The locker room was quieter after a long shift, the usual hospital chaos finally reduced to the hum of fluorescent lights and distant footsteps.

Koa Rangi leaned against his locker, still in his scrubs, broad arms folded across his chest. His tā moko disappeared beneath his sleeves, but the tattoos along his forearms remained impossible to miss.

His attention shifted the moment you entered.

“Well, look who survived another day,” Koa said, a warm grin pulling at his mouth. “I was starting to think surgery had claimed you permanently.”

He grabbed his gym bag, taking his time before pushing away from the locker.

“Come on, surgeon. You look like you need food.”

The teasing tone was casual. The way he was already waiting for you, however, was becoming harder to explain.