DASHIELL
The room had settled into a deep, comfortable hush. Only the low, steady hum of the air conditioner and the faint rustle of curtains stirred by the vent broke the silence. Alexander lay curled behind me, his body a solid wall of warmth, one arm wrapped securely around my waist as if he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
I liked this part of the night best. No alarms. No harsh fluorescent lights. No conversations I had to parse for hidden meanings or social rules. Just the weight of him, the slow rhythm of his breathing against my neck, and the lazy circles his thumb traced along my side.
I stared into the darkness for a long moment before the question slipped out.
"…Are you really all right with Bianca coming tomorrow?"
His hand didn't pause. "Yes."
I frowned, shifting just enough to glance back at him. "You don't sound annoyed."
"I'm not."
"But… she was supposed to marry you."
"She was."
"And now she's coming here."
"She is."
I studied his face in the dim light. He looked exactly as he always did—calm, unreadable, perfectly composed. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, smoothing it over and over. "I've been thinking."
"I noticed," he murmured, the hint of a smile in his voice.
I pressed on, organizing my thoughts carefully. "My sister seemed very determined not to marry you. More determined than someone usually is when rejecting an arranged marriage. She acted like she'd met you before."
Alexander's thumb kept its steady rhythm. "I have an unforgettable face."
"…That's true." I paused. "But she spoke as though there was history."
"There was."
I blinked. "There was?"
"Mmm."
I rolled over completely to face him, searching his eyes. "What happened?"
He regarded me with perfect seriousness. "We dated."
I stared. "You… dated Bianca?"
"For years."
My eyes widened. "Really?"
"We were inseparable."
I tried to picture it—Alexander and my sharp-tongued, fiercely independent sister and failed completely. "You don't seem like her type."
"I wasn't."
"Then why did you date?"
"We enjoyed arguing."
I frowned harder. That sounded exhausting. "So… you broke up?"
"We did."
"Why?"
Alexander didn't even hesitate. "She kept stealing my hoodies."
I blinked slowly, processing. Stealing someone's clothes without permission was definitely rude. "It does sound inconvenient."
"It was."
I nodded, satisfied with the logic. "I understand."
Alexander's lips curved into a small, dark smile. " And we fucked. A lot."
I stared at him.
My brain supplied the image instantly, Alexander and Bianca, naked, his hands on her, his cock inside her. I felt my face heat up.
"You… you had sex with my sister?" I asked, voice small and direct. "Before me?"
"Many times," he said, completely matter-of-fact. "She was very eager. Very loud. Liked it rough."
I made a small, distressed sound and buried my face in his chest. My fingers tapped rapidly against his shirt.
"That's… very detailed," I mumbled. "I didn't need to know that."
Alexander chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "You asked."
"I regret asking."
He tilted my chin up gently, eyes dark with amusement. "Jealous, little anomaly?"
I frowned. "I don't know. Maybe. A little. But mostly it's… weird. She's my sister. And now she's coming here. And you used to have sex with her."
For a second he held my gaze, utterly straight-faced. Then a quiet laugh rumbled out of him, warm, genuinely amused. His shoulders shook gently against mine.
I tilted my head. "What?"
"I've never dated your sister."
I blinked again. "You were teasing me."
The corner of his mouth lifted. "Guilty."
"…I believed you."
A quiet chuckle escaped him. "That much was obvious."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "You gave the information with a completely straight face."
"It's a useful skill."
"That wasn't fair."
"No."
"You contaminated my data."
Another soft laugh escaped him, vibrating through his chest into mine. I narrowed my eyes, though I couldn't quite hide my smile."You're going to do that again."
His lips twitched. "Given the opportunity."
I sighed dramatically and scooted closer, tucking my forehead beneath his chin. His arm tightened around me immediately, pulling me flush against him.
"…You're difficult," I mumbled into his skin.
"So I've been told."
Despite myself, I smiled. "I still like you."
"I know."
I poked his chest once, gentle but pointed. "You're supposed to say, 'I'm glad.'"
For the first time that night, Alexander smiled openly, it was soft and real, just for me. "I'm glad."
The words settled warm and solid in my chest. I closed my eyes, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. His fingers continued their lazy path along my spine, soothing and familiar.
Sleep found me like that—wrapped in him, safe, and quietly happy.
*****
The hospital smelled faintly of coffee and chlorhexidine as I stepped through the staff entrance at 7:14.
Fourteen minutes earlier than usual.
Not because I meant to but because Bianca was coming today.
The thought had woken me twenty-three minutes before my alarm.
I adjusted the strap of my tablet case until it sat perfectly level across my shoulder.
Satisfied, I walked through the staff entrance.
The lobby buzzed with early-shift energy—nurses hurrying toward handover, a porter wheeling an empty stretcher past with a rhythmic squeak, a monitor chiming somewhere down the corridor before cutting off.
Hospitals always sounded busiest right before the day settled. I liked the predictability of it.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. "Pediatric ICU," I said when another doctor glanced at me. He pressed the button without comment. Silence stretched comfortably between us until the doors opened again.
The Pediatric Intensive Care Unit always felt different—quieter, but not calmer. Every sound here carried weight. I sanitized my hands at the station, the cool alcohol sharp against my skin, and the night charge nurse looked up right away.
"Morning, Dr. Harper." She slid the overnight summary across without being asked.
I scanned it quickly. No generalized seizures. Good. But blood pressure had fluctuated, there were two spikes of sinus tachycardia, one unexplained fever, and intermittent chewing movements. Forty seconds around 0300. Captured on EEG.
I tapped the edge of the tablet once, then again.
"Morning, Dash."
I turned. Leo balanced two coffee cups in one hand, looking far too alert for someone who'd worked until midnight. He squinted at me.
"Rough night?" he asked, eyeing me. "You look like you got... what? Five hours of sleep?"
"Five hours and thirty-six minutes," I answered.
Leo shook his head with a grin. "Only you would correct that."
"Accuracy matters."
"Apparently."
I accepted the cup he held out—cream, no sugar. The warmth seeped through the paper, grounding.
"Thank you."
Maya appeared beside us, eyes already on her tablet.
"Morning."
"Morning," Leo echoed.
She looked at me briefly before returning her attention to the screen.
"The intensivist wants us in Daniel's room."
I nodded. "Okay."
Daniel lay still under the ventilator, surrounded by the quiet orchestra of pumps and lines and wires. His mother slept in the chair, fingers loosely wrapped around his. His father stood quickly when we entered, voice cracking. "Any changes?"
"No major deterioration overnight," I said. The man's shoulders eased a fraction, but I had to add the rest. "But we still don't know why this happened."
The intensivist joined us moments later. "Blood pressure's been stable for the last ninety minutes. I think we finally have our window for the lumbar puncture—in thirty minutes."
Relief settled in my chest, quiet and steady. Finally.
The room cleared as preparations began. I moved to the workstation outside Daniel's room and opened his chart again. Leo leaned against the desk. "You've already read that thing cover to cover."
"I know." My fingers scrolled anyway. Monday: Forgot where he left his phone. Tuesday: Increasingly irritable. Wednesday: Claimed someone had replaced his mother. Then hallucinations. Seizures.
I frowned, tapping lightly against the desk edge. The sequence wasn't random. Memory first. Behavior. Delusions. Not the dramatic hallucinations everyone kept fixating on.
Leo noticed. "What?"
"The order," I murmured. "Something changed before anyone realized he was sick."
A resident wandered over. "I still think Psychiatry should take over once he's extubated. The neuro work-up hasn't shown much."
My foot found my opposite ankle, rubbing hard. Tap. Tap. The fluorescent lights buzzed louder. Voices from the nurses' station layered on top of each other. A distant ventilator alarm cut through.
"Psychiatric illness doesn't explain the autonomic instability," I said, voice tightening.
The resident shrugged. "Stress can affect heart rate."
"Not like this." The rubbing intensified. Tap tap tap. My skin felt too tight. "And seizures with temporal slowing on EEG…"
"Dashiell."
Maya's voice cut through, low and steady. She guided me into the nearby conference room and closed the door, muffling the unit's noise. Then she reached up and switched off the harsh overhead fluorescents, leaving only the softer wall sconces.
The pressure behind my eyes eased almost immediately. My shoulders dropped. I hadn't noticed how high they'd climbed.
"Better?" she asked.
I took one slow breath. Then another. The tapping on my leg slowed. "Yes. My brain was getting loud."
She gave a small, understanding nod. "I noticed."
A nurse appeared in the doorway. "Dr. Harper? We're ready for the lumbar puncture."
I picked up my tablet, the puzzle pieces still shifting in my mind.