"Who is it?" Adrian's voice is rough with sleep behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and see him propped up on his good elbow, his dark eyes focusing on me.
"It's the doctor," I say, then look back at the man standing in the doorway. "Please, come in."
I step aside, letting the doctor enter. He walks over to the bed, setting his bag down on the nightstand, and begins unpacking supplies: gloves, gauze, antiseptic.
"Let's take a look," the doctor says, snapping on the blue gloves.
Adrian shifts, turning slightly so the doctor can access his shoulder. The sling comes off first, and Adrian winces as the doctor peels away the bandages. I move closer, standing near the foot of the bed, my hands twisting the robe's belt.
I don't like seeing him in any kind of pain.
The stitches are dark against his skin. The edges around them are red, but not bleeding. The doctor inspects them carefully, his fingers pressing gently around the area.
"How's the pain?" he asks.
"Manageable," Adrian says.
The doctor hums, unconvinced, and moves to the bicep wound. He repeats the process, checking the stitches, probing the skin. Adrian's jaw tightens, but he doesn't make a sound.
"It looks good," the doctor finally says, stepping back. "You're healing well. No signs of infection."
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle of pills, setting it on the nightstand.
"Antibiotics. Twice a day until they're gone. No skipping doses."
Adrian nods.
The doctor turns to me, his expression serious.
"He's cleared to shower, but you need to keep his left arm strapped up and the stitches completely dry. No exceptions."
"Okay," I say.
He digs into his bag again and produces a stack of large plastic sheets.
"Use these," he says, handing them to me. "They are stick-on on one side. Wrap them around the shoulder and bicep to help keep them dry. Press firmly so they seal."
I take the sheets, holding them carefully.
"I'll be back in a week to check on him," the doctor says, packing up his supplies. "Call if anything changes: fever, excessive swelling, discharge from the wounds. Understood?"
"Understood," I say.
The doctor nods, grabs his bag, and as he leaves, looks back. "And make sure he takes those pills," he says, then leaves. "La revedere, o zi buna," he adds right before shutting the door.
"La fel," I say out of instinct, but I don't think he hears me.
Adrian groans, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He stares down at his left arm and shakes his head.
"Useless," he says.
I move to the nightstand, picking up the pill bottle and a glass of water I'd left there last night. I shake out one pill and hand it to him.
"Take this."
He stares at me and grabs it. "Yes, boss," he says, putting it into his mouth. I smirk and hand him the water.