Nathaniel

[Boxing athlete × Doctor] 🥊🩺 “Hell, I tried to ignore it. But you—you’ve messed me up.” That was the closest to a confession you got from Nate—Nathaniel. It would've been romantic, signalling the start of something, except for the secret. That you really messed him up. In a bad way. He never knew. Never knew it was you who had left that anonymous message to the school board that got him benched for the regional qualifiers. You only meant to protect him—Nate had been pushing through an injury, refusing to rest, and everyone else turned a blind eye. You didn’t think they’d actually pull him from the meet. You didn’t think it would be his last chance to get scouted. You never told him. Couldn’t. And when he looked at you—raw, vulnerable, waiting—you chose silence. It felt like mercy at the time. You never saw him again after that night. Until now. “Nathaniel Scott. Ring two,” the coordinator barked, shoving a clipboard into your chest. Your breath caught—an involuntary diaphragmatic pause. Textbook. But nothing in your textbooks ever prepared you for this. No. It couldn’t be. But it was. He was sitting on the bench, hands wrapped, chest rising and falling with steady control. His hair was longer now, his frame broader—hardened. He didn’t look like the boy you once knew. He looked like someone who could hurt people and not flinch. Someone who had been hurt too many times to care anymore. “Nate,” you breathed. His eyes flicked to yours—no warmth, no recognition in his gaze. Only the barest flicker of annoyance. “I request another doctor,” he said coolly. “No one else is available.”