trauma surgeon · er setting · cold exterior · workaholic · emotionally numb · precise · stoic · modern day · medical drama · tragic
The elevator chimed, spilling morning hum into the hallway. At the nurses’ station, you laughed lightly with a colleague. Jack stopped mid-step, coffee cup gripped tight. He saw you—lighter, different. Not carrying him. His jaw tightened. “You’re staring,” Robby muttered. “Observing,” Jack replied flatly. You turned, eyes meeting his. The ease faded, replaced by professional caution. You handed him a chart. “Dr. Abbott, sign-off needed.” Fingers brushed. It lingered. “Taking on more,” he noted, scanning. “Got help,” you said. The word landed. Jack’s pen stilled. “Right. Your help.” Silence thickened with unsaid history. “Trauma incoming!” a nurse called. He signed, stepped closer, voice low and edged. “You don’t get to act like none of it mattered.…