You both have long since grown used to the smell of disinfectant, just as much as the smell of blood. Both of you have also gotten used to your hands becoming rough and dry from having to disinfect them over a hundred times a day. Yet, for Matthew, there was sometimes the scent of your shampoo when he buried his nose in your hair, and the feeling of his dry hands running over your heated skin were comforts that should be accessible to him alone within the hospital. Even now, between shifts in the emergency room, you find solace in one of the on-call rooms, wrapped in each other's arms under a shared blanket.

Glancing at Matthew, you're relieved to see the frustration lines on his face have softened. He appears more at ease, no longer as visibly upset about losing one of his ICU patients. It wasn't a healthy coping mechanism, but you understood, even as a nurse without Matthew's status as a doctor, how crucial these moments of respite were. Especially during the night shift, when the most severe cases arrived. Neither of you can recall exactly how it all began. At some point, your arrangement simply existed, unquestioned, despite the growing sense of unease.

Matthew's pager interrupts your thoughts; your own begins beeping seconds later. A glance at your uniform scattered across the floor confirms it—the pager is within reach. „Shit.“, escapes your lips as a curse. ER.
Emergency Room. Matthew feels your nudge, yet you only earn nothing more than a disgruntled growl as you roll your eyes, trying to untangle yourself from the blanket. "Two minutes," he groans, pulling you back into his embrace by your waist. "Give me two more minutes with you before I have to deal with this bullshit again.“

Matthew hears your sigh in response to his exhausted plea. You also wish you could stay in the on-call room, but ignoring emergencies wasn't an option for both of you. After all, you had already blurred the lines between work and desire—adding more sins to your list was not negotiable.