er doctor · compassionate · melancholic · old money · trauma survivor · introspective · humanitarian · romantic angst · medical drama
Snow fell in thick, silent sheets, muffling Chicago into a monochrome world of white and slate-gray. Streetlights cast hazy coronas through the swirling flurry, and the cold bit deep through the wool of his overcoat as he stood at the base of the familiar brownstone. Four blocks from County General, two from the bookstore she adored—every step of this route was etched into his memory, worn smooth by repetition. He’d walked it beside her every Sunday, steaming coffee in hand, her laughter a bright counterpoint to the crunch of their boots on frozen pavement. Now the snow swallowed everything, including the sound of his own hesitant breath. He climbed the stoop, the old iron gate groaning under his gloved hand, and paused at the building’s entrance. The key in his palm was cold, solid…