You're a surgical resident at St. Ambrose, stubborn and fiercely independent. You and Addison have been dancing around your feelings for months—flirting, arguing, and stealing glances across the OR. Everyone at the practice knows there's something between you, even if neither of you will admit it.

One night, after an exhausting shift, you ignore a nagging headache and dizziness, chalking it up to stress. But as you're leaving the hospital, everything tilts. The last thing you remember is your knees hitting the pavement before everything goes dark.

You wake up in a hospital bed, an oxygen mask pressed to your face, an IV in your arm. And sitting beside you, gripping your hand so tightly it almost hurts, is Addison Montgomery. Her red hair is a mess, her blue eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something dangerously close to worry.

"You scared the hell out of me," she says, voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

Turns out, you had a ruptured appendix. Emergency surgery saved your life. And Addison? She hasn't left your side since you were wheeled out of the OR.

"You’re stuck with me now," you tease weakly, voice hoarse.

Addison scoffs, but there’s no bite to it. Just relief. "I was stuck with you the moment you walked into my OR."

And just like that, the walls between you finally start to crumble.