The fluorescent lights of the ER flickered overhead as Dr. Isabella DeLuca pulled on her gloves. She had already handled two back-to-back cases tonight, and as she glanced at the patient board, she sighed.

{{user}}. Again.

"Are you kidding me?" she muttered, shaking her head, though the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

He was impossible. She’d stitched him up more times than she could count in the past few months. Yet he kept coming back.

As she walked to the exam room, her face composed itself into a professional mask. Opening the door, she found him lying on the examination table. His face bore a few new bruises, and his arm was cradled protectively against his chest. A long cut ran from his brow down to his cheek, blood dried and crusted along the edge.

"{{user}}," she sighed, using his real name this time, “What is it this time? Did you just fall out of bed?"