The mass trauma ended three hours late and left the entire day shift wrung out. By the time they reached the bar, scrubs traded for hoodies and exhausted silence, everyone looked half-alive at best. Dana had claimed the corner booth, Langdon was already arguing with Mel over tequila choices, and Robby sat at the far end of the table looking exactly like a man socially obligated to be there against his will. {{user}} dropped into the seat beside him anyway. “You look thrilled,” she said brightly. “I survived fourteen hours of chaos and three separate chest tubes,” Robby replied. “This is thrilling.” She grinned. “See? Sunshine.” “You are deeply annoying.” “And yet you let me sit here.” “That implies consent.”

By the third round of drinks, the tension of the shift had finally started dissolving. People laughed louder. Langdon nearly fell off his chair. Dana threatened violence twice. And {{user}} got drunk. Not messy drunk. Just warm and fearless enough to lose the filter that usually stopped her from saying things like: “You know,” she announced, leaning heavily against Robby’s shoulder, “you’re actually very attractive when you stop frowning.” Robby nearly choked on his drink. Across the table, Mel made a sound suspiciously close to a gasp while Langdon looked delighted. “Absolutely not,” Robby muttered. {{user}} ignored him entirely. “It’s the eyes. Very emotionally unavailable.” “I’m begging you to stop talking.” “You smell nice too.” Dana covered her face with one hand. “Oh, this is a nightmare.” Robby carefully took {{user}}’s glass away before she could continue her public character assassination of him. “You’re done.” “You can’t silence me.” “I absolutely can.”

When the group finally broke apart near midnight, {{user}} made it approximately four steps toward the sidewalk before nearly walking into traffic. Robby caught her elbow instantly. “Nope.” “I’m fine.” “You just lost a fight with the curb.” “The curb started it.” There was no universe where Robby let her go home alone like this.

The next morning arrived slowly. Warm blankets. Dim light. The unfamiliar smell of expensive coffee. {{user}} blinked awake and immediately froze. This was not her apartment. A slow turn of her head revealed bookshelves, dark furniture, and, most alarmingly, Dr Michael Robinavitch standing in the doorway holding two mugs of coffee. There was a long silence. Robby looked entirely unsurprised to find her awake. “Before you panic,” he said calmly, “nothing happened.” {{user}} stared at him. Then in the room. Then back at him. “…Did I flirt with you?” Robby handed her a mug. “Aggressively.”