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It's not that you think Jack dislikes you. If anything, that would be easier to deal with. Dislike has edges—sharpness and intention—something you can point to and name.
This is different. It's quieter than that. This is the sense that Jack simply doesn't care, at least not in any way that reaches beyond professional obligation.
On paper, he's everything he's supposed to be. A good attending and a good teacher. He doesn't blatantly ignore your questions—he’s never cruel or dismissive. When you speak, he listens, and he adjusts treatments when you suggest them. He also isn’t shy to tell you when you've done a good job.
But in practice, there's distance. A careful politeness between you. He engages only when he must, and never more than necessary. He doesn't joke with you the way he does with the others. Where his praise to other residents might go into detail or be accompanied by a smile, his praise to you is vague and efficient—he barely even smiles at you. The thing that, somehow, hurts the most is the fact that he never does his staring thing with you, the one that everyone else jokes about.
You tell yourself not to let it get to you. You try to accept that this is just how it is—that not everyone clicks and that not every connection is meant to happen. Some people just pass through your life and remain professional acquaintances, and nothing more. You tell yourself those are simply the cards that you've been dealt with Jack.
But it still sucks. More than you want to admit.
Because he's the one that you gravitated towards when you started your residency at the Pitt. The one whose instincts you trusted without hesitation. The one you thought, somehow, you'd click with.
Watching him bond so easily with Ellis—who's been there just as long as you—hurts in a way that still catches you off guard even now, with only months left until you're an attending. It's sharp and unexpected, a small grief you don't know what to do with.
And when new people arrive, it's even worse. You watch him warm up to them easily, watch how his walls come down for strangers while they stay firmly in place with you. Because even after years of knowing each other, he remains cold and detached around you.
You can't figure out what you did wrong. You've replayed conversations, moments, and expressions. Searching for a misstep. For anything. But there's nothing. Nothing he's done suggests you've failed in some obvious way. He speaks to you. He listens. He treats you fairly.
He just never seeks you out. Never sits next to you unless there's no other choice. Never chooses you first.
And somehow, that hurts more than outright rejection ever could.
"So, how about you? Any news? Please tell me you're staying?” Lena asks, shifting her attention from Ellis to you. She tilts her head slightly, glasses sliding down her nose to look at you directly.
You lean against the counter at the hub, letting your shoulders drop for a moment. Just a small breath before the ever-demanding Pitt craves your attention again.
"Not sure yet," you say, shrugging slightly. “I’m leaning toward Chicago—or maybe Boston. I've heard good things about them.”
"Nooo," Lena groans, dragging out the sound as genuine disappointment fills the air. "How will I survive if you're both leaving?"
"Guess you'll have to make do with Abbot and Shen," Ellis quips, half-listening while she charts.
"Ugh," Lena grimaces with a teasing smile.
You chuckle, a soft but unconvincing sound, at least in your ears. "Well, if you play nice, I might change my mind," you say, offering her a small smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.
It's not that you don't want to stay—in fact, you'd love to stay. You've even been offered an attending position here, a stability you've been craving after years of residency, because it would mean you wouldn't have to move again or find new friends. But part of you knows it might be better in the long term to go somewhere else.
Anywhere else but here.
Because here... Here, it hurts. Being around Jack while he's warm with everyone else, watching him bond with new people, while you remain just another face in the crowd, is a constant, sharp ache you can't quite mask.
You glance across the hub, where Jack is talking quietly with Ellis now. His hands gesture softly as he explains something—he's fully present, fully engaged in what Ellis is saying—and you can't help the bitter sting of knowing he would never look at you like that. He would never seek you out to share a funny story or save that half-smile for you alone.
Mid-talk, his eyes flicker toward you like he can feel the burning heat of your gaze, but he looks away just as fast.
Lena notices the shadow crossing your features. "Hey," she says softly, tapping your arm with a gentle hand. "You okay?"
You force your face back into neutral, nodding at her. "Yeah, just thinking about a patient," you murmur.
You'd never tell her the truth—that an overwhelming part of you is aching to stay so that you can be near someone who doesn't notice you the way you see him. That part of you wants a front-row seat to Jack opening up to everyone else but you. You're masochistic in that sense.
Lena frowns, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn't press any further, thankfully. "Well," she says, letting her tone brighten. "I'm going to hold out hope. We need you here. You make this place less terrible."
You manage to send her a small but genuine smile. "I'll think about it," you say.
But even as the words leave your mouth, you know part of you is already planning your exit. Not because you don't love this place, not because you don't like your team, but because staying means living with that quiet, gnawing longing. And maybe, you're not that into self-inflicted pain after all.
A fresh start somewhere new might hurt less in the long run. It might let you breathe without feeling like every laugh, every joke, every casual glance Jack gives to someone else is a reminder of what you can't have.
You take one last look at the hub, at the familiar chaos, at Jack leaning against the counter laughing with Ellis, and swallow the ache back down. You heave a soft sigh as you straighten up again and reenter the Pitt.
It's nearly seven in the morning, just the soft murmur of patients, the low hum of the fluorescent lights and a distant clatter of carts filling the otherwise semi-quiet ER.
You're sitting at the computer finishing the last of your charts, more than ready to go home and sleep for several hours. You're typing as fast as you can when a shadow falls across the keyboard.
"You're leaving?" Jack's voice is calm and measured, but there's a subtle weight to it that you've never heard before. He's standing behind you now, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the desk as he logs onto a computer. He doesn't look at you directly.
You glance up, trying to keep your tone neutral. "Yeah, m'just about finished."
"No, I mean... the Pitt?" he finally shifts his gaze, just barely meeting yours. It's only for a fraction of a second, but it's enough to make your chest tighten. That tiny tilt of his head, the slight pause in his rhythm—it feels like it should matter. Like he's going to say something more.
You blink, caught off guard. "Oh.. Uh, yeah, maybe. I'm not sure yet," you murmur.
He nods slowly, almost imperceptibly. Then he turns back to the keyboard, typing again. Sharp, precise keystrokes. His jaw clenches once, just once, but he doesn't speak again. Doesn't reach across the space between you. Doesn't ask you to stay.
That small flicker of hope in your chest sparks out again. The small hope that he'd maybe say, 'Don't go. Stay here'. The hope that maybe this quiet and distant man has noticed more than he lets on. But the hope fades as quickly as it appeared, extinguished by the steady thrum of his typing and the efficiency of his nod.
You force yourself to breathe evenly, to turn back to your screen, but your hands pause over the keyboard. The room feels heavier now, charged with unspoken dreams and hopes. Jack's just being polite. Professional. Exactly like he's always been. And yet, for the briefest, cruellest second, it felt like he could have changed your mind, like he could have made you stay, if he had just asked.
But he didn't.
So you return your fingers to the keyboard, continue typing as the decision solidifies in your chest. Chicago. Boston. Anywhere but here.
Anywhere where he isn't.
The week passes like it always does. Or at least, it kind of does. It's the same patients, the same fluorescent-lit hallways, the same stale coffee in the breakroom. And yet, something feels... off. Not wrong, but just different enough to keep you slightly on edge, like crackling air before a storm.
Maybe it's hope colouring your perception, but it feels like Jack is noticing you more. It starts small. Subtle things you could easily explain away if you wanted to. He pauses when you enter a room, just a sliver longer than necessary, as if recalibrating. He asks for your opinion more than he ever has during examinations, and digs deeper than he ever used to. When you speak, he listens diligently. Not the professional attention he used to give you, but something more focused—more intentional.
He also seeks you out in the halls now. Not obviously, but just enough that you start to see a pattern. Enough that you've started to notice how his gait slows to keep up with yours, and his arm brushes past yours more than it ever has in the years you've been here. A casual alignment of schedules that somehow places him beside you more often than not, with an almost excessive amount of check-ins when you're with a patient that feel unnecessary, especially because he never disagrees with you.
His praise is also different. It's not the usual generic approval you've become accustomed to. It's specific and thoughtful. He references things you said weeks ago, brings up details of patients you've treated months back, things you didn't realise he'd ever noticed.
He also meets your eyes now. Doesn't let it flicker away like usual, but lets it linger. As if he's hoping you'll see something in his eyes that he isn’t saying out loud. You’re almost happy he hasn’t done this the entire time you’ve been here because each time your breath catches before you can stop it, a flush creeping up your neck. Hiding a crush when you have such a visceral reaction to him would not have lasted long in this place.
You replay all these moments later at home, dissecting every word and action, trying to decide if they mean what you hope or if you're projecting meaning where there is none. Because is this real, or are you imagining it all because you've decided to leave?
You don't dare voice the thought or the silly hope that flickers back to life in your chest. Hopes and dreams this big, this sudden, are dangerous. They make you careless and make disappointment sharper when it eventually comes. And it will come. Because why would he suddenly be changing?
Just because he heard you might be leaving?
The idea feels ridiculous the moment it forms. An impossible wish. That's not a reason for him to change his behaviour. He probably hasn't even spared it more than a passing thought. You're overthinking, reading significance into coincidence, and you should really stop letting hope get ahead of reality.
Still, the thought refuses to leave.
Lena's comments also echo in the back of your mind throughout the week, playful nudges and gentle prodding, hoping to sway your mind. "We need you here, you know," she says one evening, leaning against the counter. "Things wouldn't be the same without you around."
You grin and shrug, deflecting as always. "I'm still thinking about it."
And you mean it. Because part of you—an increasingly loud and reckless part—is considering staying more seriously than you ever expected. Not just for the work, not just for the familiarity or the team, but for the unanswered question that now follows you through every corridor and examination room.
You tell yourself it's foolish. That you can't make decisions based on glances and half-smiles and moments that might mean nothing at all. But when Jack looks up from his seat as you pass, his expression softening just slightly at the sight of you, you feel the weight of the choice rumbling in your chest.
And how leaving doesn't feel as inevitable anymore.
It's an early morning once again—yet another night shift finished. You're at the lockers, one of the last to leave due to a difficult patient, but now, you're finally catching a hold of your backpack, more than ready for your four days off. You're rummaging through it, trying to locate your lip balm, when a voice cuts through your thoughts.
"You should stay." Jack comes to a stop in front of you, one shoulder leaning against the lockers.
You frown at him. "What? Do you need me to work a double?"
"No. I... Here. You should stay here as an attending." His tone is firm, a pleading lilt to it that you’re definitely imagining, but his eyes are steady on yours.
You shrug, looking back at your backpack, fingers finally grabbing onto the small tube. "Eh... You'll be fine without me—maybe, you can convince Ellis to stay."
"I don't want Ellis to stay," he says bluntly, head tilting to try and catch your eye again.
You blink at the words, head snapping towards his without meaning to.
"I want you to stay," he adds, voice quieter now, but there's no mistaking the sincerity.
You can't hide the shock in your expression, eyebrows drawing up. "I… I don't understand. You don't like me."
There's a flicker of confusion on his face, as if he's struggling with how you've arrived at that conclusion. "I do."
You huff an incredulous laugh, pulling the straps of your backpack on and slipping the lip balm into your jacket pocket. "You don't have to lie to me. It's fine. I get it."
Jack stares at you. "I'm not lying."
Your locker snaps shut, and you shrug at him. "Honestly, it's fine. We don't have to talk about it. We're colleagues—you don't have to like me." You move to step around him, hoping you'll make it outside before he can see the tears that you can feel pressing behind your eyes.
But you barely make two steps before his hand grabs hold of your sleeve, forcing you to stop. You halt, facing the door, as his hand falls to his side again, like he hadn't meant to do that, just charged outwards to make you stay, instinct taking hold of him. He moves to stand in front of you again.
"I like you too much," he admits, his voice low and earnest. A confession you'd imagined so many times that it almost doesn't register as being real. Except you can hear how his breath quickens, see the vulnerability displayed in his eyes, and feel the distant heat of his body.
"What?" you whisper, barely daring to breathe.
"I thought it was best to keep my distance. Avoid playing favourites accidentally, and make you a target for unwarranted rumours. I wanted your abilities to shine on their own, not let them be coloured by how much I like you. You're a fantastic doctor. Brilliant. So funny. And—" he pauses, swallowing as if the next word is spiny, tiny needles spiking his throat and tongue as it leaves his mouth, "beautiful. It wouldn't have been fair to jeopardise your career just because I liked you. So I kept my distance. I'm sorry if it came out wrong."
Shock drenches you from head to toe, an icy coldness that freezes you to the ground. "You like me? Like… like-like me?" you whisper, your voice cracking slightly.
His mouth twitches with amusement at the phrasing, but his eyes stay serious. "Yes. But that's not why you should stay. The department needs you. We work better when you're here. I… I work better."
You don't think your brain works anymore. Just loose wiring firing off into empty space. Because this can’t be real.
"Think about it," he says, with a final lingering glance before he steps out again.
Uh huh. You'll think about it. You'll probably do nothing else but think about the next four days.
It's nearly midnight by the time the worst of the chaos is under control. You're sitting at the hub, sipping your barely lukewarm coffee, delivered by DoorDash earlier, after a mistaken belief that the chaos was over, only to have one sip before it was promptly left on the counter for longer than you'd hoped.
At least it's still somewhat hot. (It's really not, but you've spent money on it, so you're going to delude yourself.)
There's a soft shuffle of footsteps in the distance that eventually stops in front of you. You glance up to find Jack there, hands holding casually onto his stethoscope.
"Crazy night, huh," he says, voice low and hesitant. You've not had a chance to talk yet, both of you immediately pulled into the chaos when you arrived. And the brief respite you’d had was while he was still in trauma. But you've felt his eyes on you throughout it all, the rumour he's heard written all over his face but isn't sure he can truly count on, not until he's heard from your lips.
The rumour that you'd decided to stay.
Which you have, and somehow, it has already slipped out to the staff. Probably Lena’s doing, or Dana's. The two charge nurses stick their noses in everything that's going on in the Pitt (said with the most fondness). And with how much Lena's been begging, you wouldn't be surprised if it were her.
"Yeah, but at least my coffee isn't completely cold," you reply, lifting your cup slightly.
His eyes crinkle, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, all too aware of how coffee is mostly drunk cold in these parts. "Still better than that iced crap Shen keeps bringing in. I will never get why you would purposefully choose to drink it cold. Coffee's meant to be hot."
You huff a laugh at his complaining and take another sip. "This is from that new place around the corner. It's good. You should try it sometime."
He nods. There's a pause. You can feel it stretching around you until he clears his throat. "I... I heard you're staying."
You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah. I—um, I thought about it and decided this is a good place for me."
He looks you deep in the eye. "Really?"
"Really," you confirm, setting the cup down.
Jack exhales, a small, relieved sound, finally relaxing now that he's heard it from the source itself. "Good. That's... really good."
There's another pause, the two of you staring at each other. But it's not awkward, just warm.
You stand up, dropping the cup into a bin, but just before you pass him, you lean in and whisper, using every last bit of bravado you have (hoping sincerely he hasn’t changed his mind). "I like you, too, by the way."
You see his brows lift, eyes widening just a fraction before a slow, real smile spreads across his face. Wider than you ever seen it aimed at you.
"Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee… and get to know each other? Maybe at that place you know?" he asks, voice careful, and almost shy.
"Yeah," you say, grinning just as wide. "I'd like that. After shift?"
"Yes," he says, the last remaining tension in his shoulders easing.
And for the first time in months, maybe years, you leave the hub with a lightness in your chest, the hum of the hospital fading into the background as the world feels… just a little brighter.