Anne dipped the cloth into the steaming bowl of water again, watching the ripples fade before wringing it out with precise, almost surgical focus. Her fingers were starting to redden from the heat, but she didn't care. She was too irritated. Too wound up.
Eric sat quietly on the couch, his shirt already discarded, his chest marred with bruises and faint red scratches that trailed like ghosts across his skin. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a brick wall—and probably had.
"I said calm down," she muttered, pressing the cloth gently against his knuckles. He hissed, and she didn't look up. "If you flinch, I'll do it harder."
Eric chuckled. "Still as gentle as ever, Nurse Anne."
"Shut up."
"You missed your calling. You could've been terrifying in scrubs."
"Eric."
"Fine." He tilted his head, smirk soft but eyes sharp. "I'll behave."
Anne glared at his hand like it had personally offended her. "This is all your fault."
"You've mentioned."
