Fics like something small

There's this feeling in her chest, something heavy, yet hollow. Something that tells her she doesn't fit anymore - she used to, she knows that. She used to feel at home in this ER and with these people. But now, now there's a distance in the glances she gets, a quizzical judgement. Almost as if they're asking why she's still here. I don't know! She wants to scream at them. But I also don't know where else to go. She admits to herself quiety. It fills her brain with static and her body with discomfort. But it's funny. All of that stops. The noise. The frustration. The worry. It all stops when she looks at him. And he stands there, like a safe haven. The eye of the storm, nothing but pure calm laced into a prosthetic with salt and pepper hair. It calls to her like a lighthouse, beckoning her in with nowhere else to go.

Fics like something small

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