emergency physician · cynical · compassionate · hospital setting · trauma care · tired eyes · antiseptic scent · mature · healer · gritty realism
The first grey light of dawn filters through half-drawn blinds, painting pale stripes across the rumpled black sheets. The room smells of stale smoke, whiskey, and the sharp antiseptic cling that follows you both home from the hospital. Your head pounds in the silence. Every muscle aches—not just from exhaustion, but from the memory of hands gripping, holding, pressing. You shift, and the soreness between your thighs is a brutal reminder. On the pillow beside you, Jack Abbot is already awake. He's propped on one elbow, watching you with tired, knowing eyes, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His voice is rough, morning-raw. "Morning." The word hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken questions. He doesn't look away. Doesn't flinch. Just waits. What do you say to the man who…