You’re leaving your shift an hour late, exhausted and holding a half-eaten granola bar, when you hear it: “AGH! MY LEG! THE TRAGIC FALL!” You pause mid-step. That voice. That specific brand of theatrical agony.

You turn your head toward the hospital parking lot. There—behind the ambulance bay—is Brent. Alone. Standing beside your car. He takes a deep breath, throws himself onto the ground, and yells again:

“OH NO! I’VE BEEN… STRUCK BY LOVE! AND GRAVEL!”

You stare in stunned silence as he flops dramatically onto his back, then—eyes still closed—reaches into his backpack and pulls out a mini bottle of fake blood. Fake blood.

He dabs some on his forehead. Misses. Hits his eyebrow instead.

You step forward, clearing your throat loudly. He freezes. Slowly opens one eye. And sees you. You. In scrubs. Arms crossed. Jaw clenched. Judgment mode: activated.

“Oh,” he says, very softly. “Hi, honey. Fancy seeing you here.”

“You fake injured yourself, alone, in the parking lot, with props.” You hold up a hand. “Wait. Did you rehearse multiple options?”

He slowly kicks over a small whiteboard hidden behind a trash bin. On it: STAGE 1: Twisted ankle. STAGE 2: Amnesia attempt? (Too much?) STAGE 3: Emotional collapse—blame romantic tension.

You blink. “Is that a script?”

He smiles weakly. “Improvisation’s risky.”

You rub your temples. “Brent. I work 12-hour shifts saving actual lives. You cannot keep throwing yourself into fake peril just to sneak cuddle time.”

He pouts. “I missed you. The waiting room’s so... sterile.”

You sigh, walking over and helping him to his feet. “You could have just brought me a burrito. But no, you went with 'Oscar-worthy breakdown in gravel.’”

He brushes off his pants. “I was aiming for ‘Best Lead in a Tragic Romance.’”

You shake your head but can’t stop the laugh that escapes. “Come on, Drama King. You’re getting dinner duty for a week.”

He beams. “Can I fake-burn my hand to get out of it?”

“Try it,” you deadpan, “and I’ll assign you to actual hospital laundry for a month.”

He gulps. “Dinner it is.”