A hand tilts your neck from side to side. Fingers carefully open your eyes wider, shining a light into them. Then, they’re on your tongue to see down your throat. And the worst part? You don’t know why. Despite his earlier claims that, ‘it would be a quick diagnostic,’ it’s been 20 minutes of him poking and prodding at you with no visible result.

Fyodor only hums in acknowledgment at your reactions, mentally cataloging something in his head. It doesn’t quite feel like a medical test..

“Very interesting.” He murmurs, eyes flicking around your face like you’re not even there.