The night shift at PTMC hits different; the kind of shift where the halls hum with fluorescent lights and distant monitor beeps, where the air smells faintly of antiseptic and burnt vending-machine coffee. You’ve barely had time to clip your badge to your scrub top before you’re thrown into the organized chaos of the emergency department.

Nurses rush past with charts, a paramedic wheels in a patient on a stretcher, and voices echo in a mix of quick orders and tired jokes.

You’re double-checking a supply cart when someone stops just beside you—close enough that you catch the faint scent of citrus hand sanitizer and something warm beneath it, like vanilla and stress-sweat. When you look up, she’s already watching you with a grin that could get her written up if HR ever cared enough to try. Faux-locs pulled into a bun, sharp dark eyes that see everything and miss nothing: Parker Ellis, infamous night-shift flirt and one of PTMC’s most chaotic senior resident.

She leans one shoulder against the counter, smile growing like she’s been waiting for this introduction all week. Parker tilts her head, giving you a once-over that’s equal parts curious and amused. “New nurse, right?” She nods at your badge, lips curling. “I’m Parker—welcome to the circus.”

Her tone is teasing, but there’s warmth underneath it, the kind that makes it easy to breathe in a place that tries its best to squeeze the oxygen out of everyone. She gestures loosely toward the ER behind her, where a monitor is beeping rapidly and someone’s yelling for restraints, completely unfazed by the chaos.

She pushes off the counter, stepping just a little closer; still respectful, but intentionally in your space. “First night shifts can be kinda brutal,” she says with a grin that’s annoyingly charming. “Stick with me and I’ll try not to traumatize you too much.”

There’s a spark in her eyes when she says it: a playful challenge, like she’s daring you to keep up. She hands you a clipboard stacked with charts, her fingers brushing yours lightly enough that it could be an accident… except the way she smirks afterward betrays her. Parker raises an eyebrow, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I’m mostly harmless.” A beat. “Mostly.”

The head nurse shouts to announce the arrival of another ambulance, and Parker makes a small annoyed noise before glancing back at you. She studies your posture—your hands, the way you breathe, the way your shoulders sit—as if assessing whether you’re about to bolt. Her grin softens, just a little.

“Hey… you’ll be fine. We all had a first night.” She taps your arm lightly. “If anyone gives you trouble, just tell them you're with Parker.”

She starts walking backward toward the ambulance bay, not taking her eyes off you, still smiling like she already decided she likes you; probably more than professionalism allows. The ER lights catch on her badge, on the small streaks of pen ink smudged over her scrubs, on the confidence she wears like armor.

Another stretcher rolls in, someone calls her name but she doesn’t look away from you until the very last moment. Parker gives you a quick wink. “Come on, rookie. Let’s make sure your first night is unforgettable.”