#endlessunsh1ne

[pinkauras]

@endlessunsh1ne / sienna zhang & oliver madden

why are these supply rooms never organized? sienna feels annoyance creep up her spine while she looks for iv tubing which is not where it's supposed to be. or at least she thinks it's not where it's supposed to be — truth be told, she's still getting her bearings at the hospital even in the rooms she frequents, let alone places she goes rarely. still, she's pretty sure whoever set up this organizational system based it off of chaos theory. she turns, annoyed and ready to call it quits only to jump out of her skin when she sees someone else in the door way. "holy shit," she hisses, a hand on her chest. she blinks, letting her brain catch up to her and figure out who she'd nearly run into — ozzy, nurse, soft eyes and annoyingly good teeth. tendency to look like he just walked out of a rom-com. "did you like... teleport in here or something? i didn't even hear you."

[gcnetics]

who: gabe & sophie | @endlessunsh1ne where: the hallway of pine valley, right outside the elevator

it's the worst kind of déjà vu. gabe rounds the corner of the pediatric wing, coffee in hand, thinking about his next case, the latest chart still open on the tablet pressed against his side—and then the universe stops. not in the dramatic, collapsing-star kind of way. more like the silent snap of a rubber band, just before it breaks. she's standing there. in scrubs. with her badge clipped just so, like she used to. sophie. his sophie. or, no, not his anymore. that's clear. six weeks wasn’t long enough to forget the sound of a door slamming behind him, the way the apartment emptied overnight like she’d never existed inside it. six weeks wasn’t long enough to forget the look on her face when she’d found him, or worse, when she didn’t say a single word. his chest tightens, too full and too hollow at the same time. he tries to breathe through it, to compose something like logic, something that doesn't sound like what the hell are you doing here? or please don’t look at me like that. the hallway narrows to her expression, unreadable and surgical, the way she'd looked at open abdomens and broken spines. he hadn’t known she’d taken the job, hadn’t even considered it. pine valley was supposed to be his fresh start, his penance in motion. and now? she's standing between him and the elevator like she belongs there. “dr. murphy-spencer,” he says, voice rougher than intended, brittle from all the things he hadn’t said six weeks ago. “i didn’t know you’d be here.” he doesn't say he’d missed her. he doesn't say he dreamed of her leaving over and over again. he doesn't say her name like he used to, with tenderness and history and hope. he just stands there, waiting for the crash.