Chapter Text
David had seen it all—or close enough. He seemed to have checked every box on the list of a paramedic’s worst nightmares: suicides, some grimly conventional, others disturbingly creative; murder scenes, soaked in blood and violence; drowning victims with skin turned a sickly purple; charred bodies that reeked of burnt flesh, the memory alone enough to make him gag. He had cradled lifeless children in his arms, desperately trying to coax them back to life. The list went on, and yet, the calls never stopped.
Over the years, his skin had grown thick.
But thick skin didn’t mean cracks couldn’t form.
David was no stranger to the surge of adrenaline coursing through his body during interventions, sharpening his senses and firing up his muscles. It kept him alert, focused and functional in the chaos.
However, it came with a price he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
When someone grows accustomed to such extremes, everything is dull in comparison. Naturally, he started wanting more. This led the paramedic to push himself further with every callout, testing his limits just to see how far he could go—how much horror he could force himself to witness, to bury his hands in. As if he even wanted to reach his breaking point, just to feel something.
It was addictive. And yet, he couldn’t admit to himself how much he craved that rush.
But even amid the confusion, his dedication to others gave him something solid to hold onto—something that kept him moving forward, no matter the cost.
In his own way, David found a sense of fulfillment in reaching out to those who needed his help. Their need gave him purpose, a reason to exist. He was far more comfortable expressing himself through touch and action than with words or promises—especially to those under his care. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, but because it allowed him to stay true to his principles and, more importantly, shield him from the possibility of letting anyone down.
Still, he did his best to offer comfort to the injured. His eyes carried sincerity, his presence a quiet reassurance. Sometimes, he even managed a small smile, a gesture that felt demanding and unnatural to him, but one he knew mattered.
David, who spoke so little, always preferred tangible action over empty words. And in his work, he had found exactly that.
But this newfound purpose, so welcome in David’s muted existence, soon transformed into the only thing he felt worthy of. It’s not like he had much going on in his life anyway. And so he threw himself, body and soul, into his work.
Sitting across from his work partner, Mael, in the hospital cafeteria, David picked at the bland food on his tray. His thought drifted to the meals he used to cook for himself. He wished he still could—back then, he’d been a decent cook. His friends had even praised his skills in the kitchen. But now, he just didn’t have the energy anymore.
Hell, he didn’t even have friends anymore.
Most nights, the operator barely had the strength to shower after his endless shifts. Instead, he’d collapse on the couch in his small flat, the TV droning on in the background, his bed untouched.
But maybe, just maybe, he could toughen up and actually prepare something nice for once. Perhaps the new intern—a charming young man with a halo of curly hair and freckles scattered across his face like stars—would notice. If he asked, David would gladly share some of it with him.
They were always in hurry, but the young man never forgot to smile at him and bow his head respectfully when David handed him reports. The boy would take his time carefully reading them, his attention unwavering. Despite their sparse interaction, David couldn’t help but admire how he seemed to genuinely care, staying gentle in the buzzing, high-pressure environment. And it wasn’t just towards him, a simple paramedic—it was towards everyone. That took a serious amount of strength. Having someone shine like that around was… refreshing.
His name was typically Irish: Diarmuid. David hadn’t dared to try pronouncing it out loud yet. He was ashamed of his speech, and to make matters worse, he wasn’t accustomed to Gaelic—it had only been a few months since he’d moved here. Surely the other could teach him how not to butcher his name. And in return? David wanted to believe he might be able to teach him something, though he wasn’t sure what.
But before he could dwell on it further, the duty phone rang, it’s sharp tone cutting through the cafeteria's hum of conversation.