Med student!Luke wanted to aspire to something in life.
Back in kindergarten, he’d never been like those children that boasted about becoming a firefighter or a football star, an actress or a singer. No—every time an adult would ask cute little Luke “what he wanted to be when he grew up”, his answer was always the same: “I want to be a neurosurgeon. The best in the country.”
And now, years later, Luke was still aspiring, still hoping, so close to becoming what he’d dreamt of being all throughout school. All he had to do was pass this exam.
It was definitely easier said than done.
“Luke,” you murmured, running your hands along his hunched shoulders as he bent over several textbooks and notepads, scribbling down reminders and definitions. He was stressed—you could see it in the way he sat—and of course, he had good reason to be.
But you knew this was unhealthy, and that he needed a break.
“Baby, your brain won’t be able to retain all of this,” you said gently as you stroked his biceps. You placed your chin on the crown of his head as he sighed, knowing that you were right. But there was this horrifying paranoia plaguing his brain—what if he’d missed something?
“I can’t stop,” his voice sounded strangled. You leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to the nape of his neck and closing your eyes, inhaling deeply and breathing in the strong scent of lemon lingering around your boyfriend.
“Luke, it’s unhealthy,” you tried. You left hand slid down his arm, all the way to the hand that was holding a textbook open while his eyes drifted along the page and the words mindlessly. You managed to lock your fingers with his, giving his hands an appreciative squeeze.
“This exam controls my entire future, Y/N,” Luke reminded you. You rolled your eyes—you would never forget those words, he said them every day to stress just how important his examination was.
“I know,” you breathed, “But please. Take a breather. For me.”
Luke tensed. You bit back a smile, knowing that he would break from his intense studying habits to make you happy. Groaning at the stiffness of his joints, he blinked sleep from his eyes and pushed away from his desk.
“Fine,” he said, sitting up straight and stretching. He stood, towering over you, and you shot him a small, grateful smile.
“Wake me up in an hour,” he requested. You didn’t bother arguing, knowing that Luke would only protest if you bargained two hours other than one. Luke stumbled over to the bed, pulling of his shirt as he did, and fell onto the soft duvet, immediately curling up into a ball and burying his face in the pillows.
“Love you,” he murmured sleepily, already beginning to drift off, his eyelids relaxing. You chuckled softly, sitting onto the bed beside him and running your hands through his hair, soothing him and sending chills down his spine.
“I love you more,” you whispered to him, smiling fondly at your huge, broad yet lanky boyfriend spread out on his bed, “My neurosurgeon.”
Another source of praise for the show has been the unique relationship shared by the two main characters. Though there is chemistry between Anderson and Duchovny, the writers and actors take pains to maintain a tender but nonsexual relationship.
Nathan was in a foul mood. He’d realised that now that Preston was gone there was no one to check on his biological brother for him and tell him how he was doing. He was afraid that one day some Master was going to leave a newspaper laying around and he’d see his brother’s picture in the obituary section. He looked in every newspaper he saw just to check, to see if his brother was okay, because he missed his brother terribly. “Can’t you see that I’m not in the mood for whatever it is? Leave me alone.” He didn’t even look at the person, he just carried on scouring the papers in front of him from many different regions..