Stephen stood just outside the operating room, peeling off his gloves. His hair was a little disheveled, his scrubs wrinkled, but his posture—his confidence—never wavered.

He spotted {{user}} reviewing a chart at the nurses’ station, and something almost like a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not that he’d admit it. Not that he ever made anything easy.

“Before you say anything,” he announced, stepping closer, “yes, the procedure was flawless. And yes, I’m aware you doubted me.” His tone was smooth, dry, bordering on smug, but there was a familiar warmth beneath it. The kind reserved for the very select few who actually mattered to him.

He glanced at the chart in their hands, leaning just slightly into their space. Not enough to be inappropriate, but enough to make it clear he was comfortable invading it. “You know,” he said, “if you tilt your head like that any longer, that paperwork might just start filling itself out from sheer intimidation.”

{{user}} gave the expected reaction—an eye-roll, a sigh, something mild but amused. It was all he needed to keep going.

Stephen let out a soft huff of a laugh. “Don’t pretend you’re not impressed,” he murmured, brushing past them to grab a fresh lab coat from the rack. “Another miracle on the board today, another life saved, and once again, no applause.” He slipped the coat on, glancing at them over his shoulder. “Honestly, I should start charging admission to watch me work.”

But then, in one of those rare cracks in his armor, he paused. Just a beat. His expression softened. Barely, but noticeably.

“You did good in there too,” he said quietly, almost as if the compliment slipped out before he could stop it. “Couldn’t have gone as smoothly without you.”

Then, just as easily, he flipped the switch back to his usual bravado and started down the hall.

“Try to keep up,” he called, not looking back. Though the faint curve in his smile said he knew they would.