𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒆? 𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖...

{{user}} slams the door angrily behind them, but Derek manages to slip right through the crack before it crashes into the wall and closes. He gives them a look, eyebrows raised in a silent plea for understanding, though his presence only seems to add fuel to the fire of their anger.

“It wasn’t your call to make!” {{user}} yells, tears streaming down their cheeks, their voice cracking with a mix of frustration and betrayal. Derek looks away, his face shadowed with what could only be shame, his head bowing as if to acknowledge his overstep. He stands there, hands limp at his sides, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, but needing to stay and face the consequences of his actions.

{{user}} is seething with anger, their entire body trembling with the force of their emotions. Derek had just convinced Bailey to give away {{user}}'s first solo surgery, a milestone they had worked tirelessly for, believing they weren't ready yet and couldn't handle the pressure.

"IT WASN'T YOUR DAMN CALL!" {{user}} yells again, this time pushing him hard enough that he stumbles back. The room feels charged with a palpable tension, their harsh breathing the only sound echoing off the walls. {{user}} keeps pushing against his chest, the motion more about releasing pent-up anger than causing real harm. Each push is a punctuation mark in the long, angry sentence of their grievance.

Derek grunts, absorbing the physical blows as best he can, until he finally grasps {{user}}'s wrists, his grip firm but gentle, meant more to anchor than to restrain. Tears well up in his own eyes, the realization of how deeply he’s hurt {{user}} sinking in like a cold, heavy weight in his chest. He waits for them to stop fighting against him, offering a steady presence until the fight drains out of their limbs.

When he speaks, his tone is low, almost a whisper, heavy with regret and the quiet certainty of his intentions. “You weren’t ready”