The break room was a different kind of battlefield. Less blood, more burnt coffee and passive-aggressive Post-it notes stuck to the microwave… some scrawled in angry caps, others faded like relics of long-forgotten passive wars.
Still, it had its own hierarchy, and I could feel it the second I stepped in behind Ava. There was a pecking order here. Unspoken rules. Places people claimed without ever needing to speak.
The smell hit first, instant noodles, reheated curries, and that bitter undertone of too-strong instant coffee. Conversations overlapped in a dull hum. Nurses clustered in loose groups, hunched over Tupperware boxes and energy drinks like soldiers on a break between battles. One of them laughed so hard something sprayed from their nose. Milk, I hoped. Another sat glued to their phone, earbuds in, zoning out the world like it was static.
And then there was him.
Dorian was already there. Of course he was. Leaning against the counter like it owed him rent, apple in hand, tossing it from palm to palm like he had all the time in the bloody world. His scrubs were slightly wrinkled in a way that looked intentional, hair tousled like he'd styled it by running a hand through and then walking away from a magazine shoot. A junior doctor stood beside him, cheeks flushed pink and blinking like they'd just seen daylight for the first time.
Ava nudged me with her elbow. "Come on, new lad. Meet the crew."
Heads turned. One by one.
"This the Irish one?" someone called from a table, a short HCA with cropped blonde hair and eyebrows sharper than a scalpel.
"Depends who's askin'," I said, trying not to sound like my throat had dried up. "Alex. Started today."
She looked me up and down, then grinned. "Another nurse? Bit pretty, aren't ya?"
I blinked. "Cheers?"
"She means you've got that soft-boy vibe," Ava added, grinning like the chaos was the best part of her day.
I arched a brow to Ava, then turned back to Mel. "And what vibe do you have exactly?"
"Chaotic bisexual," she said without missing a beat, dropping into a dramatic bow like we were on stage. "That's Mel, you just met her ego, and over there's Ricky. Don't touch his crisps unless you've got a death wish."
Ricky gave me a slow, solemn nod, cradling a packet of prawn cocktail Walkers like it was a newborn.
I gave a tight-lipped smile. Friendly. Harmless. Not here to ruffle feathers. But Dorian's eyes were already on me. Had been, I think, from the second I walked in.
He finally peeled himself away from the counter, brushing past the blushing doctor without a backward glance. That smirk was in place again... effortless, irritating… and no, not attractive… just smug. That's all.
"Thought you might still be hiding after that little spat," he said, voice casual, amused. "Figured you'd have legged it by now."
I slid into the nearest chair like I'd earned it. "Had to escape the chaos. Didn't want to be today's entertainment longer than necessary."
"Fair," he said, leaning on the back of the chair across from me, arms folded like he was settling in to read me like a book. "But you're here now. No running."
There were a few snorts from the others. Someone muttered, "Flirty already," under their breath.
Mel dropped into the seat beside me, her grin wide. "So what's your type then, Alex? Tall, dark, and annoying?" She winked toward Dorian. "Or do you play for our team at all?"
I choked on my sandwich. Literally. Had to cough it down before speaking. "What? No. I'm—I'm straight."
For now, Ava said, not even bothering to whisper it.
Dorian's smirk only widened, but he didn't say a thing. Just watched me, that irritating glint in his eye like he knew something I didn't.
Afternoon shift hit like hell had been let loose.
Post-ops started rolling in. One minute I was checking obs on a chatty appendix patient, the next I was elbow-deep in someone's wound dressing, trying not to gag on the smell of surgical drain fluid. Some were stable. Some were confused. Some were bleeding more than I was entirely comfortable with, if I'm honest.
I hadn't even had time to blink, never mind breathe, when Nina flagged me down from across the ward. Clipboard in hand, eyes sharp.
"You and Dorian. Ortho side. Agitated patient being transferred. Go now."
Brilliant. Because that was exactly what I needed.
I caught up with Dorian in the corridor, already halfway into a light jog. Of course he looked like he was on his way to a Pilates class instead of heading into chaos. I, meanwhile, was sweat-slicked and puffing slightly like I'd just run a bloody marathon.
We rounded the corner, and the noise hit us before we even stepped through the doors.
The patient was in full meltdown mode. Wiry, mid-sixties, hair stuck to his scalp with sweat, eyes wild. He was yelling something unintelligible, arms flailing, yanking at wires, pulling ECG pads off like they were attacking him. The poor nurse trying to settle him looked two seconds from tears.
"Bloody hell," I muttered under my breath, stepping forward carefully.
"It's alright, Mr. Hughes," I said gently, keeping my voice low and steady, the way they taught us in training, even though my heart was knocking about like a kettle drum. "You're safe, okay? You had surgery. You're in the hospital now. We're here to help."
He didn't hear me, or maybe he didn't believe me, because next second, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. Tight. Vice-tight.
I didn't flinch, but Christ, he was strong. That kind of strength people get when they're panicked out of their minds, like pure adrenaline was keeping him upright. My whole body tensed, instincts screaming even as I held my voice steady.
Don't escalate. Don't snap back. Don't freeze.
Restraints? Sedation? Could he swing at me? Was I about to get clocked by someone's da?
And then, like magic, Dorian appeared beside me. Fast and controlled, he didn't even look alarmed. Just... calm. Solid. Like a wall you could lean on.
"Alright, Mr. Hughes," Dorian said, tone gentle but firm. "Let go of him, mate. You're not in danger, alright? No one's gonna hurt you."
The man's grip loosened. Not all at once, but slowly. Like a storm blowing itself out. His whole body deflated as if the fight had left him. Then, without warning, he slumped.
"Whoa, gotcha," I said, catching his weight just in time before he hit the floor.
We helped him ease back into the bed, and I tried not to wince as I flexed my wrist. Would probably bruise. Grand. I'd just tell everyone I was attacked by a rogue patient on my second day. Great craic altogether.
"Nice work," Dorian said beside me. Voice quiet. No sarcasm. No swagger. Just... sincere.
I looked at him, surprised. "Thanks," I muttered, rubbing my wrist.
He gave me a crooked little smile, still smug, but softer now. Less I'm better than you and more told you I'd have your back.
"Always happy to rescue the newbies," he said, not even bothering to hide the twinkle in his eye.
I rolled mine in return. "Aye well, don't get used to it."
He laughed under his breath, already turning away, and I followed with my wrist throbbing, nerves still prickling, trying not to admit, even to myself, that I didn't totally hate that he was there.
Back on our ward, I stood at the sink scrubbing my hands, watching the water swirl down the drain. My reflection stared back… tired eyes, tight jaw. The jaw that always gave me away.
"You alright?" Dorian's voice came from behind me.
I shrugged. "Bit of a shock, that's all. Doesn't bother me."
"You've got that twitchy jaw thing. Means it does bother you."
I glanced at him in the mirror. "You study body language in your spare time, or just enjoy bein' a pain in the arse?"
He grinned. "Why not both?" Then softer, "It's okay to admit it rattled you. Doesn't make you weak."
I looked away. "I don't like feelin' useless."
"You weren't. He calmed down because of you."
Compliments always hit weird. Like swallowing sand. Too sharp. Too warm. I never quite knew where to put them.
"I've got to step in for a surgical case," I said quickly, brushing past him before I said something stupid.
"Look at you experiencing everything today," he called after me. "Well done, fresh meat."
I managed a smile. Just.
End of shift felt like a blessing. I hit the locker room like a man collapsing after war. My legs ached. My brain was sludge. Every part of me was ready to lie down and vanish.
Then there he was, Dorian, leaning against the doorway like he hadn't just done twelve hours too.
"You alright to get home?" he asked. "Want a lift?"
I blinked. "I'm grand. Train's fine."
He gave a slow nod. "Alright. But if you change your mind…"
"I won't."
He gave me a mock salute. "Your funeral."
And then he was gone again. Like he always was… smooth exit, no mess.
I grabbed my bag from my locker and headed out the hospital myself.
The train home rattled like it was held together with duct tape and prayers. I sat near the window, forehead against the cool glass, watching the city fall away. Buildings gave way to suburbs, then darkness, then nothing.
I'd survived the shift. Kept my head down. Didn't punch anyone. Didn't let him get under my skin.
Mostly…
I sighed, closing my eyes. The train rocked me in rhythm.
Dorian Webb. Senior nurse. Full of himself. Smug as hell. And yet…
He saw too much. Saw through things I didn't want noticed.
And I hated that part of me that didn't mind it.