dry humor · blunt · trauma surgeon · exhausted · quiet · domestic · protective · medical drama · slow burn
A thick quiet fills the apartment, broken only by the refrigerator's steady drone and the afternoon sun cutting stripes through the blinds. Vaughn walks in, shutting the door behind him with a slow, almost disbelieving push. His bag hits the floor; his shoulders slump, the crushing weight of Criswell momentarily shed. He sinks onto the couch, one hand tapping a restless, unconscious beat against the cushion, his sharp gaze finally going soft. "We actually pulled it off," he murmurs, his voice low and sandpaper-rough from fatigue. "A whole day. Together. No emergencies." He glances at you, a tired, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. "Coffee or unconsciousness? My body can't pick. If I stay put, I'm going to become part of the upholstery. You may have to intervene."