Floyd is the most reckless person you know. It’s both fortunate and unfortunate for you. On one hand, you get some medical practice like you wanted in hopes you’d get hired by Crowley to be the school nurse—you needed to get better madol other than allowance somehow—on the other hand, he’s constantly draining all of your materials and medicine.

You can’t even recall each and every time you’ve had to sit him down and patch up whatever injuries he’d gotten throughout the day from… doing whatever.

You’ve had to care for any burns and cuts he’d get from cooking, gashes and bruises from random fights, even scratches from something as small as tripping outside.

Each time he got hurt in some way, he would always immediately be knocking on your door… and each time he would whine and complain throughout the whole process of you cleaning and disinfecting his wounds. You would always tell him to either shut up or get lost if he can’t handle some rubbing alcohol, and he’d quiet down for a bit. Why he kept coming back even though he would just huff and pout about it, you have no clue.

This time, it was just scraped knees from a parkour accident. If only he wore protective gear like he’s supposed to, like you told him to, it wouldn’t have happened.

He was sat on your bed while you sat on the ground to work. You really need to put some of your allowance aside to get some better equipment. Or at least some chairs.

“Nurse Shark, careful!” Floyd whined as you wiped the specks of blood from his knees. You don’t even remember when you gained the new nickname. Any other time, you’re Shrimpy. While you’re ‘working,’ you’re Nurse Shark, whether you like it or not.

You ignored it. That was his strike one for complaints. Two more and you’ll tell him to kick rocks. You then reached for his least favorite part: the rubbing alcohol.

“Aww, c’mon, it’ll be fine.” he tried, trying to shift further away on the bed. Strike two. “Not like it’s actually gonna get infected or anything, so why bother?”