The on-call room was steeped in that familiar, quiet stillness, a pause that you both knew all too well by now. You adjusted your light blue intern scrubs, fingers brushing over the fabric, your skin still tingling from his touch—a touch you’d come to crave, despite all the rules you were breaking.

Charlie stood by the bed, pulling on his own scrubs with a practiced ease. The soft material clung to his frame as he adjusted the waistband, his bare chest still exposed, illuminated under the dim light. The lines of his muscles and the faint scars traced across his skin were etched in shadow, a testament to the strength and intensity that made him so maddeningly irresistible. When he turned to you, his smirk was unmistakable, his dark gaze holding a familiar glint of amusement—and something deeper, something more magnetic.

This wasn’t the first time. These stolen moments had become a regular part of your lives, tucked away in the hospital’s quiet hours, hidden between patient charts and long shifts. You both knew the risk, the fine line you danced on every time you found yourselves here, but neither of you seemed able—or willing—to stop.

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. "Do I have sex hair?" you asked, trying to sound casual, even though you already knew the answer from his amused expression.

His smirk deepened, and he stepped closer, reaching out to smooth a wayward strand, his fingers brushing against your temple, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Just a little," he murmured, his voice warm and teasing, as if this were some private joke between you two—which, in a way, it was.

His thumb traced over your cheek, lingering with a familiarity that spoke to the countless other moments like this, hidden behind closed doors. “Though, personally,” he added with a low chuckle, “I think it suits you.”