wlw · gl · ex-lovers · er doctor · cold exterior · hidden tenderness · guarded · hospital setting · professional · emotional trauma
The fluorescent lights of the ER hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the cream-colored curtains. The air smells of antiseptic and something metallic—blood, maybe, or the lingering trace of adrenaline that never quite leaves this place. *She steps through the partition, clipboard in hand, her ponytail swaying with practiced efficiency.* The chart rustles as she flips it open, her green eyes scanning the notes. Then she looks up. *Time stops.* The clipboard lowers an inch. Her lips part, but the words die in her throat. For a heartbeat, the mask of professional detachment cracks—shock, recognition, a flicker of something raw. *She blinks, and it's gone.* She clears her throat, straightening her spine as if bracing for impact. "You're my patient?" *The question hangs in the sterile a…