Although the late spring was rapidly becoming early summer, today was also about to become tomorrow, and as the couple talked their breath was visible in the chill of the midnight air.

'I guess it wasn't meant to be' she said, with the kind of fake nonchalance that is utterly transparent but usually glossed over in polite conversation. But this was neither the time nor place for polite conversation, he surmised: slightly drunk, having just witnessed yet another one of their friends' weddings whilst they remained eternally single and drifting between casual relationships, he decided that he would, for once, ditch the bachelor-boy bravado and confide in her. If this conversation were taking place in the lounge at midday, he would have nodded in agreement and changed the subject to something lighter, more fun, more them. But he believed that she had fallen for her most recent lover in a big way, and her attempt to put a brave face on it and casually dismiss the break-up would not, he decided, go unchallenged.

'Still hurts though, doesn't it?'. She was taken aback by this comment, and her initial reaction was to turn and look at him in bewilderment. Of the six billion or so people on the planet, he was the very last person that she was expecting to be prying into her post break-up emotional state. The relief she had felt when she realised that it was him who had joined her outside the reception, and not a closer friend, suddenly disappeared. She was expecting him to give her the 'plenty more fish in the sea, lock up your sons' cheer-up routine, and this last comment shocked her into defensiveness.

'And what would you know about being hurt?'. She said it in a jokey way, a reference to his many conquests who were merely that; he didn't do relationships, commitment, let alone love...did he?

'Enough to know what you're going through. People like us, we put on a brave face, we get on with it. We pretend that we enjoy our single lives, dating, the thrill of the chase, being free, and for the most part we do, but then every once in a while someone comes along who means something more to us. But we can't do it. And that's what hurts the most. We do it to ourselves. We get to a point in the relationship where we have to self-destruct. I've cheated on every girl I've ever been with, including the one I loved. I'm so scared that I'll get hurt, so I hurt myself first...'

'That's nothing like what happened with me and Adam'

'That's exactly what happened with you and Adam'

'It was mutual – we just broke up! I didn't cheat on him...'

'You're never that generous'

'What?'

'If you cheated on him, then there would've been a reason. He'd be at a bar now being cheered up by his buddies, telling himself what a bitch you are. His heart, like his hangover, would just naturally heal with time. But instead, he'll always be wondering if you were the one. If only I had persevered, he'll be thinking one day, if only I hadn't let her fob me off with excuses about her career, it not being the right time for a relationship and all that other end of relationship crap...'

'I'M the coward! That's rich coming from the man who just watched the love of his life marry another man!'

'At least the blushing bride is flying to Hawaii safe in the knowledge that even though she loved me once I'm still a cheating, lying son-of-a-bitch and she'll be happier without me.'

'You just keep telling yourself that. I cared for Adam a lot but I never loved him, and that's the truth.'

'So why are you out here feeling sorry for yourself when you should be in there with the other bridesmaids being swept off your feet by the best man?'

'Because someone had to be here to distract you from feeling sorry for yourself'

'So you're out here strictly in the capacity of psychologist? And there I was thinking you were a plain old ER doc, when all along you've been sent by psyche to infiltrate the department and report back to Weaver on our mental health. I knew Adam was the second guy from psyche you've dated recently but I didn't know you were colleagues as well as lovers! Suddenly it all fits into place...'

She was giggling uncontrollably by this point, and unthinkingly placed her hand on his thigh to make him stop taunting her. He was laughing too, both at his own quick wit and relieved that the conflict brewing between them just moments earlier had dissipated. They had never rowed before, and now they again joined forces against a common enemy – Weaver. His impression of her always cracked her up without fail, but after more than a few drinks it had them both laughing hysterically. He got up from the bench and hobbled around with the aid of a nearby branch, gesticulating wildly as he put on his best Weaver voice:

'You're all too screwed up, so from now on I'm banning sex, alcohol, relationships and any kind of home life. In fact, none of you can leave the hospital. On second thoughts, you can't even leave the department. Absolutely no fraternising with other departments. Or each other. Or anyone, for that matter. Ever. Understood?'

And with that he dropped the branch, grabbed her hand and pulled her up off the bench, in one smooth movement twirling her around and into his arms so that they could dance haphazardly on the gravel hotel driveway. As they danced they fell into silence, and he looked at her, slightly dishevelled after a long day but all the more radiant for it in the moonlight.

'You know any man would be lucky to have you, right?'.

She rolled her eyes and looked at him, as they slowly continued their dance. He laughed to himself, and she instantly quizzed him.

'What?'

'That's one of my usual break-up lines, but that's the first time I've ever said it and actually meant it'.

Inside the music stopped, and in turn they stopped dancing. Standing still, they were now effectively in an embrace and staring into each others' eyes. Whether consciously or not, in that moment a kind of magnetism drew their faces closer together, a spell that was only broken at the exact moment she was closing her eyes and anticipating the seemingly inevitable. A spell broken only by the sudden sound of footsteps on the gravel, making her push away from him and turn back towards the wedding reception.

'Susan..'

He called after her but didn't pursue her. If she was feeling half as confused about what had just happened as he was, the last thing she would want to do would be to discuss it. Instead of making his way back to the function suite, Doug did what Doug did best: he made his way to the nearest bar.

Outside the hotel, meanwhile, someone was shocked by what they had just witnessed. Two colleagues who were the best of friends, inextricably linked by the hospital rumour mill with other, albeit married, colleagues, on the verge of a kiss? How could they possibly be expected to keep this one to themselves...