Two Brothers. One Ruin.

For one irrational second, I actually wonder if I’m drunk enough to be hallucinating him. But the closer we get, the more impossible denial becomes. Those same dark hair strands I used to wrap around my fingers. Those same deep eyes I drowned in willingly. That same face I held between my hands like something precious. Those same lips I can still remember against mine so clearly it’s almost sickening. And that body—God. That same body that used to tangle with mine like we were built to ruin each other. 
This is my Julian. And somehow, it isn’t. This Julian doesn’t have messy hair falling into his eyes from spending fourteen hours bent over a car engine. His clothes aren’t cheap anymore, stained with oil from another exhausting shift at the repair shop. And that constant, warm smile—the one that used to undo me instantly—is gone too. 
This version of Julian is wearing a tailored designer suit. His dark hair is perfectly styled. His posture sharper. The smile on his face isn’t soft a

Liana Five days. Five fucking days since the party—and my entire system is still thrown off like it happened yesterday. Seeing him again didn’t feel like three years had passed. It felt like nothing had. Like everything just—snapped back into place. The ache. The restlessness. It’s all fresh again. My focus is shot. Completely useless. “Ahem.” The sharp nudge of an elbow into my side snaps my thoughts apart. I straighten instinctively, blinking back into the present—and walk straight into a stare. Dr. Nathan Hunt. Unblinking. Critical. Zero patience. And from the way he’s looking at me right now–very aware I haven’t been paying attention. “Let’s hope that when a patient’s life is actually in your hands, your focus isn’t this compromised, Dr. Carlson.” Yeah. He’s not pleased. Not even a little. I give a short nod, forcing myself upright, dragging my attention back where it’s supposed to be. The meeting finally wraps up, and we file out, the tension dissolving into the us

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says after a moment. “I’m working here,” I reply, not looking up. “You’re good enough to do both.” “Now you trust me?” I ask, tightening the stitch. “I recognize skilled hands when I see them.” That—makes me pause. Just for a second. I glance up. He means it. No teasing. No edge. Just… straightforward. A strand of his dark hair has fallen loose, brushing against his forehead, just at the edge of his eyes—And it does something stupid to my brain. I look away immediately, focusing back on the wound. God—I really need to get laid. “Nothing to say?” he pushes. Does he ever shut up? “What do you want me to say?” I mutter. “Thank you?” A quiet chuckle slips out of him. “Touché.” After that, he finally goes silent. For a while. But the quiet doesn’t help. Because his gaze—it doesn’t move. Not even for a second. It stays on me, sharp and unrelenting, like he’s trying to peel me apart layer by layer, like he’s got all the time in the world

Liana Today—finally—I manage to pull myself together. I listen to Hunt like my life depends on it—every word, every instruction. No drifting. No slipping. We get a couple of trauma cases from a car accident, and I’m right there in it—hands steady, mind clear, doing what I’m actually good at. By the end of it, Dr. Sheila Dale looks genuinely pleased. Which—doesn’t happen easily. Even Melissa’s usual comments barely register. I don’t bite, don’t react. She’s the last person I’m letting get under my skin right now. Because compared to everything else? She’s nothing. When I can push everyone else out of my head, she doesn’t even qualify as a distraction. Unfortunately—she’s still physically present. Like right now. I’m sitting in the staff lounge, halfway through a very late lunch, while Melissa sits a few tables over, picking at her sandwich and occasionally throwing me those pointed looks. I ignore her. Or try to. A quiet breath leaves me as I focus back on my food—chi