Chapter Text
The humid Bangkok night pressed against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of Navamin Private Hospital, a towering beacon of sterile white and polished marble in the heart of the city. Outside, the distant hum of the Sukhumvit traffic acted as a heartbeat, but inside, the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low, rhythmic thrum of cooling systems.
The Emergency Department (ER) was currently in that deceptive state known to medical staff as "the eye of the storm." It was the start of the graveyard shift—the hours where the world outside went to sleep, but the ER prepared for the inevitable "pending doom" of late-night accidents and sudden crises.
Orm Kornaphat Sethratanapong stepped through the staff entrance, her shoulders slumped. At twenty-four, she was the ER’s resident sunbeam, usually radiating an energy that could jumpstart a stalled heart. But today, the weight of a double shift was written in the slight puffiness under her eyes. She adjusted her pale blue scrubs, feeling every bit the exhausted nurse.
Then, she saw him.
Near the central nurse’s station stood Dr. Metawin Opas-iamkajorn, better known as Dr. Win. At twenty-seven, he was the hospital’s "Golden Boy"—a third-year neurosurgery resident under the legendary Dr. Polpong. He was tall, striking enough to be on a runway, and currently draped in a white coat that seemed to glow under the LED lights. He was deep in a patient chart, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Orm’s exhaustion vanished instantly. She straightened her spine, smoothed her hair, and did a quick "check" of her reflection in the acrylic chart holder. She had been "orbiting" Dr. Win for two years now, making no secret of her massive crush.
She walked toward the counter, her heart doing a frantic rhythmic dance. "Sawadee-ka, Dr. Win," she said, her voice dropping into a shy, melodic tone. "Working late again?"
Win looked up, a warm, easy smile spreading across his face. He was brilliant with a scalpel, but famously "an idiot" when it came to the fluttering eyelashes of the nurses around him. To him, Orm was the hardworking, energetic "little sister" of the ER.
"Ah, Nurse Orm! Just clocked in?" Win teased, closing the file. "You look like you need a liter of espresso, or maybe I should admit you to a bed for some rest."
Orm gave a shy, breathless laugh, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I’m fine now that I've seen... I mean, now that I’ve started my shift."
Win chuckled and reached out, playfully patting the top of her head. "Good spirit. Keep that energy up, okay? We might have a busy one tonight."
Orm felt the heat rush to her cheeks, her skin tingling where his hand had touched. She was practically floating—until a cold, sharp voice sliced through the moment.
"Careful, Win. If she blushes any harder, we’ll have to treat her for a fever. She looks like a five-year-old who just got a lollipop."
Orm’s smile dropped. She didn't even have to look to know who it was.
Standing a few feet away, leaning against a gurney with her arms crossed, was Dr. Lingling Sirilak Kwong. Dressed in dark blue trauma scrubs that contrasted sharply with her porcelain skin and jet-black hair, she looked every bit the "Hospital Goddess." She was elegant, breathtakingly beautiful, and possessed a tongue sharp enough to rival her surgical kit.
"Dr. Kwong," Orm muttered, her irritation bubbling up. "I didn't see you there."
"Clearly," Lingling remarked, a playful, slightly arrogant smirk dancing on her lips. "You were a bit... preoccupied."
Lingling was Win’s ride-or-die best friend and a brilliant third-year trauma resident. Most nurses were terrified of her sharp persona and her blunt sarcasm, but Orm found her mostly just annoying. Lingling knew she was good, and she took every opportunity to poke at Orm’s obvious pining.
"I was just greeting a colleague," Orm rebutted, lifting her chin. "Unlike some people, I believe in being friendly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual patients to check on."
With a final huff, Orm turned on her heel and marched toward the triage area, leaving the two doctors behind.
Win watched her go, shaking his head with a small smile. "You’re too hard on her, Ling. She’s just being nice."
Lingling scoffed, pushing off the gurney and walking closer to the station. "She’s 'nice' because you’re the Golden Boy, Win. You just love having your little fan club follow you around the ER."
Win smirked, leaning his elbow on the counter. He might be oblivious to Orm’s feelings, but he wasn't blind to his best friend. "Is that right? Because I’ve noticed you spend a lot of time in the ER lately, Ling. This isn't even your area tonight."
Lingling’s expression remained stony. "Trauma cases come through here. It’s called being prepared."
"Right," Win said, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "And I suppose it's also 'being prepared' when you refill the snack jar with those specific honey-butter chips that Orm likes? The ones you claim to hate?"
Lingling stiffened, her eyes darting away for a fraction of a second. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't," Win chuckled. He had seen the way Lingling’s sharp eyes softened whenever Orm walked by, even if that softness was immediately hidden behind a sarcastic remark. He knew Lingling would deny it until her dying breath, but the Goddess of Navamin Hospital was clearly caught in the bubbly nurse’s orbit, too.
"Go back to your brain surgery, Win," Lingling snapped, though there was no real heat in it.
"Going, going," Win laughed, picking up his charts. "Try not to tease her too much. You might actually make her cry one day."
"She’s tougher than she looks," Lingling muttered to herself, her gaze lingering on the curtain where Orm had disappeared.
The deceptive calm of the graveyard shift shattered at 3:15 AM.
The piercing, rhythmic wail of an ambulance siren cut through the humid night, growing louder until it arrived at the Navamin ER bay with a screech of tires. The red emergency lights flashed against the glass doors, casting a rhythmic, bloody hue over the sterile hallways.
"Incoming! Multi-vehicle accident on the expressway!" a paramedic shouted as they burst through the doors, pushing a gurney at a dead run. "Male, 20s, unrestrained driver. Blunt force trauma to the chest, unstable vitals, GCS 9 and dropping!"
The ER transformed instantly. The "pending doom" Orm had felt earlier had finally arrived.
"Trauma Room 1! Now!" Orm shouted, her "bubbly" persona replaced by a mask of fierce professional focus. She signalled to the other nurses, her hands already reaching for the intubation kit and the cardiac monitor.
"Step aside, Nurse Sethratanapong. Let the adults handle the heavy lifting."
Lingling appeared like a dark shadow, already snapping on a pair of latex gloves. Her movements were surgical—literally. She didn't wait for a response, stepping into the lead position at the head of the gurney as they wheeled the patient into the trauma bay.
"Orm, I need two large-bore IVs, O-negative on standby, and get a portable X-ray in here now!" Lingling barked. Her voice wasn't teasing anymore; it was the cold, command-tone that made junior staff tremble.
"Already on it, Dr. Kwong," Orm snapped back, her hands moving with lightning speed. She didn't let Lingling’s tone rattle her. Despite her crush on Win, Orm was a veteran of this ER. She spiked the IV bags and found a vein on the first try, even as the patient thrashed.
For the next twenty minutes, the two of them moved in a frantic, choreographed dance. Lingling called for tools; Orm had them in her hand before the sentence was finished. When the patient’s BP plummeted and the monitor began a terrifying, flat drone, Lingling didn't panic.
"Internal bleeding. He’s crashing," Lingling said, her eyes narrowed. "Orm, stay with me. Pressure on the femoral artery, now!"
Orm jumped onto the side of the bed, leaning her full weight into the patient’s groin to stem a secondary bleed she hadn't even noticed yet. Her face was inches from Lingling’s. In the harsh, overhead surgical lights, she saw the beads of sweat on Lingling’s forehead and the absolute, unwavering intensity in her dark eyes.
"I’ve got it," Orm whispered, her breath hitching.
"Hold it steady," Lingling commanded, though her voice had lost its jagged edge. "Don’t you dare let go."
By the time the patient was stabilised enough for the OR, both women were covered in a mix of saline and sweat. As the surgical team whisked the gurney away, the trauma bay fell into a heavy, ringing silence.
Orm slumped against the counter, her hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline withdrawal. She reached for a paper towel to wipe her face, but a hand intercepted her.
Lingling was standing there, holding a sterile gauze pad soaked in cool water. Without a word, she reached out and gently dabbed a smudge of blood off Orm’s cheek. Her touch was surprisingly light—nothing like the sharp, arrogant woman she pretended to be.
Orm froze, her heart hammering for a completely different reason than Dr. Win. "I... I could have done that."
"You were too busy saving a life to notice you looked like a war zone," Lingling said, her smirk returning, though it didn't reach her eyes. Her gaze dropped to Orm’s hands. "You’re shaking. Go to the break room. Eat something."
"I have charts to—"
"That’s an order, Nurse," Lingling interrupted, regaining her sharp posture. "I don't need my best ER nurse fainting because she’s too stubborn to admit she’s tired."
Orm blinked. Did she just call me her best nurse? Before she could process it, a familiar voice drifted from the doorway.
"Well, look at you two," Win said, leaning against the doorframe. He had been watching the tail end of the trauma from the observation window. He looked between Lingling’s lingering proximity to Orm and the way Lingling’s hand quickly retracted. "A perfect team. I told you, Ling, you two make quite the pair."
Win walked over, smiling warmly at Orm. "Great job, Orm. That was impressive work. You really are the heart of this department."
Orm felt the familiar flush of a blush creeping up her neck. "Thank you, Dr. Win! It was... it was nothing."
Win chuckled and looked at Lingling, who was currently busy intensely studying a monitor that was already turned off. "Right. 'Nothing.' Anyway, I’m headed to the cafeteria for a late-night coffee. Orm, want to join? My treat for the hard work."
Orm’s eyes widened. A coffee run with Dr. Win? This was the dream. "I—"
"She can't," Lingling snapped, not looking up. "She has to finish the intake paperwork for Room 1. Hospital policy."
Orm frowned. "Actually, Dr. Kwong, the paperwork can wait ten min—"
"Policy, Nurse," Lingling repeated, finally looking at her. Her eyes were dark and unreadable. "Unless you want me to report a breach in protocol?"
Win raised his hands in mock surrender, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Okay, okay! Don't get your scrubs in a twist, Ling. I'll bring a latte back for you then, Orm. Since the Goddess of Trauma is being a taskmaster tonight."
As Win walked away, Orm turned to Lingling, her irritation returning in full force. "You are unbelievable! He actually asked me out—well, for coffee—and you ruined it! Why do you hate me so much?"
Lingling didn't answer immediately. She walked to the snack jar on the counter—the one she had secretly refilled earlier—and pulled out a small bag of honey-butter chips. She tossed them at Orm’s chest.
"Eat," Lingling said coldly. "And stop whining. Caffeine is bad for your heart rate. You're already too hyperactive as it is."
Lingling turned and walked away, her white coat billowing behind her like a cape. Orm stood there, clutching the chips, staring at the retreating back of the woman she found so incredibly annoying—and wondering why, for a split second, Lingling’s eyes had looked almost... jealous.
The adrenaline of the trauma case had finally bled out of the ER, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic silence of 4:00 AM. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting off the polished floors.
In the corner of the workstation, tucked behind a pillar of patient monitors, Lingling stood in the shadows. Her dark blue scrubs made her nearly invisible in the dim peripheral light. She wasn't checking charts; she was watching Orm.
Orm was bent over a computer, her brow furrowed in concentration as she keyed in the final reports from the accident. Lingling let out a long, silent sigh. Every time she looked at the younger nurse, her chest felt tight. It wasn't that she wanted to be mean or sarcastic—it was her only shield. How could she approach someone who so loudly and proudly orbited Win?
Compared to the "Golden Boy," Lingling felt a quiet, biting insecurity. Win was sunshine; Lingling was the storm. She convinced herself she had nothing to offer someone as bright as Orm. With one last look at the curve of Orm’s jaw and the way she bit her lip while typing, Lingling retreated. She headed toward the staff breakroom, hoping for even thirty minutes of sleep.
In my dreams, Lingling thought bitterly, she doesn’t look at me with irritation. In my dreams, I can be brave.
Orm finally hit "Save" on the last report. She stood up, her joints popping as she stretched her arms toward the ceiling. The ER was finally still, and she needed to walk off the lingering restlessness.
She wandered the quiet corridors, her feet eventually leading her toward the residents’ wing. As she passed the staff break room, she noticed the door wasn't fully shut—a sliver of dim, warm light spilled into the hallway.
Orm stopped. Through the crack, she saw her.
Dr. Lingling Kwong was fast asleep on one of the lower bunk beds. Without the sharp remarks and the scary and sharp armour, she looked... ethereal. The harsh lines of her face had softened in sleep, and the dark shadows of exhaustion under her eyes made her look vulnerable, almost childlike.
Orm stepped closer, her breath hitching. She had always called Lingling annoying, but looking at her now, she couldn't deny the truth: Lingling was breathtaking. An intrusive thought suddenly flickered in Orm’s mind—What would her skin feel like? Orm’s fingers actually twitched. She found herself wondering if that porcelain skin felt as cool and smooth as it looked, or if it held the heat of the fire she showed in the trauma bay. She began to reach out, her hand hovering inches from the door handle.
"The door hinge is fine, Nurse Orm. No need to stare it down."
Orm jumped nearly a foot in the air, spinning around to see Dr. Tawan Vihokratana, a second year trauma resident, standing behind her with a coffee cup and an amused glint in his eyes.
"Dr. Tawan! I... I was just..." Orm stammered, her face turning a deep, shameful crimson. "I thought the hinge looked... loose. I was just checking if it needed a repair. Safety first!"
Tawan raised an eyebrow, looking from Orm to the cracked door where Lingling was clearly visible. "A repair? At four in the morning? You’re a nurse of many talents, Orm."
The sound of their hushed voices was enough to stir the light sleeper inside. Lingling’s eyes fluttered open. She sat up slowly, her hair slightly mussed, staring at the two of them in total confusion.
Seeing Lingling awake and witnessing her embarrassment, Orm didn't wait for an explanation. "Anyway! Fixed! Bye!" she squeaked, turning and fleeing down the hallway as fast as her sneakers would allow.
Lingling rubbed her eyes, stepping out into the hall as Tawan chuckled. "What was that about?" she asked, her voice raspy from sleep.
Tawan shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Nurse Orm was just 'fixing the door hinge.' Or so she says. She was standing there staring at it—or someone behind it—for quite a while before I caught her."
Lingling froze. A strange, intrusive thought raced through her mind. Was Orm looking at me?
She quickly dismissed it. It was impossible. Orm probably just wanted to see if the room was empty so she could hide from work. But as she watched the empty hallway where Orm had disappeared, a tiny, stubborn corner of Lingling’s heart dared to wish it were true.
A few days had passed, and the heavy atmosphere of the graveyard shift had been replaced by the frantic, sun-drenched chaos of the afternoon peak. At Navamin Private Hospital, the shift change brought a new energy, but the underlying tensions between the ER staff remained as taut as a violin string.
In the bustling cafeteria, the smell of Thai basil and roasted coffee filled the air. Win and Orm were tucked away at a small corner table. Win was in his element, sketching diagrams on the back of a paper placemat while Orm watched him, her chin resting in her palms and her eyes practically glowing with "googly-eyed" adoration.
"See, Orm, the brain is like a city’s power grid," Win explained, his voice animated. "Neurosurgery is basically just being the ultimate electrician. If a 'wire'—a nerve—is pinched, the whole 'neighborhood' goes dark. It’s all about mapping the signals."
"You make it sound like magic, Dr. Win," Orm sighed, leaning in closer. Their shoulders brushed—a casual contact for Win, but a lightning strike of electricity for Orm. She didn't pull away; instead, she leaned into the warmth of his white coat, looking like a smitten schoolgirl.
Across the room, the elevator doors hissed open. Lingling stepped out, clutching a stack of urgent surgical reports. Her eyes scanned the room as she headed toward the administration lift, but they stopped dead on the corner table.
She saw the brush of their shoulders. She saw the way Orm’s face lit up at a simple neuro-fact. A wave of sharp, cold jealousy surged through her, making her heart ache. She gulped it down, her throat tight, and forced her legs to keep moving. She didn't look back, even as the image of them together burned into her mind.
Back in the ER, the "midday rush" was in full swing. The air was thick with the sound of ringing phones and the squeak of sneakers on linoleum. Orm was at the central workstation, methodically filling out admission forms, trying to keep her head down during the rush.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. The light-hearted chatter among the nurses vanished as Nurse Prim whispered urgently to another staff member. "A chart is missing. One of the Trauma Department’s post-op files. They can't find it anywhere."
A moment later, Lingling swept into the ER like a localised thunderstorm. Her face was a mask of cold fury, her dark eyes scanning the desks with predatory intensity.
"Where is the chart for the 4B patient?" Lingling demanded, her voice cutting through the noise. "It was sent down for an ER clearance. Who moved it?"
Orm, wanting to be helpful and perhaps hoping to bridge the cold gap that had grown between them since the cafeteria, stood up. "Dr. Kwong? I can help you search the overflow bin. Sometimes the clerks put the Trauma files there by mis—"
Lingling snapped.
She turned on Orm with a ferocity that stunned the entire room. "I don’t need your 'help,' Orm!" she barked. The use of Orm's name without her title felt like a slap. "I need people to do their jobs correctly so I don't have to waste my time down here. Stay in your lane and focus on your own paperwork for once!"
The ER went silent. This wasn't the usual sharp-tongued Dr. Kwong; this was something much harsher, a tone she had never used on Orm before.
"Found it!" a junior intern shouted from the other end of the station, holding up the folder. "It was misfiled under 'Orthopedics'!"
Lingling didn't even acknowledge the intern’s success. She didn't look at Orm again. She simply grabbed the chart and marched out of the ER, her heels clicking a rhythmic, angry pulse against the floor.
Orm stood frozen. The helpful smile had vanished, replaced by a look of sheer shock. Her eyes began to swim with tears, and she bit her lip hard to keep them from falling in front of everyone.
Nurse Prim quickly moved to her side, patting her back gently. "Oh, Orm... don't cry. You know Dr. Kwong. She’s probably just exhausted. Doctors get like that when they’re overstressed."
Orm just nodded silently, staring at her half-finished forms, feeling a hollow ache in her chest that had nothing to do with her crush on Win.
Lingling didn't make it back to the Trauma wing. The moment she was out of sight of the ER staff, she ducked into an empty patient bay and yanked the privacy curtain shut.
She leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the bed frame and let out a shaky breath. "Idiot," she hissed to herself. "Absolute idiot."
She knew why she had snapped. It wasn't about the chart. It was the memory of Orm leaning into Win’s shoulder in the cafeteria. It was the way Orm looked at Win with the very admiration Lingling craved for herself. Her jealousy had bubbled over, and she had aimed it at the one person she secretly adored.
She had wanted to be Orm’s hero, the talented surgeon she could rely on. Instead, she had become the monster that made her cry. Lingling closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her own pride and insecurity. She had no idea how to fix the bridge she had just burned.
The ER was slowly returning to its usual rhythmic chaos, but for Orm, the air felt thin and heavy. She sat at the nurse’s station, her eyes red-rimmed as she stared blankly at a digital patient log. Every time she blinked, she felt the sting of Lingling’s harsh words all over again.
"Hey, hey... what's with the rainy weather in here?"
A warm, familiar voice broke through her thoughts. Orm looked up to see Win standing there. He had swapped his white coat for a light blue scrub jacket, looking every bit the hospital’s Golden Boy. His smile faltered the moment he saw her face.
"Orm? Have you been crying?" His voice dropped, losing its usual playful lilt and replacing it with genuine concern.
"It's nothing, Dr. Win," Orm whispered, quickly wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand. "Just... a long shift. My eyes are tired."
Win wasn't an idiot when it came to reading people’s pain—only their romantic feelings. He walked around the counter, stepping into her personal space in that casual, effortless way he had. He reached out, gently tilting her chin up so she had to look at him.
"Nurses don't cry from long shifts. They cry when something hurts," he said softly. He pulled a clean, folded handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. "Was it a patient? Or was it Lingling?"
Orm sniffled, clutching the handkerchief. The scent of his expensive, clean cologne was comforting, but it didn't fill the hollow ache Lingling had left behind. "She was just... stressed about the chart. I shouldn't have bothered her."
"Lingling is a brilliant surgeon, but she can be a real pain in the neck when she’s stressed," Win sighed, leaning against the desk beside her. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder, a gesture of pure, platonic support that Orm usually would have swooned over. "Don't let her sharp tongue get to you. You’re the best nurse we have down here. The ER would fall apart without your sunshine, Orm."
Orm looked up at him, a small, fragile smile finally touching her lips. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Win laughed, giving her shoulder a playful shake. "Tell you what, after my next consult, I'll bring you that fancy matcha latte you like from the café downstairs. No crying allowed until you’ve had your caffeine, okay?"
Across the ER, partially hidden by the sliding glass doors of the trauma bay, Lingling stood frozen.
She had been about to walk out, to find Orm and somehow—anyhow—mumble an apology. But she stopped when she saw the scene at the desk. From where she stood, it looked like a movie poster. Win was leaning over Orm, his hand on her shoulder, his face inches from hers as he comforted her. He was being the hero. He was the one drying the tears that Lingling had caused.
A cold, bitter knot tightened in Lingling’s stomach. Jealousy, sharp and jagged, tore through her. She watched as Orm smiled at him—that bright, soulful smile that Lingling would give anything to have directed at her.
Look at them, Lingling thought, her grip tightening on the metal chart in her hand until her knuckles turned white. He’s everything she wants. And I’m just the person who makes her cry.
She felt a sudden, intense wave of self-loathing. She was the sharp Trauma Resident, the top of her class, the surgeon everyone respected—and yet, she felt like a failure. She was a coward who hid behind sarcasm because she was terrified of the way her heart raced whenever Orm laughed.
Lingling stepped back into the shadows of the trauma bay, retreating before they could see her. She couldn't compete with Win’s sunshine. She was the midnight shift, the storm, the difficult resident.
As she walked toward the back exit, she passed a trash can and caught a glimpse of her reflection in a sterile mirror. She looked tired, cold, and utterly alone.
I really am an idiot, she whispered to herself.
She wanted to go back and push Win away. She wanted to tell Orm that she didn't mean it, that she had spent thirty minutes choosing those honey-butter chips specifically for her, that she watched her from the shadows because she was too captivated to look away. But the words stayed locked behind her pride.
Later that evening, after the shift had officially ended and the ER was quiet, Orm went to her locker to pack her bag. When she opened the metal door, something fell out.
It was a small, brown paper bag. Inside was a single, expensive dark chocolate bar—the rare, sea-salt kind that Orm had once mentioned she loved during a group lunch months ago.
There was no note. No name.
Orm looked around the empty locker room, confused. She thought of Win—but Win usually made a big deal out of his gifts. He would have handed it to her with a flourish and a joke. This was silent. It was almost... hesitant.
In the hallway, Lingling walked toward the parking garage, her hands shoved deep in her pockets. Her heart was still heavy, but a small part of her felt a tiny bit of relief. She still couldn't speak the words, but she hoped the chocolate would say what she couldn't: I’m sorry. Please don't hate me.
The heavy monsoon rain hammered against the glass entrance of Navamin Private Hospital, but the sound was drowned out by the relentless chorus of sirens. A "Code Red" had been declared: a double-decker tour bus had hydroplaned on the outskirts of Bangkok.
The ER was a sea of motion. For the past few days, a cold war of silence had existed between Orm and Lingling. No teasing, no sharp remarks,—just a hollow, professional distance. Orm found herself perversely missing Lingling’s sharp tongue; the silence felt far more punishing than the sarcasm ever had. She had caught Lingling staring at her from across the ward several times, but whenever Orm looked up, the doctor was already turning away, her white coat vanishing around a corner.
"Orm! I need you in Triage Bay 2! We have ten more incoming!" the Head Nurse shouted.
Orm rushed to the station, her heart hammering. Standing there, already covered in a thin layer of grime and focus, was Dr. Lingling Kwong.
They locked eyes for a split second. There was no time for apologies or glares. The first ambulance doors burst open.
"Name? Vitals? Tag color?" Lingling barked, her hands already flying over a patient’s chest.
"Patient 102, male, 30s, unconscious, BP 80 over 40. Red tag!" Orm responded, her voice steady despite the chaos.
For the next four hours, the world outside ceased to exist. They worked in a high-speed, intuitive rhythm. They didn't need to speak about anything other than the patients. Lingling would hold a limb, and Orm would have the splint ready. Orm would reach for a syringe, and Lingling would already be cleaning the injection site.
During the peak of the madness, they both reached for a roll of medical tape at the same time. Their fingers brushed—skin against skin, slick with sweat and sanitiser. Orm felt a jolt go up her arm, a sharp, electric spark that made her breath hitch. She looked up and found Lingling’s dark eyes fixed on her. They weren't cold or mocking; they were wide, intense, and filled with a raw, unspoken longing.
Orm’s heart skipped a beat—not the fluttery, lighthearted skip she felt with Win, but a heavy, thudding realisation.
By 6:00 AM, the last patient had been stabilised and sent to surgery. The triage area was a mess of discarded gloves, wrappers, and the smell of iron. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.
Orm stood by the sink, scrubbing her hands until the skin was pink. She sensed a presence behind her. She expected Lingling to walk past without a word, as she had for days.
Instead, she stopped.
"Good work today, Nurse Orm," Lingling said. Her voice was low, raspy from hours of shouting orders, but it held a new, soft weight.
Orm turned, drying her hands, her heart beginning that strange, heavy thud again. "Thank you, Dr. Kwong. You too."
There was a long, awkward silence as they orbited each other’s personal space. Then, Lingling did something she had never done. She reached out and, mirroring the way Win often did, she gently patted Orm’s head.
But it wasn't like Win’s playful, brotherly pat. Lingling’s hand lingered for a second longer. Her palm was warm, and her fingers drifted slightly against Orm's hair before she pulled away.
"You're tougher than you look," Lingling whispered, a small, genuine smile—devoid of any smirk or sarcasm—breaking across her beautiful face. It was the bravest Lingling had ever looked.
Orm felt a heat rush to her cheeks that felt entirely different from her usual blushes. When Win patted her head, she felt like a protected younger sister. But under Lingling’s touch... she felt seen. She felt like a woman.
Lingling turned and walked away toward the staff elevators, her head held high, leaving Orm standing alone in the quiet triage bay.
Orm touched the top of her head where Lingling’s hand had been. She looked toward the workstation where she usually watched Win, but for the first time in two years, her eyes didn't seek out the Golden Boy. She found herself staring at the closed elevator doors, wondering why the the trauma resident’s silence had suddenly become the only thing she wanted to hear.
The sun was beginning to rise over Bangkok, and for Orm, the light was hitting everything differently. The sharp tongued resident wasn't just an annoying disturbance anymore—she was a mystery that Orm suddenly, desperately wanted to solve.
The transition was subtle at first. Orm still told herself she had a massive crush on Dr. Win—it was part of her identity at Navamin Hospital. But lately, her internal compass was malfunctioning. Her eyes, which used to scan the hallways for a flash of Win’s white coat, were now involuntarily tracking a specific shade of dark blue trauma scrubs.
Orm stood at the edge of the treatment bay, watching through the glass. Lingling was kneeling beside a small boy who had been brought in for a head laceration. The sharp tongued resident was gone; in her place was a woman with a voice like velvet. She wasn't just fixing a wound; she was narrating a story about "bravery stickers" to the terrified child.
Orm watched the way Lingling’s hands moved—steady, sure, yet incredibly gentle. There was a passion in her focus that was breathtaking. When the boy finally laughed, a genuine, warm smile broke across Lingling’s face, illuminating her features in a way that made Orm’s chest feel tight.
She’s actually... kind, Orm thought, leaning against the doorframe. Why did I always think she was just a shark?
"It’s a different kind of beautiful when she’s not barking orders, isn't it?"
Orm nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun around to find Win standing right behind her, his hands in his pockets and an amused, knowing glint in his eyes.
"Dr. Win! What is it with you residents and your stealthy steps?" she squeaked, her face instantly heating up. "I was just... checking if the pediatric consult was finished."
Win followed her line of sight back to Lingling, then looked back at Orm. He didn't look jealous; he looked intrigued. "I’m here because one of the trauma residents asked for a neuro-opinion. But it looks like I’ve caught a certain nurse doing some 'consulting' of her own."
"I wasn't staring!" Orm protested, though her flustered expression said otherwise.
Win just chuckled, a tinge of teasing in his voice. "Right. And I’m a supermodel, not a neurosurgeon. Carry on, Nurse Orm."
A few hours later, the shift ended. Win and Lingling found themselves at a dimly lit pub a block away from the hospital. The air was cool, the music was low, and two condensation-covered beer bottles sat between them.
They talked about the day's cases—the bus accident, the surgeries, the exhaustion. But Win had an agenda. He waited until Lingling was halfway through her third bottle before he leaned in.
"So," Win said casually. "You and Nurse Orm. You two seemed... synchronised during the triage."
Lingling stiffened, her hand tightening around her beer. "She’s a competent nurse, Win. Don't make it a thing."
"I'm not making it anything," Win said gently. "I’m just saying... you’ve been a bit less 'thorny' lately. But Ling, you know, someone can only know your feelings if you actually broadcast them. Keeping them on a private frequency doesn't help anyone."
Lingling froze. She looked at Win with a flash of pure panic. Did he know? If Win, who was notoriously oblivious to love, had figured out her feelings for Orm, did that mean the whole hospital knew? Did Orm know?
The thought of Orm seeing through her—seeing the insecurity and the pining behind the her mask—was too much.
"I need water," Lingling blurted out, her voice slightly strained. She stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair. "I’m sober enough to realise I’m tired. I’ll see you at the dorms, Win."
She stumbled out of the pub before he could respond, her heart racing faster than it ever did in the OR.
The bright, clinical lights of the nearby 7-Eleven were a shock to Lingling’s system. She needed to sober up, so she made a beeline for the refrigerated section to grab a cold bottle of mineral water.
As she turned toward the checkout, she stopped dead.
There was Orm, still in her casual clothes from the shift change, concentrated on the microwave. She was preparing a bowl of instant ramen and had a plastic-wrapped sandwich tucked under her arm.
The store was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerators. Lingling walked over to the small standing table prepared for customers and sat down, playing nervously with the cap of her water bottle.
Orm noticed her and froze. "Dr. Kwong? You’re still around?"
"Beer," Lingling said bluntly, then winced at how short she sounded. "I mean... I was with Win. Needed water."
They stood in a strange, thick silence while the microwave beeped. Orm finished her ramen and brought it over, tentatively sitting on the stool beside Lingling.
Lingling didn't look away this time. She leaned her chin on her hand, her eyes fixed on Orm. To any outsider, it might have looked like her usual intense, judgmental stare. But inside her head, Lingling was a mess.
Gosh, Lingling thought, her heart swelling. Even the way she stirs her ramen is adorable. How can someone look that cute while eating instant noodles at midnight?
Orm felt the weight of the gaze. Previously, this kind of silence with Lingling would have felt like a judgment, but tonight... it was electric. Every time she felt Lingling’s eyes on her, a nervous, fluttery sensation danced in her stomach.
As Orm reached for her chopsticks, her shoulder brushed against Lingling’s. She flinched for a split second—a reflex—but she didn't move away. Neither of them did. They just sat there in the neon glow of the convenience store, the silence between them no longer a wall, but a bridge.
For the first time, Orm didn't think about Dr. Win at all. She only thought about the warmth of the woman sitting next to her, and the strange, beautiful realisation that maybe, just maybe, the Lingling Kwong wasn't so untouchable after all.
The neon hum of the 7-Eleven refrigerators felt like a spotlight on the two of them. Lingling, usually the picture of clinical composure, was leaning back on her stool, her movements slightly looser and her gaze a little heavier thanks to the three bottles of beer.
Orm was carefully manoeuvring a strand of spicy ramen when she felt Lingling’s shadow shift.
"You're a messy eater, Nurse Orm," Lingling murmured. Her voice was lower than usual, vibrating with a tipsy bravery.
Before Orm could grab a napkin, Lingling reached out. Her thumb brushed against the corner of Orm’s chin, catching a drop of red sauce. The touch was slow—unnecessarily slow. Orm froze, her breath hitching as she looked into Lingling’s dark, hooded eyes.
Then, Lingling did something that shattered Orm’s composure entirely. She brought her thumb to her own lips and sucked the sauce off, her eyes never leaving Orm’s. A slow, devastatingly teasing smirk spread across Lingling’s face.
Oh my god, Orm thought, her ears turning a brilliant shade of crimson. That was... that was hot.
Recovering from the shock, a surge of adrenaline hit Orm. If Lingling wanted to play, Orm wasn't going to back down. She reached out and snatched Lingling’s half-full water bottle from the table.
With a defiant look, Orm unscrewed the cap and drank, intentionally placing her lips exactly where Lingling’s had been just moments before. She took a long, slow sip, watching for Lingling’s reaction over the rim of the plastic bottle.
The change was instantaneous. Lingling’s gaze darkened, and her breath hitched. The playful smirk vanished, replaced by an expression of raw, concentrated intensity. She leaned in closer, their shoulders now firmly pressed together, the scent of her clean soap and a hint of hops clouding Orm’s senses.
"Don't start something you can't finish, Orm," Lingling whispered, her voice a dangerous, velvety warning against Orm’s ear.
She reached up, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind Orm’s ear—a soft, lingering gesture that contrasted sharply with her words. Lingling stood up abruptly, clearing her throat as she regained some of her professional posture.
"Finished?" Lingling asked. "It's late. I'll walk you back to the dorms."
The five-block walk to the staff dormitories was draped in the quiet, humid air of a Bangkok night. They walked side-by-side, the distance between them practically non-existent. Every few steps, their knuckles would brush—a fleeting, electric contact that made Orm’s skin tingle.
Beside her, Lingling was a storm of internal conflict. She kept her other hand clenched in her pockets to stop herself from reaching out and interlacing her fingers with Orm’s. Every time their hands touched by accident, it felt like a sweet torture.
When they reached the entrance of the nurses' dormitory, Orm stopped and turned. She knew Lingling’s resident dorm was two blocks back; they had walked right past it.
"Thank you for walking me, Dr. Kwong," Orm said, her voice soft. "But... isn't your building back that way?"
Lingling looked away quickly, her ears turning a slight pink that matched Orm’s earlier blush. "It’s... it was on the same way anyway. Roughly," she mumbled, a blatant lie that hung in the air between them.
Orm didn't call her out on it. Instead, she looked up at the resident and gave her a smile. It wasn't the bubbly, fan-girl smile she gave Dr. Win, or the polite smile she gave patients. It was a warm, intimate smile meant only for Lingling.
"Goodnight, Lingling," Orm said, using her name without the title for the first time.
Lingling stood stunned as Orm turned and entered the building, her heart stuttering in her chest. She watched until Orm’s shadow disappeared from the lobby, then she turned around to walk back to her own dorm.
A wide, foolish grin—the kind that would have horrified her colleagues—was etched onto Lingling’s face. She didn't just walk; she practically floated. The girl she liked hadn't just smiled at her; she had seen her.