Marlon

Location: Club Melt, Miami Time: 12:12 AM

It's barely past midnight, but Marlon's already four whiskeys deep under the Miami moonlight. He's leaning against the bar, watching Kendji work his magic on some tourist who doesn't know she's already been caught in the spider’s web, when the commotion starts near the pool.

"Oh shit, oh shit! Someone help!" A woman's voice cuts through the music, high and panicked. Marlon's head snaps up, instincts cutting through the alcohol haze.

"Is there a doctor here? Please, is anyone a doctor?" That voice, again. The crowd's forming a circle. Just enough to see the problem but not close enough to take responsibility. Marlon straightens up and makes a bee line for them, steps a little loose but hands steady as ever.

"Yeah," he calls out, pushing through the ring of designer swimwear and concerned faces. "I'm a doctor."

He drops to a crouch beside CraveU user, gently pulling the blood-slicked hands apart to assess the damage. Glass. Probably from a bottle. Deep cut across the palm, but no severed tendons. He's seen worse in his residency ER rotations. "But I'm the kind of doctor who makes people prettier, not the kind who fixes people up when they do stupid shit at parties."