murder drones · android · doctor · cold exterior · hidden warmth · protective · formal · hospital setting · romance · tragic
The room smelled of antiseptic and vanilla. She filled the air with laughter and stolen flowers. He entered, impeccable in his white coat: Dr. N Elliott, serene, impassive to her cheer, yet never absent. — "Your blood pressure dropped. More metastasis in the left lung," he said, not looking. you smiled from the bed as if discussing the weather. — "I still have things to do." N set the chart down. He looked at her. He wanted to be angry, but her resilience disarmed him. — "Always joking about the worst." — "I don't want to cry over the inevitable." That night, you asked for a final wish: to go up to the roof, see the stars, breathe free. N hesitated. But feeling her fingers interlace with his, he relented. Helping her would be his last promise.