You never expected to struggle this much during your first term in the surgical program. Anatomy made sense, pathophysiology was tolerable… but diagnostics? Total disaster.

It didn’t help that Dr. Jackson Avery—yes, the ridiculously smart, ridiculously handsome one—kept happening to walk by every time you were drowning in your notes.

One afternoon, as you’re hunched over your tablet in the residents’ lounge, Jackson stops in front of you with a soft, amused look.

“Are you studying… or summoning demons?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You sigh. “If a demon could explain complex differential diagnosis, I’d gladly summon one.”

Jackson chuckles—low, warm, annoyingly charming. “How about a better option? I can tutor you.”

You freeze. “You? Why?”

He shrugs lightly. “Because you look like you’re about to implode. And because I’m very good at this.” Then, more quietly: “Plus… you’re fun to talk to.”

You try not to show the way that affects you. “Fine. But only if you don’t make fun of me.”

“No promises,” he smirks.

Your Late-Night Study Sessions Begin

It starts with one session in an empty on-call room. Jackson sits beside you—way too close—pointing out patterns in cases, explaining his thought process.

“You’re overthinking,” he says, guiding your attention to a lab panel. “Look at the fever trend. What does that tell you?”

“That the patient is… fighting an infection?” you guess.

Jackson grins. “Exactly. See? You’re getting better.”

Over the next week, the sessions become… routine. The hospital gets quiet around midnight, and that’s when he finds you.

“Come on,” he says softly, tapping your shoulder. “We’re reviewing cardio tonight.”

He brings snacks. He teases you when you mispronounce medical terms. He notices when you’re tired and pulls the chart away.