steelxheartx

[steelxheartx]

the thing about working in hospitals, dalia had learned, was that nothing stayed buried for long. not secrets, not past lives, not regrettable hookups with strangers who turned out to have more credentials than you'd banked on mid-makeout. she stared at the hand he offered. didn’t take it. not at first. instead, she narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, the way a cat might when you try to coax it into a carrier — suspicious and vaguely offended by the audacity. but she did take the hand eventually. she had to. professionalism was a thin sheet of ice, and she was already skating on it. her shake was firm, brief, a little too cold for comfort. ❝ nice to officially meet you, ❞ she echoed, flatly, a dry smirk tugging at her lips. ❝ that’s one way to put it. ❞ his voice still did that thing — that low, familiar hum in her ribs. and he was still dangerously handsome, in that kind of way that made women make bad decisions and then justify them with tequila. he started speaking again and she caught all of it. the not-quite-compliment. the half-caught sentence. the hesitation. she lifted a brow at the “mouth that—” and gave a short laugh. ❝ smart choice, cutting that short, ❞ she said, her tone light but loaded. ❝ that sentence would've probably violated at least three hospital conduct policies. ❞ but something softened around the edges of her mouth at the way his voice changed when he said he wouldn’t let trouble touch her. because goddamn him. because he meant it. her arms crossed over her chest then, file tucked under one elbow, jaw ticking once like she was debating her next move. ❝ i don't think you planned it, ❞ she said finally, words quieter. sharper, maybe, but not cruel. just honest. ❝ but i do think the universe has a sick sense of humor. i mean, really — the one guy i let talk me out of my clothes my first week in town, and you turn out to be dr. freaking walsh. there should’ve been a warning sign. maybe a glowing neon badge that said bad idea. ❞ her mouth curved again — part smirk, part sigh. ❝ but fine. okay. patient first. ❞ her eyes dropped to the chart again, giving herself a moment. regroup. recalibrate. remember how to be a doctor and not just a woman standing in front of a man she should not still want. then, she looked back up at him. ❝ restart sounds good. let’s start with the consult, and maybe after that, i’ll decide whether or not i need to put in a formal request to get reassigned. ❞ beat. a flick of her eyes downward — meaningful, pointed, before meeting his gaze again. ❝ don’t worry, though. i’m great at compartmentalizing. comes with the territory. broken hearts, blown brains, and one-night stands that walk back into your life in scrub pants. just another tuesday. ❞ and with that, she stepped forward — past him, but slow enough to be followed. ❝ you coming, or are you gonna stand there thinking about my mouth some more? ❞ she didn’t wait for the answer. her heels were already clicking again.

alex doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen anything outside the walls of seaglass hospital, it’s one of those weeks that lean more towards ninety hours than fifty, the kind where he gets his hands dirty on actual surgeries than he does doing consults across the board. He has a consult this morning, though, which is easier than putting his hands into someone’s brain first thing, so he’ll take it. There’s a tablet in his hand with the patients' chart on it, and he skims through it while he makes his way through the halls, and that's when he spots a flash of brown hair he doesn't immediately recognize. "dr. castellanos?" he calls out down the hall, adding a quickness to his step to catch up to her. and it takes time for him to look up from his tablet to finally look at the doctor who has stopped in front of him. he has to process it, for a few moments, feeling rooted to the ground as he stares at the woman in front of him. there's no way, he thinks, and then, this must be a prank, before he realizes how next to impossible that truly is. coincidence, is what he lands on, the safest bet.

"i am in fact, not kidding you," he replies, finally, in that annoyingly confident way that always seems to work, as he offers an extended hand to shake. "dr. alex walsh, it's nice to officially meet you," he doesn't know how to play this, not truly. not only is it an hr nightmare, but god is already a distraction, especially the way her familiar perfume falls around him, or the way it triggers scent memory, and it's reminding him of the touch of a hand, the press of lips. he blinks rapidly and tries to stear himself away from that line of thought, but the air around them is thick, heavy with tension.

she's throwing a lot at him right now, accusations and questions and he's left tripping over all of them. he's not sure what she wants from him, exactly, while he stands in the middle of a hallway where they both currently work, where anyone can overhear them. he pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, and finally, speaks again. "I don't think anyone can pretend to not know you once they've had the pleasure to, " he tries, and then sighs. "I hope you don't think I've planned this somehow, considering I don't do the hiring, and I didn't know you were a doctor before today," he tries not to think about all of the things he knew about her before today and closes his eyes for a single moment. "more like five foot six with a mouth that..."he stops himself, his brain screaming hr nightmare loud and clear. Suddenly, he needs a drink. "nothing to worry about in there but even if there was," he stops, softens, looks at her gently "I wouldn't allow the trouble to touch you," he promises, and then, shifts from one foot to the other. "do you think we could start again, in the context that we have a patient that these surgeon hands could potentially save?"

[steelxheartx]

the door clicked softly shut behind them, muting the low hum of monitors and the barely-there shuffle of the patient settling in. for a long breath, dalia just leaned her weight slightly back against the wall, arms loosely folded in front of her, gaze not quite meeting søren’s yet. she wasn’t the kind of person who let exhaustion show. usually. but tonight… tonight, it had cracked the surface a little. his voice, that steady lilt of warmth and practiced empathy, settled into the quiet like a balm — and it caught her off-guard. the joke, the gentle praise in front of the patient, she’d taken it with a flicker of a smile, one hand lightly touching the base of her throat like it could steady her heartbeat from the inside out. but out here, just the two of them, something shifted. ❝ …you ever feel like your empathy tank’s running on fumes? ❞ the words came out softer than she intended. almost like they’d been sitting too long, waiting for a moment to stretch. she glanced over, finally meeting his eyes. there wasn’t anything guarded in her face. just tired honesty. she gave a small, breathy laugh — not bitter, just weary — and reached up to run her fingers through her ponytail, the elastic snagging slightly on a strand of dried blood she’d missed. ❝ it’s not the patients. it’s never the patients. i can handle the blood, the trauma, even the parents screaming at us because they’re scared and don’t know how to say it. but some days it’s the in-between that gets me. ❞ her voice didn’t crack, but it dipped lower, like it wanted to. like maybe, if he hadn’t asked, she wouldn’t have said any of it. ❝ today it was a kid with a fever we couldn’t bring down and a grandma trying to tell me it was because of 'bad vibes' in the house. a teenage girl who OD’d because her boyfriend ghosted her and the best thing her mom could say was, at least she’s pretty. ❞ her arms tightened a little across her chest. ❝ and then that boy earlier — the nosebleed panic attack? he apologized for crying. like it made him less brave. ❞ her jaw clenched, just for a second. she looked down the hallway, not really seeing anything, but willing herself not to feel too much, not all at once. ❝ i just… sometimes i wish we had more than band-aids and platitudes to give them. ❞ another beat passed, and then her shoulders eased, just a little. a sigh slipped out. ❝ but yeah. i’m okay. not great. not falling apart either. just — stuck in the in-between. ❞ her lips pulled into a crooked smile, faint but real, as her gaze flicked back to him. ❝ you didn’t sign up to play therapist to your staff, dr. holmström. ❞ and yet, somehow, she was grateful he did. ❝ …but thanks for noticing. ❞ she added, this time a little quieter. a little more vulnerable. and then, because she wasn’t quite ready to sink too far into that space — she bumped her shoulder lightly against his as she turned toward the room again, voice gentling into something lighter. ❝ come on. let’s see what we can do for our mystery man before the break room runs out of halfway decent coffee. ❞ her armor wasn’t all the way back up, not yet. but her hands were steady again. and her heart had calmed — just enough.

it   didn’t   take   long   for   søren   to   realise   that   something   was   up.   whether   dalia   was   just  ��exhausted   or   whether   it   was   something   else,   her   forlorn   expression   caught   his   eye   the   moment   he   approached   the   waiting   patient.   becoming   a   doctor   had   never   been   about   anything   else   other   than   helping   people.   it   was   what   søren   was   made   for,   what   søren   was   good   at   —   despite   the   fact   that   dalia   didn’t   have   any   broken   bones,   he   knew   that   his   calling   for   that   day   was   to   put   a   smile   back   on   her   face.   it   was   his   responsibility   being   the   consultant   on - call,   the   deciding   vote   on   big   decisions,   to   make   sure   everyone   else   on   the   floor   was   being   looked   after   — patients   and   doctors   alike.   “yes,   fantastic   idea   — thank   you,   doctor castellanos.   now,   i’ll   tell   you   something   —   ”   søren   turned   to   the   patient   as   he   helped   the   man   to   his   feet,   a   clear   limp   in   the   patient’s   gait,   “   —   i   wouldn’t   want   anybody   else   overseeing   my   care.   i’d   trust   doctor   castellanos   with   my   own   daughter   and,   believe   me,   i   don’t   even   trust   myself   fixing   dinner   for   her   sometimes   just   in   case   my   cooking   does   any   real   damage.”   there   was   a   charm   to   his   bedside   manner,   something   smooth   and   silky   —   the   scandinavian   way.   he   guided   the   patient   into   the   quiet   room,   ensured   he   was   safe   and   comfortable   on   the   examination   bed,   then   gestured   to   dalia   to   meet   him   outside.   “just   one   moment.   i   need   an   extra   pair   of   gloves ! ”   he   called   back,   closing   the   door   softly   behind   him,   allowing   a   beat   to   pass   before   speaking. “it’s   the   quiet   ones   you’ve   got   to   be   wary   of,”   he   began   slowly,   “the   ones   that   bury   their   pain   deep   down.   the   screaming   is   hard   to   deal   with,   the   physical   manifestations   of   pain   …   but   those   that   bite   their   tongue   and   deal   with   it ? ”   a   passing   quiet.   søren,   for   the   last   twenty   four   years,   had   been   the   father   of   a   girl,   and   he   saw   a   lot   of   signe   in   dalia’s   eyes.   “they're   the   ones   that   need   help   the   most.   the   ones   that   need   a   listening   ear.”   his   head   tilted   and   he   gently   smiled.   “are   you   okay ? ”

[steelxheartx]

the hum of fluorescent lights and the soft shuffle of nurses moving across linoleum had become white noise to dalia — background static she’d long learned to tune out. her shift was supposed to have ended twenty minutes ago. of course, supposed to meant very little in a place like this. her scrub top was still damp near the collar, a thin smear of dried blood across the cuff of her sleeve from a child’s nosebleed that had turned into a full-blown panic attack. she'd handled it, like she always did — calm voice, steady hands, reassurances stitched between sterile gauze. but now she was perched at the nurses’ station with a half-drunk coffee growing cold in her hand, debating if she had it in her to document one more chart. the lobby’s glass doors whispered open and shut again, and she barely glanced up. another late-night arrival, probably. maybe a sprained ankle, maybe worse. she wasn’t on intake anymore, though — not tonight. so when she heard dr. holmström’s voice — that calm, even tone that somehow carried through the hum of chaos — it tugged at her attention. she looked up from the computer just in time to see him pause, turning back toward the figure seated quietly near the entrance. "do you want to come through to the consulting room and i can check you over?" her brow lifted slightly, not out of suspicion, but recognition. holmström rarely wandered the floor unless something caught his attention. after months of working here, she knew was starting to recognize that look — the pause, the subtle tilt of his head, like his instinct had picked up on something unspoken. and despite how exhausted she felt, despite the ache starting to settle in the base of her neck, dalia set her coffee down and stood. ❝ i’ll join you. ❞ her voice was quiet but certain, sliding easily into the space between. she stepped around the station and toward the hallway, brushing past the lobby doors before gently nodding toward holmström and the patient. ❝ if you don’t mind. two sets of eyes never hurt. ❞ she gave the patient a small smile — soft around the edges, warm in a way that didn’t push. an invitation, not a demand. dalia never liked pressuring people, especially not when they already looked frayed around the edges. her gaze flicked to their hands, to the way they were sitting, subtle signs of strain or pain that might get missed in the first glance. ❝ we’ve got a quieter room down the hall,❞ she added gently, nodding in the direction of the side corridor. ❝ no pressure, but it’s a little less fluorescent-light interrogation and a little more private. ❞ she turned her attention back to soren then, a faint arch of her brow like a silent question — what are we dealing with? — but she didn’t say anything. not yet. not until the patient spoke. she knew better than to rush it. this was the part that mattered most — the moment before the questions, the first sliver of trust. and if they’d waited this long to be seen, if something about them had caught his attention, dalia knew enough to be ready.

「  ✱  」  STATUS  ﹕  open  .  「  ✱  」  LOCATION  ﹕  seaglass hospital  .  「  ✱  」  WITH  ﹕  søren   &   utp  (  @palmviewstarters )

doctor   holmström   had   been   working   at   seaglass   hospital   for   close   to   a   decade,   and   there   were   still   days   that   surprised   him.   those   days   he   preferred   spending   evenings   with   his   wife   —   or   with   their   daughter   when   she   was   home   for   an   evening   —   but   every   few   weeks   he   was   scheduled   for   the   emergency   department,   and   it   was   one   of   those   nights   where   the   hours   would   stretch   into   the   early   morning   and   he   would   likely   return   covered   in   questionable   bodily   fluids.   it   was   when   he   was   walking   back   to   check   on   the   junior   doctors   that   he   paused,   backed   up,   and   turned   to   the   figure   waiting   in   the   lobby,   straightening   his   name   badge   and   approaching   …   “have   you   been   seen   yet,   or   are   you   waiting   for   anyone ?   do   you   want   to   come   through   to   the   consulting   room   and   i   can   check   you   over ? ”

[steelxheartx]

the air between them shifted — not heavy, but thoughtful. the kind of quiet that settles when something meaningful has just passed through. dalia listened, chin tilted slightly, eyes on elle the whole time. not with the cold detachment of a physician checking vitals or examining a wound, but with something gentler. something human. she nodded slowly, letting the weight of “i think i get it” land where it needed to. because she knew that phrase well — the ache behind it, the searching. it wasn’t about having the answers. it was about finally naming the question. ❝ that pressure you’re talking about, ❞ she began, voice soft but steady, ❝ it’s exhausting. it convinces you that if you’re not achieving something extraordinary every second of every day, you’re falling behind. ❞ she leaned forward, resting her forearms lightly on her thighs, palms open. ❝ but the truth is, life doesn’t move in a straight line. not for most people. ❞ she offered a faint smile — not the practiced one she gave patients during morning rounds, but something quieter. more honest. ❝ i know we grow up thinking our passions are supposed to arrive like lightning. one big, magical moment, and boom — your path is clear. but most of the time? it’s quieter than that. sometimes it’s a stray animal you feed behind a fence. sometimes it’s your mom telling you you’re good at something. sometimes it’s just… the only thing that makes you feel alive on a bad day. ❞ dalia paused, watching the way elle fidgeted with her fingers. grounding herself. trying to stay present through the storm in her head. she recognized that too. ❝ vet school is no joke. it’s intense and it’s real and it takes a kind of discipline most people don’t even realize. but wondering if you made the right call? that doesn’t mean you didn’t. it just means you’re paying attention. you care enough to ask the hard questions. ❞ her voice gentled again, like a hand smoothing wrinkled sheets. ❝ and you don’t have to have it all figured out right now. you’re allowed to change your mind. you’re allowed to evolve. life isn’t a contract you sign at twenty-one — it’s a process. a messy, unpredictable, beautiful process. ❞ she gave elle a look then — steady, grounding. the kind of look someone gives when they see you slipping beneath the surface and want you to know there’s still solid ground. ❝ but let me say this — loving animals? that’s a good reason to start. it’s not everything, no. but it’s not nothing. and if that love got you this far, then maybe the rest isn’t about being right, but about being true. to yourself. ❞ a small, warm smile. dalia glanced toward the door as footsteps passed outside, but she didn’t move. not yet. not until elle had what she needed. ❝ you're doing better than you think. and for what it’s worth, not having it all figured out? it doesn’t make you lost. it makes you honest. ❞

Elle listened attentively to the weight of Dalia's words. She appreciated the authenticity and the realistic depiction of the physician's experiences. Since she was a young girl, her mother had implored her to strive for excellence in everything—from academics to athletics to various hobbies. Living under the pressure of perfectionism was all she knew, making it difficult for her to relax and be less alert to her actions and how others perceived her. As Elle shifted in her seat, she tried to process the layers of truth shared in the hospital bay. It was human. It was honest. Elle valued that. "I think… I think I get it," she said gently. "Life isn't as neat as we would like it to be, and there's this constant pressure to keep up with expectations, needs, and demands."

Rubbing her thumb against her index finger to ground herself, she let out a small breath in response to the question. "Well, I'm in my second year of veterinary school, and I chose this path… but sometimes I wonder?" Elle had always loved animals, even going so far as to attract stray cats to the neighborhood by sneakily ordering catnip and spreading it all over her family's property. To her, it just made sense. But what if she was wrong in the long run? That thought scared her more than anything. "I guess I'm just tired of pretending I have it all figured out, you know?" She paused, then offered Dalia a small smile in appreciation for her insight. "Anyways… thank you for sharing that. I needed to hear it."

[steelxheartx]

she had been accused of many things in her career — too blunt, too serious, too focused — enjoying it had rarely been one of them. and yet, the accusation from the wild-eyed, bloodied skateboarder sitting in front of her earned a flicker of something close to amusement. not quite a smile, not yet, but the corner of her mouth twitched like it was considering one. she didn’t immediately answer. instead, she threaded the needle with practiced precision, hands moving automatically even as her mind took stock of tommy’s words, her tone, the irreverent grin. a classic case of pain-deflecting humor, that stubborn streak of recklessness worn like armor. dalia had seen it before. hell, there was a version of her younger self who might’ve recognized something familiar in it, too. ❝ you know, ❞ she said finally, tone even, smooth, ❝ i patch people up all day. i see the aftermath of everything from drunk bar brawls to kids who think backflipping off a roof is a good idea. most of them come in scared, or embarrassed. not you. ❞ she glanced up briefly, locking eyes with tommy. ❝ you come in like the hospital’s just another pit stop. a minor inconvenience. like you’ll be back out there tomorrow doing the exact same thing. ❞ a small pause. the first stitch slid through skin with a barely audible tug. she kept her movements gentle, but there was an efficiency behind them — quick, deft, like a woman who didn’t have time to waste but still cared enough to do it right. ❝ so no, i’m not enjoying this. not really. ❞ her voice dropped slightly, serious now. ❝ what i am doing is wondering what it’s going to take for someone like you to stop tempting fate. because i’ve seen what happens when people like you don’t pull back in time. i’ve watched people get lucky, until one day they don’t. and when that day comes, i’m the one who has to call someone’s mom, or patch together something that won’t ever quite work the same again. ❞ another stitch. another clean, careful knot. ❝ but you’re right, ❞ she added dryly, lifting her gaze again with a flicker of sardonic humor. ❝ i do lecture. it comes with the territory. so if that makes me a killjoy, you’ll survive. unlike your calf if you’d tried pulling that glass out yourself. ❞ she paused for a moment, letting the words settle, then softened just slightly — just enough to cut through the clinical edge. ❝ but hey. you walked in here under your own power. that’s something. and you haven’t passed out yet, so you’re already doing better than most. ❞

❛   that's   the   first   time   anyone's   ever   called   me   committed,   i'm   banking   that   compliment.   ❜    tommy   watches   with   curious   intent   as   the   doctor   examines   her,   having   seen   far   too   much   blood   in   her   time   to   be   bothered   by   it   now.   she   daren't   mention   the   amount   of   times   she's   been   injured   and   not   gone   to   the   hospital,   not   in   front   of   her,   anyway.   tommy   hated   authority   but   that   wasn't   it   when   it   came   to   the   good   doctor…   no,   she   held   herself   with   a   different   kind   of   confidence.   the   kind   that   informed   tommy   she   wasn't   just   another   useless,   upper-class   suit   who   carried   around   a   clipboard   and   ticked   off   numbers.    ❛   no,   not   squeamish.   probably   too   far   the   other   way,   if   anything.   ❜    and   momentarily   after   that,   she   began   to   work.   tommy   winced   once   as   the   movement   began,   but   quickly   found   a   distraction   in   the   conversation   the   other   was   offering.    ❛   the   universe   has   it   out   for   me,   doc.   what's   the   opposite   of   divine   intervention?   satanic   allowance?   the   universe   satanically   allows   these   things   to   happen   to   me.   ❜    at   first,   there's   a   brief   moment   of   relief   when   it's   over,   but   then   the   gauze   comes   out   and   she   knows   all   too   well   what   that   means.   in   truth,   if   she'd   gotten   there   fast   enough   with   her   words,   she   would've   asked   not   to   hear   the   word   stitches.    ❛   aw   fuck.   ❜    she   mutters,   scrunching   up   her   nose   before   laughing.    ❛   hey   now,   it   sounds   like   the   small   talk   has   already   begun   with   that   mini   safety   lesson.   let's   be   honest   with   each   other,   if   you   really   thought   i   had   an   ounce   of   self-preservation,   do   you   think   i'd   be   here   in   the   first   place?   ❜    tommy's   eyes   had   been   trained   on   the   wound   since   the   glass   removal   began   but   she   now   found   herself   looking   up,   glancing   at   the   doctor's   name   tag   and   noting   the   whisperings   of   a   smirk   appearing   on   her   features.   she   matched   it   with   a   grin   of   her   own.    ❛   you're   enjoying   this,   aren't   you   doctor   castellanos?   the   lecturing   the   idiot   part,   i   mean.   ❜

[steelxheartx]

closed starter: alex walsh!! (@invsblstrngs) || location: seaglass hospital!! - late morning

dalia was skimming a patient's chart, walking and reading, which was the kind of multitasking that could get someone killed in most places — but not seaglass hospital. here, it was a way of life. the heels of her boots clicked against the pristine tile, echoing faintly through the corridor just outside of neuro. the floor smelled like antiseptic and expensive coffee, and she was already halfway through forming a mental plan for the consult ahead when — ❝ dr. castellanos? ❞ the voice stopped her in her tracks. not because of the words — because of the voice. familiar. warm. just rough enough around the edges to make her heart do that thing it had absolutely no business doing at work. she turned slowly, already knowing what she’d see. and there he was. archer walsh. her stomach flipped. then dropped. then tried to crawl its way up her throat. the man who had her pressed against a door a few weeks back — her dress bunched at her waist, mouth hot against her collarbone, hands everywhere — was now standing in front of her in scrubs and a hospital badge clipped to his chest like he was anyone. like he was just another surgeon. except he wasn’t. he was him. ❝ …you’ve gotta be kidding me. ❞ it slipped out before she could stop it, dry and barely above a whisper. her fingers tightened on the chart in her hand. she straightened reflexively, spine stiffening like she could make this moment feel less personal, less intimate, if she just looked more professional. ❝ you’re dr. walsh? ❞ she asked, blinking slowly. then let out a breathless laugh. ❝ of course you are. ❞ because of course the man who’d vanished into the night like he was made of smoke and bad timing, turned out to be the neurosurgeon on staff. her coworker. the one she’d be passing in hallways and seeing in scrub pants and very distracting forearms. the universe wasn’t just cruel — it was bored and trying to be funny. he looked good. better than she remembered. like confidence and the kind of charm that should come with a warning label. she didn’t look away. ❝ so, what’s the next move, doc? ❞ her tone was casual, sharp around the edges. ❝ pretend we’ve never met? ❞ she watched him, gauging his reaction, every inch of her composed on the outside. but inside? she was already running through possible scenarios. was he married? did he know before she did? had he orchestrated this somehow, or was the universe just that cruelly ironic? the tension in the air had a pulse. she could feel it in her ribs, between her shoulders, in the back of her neck. dalia finally glanced down at her chart, then back up at him, slow and deliberate. the silence stretched for a second too long. it gave her enough time to wonder what he was thinking — if he regretted it. if he even remembered. ❝ we working the same case? ❞ she asked, tilting her head slightly. ❝ or are you just here to remind me what questionable life choices look like when they’re six-foot-two with surgeon hands and an ego to match? ❞ a pause. a breath. a beat passed. her tone softened — only a fraction — but the armor was still firmly in place. ❝ …i’m guessing there’s no rule in the employee handbook about this, ❞ she added dryly, ❝ but if there is, i’d rather not be the one getting hr’s first scandal of the fiscal year. ❞

[steelxheartx]

the question caught her off guard — not in a bad way, just… differently. after everything elle had just unpacked, after the bandages and the careful emotional untangling, dalia hadn’t expected something so personal in return. but maybe that was the nature of moments like these — strangers giving each other a little bit of weight to carry, even if just for a while. she glanced at elle, then at the wall for a beat, as if searching for the right answer somewhere in the sterile blue-gray paint. ❝ i didn’t, ❞  she said finally, voice quieter now, edged with something real.  ❝ not right away. ❞ she stepped away from the counter, pulling the rolling stool closer before taking a seat across from elle, for once not in a rush to bolt off to the next room.  ❝ when i was younger, i used to think i’d be a dancer. ❞ she offered a wry smile. ❝  i was obsessed — like, genuinely convinced i’d end up performing ballet on some stage in paris or madrid. but then my mom got sick. nothing life-threatening, but enough to keep her in and out of hospitals for a while. and i remember watching the way the doctors talked to her — all clinical and detached, like she was just a chart. like her pain was a puzzle to solve instead of something she was actually feeling. ❞ dalia’s fingers absently toyed with the edge of her sleeve, the motion small, unthinking.  ❝ i hated it. and at some point, something just clicked. i realized maybe i wanted to be the person who didn’t make people feel like that. someone who could look at a room full of chaos and still find a way to help. ❞ she let that settle for a moment before adding, ❝ of course, med school beat the romanticism out of me real fast. ❞ a soft laugh followed, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  ❝ turns out it’s not all heroics and saving lives. it’s a lot of paperwork, a lot of exhaustion, and not nearly enough sleep.  ❞ but then she looked at elle again — really looked — and her tone softened. ❝ but every now and then, there’s a moment that makes it worth it. someone walks in, not just hurting, but lost, and i get to help them feel a little more found, even if it’s just for five minutes. and somehow, that still feels like enough. ❞ there was a pause, not uncomfortable — more like space to breathe. ❝ so no, ❞ she said, voice steady now,  ❝ i didn’t always know. but life kind of shoved me in this direction, and eventually, i stopped fighting it. ❞ her lips curved faintly, a warmth creeping in beneath the usual steel.  ❝ why? thinking of a career change? ❞

Perhaps her step-siblings and what they had gone through should have been a precursor to the possibility that it would inevitably happen to her and her mother. They were a second chance for her father to get things right when it came to raising a family and being and receiving love that was acceptable for him. Granted, when she found out about having three older step-siblings and her father had a whole family before her and her mother at eighteen, she was shocked. However, who would dare to air such tarnished laundry after all he and her mother cultivated? They had an image to maintain yet Elle had no clue where things stood. Did she miss things while away at college? She had no clue.

"I guess that's true and incredibly sad," she muttered. Elara couldn't imagine being with someone for so long for the love to fade away. Was it a lack of effort? Boredom? Elara thought those were an easy way out, but she had never been in love, so could she attest to that experience? "Thank you for your advice," Elle said softly before looking down at her hand, so distracted that she hadn't thought anything of it since she sliced. "Can I ask you something else? It's nothing to do with my hand or divorce…how'd you know you wanted to be a physician?"

[steelxheartx]

dalia let out a soft, incredulous scoff — more breath than sound — as she guided the needle through the first edge of torn skin with steady fingers. clark’s nonchalance didn’t surprise her. in fact, it was exactly the kind of response she expected from someone sitting in an exam room with blood still drying at the base of their palm and a grin on their face. “mm,” she mused, her tone clinical but laced with dry amusement. “yes, very similar. grown adults shouting at a screen, questionable fashion choices, someone inevitably crying in the corner. honestly, i see the overlap.” the corner of her mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough to qualify as one for someone like her. clark turned his gaze away, but dalia didn’t miss the slight tension in his shoulders, the subtle twitch when the thread pulled through skin. he was playing it cool, sure, but she could tell this wasn’t his favorite pastime. “funny how people like you are always so brave when they’re doing the dumb thing that gets them here… and then they flinch at a little antiseptic.” her voice was light, teasing, but her hands remained gentle, the suture threading smoothly with practiced ease. she tied off the first stitch and started the second. his comment about takeout made her arch a brow again, though this time, there was a small, reluctant smirk tugging at her lips. “you just want medical justification for being lazy,” she said. “but fine. doctor’s orders: no cooking over open flames, no chopping vegetables, and absolutely no trying to do that weird one-handed stirring thing people think they can pull off with a bandaged hand.” she paused long enough to glance up at him, needle poised between fingers. “so yes, takeout. preferably from somewhere with a decent health inspection rating — i’d like you back in here as little as possible, and food poisoning would really ruin my streak this month.”

“  don't  watch  sports  ,  ”  clark  hums  ,  an  amused  expression  dancing  on  his  features  .  “  you're  close  though  .  reality  television  is  my  not-so-guilty  pleasure  .  though  ,  when  you  think  about  it  — it's  very  similar  to  sports  .  maybe  i  should  be  giving  football  another  shot  .  ”  as  the  other  is  tending  to  his  wound  ,   clark  tries  to  shift  his  gaze  elsewhere  .  no  stranger  to  random  injury  by  any  means  ,  clark  just  never  got  used  to  the  whole  ‘  healing  process  ’  .  in  fact  ,  clark  could  confidently  say  he  spent  most  of  his  younger  years  in  a  cast  of  some  sorts  .  “  stitches  .  got  it  ,  ”  he  winces  ,  trying  to  keep  it  cool  .  “  so  considering  my  injury  and  everything  ,  i'm  guessing  doctor's  orders  include  takeout  for  the  week  ?  ”  never  too  serious  ,  clark  can't  help  but  crack  a  joke  . 

[steelxheartx]

if dalia castellanos had a dollar for every time a patient described their own injuries as a mixture of stupidity, she could probably retire early. but the truth was, stupidity wasn’t usually the culprit. bad luck, miscalculation, physics — sure. but in her experience, most people just liked to downplay their own pain, make light of it so it didn’t feel quite so real. she exhaled, setting her clipboard down on the counter and stepping closer. the patient — thomasin, judging by the chart — had the kind of energy that didn’t belong in a hospital. restless, sharp, still buzzing with the adrenaline of whatever reckless escapade had landed her here. dalia had met enough of her type to know that if she told her to be more careful, it would go in one ear and out the other. her gaze flicked down to the injury, taking in the jagged cuts along tommy’s calf and, more importantly, the shard of glass still embedded in her skin. "well, that’s charming," dalia murmured, tilting her head slightly as she assessed the situation. "you really committed to this one, huh?" she reached for a pair of gloves, snapping them on with the ease of someone who’d done this a thousand times before. "alright, let’s get this out of you before you start naming it," she said dryly, retrieving a pair of forceps from the tray beside her. glancing up briefly, she met tommy’s gaze. "you’re not squeamish, are you?" not that it mattered much — dalia was going to remove the glass either way — but she liked to give people a heads-up before she started pulling foreign objects out of their bodies. some appreciated the warning. others passed out. she waited half a beat for tommy’s answer before focusing back on her leg. with steady hands, she gripped the shard with the forceps and began to work it free, slow and careful, minimizing the damage as much as she could. "you know," she said conversationally as she worked, "i get a lot of people in here who got hurt doing stupid things. but i have to say, took a rock to the wheels and crashed into a pile of broken glass is a new one. a little poetic, actually. kind of a fate had it out for me situation." the glass came free with one final, precise movement, and dalia immediately pressed a gauze pad against the wound, applying firm pressure to stem the bleeding. "good news is, it’s out. bad news? you’re going to need a few stitches." she peeled the gauze back slightly to assess the bleeding, then nodded to herself. "but nothing too serious. you’ll live to skate another day." reaching for a suture kit, she gestured vaguely toward tommy. "so, what’s the verdict? are you the kind of patient who wants to watch the whole process, or do you want me to distract you with small talk while I sew you back together?" a faint smirk played at the corner of her lips as she added, "or, i don’t know, you could use this as a lesson in self-preservation. maybe invest in some knee pads that cover a little more real estate." not that she expected tommy to take the advice. some people just weren’t built for caution.

tommy   wasn't   a   fan   of   hospitals,   but   when   you   were   a   thrill   seeker   of   her   calibre,   they   generally   came   with   the   territory.   palmview's   had   never   been   too   bad,   though,   and   most   of   the   doctors   knew   her   pretty   well   by   now.   maybe   that's   why   she   was   surprised   at   the   appearance   of   a   new   face,   a   doctor   she   wasn't   well   acquainted   with,   for   once.     ❛   well   doc,   a   mixture   of   stupidity,   both   mine   and   someone   else's,   i'd   say.   you   take   a   look   and   tell   me   what   you   think.   ❜    tommy   lifted   her   left   leg   unceremoniously   into   the   air,   wiggling   her   toes   with   some   mildly   dramatic   flair   as   she   looked   expectantly   between   the   cuts   on   her   calf   and   the   doctor.     ❛   i   was   on   my   board,   drifting   dreamily   through   the   park   when   all   of   a   sudden   a   stray   rock   found   its   way   into   my   path.   no   big   deal,   right?   WRONG.   because   that   rock   sent   me,   leg   first,   into   a   pretty   pile   of   broken   glass.   ❜     she   moves   to   hold   her   leg   with   her   hands   so   that   it   can   stay   up   longer,   turning   her   calf   to   the   side   to   expose   the   main   culprit   –   a   piece   of   glass   still   lodged   partway   into   her   skin.     ❛   there   she   is,   my   reason   for   being   here.   ❜

[steelxheartx]

dalia listened, her hands already moving to discard the used materials, but her focus remained on elle. her words — quiet, hesitant — were the kind dalia had heard a hundred times before, different voices, different stories, but always laced with the same underlying ache. the kind of hurt that settled deep, that made a person question things they once thought were unshakable. "yeah," she murmured, leaning back against the counter, arms loosely crossed. "people have a way of showing us who they are. but the real kicker is how often we ignore it until it’s too late." her gaze flickered over elle’s face, gauging the weight of what she was carrying. this was the part of the job they didn’t teach in med school — the way a hospital room could sometimes turn into a confession booth, how people unraveled at the seams when they were sitting on an exam table with nothing else to distract them. "falling out of love, though..." she exhaled slowly, considering. "it’s not always easy. sometimes, it’s slow. piece by piece, until one day, you look at the person you’ve been standing next to for years and realize you don’t even recognize them anymore. or worse, they were never who you thought they were in the first place." she wasn’t just speaking for elle’s sake now. there were ghosts of her own past lurking beneath her words, old wounds that had long since scarred over but still itched when the weather changed. her eyes softened, and for a brief moment, the professionalism slipped. "you don’t have to apologize," she said. "sometimes, talking to a stranger is easier than talking to someone who actually knows you. no judgment, no expectations." she tapped lightly against the counter, a small, grounding gesture. "but for what it’s worth, you’re not crazy for feeling like this."

"Of course not. That would be pure insanity." Even this woman, who had no context about Elara's childhood home, understood this was not a good sign. If anyone could think differently from the obvious reaction, they would likely be considered delusional. Elara, however, was not delusional. A part of her wanted to methodically unseal the folder and follow the steps of a YouTube video so her father wouldn't know it had been tampered with. Perhaps it wasn't even supposed to come to the house but was meant to arrive internationally. He could sign the papers right then and there. Who wouldn't want to discover that their partner was trying to divorce them in Europe? At least the food and wine would serve as a temporary comfort.

Trying to appear unfazed by the whole situation, Elara nodded at the physician's suggestion, watching as they skillfully stitched her finger, as if they could do it in their sleep without thinking. Better this than having a novice who might cause more pain and damage in such a fragile circumstance. "I guess you're right," she replied, offering them a weak smile in response to their advice. The troubling fact was that this wouldn't be the first time her father faced this scenario, should he choose to go down that road for the second time. Glancing at her hand, now covered with a bandage, she let out a small sigh before looking back at the physician. "I just didn't think people could fall out of love so easily, you know? Then again, when people show you who they are, we should believe it." Naivety struck again. "Sorry, I don't mean to drop this all on you. I just don't have anyone to talk to right now.

[steelxheartx]

she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she placed a hand on her hip. "oh, trust me, if i was entering, i wouldn’t waste my shot on some half-baked monstrosity like peanut butter and sardines," she said, eyeing him with a smirk. "i’d actually make something worth your time — assuming, of course, that you’re as good as you claim to be." she glanced past him, the scent of sizzling carne asada and freshly pressed tortillas curling through the air, momentarily distracting her. sunset tacos had been a solid spot for a quick bite, but she had to admit, this raffle idea had potential. people liked feeling involved, and if nothing else, they liked proving they had better taste than everyone else. “so what’s in it for the winner, besides the bragging rights of having their taco immortalized on the menu for a week?” she asked, stepping toward the door but not quite inside yet. “free tacos? their name in lights?” her tone was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity in her expression. and if she was really being honest? part of her was tempted. not just for the chance to win, but to see if tobie’s confidence in his skills was justified. she had spent enough time in kitchens — whether sneaking a snack at odd hours during her residency or trading shifts for a meal — to know that every chef thought they were untouchable until someone gave them a real challenge. "because if i'm going to go through the effort of writing down a recipe, i want to know it’s worth it." she glanced at him, one brow arching. "you really think you can take any taco idea and make it work?"

“this is literal brilliance happening right before your eyes,” tobie said, stepping to the side so their potential customer could get a better look. they were appreciative of the fact that hanging these posters up had already started to draw attention. was that a little hint of amusement there on her face or had his eyes deceived him? they had anticipated this kind of question, but still couldn’t help letting out a bit of a chuckle and soft sigh. “they could do that, but i think you’re seriously underestimating the kind of skill i bring to the kitchen,” he answered with a grin. sure, he hadn’t lived here long but he was plenty positive sunset tacos tasted better since he’d bought it. he held up his hands in a sort of ‘what can i say’ way and grinned a bit. they thought of themselves as the kind of person that could make even the nastiest thing taste delicious, and besides, he loved a challenge. 

“don’t tell me, you like some pretty unique tastes ? what’re we thinking…a shrimp, grits, and anchovy taco ?” they teased back, even though that combo sounded like a C R I M E.  “i think palmview better get ready for some very interesting flavors to hit the scene.” as he spoke, he leaned over and pulled open the door, motioning for her to lead the way. “you could win and be the first to introduce us all to some real flavors.”

[steelxheartx]

closed starter: femi luong!! (@astralfms) || location: lost boys ink!!

dalia should have gone home. she should be peeling off her scrubs, washing the scent of antiseptic from her skin, and collapsing into bed without another thought. but the idea of going home to silence — to nothing but the hum of the refrigerator and the dim glow of the streetlights leaking through her blinds — felt unbearable tonight. so instead, she found herself here. lost boys ink stood like a beacon against the dark, its neon sign flickering, casting a dull red glow onto the damp pavement. she lingered outside for a moment, hands shoved into the pockets of her thin jacket, staring at the shop as if debating whether she belonged here. it wasn’t a place she frequented — hell, she hadn’t set foot in a tattoo shop in years — but something about it felt… steady. real. the kind of permanence she never let herself have. pushing the door open, she stepped inside, met immediately by the familiar buzz of a tattoo machine and the faint scent of ink mixed with something metallic. the shop wasn’t crowded, just a few lingering souls tucked into corners, sketches scattered across the counter, the kind of quiet hum that came from people existing in the same space without the need for forced conversation. she exhaled, letting the door swing shut behind her, before making her way to the worn leather couch near the front of the shop. it let out a soft creak as she sank into it, stretching her legs out and letting her head rest back against the cushion. her body ached in that deep, bone-tired way that came after a brutal shift — eighteen hours on her feet, running on little more than caffeine and sheer willpower — but her mind was restless. her gaze flicked to the walls, taking in the artwork — bold, intricate, permanent. every piece told a story, even if she didn’t know the words. there was something about that certainty, about the way ink stayed on skin long after the moment had passed, that she found herself envying. she let her eyes drift toward the person nearby, watching them for a moment before speaking. her voice was quieter than usual, exhaustion threading through the words, but there was something else beneath it too — something thoughtful, almost curious. "tell me something," she murmured, shifting slightly in her seat. "do you ever regret the first tattoo you gave someone? or does it always feel like it was meant to be theirs?" it wasn’t just a passing question. not really.

[steelxheartx]

she let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she trailed behind eden, her fingers still curled around the edge of the cart. “biggest size possible, huh? you do realize we’re not seventeen anymore. our stomachs are not built for whatever the hell is actually in those slushies.” but there was no real protest in her voice, just the kind of teasing that came naturally, effortlessly, in the presence of someone who had always felt like home. as they made their way through the narrow aisles of gulf grocery, the dim fluorescent lights casting their usual slightly-too-yellow glow, dalia found herself glancing at eden in the moments between their conversation. the way she walked, easy but purposeful. the way she still had that same look in her eyes when she was up to something. it was funny — how they had grown, how life had pulled them in different directions, but when it came down to it, when it was just them, some things stayed the same. she sighed dramatically, nudging eden’s shoulder with her own. “you do realize this means we have to find a way to sneak them into somewhere, right? otherwise, it’s just two grown women drinking sugar and regret out of plastic cups in a parking lot. and while that does sound like peak us, i feel like we should at least commit to the full bit.” her gaze flickered toward the registers, toward the sliding doors, and she could already hear the faint hum of the city beyond them. miami was a long way from here, but somehow, standing next to eden, planning another ridiculous scheme like they used to, it didn’t feel so far. she exhaled, a slow breath through her nose, before flashing eden a smirk, something edged with fondness. “alright, lead the way, troublemaker. let’s see if palmview is ready for us.”

as  soon  as  dalia  started  talking  about  the  slushie  incident,  she  let  out  a  quiet  groan,  shaking  her  head.  “jesus.  you’re  never  gonna  let  that  go,  huh?”

she  could  still  see  it,  clear  as  day—her  younger  self,  high  on  adrenaline  and  bad  decisions,  trying  to  sneak  two  massive  gas  station  slushies  into  the  theater  under a  hoodie  that  was  way  too  small  for  the  job.  one  wrong  move,  one  slip  of  the  wrist,  and  the  entire  machine  damn  near  tipped  over.  if  it  weren’t  for  dalia  yanking  her  arm  and  dragging  her  out  of  there,  they  probably  would’ve  been  banned  for  life.

she  exhaled  a  laugh,  tossing  the  granola  bars  into  dalia’s  cart  anyway.  “you  say  these  won’t  make  you  a  health  guru,  but  baby  steps.  next  thing  you  know,  you’ll  be  meal  prepping  and  drinking  green  juice.”  she  shot  dalia  a  teasing  look  before  her  smirk  softened  into something  quieter.  more  familiar.

eden  wasn’t  great  at  talking  about  feelings—never  had  been.  but  she  didn’t  need  to  say  much,  because  dalia  knew.  always  had.  and  when  she  said  she  was  good,  eden  just  studied  her  for  a  second,  like  she  was  trying  to  decide  if  she  believed  her.

she  wanted  to.  she  really  did.

but  then  dalia  said  it—that  thing  that  hit  eden  right  in  the  chest.

it  feels  like  nothing’s  changed  at  all.

“alright,”  she  murmured,  a  little  smirk  tugging  at  the  corner  of  her  lips.  “but  if  we’re  doing  this,  we’re  doing  it  right.  biggest  size  possible,  ridiculous  flavors,  and  i  swear  to  god  if  they  don’t  have  the  blue  one,  we’re  rioting.”

she  nudged  dalia’s  cart  forward,  her  smirk  widening.  “old  times’  sake,  huh?  alright,  mi  reina—let’s  raise  some  hell.”

[steelxheartx]

she chuckled, her gaze flickering to the granola bars in her cart before shooting eden a playful side-eye. "wow, you really are on a mission today, huh? i’ll admit, granola bars might be a step in the right direction," she said, raising an eyebrow as she ran her finger along the edge of the box, "but you know as well as i do that tossing them in my cart doesn’t suddenly make me a health guru." she leaned in a little, lowering her voice just enough to let it carry a familiar, teasing edge. "besides, i’m pretty sure these aren’t going to counteract the deep-rooted trauma of those gas station slushies. remember that time we almost got caught sneaking them into the theater, and you almost knocked over the entire slushy machine trying to pull a fast one? good times." her tone softened as she shifted her weight, looking down at the granola bars with a slight smile. it was easy to slip back into this with eden — slipping back into the rhythm of old memories, into the shared moments of their younger, wilder selves. back in miami, when everything was still wide open, before life had a way of getting... complicated. "i know you’re just trying to look out for me," she continued, more quietly now, the humor fading from her voice as she glanced up, her dark eyes meeting eden’s, "but i’m good. trust me." there was a beat of silence, a comfortable pause, as dalia leaned against the cart. her gaze softened slightly as she watched eden, the playfulness returning, but there was something warmer now. something genuine, as if this moment, this connection, meant more than she was willing to admit. "you know," she said, her voice a little quieter, "it’s weird... being here. this place, palmview, it feels like everything's changed. but somehow, with you? it feels like nothing's changed at all. like i’m still just that girl who used to swipe your snacks when you weren’t looking." her lips twitched in a smile as she added, almost in a whisper, "maybe we should get a couple of those slushies... you know, for old time’s sake."

eden  let  out  a  deep,  theatrical  sigh,  placing  a  hand  over  her  chest  like  she’d  just  been  deeply  wounded.  “wow.  wow.  you’re  really  gonna  come  for  me  like  that?  me?  after  everything  we’ve  been  through?”  she  shook  her  head,  grabbing  a  second  bag  of  the  churro  popcorn  and  tossing  it  into  her  cart  with  purpose.  “for  the  record,  if  someone  did  coat  cardboard  in  cinnamon  and  sugar,  i’d  at  least  give  it  a  chance  before  passing  judgment.  that’s  called  having  an  open  mind,  dalia.  look  it  up.”

she  turned  on  her  heel  dramatically,  pushing  her  cart  forward  as  if  she  was  deeply  offended—but  she  didn’t  actually  go  anywhere.  instead,  she  side-eyed  dalia  with  a  knowing  smirk.

“and  please,”  she  scoffed,  waving  a  hand.  “i  was  concerned  about  your  diet  back  then  too.  but  you  refused  to  listen  to  me  because,  and  i  quote—”  she  cleared  her  throat  and  deepened  her  voice  in  a  terrible  dalia  impression,  “‘if  i  die  young,  at  least  i’ll  die  with  flavor’.”  she  shot  her  a  look,  raising  an  eyebrow.  “sound  familiar?”

she  wasn’t  letting  the  coffee  as  a  meal  replacement  comment  slide  either.  “and  don’t  even  get  me  started  on  the  coffee  thing—”  she  paused,  narrowing  her  eyes,  before  grabbing  a  box  of  granola  bars  from  the  shelf  and  slamming  them  down  into  dalia’s  cart  with  zero  hesitation.  “bam.  nutrition.”

eden  crossed  her  arms,  tilting  her  head  in  mock  challenge.  “i  dare  you  to  take  them  out.  see  what  happens.  go  on.”

but  even  through  the  teasing,  the  banter,  the  back-and-forth  that  felt  like  slipping  into  a  time  machine  straight  to  miami,  there  was  something  warm  in  her  chest.  something  settled.  like  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  time,  she  wasn’t  just  catching  up  with  dalia—she  was  just  with  her.

like  no  time  had  passed  at  all.

[steelxheartx]

Ana de Armas

[steelxheartx]

she barely had a moment to register the young woman’s injury before she was met with that question — one that had absolutely nothing to do with the wound on her finger. her pen hovered just above the chart for half a second before she let out a quiet exhale, gaze flicking up to meet elle’s. ah. it wasn’t just about the cut. "well," dalia said, setting the clipboard down on the counter beside her. she peeled off her gloves and reached for a fresh pair, rolling them on with practiced ease. "if i were the spouse in question, i’d probably assume it wasn’t a fun little birthday or wedding anniversary surprise." her tone was even, a little dry, but not unkind. she had spent enough years in emergency rooms to recognize when someone’s mind was somewhere else entirely — when the injury was just a symptom of something deeper. "but i’d also tell myself not to jump to conclusions until i had all the facts." she nodded toward elle’s hand. "that being said, let’s deal with the problem we can fix first, yeah?" dalia reached for a gauze pad, gently taking elle’s hand in hers as she inspected the cut. it was deep enough to warrant stitches, but nothing she hadn’t seen before. still, the tension in elle’s shoulders, the way her knee bounced slightly as she sat on the exam table, told dalia that the wound wasn’t what had her so rattled. "look," she continued, her voice softer now, less clinical. "i don’t know the full story, and neither do you — not yet, anyway. but you could spend all night spiraling over worst-case scenarios, or you could wait and see what’s actually going on before you start bracing for impact." she worked efficiently, disinfecting the wound before beginning the process of suturing it closed. her movements were steady, precise, muscle memory taking over even as her attention remained split between the task at hand and the woman in front of her. "i get it," dalia admitted after a beat of silence. "your brain starts running a mile a minute, and suddenly, every possibility feels like an inevitability. but all that overthinking? it doesn’t change anything except how miserable you make yourself in the meantime." she tied off the last suture, cutting the excess thread before reaching for a bandage. "so here’s my professional medical advice," she said, peeling back the adhesive. "breathe. stop playing out the worst-case scenario in your head like it’s already happened. and for the love of god, try not to take your stress out on sharp objects next time." her lips quirked slightly, a faint smirk breaking through the usual professional composure. "i’d rather not have to stitch you up twice in one week."

Overthinking had become a cycle for her, spiraling outside the comfort of her bedroom. Perfectionism loomed large in her mind. Elle was well aware that true perfection was unattainable, yet she believed there had to be a point on the spectrum that was close to it and within reach. Her parents were on an extended vacation in Europe, supposedly celebrating their 25th anniversary. So when she picked up the mail from the mailbox and found a packet from a divorce attorney's office, her mind began to race. Thoughts of the worst-case scenario flooded her mind: what if her family was falling apart?

The idea plagued her throughout the night, intruded on her morning meditation, and lingered into her workday. Consumed by these endless possibilities, she became fixated on the worst outcomes. This obsession led to an accident during her shift; she accidentally sliced her finger with a box cutter while trying to shelve products she hadn’t gotten to earlier. Now, she found herself in the emergency room. When the physician entered the room, she felt compelled to voice the troubling thoughts swirling in her head. "If you received a large manila envelope in the mail from a divorce attorney addressed to your spouse, what would you think?"

[steelxheartx]

dalia arched a brow, arms folded as she leaned slightly against her cart, eyeing the bag of mini churro popcorn with a mix of amusement and mild suspicion. "okay, i’ll give you this one," she admitted, finally reaching out to snatch up a bag for herself. "whoever thought of this was either a genius or completely unhinged, and honestly, i respect both." with a flick of her wrist, the bag landed in her cart, an unspoken agreement that, yes, this was the kind of nonsense she could get behind. "but let’s not pretend like you’re some snack food prophet, eden," she continued, shooting her a knowing look. "i could coat literal cardboard in cinnamon and sugar, and you’d probably still eat it. don’t act like you have standards now." despite the teasing, there was something about this — about them, standing in the middle of a fluorescent-lit grocery store, debating snack food like they were still a couple of reckless kids sneaking gas station candy at 2 a.m. back in miami — that made dalia’s chest tighten just a little. it was easy, familiar in a way that felt almost too good to be true. eden’s dramatic once-over dragged dalia back to the present, and at her next words, dalia let out a scoff, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense. "oh, so now you’re concerned about my diet? where was this energy when we were splitting convenience store empanadas and washing them down with gas station slushies?" she tilted her head, smirking. "besides, coffee is a perfectly acceptable meal replacement. and if i were actually feasting on souls in the ER, do you really think i’d still have these dark circles?" she gestured vaguely at her face before reaching for a bag of sour candy and dropping it into the cart alongside the popcorn. "but fine, i’ll bite. what exactly do you think i need, oh wise one? because if this is leading to you forcing me to buy anything remotely healthy, i’m walking out that door." despite the mock warning, there was a glimmer of something lighter in her eyes — something that said she wasn’t actually going anywhere. not when it was eden. not when it felt like, for just a moment, they were back home, laughing in some bodega aisle like nothing had ever changed.

who: dalia (@steelxheartx)

where: gulf grocery

"okay,  tell  me  this  isn't  the  most  genius  thing  you've  ever  seen."

eden,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  grocery  store  snack  aisle,  held  up  a  bag  of  mini  churro-flavored  popcorn  like  she  had  just  discovered  the  meaning  of  life.  she  turned  to  dalia,  eyes  bright,  fully  expecting  backup  on  this  very  serious  matter.

"like,  this  is  innovation,"  she  continued,  tossing  the  bag  into  her  cart.  "and  if  you  try  to  tell  me  you  don't  snack  on  absolute  garbage  at,  like,  2  a.m.  after  a  shift,  i  know  you're  lying."

it  was  funny,  how  easy  it  was  to  slip  back  into  this-bouncing  dumb  thoughts  off  each  other  like  they  were  still  those  same  reckless  kids  running  around  miami.  except  now,  they  were  here,  arguing  about  snack  food  in  the  fluorescent  glow  of  a  gulf  grocery.

eden  leaned  against  her  cart,  giving  dalia  a  once-over.  "you  do  eat  real  food,  right?"  she  teased,  eyes  narrowing  playfully.  "or  is  it  just,  like,  coffee  and  whatever  souls  you  consume  in  the  ER?"

she  smirked,  nudging  dalia's  cart  forward  with  her  foot.

"c'mon,  doctor  death,  let's  get  you  something  that  isn't  just  pure  caffeine  and  existential  dread."