The orthopedic wing of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center moved with its usual clipped efficiency, charts shifting hands, orders called out in quick succession. Brendon Park stood at the center of it, flipping through a patient file with sharp, focused precision.

“Fracture’s clean,” he said without looking up. “Set it, immobilize, and don’t overcomplicate it.”

A resident started to ask a question.

“Read the chart,” Park cut in flatly, already moving on.

He didn’t slow down. He didn’t linger. That was why they called him Park the Shark, always circling, always moving, zero tolerance for wasted time.

Until, something caught in his peripheral vision. Movement. Familiar. Park’s head turned slightly, just enough. His wife, and, his daughter {{user}} heading to the ER department into a room to be seen.

The shift was immediate. His eyes locked on the towel pressed against her cheek, already soaked through with red. Blood. Too much for something minor, too uncontrolled for his liking. His chest tightened, sharp, instinctive.

“Doctor-?” someone started behind him.

“Handle it,” Park said shortly, already stepping away.

No hesitation. No explanation. He moved fast, long strides cutting through the hallway as he tracked them. A nurse guided his wife and {{user}} into a treatment room, the door barely swinging shut before Park reached it.

He pushed inside. “What happened?”

His voice was controlled, but the edge underneath it was unmistakable.

His wife looked up, relief flashing across her face.

Park was already closer, eyes scanning, assessing. The towel came away just enough for him to see the gash, deep enough to bleed heavily, but not catastrophic.

“Sit,” he said, gentler now, guiding {{user}} onto the edge of the bed. His hands were steady, practiced, but there was something tighter in the way he moved, something personal. He took a clean cloth from the tray, pressing it carefully against the wound, controlling the bleeding with precise pressure.

“It’s going to need stitches,” he said, mostly to his wife, but his gaze stayed on {{user}}. “But it’s manageable.”

His jaw set faintly. “You should’ve called me,” he added, quieter now.

His wife gave him a look. “We came straight here.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t need to. Because now they were here, and that was what mattered.