Anatomy of Breaking
Pairing: doctor! chishiya x f!resident! reader
Summary: after the most recent events, you choose distance, thinking it would be for the better. but trying to stay away from chishiya is breaking you more than it should, and more importantly, it is breaking him
Warnings: angst! fluff, one short smut scene, hospitals, medical procedures (I still recommend not to read this if you're under 18!)
Word Count: ~9.7k
This is Part 4 of Anatomy of Control, Anatomy of Desire and Anatomy of Feelings
You were already at the nurses’ station, preparing a tray of morning medications, when Chishiya finally arrived. He looked crisp as ever in his white coat, but you didn’t spare him more than a glance. Without a word, you slid the neat stack of charts across the counter towards him and before he could say anything, you picked up the tray and walked off down the corridor.
Chishiya stared at the charts as if they had personally offended him. Even your handwriting, looping neatly across the margins, irritated him. His jaw clenched, the muscles tight. He wanted to stop you, to say something, anything, but instead he flipped open the first chart, trying to focus.
You took your time with the patients, lingering longer than usual, explaining things slowly, always smiling at them, anything to avoid crossing paths with him. Time passed quickly, but not quickly enough for Chishiya, who found himself constantly checking the time between charts.
When you finally stepped out of a little boy’s room, the door clicking softly behind you, he was already there waiting, a chart in hand.
“You adjusted the dosage for Tanaka in 207?” His tone was sharper than he intended. He lifted the file, eyes scanning the notes. “I don’t agree with this change.”
You straightened, clutching the tablet to your chest. “He’s been stabilising for the past three days, his fever is gone, and his appetite’s back. The reduced dosage keeps the therapeutic effect without risking unnecessary side effects.”
For a moment, he just studied you, the way your voice carried quiet conviction. Then he exhaled softly through his nose, conceding, “I understand your thinking. But I believe it’s better to stick with the current treatment plan until we have two more stable cultures.”
You only nodded, expression unreadable. No spark of playful retort, no grin tugging at your lips. Just silence.
He shifted slightly closer, lowering the chart to his side. “Do you have a second?” You shook your head, stepping away before his words could sink in. “No. Actually, I don’t.”
And then you were gone, slipping into the next room and closing the door softly behind you, leaving him standing alone in the hallway, the weight of your absence pressing heavier than the chart in his hand.
Chishiya spent the rest of the morning pretending to focus, but the pressure inside his chest only grew sharper. The need to explain himself, to drag you into a quiet room and make you listen, became almost unbearable. You had built up an image in your mind, and the cruelest part was, it wasn’t even true. Not even close.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, flipping a chart shut harder than necessary. A pair of nurses at the station glanced at each other nervously.
"Doctor, do you want us to-" one began, but Chishiya’s sharp voice cut her off. “Do I look like I want you to finish that sentence?”
The nurse flinched, muttering an apology before retreating. He sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair, but it didn’t soften him. The next resident who approached didn’t fare better.
“Dr. Chishiya, I was wondering if-"
“Don’t. Wondering clearly isn’t your strength.” He didn’t even look up from the chart he was scribbling into.
The younger doctor stammered, retreating quickly down the corridor. It was as if the past few weeks hadn’t happened. He was back to being the cold, sharp-edged surgeon everyone whispered about behind his back.
And still, it didn’t make the gnawing in his chest go away.
Later that day, Misaki slid up beside you at the nurses’ station, her perfume sharp in the sterile air. You tried to ignore her, focusing on the chart in your hand, but she leaned casually against the counter, voice pitched low and taunting.
“I'm sorry, honey.” she said with a smirk. You stiffened, not looking up. “Pardon?”
She tilted her head, her smile far too knowing. “I just mean, I'm sorry I crushed your little fantasy with him. You seem… tense. Dr. Chishiya too. He’s been impossible all morning, haven’t you noticed? Snapping at everyone.”
Your grip tightened on the chart. “He always snaps. That’s not new.”
“Mm,” Misaki hummed, as if amused by your denial. “But this is different. You must have done something to upset him. I don't think his needs were taken care of properly these past weeks.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t feel too bad, though. I know exactly how to make him relax.”
Your stomach twisted, a hot spike of nausea crawling up your throat. You forced your gaze down at the papers, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
Misaki chuckled softly at your silence. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. Thinking you can keep his attention? Don’t fool yourself. I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. You’re… temporary. But you probably already noticed that."
Her words sank like stones into your chest. You wanted to fire something back, to tear her smugness apart, but your throat was tight, your tongue frozen. Instead, you shoved the chart back onto the pile with more force than necessary and turned on your heel, walking away before she could see how badly her words rattled you.
Your footsteps echoed against the tiles as you made your way towards the changing rooms, shoulders tight, throat raw. You hated how much your chest hurt. Hated that Misaki’s words still crawled beneath your skin, twisting and pulling until you weren’t sure what hurt worse: the anger at her, or the anger at yourself for letting her get to you.
You tried to swallow it down, tried to laugh at yourself. How could you have been so naive? He had told you from the very beginning: none of this meant anything, it was only about sex. No promises. No strings. And yet here you were, pressing your palms against your eyes, trying to stop the hot tears that refused to obey you.
Stupid. So stupid.
The sound of steady footsteps reached you. Your breath caught. You wiped at your face in a frantic motion, but your heart already knew.
When he called your name, his voice was softer than you had ever heard it, like it scraped out of him against his will.
Your chest clenched painfully. You didn’t turn, but you could feel him behind you, the weight of his presence filling the narrow corridor. He didn’t touch you. Not this time. Not after you had burned that boundary into his skin with a single word: red.
And yet every fiber in him screamed to close the distance. To grab your wrist, to pull you against him, to hold you together before you shattered right there in front of him. His hands twitched at his sides. His jaw ached from how tightly he was clenching it. He hated this, hated what he had done to you.
“Please.” His voice cracked just slightly, desperation threading through it. “Allow me to explain.”
A bitter laugh bubbled from your throat, breaking off halfway as you pressed your palms harder against your eyes, the headache blooming sharp behind them. “Please, Dr. Chishiya. Just leave me in peace for once.”
He flinched at the title. He wanted to argue, wanted to drop to his knees right there and beg you to listen, to believe him. But when he was about to force his body to move, the rational part of him acted first, dragging him back a step instead of forward.
His heart burned, his voice thick when he finally spoke again. “Message me… if you want to talk.” The silence that followed felt heavier than any scalpel he had ever held.
He leaned back against the cold corridor wall after you disappeared, the weight in his chest threatening to cave him in. His fingers twitched at his sides, feeling utterly useless. He had spent years training his body to stay steady in chaos, but tonight… he felt like he was unraveling.
Chishiya checked his phone before he even realised it, screen lighting up with nothing but the time staring back at him. Again. And again. Every ten minutes, every five... pathetic, really. But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t quiet the gnawing ache in his stomach that screamed for your name to appear, even if it was just a few words telling him to go to hell.
By the time he made it home, exhaustion pressed heavy on him, but sleep wouldn’t come near him. He dropped onto his couch, elbows braced against his knees, eyes locked on the empty cushion beside him. The one you had curled into last week.
He closed his eyes. If he could claw his way back into that moment, he would. If he could start all over again, he would.
And his mind, traitorous as it was, didn’t wander to your mouth or the way your body had felt against his. Not this time. Instead it pulled him through all the small things, the things he never thought would matter until he lost them.
The teasing glint in your eyes when you grinned at him across the ward. The way you were bold enough to laugh at his sharp remarks instead of shrinking away. Your face when he shoved the syringe into your hands during the emergency, trusting you to drain the patient’s lungs, and how your hands had been steady, focused, capable.
The image of you shuffling into his kitchen wrapped in his blanket, shyly asking if you could use his shower. The look you gave him at the restaurant, half teasing, half curious, when you realised he had friends.
He wanted those moments back. He wanted more of those moments. More of you.
His hand tightened around his phone again, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. For once in his life, Chishiya didn’t know how to calculate the next step. He only knew that the silence between you was unbearable.
Chishiya’s shoes clicked sharply against the tile as he strode into the ward, white coat billowing slightly behind him. He was late, by his standards at least. But when he didn’t see you waiting at the nurses’ station, charts ready, his irritation simmered instantly into impatience.
He grabbed the stack of files himself, flipping through them with mechanical precision, eyes darting to the door every few minutes. He checked his watch, lips pressing into a thin line. Late. Too late.
The sound of his own thoughts drummed louder in his skull with every passing second, until finally he snapped, “Where’s my resident?” His voice cracked like a whip across the counter, making nurse Aiko flinch before she forced her posture straight again.
“Scrubbed in for surgery,” she replied, her tone deliberately even, almost dismissive.
Chishiya’s hand stilled on the edge of a chart. His face didn’t move, but for a fraction of a second, one small crack slipped through. “What?”
Aiko stood, gathering a tray of supplies without sparing him a glance. “Don’t you know? Dr. Kato is back. He made her join him for surgery, said she’s more than ready to assist.” She set the tray down with a soft clink, finally meeting Chishiya’s eyes. “So, you don’t have to bother with a resident anymore, Dr. Chishiya. That’s what you wanted, right?”
The silence that followed felt heavier than the walls of the ward. His jaw clenched visibly, molars grinding together, but his expression remained stone-carved. He didn’t answer her. Couldn’t.
The truth was, he didn’t know why it burned. Why the thought of you standing at the OR table beside Kato and not him twisted like a knife in his ribs. Why the fact that the first surgery you ever scrubbed in for wouldn’t have his name attached to it, gnawed at him until he couldn’t even think straight.
He exhaled harshly through his nose, tossing the chart down with more force than necessary. The resident hovering nearby opened their mouth to offer help, but one look from Chishiya shut them down immediately, sending them scurrying back.
“Guess I'll take care of the morning rounds alone then.” His tone left no room for argument. And he did, slicing through the ward like a blade. Each interaction quick and efficient, but brittle at the edges, as if every word cost him more energy than he was willing to spend.
When he was finished, his steps carried him somewhere he hadn’t planned on going. To the observation room above the OR. To the glass pane that separated him from you.
And when his eyes found you, steady hands, gaze sharp, face half-hidden behind your mask as you stood beside Kato, the knot in his chest only grew tighter. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe right. You were so focused, so composed, as if the entire hospital didn’t exist beyond the patient in front of you.
And for the first time in years, Chishiya wished desperately that he could rewrite the script. That he had been the one to pull you into that room, to guide your hands.
Chishiya’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he leaned against the glass, but it did nothing to steady the storm inside him. He told himself he would only watch for a minute, long enough to confirm for himself that you really were there, that Aiko wasn’t lying.
But one minute stretched into two. Two into ten. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear his gaze away from you.
It wasn’t just irritation twisting in his chest. It wasn’t just jealousy crawling hot under his skin. There was something else, a weight he didn’t recognise. Something dangerously close to pride, something foreign, something that belonged to people other than him.
For the first time in his life, he wasn’t proud of himself. He was proud of someone else. Proud of you.
Every detail burned itself into his mind: the steadiness of your hands as you passed instruments, the way your brows knit in concentration, the subtle precision of your movements that spoke of a natural instinct few ever developed. And when Kato finally stepped back, nodding for you to handle the sutures, Chishiya felt his chest tighten.
You didn’t falter. Didn’t even hesitate. Your fingers moved carefully, purposefully, as though this had been inside you all along, waiting for the right moment to surface. And when your eyes flickered up beneath the mask, when he caught that glimmer, that pride, that joy, he nearly lost his composure right there.
But it wasn’t him who had put that look in your eyes. It wasn’t his approval you were soaking in. It was Kato’s. That stung sharper than any scalpel.
When the last stitch was tied and the patient wheeled away, Chishiya finally forced himself to move, leaving the gallery before anyone else could notice the way he lingered. His long strides carried him straight to the scrub room hallway, where he stood in the sterile scent of disinfectant, shadows pooling around him.
Through the narrow window of the door, he saw you and Kato together. The older surgeon leaned towards you slightly, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. You nodded eagerly, voice muffled but animated, replying with a spark he hadn’t seen in your tone towards him for days.
Chishiya’s jaw ticked. He hated the way it made him feel. Hated how he wanted to storm inside and drag you out just so he could have that spark turned back on him.
The door opened, and suddenly you were there. Freshly scrubbed, hair tucked away, face free except for the faint lines where the mask had pressed into your skin. Your steps faltered when your eyes met his, and for a split second, neither of you moved.
“You did well in there.” His voice was cool, even detached. He made sure of it. Your lips parted softly before you managed a quiet, “Thank you, Dr. Chishiya.” No warmth, no fight, just polite. Professional.
And then you walked past him, your footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving him standing there with a hollow weight in his chest, staring at the space you had left behind.
The following days turned into a quiet torment for Chishiya. You didn’t avoid him exactly, you were too professional for that, but your civility was cutting. Too polite. Too detached. Every “Yes, Dr. Chishiya” landed like a blade beneath his ribs.
Chishiya fell into a pattern he hadn't meant to. Whenever there was a procedure, he found himself saying the same thing to the nurses: “Fetch her.”
It didn’t matter if another resident was already standing there, eager for a chance to learn. Chishiya barely spared them a glance. He wanted you. Needed you back in his shadow, even if your tone was clipped and polite, even if your eyes never lingered on him longer than necessary.
You kept it professional, painfully so. Your replies were short, your voice soft when you had to answer. He hated it. He hated how you wouldn’t bite back, how you wouldn’t roll your eyes or make one of those infuriating comments that always forced the corner of his mouth to twitch in return.
The ward had been buzzing with the low hum of late-afternoon chaos. Chishiya stood at the nurses’ station, flipping through a patient’s chart, his sharp eyes scanning the lab results before he called, almost absently, “Page my resident.”
The nurse blinked, clearly confused. “Dr. Kato’s?”
“Yes,” he said simply, and returned his focus to the file, refusing to acknowledge the curious looks that followed.
A few minutes later, you appeared at the door, your coat still slightly askew from hurrying. “You asked for me, Dr. Chishiya?”
He looked up and for a split second, something in his chest eased just at the sound of your voice. “Yes. There’s a patient in 205, post-op from an appendectomy. There’s some tenderness and swelling. We’re going to perform an ultrasound-guided drainage.”
You nodded immediately, professional as ever, though your tone was softer than it had been in days. “I’ll grab the kit.”
In the room, the air smelled faintly of disinfectant and anxiety. The small boy on the bed clutched his mother’s hand, his wide eyes darting between the two of you. You bent slightly, your voice gentle and soothing as you explained the procedure in terms he could understand. He relaxed under your calm tone, something even Chishiya, for all his precision, could never quite manage.
When the boy was settled, Chishiya guided you to the bedside, pointing to the monitor. “We’ll start here. The fluid pocket’s small, but if you angle the needle like this-" he took your wrist lightly, guiding your hand, looking at the screen, “you’ll see the echo-free area right beneath the muscle layer. That’s your target.”
You followed his instructions carefully, your eyes narrowing in concentration. “Would you aspirate directly here or place a small catheter?” you asked, voice thoughtful. He glanced at you, caught off guard by the question. “What would you suggest?”
“Catheter,” you replied quickly, confidence bleeding through. “He’s young, and the pocket looks shallow enough that full aspiration might cause more trauma. Continuous drainage seems safer.”
A beat passed and then Chishiya gave a slow, measured nod. “Exactly right.”
As you continued the procedure under his quiet guidance, he found himself watching your hands and listening to your voice as you described each step for the nurse charting nearby.
When it was done, the boy was resting comfortably. You stepped back, exhaling softly. “I think it went well.”
Chishiya folded his arms, his gaze flicking from the boy to you. “It did.” And then, before he could stop himself, he added quietly, “Good work.”
You looked up, meeting his eyes, the faintest curve at the corner of your mouth. “Thank you.”
Something unknotted in his chest then. It wasn’t quite a smile you gave him, but it was something. And for the first time in far too long, the sound of your voice didn’t carry frost, it carried life again. Interest. For the first time, he could breathe.
The late-afternoon meeting dragged longer than necessary, and by the time Chishiya and Kato stepped back onto the paediatric ward, the corridors had thinned to soft beeps and hushed voices.
Chishiya’s eyes found you immediately.
You stood at a treatment cart near room 212, assembling an IV line with meticulous care, your brows knit in concentration, a loose strand of hair having escaped the clip at the back of your head.
He didn’t realise he had stopped walking until Kato’s quiet voice broke through his thoughts.
“Dr. Chishiya,” Kato said mildly, his tone carrying the faint amusement of someone who had seen more than he let on, “I’ve noticed you’ve been borrowing my resident quite a bit lately.”
Chishiya blinked once, forcing his face back into its usual composure. “Borrowing?” he echoed, slipping his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “Hardly. She’s been useful for certain cases. I like to see how well she adapts under pressure.”
Kato’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, keeping his gaze on you as well. “Ah. Interesting. I thought you weren’t particularly fond of teaching residents.”
Chishiya’s jaw flexed, but his tone stayed smooth, detached. “She’s an exception,” he said simply. “I have high hopes for her.”
Kato hummed thoughtfully, crossing his arms. “I do, too,” he said at last, a knowing edge hidden behind the politeness of his smile. “She learns fast. And she seems to bring out a certain… patience in you.”
Chishiya’s expression didn’t change, but something sharp flickered in his chest. Kato gave a small chuckle, patting his shoulder before walking off towards the nurses’ station, leaving Chishiya standing there.
He let his gaze return to you, still focused, still unaware of the conversation that had revolved around you, and for a brief moment, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Patience. The word lingered in Chishiya’s mind long after Kato walked away.
He told himself he was being rational. That asking for you during procedures was a matter of efficiency, your instincts were simply always sharp. He told himself this every morning, every time he heard your name, every time he caught himself waiting to hear the soft click of your shoes in the corridor.
But rationality was a fragile thing, and it was cracking.
He had begun finding reasons to need you, reasons even he knew were flimsy.
“Get her for the dressing change,” he would tell the nurses.
“She needs to assist on the catheter insertion, it’s good experience.”
“I want her to review this imaging. She catches things the others don’t.”
The nurses exchanged knowing looks each time. They weren’t subtle. They didn’t need to be.
“Dr. Chishiya,” one of them murmured one afternoon, handing him a chart, “you might as well request her full-time. Save yourself the trouble of pretending it’s about training.” He gave her a look so sharp it could have frozen the air. But the comment lingered.
You, on the other hand, remained composed. Professional. Distant. Even when he would stand beside you during a procedure, close enough that your sleeves brushed, your tone stayed perfectly level.
“Do you want me to administer the sedative, Dr. Chishiya?” No falter. No flicker of emotion. He should have admired that control. Instead, it infuriated him. Because he was not in control.
Not anymore.
He found himself lingering outside rooms longer than necessary just to hear your voice with patients, gentle and reassuring, the kind of warmth he had never been capable of giving. It did something strange to him.
And when you laughed softly at something a nurse said, the sound hit him square in the chest. He had to turn away before anyone noticed his expression slip.
By the end of the week, the tension coiled so tightly inside him that he could barely think straight.
When a nurse brought him a chart that morning, saying, “Before you ask me to page her, Dr. Kato requested her for a consult." Something inside him flared. He nodded curtly, masking the irritation. “Fine. I’ll find someone else.” But his pulse betrayed him.
He wasn’t angry at Kato. He wasn’t angry at you. He was angry at himself, for missing you this much, for losing the upper hand, for letting something as human as feeling get in the way of his control. The thought made him sick.
And yet, the next time he caught a glimpse of you across the ward, hair slightly loose, face lit by the morning sun through the windows, his resolve cracked all over again.
It wasn’t about control anymore.
It was about you.
You told yourself you were fine.
You told yourself every morning, as you tied your hair back in front of the mirror, that today would be easier. That the sharp ache in your chest would dull if you just stayed busy enough.
So you threw yourself into work. Into the patients. Into anything that wasn’t him.
You smiled at the children, laughed with the nurses, helped anyone who needed an extra hand. You pretended the hollow ache wasn’t there, that you weren’t aware of every single time his name was mentioned across the ward.
But you were.
You noticed the way the air shifted when he entered a room. The faint hush that followed him. The subtle tightening in your chest every time your eyes accidentally met his across the corridor.
You felt him. Always.
Even when you tried not to look.
Your hands would tremble faintly when you passed him charts, so you began setting them down instead of handing them over.
You would keep your gaze fixed on paperwork, not daring to meet the intensity in his eyes when he stood too close.
You told yourself this distance was strength. That the hurt he had left in you was armour now, thick and necessary. You told yourself that the burn beneath your skin when he brushed past you was only your body betraying you, not your heart.
At night, you would replay everything. The on-call room. The restaurant. The stupid smirk when he warned you not to bite your lip.
It all felt like another lifetime, something you couldn’t afford to miss.
And yet you did. You missed the quiet hum of tension that used to hover between you. The banter. The way he would look at you as though you were the only person who ever managed to catch him off guard.
You missed him. But you couldn’t forget the sting of betrayal, the image of Misaki on her knees, his cold expression, your own voice shaking when you said red.
The memory was your anchor now. It reminded you why you couldn’t go back. So you straightened your coat, fixed your posture, and kept moving.
Professional. Composed. Untouchable. Even if, inside, every step away from him felt like it might tear something vital from you.
You decided to enjoy lunch in the quietness of the empty break room. You hadn’t even noticed the door closing until the sharp click of the lock echoed through the room. You turned quickly, bag of food still in your hands.
Chishiya stood in front of the door, chest rising, eyes burning with a rare, unguarded intensity. “Dr. Chishiya-"
“We’re going to have a talk.” His tone left no room for argument. You sighed, setting your food down, exhaustion flooding through you. “Now’s not-"
“Now,” he cut you off, voice low, almost trembling under the weight of restraint.
You crossed your arms, waiting, though your pulse thudded in your ears.
He stepped closer, not too close, just enough that you could smell the faint antiseptic and clean linen clinging to him.
“When you walked in on that scene,” he began, jaw tight, “Misaki had already crossed a line before I could stop her.” You said nothing. You didn’t even blink.
“I told her to leave me alone. She didn’t listen. When she walked into that on-call room, I didn’t know what she wanted until she was already on her knees. And I stepped away from her. Nothing happened.” His voice was sharper now, sounding controlled and precise, as though explaining a case to a superior. “Nothing ever happened since I met you. And nothing ever will.” The words hung there.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I’ve followed the rule I set. I haven’t been with anyone else. I don’t want anyone else.”
You scoffed softly, the sound cutting through the silence like glass. “You might as well start again.” His brows drew together, confusion flickering before realisation hit. You gestured faintly between the two of you, voice tight. “Because this, whatever this was, is over.”
For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
The quiet stretched unbearably, and you could almost feel the fear clawing beneath his skin. He swallowed hard, words coming out rougher than intended. “Why?”
You hesitated, then finally looked at him. His eyes caught yours, pleading, though he would never admit it aloud.“You said,” you began quietly, “either one of us could end this whenever we wanted. Without any explanation.”
Chishiya’s throat tightened. He remembered the rule all too well. He had made it to protect himself, never imagining you would be the one to use it... against him. For the first time, he hated his own logic.
He stood frozen, watching you, waiting for something to anchor him. And you finally gave in, the words barely above a whisper. “If you must know… I don’t think I’m what you need. And you’re not what I need.” He stared at you, unblinking.
“This whole thing,” you continued, forcing the words out before your voice could break, “was doomed from the start. We just got caught up in the moment. In the desire. That’s all it was.”
His jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He looked away, trying to swallow the burn in his chest.
After a long pause, he forced out, “We could find compromises. If that’s what it takes. I could-" He stopped, then looked at you again, desperate. “I could take you on dates. Do the things you need.”
A sad smile tugged at your lips. “I don’t want you to become someone you’re not, Chishiya.”
You grabbed your packed lunch, sliding it into your bag with trembling fingers. He didn’t move. His body felt carved out of stone, panic rising inside him like he was watching something vital slip through his hands and didn’t know how to stop it.
You turned towards the door. He wanted to call your name, to say don’t go, I’ll change, I’ll try, but the words caught in his throat.
So he just stood there, silent, as you left him behind.
And the only sound left in the break room was the faint click of the door closing, and the echo of his world falling apart.
The door had barely closed when the air left his lungs. Chishiya stood there, motionless, for what felt like hours.
The echo of your voice, quiet but firm 'I don’t think I’m what you need' replayed over and over in his head until the words blurred into noise. Because no, you were everything he ever needed.
He had spent his life building walls, every piece of detachment carefully placed, every rule designed to keep him from exactly this.
And yet, you had slipped through the cracks. Now, without you, everything he had built felt off balance. Too quiet. Too fragile.
By the time morning came, the silence in his apartment was unbearable. He had spent the night staring at his ceiling, trying to convince himself he was fine, that this ache in his chest was nothing but exhaustion.
When he arrived at the hospital, he spotted you walking into the little café next to it.
The day was cool, the kind that carried the faint beginning of autumn, the air biting at your skin. You had decided to grab some black tea from the small café just next to the hospital before your shift. Anything to feel human again before walking into the sterile lights of the ward.
The door chimed as you pushed it open and nearly walked right into someone. “Oh, sorry-" you started, then froze when the familiar voice replied, “No harm done, doc.”
You blinked up to see him, the bartender from the night out. Same warm smile, same easy posture, the opposite of everything Chishiya ever was. You noticed the apron as he made his way back behind the counter.
“Oh! You work here, too?” you asked, surprised but relieved by the friendly face.
“Sometimes,” he said, chuckling. “The manager is a friend of mine. I fill in when he needs help. Small world, huh?” You smiled softly. “Apparently. You seem to enjoy making beverages, whether they are hot or cold."
His laugh filled the quiet café. He leaned on the counter, studying you for a moment before saying, “You look like you could use something stronger than caffeine.”
“Unfortunately, I’m on duty,” you replied with a grin, and the simple conversation felt like a balm. Easy. Effortless. No tension humming beneath your skin.
You ordered, he made your drink, and when he handed it to you, he slipped a napkin across the counter too, his number written neatly in the corner.
“Only if you ever want to talk,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “Promise I’m not trying to hit on you. You just looked like you could use a friend the other night.”
The sincerity in his tone made you pause. You hesitated only for a moment before tucking the napkin into your coat pocket. “Thank you, Karube." You said after checking his name tag, "I might take you up on that.”
And maybe that was the truth, you wanted something normal. Something safe. Someone who wasn’t built from contradictions and stormlight.
When you stepped out of the café, the air hit you and so did a familiar presence.
“Good lord, you scared me,” you exhaled, heart skipping when you saw him standing just outside the café door, hands shoved in his pockets, posture tense.
Chishiya’s gaze flicked to the café window, then back to you, his voice edged with that old sharpness. “You do realise that guy’s just trying to get into your panties, right?” You blinked at him, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
“He’s only interested in getting you into his bed,” he added dryly, crossing his arms. You scoffed, pushing past him towards the hospital entrance. “Why would that be any of your concern, Dr. Chishiya?” He fell into step beside you, expression unreadable. “Because you deserve better than that. And if you’re looking for someone to fuck-" he leaned closer, voice dropping, “I’m always available.”
You stopped walking, turning to face him with an incredulous laugh. “And how exactly are you any different than him then? You don’t do dates. You don’t do feelings. You just-" your words caught for a second.
Something flickered across his face then, a crack in the mask, just for a moment. His jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the tension ripple through it. Because the answer was there, loud and screaming in his head:
Because I don’t want to take advantage of you.
Because I want to give you more than that.
But he didn’t say it.
By the time he found the words, you were already walking away, the hospital doors swallowing you whole.
He stood there for a long moment, the sound of your footsteps fading down the corridor, his hands tightening into fists at his sides, because he knew exactly why he cared, and he hated himself for not saying it out loud.
The ward greeted him with the usual chaos, the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft beeps of monitors, the hum of chatter. Normally, that rhythm steadied him.
Today, it grated.
He was already tense when a resident approached with a hesitant, “Dr. Chishiya, I wanted to ask-"
“Then ask,” he snapped, without looking up from the chart. The young man stammered, fumbling over his words. Chishiya cut him off coldly, his voice like a scalpel. “If you don’t know the answer to a basic metabolic question, you shouldn’t be standing in this ward.”
The resident paled. Chishiya walked away before the kid could stutter an apology.
When Aiko asked if he wanted assistance with the next treatment, he said flatly, “No. I’ll do it myself.”
When a nurse accidentally handed him the wrong chart, his voice went icy. “If you can’t tell one patient from another, perhaps you should find a different department.”
The silence that followed him through the halls was louder than any argument could have been.
And still, in every quiet moment, he thought of you.
Of the way you used to challenge him, and how now he would give anything just to hear you say his name with that hint of exasperation again.
He hated this, hated how much power you had over him even in your absence.
The guilt sat like lead in his chest, pressing heavier with every patient, every chart, every step.
That evening, after another unnecessarily harsh comment towards a junior doctor, even the head nurse gave him a pointed look. “You’re not yourself, Dr. Chishiya.”
He didn’t answer. Because she was wrong. He was himself. And that was the problem.
You had heard the whispers first. The slammed drawers. The sharp orders. The uncomfortable silences that trailed after him down the hall.
At first, you told yourself it wasn’t your concern anymore. You had made your decision. You had chosen distance.
But when you walked past the nurses’ station and saw the pale resident standing frozen, a termination slip shaking in his hands, and Chishiya standing beside him with that cold, empty look, something inside you snapped. That was enough.
You didn’t even think. You simply marched up to him, pulse hammering.
“Dr. Chishiya. A word?” He was halfway through a curt dismissal, irritation sharp in his voice. “I’m in the middle of-"
But when his eyes met yours, he stopped.
The air between you shifted instantly. You saw the tension in his shoulders, the exhaustion in his face. He hesitated, then nodded once, curtly.
You didn’t wait. You turned and started down the hall, hearing the quiet drag of his footsteps behind you. The on-call room door shut behind you with a decisive click.
You turned to face him, your voice steady, though your pulse wasn’t. “That’s enough, Chishiya.”
He blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” you said firmly. “You’ve been snapping at nurses, residents, everyone in your way. You’ve fired two people in three days, and for what? Because they’re not perfect?” His eyes hardened. “I’m holding them accountable for their incompetence.”
“No,” you countered, taking a step closer. “You’re punishing them for my decision.”
The words hit him like a blade. His expression flickered in hurt, or was it anger?
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m punishing no one but the ones who deserve it.” You scoffed. “Oh, please. You can’t stand the fact that you lost control, so you’re taking it out on everyone else.”
He moved closer, voice dropping. “Control is what keeps this ward functioning.”
“Control is what’s destroying you.” The air thickened between you, both of you breathing harder now, the tension electric and sharp.
“Why do you even care?” he demanded suddenly. “You ended it. You walked away.”
“Because people are terrified of you again, and I know that’s not who you are!”
“You don’t know anything about who I am.”
“Yes, I do,” you shot back, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with everything you had been holding in. “I’ve seen who you are when you’re not hiding behind your damn arrogance. You care. You just hate that you do.”
His hands clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling fast. “Stop pretending you understand me.”
“Stop pretending you don’t feel anything!” you fired back, stepping right into his space now, your anger colliding with his.
Something in his composure cracked, the faint tremor in his breath, the way his eyes darkened when you didn’t back down.
“You think you can just waltz in here and tell me who I am?” he hissed. “You think you can walk away and still lecture me like I-" You cut him off, voice low, shaking. “Then stop punishing others for what I caused, and if you need to take it out on someone, take it out on me.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then his voice came out rough, almost a growl. “I can’t.”
Your heart skipped, confusion flickering, but before you could speak, his restraint shattered. He crossed the distance between you in one swift motion, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, and his mouth crashed into yours.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It was days of anger and longing and confusion, all colliding in one violent, breath-stealing moment.
Your hands went to his chest, meaning to push him away, but instead you pulled him closer, the sound of your quick breaths filling the narrow space.
The fight between you burned out in the heat of the kiss, replaced by the thing that had always lived between you: fire.
When he finally broke away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath unsteady. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to. For now, the silence said everything words couldn’t.
His hands stayed on your face, fingertips warm against your skin, the air between you still trembling with what had just happened.
His breath brushed your lips, but he didn’t lean in again. He couldn’t.
Chishiya’s eyes flicked over your face as though he were trying to memorise it, the way you looked up at him, hurt, confused, wanting.
He could feel his pulse everywhere, his body betraying him, his erection pressing against his trousers, begging him to give in.
But the word red still lived in the back of his mind.
The memory of you saying it, the look in your eyes when you walked away that day, he would never forget that.
He swallowed hard, voice rough, almost quiet enough to disappear. “What are you doing to me?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
And then he stepped back, letting his hands fall, forcing his expression back into place. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
For the rest of his shift, he was a ghost of himself.
He spoke less, barked fewer orders, signed charts mechanically.
Every time he passed you in the hall, his eyes flickered towards you and away again so fast it almost didn’t happen. The silence between you buzzed louder than any argument could.
When you finally came home that evening, exhaustion hit you like gravity.
You dropped your bag by the door and stood there for a long moment, staring at your phone. You shouldn’t. You couldn’t. But your thumb hovered over his name anyway.
Just one message, you thought. One call.
Before you could decide, the doorbell rang. You froze, heart stumbling. For a second you thought, hoped, it couldn’t be him. That he wouldn’t dare.
But when you opened the door, there he was.
Shirt creased from a day’s worth of chaos, dark circles shadowing his eyes.
He looked exhausted, strung tight, like a man who had run out of ways to pretend.
“Chishiya,” you breathed, his name half a question, half disbelief. He exhaled, voice raw. “I can’t do this anymore.”
And in that moment, you knew, every wall he had rebuilt was about to come crashing down again.
You barely had time to register the look in his eyes before his hands were on you. Chishiya kissed you like a drowning man breaking the surface, his mouth desperate and searching, stealing the air from your lungs until you were gasping against him.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing him back with the same hunger you had been holding back for weeks. He stumbled you backwards, step by step, until your back hit the cool wall with a soft thud.
His palms slid over your sides, your back, your hips, roaming, needing to feel you under his hands, needing the reminder that you were real, warm, here. His forehead pressed to yours as he kissed down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
“Please…” he whispered, the word breaking against your throat. “Give me another chance.”
He didn’t stop kissing you, his lips trailing along your jaw, but his voice was low and shaking.
“I want to make this right. This isn’t about me changing into someone I’m not. This is me wanting to become the man you need. Because I need you. All of you. In every way imaginable.” Your fingers trembled where they gripped his shoulders.
“No more rules,” he murmured. “No more restrictions. Let me take you out. Let me try… I can’t-" He broke off, pressing his forehead harder to yours, voice cracking. “I can’t deal with a world that doesn’t have you in it.”
Tears blurred your vision, streaming hot down your cheeks before you even realised you were crying. Chishiya’s hands came up immediately, wiping them away with his thumbs, his eyes searching yours, softer than you had ever seen them.
“Please,” he breathed, his voice a whisper against your lips. “Grant me one more chance.”
You stared at him, this man who had been so cold, so controlled, now trembling as if the whole world had come undone around him.
And you nodded. Just a small, soft nod. “Okay.”
The relief that crashed over him was visible, almost tangible. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head dipping as though the weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His grip on you loosened, becoming something gentler, almost reverent.
When he opened his eyes again, there was something new in them, a glint of hope, of fear, of something unspoken but no less real.
His arms wrapped around you and for the first time, he let himself just hold you, breathing you in, as if anchoring himself to you before he could shatter completely.
He kissed you again, slower this time, lingering between breaths as though memorising you, every angle of your mouth, every quiet sound you made. His hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing the faint line of a tear he had missed.
The kiss that had started fierce and breathless began to slow, his lips still moving against yours but with a newfound tenderness. The hunger that had driven him softened into something rawer, something that made your heart ache more than your body ever could.
You felt his chest rise and fall against yours. The sharp edges of the man you knew, the arrogance, the control, the walls he had built around himself, seemed to fall away with every soft press of his lips.
This wasn’t the same Chishiya who had cornered you in on-call rooms, or barked orders across the ward. This was him stripped bare, trembling in the quiet space between you, kissing you as if trying to speak through it.
"Would you prefer to take things slow?" Chishiya asked breathlessly between kisses. You chuckled softly, "I think we're past taking things slow."
Chishiya threw his hands up in defence, "I can contain myself. Against all odds, I do have self-control."
"Is that so?" You smirked, hand moving to palm his erection through his trousers. His muscles flexed, his hand shooting down to grab your wrist, "well, you're not playing fair. Don't think I won't still punish you if you misbehave." He spoke through gritted teeth.
"I wouldn't have wanted for you to change anything about that anyway." You leaned forward, standing on your tiptoes, whispering in his ear, "because I so enjoy the way you fuck me, Chishiya." You felt his cock twitch beneath your palm, a soft growl escaping his lips before he grabbed your hair and pressed his mouth against yours.
He pulled you inside the living room, walking you backwards until your legs hit the couch. With quick hands, he yanked off your shirt, removing your bra in one quick motion. He left a trail of wet kisses down your breasts and stomach as he knelt in front of you, pulling your trousers down.
"Sit down." He murmured. When you did, he snaked his arms around yours thighs, pulling you closer to the edge. You could already feel his hot breath ghosting over your cunt. "Please, Chishiya." You whimpered desperately. His eyes met yours and he smirked at you, "don't worry, darling. This will be quick. I really need to be inside you. I just have to prepare you for my cock." And with that, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking between your folds, his saliva mixing with your juices.
Chishiya ate you out until you were a moaning mess, his tongue flicking across your clit in precisely the right motions. Your hands grabbing the edge of the couch, steadying yourself, mostly refraining yourself for grabbing his hair.
He stood up, leaning forward to press his mouth against yours, dragging his hand over your cunt before slipping two fingers in. He pumped them in and out of you, his mouth never leaving yours as he swallowed your moans.
Sloppy, wet sounds filled the room as he thrusted his fingers into you at a fast pace. Your hips moved involuntarily, granting him just the right angle to hit that spot deep inside you. You moaned his name, your walls clenching around his fingers. Chishiya pulled away from your lips, his free hand shooting up to wrap around your throat. Your eyes widened when your air supply was cut off.
His gaze was fixated on you, on the expression on your face. "Please." You croaked, voice almost inaudible. "Come for me." He finally growled. You shut your eyes close as you reached your high, your whole body shaking. Chishiya's skilled fingers guided you through your orgasm, making you enjoy every second of it.
When your eyes found his again, his pupils were dilated, mouth parted. "Fuck, I need you so badly." He groaned, already fumbling with his trousers. You stood on wobbly legs, replacing his hands as you undid his pants, sliding his cardigan off his shoulders and removed his shirt. He watched you, one eyebrow raised.
"What? Don't think I haven't been craving to have you inside me." Amusement plastered his face. When you pulled his trousers and underwear down, his cock slapped up against his lower stomach. You pushed him onto the couch, kneeling on the floor, settling between his legs, his erection towering in front of you.
But before you could even touch him or drag your tongue across his length, he grabbed your hair, stopping you. "Get on top of me right fucking now."
He leaned down, retrieving a foil packet from the pocket of his trousers, tearing it open and rolling the condom onto his cock. You placed your knees on either side of him, straddling him. He grabbed your waist, his other hand holding his dick, positioning it at your entrance. He inhaled sharply as you lowered yourself onto him. When his length was fully buried inside you, you stilled for a moment, eyes finding his.
Chishiya grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you towards him, kissing you fiercely. He quickly undid your hair tie, letting the strands fall loose over your shoulders. When you straightened, Chishiya looked at you, eyes traveling all over you. "You are so beautiful, it's driving me insane." He muttered under his breath.
You smiled at him before lifting yourself and slamming back down, earning a low groan from him. His hands were immediately back on your waist, guiding you up and down his cock. When you sat down, you rocked your hips shortly, making him stroke your walls. You placed your hands on the back rest of the couch, just above his shoulders, keeping in mind he prefers not to be touched. You steadied yourself as you rode him, moving up and down his length. "Hands behind your back." Chishiya ordered.
Chishiya's grip kept you steady, his eyes locked on the one thing he wanted to achieve with that order: your tits bouncing up and down in front of him with your movements. It took you some time to notice, but when you did, you grinned at him, whispering a soft "perv".
Chishiya's eyes shot up, his hand smacked your cheek almost too gently, grabbing your face and holding it in place, "Can't even let me enjoy the view without throwing a snarky comment at me." In one swift motion, he threw you down on the couch next to him, hovering above you in an instance. He lifted your legs, placing them on his shoulders before ramming his cock back into you. His arms wrapped around your legs at his front, pushing his length even deeper inside you. "I'm sorry!" You moaned.
And then he started to move, snapping his hips, silent groans leaving his lips when you clenched your walls around him. One hand moved down, rubbing small circles on your clit while he kept thrusting into you at a steady pace.
You threw your head back in pleasure, the second orgasm creeping its way into your brain, ready to shoot through your entire body. Chishiya noticed, bending your legs so he could lean forward. "Look at me when you come." He spoke through clenched teeth.
You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity of it threw you over the edge. Chishiya moaned loudly when he saw the pure satisfaction on your face. Something he caused. You wrapped your legs around his torso, clenching them, pushing him against you as you rocked your hips, riding out your orgasm.
His thrusts became uneven as he leaned down, capturing your mouth with his. He grabbed your tit, the feel of it in warm and jiggly in his hand made his cock twitch. He could have edged himself, drag this out for as long as possible. But he wasn't going anywhere tonight. And he would have you as many times as you wanted him.
So with one final thrust, he stilled inside you, his cum filling the condom as he moaned against your lips.
The room went silent, filled only with your heavy breaths. He removed his cock, taking off the condom and making a knot.
He collapsed on the couch, leaning against the back rest, head thrown back as he placed your legs on his lap. "You have no idea how much I missed you." He said softly. He spotted the box of paper tissues on the living room table in front of him. Leaning forward, he grabbed a few tissues, cleaning the mess your wetness has caused in between your legs. You smiled at him softly. "I wasn't aware you were capable of missing someone." You teased him. "Neither was I." He muttered absentmindedly as he continued cleaning you.
"So, tea?" You laughed at his question, remembering the last time he asked for tea. "What, is this our ritual now? Tea after sex?" Chishiya didn't respond but you saw the corner of his lip curl upwards. You were smiling way too hard, but got up anyway. "I'll be right back then." This time he did grab your wrist when you wanted to grab your clothes. The raise of his eyebrow was enough to tell you to leave them right there and prepare that tea naked.
Steam curled softly between the two of you, the faint scent of tea grounding what still felt almost unreal. You sat next to each other on your couch, both a little disheveled from everything that had happened, the world outside reduced to a muted hush.
Chishiya held the mug awkwardly, like it was a surgical instrument he wasn’t sure how to use. His gaze flicked up from the tea to you. “So,” he said, voice quieter than usual, “how does this… dating thing work?”
You let out a soft laugh before you could stop yourself, the sound bright in the dim living room. “You’re asking the wrong person,” you said, shaking your head. “You’ll just have to figure that out as you go. Find out what you like. What you don’t.”
He tilted his head slightly, thinking, eyes still on you. “Well,” he said after a beat, a small curve ghosting over his mouth, “I like you. Guess I already have everything I need, then.”
Your chest tightened in the best possible way. You chuckled, warmth spilling into the space between you. For a moment, he just watched you, the corners of his usually sharp eyes softening. He hadn’t realised until now how much he had missed that sound, the quiet joy of it, the lightness it carried.
You took a sip of tea, glancing at him over the rim of your mug. “Did you enjoy dinner with me?” you asked, careful but curious.
He hesitated, then nodded once. “I did,” he admitted, and there was no trace of his usual detachment in his voice. Just honesty.
You smiled, a real smile, and his breath caught a little at the sight. “See?” you said gently. “We can go out for dinners. Dating’s just about doing the things you enjoy… and sharing that with someone else.”
He looked down at his tea, watching the ripples settle. For the first time, the idea didn’t seem foreign or foolish. It didn’t sound like a trap or an inconvenience. It sounded like peace. Like colour seeping into the monochrome lines of his world.
He met your eyes again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Then maybe,” he murmured, “this won’t be so bad after all.”
For a heartbeat, the world went soft and ordinary, almost peaceful. But peace doesn't last long in a world like this. Just beyond the light, danger was already counting its steps, deciding where to break the quiet and when to strike next.
A/N: You guessed right, I'm not quite finished with this fic yet...
Taglist: @mypsychoticlove @rurujm @butterishjam @stilltrynafuckingtumble @badbishsblog @ronjantz @aliendustpee @yayafenyru @lazcylies @auroras-pleasures @e-c-a-r-l-a-t-e @kiyoomiomis @emiiko-cos @cerisefait @mad-die45 @lady-lai @iamferalfordilfs @74zix47 @mylovelo-ak @waitingfornaptimexx @rin-itoshi-ily
