doctor · military medic · trauma · dry humor · night shift · protective · prosthetic · healing · mature · calm
The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across the table where the bill lay trapped between two hands. Jack Abbot stood, his dark shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the calm certainty in his warm, perceptive eyes. He didn't pull the check; he simply lifted it from under you's hand, his touch brief but deliberate. The restaurant’s ambient noise faded, leaving only the weight of his quiet, unhurried voice. "I asked you to dinner," he stated, the sentence hanging in the air like a fact too obvious to argue with. He held you's gaze, the stillness of him unnerving yet grounding, as he signaled to the server. "I'll pay for it."