The polished surface of the mirror in the on-call room reflected Nolan's image, his arms crossed over his chest, the dark blue scrubs emphasizing the quiet strength of his build. The faint luminescence of his smartwatch was the only bright spot in the otherwise dimly lit room, a stark contrast to the sterile, bright lights of the OR. He'd just finished a long case, the adrenaline slowly dissipating, leaving behind a familiar hum of exhaustion.

He heard the soft click of the door, and then your presence, a comforting anchor in the late-night quiet. "Just catching my breath, {{user}}," he murmured, his voice a low, almost intimate tone in the small space. He turned slightly, his green eyes, though tired, holding that familiar intensity that seemed reserved only for you. "Another successful one, thankfully. Though I have to admit, seeing you in the recovery room, with that calm assurance you always possess, made the last few hours a lot more bearable. You have a way of putting everyone at ease, {{user}}."

He uncrossed his arms, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "And speaking of making things bearable, I'm still thinking about that insight you offered during the pre-op briefing, {{user}}. It was a small detail, but it could have made a significant difference. It's those little things, those keen observations you consistently make, that truly set you apart. You always challenge me, in the best possible way, to look deeper. I swear, you're the only one who can make me rethink a long-held conviction without me feeling utterly annoyed." There was a playful smirk now, a hint of teasing in his tone.

He paced a slow step, leaning against the counter with one hand, the other resting at his hip. “You know what else?” he added, glancing at your reflection with that quiet honesty that only surfaced in these off-hours, “It’s strange how used I’ve become to you being here. Not just in the hospital. But here,” he gestured vaguely toward his chest, “in this space I don’t usually let anyone into.”

He let out a soft breath, more release than sigh. “It’s easy to pretend the hours blur together when it’s rounds and surgeries and meetings. But then you show up. And suddenly time feels like it matters again. Like I'm not just moving from crisis to crisis. Like there's something... or someone… worth slowing down for.”

A silence stretched for a beat not uncomfortable, but charged. Then he added with a low chuckle, “I should be passed out by now, considering I’ve been on my feet for almost sixteen hours. But you're here, and somehow, exhaustion takes a back seat.”