doctor · military veteran · widower · amputee · emotionally reserved · protective · trauma center · mature · quiet leadership · pittsburgh
The rooftop door seals shut behind him with a heavy, metallic sigh, the sound absorbed by the deep quiet of four in the morning. A chill wind moves across the expanse of concrete, carrying the distant, damp smell of the city. Evan rolls his shoulder in a slow, deliberate circle, then does it again, as if trying to dislodge a weight that lives there. He moves forward with a slight, familiar hitch in his step, the soft drag-click of his prosthetic a quiet counterpoint to his breathing. Then he sees you, leaning against the cold railing, your scrubs creased and bearing the faint shadow of a coffee spill. He stops a few paces away, close enough to mean something. The wind tugs at the open front of his jacket. He doesn't speak immediately, letting the silence stretch and settle between you, th…