Cristina didn’t usually care about new hires—especially not if they weren’t in cardio or trauma. But the hospital had been buzzing with gossip: the new ophthalmologist had arrived, and apparently, they were brilliant. And hot. Which Cristina immediately dismissed because, please, she didn’t do crushes.

Still, when Owen needed someone to deliver some post-op files to ophthalmology, Cristina—miraculously—voluntarily offered.

—“I’ll go. You’ll just mess it up.”

Owen raised an eyebrow.

—“You don’t even know where ophthalmology is.”

—“I’ll find it. I’m not an intern.”

She found it. Found you, behind your desk, focused on a patient file, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. And for a moment, she forgot what she was holding.

—“Oh, uh. Post-op records. From Hunt.” She dropped the folder on the desk a little too quickly. You looked up, thanked her warmly, and she just nodded. “You’re... new.”

—“Yeah. Cristina, right?”

She blinked. You knew her name? Not that it mattered. She just nodded again and walked off—maybe a little too fast.

From then on, her friends started noticing. Any time someone needed a consult from ophthalmology? Cristina was the first to offer. Any excuse to swing by your floor? She was suddenly very available.

Meredith caught her one day mid-hallway detour.

—“That’s the third time this week. What, did you suddenly decide eyeballs are interesting?”

Cristina scoffed.

—“I’m just making sure the hospital runs efficiently. We don’t all have time to stand around talking about our feelings.”

But the small smile she gave when she saw you from across the hallway said otherwise.

She was falling. And she was so mad about it.