Another.. (Levi x Reader)

Where?

**A/N: It has been years since I actually found the motivation to pick up writing again. I don't know if this fic would be a good read or not, but here goes nothing. And sorry, I have a habit of writing ANGST and BE..so uh..have fun!**

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You weren't exactly the nicest human being on Earth, despite being a surgeon. It's probably the job, long hours stuck in a hospital, night shifts and cranky patients that tampered with your mood. Being the most skilled surgeon in the country, you definitely were robbed of freedom. It was always:

"Dr, you're on duty"
"Dr, keep an eye out for your pager"
"Dr, can you take up a few shifts this week?"

Bla bla bla. It goes on and on, days by days, years by years, and sometimes you question yourself.

"Why the fuck did I choose this job?"

The repetition, the stress and anxiety are often messing with your head. You barely sleep at night, always on edge, waiting for the stupid pager to beep and then off you go, to the hospital. Working your ass off 24/7, you managed to buy yourself a small apartment you call home, and a shit excuse for a car, but still haven't so much as paid off half of your student debt that you took out for the medicine degree a couple of years back. Yeah, great isn't it?

"Dr, Dr?"

You snapped up, eyes confused. Huh? What? Oh yes right, you're on shift at the moment. Sat in front of you are a large pile of reports from the last surgery you just operated. Poor bastard, cracked his skull open trying to show off his skating skills to his new girlfriend. You didn't ask exams how that happened because frankly, you didn't care. It's a bad habit, you know. Not something a doctor, let alone a surgeon would often feel about their patients. Your colleagues, oh ever the brightest angels, are often concerned for their patients. They ask questions, like "what happened?" "How did you get in this situation..?" Bla bla bla, all the professional procedures.

But you don't. In fact, that's why you have an assistant, who ask those informations on your behalf. The hospital director often nags at you for that, but what can he do? Fire you? Nah, they'd be too fucked up if they did. You're the best one they have, remember?

And that bought your attention back to your assistant, the blonde young man currently trying to get your attention

"Dr, you're zoning out" he pointed out, somewhat concerned

"No shits Sherlock" You replied dryly. He didn't like that attitude, not one bit. You knew that, and frankly, you don't give two flying fuck if he loathes you. Bless him for signing up to be your assistant though, with the workload and a cranky surgeon? Yeah, that kid needs therapy. Most of your previous assistants flee within a couple of days dealing with you. But not him. He's a tough nut, you'll give him that.

"Dr, can you focus on the report just once?" He nagged.

"Braum, shut your gob for one second. I'm thinking"

"You're always thinking!" He snapped back

"Yes, that's what's brains are for. I'm sorry you don't have one to be doing the basic task of thinking and zoning out"

That shut him up. Good, at least the kid knows when you're moody. You look down at the pile of reports in front of you, and then back up at Braum, sighning to yourself.

"Oi brat" You called out, and Braum jumped.

"What is it?"

"Grab me a coffee will ya? I'm close to loosing my shits"

He scrambled. Good. You are well known in this hospital to be the bitchiest bitch when you haven't had your fill of caffeine, especially on a long night shift like this. It wasn't until Braum returned and handed you an iced coffee (yes, iced, not steaming hot. Your poor stomach can't handle hot drinks, it makes you poop) that you let out a tiniest smirk. Braum's jaw dropped.