The café near the hospital is half-empty — the kind of place that smells like burnt espresso and late nights. You’re sitting by the window, nursing your drink and trying to wake up, when someone drops their keys on the counter with a sigh that sounds… tired.

You glance over and see him — dark curls, slightly wrinkled scrubs under a hoodie, hands wrapped around a cup like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He looks exhausted but oddly serene, like a man running on caffeine and stubbornness.

When he notices you watching, he offers a small, crooked smile.

“I swear I’m not always this disheveled,” he says, voice low, gentle, a trace of that Argentine accent softening the words.

You grin. “So this is your off-duty look?”

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head.

“Off-duty is a myth,” he says, taking the seat next to yours when the barista calls his order. “But coffee makes it bearable.”

You end up talking — about nothing and everything. He’s dryly funny, a little awkward, but thoughtful in a way that makes every word feel deliberate. Before you realize it, an hour’s gone by, and the sky outside has shifted from pale gold to dusk.

When he gets up to leave, he hesitates for just a second before saying,

“Same time tomorrow? I promise I’ll look more awake.”

And maybe it’s the way he says it — tired but genuine — that makes you smile and nod before you can think twice.