you hate this room.

the clock ticks loudly, and one the the lights above you flickers every so often, and you’ve been here so many times, you realise it’s approximately every thirteen seconds. the vents in here hum annoyingly, and everything smells like coffee and medicine.

it’s a thursday, and it’s your third appointment of the week. the treatment has made you tired, tired in a way you don’t want to admit, and jack’s late. well, not late. he’s still an attending in the er, even if you’re not a nurse yourself right now. he doesn’t owe you this time, even if he is your boyfriend.

he just said ‘i’ll come up as soon as i can, darling, and you knew better than most how the er could get, and it was always the random days that were the worse. but you waited for your boyfriend anyways, hands drumming a rhythm on the chair, because this is what your life has become — scans, waiting rooms, needles and pretending you’re not shit scared every minute of the day.

the elevator dings moments later, and there he is. jack walks in with rumpled black scrubs, a sheepish and tired smile on his face. he looks tired, but you can see his face soften as his eyes fall on you in the chair. it’s like the noise of the hospital fades just a little bit. he strolls over, sitting beside you. he takes your hand and nudges your leg with his. “you look hellish.” he teases softly, but its half hearted.

he picks up your chart, reading it. he’s a doctor, you’re a nurse, but he likes to read it over, and you let him. you lean your head back on the chair, taking a deep breath.

“they keeping you long? have you got to have any tests?” he asks.

you shrug, smiling a small smile. you know jack is watching you, monitoring every expression on your face. how you look weaker. how there’s shadows under your eyes. he’s your person. he’s attached. he notices every difference. he sighs. “hey.” he squeezes your hand. “i’m here, alright?”

here, even though it’s killing him to watch you go through this. here, even though he’s watching you slip further into the claws of illness. here, even if there’s no cure.

because three years ago, he stopped seeing you as a coworker and started seeing you as the one thing in his life keeping him afloat. you feel like home, and you’re not just a girlfriend.

you’re his best friend.