The hallway felt smaller, tighter, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of us. His voice still lingered in the air—"Stop running from me."
I froze, my hands clutching the strap of my bag like it could anchor me to reality. I wanted to say something, anything, but words failed me. My chest was pounding, ears ringing with the rhythm of my own heartbeat.
He took a step closer. I could smell him then.. clean, faintly sharp, impossible to ignore. The air between us felt charged, like static before a storm.
"You don't understand," I whispered, barely able to look at him.
He tilted his head, studying me, dark eyes softening. "I think I understand more than you realize."
My throat tightened. My fingers curled around my bag, and I realized I was holding on for dear life not to the bag, but to the wall, to anything to keep myself from collapsing into him.
He moved closer still, until there was no space left between us. I could feel the warmth of his body, the rise and fall of his chest, the quiet certainty in the way he stood.
"Grace," he said, low, almost a growl, "why do you push me away?"
I swallowed hard. "Because—because I can't…"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached out. His hand brushed my hair back from my face, fingers lingering near my cheek. My breath hitched.
"Because you care too much?" he guessed softly.
I nodded, unable to speak, feeling the weight of the words I didn't say.
He exhaled, a small, rough sound that made my stomach flutter. "You don't have to fight me."
And then… the impossible happened.
His hands found my waist, pulling me just slightly closer not aggressively, not forcefully, just enough that the space between us vanished. My hands instinctively went to his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath his coat.
We were inches apart, and the world had disappeared. I could feel the warmth of his body, smell the faint cologne, hear the soft intake of his breath.
He lowered his head slowly. My eyes closed instinctively, heart hammering, anticipation thick in the air. His lips hovered near mine so close I could feel the heat of him, the weight of the moment, the ache of weeks of longing and tension.
And then...
A pager went off in the nurse's station down the hall, a shrill, impossible sound that shattered the bubble around us.
He jumped back instinctively, hands still lingering near my waist, eyes wide and alert.
I blinked, caught between relief and frustration, my pulse still racing.
He ran a hand through his hair, forcing back the tension in his shoulders, and said softly, almost like a confession:
"We… we'll finish this later."
And just like that, he was gone, walking briskly down the hall, leaving me standing there, trembling, heart still pounding, breath still caught, and the ghost of his hands against my waist burned into my skin.
I wanted to follow him. I wanted to tell him I couldn't stay away, that I didn't want him to go. But all I could do was watch, my legs heavy, every nerve screaming for more.
The hallway was quiet again, except for the faint echo of my own heartbeat and the promise that this story was far from over.
A few hours later
The rain started quietly, a soft drizzle. I hadn't planned to be on the rooftop tonight, but somehow, my feet led me there.
And there he was.
Dr. Maet. Standing alone at the edge, coat draped over his arm, hair damp from the rain. If anything, it made him sharper—like he was waiting for me to collapse into him, or run, or maybe both.
I stopped a few feet away, heart hammering. "Doctor…" My voice caught, fragile.
He didn't move immediately. Just watched me, quiet, unreadable, and yet completely magnetic. "You came," he said, low.
I swallowed hard. "I… ."
There it was... the truth I'd been trying to hide for weeks. He stepped closer, and suddenly the space between us felt unbearably small. My chest tightened. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of cologne mixing with the rain.
"Grace," he said, voice trembling just slightly, betraying the calm facade he always wore in the hospital. "I've been waiting. I didn't know how long I could."
My hands trembled at my sides. "I... " I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
He reached for me. Not slowly, not hesitantly, but deliberately, as if every step had been thought out. His hands rested gently on my waist, pulling me just slightly closer.
The rain fell harder, soaking our coats, plastering his hair to his forehead, making everything around us blur. I could hear my own breath, fast and shallow, mixed with the quiet rhythm of the raindrops.
He leaned in. I felt the heat of him against me. His lips hovered just above mine, and the world held its breath with us. I could feel his hands tighten gently around my waist, anchoring me to him, drawing me in.
"Grace…" His voice was a whisper, rough with emotion. "I can't stop… thinking about you."
I closed my eyes, letting the words sink in. "Neither can I," I admitted, voice shaking.
The distance vanished. His lips brushed mine softly at first, tentative, testing the waters. My hands tightened on his chest, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepened... not forceful, not urgent, but a slow, burning kind of surrender that made my knees weak and my heart leap.
The rain poured on us, cold against our skin, but I barely noticed. The only thing that existed was him... his lips, his hands, the way his chest rose and fell against mine. My head spun, the weeks of longing, of denial, of stolen glances and near-touches, all melting into this one moment.
He pulled back slightly, just enough for our foreheads to touch, breaths mingling. His hands stayed on my waist, holding me close, grounding me. His eyes, dark and deep, searched mine.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he whispered.
I smiled, heart pounding. "I think I have some idea now."
And then… a sudden alarm from the hospital below pierced the night—the faint, metallic beep-beep of a call we couldn't ignore.
He sighed, reluctantly pulling back, but his hands lingered on my waist, thumbs brushing softly. "We'll finish this," he said, eyes locking on mine, promise and fire mixed in that single glance.
I nodded, breathless, the kiss still tingling on my lips, my heart still trapped somewhere in his arms.
He didn't wait for a response. He turned, ran down the stairs back to the hospital.
And there I stood, soaked to the bone, heart racing, mind spinning, and the rooftop echoing with the memory of his lips, his hands, and that quiet, unshakable promise.
I knew, without a doubt, that nothing between us would ever be the same.