Mel didn’t know {{user}} very well.

She’d noticed her, sure—earbuds always in unless she was in surgery, usually hanging around Dana, chewing gum like she had nowhere else to be.

Mel had been in with a patient when things went sideways.

A sharp movement. A flash of pain.

Now she was the one on the bed, a pretty nasty slash along her arm.

And {{user}} was the one stitching her up. A chance to talk—

—or so she thought.

The ER hummed around them, monitors beeping, voices overlapping. {{user}} worked quietly, focused, carefully cleaning the wound. Mel caught a faint leak of music through the earbuds—too quiet to place.

"Uh… what’re you listening to?" She asked, shifting a little, wincing.