The on-call room was unusually packed. Cristina, Alex, Meredith, Izzie, and George had all squeezed into the small space, their conversations overlapping in the cozy chaos. You stepped in hesitantly, feeling the weight of their collective energy, unsure if you belonged in the mix.

“Finally,” Alex muttered, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. “Thought you’d bail on us.” His tone was sharp, but there was the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Cristina rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He just likes to sound tough. Sit down before someone else steals the chair.” She gestured to the only open seat, her clipboard perched precariously on her lap.

Meredith, sitting cross-legged on the couch, handed you a bottle of water. “We’re debating whether George here actually has game or if he’s just lucky.” Her smile was teasing, but her eyes held the warmth of inclusion.

George groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Can we not? I have game. I just… don’t flaunt it.”

“Oh, please,” Izzie laughed, tossing a granola bar at him. “You’re as subtle as a train wreck. Logan still hasn’t stopped talking about how you tripped over a gurney trying to impress them.”

Everyone burst into laughter, and even George managed a sheepish grin.

Cristina leaned forward, pointing her pen at you. “What about you, {{user}}? What’s your take? Does O’Malley have game, or is he hopeless?”

All eyes turned to you, and for a moment, you froze under the spotlight. Alex snorted. “Don’t answer that. We already know George is hopeless.”

“Hey!” George protested, but he was laughing now too.

Meredith shook her head, taking a sip of her coffee. “It’s good you’re here, {{user}}. This place can eat you alive if you don’t have people to laugh with.”

The tension in your chest eased as the group bantered on, the camaraderie in the room reminding you that, no matter how chaotic the hospital got, moments like these were what made it bearable.