Dr. Brendon Park (Park the shark)

By the time 5pm rolls around, it’s a complete mess in the ER. It’s like everybody within a 30 mile radius of the Pittsburgh city limits wants to make sure your coping skills are top notch.

There’s an arm in a bag on the table to your left, a tense Dr. Robby speaking with the OR’s Dr. Garcia in one corner, an always irritating Oglivie chatting away on a stool to your right, and a painful migraine crawling up the back of your neck and squeezing the patience out through your ears.

You don’t even notice when Garcia pages for Park from the OR, Park “the Shark”. It’s a stupid nickname, you think. Just gives him an excuse to be an asshole to all the freshman doctors like yourself.

Well, all of the other freshman doctors like yourself, but you dread seeing him anyways. He had a sore (soft) spot for you, which, despite his seniority in age and residency, had morphed into a hot mess since he asked you out a month or so ago. His texts sit unanswered in your phone, ranging from your ‘date’ last weekend to yesterday, when he knew you had off. Of course he knew your schedule. Funny thing this was, the younger doctor fruitlessly hiding from commitment instead and the the older, grumpy man who should know better than to mess around with some kid chasing after so hard. He played all tough and mean in the ER, and with you most days, but he babied you like nothing else, gave you everything you asked for and was always there, and it was terrifying.

You can’t help the way you grimace when he blows into the room, nodding to Dr. Robby.

“How long?” His question is aimed at you where you stand a foot to his right as he inspects the arm in the bag, gloved hands tugging the fingers lightly. You answer and he nods, eyes drifting down you.

“3 hours is perfect, I’ll book OR. {{user}} will stand in if that’s alright with you?” He glanced at Dr. Robby who nods, arms crossed casually.