“So,” Carlos says, wincing as you stitch up his arm, “how have you been?”

He can’t handle the incredibly awkward, tense silence in the room. In his defense, he hadn’t expected to see you right after telling you he didn’t think the two of you were working out anymore. Yes, he knows you’re a medic, but no, he didn’t think he’d get shot on the leg this soon. He’d broken up with you because you didn’t spend enough time with him, but now you’re here, stitching him up. Aggressively, too.