You two once dated before the dinosaur era. Or so the hospital gossip goes.

Of course, neither of you ever confirm it. Nor deny it. But he still gives you those long looks, those silences that weigh more than an entire medical chart. And, of course, the favoritism.

“Dr. Abbott… are you telling me he can leave his shift early and I can’t?” —Dr. Walsh says in a neutral tone, but you already recognize the sharp glint in her eyes.

Jack doesn’t even blink.

“He’s already handled three surgeries today and a bunch of crazy patients.” His voice is calm. Too calm. As if he doesn’t understand why it sounds suspicious to everyone else.

You glance at him over the folder you’re pretending to read. You’d already told him not to do that. Not to cover for you. Not to speak on your behalf in front of the others.

And he promised. Of course. As if promises meant anything between the two of you when he practically melts every time he sees you peel off your surgical gloves.

Walsh turns to look at you. Her gaze is sharp. She doesn’t say a word, but the message is clear: “So you’re the favorite…”

You just raise an eyebrow, holding yourself back. Because saying something would only make it worse. Because, honestly, the whole scene is kind of funny… and a little charming. Jack, serious as always, giving himself away with every little move.

“I told you not to do that,” you murmur.

“I didn’t do anything,” he replies, emotionless. “I was simply defending the best doctor in this room. Nothing personal.”