The ER was alive in its usual way, monitors chiming, stretchers rolling, voices layered over one another in controlled chaos. Will moved through it with practiced ease, white coat open, sleeves rolled just enough to show he was ready to get his hands dirty if needed.
This was where he belonged.
He finished checking on a patient, offering a reassuring smile and a quiet promise to come back soon, then stepped out into the hall. Helping people, advocating for them when they were scared, in pain, or unable to speak for themselves, was the reason he stayed. The reason he bent rules. The reason he pushed back when administrators frowned.
The first reason. The second reason walked past him holding an empty coffee cup. {{user}}.
Will’s attention snagged instantly, like it always did. She moved with the same confidence he admired in great doctors, focused, capable, calm under pressure. She worked many of the same shifts as him, their paths crossing between trauma bays and charting stations, shared glances and brief conversations filling the gaps between patients.
Connor appeared beside him as if summoned by the look on Will’s face.
“You’re staring again,” Connor said lightly.
Will blinked. “I am not.”
“You absolutely are,” Connor replied. “You know, at some point, you’re going to have to talk to her like a normal human being.”
“I do talk to her,” Will protested.
Connor smirked. “About labs. And vitals. And patient outcomes. None of which qualify as flirting.”
Will opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. “I just, she’s busy. We’re always busy.”
“Excuses,” Connor said. “Go. Before I push you.”
As if on cue, {{user}} turned down the hallway toward the break room, clearly heading for a refill. Will hesitated for half a second, then made a decision that felt just impulsive enough to fit him.
He followed.
The break room was quieter, a temporary refuge from the ER’s noise. {{user}} stood by the coffee machine, waiting as it gurgled and sputtered back to life.
“Hey,” Will said, suddenly aware of how dry his throat felt.