#i did have a somewhat good day! suprisingly! first one in. god. what feels like forever

[henwilsons]

beloveds i am so tired

[totiredtowrite]

Wolf In Sheeps Clothing

Warnings - Cursing because angry boy, reader being a cold mf, reader's clothes are described (but kind of vaguely so dw)

Note: I feel like I can hear the gif for some reason :D? Kind of self indulgent so reader is shorter than kyotani. Poor mad dog, always being put in his place by pretty boys. I'll have you know that I consult the wiki everytime I write something for character details by the way. (bragging shamelessly). Reader is also a second year and the student council president because this is fiction and I'm not sure if you have to be a third year hehe

this turned out longer than I thought it would, really popped off with this one

Male Reader

Kyotani Kentarou has a new enemy.

Whether or not you knew he though of you as an enemy didn't matter to him.

Suprisingly, it doesn't happen as often as some might think. His awful attitude and uncooperative nature ensures that he makes more enemies than friends, but most people are too afraid to approach him in order to become one of the two.

His new enemy?

You. (L/n) (y/n), Student Council President.

Kyotani never really though much of you. Not when you campaigned for the spot, (despite being in the second year), and not when you got the position. He's seen you, sure, you made that whole speech when you got the part and you oversaw detention sometimes.

Kyotani, (surprisingly), didn't get detention much. On the one time you oversaw the detention class when he was supposed to be there, he decided not to go.

So, overall, he hardly saw you at all. You were nothing but a passing thought in his mind when he heard people talking about you. He never expected to talk to you, much less consider you his worst enemy.

~~~

It really was a normal day for Kyotani. He woke up, took a shower, ate on his way to school, and slipped into class with his usual "fuck with me and you die" look on.

Practice was cancelled that day as the coach was out sick, so he didn't really have anything to do. Everything was all normal for him, right up until the end of the day. Kyotani was stalking through the hallways, the other second years moving out of his way and giving hushed whispers to their friends as they got ready to leave.

He was used to that, and even liked the feeling it gave him, knowing that these people were actually afraid of him. He was close to his locker when it happened.

He ran right into you, almost knocking you back. He glowered down at you, an angry spark in his eye that would have any other student running far away. You however, just stepped back to be clear of his general bubble, and looked up at him with a frown.

Truth be told, he had never really seen you up close. True he'd overheard some of his classmates talking about how 'intimidating' and 'handsome' you were, but Kentarou didn't expect to actually feel it coming off of you. He didn't expect to point out how attractive you were right off the bat.

The hard glisten in your eye faded as you scanned his face. You know this guy. Your expression changed from 'stone cold dictator' to 'unbothered student council president.'

Somehow feeling the tension, most of the students cleared out before either of you said a word.

"Kyotani Kentarou," you said, "Number 16 on our schools volleyball team. Infamous for your out of control aggression and prowess in your sport." You smirked at him quickly, straightening your blazer and standing up straight.

"The hell," he lifted his head to look down his nose at you, "why do you know me?"

You shrug. "I keep tabs on all the students I think are troublesome. Or interesting." He watched as you casually turned to your bag and pulled out a large binder. "You're on the first page, marked in red." you had a somewhat mocking tone in your voice, that coy smirk returning.

Kyotani growled, the noise sounding surprisingly like an animal. You were much more cocky up close. Cocky and aggravating. He moved closer to you so that your chests were almost touching while you put the binder away, and looked straight down at your face. "I can be much more troublesome," he said lowly.

You barked out a laugh. "Careful there Mad Dog." You advanced, causing Kyotani to step back. "Or I might just think you're threatening me," you continued to move forward. Kyotani took more steps back. The only way he could describe the feeling was like he was being herded like a sheep.

Another animalistic growl left his throat when his back hit the lockers. By now everyone had left, leaving just the two of you. "You aren't leaving a very good first impression on your president," you say dangerously, almost mocking your own title.

"Why do I need to leave a good impression on you," he muttered out. You didn't say anything and instead lifted your arm above his shoulder to slam it by his head. He recognized this feeling. Yet somehow, it felt all different.

Not once had the rumors spoken about the affect you had on people. You scanned his face again, those intimidating (e/c) eyes holding him steady in place. His breath hitched in his throat softly when you pulled your hand back to straighten his tie. "You don't," you said referring to his earlier question, eyes focused on his tie. "And you haven't."

You pulled away from him and stepped back, patting him on the shoulder before turning on your heel to head towards the doors. You turned your head just as you were about to leave, the blue grey light from the cloudy sky making you seem more threatening. "Take care, Mad Dog." You left the school building, leaving Kentarou breathing heavily and on guard at the lockers.

~~~

He really didn't expect that from you.

He had had a similar feeling, when Yahaba threw him into a wall and scolded him during the spring preliminary game against Karasuno. Similar, but not quite the same. It felt like you had him trapped. He still had your words replaying on repeat in his mind.

Those rumors he heard about you didn't do you any justice. He never heard anything about how easily you could make people feel... things. For once, he felt like he was the one being hunted. And oh boy did he not like that. All those times he'd seen you, he thought you looked like a regular goody two shoes who would report even the smallest wrongdoing to the teachers. He didn't expect a calculated, threatening boy who had a binder of 'troublemakers' and a heavy presence.

He didn't sleep more than 2 hours that night.

Maybe it was your eyes that were etched into his mind. Maybe it was your smooth voice, that look that made it seem like there was so much more under your surface.

So naturally he came to the conclusion that you were his rival.

He managed to avoid you all till the end of the week, Sunday rolling around like a saving grace. He didn't see you once for the rest of the week, but it still felt like you were watching him with those calculated eyes of yours. His shoulder still felt all weird and tingly from where you had touched him.

The weekend felt like an asylum to him, a feeling of safety and control returning to him when his older sister sent him out to go pick up some things from the store.

Kyotani had decided to cut through the park on his way back, but now he was quickly regretting his decision. It's not like he was afraid of you, he just thought that avoiding you would be the best option.

The last place he expected you to be was sitting in the park, staring out at the little man-made pond with a few birds at your feet. You had an overcoat on to compensate for the slightly chilly weather, a sweater visible underneath it. Your shoes were tapping the ground rhythmically.

You looked much less intimidating out of uniform. You had a neutral, content look on your face, cheek squished against your palm with your elbow resting on your knee. It was almost cute, he thought, if that was the right word for it.

"Are you just going to stand there forever," you turned your face towards him and regarded him with lidded eyes. "You can sit down you know."

He jumped, standing still for a second before slowly moving towards you. His guard up like a wall as memories of your last interaction replayed through his mind. His breath quickened ever so slightly, and his ears turned pink.

He slid into place on the bench next to you. You turned towards him again and smiled. He went bright red.

It was an actual smile. Not that cocky smirk, but a soft clad cute smile. You focused your attention back on to the pond.

"You live around here," Kyotani inquired gruffly.

You nodded. "I don't go out much. Usually cooped up in my room working on god knows what." You leaned back, draping your arms gracefully across the back of the bench. "Sorry about our little encounter, by the way. I must have come off way scary, right?" You gave him that soft smile again.

He looked away and hid his cheeks with his hand. "Like I'd be afraid of you," he muttered.

You hummed softly. A thought struck him. He regained his composure before speaking again. "You must have known that I live around here, right?"

You nodded wordlessly. "It was in your file."

Kyotani decided not to comment on how creepy that was, and instead muttered out a small "oh."

Neither of you said a word for a few moments.

"We really got off on the wrong foot, huh?" You turned your whole body towards him, watching his movements like a cat.

He just grunted.

You laughed a little bit, and extended your hand. "Why don't we start over. I'm (l/n) (y/n)."

Kyotani eyed your hand suspiciously before taking it. The tingly feeling returned, but this time it felt stronger as both your hands were bare. Your slightly smaller hand gripped his firmly, the slight size difference making Kyotani blush a bit.

You really weren't what he thought, were you? Even so, you were still his enemy. His cute, scary, calculated, calm enemy.

He doesn't even know what hit him.

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

A Note on Dazai’s Character Song

So, I was looking at the English translation of Dazai’s song “Goodbye to an Attempt on Eternity”, and, like, analysis time. This might help if you’re struggling with characterizing Dazai, as I do. Warnings for Dazai-typical mentions of depression and suicide.

As I walk in this fleeting world, the town that has thrown away yesterday changes its face. If that is so, then why do I keep breathing in this unchanging feeling?

So, a common theme throughout this song seems to be the meaninglessness of time. To Dazai, each day seems to go on, one after another--an endless series of tomorrows, none of which matter much to him. And yet he also recognizes that the nature of the world is to be fleeting, because everything changes and nothing stays the same. This bit is him struggling to reconcile the knowledge that everything changes with the fact that his own feelings don’t change. 

I reach out repeatedly. Once again, I chase my "wish" that slips through.

He keeps trying, he says. He’s always chasing something, but it always slips away from him. This bit echoes his line to Ango in Dark Era, where he says that he inevitably loses everything that matters to him.

As I roam this never-ending today, I wait impatiently for the dawn that exists somewhere. If I can't even grasp the meaning of life, then I'll say to this worthless night, good bye.

Okay, here comes a metaphor. For Dazai, existence feels like it’s always unchanging night time. It’s dark, it’s hopeless, and it’s lonely. He feels like he’s always waiting for things to get better because he knows, logically, that things should. But it doesn’t. He’s wondering what the point of sticking around is if he can’t achieve the one thing he’s searching for--the meaning of life. This is a common thread in Dazai’s character. He’s looking for a reason to keep living, a goal that somewhat parallels Atsushi’s goal to find a reason he is worthy of life.

But even though I think so... I'm still here.

And then, Dazai tries to reconcile another contraction. He hasn’t found a reason to live yet, hasn’t found the meaning of life. He thinks it’s probably better to give up. And even though he recognizes that giving up might be what he wants the most, he’s still alive. He’s still waking up every morning. Why?

I wish for a magnificent and bright end, but the curtain hasn't dropped yet. Honestly, it's alright, isn't it? I'm sick of this repeating melancholy inside my head. It's just inevitable that I wish for the end.

Here, he justifies his suicidal tendencies. He wants to die beautifully, but he hasn’t. He’s just so sick of how each day drags into each other and his own feelings don’t change, while everything around him is in a constant state of flux. Why is he the one left unchanging? 

But Dazai also asks a question. He asks if it’s alright that he wants to die. It’s a strange moment of vulnerability to put in between his own confident justifications, but it reveals that Dazai’s not as sure of himself as he appears. He wants someone to validate him, tell him he’s right, because the alternative is needing to come to terms with the fact that suicide isn’t a choice he should make. 

The tainted past, too, begone!

I’m inclined to believe that this line is a reference to Chuuya. Looking at the Japanese, the word “tainted” isn’t exactly the same as the way Chuuya’s ability is spelled, but the word choice alone seems deliberate and the spelling is similar. Dazai sees Chuuya has part of his past, a past he’s been trying to run away from. 

This part is odd because it’s an imperative. It’s the only command in the entire song. 

So, then, Dazai’s past is something he hates. He hates the person he was and the things he did, and wants whatever ghosts that haunt him to leave him alone. 

I want to tell everyone it is I, I that have failed.

This line reminded me really strongly of No Longer Human. This is Dazai taking responsibility, at least his own head. For what, though, it’s left unclear.  And it’s implied that whatever happened, he wasn’t blamed. It’s another strange line of vulnerability that really just says Dazai’s not as confident as he looks. He makes mistakes. He makes really big mistakes. And despite how it would appear, he recognizes that he made them.

My only question is, which mistake is he referencing?

Because honestly, I’m pretty sure he’s saying he just fails in general. Fails at being human, at being like the rest, at saving people. My most important takeaway from this line was that Dazai feels he is a failure.

Isn't there anyone to take my hand and cease existing together? I hold the feeling that an attempt isn't enough. Days darkening in the setting sun are endless. In a world like that, I found you.

The first two lines are a reference to his desire for a double suicide, one that isn’t just an attempt. One that succeeds. The third line, then, calls back to the previous metaphor about an endless, unchanging night. If you check the Japanese itself, “the setting sun” is a namedrop of the real Dazai’s book by the same name. It’s not the only book this song name drops.

What’s really interesting is the sudden direct address. In this terrible, unchanging world Dazai finds himself in, he meets someone. Who?

Suddenly, that hand pulls and stops the cuff of my reckless heart. I want to try living like this a little bit more. It's not like me to think so.

(My God, that first line is kind of gorgeous.) Whoever it is, they slow him down, stop him from racing towards suicide. They make him suddenly want to live. And Dazai even acknowledges that this isn’t normal for him. I’m inclined to believe he’s talking about Atsushi. It’s not Chuuya, as Chuuya is part of that past he wants to let go of. And Dead Apple demonstrates that Atsushi is really, suprisingly good at seeing Dazai for who he is, under the layers of clowning and misdirection.

As I roam this never-ending today, I wait impatiently for the dawn that exists somewhere. Even though I still haven't grasped the meaning of life, For now I say to eternity, good bye. Maybe, I can enjoy this fleeting world.

The first two lines repeat the ones from the beginning. But the slant of this stanza is distinctly hopeful, rather than full of despair like the stanza from the beginning. He says that even though he hasn’t found a reason to live, in spite of his hopelessness, he’s going to hold off from ending for now. He says goodbye to eternity. Eternity, in this context could either reference the eternity of death or the eternity of his own mind. Maybe, he says, he can enjoy the ephemeral nature of the world rather than remain mired in his own brain. 

This last part name drops another book of IRL Dazai’s. Before he killed himself, he wrote part of a novel titled “Goodbye”. Not sayonara, but the English word, and the Japanese lyrics match up. 

The story, however, was never finished. 

[scribeofmorpheus]

Chasing Tornadoes {3/6}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Series Warnings: poorly written medical procedural, mild delving into spirituality, language, overbearing egos, graphic descriptions of medical procedures. more warnings to be added. 18+ Generally, like my blog.

A/N: suprisingly, very little to warn about. blood splatter?

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Taglist is open -comment or send an ask!

<< Previously ○ Next >>

~

“God, you’re insufferable!” You slammed your clipboard into Stephen’s chest, it was surprisingly firm in a subtle way. You swallowed.

Stephen grabbed your wrist, not tightly, but firm enough to lock you in his grasp. He tugged, you moved forward against your wishes.

“And you’re so goddamn stubborn,” he whispered.

You shook your head, “I can’t believe you went around my back and interfered with my patient! That wasn’t your call. If I wanted your help, I’d ask for it!”

Stephen inched you towards the wall, back pressed to the familiar hospital walls. “You and I both know, I was the more qualified to handle this one.”

Why is he being so blasé about all this? Your breath hitched when he moved in a little closer. Why is he so close?

“Steph—”

He cut you off, lips prompting a rise in euphoria as soon as they met yours. They were soft, supple. But there was a boldness beneath it. You whimpered, finding it strikingly good. Deliciously good. And then while your head spun and Stephen stole your breaths, your surroundings changed to the familiar navy blue of the OR.

You gasped and pushed Stephen softly, “How did we…?”

Stephen followed your gaze.

A group of surgeons, masked up and gloved up, were performing surgery on a banana. You stuttered, at a loss for words. Stephen shrugged, unphased and then moved his attention back to you. Lips a mere millimetre away.

You recoiled, “Stephen.”

“What?” He asked, somewhat disappointed.

You pointed your ring finger at the operating table, “The banana.”

“Oh, right,” He turned. “How’s our patient?”

A beeping noise sounded out. A fellow spoke: “He’s going into cardiac arrest.” The beeping stopped. “He’s gone.”

“I’m calling it, time of death—”

You were shaken from your sleep by the sudden reorientation. With a loud thud, you landed hard on your ass, the sheets tangling one foot.

You rubbed your eyes, vision coming back blurry and spotted, “What the hell kind of dream was that?” Your fingers trailed over your lips. Dry and chapped and sorely missing the softness of the dream. You groaned, in no mood to deal with some romance drama in the workplace.

You were roused from the floor by the sound of something breaking. With heavy eye-lids and noodle arms, you hoisted yourself up and walked towards the kitchen, the source of the sound.

Rich loam soil and four fragmented pieces of a flower pot lay scattered on the floor. A small root system was peeking out from under the stove; it belonged to a cactus. The last cactus you owned.

You groaned as your eyes trailed up to the former resting place of the now destroyed flower pot and saw Spike’s fat reptilian body trying to slink away.

“Oh no you don’t, you leathery cat,” you hopped over the mess on the floor and grabbed Spike. You held him close to your face so you could stare into his eyes. “What is it with you and cactuses?”

Spikes tongue slithered out then in again before he let out a whiny growl.

You rolled your eyes and scolded him, “If you keep this up I’ll put you up for adoption.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance as you opened up the balcony door and let Spike down next to the arbour. “You stay out here and think about what you’ve done while I make breakfast.”

Spike made another lazy growl before moving away from the door at a snail’s pace. You hastily swept up the soil from your wooden floors and set aside the broken ceramic pieces in case you wanted to use them for another DIY home decor project.

While you put together a fruit bowl for breakfast, you noticed you hadn’t checked your voicemail. As you squeezed out the last two drops of honey onto your breakfast, you listened absentmindedly to the voice messages while making a mental checklist.

“Hey, Y/N…” Teddy’s soft voice reminded you of a lounge singer who smoked too many cigarettes in between sets. The kind of swaggerful baritone that belonged to men like Frank Sinatra or Nat King Cole. Ironically, Teddy’s face matched the softness of his name more than it did his pitch in voice. “I sent a few messages but I suppose you were on shift. That tornado…messy stuff. My cousin is local fire department, she told me—”

Remember to pay Mr Eliopoulos for the takeout. Teddy’s voice dissolved into white noise as you chewed your food. Get some bills out the ATM to keep on hand.

The next message played after a beep and you weren’t the slightest bit sorry you didn’t fully catch the rest of Teddy’s message.

“Y/N, it’s Irene.” –You froze. For a second– “I don’t know if you deleted my number after the last time we talked or not so…Yeah. It’s Irene,” your sister’s voice was a startling surprise to hear. She sounded as lively as a doornail, probably all the hours spent banging her head instead of her gavel in the courtroom. Irene thrived in the city, even if she never looked fully awake in any of her social media posts. You didn’t care much for city life and its exhausting churn.

Remember to save Irene’s number. Again.

“Mum called me, frantic that you didn’t call or text to say you were okay. She watched the news. The tornado rattled her. Your phone was off the whole day. I had to clear a whole day’s worth of meetings because her angina was acting up.” Irene was rambling in her monotone.

Angina isn’t a disease.

Irene paused as if she’d heard what you’d thought. Then she took a breath. You could practically picture her working her jaw muscles as she fought the urge to get emotional. “Call mum.”

Call mum.

The distance between you and Irene wasn’t consolidated to the miles between your cities. Irene was prickly, like a cactus. Maybe that’s why you had so much trouble growing them. But she was also the only person on the I-95 highway who stopped to pick up a wounded iguana on her cross-country trip that winter you moved into your apartment. That iguana was Spike. That was also the first and last time Irene ever stepped foot in your apartment. And the second time you’d deleted her phone number.

“Or at the very least, post one of those disturbing pictures of Spike dressed in baby clothes,” Irene’s tone turned condescending. There was some chatted on her end of the line. “I’m needed in the chamber.”

No rush saving her number. You swallowed the last spoonful of food before dumping your bowl in the sink. Then you opened the balcony door to let Spike back in.

A third beep. Another message.

“Dr Y/N?” the voice on the other end of the line was now very familiar to you. For a second, you wondered if you were still dreaming. “Dr Stephen Strange. The relief. I got your number from the on-call sheet. Just letting you know I got the go ahead first thing this morning to prep for the transplant. I’ll be the chief surgeon on staff. Marcy is in the best hands. Literally. I’ll see you at work.”

Ask about the transplant. You head shot up so fast you were convinced it’d crack like an Indiana Jones style bullwhip. Transplant?

“Marcy…” you mumbled before rushing to get to the shower. Just then another message played. The last. On it, Mike told you he was on his way to pick you up and that you should do something, but you weren’t paying much attention at that point. You had less than five minutes before he arrived.

Your shower was cold and quick. About half-way through, you realised the conditioner was practically empty. No time to fully detangle your bed-head knots, you raked your fingers through and washed all the shampoo away, making sure to add a little styling crème so your hair wouldn’t look like frizzy from the summer humidity.

You made sure to grab your go-bag, keys and lock the balcony door before rushing out the door just as Mike pulled into the driveway.

Mike had dark circles under his eyes, wind tousled hair that was still damp in places and an outstretched hand dangling out the car window with a coffee flask waiting expectantly.

You grabbed it and hastily made your way to the passenger side.

“Thanks,” you said out of breath as you unscrewed the cap and took a swig. Mike looked at you with a perplexed expression. When no coffee touched your tongue it was your turn to look back at Mike with a similar expression. “It’s empty.”

Mike nodded, “I know it’s empty.”

“Why’d you give me an empty flask?”

“Because you were supposed to make the coffee.

“Then you should have told me to.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

Mike stared at you with a knowing look for a second too long. He sighed, rubbing his red eyes, “You didn’t listen to the whole voice message did you?”

You opened your mouth to retort but then you realised Mike was right. You clicked your tongue, “We can stop by the café near the intersection.”

“You’re buying,” Mike put the car in drive while you tried your best to distract yourself from thinking about Marcy.

“Tell me something new.”

 You got dressed into the maroon scrubs in the locker room. Your lanyard feeling particularly heavy that day. Maybe you weren’t as ready for today as you thought you were.

You had hoped and prayed to whatever constituted as a god on any particular day that Marcy would get a new lung. A healthy lung. And that she’d finally get to experience her youth, but now your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and your heart was so loud you wanted to scream just to shut it up.

But today was here and you only had the one heart, so you made a fist, took a long, deep breath and ran towards the OR.

Bach in C minor was playing over the sound of the heart-lung machine. There had been a slight pause when you walked into the OR mid-surgery, but everything continued without fail.

You knew, logically, that observing from the theatre was the right thing to do. The impartial thing to do. But this wasn’t any patient. This was Marcy. The girl you helped with her science homework that one weekend she came in for a check-up and stayed for a minor surgical procedure. The girl you watched rerun’s on cable TV with when you had the night shift. The girl you watched grow up.

Doctor Weisz was among the medical staff in the room. Strange didn’t bother looking away from Marcy’s open chest cavity.

“I don’t remember calling for a second pair of hands,” Strange said as if he was talking to himself. “Did you Doctor?”

Doctor Weisz’s words came out muffled behind her mask, “No.” She kept an impressive straight face. Come to think of it, you had never seen her smile. Or get angry. She was always professional. Even her haircut was a choice of convenience; short and slicked back.

You stepped out from behind Strange’s frame and moved in closer to Marcy. It was a little unsettling how normal she looked in a hospital gown with the elastic of her breathing mask drawing two red lines across her cheeks. The open chest cavity was different though. Unsightly.

Your fingers trembled, reaching out to hold her open palm lying flat on the table when the sudden loud beeping of the heart rate monitor shook you to action.

A squirt of blood sprayed out, turning the sterile blue operating gowns dark with plasma.

 “She’s bleeding,” Strange noted as if reading a catalogue. “There’s too much scar tissue.”

“BP is dropping. Fast,” Mike said. You hadn’t even noticed him in the room.

“Clamps,” Doctor Weisz’s hand was stretched expectantly to the fellow behind her.

Your feet were glued in place, like a statue with open eyes that couldn’t look away, just watching. Your brain yelled at you to snap out of it, let your training take over, set your emotions to backburner. But none of it worked.

“Someone get her out of my OR!” Strange’s composure shifted for the first time. It was then that you noticed your hand was holding tightly onto Marcy’s.

Just as Strange instructed, someone grabbed your hand and pulled towards the doors. Once you were out in the bright hallway you realised it was Mike.

 In the last couple of hours, you had treated a kid with tonsillitis, a man with a hangnail and one skateboarder with a concussion.

Why’d today have to be a slow day?

You sighed as you flipped through a medical chart Arlene had handed over for a second pair of eyes to go over.

“You said she came in with a fever?”

Arlene stammered before straightening her spine, “Y-yes.”

You kept quiet for a few seconds, waiting for Arlene to jump on cue and finish telling you the symptoms. She didn’t.

“Arlene?”

“Yes?” She looked up, big eyes fully attentive. Her innocence was endearing, but if not grown out of, it’d be a hindrance in this profession.

“This is usually when you fill me in.”

“Oh, right,” she fumbled with her chart. “Uh…loss of appetite, abdominal cramps and joint paint.”

“What’s your diagnosis?” You looked up at the wall clock, watching the hands tick.

Arlene fidgeted, “M-my diagnosis? I um…” She wiped her forehead as if there was sweat on it. “Cramps, fever and joint pain could be…stomach flu?”

“Viral gastroenteritis, yes,” you agreed with her diagnosis. “Treatment?”

Arlene was getting more confident, “Rehydration Solution, anti-viral—”

“Good, do it,” You excused yourself when you spotted Mike walking down the hall. The surgery was done.

“Mike!” You caught his attention. “So…how’d it go?”

Mike tried to miss eye contact, “She’s stable. Transplant wrapped up okay.”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Mike rushed to place his hands on your elbows. “Marcy’s fine, taking well to the lung. She’s on assisted breathing until the rupture heals and the pressure is relieved on her muscles. She will have to stay in Recovery for longer but she’ll pull through.”

You laughed, a bright smile beaming over your face, “Then what’s the issue?”

Mike bit his lip, “Strange recommended to Weisz that you be put on probation for the time being.

Anger rushed unexpectedly, “What?”

Stephen suddenly appeared down the hallway. You marched over to him. He looked at you, expecting your oncoming aggression.

“You recommended I be put on probation?” You folded your arms to seem imposing.

Stephen glanced knowingly at Mike. Mike shrugged before disappearing into the lounge.

“God, you’re insufferable!” You flashed back to your dream and now you were confused as to what exactly you should be feeling.

“And if today is any indication, you’re too emotional,” he said softly.

You baulked, feeling insulted, “Too emotional?”

He rubbed his neck, “I told you about the operation out of professional courtesy. You had no right to barge into my OR and distract from the procedure. You put a bad foot forward, unprofessional. Weisz agreed. I suggested temporary probation to prevent Weisz from dealing a worse blow.”

You scoffed, “So you were helping me, is that it?”

“Yes,” he sounded on edge. “You’re too raw to be working right now. If I was your superior, I wouldn’t be assured that you could competently manage the rigorous expectations of the workplace.”

“Unbelievable, you really do walk around thinking you know everything, that your word is final. Mike was right, you have no reason to overstep your boundaries. You’re the relief, not my boss,” You threw your arms up in the air, ignoring the other residents listening in.

Stephen sighed, pushing passed you, ending the argument prematurely.¨

“Where are you going?” You demanded, following in stride.

“To get a drink,” he pressed his eyelids. “If you insist on still handing me my ass, you are welcome to join.”

You stalled for a second then decided to continue your squabble.

To be continued...