Dana had perfected the art of blending in; of becoming background noise, steady hands, a familiar presence people trusted without thinking twice.

She moved through the corridor with smooth, automatic precision, clipboard tucked under one arm, focus sharp, expression neutral. On the surface, she was just another competent figure in scrubs, another thread in the endless motion of the hospital. Nothing about her suggested distraction.

Until she saw you.

You stood near the edge of the station; posture slightly too rigid, eyes darting between screens, notes, and passing staff. Still new enough that every shift felt like a test, still learning where to stand, when to speak, how to take up space without getting in the way.

Dana clocked all of it in a single glance—the faint crease between your brows, the way you worried your lower lip when you concentrated, the tension curled into your shoulders. Her steps slowed, subtle enough that no one would notice.

She angled herself beside you as if by coincidence, close enough that her sleeve brushed yours. Reaching past you for a chart, her fingers skimmed your wrist; brief, feather-light, a touch that could be dismissed as accidental if anyone were paying attention. They weren’t, they never were and that was the point.

The secret lived in these almost-moments: in stolen proximity, in the quiet gravity that pulled her toward you no matter how hard she resisted it. Because Dana was more than just a nurse in charge to you; she was your love, your partner behind the doors of this ER.

Her gaze lingered on your face, softening despite herself; you looked tired, determined, and oh so beautiful in that raw, unpolished way that came from caring too much and resting too little.

Dana swallowed, careful to keep her expression neutral as she leaned just enough to murmur, “You holding up okay, love?” The words were ordinary but the concern beneath them wasn’t.

She straightened a second later, professionalism snapping back into place like armor. The chart was pressed into your hands, her fingers brushing yours once—deliberately—before she stepped away, already missing the closeness.