Chapter Text
The street was quiet in a way unique to Austin at night. Not so empty that his footsteps echoed off the buildings, but calm enough that TK could easily count the cars drifting lazily down either side of the road, their headlights like small gliding stars.
Every few seconds, beams of light swept past him, sometimes heading toward the sleek glass entrance of the luxury hotel across the street, where valets stood waiting under pools of soft, golden light. Other times, the cars turned into the driveway leading up to St. David’s Medical Center, the hospital that stood directly across from the hotel, its lights glowing steadily in the night.
It was from that hospital that TK had just emerged, rubbing a tired hand over his face as the not-so-warm Texas night air wrapped around him like a thin blanket. He was still dressed in his scrubs, the navy blue fabric feeling soft and a little rumpled after the long hours he’d spent working in the cardiology unit. There was a faint crease between his brows, the kind that lingered after hours of worrying over patients and watching monitors blink in the dark.
The night breeze carried the faint, mouthwatering scent of barbecued meat drifting in from some late-night food truck a few streets over. Neon signs glowed red and gold across the buildings, their reflections shimmering faintly on the pavement, while dry leaves rustled and skipped along the sidewalk in tiny, restless dances.
Today’s shift had been… well, normal. Or at least, normal by the standards of a cardiologist, which often meant a day full of controlled chaos. There had been a handful of patients with angina and a couple of heart attacks, plus one particularly stubborn case of pericarditis that had kept TK running back and forth between the cardiology unit and the ER several times. On top of that, he’d had his own patients waiting for him in the CCU and on the medical floors, all needing updates, check-ins, or just a reassuring word.
By the time he finally wrapped things up, TK felt like someone had wrung every last drop of energy out of him and left him running on fumes. But he reminded himself that he’d seen worse shifts. Compared to some of those days, today barely even registered as truly chaotic.
The rest of his day had been divided between professional conversations and the not-so-professional ones that inevitably happened with the hospital staff.
On the professional side, there was teaching the junior residents, giving orders and clarifications to the nurses and med students, and sometimes dealing with frustrated colleagues. Like earlier that afternoon, when the ER attending had snapped at him for taking too long to respond to a cardiology page. TK had tried to explain, with as much patience as he could manage, that one of the main hallways in the cardiology wing was under construction, forcing him to circle around the building more than once, or worse, jog down five flights of stairs because the elevators were blocked off.
Then there were the non-professional moments, the ones that could either lighten his mood or make the day feel even longer, depending on how you looked at it.
Like the endless questions from Nancy and Mateo, who seemed determined to figure out why TK was still single and why, in their opinion, he hadn’t ‘done something about it already.’ Or the way the three of them shared mutual eye-rolls every time a patient’s family member started complaining so loudly that their voices echoed down the hallways of the unit.
Or Leslie, the new ER nurse, who apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that TK was into guys, and who kept trying to flirt with him every chance she got, flashing bright smiles and tossing her hair over her shoulder like they were in a rom-com.
And then there was Scott, the second-year cardiology resident, who had once again tried to hit on him in the hallway, leaning in just a little too close and lowering his voice in that way he probably thought was charming. TK had simply given him a polite smile and kept walking, pretending not to notice the hopeful look lingering in Scott’s eyes. Nancy and Mateo hadn’t let that go either. Afterward, they’d both glared at TK like he was personally offending them by refusing to give Scott a chance.
But TK had only shaken his head, telling them firmly that Scott simply wasn’t his type. And besides, he’d reminded them—like he always did—that they all needed to keep things strictly professional while they were on shift.
Yet even as he’d said the words, part of him felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name. A quiet wish that he didn’t always have to draw those lines so firmly, that maybe he could let himself blur them once in a while. But boundaries were safer. And his life already felt complicated enough without adding a hospital romance into the mix.
Despite being sort of new to the hospital, TK Strand had already earned a reputation as one of the youngest cardiology attendings on staff. He had been there for less than two years, but in a place where news traveled fast, it didn’t take long for word to spread. His medical knowledge was sharp, his instincts precise, and his calm ability to manage high-pressure cardiac cases had quickly earned him the respect of nearly everyone around him, from residents and nurses to even the more seasoned attendings who’d seen it all.
He brought a quiet discipline to his work. He was quick on his feet, focused in his decisions, and decisive when the situation demanded it. But that wasn’t all that defined TK Strand. He carried a kindness that was just as noticeable as his medical skill. He treated everyone the same way—patients, nurses, techs, custodial staff—with an easy, calm respect, as if he wasn’t the rising-star cardiologist whose name everyone seemed to whisper about in admiration.
And then there was his smile. It wasn’t flashy or forced; his smile was soft and warm, gentle enough to ease a patient’s fear or make a colleague feel seen after a rough shift. Yet there was something about it that seemed to ripple outward, like sunlight breaking through clouds. That smile alone could light up the entire floor, even in a ward filled with sick hearts, relentless monitors, and the shrill sound of alarms. It was that rare, quiet kind of magic that never demanded attention, but somehow always managed to draw it.
That was Dr. TK Strand’s power.
Now, after fourteen straight hours on his feet, he finally reached the bus stop a block away from the hospital entrance, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion but his steps still carrying purpose. All he wanted was to head home and, maybe—if he was very lucky—get seven hours of uninterrupted sleep.
That was, of course, assuming the hospital didn’t call him back first.
He lifted his gaze to the sky overhead, drawing in a slow breath as he tried to shake off the weight of the day. The Austin night had draped itself in a deep, dark blue, touched with streaks of pale cloud drifting past the soft glow of the streetlights. The air was cool, not quite cold enough to bite into his skin, but not gentle enough to stand there comfortably without a jacket for long.
TK tucked his hands deeper into the pockets of his sweatshirt as he made his way to the bus stop. He chose the far end of the bench, settling on the left side, where the shadows gathered thickest against the glass shelter. On the opposite end of the bench, a man sat alone, angled slightly away, his hood pulled up, the streetlights casting a faint glow over the curve of his cheek. TK shot him a quick glance, then looked away, pulling out his phone to check the time.
It was just past 9 p.m. and he’d missed the last bus by barely five minutes, again. The next one wouldn’t arrive for another twenty-five minutes, which felt like an eternity to his aching body.
For TK, this bench had become a familiar part of his routine. It was a quiet ritual he returned to after most shifts, whether the day had gone well or left him feeling hollowed out and wrung dry. He knew this would be the last bus of the night running along this route. It was almost always empty, and nobody seemed to ride it except him.
This neighborhood was too polished and too expensive for most people to even consider taking public transit. The towering hotel across the street, with its marble lobby, uniformed staff, and valet parking, had a way of making everything else around it feel smaller and slightly out of place. The streets here were lined with high-end bars and restaurants, each one spaced out carefully so they didn’t crowd each other, their names glowing softly in discreet neon.
Most of the people in this part of town didn’t wait for buses. They slipped into sleek cars parked at the curb or ordered private rides that whisked them away, vanishing behind tinted windows and quiet engines.
But not TK.
His life hadn’t always looked like this: walking out of a cardiology unit wearing scrubs that were usually more dirty than clean, with a bank account that definitely wasn’t big enough to buy a house nearby—or even a car to drive there. But he was here because of the choices he’d made over the years. Some were good, solid choices that he felt proud of. Others were choices he still carried regret for, like a shadow always following a few steps behind.
So he waited. And sometimes it felt like this lonely bus stop understood him better than most people ever could.
Tonight, though, something felt different. It struck TK as strange to see someone else waiting there with him.
A young man, around his own age, sat at the other end of the bench, dressed in clothes so obviously expensive that the designer labels practically caught and reflected the streetlight, glinting even from a few feet away.
TK’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than he meant them to, curiosity flickering quietly in his chest. The man wore a black cap pulled low over his brow, casting deep shadows across his face and hiding most of his features in darkness. The collar of his long, dark coat was turned up so high that it nearly brushed his cheekbones, as though he were trying to vanish completely behind layers of fabric, wrapping himself in anonymity and retreating into the night.
Yet even with half his face obscured, it was impossible not to notice the faint bruising along the edge of his cheekbone, a purple smudge stark against his pale skin. His entire frame seemed to tremble slightly under the neon glow of the streetlights, as if holding himself together required an immense effort.
He kept his right hand clamped tight around his left wrist, his fingers digging in hard enough that the knuckles stood out sharp and white, as though the pain threatening to buckle him might somehow be contained if he just held on tight enough. His right leg was stretched stiffly out in front of him, refusing to bend at the knee, as though even the slightest movement would send a jolt of agony through his body.
TK found himself staring for several seconds, unable to tear his eyes away as he took in every small detail: the man’s rigid posture, the visible injuries, the haunted tension coiled in his shoulders. Then, realizing that he was bordering on staring too long, that it was probably rude to be so openly fixated, TK forced himself to look away and fixed his gaze on the street ahead, which was no longer quite as empty as it had been a few minutes ago.
But even as he tried to redirect his attention, the image of the man burned itself into TK’s memory, refusing to fade. Because the stranger sat there like someone whose entire world had simply… stopped. He didn’t fidget, didn’t glance at his phone, didn’t lift his head to watch for the bus. It was as if he no longer had the energy to stand, or perhaps no longer had anywhere specific he was trying to go.
Yet there was something else about him that clung to TK’s thoughts and wouldn’t let go. Because even injured and trembling, the man’s clothes remained flawless. There wasn’t a single crease or stain, the fabric hanging smoothly over his frame, as though he’d stepped straight out of a boutique catalog only moments before ending up on that worn metal bench. A man like that didn’t belong at this bus stop. The man seemed utterly out of place, sitting on the wrong side of the neighborhood, as if he’d somehow slipped through a crack in the world and landed here by mistake.
Whatever had happened to him, TK could sense that it was an injury running far deeper than just bruises and stiff limbs. Something had shaken this man loose from the life he seemed meant for, scattering pieces of him across a night that felt too dark and too quiet. And TK couldn’t help wondering what kind of wound could do that to a person, what kind of pain would leave someone sitting so still, looking as though they’d forgotten how to move forward.
A few minutes slipped by in silence before TK turned his head again, slowly and deliberately, as though he was gathering courage with every inch of movement.
He was a doctor, after all. Before he’d specialized as a cardiologist, he’d trained for years to recognize all kinds of trauma—internal, external, physical, and even the more hidden wounds of the mind and heart. He knew the signs when someone was in pain, when something was deeply, quietly wrong. And if there was even the smallest chance that he could help this man, then TK couldn’t bring himself to let the moment pass without at least trying.
He braced himself and took a quiet breath, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he steadied his resolve. He knew he might come across as ridiculous, intrusive, maybe even naive to a stranger who clearly wanted to be left alone. But TK also knew, with a bone-deep certainty, what it felt like to be the one silently hoping someone would notice, even if you’d never admit it out loud.
Clearing his throat softly, he finally let the words slip free.
“Last bus should be here in about twenty minutes.”
The man didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch. He just kept his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his cap, fingers still locked in a fierce grip around his injured arm. But TK saw the tiniest movement. A slight nod, like a fleeting spark of acknowledgment that could have easily gone unnoticed if TK hadn’t been watching so closely.
He hesitated only a moment before trying again, keeping his tone gentle, light, and careful.
“You usually catch this one around this time?”
TK wasn’t usually the type who felt the need to strike up conversations with strangers. He wasn’t pushy. More often than not, people came to him on their own, drawn in by the easy warmth of his smile or the spark of quiet mischief that sometimes danced in his eyes. But this felt different.
Something inside him itched, tugged insistently at his chest, telling him that he couldn’t just sit there in silence and pretend he hadn’t noticed.
It was painfully obvious that the man beside him had come straight out of some kind of fight, despite how pristine his clothes still looked. He was battered, visibly in pain, yet huddled into the corner of the bus stop bench as though trying to convince the world he didn’t exist.
And that only pushed TK further.
He half-expected the man to snap at him, to spit out a sharp ‘it’s none of your business’ or to turn away completely, shutting him out. But instead, there was only silence. Which, TK thought, wasn’t that bad. He let out a slow breath, feeling the edge of disappointment creep in. He was right on the verge of giving up, ready to retreat back into silence and let the man keep his secrets. And then, just as he exhaled and began to turn his face away, the man’s head tilted slightly, and he murmured a soft, almost ghost-like, “No.”
It was so quiet, so delicate, that TK wasn’t entirely sure he’d actually heard it, or if the word had only echoed inside his own head, born out of wishful thinking. He couldn’t even read the man’s lips properly, not with the coat collar turned up high and the shadows hiding most of his face. But that single, fragile word was enough to push TK to keep trying.
The man drew in a deep breath, but the movement seemed to tear through him like a blade. His face twisted in pain as though even the simple act of breathing had become something sharp and punishing.
Instantly, TK’s instincts kicked into high alert. That kind of grimace set off warning bells in his mind. A possible rib injury. Maybe fractured ribs pressing against muscle or even brushing too close to the lung. And that was not good. Not good at all.
“Hey,” TK said gently, leaning forward just a fraction, his voice soft but edged with urgency. “Are you hurt?”
The man turned his face toward him, finally, and stared at TK in silence, his eyes dark and wary, the kind of guarded look that spoke of old wounds deeper than any bruise. Up close, TK could see the pain etched across his features, written into the tight set of his mouth and the shallow, careful breaths he was taking, even though the man was clearly fighting hard to hide it.
TK tried again, nodding subtly toward the blocks ahead, where the hospital’s lights still glowed faintly against the night sky.
“You know there’s a hospital just down the street,” he said quietly. “You could go there if you want. They’d help you.”
But the man only shook his head slowly, his shoulders stiff as he kept clutching his injured arm tighter against his chest.
“I’m fine,” he said finally, his voice low and rough.
But TK wasn’t buying it for a second.
“You might think you’re fine,” TK said, his voice gentle but firm, “but you still need to see a doctor anyw—”
“I said I’m fine.”
The man’s words came out sharper than TK had expected. They were curt, final, carrying a steel edge, like the sound of a door slamming shut.
For a few seconds, TK didn’t respond. They simply stared at each other, locked in a fragile standoff, though TK still couldn’t see the man’s eyes clearly beneath the brim of his cap.
Cars passed along the street in front of them, their headlights sweeping, shifting shadows across the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, faint notes of a guitar still spilled from an open bar door, blending into the low hum of the city night.
But between the two of them, the air felt thick and heavy, charged with things unspoken. TK swallowed, his mind working quickly as he tried to decide whether to push further or leave it alone. He recognized this kind of reaction all too well. It was a defense mechanism, one he’d seen in countless patients over the years.
Some people pushed others away because they were afraid. Some because they didn’t believe their pain was important enough to deserve attention. And others—people like this man—because they were simply too exhausted to admit they needed help at all. So worn down that they’d rather sit in the cold on a nearly empty bench than speak the words ‘I need help.’
TK sat still for a few moments, considering his next move. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet.
Without saying anything, he stepped away from his spot at the far end of the bench and sat down again, this time closer, settling himself right in the middle. He closed the distance between them just enough for the space to feel a little less vast, a little more human.
Turning his body toward the man, TK moved with careful slowness, making sure not to startle him. When he spoke, his voice softened the way it often did with the nervous pediatric patients he sometimes passed in the hospital corridors—the ones who needed gentle coaxing before they’d let him near them with a stethoscope or an IV.
“Look,” he said gently, “I’m a doctor.”
The man turned toward him again, eyes flicking over TK with guarded caution. Now that TK had moved closer, his face was easier to see. The high collar of his black wool coat had slipped down just a little, revealing more of his features. Under the glow of the streetlamps and the shifting reflections from nearby shop windows and passing headlights, the man’s face appeared in fragments, lit and shadowed by turns.
And that was all TK needed. In those shifting scraps of light, he saw everything. The deep bruises blooming beneath the man’s eyes, the purple and yellow discoloration along his cheekbone, and the small tear at the corner of his mouth where dried blood clung stubbornly to cracked skin.
A knot of emotion tightened in TK’s chest, squeezing at his ribs as he took in the sight. He drew in a quiet breath, then let it out slowly, softening his voice even further and pouring every ounce of care he had into it.
“I just want to help.”
The man let out a sound that was half a laugh, half a scoff—dry, bitter, and brittle. But it twisted quickly into a wince as his wounded lip split again, a fresh bead of blood appearing on already torn skin.
“No you don’t,” he said, his voice low and hoarse, as though he was trying to convince himself as much as TK.
He turned back toward the street and tugged his coat collar higher with his right hand, burying his face once more as though fabric might somehow shield him from the world.
TK frowned, but he didn’t back down.
“Okay… maybe I don’t,” he said quietly. “But I still couldn’t forgive myself if I knew someone needed help and I just… didn’t try hard enough.”
He paused, waiting for another scoff, a rejection, or a glare that would slam the door shut between them for good. But none came. So he tried one last time.
“I won’t do anything if you don’t want me to. I promise,” TK said, his voice so soft it barely carried over the noise of distant traffic. “Just… at least let me take a look?”
The man turned his head again, slower this time.
And just before the silence between them could stretch too long, TK’s voice broke through, quiet and earnest. “Please,” he said softly, the word trembling with all the compassion he couldn’t hold back.
The man stared at him. He didn’t blink, didn’t speak. He didn’t frown or nod or move in any way at all. He simply held TK’s gaze, utterly still, like a statue carved out of shadow and silence.
The quiet stretched so long that a small ache formed in TK’s chest, disappointment creeping in like cold fingers wrapping around his ribs. He felt the sharp edge of defeat pressing at his resolve. Maybe that really was the end of it.
He didn’t even know why he cared this much. He’d dealt with people who refused help countless times before. In medicine, you could insist, you could plead, you could exhaust every angle you knew, but in the end, unless the patient wanted help, your hands were tied.
But there was something about this man that TK simply couldn’t ignore. Something hidden beneath the expensive coat, something raw and human peeking through the cracks. An invisible fragility that clashed so starkly with the cool, curated exterior he wore like armor. A guardedness in his posture. A quiet, brittle air that whispered of someone who had learned, maybe too young, that it was safer not to trust anyone at all. That it was easier to stay alone. Even if it meant suffering in silence. And yet, somewhere deep in TK’s chest, there flickered a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, he could break through those walls.
He was ready to give up and let the silence win when the man did the one thing TK least expected. Slowly, the man lifted his left hand and held it out toward TK. He didn’t say a word but it was an answer. A quiet, trembling yes.
TK shifted closer on the bench, moving until his thigh nearly brushed against the man’s. As he leaned in, he felt the cold radiating off the man’s body, seeping through even the layers of winter fabric, a chill that spoke of hours spent exposed to the night air.
Gently, he took the man’s hand in his own. It was ice-cold, trembling faintly under his touch, and TK held it carefully, afraid that even the smallest pressure might cause more pain. With careful fingers, he pushed up the sleeve of the man’s coat.
He wasn’t surprised by what he found. The man’s wrist was swollen and inflamed, purplish bruises were starting to bloom around the joint like dark flowers pressed into his skin, the flesh tight and shiny from the swelling. Bruises that made TK’s stomach twist with questions he wasn’t quite ready to voice aloud.
“Can you move your wrist?” TK asked softly, his voice gentle but steady.
The man tried. He managed only the smallest, pained shift of his wrist, the movement stiff and sharply limited. His jaw clenched tight, muscles standing out along his neck as he fought to keep another grimace from crossing his face.
TK gently guided the man’s injured hand to rest on his own thigh, anchoring it there so he could keep it steady. Beside him on the bench, he unzipped the black backpack he carried to every shift. From inside, he pulled out a compact first aid kit and set it down carefully between them.
“It’s probably not broken,” he said softly before reaching for any supplies. “But it definitely needs an ortho to check it out, just to be sure.” He glanced up to search the man’s eyes, “Is it okay if I put some ointment on it and wrap it for now?”
For a second, he thought the man might refuse again. But after a tense, silent beat, the stranger gave a small nod, his shoulders slumping a fraction, as if the simple act of agreeing had cost him something significant.
TK let out a quiet breath of relief and pulled out a tube of anti-inflammatory ointment from the kit, then reached for a sterile gauze pad and a small bottle of saline.
He twisted the cap off the saline and poured a measured amount onto the gauze, his movements practiced and precise. Then he shifted closer, angling his body so he could see the man’s face better. He lifted the damp gauze partway but hesitated, his hand hovering midair.
“May I?” he asked gently, his voice so low it nearly disappeared beneath the distant sounds of the city.
The man didn’t speak. Instead, with a slow, almost imperceptible motion, he reached up with his right hand and tugged the high collar of his coat downward.
It was just a few inches of fabric shifting lower, but in that moment, it felt monumental. Like he was peeling back the smallest corner of the cocoon he’d wrapped around himself, offering TK a fragile glimpse beyond the darkness. Even so, the man’s expression remained closed-off, his jaw set tight, as though daring TK to make something of what little he’d revealed.
He’d built walls so high around himself that even lowering his coat collar felt like an intimate confession. And though he allowed TK this tiny opening, nothing in his posture suggested he’d be letting down the rest of his defenses anytime soon.
TK swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of the gesture. He lifted the gauze the rest of the way and gently pressed it to the corner of the man’s mouth, where dried blood had crusted over a small cut. His touch was feather-light, as though he were handling the sharp edge of glass, a delicate, precise pressure that wouldn’t shatter what already seemed so close to breaking.
He dabbed away the blood in careful strokes, taking extra care not to press too hard. Each swipe felt like moving across a fault line, one wrong move threatening to send the man retreating back into silence.
“It’s not deep,” he murmured, not so much for medical reassurance as to offer the man something warm to hold onto.
The man didn’t respond, but he didn’t flinch away either. He held perfectly still, as if caught between wanting to vanish and wanting to be seen.
And for TK, that was enough to keep going.
Now that he was this close, he could see more of the man’s face that was still partially hidden beneath the shadow of his cap. And it was then that TK noticed a thin, dark line of dried blood trailing from the man’s eyebrow down toward his temple. Without even pausing to ask permission, he lifted the gauze toward the corner of his eye, instinct propelling his hand before his mind could catch up. But the man recoiled instantly, flinching backward so sharply that his shoulders hit the metal bench behind him with a soft metallic clang. His eyes flew wide, and his entire body stiffened as if bracing for a blow.
TK jerked his own hand back the moment he realized, his heart squeezing painfully with regret.
“Sorry, sorry,” he blurted out, voice low and earnest. “Your eyebrow’s bleeding. I’m just trying to clean it up. That’s all.”
The man didn’t respond right away. For several tense seconds, he stayed frozen, eyes darting away from TK, jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his cheek twitched.
Then, after a tight, silent moment, he tilted his head forward again, lowering his defenses by the smallest fraction. This time, he reached up and pushed his cap back just slightly, revealing more of his forehead and the injury above his brow.
And in that tiny, hesitant shift, TK saw his eyes properly this time. They were large, warm brown eyes, so dark they were nearly black beneath the streetlights, and glimmering with a depth of pain and something heartbreakingly vulnerable.
It was the kind of gaze that seemed far too gentle for a man covered in bruises. Eyes that had clearly witnessed things no one should have to endure, and yet somehow still held a faint, stubborn spark of softness that TK couldn’t look away from.
A quiet hush seemed to fall over the bench as TK carefully dabbed at the dried blood near the man’s eyebrow, moving the gauze as lightly as a whisper. He worked in small, delicate motions, hyper-aware of how fragile this moment was, of how easily he could scare the man back into silence.
Though he couldn’t help stealing glances into those brown eyes, he also didn’t want to make the man feel exposed. So he tried to shift the mood, searching for something lighter to say.
“Are you… waiting for someone?” TK asked, keeping his tone as casual as possible, as if they were just two strangers chatting at a bus stop instead of a doctor cleaning blood from a battered stranger’s face.
The man flicked his eyes toward TK, then immediately glanced away again, staring back at the street like it was safer to look anywhere else.
“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice clipped and wary, “why?”
“It’s just…” TK gave a small shrug, a hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You keep watching every car that drives by.”
The man didn’t answer. He simply went still again, eyes locked on the blur of headlights sweeping past the glass shelter of the bus stop.
TK let the silence settle for a moment. He didn’t want to push too hard, didn’t want to shatter the tentative trust he’d barely begun to build. So instead, he focused on bandaging the man’s wrist, winding the gauze carefully around the swollen joint. He worked with gentle efficiency, his fingers nimble and precise. But his eyes kept flicking lower, drawn again and again to the man’s left leg, which was stretched out stiffly along the sidewalk in front of the bench.
He hesitated, then spoke up again, his voice soft.
“Is your leg hurting, too?”
The man’s jaw tightened for the hundredth time at the question. Slowly, as though trying to prove a point, he attempted to bend his knee the slightest bit. But the instant he moved, his breath hitched and a choked gasp escaped his throat. Pain knifed across his features, and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.
TK winced with him, feeling a sympathetic ache in his own chest.
“Okay, okay, don’t force it,” He murmured quickly, holding up his hands in a gentle, calming gesture, “Listen… that needs checking out too. You should probably get an X-ray. Just to be safe.”
The man didn’t answer, but he left his leg stretched out as it was, clearly unwilling, or unable, to try moving it again.
The rest of the time passed in silence as TK focused on wrapping the man’s injured wrist. He gave the task his full concentration, even though his eyes occasionally flicked to the man’s long, elegant fingers. There was dried blood along the edges of his nail beds—thin, dark smudges that hadn’t been cleaned yet. But the nails themselves were neatly trimmed, the kind of detail that didn’t line up with someone who had just gotten into a street fight.
He didn’t ask about it. Instead, he kept his attention on the bandaging. Each loop of gauze was measured, firm but not tight. After every full circle around the wrist, TK slipped a fingertip beneath the wrap to make sure it wouldn’t leave pressure marks later or cut off circulation. His brow furrowed with quiet worry as he finished wrapping the gauze around the man’s wrist, sealing it with medical tape and smoothing it down with his thumb
And in the silence that followed, TK found himself wishing that he knew this man’s name. That he knew what had brought him here, alone and battered, hiding behind expensive clothes and stubborn silence. But for now, he settled for the small victories: a bandaged wrist, a cleaned wound, and the fragile beginnings of trust.
He looked down at the hand still resting on his thigh. Gently, he lifted it and returned it to the man’s own leg, letting it settle there with care, as if placing something fragile back into its proper place.
He packed the supplies back into the kit, his motions quiet, steady, methodical. Then, after a quick glance for permission, he reached once more, this time with a small dab of ointment on his finger, aiming for the bruising beneath the man’s eye.
The man hesitated. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but TK could see the hesitation rising in his shoulders, in the sharp inhale that followed. It was that same flicker of tension again, like he was suddenly unsure how much more of himself he’d already given away to a stranger.
“Just this,” TK said gently, “for the swelling."
The man gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. And TK didn’t push.
“Okay,” he said, sitting back slightly. He didn’t want to take anything the man wasn’t ready to give. But he also knew, just from the way the man moved, that something deeper was wrong. An injury that was more than skin-deep, probably the ribs. He wished that the man would let him help a bit more and check for anything serious. So he softened his tone even further. “Can I just check for possible rib inju—”
He never finished the question.The man flinched hard and his entire body tensed like a spring coiling under sudden stress. His eyes snapped toward the street and his shoulders locked up with the unmistakable stiffness of fear.
“Stop,” he said sharply, voice low but urgent. “That’s enough.”
TK froze, hand hovering mid-air, confused by the shift.
“What?” he asked, not moving yet.
“I said back off.” This time the man’s voice was louder, harder. “Get away from me. Now.”
The command hit TK like a slap and before he could respond, the man turned toward him, grabbed TK by the shoulder with his uninjured arm, and shoved him back. TK slid across the metal bench with a scraping sound, landing near the far edge where he’d first sat. The force of the shove wasn’t enormous, but it was sudden and unexpected. And judging by the man’s choked cry of pain afterward, it had cost him far more than it did TK. The man immediately doubled over, his hand flying to his chest as a groan tore out of him. He curled inward, clutching his ribs as if the motion had ripped something loose.
TK’s heart clenched. He sat frozen, unsure what to do. Not because he was angry, though part of him was stunned, but because all he could feel now was guilt. Deep, heavy guilt. He hadn’t meant to hurt him. He hadn’t even resisted the push. But watching the man fold in on himself, clearly in agony, made TK feel sick to his stomach. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, to ask what had just happened and why everything had shifted so suddenly, but he never got the chance. Because the man had already started to shut down again. His entire body folded back into its earlier posture like nothing had happened. He turned his face away, pulled the collar of his coat back up, dragged the long sleeve of his left arm down to hide the bandages TK had just applied.
And then, just before lowering his cap to hide his eyes again, TK saw it.
The direction of the man’s gaze.
From down the street, not far from the hospital’s front entrance, a large black SUV came to a slow stop directly in front of the bus shelter. It was sleek and expensive, the kind of car that didn’t belong to someone waiting for a bus.
Two men got out.
The first was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a sharply tailored black suit with a long coat over it, almost identical to the one the injured man was wearing. His shoes were polished, his posture stiff, almost military. The second man was kind of shorter, dark-skinned, and dressed in the same sleek style. They didn’t speak to each other as they moved; they just started walking directly toward the bus stop. Toward them.
TK’s stomach dropped.
He turned slightly, eyes darting toward the man on the bench. But his face was completely hidden again, swallowed up by the same protective armor he’d worn when TK first saw him. Like none of what had happened between them had ever existed.
“Where the hell have you been?” the taller man demanded, his voice booming with a thick accent and an edge of fury that made TK’s entire body tense.
“I don’t know,” the injured man shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ask my bodyguard.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” the shorter man snapped, stepping forward, his tone sharp and impatient.
“It’s broken.”
“Again?”
The injured man finally lifted his head properly, pushing his cap back just enough for the light to hit his bruised and battered face. The moment his bruises and cuts—which TK had already cleaned—came into full view, both newcomers froze, anger flashing across their faces like sudden lightning.
Without a word, the taller man surged forward. He reached out and yanked the cap off the injured man’s head, revealing the mess of dark curls beneath. Then he tilted the man’s chin upward with a firm, almost possessive hand, turning his face this way and that as though inspecting fragile merchandise for damage.
The injured man didn’t resist. He just stayed slumped against the bench, expression vacant, eyes drifting off into the distance like none of it mattered. Like he’d either gotten used to this routine or gone completely numb to it.
“I’m fine,” he murmured before the tall man could even form his next question. His voice was flat, dismissive, eager to shut down the conversation before it could even start.
A heavy shadow from the tall man fell over his face, blocking TK’s view. Instinctively, TK looked away, glancing down at his phone and flicking through screens he wasn’t really seeing. He didn’t want to stare; it felt invasive and rude, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting back to the scene beside him.
And even when he tried to look away, he couldn’t ignore the details that kept catching the edge of his vision. The tall man shifted again, and for the first time, seemed to notice the bandaged wrist and the stiff, outstretched leg. His gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as his voice dropped into something fierce and protective.
“What the fuck happened?” The question hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite.
Then, as though just realizing someone else was sitting there, the tall man turned abruptly toward TK. His eyes narrowed into slits, his whole body tensing with sudden suspicion. For a few tense seconds, he simply glared at TK, his stare sharp enough to cut glass. Then he swung back toward the injured man, jerking a thumb in TK’s direction.
“He did this to you?”
The injured man’s expression hardened. He shot a withering look at the taller man—who TK now guessed was some sort of bodyguard—and snapped, “No. Leave him alone.”
“Do you know him?” the bodyguard pressed, his voice tight and insistent.
“No, Judd!” the injured man barked, exasperation creeping into his tone. “I’ve been sitting at a bus station waiting for my bodyguard to show up. Sorry that some people actually come and sit here to wait for buses!”
He waved one hand at the shelter around them, as if to emphasize how utterly normal the setting was, even though nothing about this moment felt normal at all.
The bodyguard—Judd—threw a glance over his shoulder at the second man, who stood a few steps back near the SUV, his posture rigid, eyes scanning the street as if ready for trouble. The man by the car gave Judd a short nod. A silent approval. A signal.
Judd turned back to the injured man, then shifted his gaze to TK again.
There was something in his stare that felt invasive, like he was trying to look past TK’s skin and reach into his bones to rip out whatever secrets he might be hiding. It was the kind of look that made a person’s spine go rigid, the kind of look meant to remind you exactly how small and insignificant you were.
TK felt his own heartbeat start to thrum faster. He met Judd’s eyes, then flicked his gaze toward the injured man, wanting to say something or to defend himself. To explain that he was a doctor, that he’d actually been helping this stranger, not hurting him.
He opened his mouth to speak. But then he caught the tiniest movement. A subtle shake of the injured man’s head—so small, so careful that Judd and the other man didn’t seem to notice it at all.
Don’t say anything.
TK hesitated. He closed his mouth again. Maybe silence was the smarter choice right now. The injured man probably knew these people and how best to handle them.
Judd studied him for another long moment, as though weighing whether to press him further. But finally he seemed to let it drop. The two bodyguards stepped closer to the injured man, one on each side, reaching out to help him stand.
“Anywhere else you’re hurt? Are you in pain?” The dark-skinned man asked as they eased him to his feet.
The injured man drew a shallow breath. His jaw twitched slightly.
“Pretty sure I’ve got a couple of bruised ribs.”
“Jesus Christ.” Both bodyguards cursed under their breath.
TK heard it and felt a sharp pang of guilt twist in his chest.
He’d suspected as much earlier—long before the bandages, before the quiet conversation on the bench. He’d seen it in the way the man grimaced every time he tried to take a deep breath, or even made the slightest movement. And if he’d somehow doubted it, the way the man had nearly cried out in pain after shoving TK off the bench had left no question.
Despite how distant and closed-off the man had been, he’d been listening. He’d even defended TK when the bodyguards tried to pin the blame on him. He hadn’t needed to do that. TK was a stranger. But in the middle of all that pain and chaos, he’d protected him.
That counted for something.
A tiny flicker of warmth stirred in TK’s chest, even as the tall man kept shooting him suspicious looks, like he was seconds away from demanding ID or calling the cops.
TK kept his head down, pretending to scroll through his phone. But under the screen’s glow, his eyes kept drifting back to the man between the bodyguards.Because no matter how many walls the stranger tried to throw up around himself, TK couldn’t ignore the truth: This man was in pain. And whether he admitted it or not, he’d let TK help him, even if only for a few fleeting moments.
Now the other bodyguard had his arm firmly wrapped around the injured man’s waist, carefully helping him toward the car. The taller one lagged behind just slightly, but before following, he turned and shot TK a final look. It was a look that made TK’s blood run cold.
There was no mistaking what that stare meant this time. It was dripping with menace, full of unsaid threats, unspoken questions, and what felt like genuine, seething hatred. There was something in it that made TK’s skin crawl. Like he’d just been marked. But the look was nothing compared to what came next.
As if he couldn’t help himself, the tall man changed direction and stormed back toward the bus stop. His steps were fast, deliberate and dangerous. TK barely had time to react before rough hands grabbed both sides of his jacket collar and yanked, hard. In an instant, TK’s body jerked forward. If the man had pulled even a fraction harder, TK might’ve been lifted clean off the ground.
The man’s face was only inches from his, breath hot with fury as he spat the words.
“If I ever find out you touched him, and I mean even brushed against him with a fingertip, I swear to dear God I’ll make your life—”
“Judd, what the fuck?” The voice cut through the dark like a bullet. It was the injured man. His tone was sharp and furious, louder than TK had ever heard it. A voice that was not just angry, but commanding. He stood half-turned beside the open door of the SUV, one hand braced on the frame, pain clear in the tightness of his posture, but his eyes burned. “Let him go. Right. Now.”
Judd froze. His fists clenched for a beat longer before, slowly, he loosened his grip and dropped his hands from TK’s collar. Then, with a deliberate motion that felt more like mockery than apology, he smoothed the front of TK’s sweatshirt, as if erasing the evidence of what he’d just done.
TK sat frozen in place. His heart was hammering, his breathing shallow. His hands trembled slightly as adrenaline surged through his veins. He wasn’t sure whether to speak, stand, or stay absolutely still.
He didn’t move. He couldn’t.
The bodyguard turned and walked back to the others without a word. And for a brief second, TK’s eyes met the injured man’s one last time. It was only a glance, but in that glance, everything was there. A silent apology. A flicker of regret in the deep brown of his eyes, tinged with something softer. Something broken. Something grateful. That single look said more than all the words they hadn’t shared.
I’m sorry you got caught in this.
Then the man gave a faint nod, almost imperceptible, before he ducked into the SUV. The shorter bodyguard followed and slipped into the back beside him. Judd slammed the door after him and took the front seat.
TK watched as the engine growled to life. The black SUV pulled away from the curb with smooth precision, gliding through the city night like a shadow. And he sat motionless on the bench, watching its taillights grow smaller, swallowed by the city’s endless blur.
They were gone. Just like that. Whoever the mysterious, battered man really was, he’d vanished into the Austin night, leaving behind nothing but a quiet ache and a hundred unanswered questions. That last look from the man still hovered in TK’s mind, vivid as a light flickering in the dark. Those big, dark brown eyes were full of soul, a soul that was bruised and battered but somehow was still there, alive, breathing, beating.
He knew that the small, clumsy care he’d offered might already be forgotten, swept aside by the man’s chaotic world. By all logic, TK shouldn’t have wanted to see him again. Why would he, when the man’s bodyguard had practically threatened to kill him simply for touching him? TK was still shaken, still feeling the echo of breath trapped in his chest from when the bodyguard had grabbed his collar and squeezed so hard it seemed to crush the air out of him—a breath that hadn’t fully come back, still lodged somewhere deep and raw behind his sternum.
The tall bodyguard’s eyes had held nothing but cold hatred. Sure, it was his job to protect his boss, and if he’d believed even for a moment that some random stranger at a bus stop was responsible for those brutal injuries, the reaction would’ve been far worse. But TK sensed that this wasn’t just about suspicion. It was a message, a silent warning.
I know you didn’t hurt him. But don’t you dare come close again.
And TK hadn’t planned to. He was certain the man was gone for good. A man with a bruised face and a fractured wrist, dressed in expensive clothes, driven around in a multimillion-dollar SUV, surrounded by trained and towering bodyguards. That world was miles away from TK’s own.
He told himself that by the time he fell asleep that night, all of it would fade from his memory. After all, he’d helped countless strangers in the streets and outside the hospital before. This encounter should be no different.
Then why did it feel like something special? He couldn’t answer that.
Later that night, against every expectation, TK couldn’t erase the man’s face from his mind for even a moment.
He kept thinking about him on the bus ride home. The entire journey, he found himself thinking about the blood-stained gauze still tucked into his bag, waiting for the moment he could throw it away. Even as he slid his key into the lock and stepped into the silence of his apartment, his mind was still racing. Who was that man? Why was he so important? Why was he hurt?
And long after midnight, at three in the morning, as he lay wide awake in the dark, tangled in sheets he couldn’t settle into, he found himself wondering where the man was at that very moment. And the thought that he might be out there somewhere, hurt again, unable to defend himself, made a fiery ache burn through his chest.
He kept replaying the memory of those eyes, of a gaze that seemed to hold so many unspoken words. Words that felt like a silent plea.
I have to go…but don’t let me go.
He thought about the pain in his face, the coldness in his eyes, and the way his body trembled as he tried to stand up. He was just a stranger.
And yet…
Why did it feel as if TK’s entire world had caved in on him?