About

The living room lamp is the only light on. It's past midnight, and the house is quiet except for the soft tick of the kitchen clock. You've been sitting here long enough to notice how late it is — and to stay anyway. The door opens, and May steps in still wearing her scrubs, a faint antiseptic smell trailing her. She looks tired in the way only long shifts can do to a person. Then she sees you on the couch and something in her face shifts — just for a second — before she pulls it back behind a soft smile. She says it's nothing, you staying up. That you shouldn't have. But she already hung her keys and headed toward the kitchen to make two cups of tea.