#poly!141 angst

“I’m going for a vape, you comin?” Your bestie whose name you’ve embarrassingly forgotten right this second offered and you just nodded. Saying yes was so easy after hearing no from work all week.

The fresh air was nice after the heat inside, but climbing the stairs to the third floor while drunk had you reconsidering. “Here.” A red apple ice something Mary was shoved into your hand for you to take a drag from. Though when she gets out another one from her bag you suppose the vape is yours now.

You feel yourself sway to the music that is still hearable from upstairs, the wind feels nice on your hot skin. “I need to pee, I’ll be back.” Your friend says loud enough that it’s not classed as a whisper and you just nod as she slides away, taking another drag while you stare at the city all lit up.

Maybe this right here is why they are always asking you to join them, the small moment of peace you’re feeling now. And after a lousy week it’s fucking serene to be stood on the top floor of a shitty club, a buzz pulsing through your veins and a nicotine rush making you a little light headed.

It’s perfect.

Until it’s ruined.

“Hello beautiful.” You manage to hear the words through the slight ringing in your ears. Turning you find a man staring at you as though he wants to eat you. He’s not bad looking, but the sleazy hunger in his eyes immediately puts you off.

“You new around here? I’m guessing you’re not mated, you’ve no alpha scent on you.” He says and you think the alcohol has made you hallucinate. Before your brain is even conjuring up an answer you’re interrupted.

“Get the fuck away from my best friend.” You turn to find your bestie’s face twisted angrily.

“Farah! I missed you. Where have you been?” Walking forward you hug her, suddenly like two wires have sparked you remember her name once more.

“I went to pee like I said.” She laughed at your clear memory loss thanks to the constant stream of sex on the beach and whatever shots your other friends had kept buying.

“Oh yeah.”

“Let’s go back.” Farah says holding your hand as she eyes the man who doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second. She pulls you away with every intention of leaving. Texting the other girls that you were going home before she’s pressing the phone to her ear. You follow her mindlessly, her hand locked tight around yours while she waits for whoever it is to pick up.

She sighs with relief when they do, “Track my phone, there’s a rogue here and I’m with her.” You don’t understand what she’s talking about though you think the alcohol is fiddling with your brain and you’re sure she’d be making sense if you were sober.

There’s loud shouting on the other end of the phone, Farah hissing before she’s apologising for encouraging you out. “I figured it would be safe considering we’re on pack grounds.” More shouting follows before you’re bored.

“Farah come on I wanna go back in and dance!” You whine tugging on her hand. She smiles at you sympathetically before she’s dragging you down the last set of stairs and outside the building. A black suv pulls up right outside, it has a queasy feeling building in your stomach. Especially when two men get out and advance towards you.

“Don’t you look bonnie.” The one with a mohawk grins down at you. You don’t want to, in fact your brain is screaming at you not to but you preen under the words. A small mewl slipping from your throat when his finger tips glide under your chin tilting your head back just enough for him to look into your eyes.

You feel something snap into place as he inspects you, a string that was loose and dangling suddenly pulled tight. You’re so busy staring at this gorgeous man and his deep blue eyes you forget anyone else is there until Farah speaks.

“I’m so sorry I thought this would be safe. He shouldn’t even be on our territory. How did he get in?”

“We can worry about that in the morning. We need to get her back to the house before she goes into heat.” You look past mohawk’s shoulder to where the Mancunian accent is coming from to see a skull mask. Beautiful brown eyes surrounded by black. He’s built like a tank and sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Cmon lass, let’s get you home.”

“Johnny.” Skull man clicks his tongue at mohawk.

“Wha? It will be soon.” Johnny scoffs before smiling down at you. It’s then you notice you’re seeing double, your stomach gurgles and your mouth salivates.

“Come now, gotta get ye back to the jet. Cap’s having an aneurysm.” He helps you to your feet, letting go of you as he did, he knows you’re strong enough to stand on your feet and don’t like coddling but your knees buckle and then you're gripping onto Johnny for dear life.

He hooks your arm around his shoulder without a second thought, you’re grateful he’s not commented on you falling into him. He seems more focused on getting you out of the building, through the forest and back safely on the jet. Your pack is there waiting, eyes filled with questions even if they remain silent the whole flight back to base.

John can’t take his eyes off you as Johnny fusses with the cut on your shoulder, using tweezers to pull the glass shards out. You wince, your face pinched in pain but that just makes John more worried. It’s strange this feeling; he of course worries over his teammates, his pack. But this is something else, something more powerful and deeply ingrained. Like an ancient feeling rushing through his veins that he has no control over. That’s got him gripped by the throat, claws slowly curling around his neck the more you wince.

Simon has the same itch. But he can’t scratch it, can’t even look at you with how focused he needs to be on flying the jet. But it’s so insignificant when you whimper as Johnny pulls out the last shard of glass. His knuckles sting and pull tight around the steering wheel.

Kyle’s nose isn’t in his book as usual after a mission, his whole body is aimed in your direction even though he’s far back in the jet. He can’t tear his gaze away no matter how hard he tries, a feral flavour of protectiveness rising in his throat that tastes somewhat like bile. He can’t even take in your scent to soothe himself that you’re okay, it’s all twisted with rotten ginger and injected with sourness. It sets his teeth on edge.

Once you’re off the jet, once the debriefing that you couldn’t focus at all during even to answer John when he asked you what happened, is finished; that’s when the questions start.

“You all good?” Simon asks, an eyebrow raised, hand clasping onto your uninjured shoulder. You wince at the slap, something that has never happened before, flinching at the sound too.

“Don’t know.” You mumble but they all hear you.

“Lass?” Johnny’s eyes squint, your partner in crime looking at you worried, glancing at Simon who had taken a step back staring at his hand like he had burned you with his touch.

“I think I’m fine.” You reply, voice sounding wobbly.

“You think.” John frowns, not a question. He realises, after flicking through the files of memories stored away up top, he’s never heard you sound unsure like this before. When questioned on how you feel, you have never said you don’t know. Ever.

“Let’s get you to the med bay.” Kyle offers softly, the guys looking at him in surprise at his tone. But all you do is nod, letting Kyle place his warm hand on the lower half of your back guiding you.

The check up takes a little longer than usual and it’s mostly just a blur other than Kyle talking to the nurse about what happened on the mission since you’ve suddenly become non verbal. Suddenly curled in on yourself, shuffled somewhere in the corner of your mind to hide, and become mute while doing so.

You don’t even flinch when the needle goes into your vein, nor grimace when the vial fills up with your blood. Nor wince when the blood pressure machine becomes too tight around your arm. Nothing, just a numbness spreading through you at an exceedingly fast rate.

You’re not sure what the nurse says but Kyle reacts badly, shouts angrily but you’ve got cotton in your ears and your tongue is heavy in your mouth. It’s not until Johnny places a warm hand under your chin guiding you to look up with a mumbled, “C’mon show me those eyes lass.” That you notice Simon and John are also in the room holding back a feral looking Kyle from a terrified beta nurse.

You want to ask what happened, why Kyle is angry, what is going on but your wolf has your tongue as she whimpers and whines locked away behind bars. “Cap.” Johnny motions to switch places with his captain, thinking it probably best that the unofficial head alpha take over.

“Sweet’art I need you to tell me what happened.” He asks soft and gentle like approaching a wild animal, coaxing you to answer but you shake your head feeling like a petulant child when he gives you a stern eyebrow raise. “Veil.” His tone is deeper, a dark vibration rattling in his chest. It settles over you in such a way that you feel the command boom in your head. It’s loud and powerful, nothing like how he actually spoke to you.

“I don’t know!” You screech feeling the bellowing echo bounce around your brain so painfully, it only dawns on you when it fizzles out that John just intoned you. Blinking up at him from where you’re sat on the edge of the examination table with wide, shocked eyes, “You jus-“

“Like I said,” the terrified nurse stood tall from where she had originally shrunk away from Kyle, “She’s an omega.” She says loud and clear. A proud look flashes across her face and Kyle snarls at the sight, upper lip curling with the viscous sound.

“Like hell I am.” You snap, standing, almost charging at her but she doesn’t cower away like she did with Kyle. She has pity in her eyes as she watches you approach her. “I’m an alpha. Always have been, that doesn’t just change bucko.” You scoff but it doesn’t hold the same attitude, doesn’t sound the same as it did yesterday.

“I’m sorry but you are an omega, blood work doesn’t lie.” She holds a piece of paper out to you that you snatch away like it’s the last piece of food on earth. Your eyes scan the sheet and your stomach drops, you feel sick, a drive heave crawling its way up your throat.

Omegan. Written in big block letters of disappointment at the top of the sheet. It’s everywhere, Omegan’s Vitals, Omegan’s blood type, Omegan’s donor match, Omegan’s heat chart, Omegan’s ovulation chart and many more listed that have you running to the nearest bin and vomiting your guts out.

You choke and splutter when a sob tears itself from your chest, it echoes in the room, sinks itself into your pack’s skin. Johnny is at your side in seconds, rubbing your back, talking you through it, but you're quick to shout. Quick to get angry at what seems like his acceptance of this lie, “Don’t!” You push him away feeling your heart break when sadness shoots through your bond.

It’s too much, it’s all too much.

You do the only thing that you can think of, the only thing that makes any sense right now. You run. Fast and until your feet hurt, until you can taste blood, until your lungs hurt from the sharp cold air.

“It’s not possible.” Falling to your knees you fist the dirt below you, needing to feel something real. It’s cold and damp, getting stuck under your fingernails. “It’s not real.” You rock back and forth, shaking your head.

The woods around you is alive and watching you. But you feel a strange comfort being here in the dirt, “Can’t be real.” A bluetit flies down landing in front of you. He’s not scared of you. The little creature hops toward you until he’s on your thigh. His head tilts to the side, black eyes blinking up at you in a way that asks if you’re alright. It makes a laugh launch from your throat, a noise that the bird tweets back at.

You’re enamoured by the small thing, he flutters his feathers in satisfaction when you stroke a dirty finger over his back. The sweet, calming moment is interrupted by a twig snapping behind you. The bluetit flies away the same second a shadow covers you.

You don’t move, unconsciously hoping someone has come to grant you mercy but instead Simon sits down in the dirt next to you. Neither of you say anything, it’s silent other than the nature surrounding you. It’s peaceful. Serene enough to calm your wolf down, to quieten her.

“It seems real.” He grunts, finally saying something.

“It can’t be.” You counter, eyes stuck on the horizon. Simon’s head turns to face you, “I won’t allow it to be real.” Your deep breath in, is stuttered and doesn’t calm you in the slightest.

“If it is, you know we’ll help you through it.” He says heartfelt, genuine but it rages something within you. Causing your blood to boil and therefore you snap at him.

“No Si! There is no helping me through it because there isn’t anything to help me through. Nothing has happened to me, end of story, goodbye. No sequel.” Your words are rushed like you have to spit them out for him to believe you. Though his eyes show he definitely doesn’t.

“Veil. If it is-“

You breathe deep, a wrecked sob retched from your throat, “I can’t.” You feel as though your throat is constricting. No air coming no matter how much you try to force your lungs to expand, to take in more. “P-Please.” Your bottom lip quivers, hands grasping at your neck.

Simon pulls them away, holding them tight hissing at you, “Careful!” as your claws grow with your panic. You sob and howl but there’s little you can do to fight Simon’s grip. “Calm down omega!”

Intoned once more. Wings clipped, poor little omega caged and shackled.

Part three

Series masterlist

Omegas in today’s society are lower class, pushed under someone else’s thumb. Born to be less than. Regardless of the time any effort they put into a career or life, they were only really viewed as one thing; breeding stock.

Unless of course they were mated. Mated Omegas that had an Alpha wrapped around their little finger were dangerous. Not respected, but walked on eggshells around out of fear of upsetting their Alpha.

You’ll never have to worry about that, you don’t want an omega and you’ll certainly never take one as a mate. You prefer to stay a free butterfly, to flit around and flirt. You were simply not wired that way, you didn’t want to own someone.

You just wanted to simply be.

When the pretty beta medic in front of you starts to speak, you realise you’ve been daydreaming. She blushes under your gaze and stutters telling you that you have the all clear for the upcoming mission. She flutters her lashes at you, heart jumping in her chest when your arm brushes against hers as you walk out of the room with a smirk aimed in Johnny’s direction.

“Y’might wanna lay on the charm mate, she’s a sweetheart.” You say, opening with an air of confidence, the sort of attitude and amusement twinkling in your eyes that only an Alpha can possess. Something Johnny shares when he hears the squeak of the medic behind you, her cheeks burning red with his animalistic grin aiming itself at her when he stands.

His fist bumping yours when you begin to walk past him and down the hall. The building is stale, void of any real colour, greys and blacks and whites. The nothingness of grey brick buildings gives a certain stability you find calming. The constant state bringing an ease to your Alpha.

You feel the respect, rolling off of the people on base as you walk past in your military issued boots. Tight cargos that shape your curves, a gun shoved in one of the holsters strapped tightly to your thigh. You don’t feel the need to hide, never have, it’s something quite spectacular when you’re not afraid to show off. Not scared of someone looking too long and staring too hard. You don’t worry about what they might find.

Not when you’re sure you can win the fight, gain the upper hand. The only threat that really mattered was that of another alpha, but you usually stuck together. All of you understand your place unlike the others in the hierarchy who believe they hold the power. You turn your nose up at the omega barrack bunnies who believe they can claw their way up just because you use them for a slight relief during a rut.

It’s pathetic.

Your alpha is one you can control, in your head she is free of shackles or cage, wings spread wide, she roams free. Prowling back and forth, watching for any warning signs that you may be in danger. A good wolf, the best inner beast in your opinion.

John’s is far too serious, so strict and all about the rules. No exceptions. Johnny’s is a little sinister but an excitable puppy all the same. Kyle’s wolf is interesting, quiet yet deadly, easily able to crawl under your skin and fester there. Simon’s, on the other hand is loud, screams non stop, how Simon can remain so silent is truly a mystery to you all.

But you’re all bonded, in a way that no one else on this base understands. Bonded like how an Alpha and an Omega bonds during mating, but it’s not romantic and blissful. It’s in your bones, connected like where your humerus meets your radius and ulna. Bending as one, moving as one. You’re all still unsure how they did it, how they made it this way but you’re not to question it.

It’s the job.

Walking into the mess you grab a tray, piling your food on and making your way to the usual table. Kyle’s there stirring his coffee with one hand, a book open in the other, nose shoved in it as usual. John’s sitting next to him, a file open in both hands as his eyes scan the white paper that’s mostly redacted with black patches all over.

You drop your tray on the table, grinning a little when they both grunt with disapproval. “Where’s iron giant?” You ask as you sit, picking up your spoon and taking your first mouthful of rice.

“Prepping the jet.” Kyle answers without looking up, an air of uncare sitting around him.

“You get the all clear?” John asks his head lifting in your direction but his eyes don’t move either, glued to the file.

“When do I not?” You smirk, biting off the end of a sausage. John’s eyes lift to meet yours finally, a smirk of his own; definitely more cocky than yours.

“Easy was she?” John tilts his head slightly.

“Relatively.” You reply with a shrug.

“Easy on the eyes.” Johnny comments smugly as he drops his own tray onto the table, his food bounding slightly causing Kyle to tut and cover the top of his mug.

“Priss.” You scoff, but it doesn’t affect him. Kyle simply removes his hand and brings the coffee up to his plump lips to finish it.

“Finish up you two, wheels up in fifteen.” John points at you and Johnny before leaving, Kyle leaves too grimacing a little when he sees you and Johnny inhaling your food like wild animals on his way out of the mess.

You race Johnny to the jet and beam with pride when you beat him; you may have tripped him up but that’s by the by. Johnny is so animated in his annoyance that he may as well have a cartoon black cloud above his head. Muttering to himself about how you cheated as he trudges onto the jet, you follow closely behind.

“Everyone set?” John calls out, each of the guys responding with a yes sir. You nod with a pat to John’s arm as you move into position, sliding into the pilot seat. Flicking a few buttons here and there before you deem yourself ready for take off.

Being a pilot was just one of the many things on your mostly redacted resume that got you picked for task force 141. It came as a shock to you that you were the only woman when you first met the guys and they already had history with one another whereas you had spent your years of service either undercover or hidden away in remote areas of the world doing the kind of things that you don’t even have access to read the report of.

You thought you’d be the outsider, the odd one out and a little part of you didn’t mind that too much as you’d spent so most of your life alone. You rather enjoyed it at times. But when bonding was mentioned and then became a direct order all of that went flying out of the window.

Bonding with them was painful. Being scented by another alpha was hard to swallow, then the bite which is usually done when the height of pleasure is achieved during an omegas heat to mask the pain.

But having to do it with another alpha in a cold, sterile, white room was excruciating. Eight sharp canines piercing through your skin, a pair at a time. You felt weak when you whimpered at the last pair, the guys having not made any noise at all. But John was quick to comfort you with a soft smile and a pat on the arm while a drop of your blood rolled down his chin.

The scar you carry is not pretty but it is proof of your loyalty to not only your task force but to the military. Each of you bears the same mark. You were bonded, it allowed things to run smoother out in the field though. It had even saved Johnny’s life at one point so you were all begrudgingly grateful.

You feel what they feel, just dulled compared to your own feelings.

Their scenting being the only one you accept, the smell of others, even the thought of being scented by someone outside of your pack made you feel sick. One time a private tried it on a dare and you actually threw up all over his shoes, a migraine weaving its way behind your eyes and only did it go away when Johnny scented you.

A curse and gift.

The flight wasn’t long, the usual pre mission rituals happening behind you. Soap praying and pressing his fingers to his body in a cross. Simon with his headphones on, Cello Suite No. 1 in G major blaring so much that you can all hear it over the hum of the jet engine. Kyle reading a few chapters of whatever book he is currently engrossed in. And John’s eyes are glued to the building blueprints on the table in front of him, not moving, not even a glance away from the paper. Studying it like that will make every aspect of the mission go smoother.

You huff a small laugh at the sight over your shoulder, “Whatever is meant to happen will happen Cap, giving yourself a headache won’t make it any easier.” You hear John grunt but relent, stepping away from the table with a sigh.

His hand lands on your shoulder, standing next to you. There’s appreciation pulsing through the bond, aimed at you from all of them. It pulls a small smile from you.

“Approaching the drop zone.” You comment, eyes on the hologram map that hovers in front of you. You hear the rustle behind you of your pack readying themselves to leave the jet. Body armour strapped on tight, weapons at the ready as you land the jet, slotted carefully between some trees and turn off the engine.

Slipping out of your seat you put on the bulletproof vest that was set out for you, the Great Britain flag in black and white printed on your chest as you strap it on. Grabbing your M249 SAW, not standard issue but you gave Simon the puppy dog eyes and he convinced Price to allow it for you. Even if the rounds are unreliable and it jams a lot, you love it.

“Stick to the plan. Nothing we haven’t done a thousand times before. Rendezvous in two hours. Minimum casualties. Let’s move out.” John is sharp with his words, something that makes your Alpha scratch at your brain, a challenge brewing in her belly. But you shush her, letting her simmer and hiss at you.

As soon as your feet hit the dirt you first bum Johnny and head west, gun tight in hand. The forest you landed in was the perfect cover, it was tall and thick and covered with moss. Big Douglas firs taller than the sky gave you and your team plenty of camouflage, the wide trunks were enough for you to hide behind.

The dirt beneath your feet was damp, cold winds blowing gently even though the twilight sky is completely clear with stars shining almost as brightly as the moon. If you were someone else, you might even stop and admire them. If you were something else.

But your only focus was the leaves and twigs crushing beneath your boots as you surveyed the area surrounding you. The concrete compound reared its head when you made it to the tree line. Crouching, you brought your gun up and looked through your scope, watching. Waiting.

The moment came when one of the men on guard became distracted. Knocking him out with the end of your gun to the back of his neck. Once he was down slipping inside was easy, fighting the men in your way was easy, reporting to your team that you’d made it in was easy. Finding the gas canister was not easy.

It was eerily quiet, the only rustle of life came from you. Goosebumps prickled on your body as you walked slowly forward trying to push the memory of that stupid horror movie Johnny had made you watch to the back of your mind. ‘This is always how the first girl in the movie dies, alone and in the dark’ You think as you open a door on your left, thinking you’d find it empty again but to your surprise and slight relief it’s there.

The red swirling gas glowing inside of a glass canister, you’d never moved so quick. Your gun at the ready, you survey the room. It’s still eerily quiet- then the hair on the back of your neck stands on end after a shiver runs down your body.

You feel like you’re being watched.

Fingers twitching against your gun, wanting to switch on any light you can to get a full glimpse of the room. To take in that you’re alone and there’s no reason for this feeling. But even when you’ve checked every inch of the room you still feel it.

Someone’s eyes on you.

You radio your team that you’ve found what you’d been sent there for but their reply is static, unreadable. You feel panic begin to rise in your throat like bile, it pushes you to rush toward the canister and grab it before something, you don’t know what, happens.

But when your fingers wrap around the handle, the thing rumbles, vibrates, like it’s protesting your touch. You have all of two seconds to recognise the cracking sound before the canister explodes. You jump out the way. Fast, agile but the gas is already flowing out and spreading towards you quicker than you can move.

You do your best to hold your breath, ignoring the ache inside your chest. The nagging feeling that comes with no air as the red mist fills up the space around you. You’re suddenly frantic, eyes searching for a way out through the thick gas but you cannot see an end. The door is shut. You’ve no way to escape.

It’s only when your vision starts to blacken at the edge and you know you’re going to pass out do you take a deep breath in, coughing and spluttering on the suffocating red air. You feel the effects immediately; a feeling akin to headrush shoots its way inside your skull. Your body feels weaker, like your muscles relax against your will. A shooting pain rolls itself through your abdomen. A lightening sensation pulsing in your cunt. A stabbing agony passes over your body before it’s gone, just like that.

Like it never happened. Like you had hallucinated all of it, except you’re on the floor panting. Sweat clinging to you, sticking a few bits of hair to your forehead. But the same as the pain, the gas is gone too.

And as if by magic, “Veil come in! Veil come on talk to us!” You hear your Captain’s panicked voice in your ear, comms no longer static, no longer silent. A coincidence?

Your hand shakes as you lift it to your ear, tapping on the device a few times, you hear that familiar buzzing that means it’s on. It’s working even if when you needed it, it wasn’t. You go to speak, to say something, anything even if it was just a noise but out of the darkness, like an angel, Johnny is there in the doorway panting heavily. Only when he sees you on the floor does he let out a huge sigh of relief.

You were alive.

But his big hopeful eyes aren’t what get your attention…….the door is open.

Part two

Series masterlist

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.