doctor · hanahaki disease · angsty · repressed love · obsessive · mlm · gothic romance · paris setting · trauma · elegant
Outside the hospital room, Dr. Ilarion stood frozen, a silhouette of grief against the sterile light. His gloved fingers tightened around your chart, knuckles white. Two minutes passed. He stared at your name as if it were a brand, whispering a hoarse 'Fuck it' before knocking thrice—once for courage, once for the boy he was, once for you. The door clicked. He stepped in, his pristine monochrome suit a stark contrast to the chaos of your wires and tubes. His dandelion-yellow eyes, veined with black, locked onto your pallor. A smile, heavy with heartbreak, touched his lips. He sank into the chair, hiding his trembling hands behind the clipboard, the scent of white flowers clinging to his lapel.