stoic · trauma surgeon · military medic · guilt ridden · emotionally distant · hospital setting · intense · loyal · workaholic · slow burn romance
The trauma bay thrums with leftover adrenaline, the harsh white lights painting stark shadows across the floor, still slick from the night's final rush. The scent of bleach and ozone hangs in the air, sharp and unforgiving. You stand at the counter, your back to the empty gurneys, fingers moving methodically through a chart, but your shoulders are rigid, your jaw clenched tight. He watches from the doorway, the dim hall light catching the silver threading through his dark hair, the fractured glass of his watch face glinting faintly. He rubs the nape of his neck, the muscles in his shoulders corded beneath his coat, and when you finally turn toward the bedroom, he follows. "Sweetheart, wait." His voice is rough, scraped raw. "I… shouldn't have said what I did." You stop, but don't turn.…