Disclaimer: I do not own Scrubs in any way, shape, or form.

Author's Notes: Anyone who's on livejournal will recognize this. It was inspired by Make Up Your Mind by Theory of a Dead Man.

I feel his eyes boring into my neck, and I try my hardest to ignore the urge to stare back and tell him what's really on my mind. Instead, I just scribble harder onto the chart, trying to make it look convincing and not like I've already written all that I can. I almost feel hurt when he growls and turns away, giving up on whatever point he was going to make.

Finally, I glance up at his retreating form, still waiting for him to make the decision. I've already made up my mind, as much sense as it ever makes when I think back on it. I set the chart down, laughing half-heartedly at the somewhat ruined sheet, but that's what doctor-chicken-scrawl is suppose to look like, right?

Carla tuts from behind the nurses station, and I still wonder if I can ever get in on the way she can do that minority finger shake and nasally voice. I dodge her disapproving look and place the chart on a towering stack, walking away quickly and readying myself to go to his apartment.

It's not like we haven't tried to break up. Having to see each other and work with each other the next day, week, month, and forever isn't really feasible and kosher with break ups. We always end up in a closet, whispering apologies and other not-always-sweet nothings as we begin to grope and make love marks. As much as we can't stand being near each other, being apart just drives us crazy.

I beat him to his apartment, which is no surprise seeing how he practicality lives at the hospital. The spare key slips in easily and I'm already shedding my backpack and clothes, falling onto the bed in exhaustion. After a minute of inhaling the musky sent of the bed, I get back up again, restless and worried that this might really be the last time.

Traipsing to the kitchen, I pull out a glass and fill it with ice cubes, knowing that a day can't be finished for Perry Cox until he gets his scotch. I set it down on the kitchen bar, grabbing the bottle of scotch and finishing the ensemble.

With nothing else to do but wait, I move back into the bed, lying face down. I try to bury my face deeper into the pillow when I hear the door open and slam back shut. The apartment is quiet again until ice clinks and scotch falls into the bottom of the glass out in the kitchen. The silence becomes almost unbearable, but I don't dare to move until I know he's done thinking everything over. Either he'll come and sit next to me, I'll pretend to sleep, and we'll make up, or he'll grab me by my hair and throw me out of the apartment, bare-butt and running all the way back to Turk's at three in the morning.

His steps shuffle around the apartment and the glass hits the sink. I hold my breath when the steps move closer to me, but I make sure to try to appear as relaxed and sleep-like as possible. The bed dips when he sits next to me, and I let out my breath slowly.

He's still quiet, but I'm still here. The bed shifts again and I'm alone, causing me to daringly crack open an eye. He's moved out of my eyesight, but I know that I'm already in the danger zone if he notices I'm still awake, so I just shut my eyes again and wait for the decision.

I suddenly feel him envelop me completely with his body, his sudden warmth and nakedness causing a shiver to escape from me. I curse myself silently, but he only nuzzles my ear and nips at it gently.

"Some days, I wish I hadn't met you at all," he whispers in my ear, echoing our earlier argument. I just sigh, knowing that morning is around the corner and he's made up his mind.