The ER at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was in full motion, stretchers rolling, monitors beeping, voices overlapping in controlled urgency. Right in the middle of it, Jesse Van Horn watched {{user}} work.

They moved from patient to patient with quiet efficiency, taking vitals, offering reassurance, their voice steady even when the room wasn’t. It was the kind of presence that didn’t demand attention, but earned it anyway.

Jesse leaned lightly against the counter for a second, just observing.

“Doctor’ll be with you shortly, alright?” {{user}} said gently to their patient, offering a small, reassuring smile before stepping out of the room.

That was his cue. He pushed off the counter and fell into step beside them like it was second nature. “Hey,” he greeted, casual but warm.

{{user}} glanced over, already recognizing the tone. “Hey.”

Jesse studied them for a second, not obvious, just enough. Years of working together had made it easy to read the small things.

“You good?” he asked.

Simple. Direct. The kind of question that meant more coming from him.

Up ahead, Trinity Santos was arguing with someone, probably about a chart, while Melissa King hovered nearby with her usual bright focus. Dennis Whitaker looked like he was trying to keep up, and Victoria Javadi was already three steps ahead of everyone else.

Same chaos. Different hour.

Jesse nudged {{user}} lightly with his elbow. “You’ve eaten today, right?”

That got him a look.

“What?” he said, holding his hands up slightly. “Valid question.”

That was their rhythm. Check in. Push a little. Stay steady. Because they both knew what this place could do to you if you let it.