Ashton: You swing your legs, beating your heels against the table beneath you. The tissue paper is crinkling under you. As you sit in the doctor’s office, you glance around at the washed out room. White walls staring back at you with boredom. Anatomy posters reminding you of biology class. There’s a jiggle of the door handle, followed by the doctor’s entry.
"Hello…" says a handsome, tall, young doctor with outgrown hair. He’s squinting at the clipboard, where he looks for your name. You watch him while he struggles to read, until he finally puts on a pair of thick-framed glasses that suit his attractive face. "Y/N!" he finally smiles.
His smile is beautiful. Vibrant and full of life. You’re kind of distracted by this handsome doctor for a moment, until he clears his throat. “I’m Dr. Irwin. May I ask why you’re at the clinic today?”
You snap back to reality, quickly glancing away from his golden eyes. “I uh…” You struggle to get out, your voice so hoarse. “I’ve got a bit of a chest cold.” You cough for punctuation, a rattling coming from your rib cage.
"Ah," Says Dr, Irwin, stepping closer. "Let me have a look at that."
He presses the stethoscope to your chest, asking you to breathe in and out, the usual. He never breaks eye contact with you. Even when he isn’t smiling his eyes are still beaming with joy and warmth. As he listens to your chest, you can’t help but notice how messy his curly golden hair is, or how big his hands are, one gently gripping your arm, the other pressed to the stethoscope.
He smells wonderful, for somebody who’d probably been on his feet all day. His eyes look a little tired, and he favours his feet, shifting his weight to give his tired feet a rest. Occasionally, he bites his lip when he tries to focus, cocking an eyebrow when you feel your chest wheeze. All in all, you can’t stop staring. And it appears he can’t focus either.
"Well, Y/N," he finally finishes, stepping back to scribble onto his little notepad. "You certainly have a chest cold. A bad one at that."
He rips off a piece of paper, handing it to you. “This is for your pharmacist. And this…” he says, ripping off another piece after quickly scribbling on it. “is for you. When you’re feeling better of course.” He flashes you yet another gorgeous smile, winking before he steps out of the room.
You glance down at the second piece of paper.
My name is Ashton, by the way. But you can call me Doctor if you want.
Followed by a series of digits that could only be his number. You smile to yourself, stepping off the bed, and immediately punching his number into your phone.
Luke: "AHHHHH!!!!" You scream in pain as you limp towards the entrance of the hospital, your friend trying her best to help you, your arm wrapped around her shoulders.
"Just a little longer, Y/N and we can sit down!" She grunts with the effort, pushing the doors to the E.R open.
Once you’re checked in and sitting in the waiting room, you have time to notice that the place is relatively empty. For some reason there were only a few people in need of attention today, which is odd because it happens to be late on a Saturday night. You’d expect the place to be packed with people who injured themselves through horrible decisions made after too many drinks.
That’s why you’re in here. A few beers and you were on the roof of your friend’s house, totally certain you could land on her trampoline from there.
You glance down at your ankle, swollen, purple, throbbing. You wince and hiss at the pain that shoots through it.
"Y/N?" Says a nurse. You nod and sit in the wheelchair she brings to you. Once you’re in the doctor’s office, the fluorescent lights giving your throbbing, tipsy head a headache, she talks you through what’s going to happen next. "The doctor should be here any moment. I’ll leave you to it."
Your friend reaches over and touches your shoulder. “I hope the doctor’s hot,” she says.
As if on cue, in comes a tall, blonde, attractive young man in a white lab coat, stethoscope relaxed across his shoulders, clipboard in hand.
"Y/N?" He looks up and smiles. You nearly gasp at the beauty of his vibrant blue eyes, his perfect teeth. He even has a lip ring. Strange thing for a doctor. You nod, feeling a little dizzy from the booze and from the doctor’s crystal clear gaze. You glance over at your friend. She gives you a look, even wiggles her eye brows.
"Oh, shut up, Y/F/N," You say, knowing it’s a mistake as you’re saying it, but because of the alcohol you continue. "Yeah he’s hot, whatever."
The doctor laughs, glancing back down at his clip board. “Anyway, I’m Dr. Hemmings. You think you broke your ankle?”
"Yeah," you respond, totally regretting what you said out loud earlier. You know your face is burning up and you glare at Y/F/N, as if it were her fault.
"I’m gonna go get her a water," She says, standing up and patting you on the shoulder. Dr. Hemmings nods and she waltzes at the door, winking at you before she’s gone.
"Let’s check out your ankle, shall we?" He says before kneeling down to look at your ankle. He feels around, making you hiss or groan sometimes, the pain shooting up your leg.
"Sorry about what I said earlier," you say between winces. "I’m a little drunk. I don’t know what I’m saying."
"I figured," he chuckles, biting his lip ring and stepping back to look at you. "By the way, how’d you do this?" He asks, gesturing to your ankle.
"When I have a few drinks I tend to think I’m invincible."
He throws his head back and laughs. He shakes his head, writing on his clip board. “Don’t we all?” You laugh a response. “Anyway. I’m gonna send you for some x-rays, and then we’ll talk again about how we’re going to treat this ankle of yours.”
"Okay," you say as your friend comes back, a water in her hand.
"Till then, I have other invincible drunks to see. I hope to see you soon, Y/N."
"And you, too, Dr. Hemmings," you flirt back.
"Please," He smiles, turning back to you before heading out the door. "Call me Luke."
Michael: "So, Y/N." says your chiropractor. You’d been seeing him for a while now. After a minor car accident you’d been in, you’ve been getting physio on your back for a few months. Dr. Clifford - or Michael, as he insisted you call him - has treated you excellently over the past little while. "This is our last appointment together."
"It is," you nod, laying back onto the bed-like-thing that he used for cracking your back and neck.
"It’s been good," he smiles before going on with the usual treatment.
Once he’s finished, you sit up. He sits and smiles at you for a moment, rather than dismissing you for his next patient. You have to admit that you liked Michael a lot, for him only being your doctor. You two had a good few months, some small talk here and there about common interests, music, movies, whatever.
You actually kind of consider him your friend. And if you’re going to be completely honest, he’s totally cute. His hair is always a different colour, always messy and misplaced, his puffy pink lips, his eye brow piercing. He didn’t look like a doctor. Not one bit.
"Well," he clears his throat, snapping you back to reality. "I’m pretty sure I’ve brought up before that I never date my patients. It’s kind of a rule."
"Yeah, I think you mentioned it before," You say, furrowing your brow.
"Well, Y/N. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while. But, like I said, my rule," he looks down at his feet, clearly embarrassed. You can’t help but smile at the pink that’s quickly rising to his cheeks. "But since this is our last appointment, I guess you’re not my patient any more."
"Michael -"
"Just please say yes, Y/N, I really don’t want to be embarrassed right now."
You laugh. He smiles back sheepishly. “Michael, you don’t have to beg. I’d love to.”
His sheepish smile turns into an enormous grin, his lucid green eyes sparkling with excitement. “Awesome!” He stands up, taking his lab coat off and throwing it over the back of his chair. “I’m actually going for lunch, now. Care to join?”
Calum: You sit in the waiting room of the E.R, your head in your hands, the crying kid next to you. “Oh god, I am in so much trouble,” you say over and over again. You sit up straight again, look over at Brian, the little boy you were baby sitting. You frown. How the hell are you going to explain this to his parents?
"Y/N," Brian whines. "I want my mommy."
"Brian, I’ve told you," you sigh, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. "Your parents won’t be back for two more days. You’re stuck with me, kiddo."
"Do they know I broke my arm?" he sniffles.
"No," you say, "I’m too scared to tell them."
Brian giggles, despite the tears in his eyes. You love Brian to death, as you’d been baby sitting him since he was hardly a year old. Now, he’s six, and extremely adventurous. So adventurous, in fact, he had to prove to you that he could swing from one branch to the next in the tree in his back yard. It still boggles you that you actually let him try.
Once you’re in the room, sitting on the tissue-covered bed with Brian, the doctor steps in. He’s tall, dark, attractive. You’re immediately distracted by his tan skin, marked with tattoos down his toned arms - he obviously decided not to wear a lab coat that day, only scrubs - his soft, dark hair. You nearly gasp at the sight of his jawline, sharp, and clenching as he reads the clip board in his hands.
"Okay, Brian," He finally looks up. He immediately makes eye contact with you and his pouty lips part a little bit. It takes a moment for him to continue. "What’s up, buddy?" He says, turning his attention to Brian.
"I broke my arm," he pouts, trying to lift it up for emphasis, but only making him wince.
"Bummer!" the doctor says, stepping closer to tousle Brian’s hair. "I’m doctor Hood, and I’m gonna help you out today, okay, mate?"
Brian nods, pouting at the floor.
"Is this your mommy?" The handsome doctor asks, quickly glancing up at you.
"No, no," you rush out. "I’m his baby sitter. His parents won’t be back until the weekend."
"Okay," Dr. Hood says slowly, writing something down on his clip board. "Care to tell me how this happened?"
"Baby Tarzan, here, fell out of his tree."
The doctor laughs, marking things off on the clip board. He looks up to grin at you, his perfect teeth nearly blinding you under the fluorescent light. “Can I get your name?”
"Y/N," You say, noticing he doesn’t write it down.
"I’m Calum," he smiles. Then he turns to Brian, pulling a mock-angry face and pointing his pen at the child. "But it’s Dr. Hood to you, young man," he says with a silly, over dramatic voice.
Brian giggles. You sigh out in relief that Brian is handling this all so well. It helps that Dr. Hood - Calum - is being so great to him.
"So, kid," Calum says, helping Brian off the bed. You quickly follow. "We’re gonna get some x-rays of your arm, and then we’re gonna take a look at your bones. How cool does that sound?"
"Super cool!" Brian grins, still holding his arm to his torso.
"You didn’t even get him a sling!" Calum teases me, turning to a cupboard to grab one for him.
"Oh sure," You flirt. "I totally forgot to go into the hospital they have in their house and grab one for him. My bad."
Calum let’s out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he carefully puts Brian’s arm in the sling.
"It’s a good thing you’re cute," he says, standing up to wink at you. "Otherwise I’d have to do something about it."
"Don’t worry," you say, trying not to seem fazed over him calling you cute. "I’ll be in enough trouble with his parents."