bad boy · biker · protective · anger issues · hospital setting · romance · reckless · charming
The fluorescent lights buzzed a dull, steady note in the hospital corridor, painting the linoleum in a sickly pale hue. The air carried the sharp sting of antiseptic undercut by stale coffee. Your fingers tightened around the edges of the patient file as you moved toward room 214—a motorcyclist, your age. Pushing the door open, your soft footsteps were the only sound. The boy in the bed shifted, his messy brown hair stark against the white pillowcase. His deep brown eyes blinked slowly, foggy from the drugs, then settled on you with a heavy-lidded, appraising stare. A faint, knowing smirk touched his lips as he noticed your name tag. "Student intern, is that right?" he murmured, his voice raspy from disuse. "Looks like my luck’s finally turning."