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gloriousperfectionjellyfish · 8 days ago

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Infuriating

Pairing: doctor! chishiya x f!nurse! reader

Summary: in which you start working as a nurse at sakurazawa university hospital and cross paths with a certain dr. chishiya. everything about him drives you insane, especially his arrogance

Warnings: chishiya being a smug asshole in the beginning, hospital/emergencies, enemies to lovers, smut! fingering, penetrative sex (x2), oral (f and m receiving), creampie, but no worries, i added the right amount of bantering and fluff! (Do not read if you're under 18!)

Word count: ~13k (my bad)

Your pulse raced. Not exactly with fear, but with the kind of nervous excitement that came with starting something new. This was the beginning of a chapter you had been waiting for.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of antiseptics and faint traces of coffee before you finally entered the paediatric wing.

You smoothed your scrubs as you walked towards the nurse’s station, forcing a polite smile. To your relief, the other nurses greeted you warmly. They introduced themselves quickly between answering call lights and shuffling through charts, but their easy smiles and encouraging words made the knot in your chest loosen just a little. A few of the doctors you passed in the hall even offered nods and small words of welcome. You already felt like you belonged here.

That was until he arrived.

You didn’t notice him at first. He was quiet and deliberate, moving with a certain detached confidence as he approached the station. The air shifted, subtle but undeniable, as if everyone present instinctively straightened just a little.

You turned to him with the same polite smile you had given everyone else. “Hi, I’m new here. I’ll be working in paediatrics with you. My name is-"

He barely looked at you. His gaze flicked over you once, head tilting ever so slightly, as though sizing you up and filing you away in the same motion. You stopped mid-sentence, smile faltering under the weight of that silent scrutiny. Finally, he offered a single word. “Welcome.”

If you could even call it that. His voice was flat, tone devoid of warmth, like he had simply repeated a phrase he was obligated to say. Before you could respond, he reached across the counter, plucked a stack of charts from the desk and walked off without another word.

You blinked after him, caught between confusion and indignation. The other nurses exchanged knowing looks, a couple of them chuckling under their breath. “Don’t take it personally,” one of them said, shaking her head. “That’s just Dr. Chishiya. He doesn’t… bother much with pleasantries.”

“Or people, really,” another added with a wry smile. “He’s brilliant,” the first nurse continued, lowering her voice like it was both confession and warning, “but don’t expect him to ever act like a human being. That’s just not how he is.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the sting of his disinterest clung to you. The warm welcome you had felt only moments ago seemed to cool in his wake. For reasons you couldn’t name, you already knew one thing. Dr. Shuntaro Chishiya was going to be a problem.

Your first shift moved quickly, a blur of small faces and nervous parents. Despite the nerves that clung to you earlier, your body seemed to remember what your mind doubted. That you belonged here.

The children responded to you better than you expected. A little boy with asthma clung to your hand like you had known each other forever, refusing to let go until you promised you would check on him again after lunch. A girl with a fractured wrist stopped crying the moment you crouched to her level, speaking gently to her about the “brave warriors” who wore casts like armour. Her parents mouthed a silent “thank you” as you adjusted the sling.

Every smile you coaxed out of a patient reminded you why you had chosen this path. The anxiety you carried into the hospital began to dissolve with each interaction, replaced with something steadier. Replaced with confidence.

Dr. Chishiya walked in. You straightened automatically, as if sensing the shift in the air again. He moved with a casual sort of disinterest, chart in hand, gaze flicking towards the patient’s bed. You stepped forward before he could even ask. “Vitals are stable,” you said, keeping your voice professional. “Pulse 84, respirations 20, O2 sat 97%. She’s been calm since receiving the analgesic.”

His eyes slid to you briefly. You couldn’t tell if he was pleased or annoyed that you had anticipated his questions. “Efficient,” he said at last, though the flatness of his tone made it unclear whether he meant it as a compliment or simply an observation. He shifted the chart in his hand, then glanced at you again. “And if her O2 saturation dropped suddenly?”

The question caught you off guard. Still, you answered without hesitation. “First, I��d check for obstruction or displacement of the cannula,” you said. “If it wasn’t equipment-related, I’d notify you immediately while administering supplemental oxygen.” A beat of silence. His head tilted slightly, the faintest flicker of something in his gaze. Testing you again, he asked, “And if she went into acute respiratory distress?”

You met his eyes, not wavering. “Then I’d make sure the airway is secure and call for rapid response. But if there’s no time, I’d bag her myself until help arrived.” Another pause. For a heartbeat, you thought you caught the barest trace of approval in his expression, so faint you could have imagined it. But then he looked away, scribbling something on the chart without acknowledgment.

“Mm,” he murmured, dismissive as ever. “I appreciate your enthusiasm but I reckon it won't last long." And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you with the patient, the chart, and a peculiar mixture of irritation and pride simmering inside you.

No matter how coldly he acted, you couldn’t shake the sense that you had just surprised him.

The next few days slipped into routine. You saw Chishiya often enough, passing through the halls, taking charts at the station, checking in on patients, but he rarely spared you a glance. When he needed updates, he always went to the older nurses. As though you weren’t even there.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You were new. You had no reason to expect his attention. And yet… something about his deliberate avoidance left a dull sting you didn’t care to admit, even to yourself.

So you poured your energy elsewhere. Into your patients. Into proving you belonged here. You stayed late reading charts, memorising histories, making sure every child under your care felt safe and protected. The other nurses began to joke that you would burn yourself out before your first month, but you didn’t care. You wanted to prove yourself.

It was during one of those late evenings that you noticed something. A little boy with a chronic condition. His treatment had stabilised him, but days later there was still no real improvement. His vitals were steady, but his recovery flatlined. You combed through his chart, double-checking the diagnosis and the prescribed course. Nothing was wrong exactly… but something seemed off. Something missed.

The diagnosis hadn’t been Dr. Chishiya’s, but the thought gnawed at you until you couldn’t ignore it. So when you caught him leaving a patient’s room, you stepped into his path before you could lose your nerve. “Dr. Chishiya,” you began, holding the boy’s chart close to your chest.

His eyes flicked to you, then down at the folder you carried. The faintest crease tugged at his brow. “Yes?” You opened the chart, pointing at the notes. “I was reviewing his case. The eight-year-old in 204. He was diagnosed with asthma and he’s been on bronchodilators and corticosteroids. His vitals are stable, but his symptoms aren’t improving." Dr. Chishiya’s gaze sharpened slightly, but he stayed silent, taking the chart from you.

You pressed on. “His O2 saturation is holding at ninety-four percent, but it doesn’t rise much even after treatment. He’s still short of breath at rest. And…” You tapped the labs. “…his haemoglobin is low. That shouldn’t happen if this was just asthma.” He blinked once, slowly.

“I think the diagnosis might have missed something cardiovascular,” you continued, your voice steady even as your heart pounded. “An atrial septal defect could explain the hypoxia and fatigue. If we ran an echocardiogram, we could rule it out ...or confirm it. And in the meantime, maybe supplement oxygen and adjust his monitoring protocol.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then his lips pressed into a thin line. “If that were the case, my colleague would have accounted for it,” he said coldly, snapping the chart closed with one hand. You held his gaze, refusing to flinch. You didn’t need to say a word, the weight in your eyes carried more force than anything you could have spoken aloud.

He tilted his head, the faintest glimmer of irritation or something else flickering in his expression. “Remember your place,” he said evenly, before brushing past you and disappearing down the corridor.

Not even half an hour later, he was at the nurse’s station. He plucked the boy’s chart from the stack and skimmed it again, his expression unreadable. When his eyes fell on the labs, the low haemoglobin, and the notes you had flagged, he paused.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. You hadn’t been wrong. The presentation did suggest something more than asthma. And an echocardiogram was exactly the next step.

He set the chart down with a soft thud, exhaling quietly. You had seen it. And worse, you had been right.

The next morning, you noticed the boy’s chart had been flagged for additional testing. An echocardiogram had been ordered. And before noon, the results were back: a small but significant atrial septal defect. His treatment shifted immediately. Oxygen was adjusted, his medications reevaluated and a plan for corrective surgery scheduled.

By afternoon, the boy looked better already, the colour returning to his cheeks, his breathing steadier. His parents hovered by his bedside, eyes wet with relief. And when Chishiya walked in for rounds, they practically fell over themselves thanking him. “Thank you, doctor! Thank you so much! If it weren’t for you…”

You stood just outside the room, half-hidden in the corridor, their voices ringing in your ears. He waved them off, he wasn’t the type to bask in gratitude. He stood still, hands in the pockets of his coat, offering little more than a detached nod.

But what bothered you is that he didn’t correct them. He didn’t so much as mention your name. The feeling burrowed deep in your chest, sour and burning.

By the time you found him alone in the break room later, the weight of it was too much to ignore. He sat slouched on a chair, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling lazily through his phone as though the world barely existed.

You leaned against the doorway, arms folded, voice sharp with sarcasm. “Does it feel nice? Getting praised for someone else’s work?"

His head lifted slowly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. His brows arched, curiosity breaking his otherwise flat expression. You scoffed, stepping inside. “You could’ve at least said thank you. It wouldn’t kill you to acknowledge someone else’s contribution once in a while.”

He slid his phone into his pocket, settling back against the chair as though making himself more comfortable for the argument. His arms were crossed, eyes half-lidded. “You want gratitude? For doing your job?” Your jaw clenched. “I’m not asking for praise, Dr. Chishiya. I’m asking for acknowledgment. That’s what teamwork is.”

He tilted his head, a ghost of amusement tugging at his mouth. “Teamwork,” he repeated, as though tasting the word. “You’re just a nurse. Your job is to follow orders, not make them. If I started handing out gold stars every time you wanted to feel useful, I’d never get any actual work done.”

The venom of it stole your breath for half a second. “Just a nurse?” you repeated, your voice sharper than you intended. “If I hadn’t caught that, that boy would still be lying in bed, breathing shallowly, waiting for nothing to change. But sure, let’s pretend your brilliance saved the day.”

His eyes narrowed, though his posture stayed maddeningly relaxed. “If it really mattered to you that much, you should have gone to medical school. Instead of becoming a nurse.”

The words sliced deeper than you wanted to admit. You felt heat crawl up your throat, anger and humiliation sparking at once. “Not everyone gets that choice,” you snapped. “Some of us don’t have the money or the privilege to waltz into med school. But I still work hard and at least I give a damn about the kids. Can't say the same about you.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, charged and heavy. His eyes locked on yours, as though peeling back your layers one by one.

And then he smirked. Controlled and infuriating. “So that’s it,” he murmured, voice cool. “You don’t care about recognition, but you care enough to chase me down over it. You’re not here to prove yourself. You’re here because you want me to what? Acknowledge you? Notice you?"

The breath hitched in your throat before you could stop it. His smirk deepened at your silence. You hated him in that moment. Hated how calm he looked, sitting there with his arms crossed, like none of this touched him. Like he was above it all while your blood boiled.

“Go to hell, Dr. Chishiya,” you spat, turning on your heel. He didn’t call after you. But when you slammed the door on your way out, you swore you could still feel his gaze burning into your back. And in your stomach, hatred coiled like a knot you weren’t sure would ever come undone.

For the next couple of days, you did your best to avoid him. You switched charts with other nurses when you could, volunteered to cover other cases and slipped out of the station whenever you saw him approach. It wasn’t hard. He seemed just as uninterested in you as ever. And after your fight, that was fine by you.

However, when another nurse brushed past you outside an exam room, muttering, “Dr. Chishiya asked for you,” your stomach dropped. You sighed, annoyance pricking at the back of your neck. “Of course he did.” Still, you pushed the door open.

Inside, he stood at the foot of the bed, chart in hand, expression as cold as always. He barely looked up as he spoke. “Nine-year-old, recurring fevers, weight loss, fatigue. We’re running labs to rule out infection versus autoimmune involvement. Draw his blood.” Your lips pressed into a thin line, but you didn’t argue. "Draw his blood, please." You whispered under your breath.

You turned to the boy perched nervously on the exam bed. His parents hovered nearby, worry etched into their faces.

“Hey there,” you said gently, crouching a little to meet the boy’s eyes. “I’m just going to take a little blood, okay? Promise it’ll be quick. And if you’re super brave, maybe I can convince the vending machine to give me an extra juice box later.”

The boy blinked, then giggled softly, shoulders relaxing. You kept him distracted with silly questions like his favourite color, favourite superhero, while you swabbed his arm and slid the needle in. He didn’t even flinch. When the vial filled, you capped it and smiled. “See? That’s hero-level bravery right there.” The boy grinned and his parents exhaled in relief.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Chishiya watching you. Silent. His gaze lingered a moment longer than usual before shifting back to the chart in his hand. He explained the plan to the parents, voice clinical. “We’ll wait for the lab results before proceeding further. It’s likely nothing serious, but we’ll know more soon.”

The parents nodded, but their faces still carried unease. You stepped in, softening his words. “We’ll take good care of him. The tests are just to make sure we don’t miss anything, but he’s in the right hands now.” Relief flickered in their eyes, some of the tension easing.

When you stepped out of the room together, heading for the nurse’s station to send off the blood work, you finally let out the breath you had been holding. “Can I ask you something?” you said, eyes on the floor as you walked. He hummed in response, not looking at you. “Why do you work in paediatrics?”

That made him glance at you, brows furrowing slightly. “What kind of question is that?” You shrugged, keeping your tone even. “No offence but you don’t exactly strike me as someone who’s… good with kids.” His mouth twitched, not quite a frown, not quite anything. “I’m good at my job. Whether it’s children or adults makes no difference.”

You scoffed. “Maybe. But it wouldn’t kill you to actually speak kindly. Especially to kids. They’re scared. They don’t need cold hard facts from a robot, they need comfort.”

He finally stopped, turning to face you. “Medicine isn’t about kindness,” he said, voice sharper than before. “It’s about fixing what’s broken. Healing people. They don’t need warmth, they need results. Attachment doesn’t save lives.” You stared at him, anger flickering in your chest. “You say that like the two can’t coexist. Like caring automatically makes you incompetent. But maybe what they need is both.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. For a moment, his expression slipped, just slightly. He looked at you with something unreadable, like he was trying to dissect not just your words but you yourself. And that unsettled him. Because Chishiya didn’t defend himself. He never wanted to. Never needed to. Not to colleagues. Not to anyone. His work spoke for itself, his detachment kept him above the unnecessary entanglements of other people’s opinions.

So why did he feel the need to explain himself to you? Why did it matter that you thought him cold? That you thought he lacked warmth? He told himself it didn’t. He told himself he was just irritated at your persistence. That was all.

But the irritation was too sharp, too loud in his mind. His chest tightened with something unfamiliar as he looked at you standing there, defiant, lips pressed tight with frustration, eyes burning into his like you wanted to tear him apart and understand him all at once.

He didn’t want you to like him. He didn’t care if you understood him. …Or did he? The thought slipped in unbidden and unwelcome. He pushed it down immediately, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint, dismissive smirk.

“Cute theory,” he murmured, turning away before you could see the way his composure faltered. And you stood there, fists clenched, hating him more than ever.

The ward had barely quieted when the monitors shrieked. You recognised the room number instantly. Your stomach dropped. The boy.

You ran, feet pounding the corridor and burst into the room with half the unit behind you. His small body writhed weakly on the bed, skin pale, monitor screaming low O2 saturation and dropping blood pressure. His parents clutched each other in terror against the wall.

And at the foot of the bed was Dr. Chishiya, already pulling on gloves. His gaze flicked to you for half a second before snapping back to the boy.

“Bag-valve mask,” he said sharply. You had it in hand before the words finished leaving his mouth. His eyes cut to you, irritation flickering, though not at the fact you had moved too slow, but that you had moved too fast.

You ignored it, fitting the mask over the boy’s face, squeezing rhythmically as his chest rose and fell. “Airway’s clear,” you reported without being asked.

“IV fluids, push now.” Dr. Chishiya ordered.

You had them already primed, connecting the line, flushing it and starting the bolus before he even reached for the kit.

He stopped short, staring at the tubing in your hands, the saline already dripping. For the briefest second, surprise crossed his face. He masked it immediately. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he muttered, reaching for the stethoscope at his neck.“Not ahead,” you shot back tightly, eyes on the monitor. “Exactly where I need to be.”

The other nurses scrambled around you both, but it was like they blurred into the background. Orders barked by Chishiya, answered by your hands already moving. His brain calculated, your instincts filled in the gaps.

"His oxygen is not enough. He needs steroids,” Chishiya said. “Methylpred for IV injection is already drawn,” you said, snapping the cap off the syringe and holding it out before he could turn. He froze, just half a second too long, before taking it from you. His mouth pressed into a thin line. “You’re insufferable.”

“Funny,” you gritted out, checking the boy’s O2 sats, “I was about to say the same about you.” His smirk was faint, but there.

The boy’s vitals crept upward, stabilising. Heart rate stronger, O2 climbing back above ninety. Relief flooded the room like oxygen itself, his parents sagging into each other with sobs of gratitude.

You finally stepped back, sweat dampening the collar of your scrubs, heart pounding with leftover adrenaline. Chishiya peeled his gloves off, his expression calm, as if he hadn’t just pulled a child back from the brink.

The room emptied slowly, leaving you both at the edge of the bed, the hum of machines filling the silence. You blew out a breath, flexing your fingers. “Guess we didn’t make a terrible team.” His eyes slid to you, cool and sharp. “You’re reckless.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Reckless? I kept up with you.” He leaned slightly closer, voice low so no one else could hear. “No. You kept ahead of me. And you should be careful with that.” You met his gaze, fire sparking in your chest. “Maybe I just know what I’m doing.”

For a beat, he said nothing. His eyes lingered on yours, unreadable, though his jaw tightened like he was biting back words. Because the truth was there, clear in the back of his mind: you did know what you were doing. Every move you had made matched what he was about to order. And though he wanted to chalk it up to coincidence or overzealousness, he couldn’t ignore the sharper reality. You had been right. Again.

And Shuntaro Chishiya, who prided himself on never being surprised, was beginning to hate how much you kept surprising him.

The ward had finally settled, the steady hum of monitors fading into background noise as families drifted home for the night. Your shift was almost over, exhaustion pulling at your shoulders, when you heard his voice calling your name.

You turned, pulse skipping before you could stop it. Dr. Chishiya stood a few feet away, his white coat half-unbuttoned, chart tucked under one arm. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… they were sharper than usual. Focused.

“Walk with me,” he said simply. You frowned. “Why?”

“Because I asked.”

Against your better judgment, you followed. He led you down the hall, into an empty consultation room. The door shut behind you with a soft click, the sound echoing in the silence.

He turned then, arms folding across his chest. Despite his average height, something in the way he squared his shoulders made him feel taller, his presence filling the small room. His nostrils flared, jaw tight, and for once his mask of indifference seemed to crack just enough to reveal irritation.

“You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself,” he said evenly, though his voice carried an edge. “You wait for a doctor’s order before you act.”

You let out a short, humourless laugh, crossing your arms to mirror his posture. “I did all the right things. Don’t blame me because my reactions are faster than your words.” His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a competition.” You tilted your chin up defiantly. “If I’d waited for your orders, that boy would’ve been suffering even longer. I’m not going to stand by just to stroke your ego.”

His brows arched, the faintest flicker of amusement breaking through his annoyance. “Ego? You think this is about ego?”

“You tell me,” you shot back, voice low. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell looks like you hate the fact I knew what to do before you opened your mouth.”

For a heartbeat, silence swallowed the room. His gaze locked on yours, sharp as a scalpel. But beneath the anger was something else, something you couldn’t name but felt deep in your chest.

The air between you buzzed. You realised, with a start, how close you had both drifted. Neither of you had moved deliberately, but the space had shrunk, step by step, until the heat of his body brushed against yours. His arms remained folded, but his shoulders leaned forward just enough that his breath ghosted against your cheek when he spoke.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re getting reckless. Again."

“Maybe you just don’t like that I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered back, refusing to drop your gaze. Something flickered in his eyes then. It was neither anger nor amusement, but something different. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing with a swallow.

You hated the way your pulse quickened, hated the way your body leaned forward as though drawn to him despite every sharp word you had ever exchanged. His lips parted, just barely, and for one wild second you thought-

The sound of footsteps passed outside the door, breaking the moment like glass. You both stepped back at once, breaths uneven, masks slamming back into place. His arms unfolded, hands slipping into his coat pockets as if nothing had happened.

“Don’t mistake instinct for brilliance,” he said finally, tone cool again. “It’ll get you in trouble one day.”

You scoffed, turning towards the door. “And don’t mistake detachment for strength. It’ll get you in trouble one day.”

You didn’t look back as you left the room, but you felt his eyes follow you. They were burning into you. And Chishiya hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about you, even as the door clicked shut.

The second you left the consultation room, Chishiya’s composure cracked. Not on the outside, his expression was still cool, his movements deliberate, but on the inside, his thoughts roared louder than he liked to admit.

He stormed out a few minutes later, his footsteps sharp against the linoleum. His jaw ached from clenching it too tightly, his hands jammed deep in his pockets as if he could shove the irritation down with them. You unsettled him.

He couldn’t stand it, the way you moved too quickly, anticipated his orders, challenged him without fear. He should have dismissed you, the way he dismissed everyone. But somehow, you lingered. The way you had stood your ground. The way your voice had dropped low when you spoke back to him. The way you leaned closer instead of retreating when the air between you had tightened.

He hated it. Hated the knot curling in his chest. Hated that it wasn’t just anger, though he told himself it was. Because he had never felt anything. Not good, not bad. Nothing. People didn’t reach him, they slid off his walls like rain on glass. So why were you different? It had to be negative emotions. Frustration. Irritation. Hatred, even. Something ugly. That was easier to accept. That was safe.

Still, the echo of your words followed him down the hall, digging beneath his skin in a way he couldn’t name.

In the meanwhile you had returned to the nurse’s station with your heart still pounding, your arms crossed tight across your chest. Two of the older nurses sat there, sipping coffee, charts stacked between them. They both looked up as you approached, then exchanged identical grins that made your stomach sink.

“What?” you demanded. One of them leaned back in her chair, a smirk tugging at her lips. “So? How does it feel being the only person brave enough to talk back to Dr. Chishiya?” You scoffed, dropping into the chair opposite them. “Brave? Please. It’s not bravery, it’s necessity. He’s insufferable.” The second nurse raised a brow. “That bad?”

“Worse.” You threw your hands up, heat still simmering in your voice. “He walks around like he’s above everyone. Doesn’t acknowledge nurses, doesn’t say thank you, doesn’t even pretend to have a shred of respect. He should realise this place wouldn’t function without us. But no, he acts like he’s the only one keeping the world spinning.” The first nurse sipped her coffee, her grin never faltering.

“And don’t get me started on his attitude,” you continued, your voice climbing despite yourself. “This smug and arrogant piece of-. It’s like talking to a wall, except that wall looks you in the eye and makes you want to throw something. I’ve never met anyone so... so..."

“Infuriating?” the second nurse offered.

“Exactly!” you snapped. “Infuriating. He drives me insane.” The two nurses exchanged another look, quiet, but amused. Their smiles deepened, but neither said a word. You huffed, slumping back in your chair, trying to will the flush from your face. “I can’t stand him.”

They only kept smiling. They had never seen Dr. Chishiya interact with anyone the way he did with you. Almost attached. But they didn’t say that aloud. They just let you ramble, hiding their laughter behind their coffee cups.

Chishiya told himself he was fine. That your words hadn’t gotten under his skin. That the tight coil in his chest was irritation, nothing else.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. The way your hands had moved with confidence during the emergency, anticipating his orders before he gave them. The sharp glint in your eyes when you stood your ground in that empty room. The sting of your voice when you accused him of refusing acknowledgment.

Worst of all, he couldn’t deny the truth. You had worked with him seamlessly. Flawlessly, even. He would never say it aloud, not even to himself, but a part of him wished some of the other nurses had your instincts. Wished he didn’t have to spell out every step, because you already seemed to know.

Over the next few days, he caught himself watching you more than he should have. He told himself it was just caution. That you were reckless, that he needed to keep an eye on you before you made a mistake. But the excuses rang hollow.

He noticed the way you comforted children before drawing blood, the way your voice softened when explaining things to frightened parents, the way your laughter carried through the halls like something foreign to the sterile walls of the hospital.

Sometimes, when you walked into a patient’s room, he followed minutes later. He told himself it was coincidence. But it wasn’t. Something pulled him closer, something he couldn’t explain and he hated that he couldn’t figure it out.

You noticed. Of course you noticed. His eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking. His footsteps behind you, too often to be random. His presence filling rooms he hadn’t bothered with before.

At first, you thought maybe it was about trust, or the lack of it. Maybe he didn’t think you were good enough, so he kept checking in, monitoring your every move. The thought burned in your chest, stoked your irritation, made your jaw ache from clenching.

Your first night shift followed a few weeks later. The ward was quiet, the halls hushed with the stillness of sleeping children. Most of the lights had been dimmed, monitors softly blinking in the darkness.

Dr. Chishiya joined you at the nurse’s station, reading charts while the silence stretched between you, broken only by the scratch of a pen against paper as you updated it. But his presence sat heavy beside you, as if it demanded to be acknowledged.

Finally, you set your pen down with a sigh. “Okay,” you said quietly, turning to him. “What is your deal?” Chishiya didn’t look up from the chart he was reading. “My deal?”

“Yes.” You leaned forward, voice low but sharp. “You’ve been hovering. Watching me. Following me into rooms. I know you don’t trust me, but this is getting ridiculous.”

For the first time, his eyes flicked up to meet yours. His lips curved faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Maybe I’m just making sure you don’t get ahead of yourself again.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Right. Because clearly, I’m such a danger.” The corner of his mouth twitched, his gaze lingering a second too long before dropping back to his chart. “You might be surprised.”

The silence that followed buzzed louder than before, pressing down on your chest. You hated that he could look so calm and casual, while you burned with the weight of his words. But you weren’t about to let him sit there and unravel you without answers.

You couldn’t keep quiet.

“I’m not a danger,” you snapped, pushing your chair back as you rose to your feet. “Not to the patients. Not to this hospital. Not to anyone.”

The clatter of his chart echoed through the quiet ward as Chishiya deliberately set it down, harder than necessary. The sharp sound made you flinch before you could stop yourself. And then he stood.

You immediately regretted standing first. Because when he straightened to his full height, arms at his sides, shoulders squared, he seemed taller, broader. He didn’t have to move a muscle to intimidate you. It was the sheer weight of his presence. His dark eyes locked on yours, reading you like a chart he had already memorised.

The playful edge of your banter was gone. Something heavier filled the silence now, something that made your throat tighten. He stepped closer. Instinctively, you stepped back. Another step from him. Another from you. Until your shoulders hit the wall, cold and unforgiving, the final reminder that you were cornered. Your breath hitched.

He leaned in just enough for his voice to brush against your skin. “Yes,” he murmured. “You are a danger.” Your heart slammed in your chest, your knees locked in place. “To me.”

The words stole the oxygen from the room. And then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t meant to be. His lips pressed hard against yours, urgent and somehow testing. Like he needed to prove something, or maybe disprove it. The spark you had been trying to bury ignited immediately.

You gasped into the kiss and that was all it took for him to deepen it. His hand rose, threading into your hair, holding you still as if you might dare to pull away. His other hand pressed against the wall beside your head, caging you in.

Your hatred and your irritation crumbled beneath the fire of his mouth. You kissed him back, harder than you intended, nails curling into the fabric of his scrub top. His lips softened, then pressed harder again, the rhythm messy, hungry. Like neither of you could decide if this was war or surrender.

He tasted faintly of coffee and mint and smelled of antiseptic and something warmer beneath it. Skin and heat.

The world narrowed to the heat of his body pressed against yours, the soft hitch of his breath, the low hum in his throat when your lips parted and the kiss grew deeper still.

And then, too suddenly, he broke away. His eyes held yours for a single, endless moment. You felt unsteady. Without a word, he reached past you. Grabbed his pager. Then yours. His hand wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you with him. Down the hall, silent except for the echo of your footsteps. Past the closed doors of sleeping children. Past the empty break room.

Until he pushed open the door to his on-call room. The lock clicked behind you. And the silence between you burned hotter than ever. For a single, suspended heartbeat, you both stood still, your breaths the only sound in the room.

Then Chishiya moved. He pushed you back against the door, his mouth finding yours again with none of the hesitation from before. This kiss was rougher, hotter, like he had decided against restraint the moment he dragged you here.

Your hands flew to his chest, meaning to push him away, but the heat of his body under your palms betrayed you. Instead of shoving him, you clutched at the fabric of his scrubs, pulling him closer.

“You annoy me so very much,” you gasped between kisses, lips brushing his. “Mm.” His hand slid to your waist, anchoring you against him. His voice was low, almost taunting. “You’re not much better.”

Your laugh turned into a breathless sound as his lips trailed along your jaw, teeth grazing lightly at the edge of your skin. His fingers splayed over your hip, tugging you flush against him.

“I really don't like you,” you whispered harshly, your hands now sliding up into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. “Good.” His lips crashed back onto yours urgently. “Because I don’t like you either.”

But the way his mouth devoured yours, the way his hands roamed so desperately said otherwise.

Every kiss felt like a battle neither of you wanted to lose. Your teeth caught his bottom lip. He answered with a low growl against your mouth. His hand dragged down your spine, pulling another involuntary gasp from you and his lips curved into a smirk at the sound.

“Smug bastard,” you muttered breathlessly, shoving at his shoulder only to pull him right back to you.

“Hypocrite,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you harder, swallowing whatever comeback you might have had.

Everything blurred into heat and need, your bodies pressed so close there was no space left. Every movement, every kiss carried that edge of defiance, as if both of you were trying to prove you could keep this on enemy ground.

But your hands wouldn’t leave him, exploring the shape of his shoulders, the line of his neck, the warmth beneath his clothes. And his touch was no better, memorising you, claiming you, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the thought of space between you.

The line you had both sworn to keep, that wall of hate, of irritation, shattered beneath the heat of his mouth and the desperate way your bodies sought each other out. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But neither of you wanted it to stop.

"Tell me to stop and I will." Chishiya removed his mouth from yours, giving you room to decide. But you pulled him right back. "Don't." You whispered in between kisses.

He was quick to remove your scrubs, letting them fall to the floor where his white coat already waited. "Are you on birth control?" He asked casually and you nodded. "Any STDs I should know about?" You shook your head no as he kissed down your throat. "Good." He muttered, his hand slipping into your panties. Your breath was caught in your throat, replaced with a soft moan escaping your lips.

He ran his fingers along your slit, smirking at your wetness. Then he plunged one digit into you.

His mouth left you, your skin still feeling hot from his kisses. He just watched you. Watched your body react to whatever he was doing. How your facial expression changed when he curled his finger inside you. How you held your breath when he pumped it in and out of you at a fast pace.

His cock was throbbing in his underwear. He couldn't think of a single time he had ever been this turned on. And when you came around his finger, a low moan escaped his throat.

You were still catching your breath when Chishiya grabbed you and pushed you onto the bed. He quickly took off his remaining clothes, his erection slapping against his lower belly when he removed his underwear.

You stared at him until he was hovering above you. "You can still leave. It's your choice." He whispered. There was no emotion in his voice. But still, you shook your head, not wanting to leave.

That was enough for him to finally slide his cock inside you. You moaned loudly, your fingers curling in his hair. Chishiya didn't give you a lot of time to adjust before he started moving. He lifted his upper body, placing your legs on his shoulder, pulling you up slightly to get just the right angle.

He was skilled, there was no denial in that. Chishiya had his fair share of female encounters. Not that any of those ever meant anything. He made sure to always clarify that before anything ever happened. Sex had never been more to him than taking care of his body's needs.

But right now, he couldn't take his eyes off you. He couldn't stop noticing every small change in your features, in your posture. He wanted you to enjoy this as much as he did. He wanted to pleasure you.

Chishiya moved effortlessly, his cock rubbing the insides of your pussy in just the right motions.

You felt all the stress and anger leave your body. His grasp on your thighs was firm, pressing them against his front as he slammed his cock into you over and over again.

When you moaned his name, he let go of your legs, leaning forward and kissing you fiercely. He was never one to enjoy kissing. And he especially didn't need it during sex. But right now it felt as if his lips were pulled to yours and he couldn't resist. Your mouth felt soft against his, warm and welcoming. The small moans that slipped past your lips only encouraged him.

You wrapped your legs around him. He groaned at the sensation. It was driving him insane how good you felt. He cursed under his breath, his hand reaching for your tit, pulling it out of your bra. His mouth found your nipple, his tongue flickering over it before sucking harshly. Your walls started clenching as your orgasm approached. Chishiya noticed immediately. His head shot back up, his eyes meeting yours. He used his thumb and index finger to continue rubbing your nipple, pinching it softly.

He watched you intensely as your orgasm washed over you. It was almost enough to just push him over the edge right then and there.

Your body was still shaking when you grabbed the back of his head, pulling him towards you and kissing him hard. Your tongue slid into his mouth as his thrusts became uneven. He was breathing heavily, as if to avoid any moans from slipping out.

He pulled away, searching your eyes once more before a low groan erupted from his throat. He pulled his cock out of you, his hand ready to give the last few strokes until he came all over you. But you reached down, replacing his hand with yours, guiding him through his orgasm.

And once again, Chishiya found himself being surprised by you.

The room was still thick with heat, your breath uneven as you lay tangled in the sheets, Chishiya at your side. His arm wasn’t around you, of course it wasn’t, but he hadn’t moved away either. His chest rose and fell steadily, eyes fixed on the ceiling as though this had been nothing more than a distraction, a puzzle solved.

Then the shrill beep of a pager shattered the silence. You shot upright immediately, your pulse still hammering from what you had just done. “Shit.”

Clothes were tugged on in haste, your hands trembling just slightly as you shoved your scrub top back over your head. Chishiya, annoyingly calm, was already dressed before you had found your shoes.

He glanced at the pager. “I’ve got it,” he said flatly, already moving towards the door. But that didn’t stop you. “Like hell you do,” you muttered, rushing after him, tugging your hair back into something resembling order as you caught up.

The call led you both to the room of a little girl, no older than seven, sat upright in bed with wide eyes, clutching her blanket like a shield. The call light above her bed still blinked. "I've- I've had a nightmare." She spoke, voice cracked.

Chishiya sighed under his breath, shoulders tensing. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. You shot him a glare, then crouched beside the girl’s bed, your voice soft and warm. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re okay. It was just a dream.” Her lip trembled. “I saw… I saw the bad man again.”

You smoothed a strand of hair from her damp forehead, speaking as though the world outside her blanket didn’t exist. “Bad men can’t get you here. You’re safe in this room. And that call button you just pressed?” You gestured gently toward it. “That’s your shield. Whenever you’re scared, you press it, and someone comes. You’re not alone, okay?” The little girl nodded, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. She sniffled once before curling back down under the covers.

Chishiya shifted beside the door, clearly restless. He wasn’t needed here, not really, the girl was fine. But still, he didn’t leave. He stayed and watched you.

His dark eyes followed the way you tucked the blanket around her, the way your voice dropped to a near-whisper, melodic and calm. He couldn’t fathom where that kind of warmth came from, or why it made something twist inside his chest.

When the girl finally drifted back to sleep, you rose quietly, brushing your palms down your scrub pants. Chishiya caught your gaze across the room, something strange flickering in his expression. He should have walked away. But he didn’t.

You pulled the door closed behind you with careful quiet, exhaling softly as though you had been holding your breath. The hallway was dim, hushed with the weight of the night.

Chishiya stood a few steps away, arms folded, leaning against the wall. His face was carved into his usual, detached mask, but his eyes hadn’t moved from you.

“You waste your energy,” he said finally, voice flat as ever. “Coddling her like that." You turned your head sharply, narrowing your eyes. “She’s a child who was scared.”

“She’s a patient,” he countered without missing a beat. “Not your daughter. Pressing the call button for a nightmare isn’t a medical emergency, it’s manipulation.”

Your jaw tightened. “Maybe to you. But she doesn’t see it that way. To her, that call button is safety. And if a few minutes of comfort helps her sleep through the night, then it’s not wasted energy. It’s humanity.”

His lips curved in the faintest hint of a smirk, but it wasn’t amusement, it was armour. “You really think the world runs on ‘humanity’? That’s naive.”

“And you really think the world runs on detachment?” you shot back, your voice low and sharp. “Not everything has to be cold efficiency, Dr. Chishiya. Medicine isn’t just about charts and diagnoses. Sometimes it’s about being human.”

For a second, the silence between you buzzed. His gaze lingered on you longer than it should have, searching, as though he wanted to argue, but couldn’t quite find the words. Finally, he scoffed softly, pushing off the wall. “You’ll burn yourself out. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. But it seems this job is not for you. You're too emotionally involved. I don't even want to imagine how it'll break you when you lose your first patient. You'd be better off working as anything but a nurse."

And with that, he walked past, hands in his pockets, as if your words hadn’t gotten under his skin. But they had. He could feel them. Like splinters lodged too deep to ignore. But worse, his words had gotten to you and they had hurt you, your heart cracking the slightest bit.

Chishiya didn’t sleep much that night. Not because of the shift, not because of the pager that went off twice more before dawn. Because of you.

He thought dragging you into his on-call room, kissing you until you were both breathless, giving in to that gnawing pull in his chest, would end it. That it would strip the curiosity bare, prove you were nothing more than a distraction, a fleeting itch his body wanted to scratch. But it didn’t. It made everything worse.

The memory clung to him like static. Your lips on his, your nails pressing into the back of his neck, the way your breath hitched when he pulled you closer. The heat of your body still lingered in his hands like he had branded himself with it. He hated it.

He hated that when he closed his eyes, he saw you. He hated that his mind, usually so sharp and efficient, replayed the way you had whispered his name as though it was worth something.

It should have been enough. One night. A mistake, neatly folded away. But his body disagreed.

The next day, he caught himself looking for you more than once. His eyes flicked towards the nurses’ station without meaning to. Every time you walked into a room, something in him screamed to follow. To be near you. And he despised it.

What even was this? He had never felt tethered to anyone. Patients were cases. Colleagues were tools. People were predictable pieces in a puzzle he could manipulate at will. But you… you weren’t playing by any rules he knew. You unraveled him. And he didn’t know how to stop it.

So, he did what he always did. He folded his arms tighter, let his eyes flatten into that familiar mask, and convinced himself this was irritation. Just irritation. Negative emotions, nothing more. Because the alternative, the idea that he wanted you or even needed you, that some part of him cared, was unthinkable.

Still, when he saw you across the ward later that day, leaning down to tie a little boy’s shoe while he giggled through his oxygen mask, Chishiya felt his stomach clench. His jaw tightened and he looked away before anyone noticed. He hated this. He hated you. So why did he keep watching?

You hadn’t slept much after that night either. Not because of regret. But because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Not only the night, but his cold and sharp words after. It left your chest restless, your skin hot, your thoughts a mess. And you hated yourself for it. But even more, you hated him for talking to you like that.

So the following days, you did what you thought was best: avoid him.

When he passed by the nurse’s station, you buried yourself in charts. When he lingered in a room too long, you slipped out quickly. But still, you noticed him. His gaze lingered. Always too long. Always when he thought you wouldn’t catch it.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That you had moved on already. But the pit in your stomach said otherwise. His words had hurt you.

When he tried to speak to you, you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a fight. Your replies were clipped, ice-cold and stripped of the usual banter. You didn’t even look at him.

And for the first time, he was the one unsettled. Because silence from you felt worse than any argument. And he didn’t know why.

The rest of the day, Chishiya was on edge. He had tried every tactic he usually used on you. Sarcasm, sharp remarks, little jabs meant to provoke. But you barely reacted. A clipped “mhmm.” A tight-lipped “yes, doctor.” No fire, no fight. And it infuriated him.

By the end of your shift, he had enough. As you walked down the corridor towards the locker rooms, he caught your wrist, not harsh, but firm enough that you stopped. He didn’t say a word, just tugged you into the nearest empty on-call room.

You pulled your arm free immediately, glaring at him. “This is not happening again.” The confidence in his smirk was unbearable. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.” He didn’t move closer though. Didn’t corner you. Didn't pressure you. He just stood there, arms loose at his sides, eyes fixed on you. Waiting.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” His voice was smooth, but softer than usual. “Go on. Let it out.” Something in the way he said it, like he actually wanted to hear you, broke through your restraint.

“You know,” you said, your voice steady but your chest aching, “the things you said to me the other day… they hurt. You had no right.”

“Words hurt when you put too much weight on them.” You stepped closer, fists clenched at your sides. “Don’t twist this. I’m sorry for whatever forced you to become such a cold and detached person, but that doesn’t give you the right to throw it on everyone else. To throw it on me.”

Something flickered in his eyes, so quick it was gone before you could pin it down. “Detached is safe. Detached means control.”

“Well then, congratulations on being detached.” you shot back, surprising even yourself with the edge in your tone. His jaw tightened. “I wish I was.” His voice was quieter now, lower, but the weight of it pressed into you like a confession he hadn’t meant to give. “I wish I didn’t feel anything. I wish I could ignore it all like before. But you-" he broke off, exhaling sharply, shaking his head as if the words themselves betrayed him. “You keep trying to break it.”

The room stilled, your heart pounding against your ribs. You swallowed hard, stepping closer still. “So what? You’ve been rude to me on purpose? Hurt me just to push me away? Is that it?”

Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. His eyes stayed locked on yours and for the first time, they weren’t cold or empty. They were conflicted. Vulnerable.

Finally, his shoulders sank just slightly. “Yes.” The word cut between you like a blade. He shifted his weight, gaze hard but voice soft. “I thought it was the safest option. Because…” His throat worked as he forced the words out. “Because this-" he gestured vaguely between you, as though even naming it was unbearable, "it scares me.”

Your breath hitched. He hadn’t admitted to feelings, not directly, but it was enough to rattle you. Enough to confirm what your gut had screamed at you for weeks. The wall he had built wasn’t for you to climb, but for him to hide behind.

The silence after his confession was suffocating. He waited, arms crossed, chest tight, expecting you to snap again, to throw his words back at him. Instead, you just stared. Your voice, when it finally came, was quiet, too quiet. “…That’s really selfish of you.”

The words cut sharper than any scalpel. And before he could respond, you turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind you.

For the first time in his life, Chishiya felt the ground give way beneath him. He had always prided himself on control. On being five steps ahead of everyone else. Mistakes were for other people. Not him. But this? This was a mistake so obvious it burned.

He hated the gnawing in his chest, hated how your eyes had looked at him, hurt and betrayed. The truth was, you hadn’t deserved any of it. Not his barbs, not his distance, not the way he had tried to cut you down just to keep himself safe.

For years, he had lived without guilt. Without regret. He prided himself on it. But now, for the first time, the word burned on his tongue. Regret.

He found you later at the nurses’ station, filling out paperwork. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead washed the warmth from your features, but your lips were pressed tight and he knew that tension was because of him.

He spoke your name softly. You didn’t look up at first, just muttered, “Doctor,” and kept writing. The formal address cut sharper than any of your past retorts.

Chishiya drew in a breath, shoved his hands into his pockets like he always did when he was trying to pretend he wasn’t unraveling. “I… You are an immaculate nurse with an immense amount of knowledge and the patients adore you. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that." Your pen stilled mid-word. Slowly, you looked up, brows raised. “Did you just- apologise?” He hated how it made his throat tighten. “Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. For once, he wasn’t smug. He looked genuine. And it disarmed you more than all the arguments combined.

You studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Apology accepted.” Something eased in his chest, something he hadn’t even realised was wound so tight. He looked away quickly, muttering, “Good,” as if the word itself embarrassed him.

But as he turned to leave, you caught the faintest trace of relief in his expression. Relief that told you this wasn’t just another manipulation, another deflection. This was real.

The following days returned to their usual rhythm, or at least, that’s how it looked on the surface. You and Chishiya were back at it again: sharp words exchanged in the hallways, sarcastic comments over charts, bickering like always. Anyone watching would think nothing had changed.

But you noticed things. How paperwork that should have landed on your desk mysteriously disappeared, already completed in his precise handwriting. How a cup of hot tea sat waiting at the nurse’s station when you returned from long rounds, steam curling gently upward. How, for the briefest moment when he thought you weren’t looking, his gaze lingered. It was soft, simply making sure you were okay, and then it was gone in an instant.

It was a particularly heavy afternoon when the case came in. A six-year-old girl named Aimi, pale and listless in her mother’s arms. She had been brought in for recurring fevers and joint pain. Her paediatrician had already tried antibiotics twice, but nothing had changed.

Chishiya was flipping through her chart when you walked into the station with the vitals you had just taken.

“Fever again,” you said, setting the clipboard down. “And it's high. 39.4C. Her joints are tender to the touch, especially her knees. She hasn’t eaten much in the last three days.”

He barely looked up. “Probably another viral infection. Happens often in children.” You frowned, crossing your arms. “Except she’s been in and out of clinics for a month. And her blood work," you tapped the chart, “her white cell count is elevated, but it’s not consistent with a straightforward infection.”

He gave you a sidelong glance, half-amused. “What’s your theory, then?” You hesitated, then said quietly, “It reminds me of juvenile idiopathic arthritis. The joint pain, the recurring fever spikes… and her mother mentioned rashes a few weeks ago. That fits, doesn’t it?” Chishiya leaned back in his chair, studying you. “Interesting.” His tone was cold, but there was something sharper in his eyes. “But you’re forgetting the enlarged lymph nodes.” Your brows knitted. “…So you’re thinking something hematological?”

“Leukaemia, possibly.” His voice was flat, as though he was testing the words on his tongue. “But the course doesn’t quite fit. Her anaemia is mild, not progressive. No blasts in the smear.” You bit your lip, staring at the labs again. “Then maybe it’s systemic lupus? Kids can get it. It could explain the fever, the joint inflammation, the rash, even the lymphadenopathy.”

For a long moment, silence stretched between you. Both of you staring at the same chart, minds circling the same puzzle from different angles. Finally, Chishiya exhaled through his nose, the closest he ever came to a sigh. “You’re not wrong.” He reached for a pen, tapping it against the paper. “Let’s order an ANA panel. Anti-dsDNA, complement levels. And repeat her ESR and CRP.”

You nodded quickly. “And I’ll talk to her mother. Ask about any history of sun sensitivity or ulcers.”

His gaze flicked towards you, "Thank you.”

Hours later, the results came back. ANA strongly positive. dsDNA elevated. Low complement. It was lupus.

Together, you broke the news to the girl’s mother, explaining the plan. Steroids to control inflammation, close monitoring, follow-ups with rheumatology. Chishiya handled the medical details, calm and precise as always, while you sat close to the mother, grounding the words in gentleness, in hope. And when you left the room, there was no banter, no fight. Just a charged quiet. For once, the two of you had been on the same side. And it felt… dangerously natural.

Chishiya had expected the usual sting of irritation when you spoke over him, but it hadn’t come. Instead, what lingered was a steady hum beneath his skin. You had seen what he had seen. You had filled in the gaps where he hadn’t yet reached. It should have annoyed him.

But instead, all he could think was how easily the diagnosis had clicked into place with you standing next to him. How the silences hadn’t been awkward but… weighted. Like working with a second mind that already knew where his was heading.

That unsettled him most of all.

For a while, he walked alongside you in silence, hands in the pockets of his coat. Then, almost out of nowhere, his voice slipped low.

“…Why didn’t you become a doctor?” You blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re sharp,” he said simply, eyes forward. “Most nurses wouldn’t have put lupus on the table before the labs confirmed it. So, why not med school?”

You gave a small laugh, though there was no humour in it. “Because med school costs more than my family had. My parents worked themselves raw just to keep food on the table. University was… never on the list.”

Chishiya finally glanced at you, eyes narrowed, not in judgment but in something closer to curiosity. “So you chose nursing instead.”

“Chose?” you echoed, raising a brow. “I’d call it settling. But it was the only way I could work in medicine without drowning in debt. And I do love the patients. Especially the kids.” You smiled faintly, then added, “But if I had had the chance? Yeah. I probably would have wanted to become a doctor.”

He tilted his head, studying you like one of his puzzles. “…You’d be a good one.” Your head snapped toward him. “Did you just- was that a compliment?” The corner of his mouth twitched, the faintest ghost of amusement. “Don’t get used to it.” You scoffed, but the warmth that spread in your chest betrayed you.

Still, his questions didn’t stop.

“What made you choose paediatrics?” he asked next, his tone deceptively casual. “Out of all the wards.”

You shrugged. “Kids are… honest. They don’t hide when they’re in pain, they don’t play games the way adults do. And when you help them feel better, it shows immediately. It feels like…” You trailed off, suddenly aware of how much you were saying, and to him of all people. “Never mind.” But he didn’t let it drop. “It feels like what?”

Your eyes met his. There was no cold detachment in his face now. Just an intent focus, as though he was peeling back each layer of your answer like it was another riddle to solve. You swallowed. “Like it matters.” For a moment, the words just hung there, heavy in the quiet corridor. And Chishiya, this man who never gave anything away, gave you another compliment, so soft you almost missed it.

“…It does matter. Because you matter." Then he added quickly, "because your work matters." He looked away then, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, as if he hadn’t just said the most un-Chishiya thing imaginable.

You narrowed your eyes at him, but a sly smile tugged at your lips. “Did Dr. Chishiya, the Dr. Chishiya, just say something… nice? I think the world might be ending.” He gave you a flat look. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll just carve it into the wall of the nurse’s station. You know, so everyone remembers the day Dr. Shuntaro Chishiya grew a heart.” He huffed quietly, the closest thing to a laugh you had heard from him. “I regret opening my mouth already.” But the amusement in his eyes betrayed the words.

The hospital was quiet, the halls dim. Another night shift.

You glanced across the nurse’s station where Chishiya leaned against the counter, pale under the harsh fluorescent light. His posture was as straight as ever, but you saw it in the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, in the faint shadow under his eyes.

“You look like hell,” you said flatly. His gaze flicked to you, unimpressed. “Your compliments need work.”

You crossed your arms. “You should get some rest. There’s no point in you sitting here glaring at the wall when you’re too tired to see straight. Go to the on-call room.” He arched a brow. “You’re dismissing me?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned. “Nurse's orders.” That actually got the ghost of a smirk out of him. But still, he didn’t argue, slipping away towards the on-call room, leaving you to your rounds.

It came without warning. Alarms blared, monitors flashing red. A patient had crashed. A boy with a seizure disorder suddenly in respiratory distress.

You didn’t wait. Adrenaline surged, your training snapping into place as you stabilised his airway, administered oxygen and got IV access. The other nurse on duty moved around you, but you were the steady core, your voice calm, directing where needed. By the time the boy’s vitals leveled, your heart was pounding, your palms clammy.

But still no Dr. Chishiya.

You didn’t hesitate. You rushed down the hall and pounded on the on-call room door.

“Dr. Chishiya! Emergency!” A muffled voice came back, “Come in.” You shoved the door open, breathless. He was already on his feet, half-dressed, tugging his coat over his shoulders. His hair was messy, strands falling over his forehead in a way you had never seen before. For half a second, you froze, heat rushing up your neck, before dragging your eyes away.

“The boy in Room 212. Seizure followed by respiratory distress. I secured his airway, gave him oxygen, got IV access and started fluids.”

Chishiya stilled mid-movement, his hands frozen on the buttons of his coat. His eyes flicked to you. He stopped fastening the buttons.

“You did everything I would’ve done,” he said finally, his tone quieter than usual. “Exactly right. There was nothing else I could have added.” Your breath hitched slightly. “Sorry for waking you, then-"

He shook his head once, decisive, and before you could finish, he closed the distance between you in two quick steps. His hands came up, firm but not rough, cupping your face. And then he kissed you.

It was deep, all the restraint he usually wrapped himself in torn away. His lips crashed against yours with something almost desperate, as if every unspoken thought, every ignored pull, every denial had combusted into this moment.

You gasped against him, but your hands were already fisting in his coat, pulling him closer, unable to resist the fire that had been simmering between you for so long.

The kiss didn’t break, it only grew hotter. His fingers tightened against your jaw, tilting your face up as if he couldn’t get close enough. You had kissed him before, but this was different. Less curiosity, less testing. This was hunger.

He pulled back just an inch, his forehead pressed against yours, breath ragged. For once, his eyes weren’t unreadable. They were raw, burning with something he couldn’t mask.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, voice low, almost pained. “Every time I tell myself to keep away, it only gets worse. I’m tired of it. Tired of you being in my head.”

Your chest tightened, your hands sliding up into his messy hair. His honesty, however begrudging, hit you harder than the kiss itself.

“Then don’t stay away,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.

Whatever thin thread of restraint he had left snapped. His mouth was on yours again, rougher this time, desperate. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, his body pressing against yours like he needed the contact to breathe. You clutched at his coat, pulling him down, until there was no space left to close.

The kisses grew more intense, each one more urgent than the last. His hands slid from your face, down your sides, gripping your waist as if grounding himself in the feel of you. You gasped against him and he swallowed it greedily, lips parting wider.

There was banter buried somewhere between you, but it never made it past your lips this time. Only heat, only need. The air in the room was thick with the inevitability of this collision. You weren’t enemies here, you weren’t colleagues. You were two people who had tried far too long to fight something impossible to resist.

And as his hands tangled with yours, pinning them against the wall, the truth settled heavy in your chest. Neither of you were going to win this war. Not when every kiss made the hatred blur into something frighteningly close to want.

"I've never wanted anyone this badly." He murmured as he knelt down in front of you. When his hands reached your waistband he lingered, his eyes finding yours, looking for any sign of non-consent. But you just bit your lip, nodding softly.

Chishiya pulled your trousers and panties down in one swift motion. Your eyes widened at the sudden exposure. He steadied you as you stepped out of your scrub bottoms. He kept your legs spread, a soft smirk plastering his face before he dived in.

His mouth was on your cunt, his tongue finding your clit immediately. He groaned softly at the taste of you. Like he'd been starved and your pussy was the only thing that could finally still his hunger.

Chishiya was usually never the most vocal person during any sexual encounter. But when he looked up and saw the way you looked at him, he couldn't hold back. The moans escaped his throat, the vibrations driving you crazy.

His hand moved to your clit, his thumb replacing his mouth as he licked deeper down. He plunged his tongue into you, his face now buried completely. Your hands found his hair, holding his head steady as you pressed your cunt harder against his face. He couldn't care less that he had trouble breathing. All he cared about was getting you closer to your orgasm.

"Oh, God." You threw your head back, your walls started clenching around his tongue. His thumb was rubbing your clit in just the right motions. "Fuck, Chishiya." You moaned out loud as you came all over his face. He made sure to lick up your juices and when he finally removed himself from your cunt, his face was covered in them.

Chishiya's eyes found yours, looking at you almost in disbelief. His dick was throbbing and he had almost come in his trousers just from eating you out like that.

"Remind me to make you sit on my face one day and let you ride it until you come all over it again." His voice was so low, he was almost purring. He grabbed a towel from the ensuite bathroom to clean his face. You watched him, still pressed against the wall, still catching your breath.

You walked over to him on wobbly legs and knelt down in front of him. "Time to return the favour." You pulled down his trousers and gave him no time to react before you took his cock into your mouth. He tasted salty from the pre-cum already leaking.

A sound that seemed almost inhuman filled the room as he dropped the towel to the floor and fisted his hand into your hair. He stopped you from continuing to bob your head. You looked up at him in confusion. "As much as I love your enthusiasm and would want to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, I'm not gonna last long like this. And I really just want to bury my cock deep inside you and fill your cunt with my cum."

Your jaw dropped in shock as you heard such dirty words leave his lips. He smirked at you as he pulled you back up, taking off your remaining clothes, followed by his. He wrapped his arms around you and turned you around so your back was pressed flush against his front. His skin was hot against yours. "Did I just make you speechless?" Something close to a low chuckle sounded close to your ear as he walked you over to the bed. One of his hands found your tit, squeezing the soft flesh as he bit your throat before sucking the sensitive skin, leaving a mark. "Bend down for me, sweetheart, would you?" And you did, placing your hands on the mattress to steady yourself.

Chishiya lined himself up behind you, his hand caressing your butt cheek before giving it a soft smack. His breath hitched as he grabbed your waist and slid his length into you. Your grip tightened around the sheets and you were unable to suppress the loud moans as he started fucking you from behind.

His thrusts were sloppy and eager. He had already been close to orgasm once tonight, so he knew he'd probably not last long. His hand snaked around your body, his soft fingertips finding your clit. He wanted to make this as pleasant for you as it was for him.

Your arms started to shake, not being able to hold yourself up any longer, as he continued to slam his cock in and out of you mercilessly. Your upper body collapsed onto the mattress. But he continued fucking you, the tip of his dick hitting just the right spot. You felt yourself getting close again.

You heard him groaning behind you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. His fingers were still rubbing circles on your clit. And just like that, he threw you over the edge for the second time tonight. Your body jolted, your moans muffled by the mattress. He smacked your butt harder this time, guiding you through your orgasm until your body stopped shaking.

Chishiya cursed under his breath, flipping you over effortlessly. He was on top of you, his cock buried deep inside you as he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was desperate, his tongue clashing against yours. Sweat plastered his face and you didn't think you had ever seen someone as attractive as him. Hovering above you, desperation and hunger on his face. He moaned your name loudly, "fuck, I'm gonna cum." You could feel his cock twitch inside you as he shot his load into you, collapsing on top of you.

He stayed like this for a while, both of you panting, trying to catch your breath. When he pulled out of you, you felt his cum dripping from your cunt.

He almost moaned at the sight of it before walking into the bathroom.

For a moment, you thought he would retreat into that familiar detachment, maybe hand you something like a cloth without even meeting your eyes. But instead, he returned with a damp towel, crouching down at the edge of the bed. He didn’t pass it to you. He cleaned you with it himself.

He was gentle. The same precision he carried in his work, but with something different threaded through it now, something softer. His eyes stayed fixed on his task, jaw tight, but you noticed the faint crease between his brows, as though concentration was the only way he knew how to keep this from becoming too vulnerable. You blinked at him, your heart tugging.

When he finally set the towel aside, he slid back into the bed. You expected distance, like in that night you had already shared not too long ago. But he didn’t leave an inch between you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, your back to his chest. His warmth seeped into you, his breath brushing your hair.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. His breathing grew slower, as he almost fell asleep.

“I should get ready for rounds,” you whispered into the dark. There was a pause, then his voice came low, rough with exhaustion and something unguarded, "Stay. Let your colleague do it.”

A soft laugh escaped you, though your chest tightened. “I can’t just do that.” You slipped from his arm, searching for your clothes in the dim light. Behind you, you heard the shift of sheets, the faintest sigh as he pushed himself upright, his hair tousled, as he sat on the edge of the bed watching you.

You put on your scrubs, smoothing the fabric, trying to steady your hands. When you reached for the door, his voice stopped you. He whispered your name ever so softly.

You turned, hand still on the handle. He was leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, but his eyes caught yours. And they seemed... uncharacteristically unguarded, a softness beneath their usual sharpness. His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “Will you come back when you finished your rounds?”

The question startled you. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the raw want woven through them. Chishiya, who thrived in distance, who kept every bond at arm’s length, was asking you to come back to him.

You held his gaze for a long moment. Something in your chest softened, your lips curving in a small, genuine smile. You gave a single nod. “Yes.”

His eyes lingered on your smile as though committing it to memory. And as you slipped out of the room, he lay back against the pillows, surprised and a little shaken by how much the thought of you not coming back would have unsettled him.

He hated it. He had built his life on control, on indifference. Nothing touched him. Not patients. Not colleagues. Not anyone.

But you had. You had slipped through defences he didn’t even realise he had and now the thought of you not coming back tonight made something deep in him ache.

Lying in the dark, he pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes with a quiet groan. You’re a damn problem. And I don’t know if I can ever solve it. Solve you.

A/N: i'm sorry this got out of hand but the amount of love i have for doctor! chishiya is unmatched. he's just so- 🥵

Taglist (18+): @mypsychoticlove @rurujm @butterishjam

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