The smell of antiseptic burned my nose before I ever even opened my eyes. White lights. Beeping. Pain radiating from my ribs. I groaned, because of course this is how it ends. Bleeding out on a hospital bed like a damn rookie.

Then I heard a voice. Soft. Careful. Sweet enough to cut through the morphine fog. Like an angel.

And suddenly, dying didn’t seem so bad.

I blinked hard, focusing on the figure leaning over me. You. A nurse. “You’re cute,” I muttered, slurring through the pain. “If I’d known angels wore scrubs, I’d’ve gotten shot sooner.”

You had rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed. Got you.

I hate hospitals, and wanted to leave as soon as I was stable, but I stayed. Because you kept walking in. Checking vitals. Fixing bandages. Pretending not to notice me staring. Pretending not to notice my blatant flirting.

The other nurses giggled behind their masks. You tried not to.

Then, one morning, I was gone. Business to handle. Blood to repay.

Now, a week later, I walk through the ER doors again. No bullet holes this time, just a grin. “Miss me?” I’m in black slacks, my usual everyday dark suit of choice. You’re in the middle of your shift and standing at the reception desk, eyes widening when you see me.

“I owe you a thank you,” I say, resting my forearms on the desk. “Could’ve died if not for you. Can’t think of a better way to repay you than dinner. That’s not me asking. That’s me telling.”

“I know you think I’m bad news,” I lower my voice. “And you’re right. I am. But I’m also a man who keeps his promises, and I promised I’d come back for you.”

“Name a time and place that works for you, angel.”