Ash's fingers gripped the edge of the examination table as he stared at the door. His foot resumed its nervous tapping against the metal frame, a rhythm that echoed his racing heart. The sterile smell of the room, coupled with the thought of Gary walking in with a tray of needles, made him want to bolt.

"Maybe I should just run for it," he muttered under his breath, glancing toward the window.

But before he could act on the thought, the door swung open, and in walked Gary, carrying—much to Ash’s dismay—a small silver tray. On it sat a syringe, a vial of clear liquid, and some cotton balls. Gary noticed Ash's wide-eyed stare and smirked.

"Relax, Ashy-boy. It's just a shot," Gary said, setting the tray down on the counter.

Ash forced a weak smile. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one getting poked."

Gary rolled his eyes and pulled on a pair of gloves. "Come on, Ash. We've been through this before. It's just a quick pinch, and then you're done."

Ash fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, his palms sweating. "Yeah, but it hurts, Gary. Every time. And then my hand hurts for days afterward."

Gary paused, his gloved hand hovering over the syringe. He turned to look at Ash, his expression softening. "Your hand hurts after? Like, every time?"

Ash nodded, avoiding Gary's gaze. "Yeah. I don’t know why, but it always does. And when the needle goes in, it’s like... this sharp, burning pain. I hate it."

Gary leaned back against the counter, studying his best friend. For once, he wasn’t smirking or teasing. Instead, he looked thoughtful.

"Let me see your hand," Gary said, gesturing for Ash to hold it out.

Ash hesitated but eventually extended his hand. Gary took it gently, turning it over to examine the palm and fingers. "Ash, you’ve been keeping your hand stiff, haven’t you? Like, clenching it every time you get a shot?"

Ash blinked. "Uh... yeah, I guess. I mean, it hurts less when I do that, right?"

Gary sighed and shook his head. "No, Ash. That’s probably why it hurts so much and why your hand aches afterward. When you tense up, your muscles don’t take the shot as well. You need to relax your hand."

Ash frowned. "Relax my hand? Easier said than done, Gary. Have you ever had a needle jammed into your arm?"

Gary smirked, but it was gentler this time. "Plenty of times, Ash. Trust me on this. I’ve got an idea that might help."

He grabbed a stress ball from the counter and handed it to Ash. "Squeeze this a couple of times to warm up your muscles, then let your hand go loose when I do the shot. I’ll be as quick and gentle as I can, okay?"

Ash eyed the stress ball skeptically but gave it a few squeezes. "This better work, Gary."

Gary chuckled. "It will. And I’ll put the cream on after, like I promised. Deal?"

"Deal," Ash muttered, though he still looked nervous.

Gary prepared the syringe, drawing the liquid into it with practiced precision. He turned back to Ash, who was now squeezing the stress ball like it was his lifeline.

"Alright, Ashy-boy, moment of truth. Ready?"

Ash took a deep breath and nodded, letting the stress ball drop to the table. He forced his hand to relax, though every instinct screamed at him to clench it.

Gary crouched slightly to meet Ash’s gaze. "Look at me, not the needle. Focus on something else."

Ash fixed his eyes on Gary’s face, trying to ignore the faint pinch as the needle broke his skin. True to his word, Gary was quick and efficient, and before Ash knew it, the needle was out.

"That’s it," Gary said, pressing a cotton ball to the spot and taping it down. "All done."

Ash blinked in surprise. "That’s... it? It didn’t hurt as much this time."

Gary grinned. "Told you it’d help if you relaxed. You just needed a little guidance from yours truly."

Ash rolled his eyes but smiled. "Thanks, Gary. And... sorry for freaking out."

Gary shrugged, pulling off his gloves. "Hey, it’s what best friends are for. Just don’t make a habit of getting all dramatic on me, alright?"

Ash laughed. "No promises."