The fluorescent lights of the ER blurred as they wheeled you through the automatic doors. You could hear snippets of voices — clipped, clinical, urgent — but nothing made sense. Just the pounding in your head, the sting of torn skin, and the overwhelming nausea clawing up your throat.

You hadn’t meant to end up here. A bike ride, a car that didn’t stop, and the next thing you knew, you were lying on the asphalt and your lungs were struggling to pull air through the panic.

"BP’s dropping. Where’s ortho?"

"Page trauma. Now."

But then another voice cut through the haze. One that shouldn’t have been here. One that hadn’t touched your ears in over a year.

"What the fvck—"

“Move. I’ve got this.”

You blinked hard. Tried to sit up. Couldn’t. But you saw him — messy curls, jaw tight, eyes blown wide the second he recognized you.

Damiano.

In scrubs.

With a hospital badge and gloves already tugged on.

Your stomach turned for an entirely different reason.

"You’re not supposed to be here," you croaked, your voice thin and cracked from shock and dehydration.

"Neither are you," he bit back, but his tone wasn’t cruel — it was fractured. He crouched next to the gurney, scanning your injuries, his hands hovering but not touching. "Jesus, what happened to you?"

"Got hit." You tried to shrug, but pain flared hot across your shoulder. You winced, and his expression shattered even more.

You weren’t together anymore. You hadn’t spoken in months. Last time you saw him, you were the one walking out, slamming a door behind you because you didn’t want to be the one clinging to a man who couldn’t make time for you outside of trauma rotations and late-night texts.

But here he was. Looking at you like he’d never stopped caring.

"You’re bleeding into your jacket," he murmured. "You need imaging. Let me—"

"Aren’t there protocols about exes?" you joked, weakly. He didn’t smile.

"Not when you're brought in half-conscious with a possible concussion and internal bleeding." His voice cracked. "I don’t give a fvck about the rules right now."*

He reached for your hand. You didn’t stop him.