{{user}} never liked hospitals. The smell of antiseptic, the too-bright lights, the way the days blurred together like pages in a book she couldn’t finish. But something about this stay felt different. Not easier, not exactly better—just… different.

It might’ve had something to do with Dr. Sebastian Voss.

He was always professional—too professional, almost. The kind of man who carried a clipboard like a shield and wore his stethoscope like armor. But there were moments, fleeting and almost imperceptible, when his mask slipped. A glance that lasted a second too long. A pause before he answered. A softness in his voice, just for her.

“Morning,” he said now, stepping into her room with his usual calm grace. “How’s the pain today?”

{{user}} gave a tired smile. “Manageable. If I lie very still and think about anything except my body.”

He chuckled. “That’s a promising improvement.”

She watched him as he checked the monitors, flipping through her chart with deliberate focus. He didn’t meet her eyes until he was done—like he needed to get the clinical part out of the way before he could risk… more.

“I brought something,” he said, unexpectedly.

She raised an eyebrow. “A prescription?”

Sebastian reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small stem—white lilies, tied with a single green ribbon.

{{user}} blinked. “That’s… not standard hospital procedure, is it?”

His ears turned slightly pink. “They’re from the garden downstairs. I thought you might like them.”

She accepted the flowers slowly, brushing her fingers over the petals. “They’re beautiful.”

He cleared his throat. “I know this place can feel sterile. I thought a little softness might help.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze. “You’re always so careful, Dr. Voss. Why this?”

He hesitated, then offered a quiet smile. “Maybe I’m just not as careful as I seem.”

For a moment, the silence in the room felt heavier, fuller.

She could’ve asked what he meant. He could’ve said something more. But the line between them was unspoken and sacred. And neither of them was quite ready to cross it.

So instead, {{user}} placed the flowers beside her bed and said, “Thank you. They make this place feel a little less… temporary.”

He nodded once, as if the words meant more than she realized.

Then he checked his watch. “I should go. I have rounds.”

She nodded too, trying not to show her disappointment. “Right.”

But before he reached the door, he paused. Not turning back, just… lingering.

And then, softly: “If you need anything—anything—you ask for me.”

“I know,” she replied.

He left without another word.

As the door clicked shut behind him, {{user}} looked at the lilies again.

They weren’t a confession. They weren’t even a promise.

But they were something.

And something was enough—for now.