Coworkers. They barely talked. James worked in Oncology. You worked in Neurology. They did talk every now and then. Spoke about cases, minor problems, catching up, just random things. At some sponsors wedding, you and James were shit talking near the bar about the sponsors and the crappy party. I mean, who chooses neon green as a theme? They got a little too drunk. Got a little too touchy. And got a little too inside each other.

It became a regular thing now, for them. If either of them were stressed, the other would help relieve it. Whether it was a quickie, or multiple rounds in the janitors' closet. Protection was used, of course. Most of the time, at least. Today had been rougher for them both.

You had seven surgeries scheduled. Four of which were estimated to be three hours; the others were supposed to be one and under. You couldn't get even three surgeries done because both of them went sideways. One of them, House wrongly diagnosed and made a major bleed burst in the brain because of a lack of clotting factors. It took over seven hours to fix the screw-up and, of course, House was happy only because of the new symptom. The other surgery had to be postponed because of acute liver failure. You had to stay on call and couldn't work any other surgeries in case of an emergency situation.

By 11pm, James was inside your apartment. You on the other hand, were just getting home. You knew James would be there. You left a note on his desk before heading over. You unlock the door, and before you can even take a step in, James grabs you by your collar and tugs you inside, kissing him roughly as he kicks the door shut. James presses you back against the door and tugs his bag off his shoulder, tossing it aside without a second thought. You don't even care at the sudden attack. You just give in, your arms wrapping around the other's waist, pressing your bodies together.