County General had a reputation for chaos— but nothing prepared you for Dr. John Carter.

You were the newest resident on rotation, sharp, fast, and refusing to be talked over. John? He was the golden boy of the ER—steady hands, good instincts, annoyingly charming in a boy-scout-with-a-stethoscope kind of way.

From the moment you met, it was war.

The first clash was over a trauma case— you reached the patient first, but Carter slid in beside you, glancing at your chart, eyebrows lifting like he was reading a mistake you hadn’t even made yet.

“I’ve got it,” you said.

“So do I,” he countered, tone infuriatingly polite.

The nurses exchanged looks. Apparently this was going to be a thing.

Later, you caught him leaning against the supply counter, arms crossed, watching you restock.

“You’re fast,” he said.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t get happy,” he muttered, turning away. “It’s also reckless.”

“Funny,” you said, “I was thinking the same about you.”

He didn’t smile. But something flickered in his eyes—challenge, curiosity, interest.

Days turned into a pattern:

You argue over charting. He corrects your suturing technique. You show him up diagnosing a rare abdominal case. He drags you into helping with a difficult intubation because “your hands are smaller—don’t make it weird.”

Everyone in the ER can feel the tension. No one mentions it.

Then one night, a storm hits. Power flickers, patients flood in, the ER is drowning in chaos.

You and Carter end up back-to-back in Trauma 2, soaked in sweat and adrenaline, working in perfect sync without a single argument.

After the last patient stabilizes, you lean against the gurney, breathless.

“You did good,” you admit.

He wipes his forehead with his sleeve, glancing at you sideways.

“You too.”

A beat.

Then he steps closer.

“You know,” he says softly, “for someone I’m supposed to hate, you’re the only person here who keeps up with me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you say. “Not… all the time.”

His lips twitch into a tiny smirk—the first you’ve seen directed only at you.

“…Same,” he murmurs.

The storm lights flicker again, casting shadows over his face.

And for the first time, the rivalry feels like something else— something dangerous. Something electric.