"Supposed to be an Adult, but fuck it, I need a minute."
A/N: 3RD CHAPTERRR, I actually really liked writing this one (probably because I got to write other characters but wtv, HAVE FUN READING!)
CHAPTER 3 SUMMARY: Arriving in Pittsburgh makes your anxiety go through the roof as you realize you'll have to start working 12-hour shifts with people you don't know anything about. It's mostly pre-work jitters, but you can't stop mulling over the what-ifs? But at least you have a nice apartment and aren't living with that gremlin of a Brother (you're kind of, not really related to?)
Word Count: 2260 (I lied about it being longer than ch 1, and 2 never trust authors)
"But I keep comin' back."
The boxes littering the floor of your brand-new apartment are starting to piss you off. You knew moving would be hard, but youâve been here for almost two days already, and you swear you didnât bring this much stuff. Sure, you like shopping for clothes in your free timeâor the occasional cute piece of furniture, but you donated most of what you didnât need when it came time to pack. (You choose to ignore the fact that Carlos complained earlier that you still shouldâve gotten rid of more. That strawberry vase was way too cute to part with.)
Two loud grunts pull you out of your spiral of annoyance. You glance toward the open apartment door, also surrounded by boxes, shockingly, to see your brother hauling in the last two, muttering curses under his breath.
âHey, N/N,â Carlos groans, dropping them with a heavy thud. âWhy do all your boxes feel like you filled them with bricks just to spite me?â
You grin at the look of betrayal on his face. âGuess we wonât know until you open them,â you say, laughing at the way his shoulders sag.
âBut I thought we were done,â he says, pouting dramatically.
"God, I wish, but we start at PTMC tomorrow, and I really don't want to come home to a messy house after a 12-hour shift. I think I would genuinely kill myself," you say in a sarcastic tone, looking up at the ceiling
Carlos hisses and slaps you hard on the shoulder.
âOWâwhat the hell, man?â you say, rubbing your arm and shooting him an annoyed look.
âEnough with the dark jokes,â he says firmly. âPeople let it slide back at MFMC because they knew you werenât serious, but if the wrong person hears thatâand then looks at your chart, youâre benched. Maybe worse. Just⊠ease up, okay?â
You study him for a moment before shrugging. âOkay, okay. I get it. Iâll dial it back,â you promise, turning toward the nearest box and starting to unpack.
âThank you,â he says with a relieved sigh, bending down to help you tear through the rest of them.
By the time youâre finished, the sun is already starting to set, and your back is absolutely wrecked. Still, a sense of calm settles over you as you take in the now-clean living room. Thank God Carlos had the sense to pay someone to assemble the furniture beforehand; unpacking the essentials was exhausting enough.
âWell,â he says, grabbing the backpack he left by the door, âIâm heading out. See you tomorrow, Dr. L/N.â He flashes a cheeky smile.
âHave a good night, Dr. Cruz,â you reply, just teasing.
As he steps out, you call after him, âHasta mañana, Carli.â
He smiles and glances back. âHasta mañana, N/N,â he says before taking the stairs instead of the elevator, because of course he does.
You close the door and make your way to your bedroom. The far-right wall is lined with bookshelves, packed tightly with every kind of literature imaginable, mixed in with your medical books. You sigh, taking in the stark white walls and the bare wooden floors. For a moment, you consider ordering rugs, or even hiring someone to install plush carpetingâbut you brush the thought aside, deciding to let future you deal with that.
After going to the bathroom and changing into your pajamas, reality finally catches up to you. Holy crap, I have work tomorrow, you blurt out. Youâve known this day was comingâhell, youâve been counting down the seconds ever since Carlos asked you to leave and come to Pittsburgh with him. Youâve spiraled about tomorrow more times than you can count, so it doesnât make sense that it still managed to sneak up on you.
You try to slow your thoughts. Itâs not that you hate socializing or meeting new people, if anything, you thrive on it. Most of your friends and coworkers would call you a social butterfly. And yet, first impressions have always been your weakness. Around people who arenât your brother, you struggle to speak freely, to be yourself. Real connection, for you, would mean letting them see the baggage you carry, and youâre nowhere near ready for that.
You hate being negative. It happens more than youâd like, but you try your best to stay optimistic about most things, or at the very least, you force yourself to.
You make your way to your ridiculously comfortable king-size bed, catching the clock just as it flips to 12:00 a.m. Seven hours of sleep, if youâre lucky. You donât give yourself the chance to overthink it. You close your eyes, let the anxiety pass through you, and slowly drift into a deep, restless sleep.
Your alarm goes off at six on the dot, Loud and unforgiving.
You groan, rolling onto your side, eyes burning as you fumble to shut it off. Everything feels slow and foggy.
You move through your morning on autopilot, shower, then scrubs. The thought of food makes your stomach twist, so you skip breakfast like you always do, settling instead for coffee. Strong. Necessary. You lean against the kitchen counter while it brews, mind already racing ahead of you.
In your jittery haze, you miss a step. Completely forget your meds.
You donât realize itâyet.
Coffee in hand, you check your phone and immediately regret it. Carlos has been busy.
Are you awake? 6.12 a.m.
Hello?? 6:15 a.m.
Iâm at the hospital early af trying to learn the ropes. I feel like a med student again. 6:17 a.m.
Dude. I am so serious when I say this. I just met a guy who is, like, exactly your type, point blank. 6:20 a.m.
You almost spit your coffee straight back into the mug. âWhat?â you mutter, rereading it just to be sure. The time catches your eye nextâ6:30 a.m.
Youâre not late, but on your first day, anything less than fifteen minutes early might as well be. Panic kicks in instantly. You grab your keys, abandon the coffee on the counter, and rush out the door, heart already pounding as the lock clicks shut behind you.
The elevator ride down feels longer than it should. You lean back against the cool metal wall, keys clutched in your hand, leg bouncing despite your best efforts to stop it. The doors slide shut with a soft ding, sealing you in with your thoughts.
Youâre fine, you tell yourself. Youâve done this before.
The elevator hums as it descends, each floor ticking past a reminder that time is, in fact, moving forward whether youâre ready or not. When the doors finally open, you step out into the lobby and push through the front entrance, the early morning air hitting you like a wake-up slap.
The parking lot is already half-full. Staff coming off night shift, others arriving early like you. You spot your black Jeep where you left it and make a beeline for it, unlocking the door and sliding into the driverâs seat with a quiet exhale. For a brief second, you just sit there, hands resting on the steering wheel.
Then you start the engine.
The screen lights up as you pull out of the spot, fingers tapping in the route to PTMC. The GPS chirps to life, and you pull onto the road as the city slowly comes into focus.
Traffic is light, but your thoughts are anything but. Every red light feels like a bad omen. Every minute ticking by makes your chest tighten just a little more. When the hospital finally comes into view, your stomach flips.
You pull into the staff parking lot and glance at the clock.
Early. Good. Still, nerves bloom anyway. You sit there for a moment longer, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, before forcing yourself to stop. You take a deep breath. Then another.
You grab your bag, lock the car, and start toward the entrance, pulling your phone out as you walk.
Iâm here, you text Carlos. About to head in.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Med-Surg unit. Got pulled into a case not even 25 minutes after I got here.
Then a second message follows.
Sorry, I canât do introductions with you. Weâll cross paths soon, though, promise.
You huff out a small breath, shaking your head fondly. Figures.
Go save lives, you text back. Iâll survive.
The hospital doors slide open, and you step inside, greeted by the familiar mix of antiseptic, coffee, and low morning chatter. You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder and make your way to the front desk, where a woman with sharp glasses and a stressed expression on her face is typing furiously at a computer.
âHi,â you say, offering a polite smile. âIâm Dr. L/N. Todayâs my first day.â
She looks up immediately, expression softening just a fraction. âAhâright. Welcome. Youâre one of the new residents starting today, right?â
âThird year,â you confirm.
She nods, already clicking through screens. âIâm Monica. Youâll want to check in here first before going in, especially since it's your first time here." She hands you a clipboard. âJust verify your information, then I'll notify your assigned attending and senior resident about your arrival."
You take the clipboard, skimming, name, department, badge number, nothing you havenât filled out a dozen times already. You hand it back, resisting the urge to fidget.
Monica gives a glance over the information, then buzzes the double doors on the right to let you in.
You thank her and push the doors open, stepping into the controlled chaos. The ED is⊠everything you expected. Monitors beep constantly, nurses are shouting updates to each other, the night shift is still present, and starting to hand off cases to the day shift.
You glance at your phone. 6:55 a.m. Not late. Technically. But your chest is already doing that annoying tight thing, and your hands are itching to fidget.
You take a deep breath, shove your bag strap higher on your shoulder, and move toward the central station in the middle of the ED.
Okay. Youâve got this. You think.
âHey! You lost, sweetheart?â a woman calls out, tilting her head like sheâs sizing you up. Her accent is soft but teasing, almost like sheâs amused by your flustered face. You blink, trying to process her before you manage a somewhat shaky, âUh⊠first day, im the new resident coming in from MFMC."
âOhhh, gotcha,â she says, voice gentle now, softening. âSorry, hon. My internal clockâs all kinds of messed up with the new med students coming in. Robbyâs gonna be here in a minute, though. Lemme show you where to stash your stuff and your locker.â
She gestures down the hall, and as you follow, another woman steps up beside her, called Dana. She comes off strong with a Pittsburgh accent, sharp and commanding. "You must be the newbie, âNice tâmeet ya." she calls you only have time to nod at her before Lena rushes you away.
You both walk through the ED, and wowâthis place is bigger than the one at MFMC. Thatâs a plus. You let your gaze linger a second, filing away the layout in your brain.
By the time you reach the locker room, Lenaâs still chatting, soft but brisk. She gestures at a locker at just the right height. âHere you go, code is ****. Fingerprint scanner at the bottom of the long, round lock to open. Youâll get used to it.
You slide your stuff inside, tucking your bag away, and stepping back from the locker, closing it. Lena gives you a small, approving nod. âAll set. Letâs head back to the station,â she says, falling into step beside you. As you walk, you can feel your nerves coming back in full force, so you begin to dig your nails into the palm of your hand.
Back at the charge nurse station, the ED hums with life. Four people get buzzed in and move toward a trauma room, one leading the rest like they know exactly where theyâre going. The others trail behind, glancing around nervously, trying not to fall behind. You canât talk to them yet, but you know that jittery feeling all too well.
Lena leans slightly closer, voice low and brisk. âIf you need anything, go to Dana. And⊠try not to be so nervous, okay?â
You nod, the tight knot in your chest loosening just a bit.
The four people come out of the trauma room, heading toward where youâre standing. Someone brushes past you, and you look up. A manâtall, calm, with a quiet confidence, and for a second, you freeze.
Something about him clicks in your brain. The way Carlos texted you this morning about meeting someone that's âyour typeâ? Yeah. This has to be it. You connect the dots almost too quickly, and your chest tightens in a way that feels both familiar and entirely wrong.
âAs you can see, we have some new faces with us this morning,â he says, voice steady.
He scans the room for a moment before speaking again. âStarting with introductions,â he says, voice steady. âIâm Dr. Robinovich, but just call me Robbie.â
It hits you thenâslowly, painfully, like a punch you didnât see coming. Heâs your attending. For the rest of your time here.
Your brain screams. Your stomach flips. And all you can think isâŠ
