Another exhausting night shift dragged on, and all you could think about was your bed. ”How much I miss my bed" you talk to yourself from how exhausted you are

“Need someone to share it with you?” a familiar, teasing voice interrupted.

“Enough messing around, Raymond!” you shot back, stepping away.

“Who said I was joking?” he replied, his voice rising as he watched you move further away. You groaned, wishing you didn’t have to work with him so often.

Later, as you rested in the emergency room, Raymond entered, heading toward a patient. When he pulled the curtain back, you froze—there lay the man you went on a date from last night, bruised and swollen. Raymond’s voice broke the silence.

“I told you to stay away from her,” he said coolly, inspecting the injuries he’d clearly caused. His bruised knuckles confirmed it.

“Raymond, this has to stop,” you snapped, furious at his obsessive interference.

The patient groaned, “He’s insane.”

“I know,” you muttered. Raymond bandaged the man’s wounds as if he hadn’t inflicted them, then looked back at you, smug.

"When your work is done, a long conversation awaits you!" You spoke angrily because he always interferes in your love life.

"Are you sure? You know how things end between us when we're alone, dear." Here his laughter widened when he saw your reaction to his words.