Chapter Text
7:30 PM
Diagnostic Laboratory
A heavy sigh fell on my lips, 30 minutes left before I’d clock out. Hopefully, no more samples come in. The laboratory has been busy lately due to a new infection. Samples have been cycling in and out of the lab for examination. We need a diagnosis as soon as possible, before another outbreak hits.
Eight bodies today alone.
I’d already extended my shift for another 30 minutes just in case. But the moment that hand clock hits the 8-hour mark, I’m out. No exceptions.
This is how days usually are here at the DSO’s medical wing.
I’ve been extending my shift for the past few days now—just a little understaffed, that’s all. Currently, there are only sixteen doctors here, a handful of nurses, and barely enough lab staff to count on one hand. Everyday, it feels like we’re running a marathon with half the runners missing. New recruits show up wide-eyed, then vanish within a week, unable to handle the gruesome work.
It’s an uncommon “hospital” due to the true nature of its work. On the surface, it might look like a regular hospital, but the truth seeps in if you stay long enough. Tucked away behind locked doors, sterile white walls, and the constant hum of fluorescent lights that never turn off, we sift through the aftermath of experiments that mankind’s knowledge should never have dared to conduct—mutations, chemical anomalies, and samples that make you question just how far people will go in the name of science. Everyday feels like stepping into a place where morality is optional and curiosity is dangerous.
Mundane. Arduous. Morbid.
And yet… this is where I belong.
Despite everything I have seen and come to know, I like my job. There’s no better way to help people than by putting your knowledge and skill to use. But knowledge and skill is a double-edged sword capable of saving lives, yet just as capable of causing destruction, depending on one’s ideals.
Just a few minutes left. I started packing my things into my bag when there was a knock on the glass door.
Great.
“The door's open. Come in.” I say without looking up.
“Hey, Doc. Bad timing?” You looked up to answer the unfamiliar voice but your words got clogged in your throat.
Oh.
Oh wow.
Hi, handsome.
Was he new? I’ve never seen him before. It was always that other annoying agent who kept dropping by and bothering me with things I couldn’t care less about.
“Uh no! Nope! Not at all! Not bad timing at all! Haha…” shoot me. Just shoot me in the head.
He tilted his head slightly, like he didn’t quite believe me, but didn’t push it either. “Good. Didn’t wanna interrupt if you were heading out.”
“No I-I was just uh finishing up,” I said quickly, gesturing vaguely to my bag like it explained anything.
He raised an eyebrow and let out a small chuckle. Okay, that did something to my brain chemistry.
“Sorry to cut your break short.” Eyeing my almost packed bag, he stepped closer anyway. There was a brief pause not awkward, just… there. Like he was deciding something. Fishing for something in his pocket.
Then he held out a tube.
“Got something for you,” he said. “Thought you’d wanna take a look.”
He handed me the tube filled with a thick, red substance—viscous, almost magma-like. His fingertips brushed my knuckles softly making me grip the tube a little tighter.
Our fingers brushed.
Just barely.
Still.
I felt it.
Way too much.
Careful.
Careful, (Y/N).
Focus.
The tube needs to be handled softly and with the utmost care, not focus on his rough hands… somehow careful, almost gentle.
“Sample from the field?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady and calm.
“Yeah.” He didn’t pull his hand away immediately. “Recent mission. Things got… weird.”
Weird. That was never a good sign.
“What kind of weird?” I asked curiously, glancing up at him briefly before looking back at the tube.
Big mistake.
Eye contact.
Note to self: don’t do that again.
“Mutation didn’t match anything on record,” he said. “Didn’t behave like it should’ve.”
He continued to report details about his mission that led to obtaining the sample in a precise and formal manner in hopes that it will help me with the research. What didn’t help was the fact that his hand was still in mine with the damn tube in between us.
I nodded, even though I was only catching about half of what he was saying. Too distracted with the present fact of our hands still touching.
“Figured you might find something we missed.”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Yeah, I can run a full analysis first thing tomorrow.”
He huffed out a small chuckle.
There it was again. That damn small chuckle.
“Alright, I’ll leave it to you then, Doc.” He finally let go of the tube.
And just like that, the contact was gone.
“Anyway,” he added, stepping back, “didn’t mean to keep you.”
“No! I mean… not really…” Stop talking would you?
He smiled. Small but definitely there.
“I’ll let you get out of here now, Doc.” He gave a short wave before turning toward the door.
And just like that he was gone.
…Doc.
8:41 PM
Apartment 2-4
I took my apartment key out of my lab coat, glancing at the My Sweet Piano keychain attached to it. I smiled a little before unlocking the door.
“Oh! You’re home early,” my roommate quipped as she worked on dinner.
“Oh! You’re actually home,” I shot back.
She snorted at my remark. “Yeah, I just got back, like, an hour ago,” she said, stirring a pot that smelled like mushroom soup. “Thought I’d be a nice roommate and cook dinner for us.”
“Hmm… that sounds nice. Thanks, Jill.” I took a seat at the dining table, propping my chin on my palm, basking in the presence of my roommate and her cooking.
Jill Valentine.
She’s been my roommate for a year and a half now. Most days, she’s not even home—her line of work isn’t much different from mine. Though hers involves more action… and a lot more risk. It’s evenings like this where we both get to feel calm. Normal. Despite the kind of storm we walk into every day.
“You look relaxed. Something good happen at work?”
“What makes you say that?” I raised an eyebrow at her.
She started setting the table. “Chicken Alfredo, pasta, and mushroom soup. For you, Doc.”
She set the dishes down in front of me.
My face heated at the word Doc, the memory from earlier creeping back in—his voice, the way he said it so casually, like it belonged to me.
Jill noticed.
Oh, she’s going to have fun with this.
“Well,” she started, dragging the word out as she pulled out a chair and sat across from me at the dining table, a knowing grin spreading across her face, “let’s start diagnosing.”
She kinda looks like Cheshire Cat right now.
I immediately narrowed my eyes. “Don’t.”
“Too late.” She held up a finger. “Symptom one. Usually when you get home, you flop on the couch and complain about how tired and miserable you are.”
“I am tired and miserable,” I shot back. “That’s not a symptom, that’s baseline.”
“Mhm.” She hummed, completely unconvinced. “And yet, no dramatic sighing. No ‘I hate my job’ speech. Not even a single complaint about lab samples.”
I opened my mouth to argue and then paused.
Okay, maybe she had a point.
“Jill, who wouldn’t be tired and miserable in this kind of work?” I deflected instead, grabbing my spoon a little too quickly.
She only smiled wider, like she’d just confirmed something.
A Cheshire Cat indeed.
“Symptom two!” she leaned closer, tilting her head slightly as if examining me under a microscope, “you’re blushing.”
“I am not—”
“I’ve never seen you blush before,” she cut in, far too pleased with herself. “Elevated temperature, slight avoidance of eye contact… should I check your pulse too, Doc?”
“Your diagnostic criteria is flawed,” I muttered, looking down at my soup to avoid her gaze.
“Mhm. Defensive response.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting.”
I scoffed, stirring my soup just to have something to do with my hands. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“Am I?” she said lightly.
I didn’t answer.
Because the warmth in my face wasn’t going away.
And that answer was enough for Jill Valentine.
“So what if I’m blushing? That doesn’t ‘give away’ anything, Jill. If anything, this conversation proves you suck at diagnosing. And that’s coming from a board-certified diagnostician.”
Jill stood up and grabbed something from the couch. “It won’t suck if you tell me what’s got the doctor all flustered—especially when I have this!”
She held up a My Sweet Piano plushie.
My jaw dropped.
“Oh my—”
“I brought you a souvenir from a mission in Japan—”
I lunged for it, but she easily dodged me.
“I’ll give it to you only if you tell me your little secret.” She flicked my forehead.
“Fine,” I muttered, retreating back to the table, my cheeks already warm. Jill followed, still holding my plushie hostage. She plopped down across from me, resting the plushie between us like a tiny neutral zone.
I hesitated, swallowing, then whispered, “I may… sort of… have a work crush…”
“You have a work what?” Her eyebrows shot up, and I could see the sparkle of curiosity in her eyes.
“Don’t make me say it again, Jill, please.” I buried my face in my hands, wishing the floor would just swallow me whole.
“I couldn’t hear you the first time,” she said, smug. “So speak up.”
I groaned, lifting my face just enough to glare at her. “I said… I have a work crush.” Each word felt like it scraped across my teeth.
“Yeah, I know. I was just teasing you.” She giggled. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”
“There is no ‘lucky guy,’ and I didn’t even catch his name. I doubt I’ll see him again, though. It was my first time meeting him earlier. It’s usually that annoying agent who brings me samples,” I said, taking a bite of my chicken.
“Ugh, that dude.” She rolled her eyes. “So what’s Mr. Work Crush like?”
“He’s…”
“He’s?”
“Cute.”
“And?”
“Painstakingly… handsome…”
Jill burst out laughing way too loudly. You looked like a high schooler confessing to her best friend about the big crush you had on a classmate.
“Handsome, huh?” she teased, resting her chin on her hand. “That narrows it down… not at all.”
“Jill.”
“What?” she shrugged. “I’m just saying I might know a few guys at DSO who fit that description.”
My stomach did a small, unnecessary flip.
“No, you don’t,” I said quickly.
“Mhm. You’d be surprised.” Jill hummed.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why do I feel like you’re planning something?”
“Me?” she pressed a hand to her chest, mock-offended. “I would never.”
That alone told me everything I needed to know.
The evening went on like that—Jill asking questions, me reluctantly answering, the conversation drifting between her missions, the hospital, and everything in between. Catching up with her was always warm and easy.
I like Jill.
I like her a lot.
She’s one of the few constants in my life.
We eventually cleaned up and did the dishes together. I was heading to my room, clutching my new Piano plushie, when Jill called out to me.
“Oh, yeah (Y/N). I’m inviting some friends over for dinner this Saturday.”
I paused, glancing back at her.
“You should join us,” she added casually. “I want you to finally meet them.”
“Them?” I echoed.
“Yeah,” she said, drying her hands. “Work friends.”
Something about the way she said that made me hesitate.
“Don’t worry,” she added with a small smile. “You might like them.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
Jill just laughed.
“Saturday,” she repeated. “Don’t make plans.”
“Sure. I’ll see if I have time,” I said, even though I already knew she’d drag me into it anyway. “Unless some patient crisis comes up during my Saturday clinic hours.”
She shook her head. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.” She turned away, clearly satisfied. “Goodnight then, Doc.”
She winked.
I flipped her off and headed to my room.
Doc, huh. That’s gonna stick for a while.