"The people who were in the fire on Christmas are okay?" Vanessa asked during a FaceTime call with Emilio. Since he had moved out of the house, they called once a week.

Emilio was slightly surprised by her question. She rarely ever asked about his work. Usually, Emilio was happy to listen to her talk about what she did in school that week (she was still young enough to enjoy school).

"Yes. They're awake now," Emilio replied.

"Are they going home soon?"

"They'll stay at the hospital for a little while longer, just to make sure they've healed okay. Why do you ask?"

"I just think it's sad to get hurt on Christmas," Vanessa said somberly. "Is the one you take care of nice?

"Not particularly," Emilio admitted in good humor, "but I like him. He's interesting."

"Oh."

With that, the subject was abandoned and the usual conversation topic was taken up again.

Emilio's statement about Tobias being interesting— though not untrue— was an enormous understatement. So much so, that Emilio has begun to take notes.

Because Tobias rarely answered personal questions or shared things about his life, Emilio had to assemble the story like a jigsaw puzzle. Yet each new piece he was given failed to make the picture clearer. In fact, it usually made it more confusing. This made every shift with Tobi twice as exciting as before.

When Emilio entered the hospital room, Tobias was skimming through his black journal. The ribbon bookmark saved a page close to the back cover.

"Seems like you're running out of pages," Emilio observed.

"Unfortunately, yes," Tobi replied, closing the book and placing it on the bedside table.

"How long have you been writing in it?" Emilio asked, taking out his own notebook to add to it.

"Since I was a child," Tobi responded, staring skeptically at Emilio's notebook. "What is that?"

Emilio shut the book and pocketed his pen. "I'll share when you do."

Tobi dropped it, deciding he didn't care.

"So how are you feeling today?" Emilio asked, diverting the subject.

"Slightly less like shit than yesterday," Tobi admitted, forcing a cough back.

"I can tell. You're talkative today," Emilio teased. Tobi bit back a remark.

"When do Mattias and I get discharged?" He asked instead.

"Soon." There was a slight jab at Emilio's heart at the thought of his favorite patient leaving. Could he even handle a shift in which he wasn't verbally attacked by sarcasm?

And what about his— he decided to call it his "Patient Journal"? He would have to see Tobias outside of the hospital setting, but he would never agree to that. Would he?

"You'll be glad to be rid of me, hm?" he asked.

"I'll be glad to be rid of bad hospital food more so," Tobi replied. "As well as blank, white walls. I may decorate my apartment when I return."

He gave a slight smile which rendered Emilio's insides to mush. The odd expression didn't go unnoticed.

"What?"

"You have a nice smile," Emilio mumbled, slightly embarrassed. Tobi didn't respond much to Emilio's relief (disappointment?) and he quickly changed the subject. "And I suppose you'll be glad to see your family again."

Tobi laughed without humor.

"No?"

"I can barely tolerate them."

"Oh," Emilio said.

"What?"

"Nothing, just— I enjoy being an older brother. Granted, I haven't got twenty-three siblings like you. Just one. A sister. Vanessa. She's eight—" Emilio snapped his mouth shut as he realized he was rambling and oversharing. That tended to happen when the topic of his sister came up.

"Do you talk her ear off as much as you do mine?" Tobi asked good-humoredly.

"She's much worse than I am," Emilio grinned. He laughed at the look of mild terror that crossed Tobi's face.

"She asked about you— you and your brother the other day, which was sort of odd," Emilio said after a moment of silence.

"Why is that odd?" Tobi asked.

"She doesn't like talking about my job. The idea of people getting hurt and sometimes dying makes her sad."

"It obviously doesn't bother you, though."

Emilio shook his head.

"Not me. I've always been a bit fascinated by the macabre since a young age. It's been slightly inspired by my night terrors."

Emilio tried not to seem too intrigued for fear that Tobi would stop talking. He never spoke about his nightmares, but all of his nurses were aware of them. He often awoke in a cold sweat or screaming.

"Do you remember your dreams when you wake up?" Emilio prompted, hoping Tobi would say more about the dreams.

"Sometimes better than others."

Emilio nodded, taking this as a good sign to continue asking questions.

"How long have you been having them?"

"Since I was four."

"Is it one recurring dream or are they different?"

"Different for the most part. One or two of them recur occasionally."

"Do you know the inciting incident?"

At this, Tobi frowned. His eyes clouded in thought and he sat in silence for a few minutes, seemingly recalling a past event.

"Yes," he said at last.

Emilio waited for an elaboration, but none came. He decided against prying, guessing he wouldn't receive anything but a glare.

Tobi sat with his thoughts for a while longer, thankful Emilio granted him this moment of silence.

All the nurses were so talkative and annoying, Tobi reflected, but at least Emilio had a decent idea of boundaries and would be shut up with a glare. He deemed the purple-eyed nurse his favorite (the term was used loosely, he told himself, and "least hated" would be more accurate) for these reasons.

Tobi despised the fact that he had grown comfortable around Emilio. He hadn't intended to warm up to him, and found it increasingly frustrating that he continued to do so against his will.

When Tobi resurfaced from his thoughts again, he noticed Emilio was writing in the notebook he'd brought with him. It sparked a slight anxiety within Tobi not to know what was being written. He tried to convince himself that he really did not care, yet curiosity continued to gnaw at his mind. Tobi kept his fair share of secrets, but despised when secrets were kept from him.

Before Tobi realized how much time had passed, Emilio's shift was over and he left, bidding farewell.

Tobi's eyes came to rest on the purple spiral-bound notebook Emilio had left behind.

I shouldn't, he thought to himself, still staring intently at the notebook. It isn't mine. I wouldn't enjoy him reading my journal. I won't read his.

He sprang from his bed and rushed to retrieve the book. Eagerly, he opened it.