilt. It’s the way his eyes linger on you when you work, how he sits up straighter when you laugh, the way he looks at you when you make eye contact.

One night, he surprised you by asking, “You went to Roosevelt, right?”

—“Yeah,” you answered, “same year as you.”

It had been a brief exchange, but you both shared a knowing look. Since then, his tips have been generous, and the glances have only increased.

Tonight, Cristina, Meredith, and the others are teasing Alex.

—“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” Cristina comments, watching him carefully.

—“What?” Alex shrugs, grabbing a fry.

—“You basically drool every time the bartender walks by,” Meredith teases.

Mark leans in.

—“You know them, right? From high school?”

Alex shifts uncomfortably, his jaw tightens.

—“Yeah. So?”

Cristina raises an eyebrow.

—“So, ask for their number already.”

George laughs.

—“You’re basically begging for it.”

Alex rolls his eyes but keeps watching you. When you catch his gaze, his face flushes slightly.

When you bring their drinks again, Alex leans toward you, trying to play it cool but failing.

—“Hey,” he begins, rubbing his neck, “I know this is gonna sound kinda high school, but... wanna give me your number?”