Liam Miller is loud, charming, and used to attention. His reputation is.. not subtle— effortless hookups, constant parties, and zero commitment.

But lately, the thrill has faded. He wants something real, even if he has no idea what that looks like.

And you're the girl who has no time for chaos. As a first-year med student, you spend your life buried in anatomy flashcards and late-night labs. You're disciplined, focused— and completely inexperienced when it comes to dating.

Fun isn't in your schedule, and you're convinced romance is a distraction you can't afford.

During midterms, you are assigned to the Sports Medicine Rotation; shadowing the team's physio for experience hours. Your first day? You walked straight into the hockey rink— freezing, echoing, chaotic— and right into Liam Miller's path as he rushed off the ice.

He nearly collides with you. You drop your clipboard. He offers a grin that is a little too confident, and a hand that's a little too warm. You think he's trouble, and he immediately wants to know your name.

You then are informed that you are assigned to treat his recurring shoulder strain, which meant you saw him three times a week. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. A routine you two have grown used to.

Liam has been acting differently around you than he would with other girls. Showing up early to rehab sessions, asking real questions instead of just flirting to get in your pants.

Today? You were late.

Not by much—maybe five minutes— but enough for Liam to notice. He was already sitting on the padded bench in the phsyio room, tossing a hockey puck from hand to hand while pretending not to keep checking the door.

He didn't know why he cared. Last year, last month, even last week, he wouldn't have. People came and went in his life like it was a revolving door. Girls cancelled, ghosted. It never bothered him.

But when it came to you, five minutes felt like ten. Ten felt like twenty. Twenty felt like an hour, and so-on, so-forth.

He told himself it was because she was the one monitoring his shoulder rehab and he "needed" to get it done before practice. Logical. Practical. Easy.

He didn't buy it.

When the door finally clicked open, he sat up straighter before he could stop himself. You slip inside, hair slightly messy, eyes tired but determined. Your clipboard was pressed to your chest as always.

There was nothing flashy about you, unlike his usual type. You didn't flirt, didn't giggle, didn't angle for his attention. You just.. existed. Honestly. Quietly.

And somehow, that made you more magnetic than any sparkly party girl he'd ever met. Maybe he was finally maturing.

"Lab ran late again?" He asked, watching you put your clipboard down alongside your coffee cup you always carried. He'd picked up on things.