And then, without warning, Rebecca reached out, her hand cupping Lillian’s jaw, her thumb brushing softly against hercheek. It was the first time Rebecca had touched her with any tenderness, and it sent a rush of warmth through Lillian’s entire body.
"You should go," Rebecca said, but there was no conviction in her voice.
Lillian didn’t move.
Instead, she stood, closing the distance between them, her hands resting lightly on Rebecca’s waist. "Tell me to leave," Lillian whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "And I will."
Rebecca’s eyes flicked to Lillian’s lips, and for a moment, it looked like she might push her away. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, Rebecca pulled her closer, their lips crashing together in a kiss that felt as inevitable as it was forbidden—heat, teeth, the taste of coffee and risk. For a heartbeat she let it happen, let the pressure of Lillian’s mouth answer everything she hadn’t been willing to say.
And then Rebecca froze.
The hum of the fluorescent light seemed suddenly loud; a trolley rattled somewhere down the corridor. She broke the kiss first—clean, decisive—and pressed her palm flat to Lillian’s sternum to keep her from following.
“No.” Her voice was low and steady, more control than apology. “Not here. Not like this.”
Lillian’s breath hitched. “Rebecca?—”
“If we do this now, we don’t come back from it,” Rebecca said, not looking away. “There are cameras. Colleagues. My name on a dozen doors. Yours on a dozen reports. I’m not losing either of us to one bad decision in a bright room.”
She smoothed Lillian’s hair back, an unconscious, almost tender gesture at odds with the space she was putting between them, then stepped away another inch, shoulders squaring as the mask slid back into place.
“Wash your hands,” she said quietly. “Count to sixty. Then go out first.”
Lillian swallowed, the sting of the stop colliding with the throb of want, but she nodded.
Rebecca’s mouth twitched—something like regret, something like promise. “This isn’t a no,” she added, softer. “It’s a not here.”
She turned, already composing her face for the corridor, and left Lillian with the taste of the kiss and the shape of the warning, both of them knowing exactly how dangerous this was—and that, for now, they’d chosen not to be stupid about it.
Later, as Lillian lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling of her small apartment, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from her sister, Olivia.
Coffee at the hospital tomorrow? I’ve got some time between rounds.
Lillian smiled softly to herself and typed back:Sure, see you there.
The next day, after a long morning of surgeries, Lillian found Olivia waiting for her in the hospital café, her usual warm smile in place.
"You look tired, Lils," Olivia said as Lillian sat down across from her. "Everything okay?"
Lillian hesitated, the weight of her secret pressing down on her. "It’s just…a lot," she finally admitted. "First week, the pressure. You know how it is."
Olivia reached across the table, squeezing Lillian’s hand gently. "You’re doing great. Don’t let anyone—especially Catherine—make you feel like you’re not good enough. You belong here."
Lillian swallowed the lump in her throat, grateful for Olivia’s unwavering support. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."
Olivia tilted her head, studying Lillian’s face for a moment. "You know," she said softly, "you don’t always have to carry everything alone. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here."
Lillian smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I know."
And she did. But there were some things—some secrets—that couldn’t be shared, no matter how much she wanted to.
As they finished their coffee, Olivia gave Lillian one last encouraging smile before heading back to her rounds. Lillian sat there for a moment longer, the warmth of her sister’s words comforting her, even as the weight of what she was doing with Rebecca pulled her deeper into the secret they now shared.
The hospital at night felt different. Quieter, the usual buzz of activity replaced by a hushed stillness. It was both a sanctuary and a prison—Lillian’s escape from the world, from the weight of her family’s expectations, and yet, a constant reminder of the pressure she carried every day. She had thrown herself into work since she started here, using the long shifts and exhausting hours to numb the growing storm inside her.
But lately, there had been something else keeping her tethered to these halls, something more dangerous than familylegacies or surgical precision. It was the way Rebecca had begun to look at her: the subtle, fleeting moments of vulnerability that cracked through her icy façade. The tension between them had been building all week, an undercurrent beneath their professional interactions, and it had reached a breaking point tonight.
The surgery had run late. Most of the staff had already gone home, leaving the hospital eerily empty. Lillian had stayed behind to finish some last-minute notes, but her thoughts were elsewhere—on the way Rebecca’s fingers had brushed hers during the surgery, on the way her gaze had lingered a second too long. She had been so focused on maintaining her own composure that she hadn’t even realized how Rebecca had been unraveling her carefully maintained distance.
