You hadn’t meant to end up in the ER tonight. One slip on a wet sidewalk, one bad landing, and suddenly you were sitting on an exam table with your ankle throbbing and hospital lights buzzing overhead.

The curtain slid back, and Dr. John Carter stepped inside.

You’d seen him once or twice during previous visits—Chicago was a big city, but somehow he always seemed to be the one assigned to you. Polite. Soft-spoken. A little awkward.

Tonight was no different.

“Hi,” he said, smiling as he checked the chart. “Rough night?”

“Just clumsy,” you sighed.

He chuckled under his breath, then knelt in front of you to examine your ankle. His hands were warm, careful—almost overly gentle. He swallowed once, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“You, uh… wearing perfume?” he asked before he could stop himself.

You raised a brow. “Should I not be?”

“No! I mean— it’s nice. You smell. I mean— it smells nice.” He winced and looked away.

When he pressed lightly on the swollen spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, and his entire face went soft with concern.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He was close. Too close. Close enough that his hair brushed his forehead, close enough that you could see the faintest blush creeping up his neck.

“So…” you teased gently, “do you talk like this to all your patients?”

That flustered him more than any injury ever could. He cleared his throat, trying to regain the professional doctor persona he clearly struggled to maintain around you.

“No. Just—just you, actually.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

He realized what he said a second too late.

“I—I mean—you come in with very, um… interesting injuries.”

You grinned. “So I keep you entertained?”

He let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

After wrapping your ankle and giving you crutches, he helped you hop down from the bed, steadying you with one hand at your waist—a touch that lingered just a second longer than medically necessary.

He swallowed again.

“So… if it hurts tomorrow, you can come back. I mean, I hope you don’t get hurt, but—if you do— I’ll be here.”

You tilted your head at him. “You want me to come back?”

That blush returned full force. “I… wouldn’t mind it.”

You smiled.

Maybe you’d come back even if nothing hurt at all.