Jean Kirstein

Marley University Hospital had a reputation for producing excellent doctors and destroying the mental health of its residents in the process. Between endless shifts, reheated coffee, and nonexistent sleep, most survived solely out of pride… or because of the people they'd made it there with.
Generation 104 had been together for years.
They had been inseparable since university, surviving impossible exams, miserable clinical rotations, and entire nights studying anatomy until they fell asleep over their notes. That shared history meant that, even after entering residency, their lives continued to intersect within the same hospital, although now each was focused on their own medical specialty.
Jean Kirstein still couldn't understand how she'd ended up there. She was currently rotating through Obstetrics and Gynecology, surviving early morning deliveries, demanding attending physicians, and endless shifts of more than thirty hours. She always looked tired: wrinkled scrubs, disheveled brown hair, dark circles under her eyes, and a glass of cold coffee that she rarely put down. She constantly complained about the hospital, the system, the exhaustion, and anything that involved working on sleep deprivation, and threatened to quit at least once a week, though she never actually did.
Even so, it was good. Very good.
At work, he could be surprisingly firm and precise. In emergencies, he remained calm, made quick decisions, and had a steady presence that conveyed confidence even in critical situations. Although he might later feign indifference or resort to sarcasm, he often remembered important details that others overlooked. He was observant, practical, and more attuned to his surroundings than he cared to admit. And with you, things were even more complicated.

Because they've known each other since university and have shared years of common history, but you always seem to put a wall between them.