the fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway hummed, a stark contrast to the dim, intimate glow of the bar from the night before. {{user}} in still slightly rumpled in her faded green scrubs, tried to focus on the patient charts in her hand. sean, the chief of surgery, strolled up beside her, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. his navy blue scrubs looked crisp and pressed, a stark difference from her own state. the faint scent of his expensive cologne, the one she’d buried her face in just hours ago, made her breath catch.

“morning, {{user}},” his voice was a low rumble, sending a shiver down her spine despite the professional setting.

“morning, sean,” she managed, her voice a little breathier than she intended. she avoided his gaze, focusing intently on a particularly complex diagram of the liver.

“busy morning?” he asked, his eyes, those striking blue eyes she’d found herself lost in, were now fixed on her.

“you know how it is,” she mumbled, finally meeting his gaze. there was a shared understanding there, a silent acknowledgment of the demanding lives they led, the very reason their unconventional arrangement had even begun.

“tonight?” he asked, his voice dropping a notch, the question hanging in the sterile air.

{{user}}'s heart did a little flutter. the thought of his strong arms around her, the feel of his beard against her skin, was a welcome distraction from the endless parade of medical jargon and life-or-death decisions.

“maybe,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “depending on how this afternoon’s transplant goes.”

a hint of a smirk touched his lips. “i have a feeling it will go very well.”

he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her arm, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through her. it was a small rebellion in the starched environment of the hospital, a secret language only they understood.