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When people said they were meeting a hot guy, Leo Valdez had always assumed there were rules. Soft lighting. A bar with sticky floors and good music. A cozy café where the coffee tasted like regret and cinnamon. Maybe even a library, if you were the broody-intellectual type. What you did not expect was fluorescent lights, the faint smell of antiseptic, and a nurse asking you to rate your pain on a scale from one to ten while you were actively questioning all your life choices.
Yet here Leo was. Hospital bed. Thin blanket that felt like it had personally beef with warmth. An IV taped to his arm like a reminder that science was judging him.
All because of chili water.
Not chili. Not soup. Chili water. A liter of it. Habanero seeds floating around like demonic confetti. Someone—Leo would not name names, because the name was Leo—had suggested it was a “test of endurance.” Leo Valdez, renowned genius and repeat offender of stupid challenges, had chugged it like he was immune to consequences.
Consequences, it turned out, were very real.
They arrived around two in the morning, sharp and sudden, like someone had broken into his abdomen with a knife and zero chill. Leo woke up drenched in sweat, curled around himself, convinced for a full thirty seconds that this was just karma finally catching up to him. Then the pain spiked, and pride went out the window. He crawled. Literally crawled. Down the hallway, dragging himself like a dramatic Victorian orphan, until he reached his parents’ bedroom.
Thank every god ever that they were sleeping.
His dad, Hephaestus, woke up mid-grumble, instantly alert the second he saw his son on the floor, pale and shaking. His mom, Esperanza, screamed Leo’s full name—which is never a good sign—and suddenly the house was chaos. Shoes thrown on backward. Keys dropped. Leo wedged into the backseat while his dad broke at least three traffic laws on the way to the emergency room.
Appendicitis, the doctor said, calm as if Leo hadn’t just experienced the worst pain of his life. Surgery. Soon. Routine. Nothing to worry about.
Easy for them to say. It wasn’t their appendix staging a rebellion.
So now Leo waited, heart still racing, staring at the ceiling tiles and wondering if this was how he died—taken out not by monsters or explosions, but by spicy stupidity. A nurse had just finished adjusting his IV when the curtain slid open again.
And that’s when Doctor Grace walked in.
Leo’s brain short-circuited.
Tall. Broad-shouldered in light blue scrubs. Dark blond hair that looked unfairly good for someone working a night shift. Calm, steady eyes that somehow managed to be gentle and devastating at the same time. He smiled—actually smiled—like hospitals weren’t places of fear and beeping machines and regret.
“Leo Valdez?” he asked, voice smooth and warm.
Leo swallowed. “Uh. Yeah. That’s me. Still alive. Mostly.”
Doctor Grace chuckled, and it should have been illegal for that sound to exist in a sterile hospital room. “I’m Jason Grace, or Doctor Grace. I’ll be taking care of you on your surgery.”
Of course he would.
Leo suddenly became deeply aware of his hospital gown, his IV, and the fact that his appendix was actively betraying him. This was not how rom-coms usually went. There was no meet-cute. No spilled coffee. Just a grown man explaining, very professionally, that Leo’s insides needed to be removed.
And yet.
Jason pulled up a stool, explained the procedure with patience, answered Leo’s nervous jokes with easy smiles, and never once made him feel stupid—even though the reason for all this was, objectively, incredibly stupid.
As Jason stood to leave, promising he’d be back soon, Leo thought dimly that if he was going to have surgery, wake up groggy, and question reality, at least the universe had thrown him a small mercy.
Apparently, the price of chili water was your appendix.
The reward?
A ridiculously hot doctor with kind eyes and a smile that made hospitals feel almost… romantic.
The curtain slid closed again, and the room shifted into that strange, quiet-before-the-plunge feeling. Machines hummed. Shoes squeaked somewhere down the hall. Jason came back in, this time with that calm, focused air that said doctor mode activated, and somehow—infuriatingly—he was still hot while doing it.
“All right, Leo,” Jason said gently, adjusting something on the IV. “We’re going to get you into surgery. You’ll be asleep before you know it.”
Leo nodded, already feeling floaty, like his thoughts were wrapped in cotton candy. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” He paused, squinting at Jason. “Just—uh—if you see my appendix, tell it I said this was personal.”
Jason blinked. Then, despite himself, a corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll pass the message along.”
The anesthesiologist leaned in, told Leo to count backward. Leo got as far as “seven” before his brain decided numbers were a social construct. The last thing he managed to say, slurred and triumphant, was, “Guess my appendix couldn’t handle the heat,” and then darkness took him completely.
Three hours later, the world came back in fragments.
Light. Voices. The steady beep-beep-beep of a machine that sounded annoyingly cheerful for someone who had just been sliced open. Leo blinked, eyes heavy, thoughts lagging a solid ten seconds behind reality. He became vaguely aware of familiar shapes—his parents standing close, his mom clutching his hand like she was anchoring him to the planet, his dad’s face tight with worry and relief. A nurse stood nearby, clipboard in hand.
And then there was Jason.
Still there. Still hot. Possibly even hotter, which felt unfair, considering Leo had just had an organ removed.
Leo’s brain, filtered through anesthesia and zero impulse control, decided now was the time.
“So,” he murmured, voice thick and dreamy, “this is fate, right? Because I do something stupid, lose an appendix, and wake up to the hottest doctor I’ve ever seen.”
There was a beat of silence.
The nurse made a sound that was suspiciously close to a snort.
Leo continued, encouraged by his own bravery. “I mean, I don’t even mind being spread open if it’s by Dr. Grace—”
Before anyone could stop him, Leo shifted under the blanket and, with all the confidence of a man not fully connected to his limbs, spread his legs.
The nurse slapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.
His dad sighed, long and deep, the sigh of a man who had raised this child and was now reliving every questionable parenting moment at once.
“Leo,” his mother said sharply, immediately pulling the blanket back into place and firmly closing his legs, “absolutely not.”
Jason cleared his throat. Very professionally. Heroically, even. His ears were pink, but his expression stayed composed as he stepped forward, checking the monitors like this happened to him every day. “Surgery went well,” he said, voice steady. “Appendix is out. No complications. He’s… responding normally to anesthesia.”
“Normally,” the nurse repeated faintly.
Leo smiled up at Jason, blissfully unaware of shame. “See?” he said. “Perfectly normal.”
Jason glanced down at him, eyes warm despite himself. “Get some rest, Leo,” he said gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you.”
As Leo drifted back toward sleep, he was pretty sure he heard Jason laugh—just a little—before the curtain slid shut again.
When Leo woke up for real this time—less floaty, more ow—the world had settled into a rhythm. The beeping machine was still there, his abdomen felt like it had been politely but firmly mugged, and his mother was seated at his bedside with the posture of someone who dared the universe to try anything funny again.
The official verdict was that Leo Valdez needed to stay put for a few days. His surgery wound was still fresh, still healing, still something the nurses kept a very close eye on. He missed a handful of classes, which would normally send him into an anxious spiral, but his mother had already called the university with terrifying efficiency, and his father had personally delivered the hospital letter like a man on a quest. Professors were informed. Absences excused. The academic system bowed respectfully and stepped aside.
Leo, meanwhile, was having the time of his life.
Because Doctor Jason Grace was in charge of him.
Jason checked in regularly—professionally, responsibly, annoyingly attractively. He asked about pain levels, checked the incision, made sure there were no signs of infection, adjusted medications. Every visit was calm and efficient and exactly the kind of thing that should not make Leo’s heart beat faster.
And yet.
Every single time Jason appeared, Leo’s mouth betrayed him.
“So,” Leo said one afternoon as Jason flipped through his chart, “do you check on all your patients this often, or am I just your favorite?”
Jason didn’t even look up. “Pain level?”
“Lower when you’re here,” Leo replied immediately.
Smack.
His mom slapped his arm without missing a beat. “Apologize.”
Leo winced. “Worth it.”
The nurse passing by snorted so loudly she had to pretend to cough.
Another time, Jason asked him to sit up a little so he could examine the incision. Leo complied—slowly, dramatically. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I feel like this whole experience has really brought us closer.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Has it?”
“Yeah. I mean, you’ve seen my insides. That’s intimacy.”
Smack.
“Leo!”
Jason’s lips twitched as he adjusted the bandage. “No signs of infection,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “Sense of humor appears intact.”
Leo beamed. “You should put that in my chart.”
By day three, it had become a routine. Jason would enter. Leo would flirt shamelessly. His mom would swat him. His dad would sigh from the corner, staring resolutely at the wall like a man dissociating for survival. Jason would remain professional with heroic effort, though the faint smile he never quite managed to suppress gave Leo dangerous hope.
Honestly, for someone who had lost an appendix, Leo figured he was winning.
Sure, his abdomen hurt. Sure, he was bored. But he had good drugs, doting parents, and a ridiculously hot doctor who kept checking on him like Leo was something precious and breakable instead of a walking bad decision.
If this was recovery, Leo decided, he could take his time healing.
By the fourth check-in of the day, Jason had learned two things: one, Leo Valdez healed fast; and two, Leo Valdez flirted faster.
Jason stood at the foot of the bed, chart tucked under his arm, posture relaxed but attentive. “All right,” he said, scanning a few notes. “I need to ask—do you remember what you ate before the pain started?”
Leo straightened a little, clearly sensing opportunity. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing halfway through because apparently abdominal surgery did not care about his confidence. “I do,” he said, lowering his voice like he was about to confess something scandalous. “And I want you to know I was very brave about it.”
Jason looked up. “Brave.”
“And sexy,” Leo added. “Mostly sexy.”
His mom made a warning noise.
Jason ignored it with practiced skill. “What did you eat, Leo?”
Leo took a breath. “I chugged chili water.”
Jason blinked. Once. “Chili… soup?”
“No,” Leo said proudly. “Chili in water.”
Jason frowned slightly. “Like—”
“Habanero seeds,” Leo supplied helpfully. “Floating. Just vibing. In water.”
The room went silent.
The nurse, who had been checking vitals, froze mid-step. His dad slowly closed his eyes like he was rebooting. His mother stared at the ceiling, whispering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.
Jason stared at Leo. “…You did this consciously.”
“Yes,” Leo said immediately.
On purpose.”
“Yes.”
With intent.”
“Yes, but—”
Jason exhaled, pressing his lips together, clearly fighting something between disbelief and laughter. “And why,” he asked carefully, “would you do that?”
Leo shrugged, grin lazy and unapologetic. “Now do you find me attractive?”
The nurse let out a sound halfway between a choke and a laugh.
Jason finally cracked—just a little. He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking away before returning to Leo. “Well,” he said, tone dry, “I find you… a little crazy in the head.”
Leo’s smile softened, somehow sincere beneath all the chaos. “I like that.”
His mom slapped his arm again. Harder this time.
Jason cleared his throat, straightening, professionalism snapping back into place like armor. “No more chili experiments,” he said firmly. “And definitely no more flirting while you’re recovering.”
Leo saluted him weakly. “Can’t promise anything, Doc.”
Jason shook his head as he turned to leave, but this time, he was definitely smiling.
After the chili-water confession incident, the room settled back into its familiar rhythm—machines humming, his parents hovering, Jason doing his best to pretend Leo Valdez was just another patient and not a walking flirt hazard.
It did not work.
Later that afternoon, Leo overheard a nurse chatting with Jason just outside the curtain. It was nothing dramatic—complaints about coffee, someone’s double shift—but Leo’s ears zeroed in with supernatural precision.
“…you’re thirty-three, you can handle one more round,” the nurse teased.
Jason laughed. “I’m single, tired, and severely under-caffeinated. Be merciful.”
Leo froze.
Single.
Thirty-three.
Leo did some lightning-fast math in his head. Fourteen-year age gap. Some people would pause at that. Some people would hesitate.
Leo Valdez was not some people.
Hot? Check. Single? Check. Clearly capable of removing organs without breaking a sweat? Check.
By the time Jason came back in for his next check-in, Leo had a plan.
A terrible, wonderful plan.
Jason approached the bed, gloved hands gentle as he checked the incision. “Any pain?”
“Only emotional,” Leo said gravely. “From missing you between visits.”
His mom pinched the bridge of her nose.
Jason sighed fondly. “Vitals are good,” he said. “You’re healing well.”
“Glad to hear I’m impressive in multiple ways,” Leo replied.
As Jason finished writing something on the chart, Leo casually reached under his pillow and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. With the smoothness of someone who had absolutely no shame left to lose, he slipped it into Jason’s hand and added a wink for emphasis.
Jason paused.
Looked down.
Then back up at Leo.
The silence stretched.
“Oh my god,” Esperanza said immediately, horrified. “Doctor, I am so sorry. He just had surgery. He’s not—he doesn’t usually—well, he does, but—”
“He’s very charming,” Hephaestus muttered, staring at the wall again.
Jason unfolded the paper just enough to see the number before carefully refolding it. He didn’t look offended. Or angry.
If anything, he looked… amused.
“It’s fine,” Jason said calmly, slipping the paper into his pocket like this happened all the time. “I guess I’ll just have to get used to it.”
Leo grinned, utterly victorious.
After the number incident, something in Leo leveled up.
It was subtle at first—the way he waited just a beat longer before speaking, the way his grin softened into something almost smooth instead of outright feral. Surgery recovery, apparently, had unlocked a new flirting skill tree. Leo Valdez was evolving.
Jason came in the next morning with his usual clipboard and calm, and Leo greeted him like this was not a hospital room but a very weird first date.
“Hey, Doc,” Leo said casually. “Have you eaten today?”
Jason glanced up. “Yes.”
Leo nodded. “Cool. Because if you hadn’t, I was gonna offer to feed you. You know. Patient care.”
Wink.
Esperanza’s fingers dug into the armrest of the chair.
Jason adjusted the IV line like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Any nausea this morning, Leo?”
“Only when I think about how hard you work,” Leo replied. “Speaking of—did you sleep well?”
“I did,” Jason said evenly.
“Do you,” Leo continued, voice dropping, “sleep… hot?”
Wink.
Hephaestus stood up. Sat back down. Stood up again. “Son,” he said slowly, “I am begging you to remember this man is legally allowed to charge us money.”
Jason cleared his throat, entirely too composed. “Pain level?”
“Manageable,” Leo said. “Especially when you’re here.”
Esperanza made a noise like she was reconsidering motherhood.
Jason scribbled something on the chart, unfazed. “Good. Any sharp pains? Dizziness? Fever?”
Leo sighed dramatically. “You always change the subject.”
“It’s my job,” Jason said gently.
And he meant it. Every flirt was met with patience, professionalism, and a smooth redirection back to Leo’s condition. Jason never encouraged it—but he never shut it down harshly either, which Leo took as a win.
No texts came. No mysterious unknown number lighting up Leo’s phone. And honestly? That was fine. Because Jason still showed up. Still checked on him. Still smiled that small, dangerous smile like he was trying very hard not to laugh.
As far as Leo was concerned, the hospital had become the best place he’d ever almost died.
By the end of the week, Leo had learned Jason’s schedule better than his own medication times. Morning check-in. Afternoon follow-up. Calm voice. Clipboard. Professional smile that absolutely did not mean anything, except maybe everything. Leo was thriving.
Which is why, when the curtain pulled back one morning and Jason Grace did not walk in, Leo immediately sensed betrayal.
Instead, the universe sent Dr. Zhang.
Dr. Zhang was… impressive. A mountain of muscle stuffed into a white coat like it was fighting for its life. Broad shoulders. Thick forearms. The kind of man who looked like he could bench-press the hospital bed with Leo still in it. Leo’s eyes widened appreciatively, and before his brain could catch up, he whistled.
Dr. Zhang stopped mid-step.
Leo winced. “Sorry. Reflex.”
Dr. Zhang raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’m Dr. Zhang. I’ll be covering for Dr. Grace today.”
“Oh,” Leo said, deflating just a little. “Cool. Cool, cool. You’re—uh—very hot.”
Esperanza gasped. Hephaestus muttered something about switching hospitals.
Dr. Zhang crossed his arms. “I’m married.”
Leo groaned dramatically. “Of course you are. Why is everyone attractive and unavailable?”
Dr. Zhang laughed despite himself. “Trust me, my wife is way hotter than I am.”
Leo squinted. “Rude to yourself, but respectful. I’ll allow it.”
Dr. Zhang finished the check-up efficiently, clearly immune to Leo’s charms, then headed for the door. As the curtain slid shut, Leo collapsed back against his pillows with a sigh.
“I miss my beloved Dr. Grace,” he grumbled.
Esperanza reached over and smacked his arm. Again.
The next morning, the curtain slid open and—finally—there he was.
Jason Grace. In all his calm, clipboard-holding, unfairly handsome glory.
Leo lit up.
It was immediate and uncontrollable, like someone had switched on every bulb behind his eyes. “Oh thank the gods,” he breathed. “I thought I was abandoned.”
Jason laughed softly as he stepped in, and honestly, Leo was pretty sure that sound alone lowered his pain scale by three points. Best medication he’d had all week. Better than morphine. Better than naps.
“Feeling okay today?” Jason asked, already checking the monitors.
“Emotionally? I’m healed,” Leo said. “Physically? Also healed. Spiritually? Enlightened.”
His parents exchanged a look of shared exhaustion.
Jason flipped through the chart. “Well,” he said, “everything looks good. Incision’s healing well, no fever, no complications.” He looked up. “I’m clearing you today. You can go home tomorrow.”
Esperanza nearly cried with relief.
Hephaestus let out a long breath, like he’d been holding it since the chili-water incident. “Thank you,” he said fervently. “Thank you so much.”
Leo, meanwhile, stared in horror. “Go home?” he repeated. “Tomorrow?”
Jason nodded.
Leo clutched his stomach dramatically. “Wait. Ow. Oh no. Pain. So much pain. I think—ah—I might need to stay another week. For safety.”
Esperanza didn’t hesitate. She smacked his arm. “No you don’t!”
“Ow!” Leo protested. “See? Pain!”
Jason laughed, unable to help himself this time, shaking his head as he backed toward the door. “Get some rest, Leo,” he said warmly. “You’ll be fine.”
As he left, Leo watched him go, sighing like a man who had just lost the love of his life—or at least the hottest doctor he’d ever met.
After Jason left the room, the hospital reclaimed its usual quiet hum, but the echoes of Leo Valdez lingered long after—apparently even beyond the curtain.
In the doctors’ quarters, Dr. Zhang leaned against the counter, sipping bad coffee like it was a test of endurance. “So,” he said casually, “your patient is… really passionate.”
Jason didn’t even look up from washing his hands. “That’s one word for it.”
Zhang chuckled. “Kid flirted with me too. Whistled. Asked about my wife. Very bold.”
Jason smiled despite himself, shaking his head. “He’s just lonely.”
Zhang hummed thoughtfully. “Or persistent.”
Jason didn’t answer that. He just dried his hands and picked up his chart.
The next day came too fast.
Leo was dressed, discharged, and dramatically sulking. His parents were practically vibrating with relief as Jason walked them out, hands tucked into his coat pockets, posture relaxed like this was just another ordinary goodbye.
“Take it easy,” Jason told Leo gently. “No risky stunts. No spicy experiments. Let your body heal.”
Leo nodded solemnly. “I promise,” he said. Then, softer, “But if I disappear, it’s because I missed you too much and did something dumb on purpose.”
Esperanza groaned. “Leo.”
Jason laughed, just a little. “Try not to come back for that reason.”
“I’ll try,” Leo said, eyes suspiciously shiny. “But no promises.”
They parted ways, and Leo climbed into the car feeling like someone had quietly closed the door on a very good dream. As the hospital faded behind them, he slumped against the seat, staring out the window.
Then his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Leo’s heart jumped into his throat as he opened the message.
Take care of yourself. And seriously—no chili water.
At the bottom, just two initials:
JG
Leo screamed.
Not out loud—Hephaestus would’ve pulled the car over—but internally, spiritually, on a frequency only dramatic idiots could reach. He stared at his phone like it might evaporate if he blinked.
JG.
Jason Grace. Real. With thumbs. With a phone. With the audacity.
He typed back. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted that too.
You texted me first felt too desperate.
I promise I won’t chug chili water again felt like a lie.
Is this professional misconduct or fate? felt… tempting.
By the time he finally sent, his mom was already suspiciously watching him from the passenger seat.
“Who are you texting,” Esperanza asked sweetly, which meant dangerously.
“No one,” Leo said instantly. “Just… medical advice.”
Hephaestus snorted.
Leo typed:
I make no promises but I will TRY to be less stupid for my health.
Three dots appeared.
Leo stopped breathing.
They disappeared.
They came back.
Jason: Good. I’d hate to see you back in my OR.
Leo pressed a hand to his chest. “Too late,” he whispered. “I’m already in your heart.”
His mom slapped his arm again.
Over the next few days, recovery was… boring. No beeping machines. No nurses. No Jason casually saving his life while looking like that. Just bandage changes, bland food, and his parents watching him like he might sprint toward danger at any second.
But the texts kept coming.
Nothing outrageous. Nothing unprofessional. Just enough.
How’s the pain today?
Remember to walk a little, but not too much.
Please tell me you’re not drinking anything red and spicy.
Leo replied with increasing confidence.
Pain is fine. Ego still fragile.
I walked. Very heroically.
I am staring at hot sauce from across the room like it betrayed me.
Jason responded with a laughing emoji.
A laughing emoji.
Leo threw his phone onto his bed and screamed into his pillow.
One evening, while Leo was dramatically arranging himself on the couch like a Victorian patient, his phone buzzed again.
Jason: You know… once you’re fully recovered, you won’t technically be my patient anymore.
Leo sat straight up.
Leo: Is that you being professional or you being brave?
There was a longer pause this time.
Jason: Probably both.
Leo smiled so hard his stitches protested.
Worth it, he thought.
Rom-com rules dictated that this was the part where the music swelled, the misunderstandings loomed, and someone inevitably did something stupid.
Knowing Leo Valdez?
That part was coming very, very soon.
Leo Valdez, famously incapable of leaving well enough alone, decided that very, very soon meant right now.
By day five of recovery, he was technically not allowed to lift anything heavier than a textbook, bend too fast, or—according to his mother—“emotionally provoke medical professionals.” Leo agreed to the first two. The third felt negotiable.
Jason texted that evening.
How’s recovery treating you?
Leo grinned at his phone like it had personally complimented him.
I survived. No infections. No explosions. Haven’t chugged anything suspicious.
A pause.
Jason: Proud of you.
Leo clutched his chest and toppled sideways on the couch.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “He’s proud of me.”
From the kitchen, Esperanza called, “Why are you whispering like a Victorian child with consumption?”
“No reason,” Leo said, immediately typing back.
Since I’m almost not your patient anymore… does that mean I can flirt without medical consequences?
Three dots.
Gone.
Back.
Jason: You’ve been flirting WITH medical consequences this whole time.
Leo laughed out loud.
True. So what happens when I’m officially discharged?
This time, the dots lingered. Leo watched them like a countdown to either joy or humiliation.
Jason: Then I’d be allowed to ask you to stop flirting.
Leo: And would you?
Longer pause.
Jason: …No.
Leo let out a noise that startled his dad so badly he almost dropped a wrench.
A week later, Leo was cleared for full normal activity—within reason. His parents relaxed marginally. His stitches healed. His phone buzzed more often than it ever had in his life.
And then, one afternoon, Jason texted:
I’m off tomorrow. Want to get coffee? Somewhere not fluorescent.
Leo stared at the message.
Read it again.
Screamed.
This time, out loud.
Esperanza rushed in, panicked. “What’s wrong?”
Leo held up his phone, eyes shining. “I’m going to meet a hot guy. Like a normal person. In a café.”
She squinted at the screen, read the initials at the bottom, then sighed deeply. “At least he’s not charging us anymore.”
The next day, Leo showed up ten minutes early, wearing his best jacket and a smile that was only slightly unhinged. When Jason walked in—no scrubs, soft sweater, still devastating—Leo forgot every line he’d rehearsed.
Jason smiled. “You look… healthy.”
Leo grinned back. “You should see my appendix. Oh wait. You can’t. You took it.”
Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Coffee?”
“Absolutely,” Leo said. “But just so you know—I only drink things that won’t try to kill me now.”
Jason raised his cup in salute. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
And just like that, Leo Valdez’s worst decision became his best meet-cute.