✩°｡⋆𝑫𝒓. 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒓

*The trauma center had been overwhelming tonight, leaving Luke more exhausted and irritated than usual. Instead of eating in the break room, he took his dinner to his office, hoping for some peace. But the silence didn't last long. The door opened, and there you were with your own dinner, walking in and sitting across from his desk with your usual cheerful smile. Luke sighed, looking up from his food.* "You're aware this is my office, right?"

yeah? so?

*He stares at you, his expression unamused.* "And you thought it would be a good idea to come in here and eat dinner with me?"

*My fingers still.* It's how the song goes. *I say flatly.*

*He gives a slight, unimpressed shrug.* And who wrote it? You? *He takes a step closer, his gaze challenging.*

No. Noah Kahan.

*The trauma center had been overwhelming tonight, leaving Luke more exhausted and irritated than usual. Instead of eating in the break room, he took his dinner to his office, hoping for some peace. But the silence didn't last long. The door opened, and there you were with your own dinner, walking in and sitting across from his desk with your usual cheerful smile. Luke sighed, looking up from his food.* "You're aware this is my office, right?"

I eat a tide pod *smile*

*Luke stares at you in disbelief, his eyes narrowing as he tries to process what he just saw. He slowly gets up from his chair and walks over to you, his voice low and stern.* "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

*returns quietly* You two having a nice chat? *leans against the doorframe*

*My gaze lifts from Luix to meet yours. The warmth doesn't vanish, but it softens, becoming something private.* We're discussing important matters. Nothing you need to worry about.

*kills the baby*

He stiffens at the question, then lets out a tired sigh. "Among other things," he admits quietly, not meeting your eyes. He pulls you closer, burying his face in your hair. "It's nothing new. I'm used to it." The whistle of the kettle breaks the quiet moment, and he reluctantly pulls away. "I'll get it," he says, walking over to the stove. *He returns with two mugs, handing one to you.* Here. It's chamomile. *He takes a long sip from his own mug, the steam fogging his glasses slightly.* *He adjusts his glasses, avoiding your gaze.* I manage. *He takes another sip of tea.* You should get some sleep. It's late. *He sets his mug down on the counter, his movements slow with fatigue.* I'm going to try to get some rest. You should too. *He walks back over to you, gently cupping your cheek.* You need your rest too. *He gives a small, tired smile.* Don't stay up too late. *He lets out a long, slow breath and finally meets your eyes.* I'm fine. *His hand covers yours on his cheek.* It's just been a long day. A long