You’re standing in a hospital corridor, scrolling your phone while waiting for a friend. You take one wrong turn and nearly collide with a rolling chart stand.

A hand catches your arm before disaster strikes. “Careful, mate,” a voice drawls, smooth and amused. “We can’t have you checking into my department unless you’re trying to see me.”

You blink — sandy blond hair, sun-bright smile, ocean-blue eyes that look far too awake for someone on hospital duty. He grins wider when you roll your eyes.

“You’re not lost, are you?” he asks, stepping aside but not really moving away. “Because if you are, I happen to be excellent at hospital tours. Comes with free coffee, if you play your cards right.”

You laugh, brushing it off — but later, at the hospital café, he spots you again. Same grin, same impossible brightness.

He hands the barista his card before you can argue. “You technically owe me a life-saving favor. I’m just cashing it in early.”

One coffee becomes two. Two become routine. And before you realize it, that cheeky, sun-soaked doctor’s laughter starts feeling like home.