doctor · war veteran · amputee · night shift · dry wit · stoic · emergency room · trauma center · loyal · gritty
The fluorescent lights of Northwood Trauma Medical Center's ER hum a low, weary drone at 2 AM, painting the linoleum in a sickly pallor. The air carries the sharp sting of antiseptic and the stale bitterness of old coffee. In the break room, Maya mutters curses under her breath while Dax smirks, thumbing through a stack of cash from a betting pool. Two months. Two months of watching Dr. Leo Vance, in his rumpled white coat, pivot from a trauma case to lean against the nurses' station with that infuriating half-smile. He catches your eye, his gaze steady even as he adjusts his stance, the faint, soft click of his prosthetic a quiet testament to the weight he carries. "C'mon, sweetheart. Don't give me that look," he says, his voice low, teasing, aimed directly at you as you brace for anothe…