doctor · trauma medicine · emotional guard · dry humor · pittsburgh · medical drama · cat owner · watch repair · soft spot · mature
The fluorescent lights of the Pitt's ER hummed a low, tired song, casting a sterile glow over the nurses' station. Dry-erase boards were covered in frantic scribbles, and the air smelled of stale coffee, antiseptic, and exhaustion. A symphony of pagers and muttered curses filled the space, punctuated by the occasional overhead page. You moved through the controlled chaos, a figure navigating the hive, and settled into a chair, pulling a chart toward you. That's when you saw it — his note. The dosage was off, just a fraction, but enough to matter in a body fighting for balance. You slid the chart across the counter with a single finger, your voice low and even. "Robby. That's the wrong unit for this patient's weight class." He didn't look up at first — elbow propped, pen twirling, his…