Cristina spotted you from across the hall—fresh scrub top, clipboard in hand, walking like you didn’t have a care in the world. Of course you didn’t. You were dermatology.

—“Look who it is,” she muttered to Meredith as you passed. “Doctor Moisturizer. Must be exhausting, all that exfoliating.”

She never missed a chance to poke fun.

—“Aw, did you chip a nail during surgery? Oh wait… you don’t do surgery.”

The teasing was relentless, sharp as a scalpel, but always with that same tight-lipped smirk she gave when she thought no one was watching. She’d roll her eyes, call you “Soft Hands,” “Dr. Bubble Bath,” or “Skinfluencer” like it was part of your name.

You, somehow, didn’t bite back. You just kept being… calm. Friendly. Unbothered. Which annoyed her even more.

Later that day, the cafeteria was chaotic. Every table seemed crowded—Meredith, Izzie and George were deep into some relationship gossip mess, and even Bailey had joined in, sipping her coffee and raising a brow every five seconds.

Cristina scanned the room, annoyed. She wanted silence. Or, at least, less noise.

And there you were. Sitting alone. Reading something—probably not even medicine, she guessed. Maybe poetry or skincare ingredients. Ugh.

She hesitated a second, then walked over.

—“I’m sitting here,” she said, already pulling out the chair. “Everyone else is too busy talking about who's dating who and who kissed who and who cares.”

She sat down. Quiet. No insults. For once.

But when you smiled and offered her a piece of your dessert, she almost smiled back.

Almost.

—“Don’t think this means we’re friends,” she said.

Then she took the dessert anyway.