He accidentally spills a massive secret about a ring when groggy from anaesthesia after surgery.
The recovery room smells like antiseptic and recycled air, and you’ve been sitting in it long enough that the bad coffee has gone cold in your hand. You set it down on the plastic chair beside you and check the time. They said twenty minutes, maybe thirty. It’s been forty-five. You’ve read the same NHS poster about handwashing three times without retaining a single word.
Then the door swings open, and a nurse backs through it pulling the far end of a hospital bed, and there he is —your six-foot-something, usually-immovable man, flat on his back under a thin blanket with the tucked-in, slightly helpless look of someone who has absolutely no say in how they’re being transported right now. His head lolls toward you the moment he clears the doorway, and the second his eyes find your face, they light up.
“Babe.” He raises a finger and points it in your general direction, missing by about a foot. “That’s my person.” His voice is louder than it needs to be. The nurse guiding the head of the bed is staring very hard at the wall in front of her. “That one. Mine.”
You stand and cross to him, pressing a hand to his forearm. “Hi, love. How are you feeling?”
Simon stares at you with deep, grave seriousness for approximately three seconds. Then his whole face softens into something so unguarded it makes your chest ache a little, and he says, very slowly, “You have two heads.”
“I don’t.”
“Two.” He blinks, squinting, like he’s working through something genuinely complex. “Both beautiful. Don’t know which one to kiss.” He attempts to sit up, is immediately defeated by his own IV line and the fact that his arms have apparently stopped cooperating, and sinks back against the pillow with a defeated expression.
You laugh and press your hand gently to his chest to keep him still. “Maybe focus on one for now.”
He doesn’t hear you. He’s already tugging at the blanket tucked around him, studying it with intense concentration.
“I’m a burrito,” he announces.
“You are a bit, yeah.”
“You like burritos.” He says it like a fact he’s just remembered, important and certain. “So I’m… your burrito.” A pause. He blinks once, slowly. “That’s good. That’s very good, actually.”
The nurse at the head of the bed makes a quiet sound that she turns into a cough. You are half-embarrassed and entirely melting.
“Can you believe,” Simon says, voice shifting to scandalised, “they just let me sleep in there?”
“That’s generally how surgery works.”
“I closed my eyes for one second.” He holds up a finger from where his arm lies flat on the mattress. “One. And then—” he waves the same finger vaguely “—appendix. Gone. Just taken.”
“They did tell you they were going to do that.”
“Did they?” He looks incredibly uncertain. Then, with suspicion: “Was it a prank?”
“It wasn’t a prank, Simon.”
He absorbs this and then frowns at the ceiling. “Feels like a prank.”
The nurses finish their handover and quietly take their leave. You pull your chair flush to the side of the bed and settle into it, threading your fingers through his where his hand rests heavy on top of the blanket. He looks down at the contact, and something passes over his face—slow and warm and unhurried.
“You stayed,” he says.
“Of course I stayed.”
“Didn’t have to.”
“Simon.”
“Just saying.” His thumb moves over your knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. He’s watching your joined hands like he’s not entirely sure they’re real yet. The anaesthesia makes everything about him loose and unfiltered—no armour, no careful restraint, just him, sitting just below the surface of everything he usually keeps so close to the chest. “You’re the best thing,” he says quietly, to no one in particular. “You know that?”
“You’re a bit biased,” you say softly.
“‘M not.” He shakes his head against the pillow, slow and certain. “Ask anyone. Price’ll tell you. Soap’ll tell you—well, Soap talks too much; he’ll tell you a lot of things—” He pauses, reconsidering. “Maybe don’t ask Soap.”
You laugh, squeezing his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He falls quiet for a moment. The monitor beside him beeps steadily, and somewhere down the corridor, someone drops something metal, and the sound echoes and fades. Simon’s thumb has stilled against your hand, but he hasn’t let go. His eyes drift half-closed, then open again, fighting it.
“Got you something,” he mumbles. “Well. Not here. At home. It’s at home.”
“You got me something?”
“Mm.” His brow furrows faintly. “Well. It’s more… it’s more for both of us, really. Well—it's for you. And for me. And for—” He stops. The frown deepens. “It’s a ring.”
The word lands in the room very quietly.
You go still.
“A ring,” you repeat.
“In my sock drawer.” He says it with immense seriousness, as though the location is the important part. “Second one in. Behind the grey ones. Been there three weeks, I keep—” He shifts against the pillow, blinking. “Keep waiting for the right time. Was gonna do it somewhere nice, but I think it should be more personal. Have a whole—” Another slow blink. “I have a plan.”
Your heart has done something that makes your ribs feel too small for it.
“Simon,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.
“You’d say yes,” he says, like it’s not a question, like it’s just something he knows the way he knows north from south. “You’d say yes, wouldn't you.” Still not a question. His eyes are drifting again, the pull of sleep getting heavier by the second, his words softening at the edges. “You always say yes to me. Even when I’m—even when it’s hard. You stay.”
You press your free hand over your mouth for a second.
He lets out a long, slow breath. His grip on your hand slackens slightly, not letting go but going loose and easy. His head settles deeper into the pillow, the line of his shoulders dropping as the tension finally, fully, leaves him.
“I want it to be perfect,” he says, almost to himself. “But suppose it’s—s’fine either way. You’ll still say yes.”
And then, with all the unbothered peace of a man who has absolutely no idea what he’s just said, he falls asleep. Completely and utterly out, breathing slow and steady against the hospital pillow, hand still curled loosely around yours, a little furrow between his brows the only remaining sign that he was ever awake at all.
“I’m not under your guidance and you weren’t on site at the time of the emergency. Personally I think you’re out of line.” You scoff. “I guess you’ll just have to find out tomorrow.” You turn around and pull the door open before throwing over your shoulder, “You haven’t changed a bit Si.” Before walking out.
Simon lets out a deep breath. You were cold, rude and had you always been that beautiful?
-
The conference room was heavy with the smell of burnt coffee and disinfectant, the low hum of chatter dying down as John strode to the front. His presence demanded silence; even Simon, sulking in the corner, straightened his back.
John cleared his throat, his accent smooth as he flicked on the projector. “We’re here to discuss the emergency neurosurgery performed yesterday,” his eyes cut briefly to you, and you swore you caught the tiniest twitch of his lips. “I’ve reviewed the records, scans, and timing.” He clicked to the next slide. “And I can confirm—the surgery could not have waited.”
A ripple of murmurs passed around the room. You felt heat climb up your chest, not from embarrassment but from vindication.
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.
The labour ward is stocked up with pumpkin hats for the newborns which is so cute but the baby yesterday was so big none of them fit him and he just had a plain blue one
Dental Skool Stories: Anaesthetic is Nerve Wracking
Author's Note:
Dental anaesthetic is focused on the trigeminal nerve, which is responsible for sensation in your ENTIRE FACE.
But luckily, the trigeminal nerve is a simple yet complicated tree made up of three main branches, yes THREE!
1) Maxillary (upper teeth & tissues)
2) Mandibular (lower teeth & tissues)
3) Ophthalmic (eyes & scalp)
You can tell which branch doesn't belong in your average dental injection - HINT: it's the one with no teeth in it
Have you ever had surgery that required anesthesia?
Hi anonymous! I'm not sure whether you are referring to local anaesthesia or general anaesthesia, but I get the feeling you might be referring to the latter, considering that all surgeries require some form of anaesthetic. I will go off this assumption, but if I got it wrong, send me another ask with the specific type of anaesthesia you intended and I'll redo the poll for you. Thanks! Keep 'em coming, folks.
Have you ever had surgery that required general anaesthesia?
Yes, more than once
Yes, once
No, but I've had surgery requiring local anaesthesia
Simon had short circuited. He was sure someone would need to rewire him to work again. He was frozen. You, his Bonnie. The Bonnie to his Clyde, stood there all made up like you had been born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You hadn’t. Was your hair always that colour? He’d pushed you so far into the back of his head to forget his precious Bonnie that he couldn’t remember. Fuck, how could he not remember? But then again, he didn’t think he needed to remember. He never thought he’d see you again.
Yet here you were.
John was the first out of his seat, the quickest any of the guys had seen him move as he sped after you. You had shyly thanked everyone for the lovely welcome and basically jogged over to the neurology department, stepping inside the lift. As you went to press the button for level five John had slipped in right next to you.
You blinked, a stutter on the tip of your tongue that never seemed to make it out of your mouth as John began to speak, “Well isn’t this a lovely coincidence.” He grinned around his mutton chops and you took note of how much he hadn’t changed. Years it had been and yet you couldn’t find a single difference like he hadn’t aged one bit. Like how Hugh Jackman always looked the same whenever he played Wolverine.
“John. I,” you paused thinking what to say, it was a shock to see him here. When you had slept with him you didn’t know he was a doctor let alone what hospital he worked at but then again you didn’t even know his last name. “Have you been well?” Good, simple and nice. Not stupid like, ‘you’re still smoking hot.’
The well built man had his body angled toward you, a smile on his lips, the crows feet around his eyes wrinkled a little as he smiled at you, something you cursed as it made him that much more attractive. “Are you married?” He asks completely ignoring your question.
“No.” You frown.
“A boyfriend then?” His ocean eyes don’t move from yours, hands slipping into his trouser pockets.
“No.” You answer honestly but can’t help but be confused, even more so when he nods, moving towards the doors that have just opened, stepping out and turning towards you.
“Okay then.” He winks at you just before the lift doors shut leaving you staring at your own reflection. Your cheeks were flushed and your heart pulsing quickly.
You didn’t even press a button for a level to get off on.
You made it to your office, 5B on the door in silver block letters as you walked in. The room had two desks opposite each other and a bunk bed right at the back, standard for those quick five minute naps on sixteen or more hour shifts.
The top bunk looked used, the blanket all tousled and the pillow with a dent where someone’s head definitely was. The desk to the right had a mini hulk action figure with a kilt on it. The sight made you freeze a little. You remember a similar one from way back when you first started medical school.
Now what was his name again?
“Never thought I’d see you again, lass.” You whipped around, shocked eyes locking with his. He didn’t look amused the way John did, he looked a little cold and accusing something you certainly didn’t like.
“Johnny, you work here too?” You gulp at the thought of both your one night stand and your old friends with benefits being around you on a day to day basis.
“Too?” His eyes narrowed even more if that were even possible, he definitely managed to do it.
“Nevermind.” You stand there awkward. It was awkward. Johnny used to be your closest confidant. He was your best friend who you started having sex with when medical school got too stressful. You were drunk when you first brought the idea up, you had no idea he’d remember the conversation let alone agree to it.
The first night you did it, it was just as awkward as the position you were in now. The air was tight and your bodies were taut. Slowly after a few weeks you both found your rhythm, a few months and you had both memorized everything about one another. Especially Johnny, he made it his mission to commit every little moan, jolt, whimper to his memory. A stain on his brain that he loved.
And he did love it, loved going from roommates to best friends to, in his mind, lovers.
Though when he shared that with you, a drunken confession just like yours, your heart stopped in your chest. You hadn’t loved anyone since your high school sweetheart and you didn’t think you’d ever love anyone ever again after he shattered your heart into a million pieces. You even tried with Kyle but it didn’t work out and you ended up losing your friend.
So when Johnny confessed his love for you and practically begged you to come home with him for the holidays to meet his parents you freaked. Told him no and that whatever was between you clearly had to stop if that’s the way he felt. He cried, you felt awful, holding him while he sobbed in your arms. Silent tears slipping down your cheeks while you planned your next steps.
After a distraught and exhausted Johnny fell asleep you rushed to pack your things. Calling a friend to help you get everything out fast and quiet. You’d had enough sad goodbyes and horrible fights, you didn’t need another one.
When Johnny woke up you were gone.
“I guess this is your office too then.” You mustered up all the confidence you could and placed it on your face pushing away the feelings of embarrassment. Moving over to the desk you had been assigned according to the welcome pack with your name on, on it.
Johnny didn’t reply, walking into the room with a scowl and sitting down at his desk. He began typing away ignoring you. Sighing you opened the pack, sitting down yourself, begging your eyes not to look over at him but they were desperate to. Instead you forced them to roam over the words of the booklet in your hands, until they started blurring together.
Simon sat down in his office chair, Kyle across the desk from him sat crossed legged in one of the two chairs for guests. They looked so welcoming but anyone in the hospital knew whoever sat in that chair was due for a bollocking. Not Kyle though.
With his head in his hands, Simon sighed. “I suppose this is where I give you some advice, but honestly I’m stumped.” Kyle says, choking out a little nervous laugh.
“I don’t need advice,” Simon spat, “I need a fuckin’ miracle.” Looking up with a miserable face even when Kyle laughs. “You’re no better off!” Simon spits again suddenly defensive at how laid back Kyle seemed at the situation.
“Our split was mutual,” Kyle shrugged, “and honestly I think I was more hurt than she was. Yours on the other hand…” Kyle trails off pointing at his friend casually and then sliding his finger along his neck mimicking a throat being sliced.
“It was almost eight years ago now,” Simon pauses thinking wow, it was almost eight years since he’d last seen you, “You really think she’s still upset?”
Kyle hums in thought before answering genuinely, “Knowing how fucked up she was after finding you with that girl, I wouldn’t put it past her if she was still the same way now.” Hearing that, Simon cringes his nose scrunching up. Kyle told him all about how you had been affected by his actions. He almost took pride in watching Simon’s reaction to the news.
Kyle had to play the caring best friend for years, always by your side whenever you and Simon had a fight, always knowing he could treat you better. Simon never appreciated what he had with you, how you worshipped the ground he walked on, how you made so many compromises for him, sacrificing your happiness for him and never receiving anything in return.
And no matter how many times Kyle told you to leave him, you didn’t. You gave Simon the benefit of the doubt until you walked in on him fucking the girl he told you not to worry about. No remorse in his eyes as they locked onto your tear filled ones.
You told Kyle all about the giggle of the girl as you fled from the scene. You sobbed, just like Johnny had, in Kyle’s arms with a broken heart. Simon never tried to contact you after, he just accepted what he had done and didn’t beg for your forgiveness knowing you wouldn’t give it.
Kyle was the one who encouraged you to ask for your stuff back, which Kyle also offered to be the one that went and picked it up. You were so grateful to him, he was such a sweetheart. In Kyle’s eyes he finally had his chance to be with you and he wasn’t going to fuck it up.
But after Simon you couldn’t trust him. Tried to but didn’t love him. Your heart was broken in a way that even now it was put back together, it was crooked. A crack still scarred there. Right down the middle.
A few months into Kyle’s RNDA he was asked to come to Infinity Hospital to continue his apprenticeship. Being the best hospital in the country he immediately accepted only to see Simon there. Simon was training to become a surgeon at that point, he was shocked to say the least when he say Kyle, a blast from the past. They pretty much ignored each other until a work night out a few months after.
Tipsy, they both talked things out. Kyle point blank said he couldn’t forget what Simon had done to you but he could try and forgive him as they worked together. The more time they spent together the closer they became. Now known as the closest friends in the hospital.
“Fuck this is gonna be awkward.” Simon groaned realising he had asked you to come to his office last night. “Shit okay.” He shook his head trying to get himself into the right headspace, if there even was a right one.
You’d basically ran away from your joint office with Johnny to your meeting with Simon. If that’s what you’d even call it. Out of the frying pan and into the volcano. And just as Simon and Kyle had joked, it was very awkward. You stared at him the way Johnny had stared at you, though there was a certain type of numbness on your face where Johnny’s had been openly emotional.
“Please have a seat.” Simon gestured to the chairs opposite his desk.
“No.” You reply.
Simon fought against his mouth for a moment so the old nickname he used to have for you didn’t slip out. “Doctor-“
“Before you spout a bunch of nonsense, I couldn’t wait. You’ll know that when you see the record.”
Simon smirked, “So you didn’t just do it because you wanted to show off on your first day of work?”
“Don’t pretend you know me.” You snap, harsh and unforgiving. It had Simon straightening up in his chair. “You’ll find out at the conference that the patient needed an emergency surgery.”
“We’ll see.” His face drops, a seriousness taking over, “If you performed the surgery when there was enough time to wait-“
“Wait for the emergency on-call doctor to actually be on site?” You tilt your head, the corner of your lips curving up a little when he sighs.
“You’ll have to take responsibility for your actions.” Simon continues as though you never spoke.
“Oh don’t worry,” you laugh, “I always take responsibility for my actions.” His mouth opens, eyes blinking, an unsteady air building around him. “And when it gets proven that the emergency surgery was necessary, you’ll need to apologise to me.” You give him the fakest smile you can muster up.
“Apologise to you?” He frowns.
“I’m not under your guidance and you weren’t on site at the time of the emergency. Personally I think you’re out of line.” You scoff. “I guess you’ll just have to find out tomorrow.” You turn around and pull the door open before throwing over your shoulder, “You haven’t changed a bit Si.” Before walking out.
Simon lets out a deep breath. You were cold, rude and had you always been that beautiful?
