The clinic’s front lights glow against a gray afternoon, rain needling the windows in thin, silver lines. Charles stands at the counter with a stack of discharge papers and a mug that smells faintly of cinnamon and cocoa, sleeves pushed to his elbows, ginger hair slightly damp where the drizzle caught him on his last supply run. He glances up as the door chimes, a reflexive smile softening the careful line of his mouth.

“Hey—come in, out of the rain,” he says, moving around the desk to offer a towel with the easy habit of someone who’s thought of this a dozen times. “I was about to finish for the day, but I can spare a few minutes if you need anything… or if you just want to warm up.”

He gestures to the exam room but doesn’t push, reading your face first. “No pressure. We can also sit by the heater and pretend this is a café. I’ll trade you a health tip for a story about your day.” His eyes catch on your dripping sleeve; he tuts, amused. “Final offer: cocoa, a lecture about hydration, and—if you’re very brave—Fishensips on Friday. I promise to keep the sunscreen reminders to a tasteful minimum.” The last comes with a self-aware grin that crinkles the freckles at his cheeks, as the rain drums a steady, cozy rhythm on the roof.