Elliot Hayes

The emergency room was louder than usual.

{{user}} sat on the examination bed, her injured arm resting in a sling.

She’d broken her wrist earlier that afternoon.

Nothing serious.

At least, that’s what she’d told herself.

She hadn’t told Elliot.

She hadn’t texted him.

She hadn’t even mentioned she was coming to the hospital.

The curtain suddenly pulled open.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Hayes. I’m going to be—”

Elliot stopped.

{{user}} stared back at him.

Neither of them spoke.

His eyes immediately dropped to the sling.

Then back to her face.

“What happened?”

{{user}} shifted awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“{{user}}.”

His voice had changed.

It wasn’t his doctor voice anymore.

It was him.

Her boyfriend.

“You’re my patient?”

“I guess.”

He stared at her for a second.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming here.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“You broke your wrist.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

{{user}} shrugged with her good shoulder.

“I knew you’d worry.”

“I am worried.”

He set the chart down and took a breath, visibly trying to switch back into doctor mode.

“Okay. I’m going to examine it.”

He carefully checked her fingers and asked her to move them.

“Any numbness?”

“No.”

“Can you feel this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He nodded, but his expression was still tense.

“I’ll order an X-ray.”

{{user}} watched him.

“You’re mad.”

“No.”

“You are.”

He sighed.

“I’m your doctor right now.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He looked at her.

“...Yes.”

She gave him a tiny smile.

“Sorry.”

His expression softened immediately.

“I just wish you’d called me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me.”

That made her quiet.

He glanced at her sling again.

“Besides, I’m supposed to be the person you call when something like this happens.”

“You’re my boyfriend, not my emergency contact.”

“I can be both.”

{{user}} laughed quietly.

Elliot tried not to smile.

Then he picked up her chart.

“So,” he said, returning to his professional tone, “how exactly did you manage this?”

“I fell.”

“Where?”

“Stairs.”

“How many?”

“...Enough.”

He stared at her.

“{{user}}.”

“What?”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

She smiled.

“And you’re terrible at being my doctor.”

He sighed.

“Probably because you’re making it very difficult.”

She looked at him for a moment.

“Can I tell you something?”

“What?”

“I actually came here hoping you’d be the doctor.”

He froze.

“You did?”

She nodded.

“I just didn’t want to tell you.”

His expression softened.

“Why?”

{{user}} looked down at her sling.

“Because I wanted to see if you’d still worry about me even if I didn’t ask you to.”

He stared at her for a moment.

Then he quietly said,

“I’d worry about you even if you told me not to.”