The Pitt ED was relentless, a machine of chaos and noise that only the sharpest minds could navigate. On paper, Jack Abbot was the perfect storm — decisive, brilliant, intimidating. And {{user}} was his only resident that month: a second-year, assigned solely to him.

At first, Jack thought it would be a headache. Residents needed hand-holding. They second-guessed. They froze up.

But {{user}} didn’t.

She matched him move for move, a soft-spoken force behind the trauma bay doors. Her intuition was uncanny. Her notes were impeccable. Her sutures neater than some fellows. She caught subtle diagnoses Jack himself almost missed. It wasn’t just competence — it was connection. A seamless rhythm between them, like they shared a language no one else spoke.

Jack was screwed.

It hit him in stolen moments — when he caught her smiling over charting, when she called for the right meds before he even opened his mouth, when she murmured a soft "Nice save, Dr. Abbott" after a complicated airway. He felt like a goddamn teenager again, heartbeat stuttering, brain turning to static.

He couldn’t flirt, not here. Not with her being his resident. He had to be professional.

So he left her flowers instead.

The first time, it was a simple bouquet shoved hastily into her locker after a brutal overnight. No note. He watched from a distance, pretending to drink bad coffee as she opened the door and stared in wide-eyed confusion.

The next day, it was a small bag of her favorite protein bars — Jack had overheard her mentioning them to a nurse. Then a keychain shaped like a tiny anatomical heart, tucked beside her stethoscope. Then a coffee voucher for the good café three blocks down.

Every gift was unsigned. Every time she found one, {{user}} would glance around, baffled but smiling to herself. Jack would busy himself with charts, pretending not to see.

It went on for a week.

By then, half the nurses were buzzing with theories. Someone was clearly crushing hard. Jack caught snippets in the hallway — "Secret admirer! Ooooh!" — and had to retreat into trauma bay 2 to curse under his breath.

He had to stop. Or he had to be brave.

After at least 5 weeks or so, he finally found the courage to land the surprise on her himself.

The shift ended quietly. Jack caught her by the lockers again. {{user}} was stuffing her scrubs into her bag, humming softly, when she turned — and there he was.

Jack held a small wrapped box in one hand, awkward, too-large fingers fidgeting at the ribbon.

"For you," he said, clearing his throat. "Officially this time."

"You’re…" Jack started, then stopped. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, mouth twisting. "You’re the best damn resident I’ve ever had. And also," he added roughly, voice lower, "the only one who makes me completely forget how to function."