"Hey, are you okay?" A voice, deep and urgent, cut through the haze.

Sam blinked slowly, her vision blurry. Above her, a figure leaned in closer, a man. She could barely make out his features, but there was something familiar about him. He was saying something—asking her something. His voice wavered between concern and panic, but the words were slipping through the cracks of her disoriented mind.

“Can you hear me?” He sounded closer now, his voice sharp with urgency.

Sam’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her throat felt dry, her head spinning. She blinked again and the world came back into a soft, fuzzy focus. A man hovered above her—dark hair, stubble, a furrowed brow.

"Charming Charlie?" she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His expression shifted, surprise flashing in his eyes. “What?”

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It didn’t matter. Her mind was too foggy to explain. She closed her eyes again, wincing at the pain in her head.

"Hey, don’t go back to sleep. You need to stay awake." The man’s voice was stern, and she felt him gently shake her shoulder.

Sam opened her eyes again, groaning softly as the ache in her head sharpened. "What... happened?" she mumbled.

“We collided. Pretty hard, actually.” He sat back a little, giving her space but not leaving her side. “You should probably see a doctor.”

Sam struggled to sit up, but the dizziness hit her like a wave, forcing her back down with a low moan. She clenched her eyes shut, willing the spinning to stop. "Mozz..." she managed to say, reaching for his leash.

"Your dog’s fine," the man reassured her. She opened her eyes and saw Mozz a few feet away, pawing at the tree, oblivious to her plight. "He’s chasing squirrels, still living his best life."

Sam tried to process the situation. Here she was, sprawled on the ground with a headache that felt like it might split her skull, and this guy—the guy she’d watched flirt with half the women in Central Park—was focusing all his attention on her. It was surreal.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, wincing again. "I’m fine," she said, though she clearly wasn’t. "You don’t need to... stick around."

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"Yeah, I’m not so sure about that," he replied, glancing at the cut on her forehead. "You’ve got blood there, and I’m pretty sure you’ll need more than a band-aid."

Sam reached up, fingers brushing against the tender spot near her temple, feeling the stickiness of blood. "Great," she muttered.

"Stay here." He stood up, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call someone.”

“No,” Sam said, a little too forcefully. The last thing she needed was more attention, or worse, ending up in a hospital. "I don’t have any health insurance right now."

Charming Charlie crouched back down, his expression skeptical. "My sister’s a surgeon, she can check you out. She lives in the Avimor. I can have her meet us in the lobby."

Sam shook her head slightly, though that was a mistake, as it sent another wave of dizziness crashing over her. "I just... need to sit up."

Before she could protest, he was beside her, helping her into a sitting position. His hand was warm on her arm, steadying her as she leaned back against the park bench. Sam closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on breathing, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

"Thanks," she said quietly, trying not to make eye contact.

"Sure," he replied. "But you should really get that checked out."

Sam finally glanced up at him, squinting against the light. He was watching her closely, his brow furrowed with concern. It was strange—seeing him like this, serious, not the playful flirt she’d observed from afar.

"Do you, uh, know my name?" he asked suddenly, breaking the awkward silence.

Sam blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"You called me... something earlier. Charming Charlie?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but also curious.

Heat crept into Sam’s cheeks, and she immediately regretted her earlier slip. "Oh–I thought you were someone else."

He chuckled softly, but thankfully didn’t press further. "Alright. Well, I’m Hank."

Sam gave a small nod, her head still pounding. "Sam,” she offered.

"Nice to meet you, Sam," Hank said, offering her a grin that wasn’t quite as cocky as she’d expected.

"Wish it were under better circumstances," she muttered.

He laughed, a soft sound, but then his expression grew serious again. "Please let my sister take a look at you? It’s the least I can do."

Sam hesitated. She wasn’t used to accepting help, especially not from strangers, but she also wasn’t sure she trusted herself to get home in this state.

"Fine," she relented, the word heavy with exhaustion, admitting to herself it was the cheapest option for making sure she didn’t have some kind of fatal brain bleed.

"Mozz," Hank called, slapping his thigh. Her traitorous dog trotted over obediently. "Can’t leave your partner-in-crime behind."

Sam took his hand, feeling a strange mix of reluctance and gratitude as he helped her to her feet. She wasn’t sure what to make of him yet—Charming Charlie, Hank, whatever he was—but at least for now, she could use the help.

As they walked toward the nearest park exit, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that her simple, predictable world had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.