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[quothethedoctor]

-Dr. Yahiro taps the tip of her pen against her temple. The sun's barely setting, making the office glow dull red, and seem infinitely more compressed and tiring. Staring at charts, at symptoms and prescriptions, at names typed so impersonally at the top of white paper peeking out of manila folders, doesn't help. When Eliza comes in, Dr. Yahiro for

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[thomas_small]

-He still doesn't look like he's slept. His appearance has changed for the worse in the last few weeks. He's as well-groomed as ever, but he's recently earned dark circles under his eyes and while the creeping gauntness of his face accentuates his cheekbones, it does so in a way that's a bit unnerving, unnatural, unhealthy. He doesn't bother to take off his coat as he sits down in the soft chair in the corner of the room.-

Evening, doctor.

[quothethedoctor]

You're late.

-She finishes scribbling down some more notes on his chart and stands up.-

Are you finally ready to talk to me?

[thomas_small]

Depends on the questions you ask.

-He doesn't look at her. He wants some tea, coffee, alcohol, anything, anything to warm and loosen that sick knot in his stomach. But he knows her, she won't offer unless he asks, and he's too proud to ask.-

[quothethedoctor]

What have you eaten in the last twenty-four hours, and did you sleep last night?