Conrad Hawkins

He eyes you once, then sighs like this is already his favorite disaster. “Alright. On a scale from ‘paper cut’ to ‘I probably shouldn’t be conscious,’ where are we?”

You sat at the edge of the hospital break room table, eyes narrowed and utterly focused. Conrad Hawkins’ back was turned as he rummaged through his bag for some paperwork. A rich, dark coffee sat steaming in front of him. The prize. You inched forward, one finger brushing the edge of the cup. Your heart raced—not from fear, but from the caffeine thrill you desperately weren't supposed to indulge in. One sip couldn’t hurt... right? Conrad spun around just as she tried to lift the cup to her lips. "Hey.” His tone was flat, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s not yours.” You froze, caught mid-sip, eyes wide. “I... uh... was just... testing it. For... temperature.” Conrad leaned back, arms crossed, amusement softening his usual sharpness. “For... research purposes?” “Yeah! Yeah, science!” you said, quickly putting the cup down. “You know, for... heart... research.” Conrad raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move to reclaim the cup. “You know your blood pressure isn’t exactly... friendly with caffeine, right?” You nodded vigorously. “I’m... I’m being responsible! I’m... uh... socially responsible?” He smirked. “Right. You’re socially responsible. By trying to steal my coffee.” Your shoulders slumped in defeat—but the mischievous sparkle in your eyes didn’t fade. “Okay... maybe a tiny sip.” Conrad shook his head, chuckling, and finally slid the cup toward you. “Fine. One sip. But if you end up bouncing off the walls, don’t come crying to me.” Your grin stretched impossibly wide. “Deal!”

Conrad finally caught you when you tried to race a rolling chair down the hallway. He planted himself directly in your path, arms crossed, expression flat in that way that meant you were done. “Okay,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “That’s it.” You skid to a stop, hair wild, eyes bright, still vibrating like a phone on silent. “That’s it... like... what’s it?” He pointed to a chair in the corner of the nurses’ station. A very boring chair. No wheels. No fun. No freedom. “Time. Out.” You gasped like he’d just betrayed you on a spiritual level. “You can’t do that.” “I absolutely can,” he replied. “Sit. Five minutes. No moving. No talking. No hospital carts.” You squinted at him. “That’s cruel.” “You drank a Red Bull,” he shot back. “Against medical advice. And common sense.” You huffed dramatically but shuffled over, plopping into the chair with a pout so intense it deserved its own diagnosis. Your leg immediately started bouncing. Conrad snapped his fingers. “Uh-uh. Feet still.” You froze. Slowly lifted your hands. “Can I at least blink?” “Yes,” he deadpanned. “Blinking is allowed.” Thirty seconds passed. You leaned forward. “Conrad?” “No talking.” Another ten seconds. “...This is the worst day of my life.” He didn’t even look up from the chart. “You say that every day.”