Mark sat on the doctor's office at Oak Ridge Medical Clinic which was busy and ignoring him, Mark found deeply offensive. He sat on the edge of the exam table, his skin a roadmap of angry, weeping red welts.

​The door swung open, and Dr. Leo Vance walked in. He wasn't wearing a lab coat; he had his sleeves rolled up, carrying a tray that looked like a medieval torture kit.

​"Well, well," Leo said, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "If it isn't the man who lost a wrestling match to a stationary shrub."

​"It was dark, Leo. I was looking for the dog," Mark muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "Just give me the cream and let me go."

​Leo snapped on a pair of latex gloves with a sound like a gunshot. "Cream? Mark, you’re practically 40% rash at this point. We’re past topicals. You need the heavy hitters. Steroids and antihistamines, straight to the muscle."

​Mark’s stomach did a slow roll. "Plural? How many?"

​"Four," Leo said, his voice dripping with far too much professional satisfaction. "Two in each side. Broad coverage."

​"Leo, come on. We played Little League together. Have some mercy. Don't you think if i needed shots, i would have gone to ER. For old tome sakes , brother, no shots!"

​"Oh Mark, I remember Little League," Leo said, turning to draw the medication into the syringes. "I remember you crying you when you scaped your knee. Now, drop the cargo pants and lean over the table. Don't make me call a nurse to hold your hand."

​

​Mark groaned but obeyed, bracing his forehead against his crossed arms on the cold, crinkly paper of the exam table.

​"Deep breath," Leo said.

​Dart one landed with a sharp sting. Mark let out a muffled "Hrrrgh."

​"Oh, was that a whimper?" Leo chuckled, massaging the site with a cotton ball. "I think I heard a whimper. That’s adorable. Remember when you were eight and tried to hide in the toy chest to avoid your flu shot? You haven't changed a bit."

​Dart two followed immediately. Mark’s hands gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

​"Stay still, Princess," Leo teased. "I'm halfway through. You want a sticker when we’re done? I think I have some 'Frozen' ones left in the pediatric drawer."

​"I hate you," Mark hissed into the table.

​"The feeling is mutual every time I have to look at your backside," Leo replied, moving to the other side. "Alright, brace yourself. These last two are the thick stuff. They’re going to 'bite' a little."

​

​Dart three felt like a hot bee sting that wouldn't end. Mark let out a high-pitched, involuntary "Eee-yip!"

​Leo actually barked a laugh. "Did you just bark? Was that a yelp? I’m definitely telling the guys at poker night that you’ve regressed to puppy sounds."

​By the time dart four entered the muscle, Mark was done. The combination of the stinging medicine, the exhaustion from itching for three days, and his lifelong needle phobia finally broke the dam. A single, heavy tear hit the exam table paper, making a distinct thwip sound.

​Leo stopped laughing. He pulled the needle out, disposed of it, and stood there for a second. "Wait... are you actually leaking, Mark?"

​"Shut up," Mark choked out, wiping his eyes frantically as he stood up and hiked his pants back. "It's the... the fumes. The alcohol prep."

​"Sure, buddy," Leo said, his voice softening just a fraction, though the mischievous glint remained. "It’s definitely the fumes and not the fact that you’re a giant baby. I’ll go process your paperwork. Try not to drown in your own tears while I’m gone."

​As Leo reached the door, he paused. "Hey, Mark? For what it's worth, that ivy looked nasty. You took it like a champ. A crying, whimpering, barking champ."

​"Get out, Leo."

​"See you at the BBQ on Sunday. Try not to fall into the rosebushes."