Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Emma. I have the funniest idea,” Princess giggled behind her phone, elbows leaning on the nurse’s station desk. It was nearing the end of her shift—only two more hours until freedom. “Look at this!” She turned her screen around, playing the TikTok that had shown up on her FYP. 

Across the screen were the words ‘asking my bf for permission to get a burger instead of a salad in front of the waiter.’ She’d seen the trend before, where girlfriends ask their boyfriends for permission to eat food, usually in the presence of someone else. The point was to see their reaction, and the most viral ones were honestly heartwarming, with their boyfriends turning beet-red and some even ordering extra dessert for them. 

It hadn’t occurred to her that she could also do the same with Brendon, and a mischievous grinned tugged at her lips as she wiggled her eyebrows at Princess. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking?” 

“Oh, hell yes, be an absolute menace to Park,” she pleaded. “And, take a video for the crew. I’ll pay you twenty bucks for it if you send it in the group chat.” The day shift had a group chat, aptly named day pitt crew, and though it had first started out with the intention of ‘fast communication,’ it quickly evolved into the place for placing bets and planning outings.

At the mention of payment, Emma’s eyes lit up, and she immediately replied, “Deal. I’m holding you to it.” With a giggle, she spun around in her chair, swiping at her phone that was sitting on the desk’s ledge. Opening the Brendon’s contact, she decided to enact her plan tonight. 

With the first step done, she pocketed her phone, grinning at Princess. Seconds later, the familiar ping! of text notifications buzzed against her leg. She scrambled to grab the phone out, her grin growing even wider at the notification. 

“Italian date night secured,” she sang, twirling around in her seat. 

“Oh, you better get every angle,” Princess replied, raising her eyebrows in emphasis. 

“Of course-” Emma began, before she was cut off by Dana’s yelling. 

“Incoming trauma! Emma and Princess, off your asses and get over here!” 

…

Wiping the condensation that had formed on her brow, she sighed in relief as she checked her watch. The last trauma had taken almost the entire last two hours of her shift, so when she finally returned to the nurses’ station, she only had ten minutes left on her shift. 

With newfound ambition to leave as early as possible, she immediately tackled the mountain of charting she had procrastinated on, her fingers flying over the keyboards. Once she typed her last sentence, she turned her face to read the digital clock: 6:08. Immediately jumping up from her chair, she grabbed her tote bag and yelled “Bye! See you, love you!” in Princess and Dana’s general direction before sprinting towards the ER entrance. 

A distant “Bye! Have fun!” could be heard, but she paid no mind, haphazardly replying, “I will!” 

As she passed the waiting room that was, for once, only half-filled with groaning patients, she reached the set of automatic doors. As they opened, she was immediately met with the familiar figure of her boyfriend, leaning on top his white Porsche. 

Grinning, she called out, “Bren!” 

He immediately turned to her, his face matching hers as it broke into a wide smile. In a few strides, he was already in front of her and taking the tote bag off her shoulder. 

“Hey, hon,” he pecked her lips, opening the passenger’s side door for her and placing the bag on the back seats. 

As she buckled herself into the car, she groaned, “I’m so excited for Italian tonight.” 

“Waiting those two hours was absolute torture,” he replied just as enthusiastically, shifting the gears and rolling the car out the parking lot. 

…

Given that she only had twenty minutes to get ready, she hastily washed her body, deciding to leave her hair alone in the slickback bun she’d had since the morning. As for her outfit, the Italian place had a semi-formal dress code, causing her to choose the new lavender dress she’d bought a few days prior. 

Emerging out of their shared bathroom into the living room, she stopped in front of Brendon, who was patiently thumbing through a book on the sofa. Directing his gaze up to her, he whistled, remarking, “I knew that dress would look good on you.” 

Giggling, she spun on her tippy toes, the dress spiraling around her. “Thanks, babe. Ready to go?” 

“Been ready. Let’s go,” he replied, taking her hand as they trailed out the door. 

…

“Reservation under Park, please.” 

“Perfect, please follow me,” the hostess replied, leading them into a booth in the corner of the restaurant. 

As the couple took their seat, Emma scanned the table for where she could hide her phone. Seeing a candle on her side, she balanced her phone against it when Brendon was looking away. With the camera app open, she quickly hit the record button.

Once they were properly settled, a waitress walked over to their table with a basket of bread and butter in hand. Placing it down on the middle of the table, she started, “Hello! I’m Anne, and I’ll be your server for the night. Would you guys like to start with drinks and any appetizers?” 

Having been at the restaurant multiple times already, Brendon replied with their usual drink order, “Yes, I’ll have an old fashioned, and she’ll have the grapefruitcello martini.” Glancing at her with a piqued brow, he asked, “You ready to order?”

She nodded, “Mhm. You can go first.” 

“Alright then, I’ll have the linguine with clams.” He looked back at Emma expectantly. 

Deciding it was time to play the prank, she exaggerated her indecisiveness. “Umm… babe, can I get your permission to order the pasta instead of the salad today?” She even enlarged her eyes, widening them in feigned pleading. 

As expected, the question caught him off guard. He jerked his head towards the waitress, who was sporting a concerned expression in response. With slightly flushed cheeks, his eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he forced out, “What? What are you saying? You don’t need my permission-” 

She quickly interrupted, “Well, you said I should lay off on the calories y’know? That I was getting a bit too big for your liking.” 

Having heard enough, the waitress interjected, “Are you serious? Your girlfriend here is the most beautiful woman I’ve seen and you’re controlling how much food she has to eat?” Her glare was boring holes into Brendon, arms crossed tightly around her chest. 

Slightly panicking now, Brendon stuttered, “Oh my God, Emma, I never said that, what?” Facing the waitress now, he continued, “Ma’am, I swear, I’m on the same page as you. She’s beautiful just the way she is- I swear to God I would never control what she eats. Y’know what? Why don’t you order the beef short rib and the fettuccine alfredo pasta? Have some dessert too?” His face was reddening by the second, his hands fiddling with the tablecloth. “I swear, oh my goodness, what are you-”

“Okay, I think you’ve lost your talking privileges now,” the waitress splayed her palm out in front of Brendon’s face, silencing his babbling. Turning to Emma, she asked, “Dear, what would you like? Honestly, let’s just run up his check and order whatever you’d like.” 

At this point, Emma was having trouble keeping a straight face, but perservered for the sake of the video (and the twenty bucks). “Hmm… I’ll have the tortellini, then, and that beef short rib as well. I’m just so hungry,” she moaned, putting a hand on her stomach in emphasis. 

“Coming right up, ma’am,” she replied, speedily jotting down the order on her notebook. After giving one last disdainful look at the now-thoroughly-scarlet Brendon, she swiped up the menus and left the table. 

“Oh my god, Emma, what were you doing?!” Brendon whisper-yelled. 

Finally, she burst into the laughter that had been boiling up in her stomach, cackling almost maniacally. “Oh- my goodness, that was so funny, holy shit,” she wheezed out, putting her face in between her forearms. 

“You better tell that poor waitress you were joking,” he continued, though his face was contorting further into one of confusion. 

Unfortunately, for the next few minutes, Emma was unable to catch her breath, being under a laughing spell that pressed against her abdomen and punched the air out her lungs. All the while, Brendon had a mix of confusion, horror, and embarrassment displayed on his face as he realized the number of eyes that were staring at their table. 

Finally, after Emma drew in her first real breath, she moved to stop the recording on her phone, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Brendon. 

“You were recording the whole time?!” he yelled, drawing even more eyes to the table. “Holy mother of Jesus, save me from this hell,” he mumbled into his palms.