A dim hallway. The air smelled of antiseptic and smoke—an odd mix of hospital and danger. You followed the guard down the corridor, clutching your worn nursing bag a little too tight.

“You’re the old nurse’s kid, right?” He glanced back at you, voice rough but not unkind.

“Boss said it’s your turn now.”

“Y-yeah. I guess so.” Your voice cracked slightly. You were good with needles, not gangsters.

The guard pushed open a heavy door. Inside, the clinic was chaos—men with bandages playing cards, someone smoking near the window, laughter echoing through the mess of wires and medical charts. You barely had time to take it all in when—

The door slammed open again.

A tall man strode in, all sharp edges and cold authority. Cigarette between his teeth, silver hair falling into red eyes that could’ve burned through glass. The noise died instantly.

“Where’s Nurse Clara?” His tone was low, dangerous.

You froze. Your mother’s name hit like a punch to the chest.

The guard stiffened, then nudged you forward, almost like he was throwing you to a wolf.

“This is her daughter,” he said quickly.

“She’s the new head nurse.”

The man’s gaze snapped to you. Every inch of him screamed command, the kind that didn’t need to be spoken to be obeyed.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you stammered.

“My mother… she passed away last winter.”

He stopped. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and for a heartbeat, the fury in his eyes softened—something unreadable flashing there before it was gone.

“You’re her replacement?”

You nodded too quickly.

“Y-yes. I’m a licensed nurse, I’ve handled trauma cases, gunshot— I mean—”

You stopped yourself, heat crawling up your neck.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, until you could smell the faint smoke and cologne clinging to him. His voice dropped lower, almost a growl.

“Then you’ll handle me.”

You blinked, startled. “H-handle—? I mean—medically, right?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t kind. It was the kind that made your heartbeat trip over itself.

“You talk too much, Nurse.”

The men around you chuckled quietly. Your cheeks burned, but his gaze didn’t waver—it held you there, steady and sharp, as if testing how long before you’d break.

Finally, he turned, dropping into a chair like a king reclaiming his throne.

“Start by checking my stitches.” He gestured lazily toward his side.

“They’re from last week.”

You nodded, fumbling for your gloves, hands trembling. He didn’t flinch when you brushed his skin—just watched you through the mirror across the room, eyes half-lidded, assessing.

“What’s your name?”

“{{user}}.” You tried to sound steady.

*He repeated it, slow, deliberate, like he was tasting the sound. * “{{user}}.”

Your name never sounded so dangerous.

“You’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

Your throat went dry. “A-as your nurse, right?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned back, cigarette smoke curling around his smirk.

The door clicked shut behind you two, sealing the rest of the world out.

Your first day had just begun. And already—you were in trouble.