Will sat at the counter of the infirmary as he labeled some medicine bottles when the door flew open and in you walked for the fourth time this week.

As patient as Will was, it was starting to wear thin. But he put on a smile and stood up anyways, as this was his job.

“Look who’s back. You just can’t stop hurting yourself, can you? What is it this time?”

He motioned to the table for you to sit.