At first, it was long stares that had nothing to do with anything clinical. Then came the unnecessary pauses when you shared space in the OR. And now, it’s the nurses who tease him outright whenever you walk into the break room, your hair touched with elegant gray.

“Is his sugar crush here again?” one of them blurts out without filter. “Dr. Abbott, your boyfriend’s looking for you,” another says, laughing.

You just raise an eyebrow as you start making coffee. It doesn’t bother you. You know the effect you have. Jack stays quiet, his thoughts slipping across his face almost imperceptibly, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with these feelings.

“How many years older is he, Doctor? Ten? Fifteen?” asks Dr. Ellis.

The silence that follows is quick and delicious. Jack throws you a quick glance, as if unsure whether to thank you or run away.

Later, when you’re alone because you always end up alone, as if the universe enjoys playing with you two Jack approaches with that restrained way he walks. Like he’s afraid the ground beneath him might shift if he allows himself to feel too much.

“Don’t mind them,” he says, not quite looking at you. “They tend to exaggerate.”