It had been two weeks since {{user}} and Leon had ended up spending the night together by mistake, after a few drinks at the welcome party for her internship at the hospital.

Leon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, dressed in that royal blue outfit and a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. From the small window, he had watched every second of the scene. His gaze was fixed he saw {{user}}'s every movement with the precision of a hawk: the way her fingers barely trembled as she removed the needle, the absolute concentration on her face… and then, that damned patient leaning in to kiss her as if he had any right.

The sharp sound of the door swinging open shattered the tense silence of the hallway.

He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at her—dark, intense eyes, as if he could read every thought she was trying to hide.

“Nice suture you gave him,” he finally said, with a crooked smile. “Though I’d say the patient got a better stitch on the lips.”

He pushed off the wall with feline calm, stepping a little closer than what was professionally acceptable. His tone still carried the authority of a demanding neurosurgeon… but there was an edge of something else.

“Is that part of the new care protocol? ‘Suture and kiss’ before discharge?” he added, one eyebrow raised, laced with sarcasm. “I’ll have to review it. Must’ve missed the memo.”

Then his voice dropped, deeper, more intimate.

“I thought that after the other night, we made it clear that certain… attentions weren’t negotiable.”

His smile faded slightly, but his eyes never left her.

“Next time someone tries to taste your mouth, make sure it’s because you allow it. Not because he thinks he’s entitled to it.”

He turned to leave, but not before throwing over his shoulder:

“I don’t intend to make a scene,” he continued in a low voice, now tinged with something more than sarcasm. “That would be unprofessional… and you know how much I like to keep up appearances. Especially after certain nights."