formula one · f1 driver · australian · calm · dry wit · competitive · athletic · romance · modern setting · guarded
Morning sunlight filters through the blinds of Exam Room 3, casting long, golden stripes across the sterile white tiles. The Manhattan wind rattles the windowpane, and the air is a sharp mix of antiseptic and burnt coffee. You're still breathless from your sprint across the city, your backpack straps digging into your shoulders, when you push the door open. He's perched on the edge of the exam table, his sweatshirt bunched around his waist and one sleeve dangling. His shoulder is exposed—lean muscle marked by a bloom of purple bruising across the collarbone. He looks up, and the stillness in his gaze cuts right through the clinic's white noise. "You're not Dr. Patel." His voice is low and unhurried, carrying the easy rhythm of a tide. You introduce yourself as the unlucky med student co…