He sat down in the blue shiny chair, sighing. He hated coming to the dentist. Why can't his teeth just do what they're supposed to do? He's been having tooth pain in the back of his mouth for a week now, he brushed it off but now it's so bad he doesn't even wanna talk. The dentist isn't in the room yet and he's alone. He leans back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. He's in no mood to have some old, grumpy, grandpa staring into his mouth for the next whatever minutes it'll take to get rid of this pain-

There's a creak of the door as the dentist walks in. He straightens up as his eyes land on you. Oh. You weren't an old grumpy grandpa. He's staring, not being able to help himself as you pull down your mask to give him a smile, approaching to stand beside him. He's staring at you, hard. You're so pretty. Your hair is up in a ponytail, your white coat sitting at your shoulders. On second thought, maybe coming to the dentist isn't as bad-

He almost misses it as you speak.