I hadn't gone back to work all week.
Sick leave, mental health, whatever the term was... truth was, I couldn't look anyone in the eye without feeling like I had Dorian Webb written across my forehead.
Mam didn't ask why I wasn't going in. Not properly. But she looked at me funny when I sat staring at cold toast three mornings in a row.
"You're pale as a ghost, Al," she said on Thursday, nudging a cuppa towards me. "And you've not shaved. You always shave."
"I'll do it later."
"You said that yesterday."
I didn't answer. Just stirred my coffee like it was a magic potion that might fix everything.
"Something happen at work?"
My hand paused on the spoon. "Not really."
A lie. Obviously.
She gave me a look, one of those Mam looks that said she wasn't buying it but wouldn't press either. Not yet. Not while I still looked like I'd been dragged backwards through my own nightmares.
"Jordan, will ya have a word with him?" she muttered later, not so quietly, while wiping down the counter.
"Already tried, Ma," he said, lighting a cig by the back door. "He's in one of his moods."
"Moods don't last this long."
"Don't need to tell me that." He glanced over his shoulder at me, then jerked his head toward the garden. "C'mon. Smoke break, lad."
I followed without arguing.
The air outside was cool, damp. Summer drizzle clung to the bins and the old patio chairs. Jordan handed me a cigarette without saying a word. We smoked in silence, backs pressed to the bricks, watching the rain fall sideways.
"You alright, lad?" he asked eventually.
"M'fine."
"Hmm."
He didn't believe me. I didn't believe me. And neither of us tried to change that.
I puffed out a breath and stared at the shed like it held answers.
How the fuck was I meant to explain it?
Hey Mam, hey Jordan... just so you know, I had sex with my senior nurse. A man. And I liked it. And I left before I could process a single thing.
Yeah. No.
That would go down great over tea.
Silence fell between us.
The awkward kind.
I finished my cig, I could feel Jordan staring at me. He knows the truth but even he doesn't know what to do.
Back in my room, I collapsed face-first into the pillow like gravity had given up pretending. My sheets were still twisted from the night before, I'd barely slept. Kept waking up drenched in sweat, heart hammering.
Dorian's voice still echoing somewhere in my head.
"Let go. I've got you."
Fuck. Don't think about it... Don't think about him...
But of course I did.
The way he'd touched me. Looked at me. Not like a joke, not like a conquest, like he actually saw me. And wanted me anyway.
No one had ever made me feel like that before.
And that was the problem, wasn't it?
Because it hadn't just been about the sex. If it was, I could box it up, shove it deep down with everything else I didn't talk about.
But it had been slow. Careful. Fucking tender.
And I had been the one to lift my hips, to wrap my arms around him, to whisper his name like it meant something.
Jesus Christ.
I turned over and stared at the ceiling.
"This is wrong. I wasn't supposed to like it."
But you did.
"Shut up."
You wanted it…
"It was a mistake."
Then why did it feel like the first time you've ever been touched like you mattered?
I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes until stars came.
I could still feel him. The heat of him. The sound of our breathing tangled together in the dark. His fingers sliding down my back.
The way he'd looked at me like I wasn't something broken.
God.
My body had given up pretending too. I rolled onto my side and curled in, guilt coiled in my gut like a snake.
I shouldn't have gone. I shouldn't have let it happen.
But I didn't regret it. That was the worst part.
Later, Mam knocked on the door.
"You want any dinner, love?"
"No."
"You've got to eat something."
"Not hungry."
There was a pause. I could hear the hesitation in her breath.
"You know… whatever's going on… you can talk to me."
I stared at the ceiling.
"I'm grand, thanks Ma."
"You're not. But alright."
Her footsteps faded down the stairs.
I sat up slowly, grabbed my hoodie from the floor, and pulled it on like armour.
The mirror across the room caught my reflection.
Eyes ringed red. Stubble I hadn't shaved.
That look—
The one I'd seen in patients who'd lost something they couldn't name.
Now it was staring back at me.
What the fuck was I doing?
I blinked at myself. Once. Twice. Then reached for my phone like it might hold the exit I needed.
No messages.
Not from him.
Not since the day after his flat, which I'd ignored.
I hovered on Dorian's name in my contacts.
Tch. Don't.
Instead, I scrolled down and tapped Ava. My thumbs hovered for a second. Then typed fast before I could think too hard.
Me: Hey, you alright to swap me onto nights for the week? Just need a reset. Cheers x
Ava: Sure. Everything okay? x
Me: Yeah. Just need the headspace. Appreciate it x
That was it. Quick. Easy. Clinical.
Like nothing was wrong.
Like I wasn't running.
Week 2… Night Shifts.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
No Dorian. No banter. No flirtation. No eyes on me across the ward, catching every slip in my voice, every flicker of hesitation.
It should've been a relief.
Instead, it was like walking through fog... heavy, muffled, cold at the edges.
Most of the patients slept. The sounds of monitors, the occasional call bell, the shuffle of footfalls down empty corridors were the only sounds that kept me sane.
But I couldn't stop thinking.
Every quiet minute dragged me back to that flat. That bed.
That stupid moment I'd let happen, and couldn't stop replaying.
I'd done the right thing awkwardly abandoning him…
Right?
So why did it feel like I'd torn out something I wasn't going to get back?
On the fourth night, I caught myself scribbling Dorian's name in a patient chart margin like a bloody teenager and scratched it out so hard I tore the paper.
Get a grip, Alex…
You're not gay. You're just… confused. Tired. Vulnerable.
It didn't mean anything.
You were just lonely. That was all it was. Anyone would've taken comfort if they were that—
I threw the pen across the nurse's station before the thought could finish.
An agency nurse looked up from the opposite side.
"You alright?"
"Yeah. Just… dropped something…"
She raised a brow but didn't push.
Week Three... I was back on days.
No warning. Just a rota update in the staff app Sunday night, blinking at me like it knew what it was doing.
My thumb hovered over Dorian's name again that morning.
Still didn't text.
Still couldn't.
What would I even say?
"Sorry I ran out after we had sex. Sorry I haven't messaged. Sorry I can't stop thinking about you even though I'm trying really fucking hard to pretend I'm straight."
Yeah. Sound.
I was halfway through my second coffee before shift started when Nina caught me at the nurse's station.
Bright smile that made my teeth ache.
"You're not on Surgical Unit this week," she said, voice sing-song like she was handing out sweets. "You've been moved to Surgical Recovery. Patient load's lighter, and Ava's covering admin down there too, so you'll have backup."
I blinked. "Oh. Right. Cheers."
Didn't ask why.
Didn't need to.
The maths did itself.
Me + Ava = Recovery Unit Lovebirds.
Nice and neat.
Nice and straight.
My stomach flipped. Whether it was guilt, nerves, or relief... I couldn't tell.
Everyone would see it.
Everyone would talk.
And if enough people believed it… maybe I would too.
Right?
Halfway through the week, the whispers started.
"Ava and that new nurse, do you think they're a thing?"
"Apparently she swapped his shifts last week too."
"Didn't you see them leave together Tuesday?"
I pretended not to hear.
Pretended I wasn't the one who started this whole mess by leaning into it.
Because it was easier.
Easier to laugh at Ava's jokes, easier to let her walk beside me into handovers, easier to let my family think maybe I was seeing someone.
"That the girlfriend?" Jordan had asked Sunday when he saw my phone buzz with a message from her.
I didn't correct him.
Because the truth would make everything snap. Even he knows it.
Ava wasn't stupid. She didn't push.
But Thursday, I asked her out.
Like a coward.
We were sat at the back of the staff room, both cradling half-warm coffee.
I didn't look at her when I said it.
"You wanna go for a drink sometime? Like, outside of work?"
She blinked. "You asking me out?"
"Yeah." I scratched my neck. "Sort of."
A beat.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Sure."
And just like that, it was done.
I'd set it in motion. A way to bury what happened.
To forget how Dorian had kissed my skin like it meant something.
To erase the heat of his hands by forcing myself to find it elsewhere.
Problem was… it didn't work.
Friday...
I was restocking the obs trolley on Surgical Unit when the door slammed open.
Hard.
Startled, I looked up.
Dorian stormed in.
Face thunder.
Eyes locked on me like I'd personally lit him on fire.
"A word," he snapped.
I froze. "Dorian—"
"Now."
The whole ward went quiet. Even Ava, halfway through explaining a discharge to a new student, trailed off and stared.
I followed him out, legs jelly, heart thudding against my ribs.
We ended up in the stairwell. Nobody else around.
He turned on me the second the door clicked shut.
"What the fuck, Alex?"
I swallowed. "What're you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb. You disappear for two weeks, ignore my messages, then turn up acting like nothing happened? Now I hear you're dating Ava?"
His voice cracked on her name.
I flinched. "It's not—"
"Not what? Not what it looks like? Because it looks like you used me to experiment, freaked out, and ran back to the safe option."
"I didn't—"
"Didn't what? Sleep with me? Moan my name? Leave awkwardly saying to take things slow?"
I stared at the ground.
He laughed bitterly. "God, I was such an idiot. Thought it meant something."
"It did," I burst. "It did, alright?! But I don't know what to do with that!"
He went quiet. But the hurt was carved into every line of his face.
"I've spent years being someone's secret. I'm not doing it again, Alex. Not for you. Not for anyone. Not anymore."
"I didn't mean to hurt you—"
"But you did... you're just like the rest of them."
He shook his head and turned toward the door.
Before he opened it, he looked back.
"Hope she's worth it."
Then he left.
And all I could do was sit on the step, trying not to fall apart.
Breathing through the ache like it might crack me open.