Love between two heartbeats

8:47 a.m.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and secrets.

Heaven Wilson walked through the double doors of Easton Medical Center, her white coat clutched in one hand, the other holding a paper cup of coffee that had long gone cold. Her sneakers made no sound on the linoleum, her presence ghostlike among the bleary-eyed interns and half-asleep nurses trading grim jokes over vending machine breakfasts.

No one greeted her.

She preferred it that way.

Fourth-year med student. Top of her class. Barely spoke unless she had to. People called her a machine behind her back-brilliant, untouchable, cold. They didn't know that under the surface of her silence lay fatigue, rage, and a desperation she'd learned to stitch up like a patient on the table.

Her phone buzzed once in her coat pocket. Home.

She ignored it.

At the nurse's station, a fresh chart sat waiting with a post-it stuck on the top. "Dr. Maddox wants you on this. Room 709. Code Gray last night."

A psych patient. Violent outburst. No further details. Perfect.

Heaven took the chart, flipped through the notes in seconds, and headed for the elevator. Her mind already calculating dosages, escape routes, and how much longer she could go without food. As the elevator doors slid closed, she caught her reflection in the steel: tired eyes, hair yanked into a too-tight bun, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

Her reflection stared back like a stranger she once knew.

She arrived on the psych floor. Quiet. Too quiet. A flickering light above hummed like a warning. Heaven walked past the nurses' eyes, some avoiding her gaze, others just tired. She found Room 709 and opened the door without knocking.

The patient inside was curled in a corner, rocking, whispering something about blood and whispers in the walls. Heaven stepped inside, silent, assessing. Another nurse would've flinched. Heaven didn't blink.

"I'm Heaven," she said softly. Her voice wasn't warm-but it was steady. "I'm here to help."

The patient looked up. Eyes wide.

"You're not real," he muttered.

Heaven crouched beside him, gaze locked.

"I get that a lot."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Downstairs, chaos had a face-and it wore designer shoes.

Draven Callahan stepped out of his black Audi with two things: a smirk that could melt steel and a latte that cost more than most residents made in an hour. His hair was a perfect mess, like he'd rolled out of bed and into a modeling shoot. He'd barely stepped into the Easton Medical lobby before two nurses at reception turned to each other and whispered, "New intern?"

He winked at them over his coffee. "Ladies. If I collapse from exhaustion later, it's not because of the workload-it's your smiles. Killer."

By the time he reached the orientation wing, Draven had already lost his ID badge twice, spilled a little foam on his lab coat, and introduced himself to three strangers with the wrong department name. The only reason he hadn't been thrown out yet was because his last name came with a reputation that echoed through the hospital halls like a warning shot.

Callahan. As in Dr. Richard Callahan, legendary cardiac surgeon and insufferable control freak. Also known as Draven's father. And Dr. Eliza Callahan-his equally terrifying mother? Head of surgical strategy. Both of them had made it very clear: Don't embarrass the family.

Which, naturally, made Draven want to do exactly that.

He leaned into the glass desk at the intern check-in, flashing his brightest grin. "Draven Callahan. New meat. Reporting for stress, trauma, and soul-crushing expectations."

The nurse barely looked up. "You're late."

"Fashionably," he replied. "There's a difference. One makes people mad. The other makes them jealous."

She handed him a file. "You're assigned to shadow Dr. Maddox. You're already behind."

"Sounds about right," he said cheerfully, flipping the folder open. "Where is this Dr. Maddox? Tall? Angry? Covered in coffee stains?"

The nurse looked up then, just long enough to say, "You'll figure it out. And if you bump into Heaven Wilson-don't flirt. Just... don't."

Draven raised an eyebrow. "Heaven? Like, actual Heaven?"

"You'll see."

Upstairs, As Heaven stepped out of Room 709, jotting notes on her clipboard, she heard it-footsteps, fast, and getting closer. Then-

Bang.

The hallway door swung open with way too much energy, slamming into the wall. Draven Callahan stumbled in, slightly out of breath, slightly lost, and holding the map to the psych floor upside-down.

Heaven didn't look up.

Draven looked around, spotted her in her white coat, and grinned. "Please tell me you're Dr. Maddox. Or at least someone who won't have me sedated for trespassing."

Heaven slowly raised her eyes to his.

Stone. Cold. Silence.

Draven blinked. "Wow. Okay. That look felt like a CT scan and a court verdict in one."

Heaven turned back to her chart. "You're in the wrong ward."

"Story of my life," he said, but didn't move. "You must be Heaven. Heard about you downstairs. Thought you'd have wings. Or at least smile lines."

She looked at him again, clinically. "You're wasting my time."

Draven, undeterred, leaned against the wall. "You say that like it's not my most marketable skill."