"Well, hello there Superman," your cheery voice broke through the moment you stepped behind the curtain. You looked at the parents before switching your gaze to the bed, currently occupied by a boy adorned in a Superman inspired costume. He had a cape and everything. Even fake, foamy muscles. It was adorable.
You turned to look at the parents after he gave you an encouraging greet back, "I'm doctor Y/LN. I'll be treating your son today."
The father chuckled, "Good luck with that."
It brought out a laugh for sure, and you had to cover it with your sleeve. His wife, a small, blonde woman, looked up at him to scold his behavior. "Jack, now is not the time!"
"It's never the time," he retorted, throwing you a fun look. "So why not make time. Right doc?"
Ah, finally.
A fun parent in the ER.
Suddenly your headache was lifted off your chest, and you gave the man a smile, encouraging his light behavior. "Let's see what's up with Superman."
You handed the tablet over to a nurse and circled the bed to examine the boy's arm. It appeared to be broken at first glance, but you couldn't be so sure with all those fake muscles. "Phew, look at you."
The boy giggled when you squeezed a fake muscle and acted out a wolf whistle, "I bet you work out a bunch, huh?"
"A lot!"
"Yeah, no cap," you joked, feeling up his wrist, "My only workout is walking up and down these stairs. When I tell you, I die every single time..."
"Thank god for the elevators," the nurse added in a sing-song voice as she buzzed around the equipment, making both parents chuckle.
"Don't know what we'd do without them," you agreed, flinching in that exact moment when pain struck your forehead. Your head spun for a fraction of a second, but your vision completely cleared out after. You turned to look at the boy as if nothing had happened, "Listen up, buddy."
The boy perked his ears, "We'll have to take off your muscles, so I can take a good look at your arm. Where does it hurt?"
He pointed toward his elbow with his healthy hand, "What do you think?" Asked his mother.
"Until we take off these bad boys," you nodded to the nurse as a signal for her to fetch a pair of scissors before returning to the fake foam, ignoring the buzz in your head, "I can't know for sure. But I suspect it's a fracture. How did he land on his arm?"
***
"You really don't look good," Ethan Choi said when he joined you by the computers. It was a busy day, and you almost wondered how he had time to stop by and ask how you were. Almost being what it is due to the immense ache in your forehead.
"Gee, thanks," you retorted sarcastically, one hand on the computer mouse and another one braced against the desk for support. Your eyes felt droopy, your mouth dry.
"You know I didn't mean it like that," he said, closing in on you when he leaned against the desk. On a normal day, his muscles would be a distraction. A big distraction.
Now, on this day, they were a blurry mess. Less sexy because you couldn't see them properly.
"Y/N you can't work like that," he tried to reason.
"Ethan, I'm telling you," you said with vehemence, "I'm fine."
There was no point in arguing with him, you realized, as nothing you told him could ease his claws on you. There were patients in greater pain than you, therefore they had the advantage.
You logged out of the computer, gathering whatever information you needed to be able to help someone. You licked your lips, trying to damp them, but with no avail.
"Y/N go home."
Ethan was beginning to annoy you. But you knew if it weren't for your inability to stay healthy, you would feel flattered by his concern.
"You go home," you told him, hating how childish you sounded. "And let me do my job."
"I'm worried about you." Said Ethan, standing in front of you when you tried to leave.
"Well don't-" you began, and never finished because the next thing you knew, instead of winning an argument and walking away like a queen, your knees bucked, and you fell straight forward into his arms.
Consciousness: gone.
Nonexistent.
***
The next time you won over your unconsciousness, your eyes met the ceiling of a hospital room. Only in the ER could a bed be so uncomfortable it hurt your back. For a moment you were sure to file a report to ensure new, upgraded mattresses because god forbid anyone who lied on them got better.
You liked to think they did, get better, otherwise your treatments would go down the drain.
And equivalently, your migraines (plus this fiasco, whatever it was) would be for nothing as well.
There was a light knock of some sort that was enough to bring you out of whatever fixed trans you were in. You brought your head up to look at the intruder and immediately groaned, "No way. You're my doctor?"
Ethan's chuckle reasoned through when your head flopped back on the pillow, "How are you feeling, doctor?"
You opened one eye and directed it at him, hoping you looked intimidating, "I was just thinking about filing a report. These beds are just awful."
"I believe you," he agreed, eyes scanning the monitor.
Now that you were feeling better, your colleague's athletic built was a fine view for your sore eyes. You could help but raise an interested eyebrow over the one eye that was opened. The nurse behind him noticed and burst into laughter.
You glared at her.
"Is there a problem?" Ethan asked, looking between you two for a good moment.
The nurse coughed, composing herself, not before sending you a wink. She proceeded to excuse herself, the matchmaker, saying how she trusted two doctors enough to find a cure to another doctor's troubles. Whatever she meant by that.
It's not like you had a never-before-heard-of disease.
She left swiftly, and Ethan turned to look your way, a small smirk appearing on his face upon noticing how both your eyes were wide and concentrated on the visible aspects of his body. "You good?"
"Mhmm," you spoke up, eyes fixed on his flexing muscles. The drugs were doing a marvelous job at hiding your attraction, "Peachy."
You licked your lips and Ethan had to swallow.
He spoke up, trying to level his voice, "I'm not going to tell you 'I told you so' but-"
"You kinda did."
Ethan laughed, "I kinda did."
"Well, sorry doctor I Know Everything."
"Apology accepted," he mused, bringing a hand to your forehead. "Believe it or not, you've moderate fever."
Ethan whipped out a thermometer, and you had to withhold a groan. "Is this really necessary?"
"You passed out in the middle of your shift," he informed you, looking smug as he did so. "It's quite necessary, give me a finger, please."
After a series of check-ups, with him asking questions and doing things, you were finally cleared to go.
Home.
"Ethan, I'm begging you," you said as you pulled on your shoes. The doctor of the day was leaning against the wall, watching you like a hawk. "I'll get down on my knees if you want to."
Then a cough fit attacked him, and it took a while until he regained himself. Just then, when his eyes went over your civilian outfit, did you realize what you said. "I-I didn't mean-"
He stopped you by cutting you off, a glimmer of newfound excitement in his eyes. "While that is a very tempting idea, I will have to turn it down."
You didn't know if you should feel sad or relieved.
Sad.
Yeah, sad.
"For now."
Fate was smiling at you, and god if you weren't thrilled to have fainted.