Work Text:
Snow turned the world into static.
Frank Langdon watched it blur past the windshield, thick white flakes piling faster than the defroster could keep up with. His hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles pale, jaw clenched. He was exhausted in that deep, bone-aching way that only came after a brutal shift—too many patients, too much blood, too many moments where things could’ve gone differently.
The engine coughed.
Frank froze. “No. No, no, no—”
The car shuddered once, twice, then died completely, coasting to a sad stop on the side of the road. The heater went cold almost immediately. Silence rushed in, loud and unforgiving.
Frank let his head fall back against the seat.
Snowstorm. Midnight. Scrubs. No jacket. Of course.
He tried the ignition again. Nothing. His phone buzzed in the cup holder—low battery warning—and his chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
He scrolled through his contacts, thumb hovering.
Jack Abbot.
The thought made his stomach flip. They worked together, sure. Existed in the same orbit. But “close” wasn’t the word anyone would use. Jack was older, steadier, carved out of discipline and quiet authority. Frank was… well. A mess, on a good day.
Still, Jack lived close. Really close.
Frank swallowed and hit call.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then—“Langdon?”
Frank exhaled so sharply it almost hurt. “Hey. Um. Hi. Sorry, I—this is a bad time, isn’t it?”
“No,” Jack said immediately. No hesitation. “What’s wrong?”
The concern in his voice cracked something open in Frank’s chest.
“My car broke down,” Frank admitted. “I’m—uh—on Fifth, near the old pharmacy. It just died. I’m okay, I just—” He laughed weakly. “I’m kind of not.”
“Are you safe?” Jack asked.
“I think so. I mean, I’m still in the car. It’s freezing.”
“Don’t hang up,” Jack said, already moving. Frank could hear it—the muffled thud of boots, the jingle of keys. “I’m on my way.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do,” Jack said, firm but gentle. “Stay with me. Talk to me.”
Frank didn’t hang up. He didn’t want to.
Jack kept him talking the entire time—about the shift, about nothing, about the ridiculous playlist Frank had left on shuffle. Frank answered everything, even when his teeth started to chatter, because the sound of Jack’s voice anchored him. Warm. Steady. Real.
Headlights finally cut through the snow.
Jack’s silhouette appeared first, tall and broad against the whiteout, coat already dusted with snow. He knocked on the window once before opening the door.
“Hey,” Jack said softly.
The cold rushed in, but so did relief.
Frank stumbled when he tried to stand, legs stiff and numb. Jack’s hands were on him instantly—solid, sure—guiding him out of the car.
“You’re shaking,” Jack muttered, already shrugging out of his own coat.
“Jack, you don’t—”
Too late.
The coat was heavy, warm, and smelled faintly like soap and coffee and something distinctly Jack. It swallowed Frank whole, sleeves hanging past his hands, collar brushing his chin. Frank looked absurd in it. Small. Safe.
Jack noticed. His mouth twitched. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah. That works.”
Frank laughed, breathless and shaky. “I look like a kid wearing his dad’s jacket.”
Jack met his eyes. “You look cold.”
That shut him up.
Jack steered him toward his apartment, one arm never quite leaving Frank’s back. The walk was short but miserable, snow biting at Frank’s cheeks, the wind howling like it was angry at them personally.
Inside, warmth hit Frank so fast it made his vision blur.
Jack toed off his boots, tugged Frank further inside, hands careful as he peeled snow-damp fabric away from him. He didn’t comment on how Frank’s hands were still trembling. Just pressed a mug of something hot into them and waited until Frank’s fingers curled around it.
“They’re saying the storm’s getting worse,” Jack said, glancing at his phone. “Roads are closing.”
Frank sank onto the couch, Jack’s coat still wrapped around him like armor. “So… I’m stuck.”
Jack nodded once. “Looks like it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was… soft. Snow tapped against the windows. The heater hummed. Frank stared into his mug, then up at Jack, who stood a few feet away like he wasn’t sure how close was allowed.
“Thanks,” Frank said quietly. “For coming. For… all of it.”
Jack’s expression gentled in a way Frank had never seen at work. “You called,” he said. “I answered.”
Something settled between them then—unspoken, steady. The storm raged outside, sealing them in, but Frank didn’t feel trapped.
He felt warm.
He felt safe.
And wrapped in Jack Abbot’s coat, in Jack Abbot’s apartment, with Jack Abbot watching him like he mattered—Frank realized he didn’t want the snow to stop just yet.
———
Jack’s apartment was quiet in that lived-in way—warm light, clean but not sterile, everything exactly where it belonged. Frank hovered near the door at first, like he might still be in trouble for being there at all.
“Sit,” Jack told him gently, pointing toward the couch. “I’ll grab you something better than scrubs.”
Frank opened his mouth. Closed it. Sat.
Jack came back a minute later holding an armful of clothes. He hesitated, then handed them over like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Hoodie,” he said. “And—uh—pants.”
Frank looked down.
The hoodie was soft, worn thin in places, sleeves obviously too long. The pants were plaid fleece, absurdly comfortable looking, the kind that had survived years of washes without losing their warmth.
“They’re… nice,” Frank said carefully.
Jack snorted. “They’re ancient. Army issue, technically. I outgrew them. Kept them because I’m sentimental or stupid. Dealer’s choice.”
Frank smiled despite himself. “Thank you.”
When he came out of the bathroom changed, Jack actually stopped mid-step.
The hoodie swallowed Frank whole, hem hitting mid-thigh, sleeves covering his hands completely. The pants sat low on his hips, cinched tight, soft and ridiculous and safe.
Frank caught Jack staring and immediately stiffened. “Sorry—if this is weird—”
“It’s not,” Jack said quickly. “You’re fine. You’re—” He cleared his throat. “You look warm.”
They stood there for a beat too long.
Jack gestured down the hall. “You can take the bed.”
Frank’s head snapped up. “Absolutely not. No. I can take the couch. I’m already imposing—”
“You’re not,” Jack interrupted. Calm. Firm. The same voice he used in trauma bays when things were going sideways. “The couch is terrible. The bed’s warm. I’ll be fine out here.”
Frank shook his head. “Jack, really, I don’t want to—”
“Frank.” Jack met his eyes. “It’s alright.”
_____
Something about the certainty in his voice made Frank’s chest loosen. He nodded, reluctantly, and retreated to the bedroom like he was afraid the offer might disappear if he moved too fast.
The bed smelled faintly like clean laundry and Jack’s soap. Frank lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the wind howl outside, the storm pressing close. Eventually, exhaustion won.
Until—
The power cut out.
The room plunged into darkness so complete it felt physical.
Frank sucked in a sharp breath. The wind slammed against the windows, rattling them violently, and his heart took off at a sprint. His chest tightened. His hands shook.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no—”
The dark crawled in on him, thick and suffocating. His mind filled it with everything it shouldn’t.
“Jack?” His voice cracked. Louder now. “Jack—!”
He heard it then—footsteps, fast and heavy, pounding down the hall.
“I’m here,” Jack said, already in the doorway. “Frank. I’m here.”
Relief hit so hard Frank’s knees almost buckled as Jack crossed the room. The older man knelt beside the bed, hands immediately finding Frank’s wrists, grounding, solid.
“I’m sorry,” Frank rushed out, words tripping over each other. “I’m so sorry, I know this is stupid, I just—I can’t—I hate the dark and I know I’m being ridiculous and—please don’t leave, please—can you—can you stay? Please?”
His breathing hitched. He hated how small he sounded. Hated how desperate. Like a scared kid calling for someone bigger and braver to make it stop.
Jack didn’t laugh.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re not pathetic. And you’re not alone.”
Frank’s eyes burned. “Can you—” He swallowed. “Can you sleep here? With me? Just tonight. Please.”
Jack squeezed his wrists gently. “Yeah,” he said without a second thought. “Of course.”
Frank exhaled a broken, shuddering breath as Jack climbed onto the bed, settling beside him, careful not to crowd but close enough that Frank could feel him—warm, real, steady.
Jack lay on his side facing him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Power’ll come back. Storm’ll pass. I’ve got you.”
Frank curled instinctively toward the heat, clutching a fistful of Jack’s hoodie like a lifeline. His voice was barely a whisper now.
“Thank you.”
Jack stayed awake long after Frank’s breathing evened out, the wind still raging outside, the dark pressing in—but Frank safe, warm, and not alone.
______
Frank slept like someone who hadn’t been allowed to for a long time.
Not the restless half-sleep he usually dragged himself through between shifts, but the heavy kind that pinned him to the mattress, breathing slow and deep.
Jack stayed awake.
He hadn’t meant to.
At first it was practical—listening to the storm batter the building, waiting for the power to flicker back on, making sure Frank’s breathing stayed even after that near panic attack. But somewhere along the line it stopped being practical and started being… something else.
Frank had moved closer in his sleep.
Not deliberately. Just instinct.
His forehead was tucked near Jack’s collarbone now, one hand loosely gripping the front of Jack’s t-shirt like he was afraid Jack might disappear if he let go.
Jack didn’t move.
Didn’t dare.
He’d seen Frank shaken before—stress fractures showing through the confident ER doctor mask—but never like that. Never small. Never scared enough to call for him in the dark like that.
Jack stared at the ceiling, listening to the wind howl.
“You’re gonna kill me, Langdon,” he murmured quietly.
Frank made a soft noise in his sleep, shifting closer.
Jack huffed a quiet laugh despite himself.
Of course he did.
⸻
The power came back sometime around three in the morning.
The bedside lamp flickered on with a weak hum.
Frank jerked awake instantly.
For half a second he looked completely disoriented, blinking against the sudden light. Then his eyes landed on Jack—still lying beside him—and reality rushed back in all at once.
Frank froze.
“Oh my god.”
Jack winced slightly. “Morning.”
Frank immediately scrambled backward like the bed had caught fire. “I’m so sorry—did I—did I make you—? I didn’t mean to—”
“You had a panic attack,” Jack said calmly, pushing himself upright. “You asked me to stay. I stayed.”
Frank dragged a hand through his hair, mortified. “Right. Yeah. That tracks. God.”
Jack studied him for a moment.
“You don’t remember?”
Frank blinked. “Remember what?”
Jack hesitated.
“You grabbed me,” he said carefully.
Frank’s face turned bright red.
“Fantastic.”
“You were half asleep,” Jack added quickly. “Relax.”
Frank buried his face in his hands. “I am never emotionally recovering from this.”
Jack chuckled under his breath.
“You called me in the middle of a blizzard,” he reminded him. “You’ve already committed to the bit.”
Frank peeked up through his fingers. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
For a moment the tension cracked, and Frank actually laughed.
Then the quiet returned again.
Not awkward.
Just… aware.
Frank shifted on the bed, sleeves of Jack’s hoodie still covering half his hands. He noticed Jack watching him and immediately tugged them down farther.
“Stop doing that,” Jack said.
“Doing what?”
“Hiding in my clothes like you’re committing a crime.”
Frank blinked. “They’re huge on me.”
Jack shrugged. “Doesn’t make it a problem.”
Frank looked at him for a long moment.
“You came really fast tonight,” he said quietly.
Jack didn’t look away. “You sounded like you needed someone.”
Frank swallowed.
“I did.”
Another beat of silence.
Then Frank huffed softly. “You know this is going to make work weird.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because now I know you’ll rescue me from snowstorms and emotional collapse.”
Jack leaned back slightly, completely unfazed.
“I already rescue you from emotional collapse in the ER three times a week.”
Frank groaned. “That’s different.”
“Is it?”
Frank opened his mouth to argue.
Nothing came out.
Jack watched the realization creep across his face slowly.
Frank looked down at the oversized hoodie again.
Then back up.
“…You didn’t have to give me the bed,” he said.
“I know.”
“You didn’t have to come get me.”
“I know.”
“You definitely didn’t have to sleep in here.”
Jack’s voice softened just a little.
“I know.”
Frank’s throat tightened.
“Then why did you?”
Jack held his gaze.
And for the first time since Frank had known him, the answer wasn’t simple.
“Because,” Jack said slowly, “you called me.”
Frank’s chest did something uncomfortable and warm all at once.
Outside, the storm was finally starting to die down.
Inside the small apartment, neither of them moved to get out of the bed.
______
Jack didn’t remember falling back asleep.
One minute he’d been sitting against the headboard, watching the weak light from the bedside lamp glow against the walls, listening to Frank shuffle awkwardly around the bed like he was debating whether to bolt for the door.
The next—
Warmth.
Frank had slid back under the blankets at some point, exhaustion winning over embarrassment. He’d muttered something half-coherent about “five more minutes” and rolled onto his side again.
Closer this time.
Close enough that Jack could feel the steady heat of him through the hoodie.
Jack had told himself he’d just stay until Frank settled again.
Instead, he woke up to pale gray morning light filtering through the curtains and the distant, hollow quiet that only comes after a storm.
And Frank was still there.
Curled up beside him, hair a mess, breathing slow and warm against Jack’s shoulder.
Jack blinked at the ceiling.
“Well,” he murmured under his breath. “That escalated.”
Frank stirred slightly, brow furrowing like the sound of Jack’s voice had nudged him toward consciousness. His hand—still loosely gripping the front of Jack’s shirt—tightened for a moment before relaxing again.
Jack didn’t move.
Didn’t wake him.
For a few minutes, he just… stayed there.
Listening.
Eventually Frank woke on his own, blinking groggily into the daylight. It took him a second to orient himself—eyes moving from the ceiling, to the unfamiliar room, to the fact that he was halfway draped across Jack Abbot like a particularly clingy blanket.
Frank froze.
“…Hi,” Jack said.
Frank made a strangled noise and immediately rolled away, nearly falling off the bed in the process.
“Sorry!” he blurted, scrambling upright. “God—I swear I don’t usually—sleep attack people—”
“You didn’t attack me.”
Frank rubbed his face. “You’re being very generous about this situation.”
Jack stretched, joints cracking softly. “You slept.”
“That’s not the part I’m worried about.”
Jack stood, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with a series of notifications.
His eyebrows rose.
Frank noticed immediately. “Bad?”
Jack tilted the phone toward him.
A weather alert covered half the screen.
BLIZZARD WARNING — TRAVEL NOT ADVISED
Frank squinted toward the window.
Snow was piled halfway up the glass.
“…Oh.”
Jack nodded once.
“Yeah.”
Frank groaned and dropped backward onto the mattress. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“You think the hospital even opened today?”
“Hospital never closes.”
“Right.” Frank sighed dramatically. “Of course it doesn’t.”
Jack checked the time again.
Then the missed calls.
One name stood out.
Robby.
As if summoned by the thought, the phone started ringing again.
Jack answered immediately.
“Abbot.”
On the other end, Robby sounded half buried in static and irritation.
“Where the hell are you?”
Jack glanced toward the window again.
“Snowed in.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Robby said. “Half the city’s buried. Roads are completely wrecked. I barely made it in and I live six blocks away.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not driving in that.”
“Good,” Robby said. “Because you physically can’t.”
Jack leaned against the kitchen counter as he listened.
Frank, meanwhile, had wandered into the living room wrapped in the hoodie like it had become a permanent part of his identity.
A movie was already playing on the TV—some old action thing Jack vaguely remembered buying years ago. Frank had discovered the DVD stack like a kid finding treasure.
Jack could hear the microwave beep.
Then Frank’s voice floated into the kitchen.
“Jack, do you want eggs or—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Jack on the phone.
Jack lifted a finger slightly in silent warning.
Frank nodded.
Quiet for about three seconds.
Then—
“So I found your coffee, but it’s like… aggressively strong, are you trying to kill people with this—”
Robby’s voice crackled through the phone.
“…Is that Langdon?”
Jack closed his eyes briefly.
Frank, still unaware he’d been identified, continued talking from the couch while digging into a plate of scrambled eggs.
“I’m putting on another movie by the way. This one has explosions already which feels promising.”
Robby went very quiet.
Then—
“…Why is Langdon in your apartment?”
Jack sighed.
“His car died in the storm.”
Frank, mouth full of eggs, shouted from the living room, “AND I’M VERY GRATEFUL FOR THE RESCUE THANK YOU—”
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.
Robby burst out laughing.
“Oh my god.”
“It’s not what you think,” Jack muttered.
“I don’t think anything,” Robby said immediately, clearly thinking everything.
Frank appeared in the doorway, holding two mugs of coffee.
“Here,” he said, handing one to Jack. “Peace offering for ruining your morning.”
Jack accepted it automatically.
Frank smiled faintly.
Then he leaned casually against the counter and started talking again like nothing unusual was happening.
“So anyway, the roads look like absolute death traps, which means we’re probably trapped here all day, which—”
He stopped.
Slowly.
“…Why are you staring at me like that?”
Jack lowered the phone slightly.
“…You’re on speaker.”
Frank blinked.
Robby spoke again, voice full of amusement.
“Morning, Langdon.”
Frank went completely still.
“…Hi Robby.”
Silence.
Then Frank looked at Jack.
“…I’m going back to the couch.”
Jack took a long sip of coffee while Frank retreated with the dignity of someone who had absolutely none left.
Robby was still laughing on the other end of the line.
“You’re never hearing the end of this.”
Jack watched Frank curl back into the couch, wrapped in his hoodie, stealing bites of breakfast while explosions played on the TV.
“…Yeah,” Jack said quietly.
He didn’t sound particularly upset about it.
______
Frank insisted he was not tired.
Which was ridiculous, considering the last twelve hours.
He was curled sideways on Jack’s couch in oversized clothes, a blanket pulled halfway over his legs, a second movie playing that he claimed he was “definitely invested in.” Outside the windows the world was still buried under snow, the street completely white and unmoving.
Jack sat beside him with a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold.
Frank had been talking a minute ago.
Something about how the explosion in the movie made absolutely no sense scientifically.
Then his voice slowed.
Then stopped.
Jack glanced over.
Frank had slumped against him.
His head rested lightly on Jack’s shoulder, breath warm through the cotton of Jack’s t-shirt. One of Frank’s hands was still loosely holding the remote like he’d intended to change the volume and simply… forgot.
Jack stayed perfectly still.
Frank looked different when he slept.
The constant tension in his shoulders softened, the crease between his eyebrows gone. His hair fell into his face, messy and boyish in a way that made him look younger than the sharp, confident doctor who ran trauma bays like he owned them.
Jack exhaled slowly.
“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured.
Frank didn’t move.
The movie kept playing quietly—some car chase scene Jack wasn’t paying attention to at all.
Carefully, slowly, Jack shifted just enough to reach for the blanket draped over the couch. He pulled it higher over Frank’s legs, then hesitated.
Frank leaned closer in his sleep.
Not consciously.
Just instinctively seeking warmth.
His cheek pressed more firmly against Jack’s shoulder.
Jack’s jaw tightened.
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s… not helping.”
But he didn’t move him.
Didn’t wake him.
Instead he sat there for nearly an hour while the movie ended, the room warm and quiet except for the soft rhythm of Frank’s breathing.
At some point Frank stirred.
His brow furrowed slightly, eyes blinking open in slow confusion.
For a moment he didn’t move.
Then he realized where he was.
“Oh,” he murmured.
Jack looked down at him.
“Morning. Again.”
Frank groaned softly and sat up, rubbing his face. “Did I fall asleep?”
“Completely.”
Frank glanced at the TV.
“…Was the movie good?”
“No idea.”
Frank blinked. “You didn’t watch it?”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“You were using my shoulder as a pillow.”
Frank froze.
“Oh my god.”
“You also drooled a little.”
“I did not.”
Jack shrugged. “Evidence has been destroyed.”
Frank dropped his head back against the couch cushion, mortified. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“You survived a blizzard and a panic attack.”
“Yeah but now I have to live with this.”
Jack chuckled quietly.
For a second the tension broke again.
Then it crept back.
Frank shifted slightly on the couch, the oversized hoodie sleeve falling down over his hand again. He tugged it back absently, eyes drifting toward the snow-covered street outside.
“…You’re being really nice about all this,” he said after a moment.
Jack leaned back slightly.
“I rescued you from a snowbank. The bar’s low.”
Frank shook his head.
“No. That’s not what I mean.”
Jack didn’t answer.
Frank’s voice softened.
“You didn’t have to let me stay.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t have to sit with me last night when the power went out.”
“I know.”
Frank looked down at his hands.
“And you definitely didn’t have to let me sleep on you for an hour.”
Jack watched him carefully.
“You needed sleep.”
“That’s not the point.”
The room went quiet.
Frank’s fingers twisted in the fabric of the hoodie.
“I feel like I’m… taking advantage of something,” he admitted quietly.
Jack’s expression shifted.
“Frank—”
“I mean,” Frank rushed on, suddenly nervous, “you’re being patient and kind and I just keep showing up in your life like a disaster waiting to happen and I don’t want you thinking I’m—”
“Frank.”
His voice stopped him.
Jack sat forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
“You think you’re a disaster?”
Frank let out a quiet laugh. “You work with me. You’ve seen the evidence.”
“That’s not what I see.”
Frank glanced up.
Jack held his gaze.
“You show up every day,” Jack said calmly. “You fight for patients nobody else has energy left for. You care too much and it burns you out and you do it again the next shift anyway.”
Frank swallowed.
“That’s not a disaster.”
Frank looked away quickly, clearly uncomfortable.
“You’re giving me a lot of credit.”
“I’m telling you what I see.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Frank spoke again, softer this time.
“You came really fast last night.”
Jack didn’t look away.
“You sounded like you needed someone.”
Frank’s throat tightened.
“I did.”
Another quiet beat passed.
Frank exhaled slowly, staring down at the floor.
“You know what the worst part is?” he muttered.
Jack waited.
Frank laughed weakly.
“I think I would’ve called you even if there wasn’t a storm.”
Jack’s chest stilled.
Frank didn’t look up.
“Which is probably a problem,” he continued quietly. “Because you’re my coworker. My boss sometimes. And older. And way more emotionally stable than I am.”
Jack’s voice came out lower now.
“Frank.”
Frank finally looked at him.
There was something raw in his expression now. Honest. Nervous.
“I like being here,” Frank admitted.
Jack held his gaze.
“Good.”
Frank blinked.
“That’s it?” he asked. “Good?”
Jack leaned back slightly, studying him.
“You want honesty?”
Frank nodded cautiously.
Jack exhaled.
“I like that you’re here too.”
Frank’s heart visibly skipped a beat.
Jack continued before he could interrupt.
“And that’s the problem.”
Frank’s voice came out quieter.
“…Why?”
Jack met his eyes.
“Because if I let myself keep liking it,” he said slowly, “I’m not going to want you to leave.”
The room went very still.
Frank stared at him.
“…I already don’t want to leave,” he admitted.
Jack’s jaw tightened slightly.
“That’s not making this easier.”
Frank hesitated.
Then he said the thing that had clearly been sitting in his chest all morning.
“Maybe it’s not supposed to be easy.”
Jack looked at him for a long moment.
The storm outside had finally quieted, snow drifting softly from the roof.
Inside the apartment, neither of them moved.
Frank’s voice was barely above a whisper now.
“Jack?”
“Yeah.”
Frank swallowed.
“I think I’ve liked you for a while.”
Jack didn’t look surprised.
Which somehow made Frank’s heart pound even harder.
“…Yeah,” Jack said quietly.
Frank blinked.
“Yeah?”
Jack nodded once.
“I know.”
Frank stared at him.
“…You knew?”
Jack’s mouth twitched faintly.
“You called me in the middle of a blizzard.”
Frank opened his mouth.
Closed it.
“…Fair.”
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Jack said softly,
“I’ve been trying not to like you back.”
Frank’s breath caught.
“…Trying?”
Jack held his gaze.
“Not doing a great job.”
And suddenly the tension between them—hours, weeks, maybe months of it—sat right there in the room, impossible to ignore anymore.
______
The tension didn’t magically disappear after the confession.
If anything, it got worse.
Frank tried to pretend it hadn’t happened.
He put another movie on. Something quieter this time, some old drama he found in Jack’s DVD pile. He grabbed the blanket again, curled into the corner of the couch—
And then very deliberately sat right next to Jack.
Not touching.
But close enough that their arms brushed every time one of them shifted.
Jack noticed immediately.
He said nothing.
Frank, however, had apparently forgotten how to act like a normal human being.
He adjusted the blanket three times. Took a sip of coffee that had definitely gone cold. Shifted again, somehow ending up even closer. His knee bumped Jack’s thigh.
“Sorry,” Frank muttered quickly.
Jack hummed.
The movie kept playing.
Five minutes later Frank leaned slightly toward him again, like he’d forgotten the space between them existed.
Jack didn’t move away.
Didn’t comment.
But he was aware of everything.
Frank’s shoulder brushing his arm. The warmth of him through the hoodie. The way Frank kept glancing sideways like he was trying to watch the movie and failing miserably.
Jack finally exhaled slowly.
“You’re not watching that,” he said.
“I am,” Frank replied immediately.
“You just missed the entire last scene.”
Frank blinked at the screen.
“…It looked emotional.”
Jack huffed a quiet laugh.
They both turned back to the TV.
Another minute passed.
Then Frank shifted again, curling one leg beneath him on the couch. This time he ended up angled slightly toward Jack without even trying.
Jack’s attention drifted away from the movie.
He could feel Frank looking at him now.
Trying not to be obvious about it.
Jack kept his eyes on the screen a moment longer.
Then—
“Hm?”
Frank froze.
Jack had made the sound without turning his head, a quiet questioning hum.
Frank hesitated.
“…Nothing.”
Jack finally glanced over.
Frank was already looking up at him.
For a second neither of them moved.
The movie kept playing quietly in the background, light flickering across their faces.
Jack turned his head a little more.
Frank didn’t look away.
Now their faces were close.
Really close.
Frank’s breath caught slightly.
Jack could see it—the exact moment Frank realized how close they were.
Neither of them pulled back.
Frank’s voice came out quiet.
“…Hi.”
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“Hi.”
The space between them was barely anything now. Inches.
Frank’s eyes flicked down briefly—to Jack’s mouth—then back up again.
Jack noticed.
His hand moved before he could think better of it.
He reached out, resting it lightly at Frank’s waist.
Frank inhaled sharply.
Then Jack pulled him closer.
Frank let out a surprised breath as Jack shifted, guiding him easily across the couch. In one smooth movement Frank ended up half in his lap, legs sliding to either side of Jack’s thighs.
For a second Frank just stared at him.
“…Oh.”
Jack’s voice was lower now.
“You alright?”
Frank nodded quickly.
“Yeah.”
His hands found Jack’s shoulders without thinking, steadying himself.
They were really close now.
Frank could feel Jack’s hands warm and solid at his waist, keeping him balanced in his lap.
The room was quiet except for the movie still playing somewhere behind them.
Frank swallowed.
Jack waited.
And then slowly—carefully—Frank leaned forward.
Jack didn’t move.
Didn’t rush him.
Frank’s lips brushed his first.
Soft.
Almost hesitant.
It was gentle—sweet, really—like they were both testing something fragile between them.
Jack’s hand tightened slightly at Frank’s waist.
Frank exhaled quietly against his mouth.
They pulled apart just barely, both breathing a little harder.
For half a second they just looked at each other.
Frank’s cheeks were pink.
Jack’s restraint snapped.
He surged forward and kissed him again.
This time there was nothing hesitant about it.
Jack’s hand slid up into Frank’s hair as he pulled him closer, the kiss deeper now, full of the heat and hunger that had been sitting between them all morning.
Frank made a soft, surprised sound against his mouth before immediately kissing him back just as fiercely.
His fingers tightened in Jack’s shirt.
Jack leaned back slightly into the couch, bringing Frank fully with him, keeping him secure in his lap as the kiss deepened again.
The movie continued playing completely forgotten.
Outside the snow still blanketed the city.
Inside Jack’s apartment, the tension that had been building for months finally broke all at once.
______
The phone shattered the moment.
Frank pulled back sharply, breath uneven, his lips still tingling from the kiss. For a second he just stared at Jack like he’d forgotten where he was.
Then the phone rang again.
Reality hit him like a freight train.
Jack’s hand was still resting at his waist when Frank slid off his lap, almost tripping over the edge of the couch in his hurry to stand.
“Shit,” Jack muttered under his breath.
He reached for the phone while Frank dragged a hand through his hair, trying to collect himself.
“Abbot.”
Frank didn’t stay.
He walked straight into the kitchen, heart pounding hard enough he could feel it in his throat. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it at the sink, the cold water splashing against the glass as his hands shook slightly.
Behind him Jack’s voice slipped back into the calm, professional tone Frank knew from the hospital.
“…Yeah. I saw the alert.”
Frank took a long drink, staring down into the sink.
His mind replayed the last five minutes like a highlight reel.
Jack’s hands on his waist.
The way he’d lifted him into his lap.
The first soft kiss.
And then the second one—nothing soft about it at all.
Frank exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the counter.
“…Roads are still terrible here,” Jack said from the living room.
Another pause.
Frank drained the rest of the water and set the glass down.
“…Call me if anything changes.”
The call ended.
The apartment fell quiet again.
Frank didn’t turn around right away. He leaned both hands on the counter, staring down at the faint reflection of himself in the metal sink.
Footsteps approached behind him.
He spoke before Jack could say anything.
“…We work together.”
Jack stopped a few feet away.
“Yeah.”
Frank swallowed, still staring at the counter.
“This is probably a bad idea.”
Jack didn’t hesitate.
“Probably.”
Frank turned then, finally meeting his eyes.
His heart was still racing.
“You gonna stop me?”
For a moment Jack just looked at him.
Then he exhaled slowly.
“…No.”
The word had barely left his mouth before Jack crossed the kitchen in two long steps.
Frank didn’t even have time to react.
Jack’s hand slid into the back of his neck and pulled him forward at the same time his mouth crashed into Frank’s again.
The kiss was immediate—hungry, desperate in a way the ones on the couch hadn’t been.
Frank made a soft startled sound before kissing him back just as fiercely, his hands gripping the front of Jack’s shirt like he needed to hold on.
Jack’s other hand slid to his waist, lifting him in one smooth motion and setting him up onto the kitchen counter.
Frank gasped slightly as he landed there, but the sound disappeared into the kiss.
His legs instinctively wrapped around Jack’s waist, pulling him closer until there wasn’t any space left between them.
For a moment the kitchen was filled with nothing but the quiet sounds of breath and movement and the storm still whispering against the windows.
Frank’s hands moved over Jack’s shoulders, gripping, sliding over his back like he couldn’t decide where he wanted them most.
Jack pulled back just enough to look at him.
Frank’s hair was a mess now, his cheeks flushed, eyes bright in a way Jack had never seen before.
Frank’s fingers tightened slightly against his back.
Jack understood.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him on the floor.
Frank’s gaze dropped briefly before returning to his face.
Jack’s hands settled at Frank’s hips.
“You sure about this?” he asked quietly.
Frank didn’t hesitate for even a second.
“I’m positive.”
Something warm flickered through Jack’s expression at that.
He leaned in again, pressing another slower kiss to Frank’s mouth—less frantic this time, but no less intense.
Frank’s arms slid around his shoulders again, pulling him closer as if that was even possible.
After a moment Jack pulled back just enough to breathe.
“…Come here.”
Frank blinked.
Before he could ask what that meant, Jack lifted him straight off the counter.
Frank let out a quiet laugh of surprise as his arms automatically wrapped around Jack’s neck again, his legs tightening around Jack’s waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re ridiculous,” Frank murmured, breathless.
Jack’s mouth curved slightly.
“Probably.”
He carried him down the short hallway toward the bedroom, Frank still clinging to him like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
The apartment was quiet again, the storm outside muffled by the thick snow blanketing everything.
By the time they reached the bedroom the wind had picked up again, tapping softly against the window.
Jack nudged the door shut behind them.
Frank was still holding onto him, fingers curled against his shoulders, legs locked loosely around his waist.
Neither of them seemed particularly interested in letting go.
The storm raged outside the apartment, cold and relentless.
But inside the room, wrapped up in each other, neither of them seemed to notice it anymore.