Chapter Text
The moving guys left you and all of your boxes right outside your new building, as if you hadn’t been through enough these past few weeks. You moved your whole dorm home to Philly this summer and stayed with your dad, which was.. messy. Now, you’re moving back to Pittsburgh into this apartment complex your dad is half-paying for. (He’ll end up fully paying.) It’s not that you aren’t grateful, it’s just that you see through the ‘kind gesture’ facade. It’s just something else to hold over your head, to guilt you for pursuing your dreams, or whatever.
But it doesn’t matter what he thinks, because you’re out of that house again and starting your internship in two weeks. You worked your ass off in medical school, got accepted into the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center— specifically the ER. It’s the best emergency room in the state, if not in the country. Things are going perfectly, aside from your Sisyphean task.
You push every box into the lobby, gradually carrying them into the elevator and up to your floor. While you’re haphazardly stacking the last three boxes on top of each other and stumbling over to your door, someone steps out of the other elevator onto your floor, his phone to his ear in one hand and his keys in the other.
Oh. Oh, fuck. Mystery Guy lives next door to you. That man, the pretty one with the grays that prove he’s not only out of your league, but way too old for you. Right next door. You pretend not to eavesdrop while he talks to whoever’s on the other end of the call, silently praying it’s not a wife— or maybe worse, a husband. You prop your door open with your hip, eyeing him sideways to see if there’s a ring.
“No, Ab, she came in yesterday with her cousin, not her mother.”
“Well, how the fuck was I supposed to know that!?”
Jack looks up from his keys and spots you standing in front of the apartment next door, holding back a laugh and three boxes—all marked fragile, all tilted dangerously to the left.
“Abbot, I can’t give her—”
He hangs up on Robby right away, staring at you with raised eyebrows. “Hi. Sorry, uh… let me help you with those.”
“Oh, you don’t need to!” You protest, but he lifts the boxes out of your arms effortlessly. You decide to take up watching his biceps stretch the fabric of his t-shirt instead.
“I’m Jack, I live next door. I take it you’re moving in?”
“Yeah, I’m from Philly, I moved here for medical school.”
You shake your head, suddenly remembering to introduce yourself by name.
“Pretty,” is all he says. Whether it’s about your name or your looks, you’re unsure. Either way, it makes you smile.
“Well, if you need anything, I’m right next door.” He nods towards your shared wall after setting the boxes down, taking in the scattered cardboard and semi-unloaded items.
“Uh– I know that when people say that, they don’t actually mean it, but I actually do need something if you’re free?”
“Depends on what it is.” He cocks an eyebrow. There’s amusement in his tone, but his expression is deadpanned. Jesus, he’s hard to read.
“It’s just a bookshelf… I was gonna do it, but the instructions are in Mandarin, so I didn’t know… Anyway, do you think you could help?”
Did he just get home from a 12-hour night shift? Yes. Has he stepped foot inside his apartment, or taken off his prosthetic in 16 hours? No. Still, he’s on the floor screwing pieces together while you pour him a glass of water.
“Thank you again,” you say softly, handing over the glass.
“Of course,” he replies, glancing up at you.
You use the moment of eye contact as an opportunity to question him, sitting down. “What do you do for work?” You might as well find out more about the man, considering you let him into your apartment, no questions asked. You’d never do that back home, but compared to Philly, Pittsburgh might as well be fields of grass and cow farms. And maybe the way he looked at you was a little disarming. And maybe you like that he’s a little older. Just a little.
“I…” he trails off, lifting a board of polished wood. “...am a doctor.”
“Oh, what kind?”
“Emergency response. I work at the PTMC.”
Your eyes light up and he raises an eyebrow at your sudden liveliness.
“The Pitt? My friend Trinity Santos is an R2 there. I’m doing my internship there, actually.”
You can hardly see it, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. “What’re the odds?”
“Anything I should know?”
“Just be ready for anything. And don’t let it put you off of practicing. You’ll get used to the ER soon.”
“That’s a little ominous.” You reach out to help him with something, but he dismisses you with a small shake of his head.
“What books are we putting up here, sunshine?” He can’t help the nickname. You went from a three to a ten the second you found out you knew each other by one degree.
“Mostly Toni Morrison, Jane Austen… a couple of comics.”
“Comics, huh?”
“I’m a big DC girl, yeah.”
“Never would’ve guessed.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult, doctor?” You grin at him and he lifts his eyes again.
“See it how you want to see it, sunshine.” God, you’ve got a gorgeous smile. He’s being an idiot. He’ll be your attending in two weeks, and he’s probably twenty years older than you, but… that smile, man.
Robby was wrong. Jack is a very, very weak man.