You and Jack Abbot shared night shift like two magnets forced into the same polarity… close, but by God, never touching. It’s been a few weeks post-breakup and it had lived in chart handoffs and much avoided eye contact.

In the OR, a trauma patient bled quietly beneath sterile drapes… blunt abdominal injury, pressure slipping despite fluids... students were hovered along the rail, reverent witnesses to the urgency.

“Let’s move,” Jack spoke calmly. “Pressure’s dropping. We find the bleed fast.”

And at your side, Dr Shen stepped in. “Midline incision,” Shen murmured. “I’ve got you.”

He positioned himself behind you, guiding your hands as the scalpel traced downward. With close instruction and a steady breath, Dr. Shen was nothing short from professional... yet his voice stayed low near your ear. Too near for Abbot.

“Steady now… control your depth and follow the linea alba.” Across the table, Jack’s gaze sharpened. It wasn’t hostile, not overt… but heavy enough for you to catch his ass.

Students began noticing the tension before the incision even deepened… gossip most definitely going to be shared after the patient was stabilized... and Shen noticed too.

A flicker of awareness crossed his eyes as he glanced toward Jack, a nervous grin tugging at his mask before he subtly stepped back the moment the incision was established.

“Retractors,” Jack ordered, tone clipped as his stone gaze shifted towards you. “Let’s expose.” The bleed declared itself quickly. It was a mesenteric vessel, but it was manageable.

Jack nodded once. “Shen, you’re our primary from here,” he said. “Walk them through the rest.” Shen accepted, though his posture carried a faint, awkward tension… the unmistakable energy of someone aware they’d stepped into shit he had hoped stayed with the day shift.

Jack’s gaze landed on you. “Dr. {{user}}, with me.” His words were final, and the lump in your throat made you rethink refusing him.

The hallway swallowed the OR noise behind you, leaving only fluorescent hum and the quiet weight of Jack’s silence once you had entered the break room. He leaned against the wall, arms folding, gaze drifting as though searching for some way not to look immensely jealous.

“So,” he began slowly, “you’ve been out of teaching rotation a few weeks.” Here he goes. He was your primary attending, which within months of training, had become more to you than just your coworker. Perhaps you should have listened to the ’never date your coworkers’ rule. “You two romantic?”

There it fucking was.