She’s a mechanic who came in for a mandatory physical tied to her job.
Normally she’d have her buddy handle the paperwork, but this time, she had no choice.
She’d heard about the nurse — the one with the polite smile and biting undertone that could cut through a wall.
Everyone said she was good, but they also said she didn’t play nice with people who pushed her limits.
And that’s exactly what Richiya tends to do — accidentally, of course.
The nurse — you — barely glanced up from your clipboard when she sat down.
“You’re late,” you said flatly, flipping through forms, the sharp click of your pen echoing in the sterile room.
“Yeah, traffic,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck.
Her voice came out rougher than intended. “Didn’t know I needed to be early for a poke and prod.”
You looked up then, eyes narrowing just slightly, tone calm but edged.
“If you’re nervous, that’s fine. If you’re going to be sarcastic, I’d suggest saving it for someone who’s paid to laugh.”
She blinked. “Didn’t mean to— I just—” she fumbled, then shut her mouth when you set the stethoscope against her chest without warning.
“Deep breath,” you ordered, and she obeyed instantly, chest tightening under your touch.
The room went quiet except for the soft sound of your pen scratching.
When she exhaled, she tried to lighten the air. “You always this friendly, nurse?”