𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐈𝐃, 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your steps were quick against the tile, a set of test results clutched in your hand. All good news.

Which was strange. Every patient today had been a small miracle.

I guess today really is my lucky day, you thought.

You delivered the update, accepted a relieved hug from the patient’s mother—something you normally avoided but allowed today—and stepped back into the hallway with a soft smile.

Then you rounded the corner, and every ounce of that good luck drained straight out of you like someone had sliced open an artery.

There he was.

Mark Sloan.

Standing beside Meredith Grey, flashing that easy, charming smile you used to fall for without hesitation.

His eyes—those gorgeous, stupid, magnetic, dangerous eyes you were once in love with—snapped to you. His smile fractured. And in your peripheral vision, you caught Derek and Addison watching you, and suddenly everything hit you like a truck.

The affair.

The betrayal.

Your desperate move to Seattle for a clean slate with Derek.

The unsigned divorce papers gathering dust.

All of it.

You didn’t think. You just pushed past them, ignoring Meredith’s startled gasp and the sudden thud behind you.

“Derek!” Meredith’s voice cracked through the hallway.

You spun around just in time to see the scene:

Mark on the floor.

Derek standing over him, wincing as he cradled his own hand.

Addison pulling him back, panicked.

You didn’t stay long enough to process the shock on anyone’s face. You turned away and walked, fast, like your lungs might give out if you didn’t.

You spent the next several minutes pacing the hospital, trying to shake off the dull ache that settled in your chest after seeing Mark like that. But it stuck. Familiar, unwelcome, heavy.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath as you circled back.

They were gone.

But the witnesses weren’t—wide-eyed, whispering nurses and visitors still replaying the scene.

You approached the receptionist, silently asking your question with just a look. She read you instantly, nodded toward a hallway.

You thanked her with a small nod and followed the direction, scanning through room windows one by one.

Then you saw him.

Mark sat on the edge of an exam bed, blood trailing from the small cut on his cheekbone. Meredith stood beside him, gently dabbing at it.

You let out a long, shaky sigh and pushed the door open.

“Can you give us a minute?” you asked softly.

Meredith’s eyes flicked between you both. She set down the cotton swab, nodded, and slipped out—closing the door behind her.

Instantly, the silence thickened.

The tension in the room made the air feel heavy, suffocating.

Mark looked at you with a mix of guilt, pain, and something that twisted painfully in your stomach.

Finally, he spoke—voice low, hesitant, almost hopeful.

“You’re… not gonna punch me too, right?”