I didn't even say hello when I walked through the front door. Just kicked off my trainers and bolted straight up the stairs like the house was on fire. Which, with my family, wasn't too far off most days.
"Oi, Alex! Dinner's in the oven!" Mam shouted from the kitchen.
"Not hungry!" I lied, already halfway upstairs.
Erin's music was loud, not the best choice either. Slow, sad songs after a shite day at work wasn't what I needed to be hearing.
Jordan's voice blared from his room, headset on full blast. "He's behind you, you gobshite, ugh, you're useless!" followed by the clatter of what I assumed was his controller being thrown. Again. Seems Mam and Da had kicked him back to his room on that thing.
I shoved open my bedroom door, flung my bag in the corner, and collapsed onto the bed like I'd been shot. The springs squealed in protest, but I didn't care. My brain was soup… my back ached and my eyes burned.
Not to mention Dorian was stuck in my head like a tune I didn't even like.
Annoying. That's what he was. Smug, smirky, too-sure-of-himself. He walked like he owned every room he entered. Talked like everyone should be listening… and the worst part? They usually were.
He'd calmed that patient earlier like he'd just whispered a spell. Like it was easy.
He'd also touched my wrist. Just a hand, steady and warm. Nothing weird, but it had stayed with me.
God, I needed sleep…
The morning commute was quick, and the hospital was already buzzing when I clocked in. The shift started slower. Thank Christ.
I was paired with Dorian again, naturally, and we spent the first few hours flitting between bays, sorting obs, answering call bells, and politely telling one visitor no, their dad couldn't just "nip out for a fag" with a chest drain in.
He was almost normal, friendly, even. Still cheeky, but toned down. It should've made things easier.
But it didn't.
Because now I was aware of him.
Too aware.
He brushed past me behind the nurses' station, his hand lingering on my lower back barely a second, just enough to make me jolt like I'd touched a bloody socket.
He said nothing.
Just smirked and kept walking.
Later, while I was updating notes at a computer, he leaned in close. Too close. His arm slid behind my chair, hand resting casually on the desk, like he owned the space. I could feel his breath warm the shell of my ear.
"Your handwriting's shit," he murmured.
"It's typed, ya eejit," I muttered, eyes still on the screen.
He didn't move away. Just hummed low in his throat. "Still shit."
His shoulder brushed mine. Warm. Solid. My fingers stalled on the keys.
Every time he came near, I felt… something. Not panic, not exactly. Just this weird fizz in my chest like I was on the edge of something and didn't know if I was about to fall or fly.
And I hated that he knew it.
Worse? I was starting to wonder if he was doing it on purpose.
He caught me in a sluice half an hour later, rummaging for incontinence pads. "Lost, Nurse Riley?"
"Busy," I said, not turning around.
He stepped in anyway. Close. His hand came to rest beside mine on the shelf, fingers brushing mine like it was nothing. Like he hadn't just cornered me between adult nappies and catheter bags.
"Always so tense," he said, voice low, mock-worried. "You need to relax."
"You need to back off," I snapped, heat rising in my face.
He didn't flinch. Just tilted his head, eyes dancing. "Aw. Red suits you."
"Feck off."
He laughed, soft, smug, and infuriating, then finally stepped back, hands up in mock surrender. "Noted. Just trying to bond with my work husband."
"I am no one's husband," I said, shouldering past him with my arms full of pads.
As I walked off, I heard him call, "Not yet, anyway."
I scoffed silently to myself.
My family were strict Roman Catholics... faith baked deep into every corner of our lives. Being with another man? That was more than just taboo. It was forbidden.
Their beliefs maybe, but I felt the weight of them crushing down on me, making these strange feelings feel like sins I wasn't supposed to have.
Evening dragged on, and most of the team had clocked out already. But a patient started deteriorating, post-op, low oxygen, crashing vitals. Dorian and I stayed behind with the night team to stabilise them.
It was busy. Intense. But for once I was too focused to overthink. Just kept my head down, followed instructions, handed things over. Dorian was there, steady as ever, matching my pace with quiet competence. No flirting, no smirks. Just the two of us moving in sync.
And yet, every time our shoulders brushed or he handed me something, my pulse kicked like a bastard. No reason for it.
Nothing happened. But the space between us still crackled.
Eventually, the patient settled enough for proper handover. I stepped out to breathe, muscles aching, scrubs sticking to me with sweat. I was ready to strip everything off and collapse into a taxi.
I made my way into the locked staff corridor, quiet and dim-lit. Barely made it two steps before a hand snatched my arm.
"What—?"
I was pulled, fast and silent, into an empty cubicle.
My back hit the wall. The curtain swung closed behind us, muffling the distant hospital sounds, trapping us in a small, dim cubicle.
Dorian.
His eyes were sharp in the low light. Closer than ever. And I swear the air changed, grew heavy, thick with something I didn't want to name.
"What the hell—?"
He pressed a finger to my lips. Just one.
"Shhh."
My heart practically exploded in my chest.
His finger stayed there… warm, light, intentional. Too intentional.
Something fluttered low in my gut. Heat climbed my spine like I'd been lit from within.
And then I saw it, the gleam in his eye, the ghost of that cocky smile. He was doing this on purpose. Enjoying it.
He wanted me rattled. Wanted me flushed.
Right. Well…
Two could play that game.
Without thinking, maybe to shut him up, maybe to knock that smirk off, I flicked my tongue out and licked the pad of his finger. Slow… deliberate. My heart hammered like I'd just crossed a line.
The effect was instant.
Dorian blinked. His pupils dilated. Lips parted, but nothing came out.
That smugness faltered, vanished. Replaced by something deeper. Something darker.
"Well," I said, voice lower than expected, "ya weren't expectin' that, were ya?"
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
Just stared at me like I'd flipped the whole game on its head.
The thing was… I had.
And by Christ, I didn't hate the feeling, even though it felt wrong... So. Damn. Wrong.
I went to step past him, maybe make a clean exit. But he didn't let me.
His hand shot out, catching my wrist… not rough, not tight, just… there.
"Alex," he said. Just my name. But it hit somewhere deep. He usually called me by my last name...
I didn't answer…
I couldn't…
He took a step closer, our chests nearly touching. My breath snagged.
"You keep looking at me like that," he murmured, "and you're going to make me do something stupid."
I swallowed. Hard. "Then don't look back."
He smirked, barely. "Too late for that."
His hand slid from my wrist, brushing the inside of my palm as he stepped away.
And just like that… he was gone. Curtain swaying behind him. Door clicking softly shut.
I stood there, frozen...
Breathless...
Confused as hell...
And maybe… just maybe, wanting more was a risk I was already taking, a game I wasn't sure I could win, but couldn't stop playing.