#anaesthesia

John continued, calm and absolute. “Any delay would have risked permanent neurological damage. The attending made the right call.” He looked directly at Simon as he said it, and you didn’t miss the way Simon’s jaw ticked, a muscle feathering in frustration.

When the conference adjourned, Simon lingered by the door. His broad frame blocked your exit. You crossed your arms, already prepared.

“I owe you an apology,” he muttered, voice low enough that only you could hear. “You were right.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilted your head, and let out the sharpest little scoff you could manage before brushing past him without a word. His breath hitched behind you, but you didn’t look back.

Hours later, after another surgery left you wrung out and sweaty under your scrubs, you slipped outside to the hospital gardens. The benches there were shaded by sprawling trees, a rare little haven. You sank down, letting your head tip back, finally breathing in air that didn’t smell of antiseptic.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You startled slightly as John appeared, holding two takeaway cups. He offered one with a little shrug. “Didn’t know how you take it… figured I’d gamble on something simple. White, one sugar.”

You blinked at him, hesitant, but took it. “Thanks.”

He sat beside you, not too close but close enough you could feel his presence. “Funny, isn’t it?” he said, looking out across the gardens. “Five years ago we didn’t even swap last names, and now here we are—colleagues.”

Your cheeks heated at the memory, unbidden flashes of skin and laughter in a dingy hotel room surfacing before you shoved them back down. “Yeah. Funny.”

John glanced at you then, his expression softer than you expected. “I never forgot you, you know.”

That jolted you. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not properly,” he admitted, a smile tugging at his mouth. “But I remember how it felt. And I’ve thought about what might’ve been… if we’d actually bothered to exchange more than first names and a room key.” His gaze held yours, steady. “To me, you were the one that got away.”

Your stomach flipped, and before you could stop yourself, you gestured too wildly with your coffee cup as you stood up. The drink sloshed, spilling right down his trousers in a steaming splash.

“Oh my god—!” You shot to your feet, napkins already in hand. “I’m so sorry!”

He looked down at the stain, then up at you, utterly calm. “Don’t worry. I’ve had worse.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Your words died as you realized you were hovering your hand over his thigh, dangerously close to blotting. You yanked it back, mortified, face burning.

John chuckled, low and warm. “Relax. It’s just coffee. Besides—” his grin widened, “—gives me an excuse to change before I ask you to dinner.”

Your eyes widened. “Dinner? As in—you and me? No.” You shook your head so fast it made you dizzy. “John, that’s not—this isn’t—”

He hummed, calm as ever, standing smoothly despite the damp patch. “Didn’t expect a yes straight away.” His eyes sparkled when he looked at you. And with a nod he simply said “That’s alright. I’ll ask again later.”

You gaped at him, utterly thrown. Then he winked, turning back toward the hospital, leaving you rooted to the bench—heart hammering, coffee forgotten in your hand, and the ghost of that night five years ago burning in the back of your mind.

The residents’ lounge smelled faintly of latex and stale crisps, the kind of room that saw more stress than rest. Kyle sat hunched over a training dummy on the table, carefully threading a suture needle through fake skin with steady precision. His tongue poked out slightly at the corner of his mouth — concentration written all over him.

Meanwhile, Johnny wasn’t concentrating at all. He was perched at one of the computers, typing away with far too much intensity for what was supposed to be downtime. His scowl deepened as your name flashed across the screen.

“She was famous at her last job,” Johnny muttered, scrolling quickly through old articles and research notes. “Look at this — publications, conference mentions, commendations. No wonder the division head recruited her.” He spoke like Kyle was actually listening.

Kyle didn’t look up, eyes still on his stitching. “Mm.”

“But if you’re so famous…” Johnny leaned closer to the monitor, narrowing his eyes like the screen might confess a secret. “…why move hospitals?” His voice dropped, more to himself now, like he was untangling a mystery. “Why here? Why now?”

Kyle tied off his suture with a neat little tug. “Why don’t you just ask her?” he said dryly.

Johnny twisted in his chair to glare at him. “Why don’t you just ask her,” he mimicked in a whiny sing-song, complete with exaggerated hand gestures. “Because I don’t want to talk to her. Period.”

Kyle finally glanced up, unimpressed. “Could’ve fooled me. You’ve been glued to that screen since she walked in.”

Johnny bristled, slamming the mouse down harder than necessary. “I don’t care about her.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” He bent back over the dummy arm, lips twitching with the faintest smirk.

Johnny turned back to the computer, muttering under his breath — as if the monitor, at least, would believe him.

He scrolled deeper, his jaw tight. Something in the directory caught his eye — a restricted file linked to your name. His finger hovered over the mouse for a moment before he clicked.

The screen blinked, a progress bar loading. As the file opened, his frown deepened, eyes narrowing. He leaned in, lips parting slightly, ocean blues widening and—

The north wing always buzzed with a different energy than the other departments. Brighter somehow, warmer, with the constant chatter of patients and families moving through. You adjusted your white coat as you stepped into the reception hub, where one big desk sat already occupied by two gorgeous women.

“Hi! You must be the new doctor!” chirped the woman with a bobbed haircut and big, round glasses. Her name badge read Bell, and her smile was so enthusiastic it was almost disarming.

Beside her, a taller woman with long braids leaned lazily on her elbow, scrolling through a tablet. She gave you a slow once-over before smirking. “Bell, tone it down. You’ll scare her off. I’m Tanya. Welcome to the chaos.”

Before you could respond, a man in a white coat appeared from the hallway, adjusting his stethoscope. He was handsome in a clean-cut way, with sharp cheekbones and an easy grin. “Ah, you’re the new recruit. Jihoon,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand. “Gynaecology. Don’t worry, I’m not as scary as my field makes me sound.”

Bell giggled. “He’s the one you go to if you need endless snack recommendations. Man knows every vending machine on site.” She grinned like a child on Christmas.

Tanya rolled her eyes but you caught the fondness beneath it. “Just ignore her. I do.”

You smiled despite yourself, tension easing a little. For the first time since arriving, it felt like you might actually fit here.

Jihoon leaned casually against the reception desk, folding his arms. “So,” he asked with a grin, “met any of the other surgeons yet?”

Your stomach gave a small twist. Of course you had — more than met them. You’d been entangled with every one of them in one way or another, pasts knotted so tight it felt like they might strangle you if you weren’t careful.

You schooled your expression and nodded once, aiming for casual. “Yeah. Briefly.”

Jihoon didn’t notice the stiffness in your tone, but Bell did. Her smile slipped into a little frown as she leaned forward over the desk. “Uh oh. Are they being mean to you or something?”

You blinked at her, startled. “What? No. Nothing like that.”

Tanya snorted softly, tapping her pen against the desk. “Please. Half the surgeons here walk around like they own the place. Don’t let it get to you. Give it a week and you’ll learn to tune them out like the rest of us.”

Bell huffed, clearly unconvinced, but let it drop. “Well, if they are being jerks, you just tell us. We’ve got your back.”

Tanya scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t think she needs our help. Word around here is you beat up mobsters on your first day.” Her lips curved into a grin. “So cool!” she squeaked, the fangirl moment catching even Bell off guard.

You blinked innocently, bemused by her reaction. “That right?”

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head as he signed a file and handed it to Bell. “Hospital gossip travels fast. Better get used to it.”

Bell giggled, covering her mouth. “Okay, that is kind of cool, though.”

Your lips parted, ready to confirm it — when your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket.

You glanced at the screen. Emergency surgery.

“Duty calls,” you said, snapping the phone shut and already moving. The three of them watched as you strode down the hall, Bell’s excited whisper following you out of earshot.

You changed into your scrubs in record time, hair pulled back, mask dangling from your ear as you scrubbed in at the sink. The water was warm, the smell of antiseptic sharp, your mind already racing through the steps of the surgery.

Then another pair of hands plunged into the sink beside yours.

You glanced over — and froze. Simon.

His square jaw was tight beneath his surgical cap, his movements brisk, mechanical.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, frowning. “This is my surgery.”

“I’m taking over,” he grunted, already drying his hands with quick, practiced snaps of the towel.

“Excuse me?” The words cracked sharp in the tiled room. You finished rinsing and grabbed a towel yourself, glaring at his back.

He didn’t look at you, just pushed through the double doors into the OR.

Your pulse kicked up, but you refused to let him bulldoze you. Tossing the towel aside, you followed.

The patient lay prepped on the table, anesthetized, monitors steady. A scrub nurse hovered uncertainly by the instruments. The circulating nurse shifted nervously at the sight of you and Simon walking in together.

Murmurs rippled across the small team.

“Neuro said she was leading…” someone whispered.

“Now it’s Captain Broody?” another muttered.

Simon didn’t say anything — not out loud, at least. He simply slid into the lead position, voice calm and clipped as he instructed the nurses. The scalpel was in his hand before you could blink.

Every muscle in your body screamed at the audacity, but you forced yourself into silence, eyes sharp, jaw locked. An outburst here wouldn’t just bruise your pride — it could compromise the patient.

So you stood by, gloved and masked, forced to watch as Simon took over your case. His hands were steady, movements sure, the team falling into rhythm around him as though he had been meant to be there all along.

And damn it — the surgery was a success.

He peeled off from the table, bloody gloves glistening under the lights. Only then did he glance your way, eyes glittering with that infuriating, cocky edge.

“You can stitch them up, fellow,” he drawled, tone laced with smug dismissal. Then he stripped off his gloves and strode out without a backward glance.

Heat flared in your chest, pride stung raw, but you forced it down. The patient came first. You stepped forward, voice brisk as you called for the sutures.

The familiar rhythm of your perfected stitch steadied you. Needle, knot, cut. Needle, knot, cut. You finished in record time, clean and elegant, the team casting sidelong glances but wisely holding their tongues.

When the patient was safely transferred and your gloves were off, you didn’t hesitate. The doors swung behind you as you stormed into the corridor, scanning for Simon’s broad frame.

He had just pulled his gown off, tossing it into the bin with casual ease, when your voice cracked through the air like a whip.

“Simon!”

He stopped but didn’t turn, shoulders squaring as if bracing himself.

You marched up, jaw tight, fists clenched at your sides. “I am not under your guidance,” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low, professional — but it trembled with rage. “And you were not assigned to that surgery. I was. How dare you undermine me in front of other doctors.”

That made him turn. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, his mask hanging loose around his neck. “I saved that patient’s life.”

“You think I couldn’t have?” you shot back, fire burning in your chest. “You think barging in, hijacking my case, makes you some kind of hero?”

“I think,” he said evenly, stepping closer, “that when a life’s on the line, I don’t gamble.”

The words landed like a slap, the corridor’s silence swallowing them whole. It was bullshit and even he knew it. But basically implying you’re not capable…you fumed. A few nurses passed by at the far end glancing your way before quickly scurrying off — gossip already sparking like wildfire.

Your voice dropped, steel replacing the shake. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll take it straight to the board. Do you understand me?”

For a long beat, he just stared — that infuriating, smug calm etched into every line of his face. Then, finally, his lips twitched into the faintest smirk.

“Noted, fellow.”

And he walked away, leaving you seething in the corridor, every nerve in your body screaming for blood.