Chapter Text
Your legs swing as you sit upon the bed of the doctor’s room, alone. The paper covering crinkles under your every move, only adding to the overstimulated haze the blue-white hue of the lights has left you in. Every doctor’s room has the same clinical, intoxicating smell, you think. Even in the blimp-sized town of Forks, they cannot escape this certain stench of immaculate-ness. As your thoughts descent into just how different forks compares to your previous habitat, it takes the slam of the door behind your doctor to pull you out.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he begins, golden hazel eyes lifting to scan your expression. The corner of his lips tug into a slight smile, his head tilting to the side in what you can only read as shame.
“My previous client, Mr. Wilson, didn’t wanna let me go too fast.”
He’s smiling now, unrestrained as he flashes his pearly white teeth, practically gleaming despite the garish white lights beaming down on his figure. It takes way, way too long for you to digest any of the words coming out of his mouth. You’re more intrigued by the sharpness of his jaw, the peak of his nose, the gentleness behind the light hazel eyes staring back at you. Laugh, you think, and laugh you finally do. Truthfully, the laugh stems from the sheer anxiety of having your new doctor be as alluring as he is, but his little anecdote does amuse you too. You ought to talk, you decide.
“It’s really not a problem, I understand.”
Say something funny, your inner monologue screams. The pause as Carlisle waits for your continuance feels almost hour-long, deathly silent yet screaming loud in its awkwardness.
“More time…uh, to think about..my neck?”
Carlisle huffs out a laugh, moving to sit into his chair and shuffling to face you directly. It’s a torturous move, with his eyes now locking with yours, forcing you to hold his gaze. Perhaps even more painful than the dull ebbing in the muscles of your neck. Perhaps.
“Ah, yes, I suppose you’re right! More thinking never hurts anybody. So,” he places a hand on each knee,” tell me about it in your words. Claire informed me you’ve been having difficulty with your neck but, I’d like to hear you tell me what needs fixing if you could.”.
Something about his words sends a red hot jolt of excitement to your stomach. I’d like to hear you tell me what needs fixing, you repeat. What needs fixing…the stupor it sends you into turns your throat barren dry. Perhaps it’s the close proximity of his frame now leaning into you, or the way a small smile refuses to leave his lips as he speaks, or even just the implications that the doctor will tend to you.. the seconds dilate into minutes as you reel in your thoughts.
“Yeah, uhm. It’s super hard to move my neck?” You state, your strained voice intonating the words into a question. “I can move it from side to side a little, but not fully. It’s been like this for a week now...I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t so persistent.”
“I’m very glad you did come, y/n. This sounds serious.”
Naturally, the mention of your injury being deemed as serious flies over your head. All that you can hear is the way he says your name, softly and calmly the way any good doctor would, ringing in your head like chiming bells.
“Would you show me how far you can tilt your head? If that’s okay with you, of course.”
Of course, you mentally repeat once again. By instinct your head ducks to nod, until that painful throb below your nape stops you in your tracks, pushing a low groan from your throat.
Carlisle’s eyebrows furrow as you huff out your pain, making a mental note of the severity as you rub at the back of your neck, your cheeks flushing with the wave of embarrassment washing you. Any other doctor, he thinks to himself, and the way you’re starting to blush would pass by unattended. It just had to be Carlisle who’s every feature to you is flawless and far too illuminating for the miserable sights of Forks, and makes you blush when performing even the most mundane of tasks. Carlisle, who unbeknownst to you can hear your heartbeat begin to crescendo as your eyes meet his. Carlisle, who can practically feel the blood rushing to your delicate face.
Whilst a small conversation gradually picks up between the two of you, the staccato of your heart comfortably easing, Carlisle’s thoughts retreat into his least favourite corner of his mind. He knows what’s coming next. He pictures the events ahead of him: your head tilted to the side, bearing your neck for his touch. He’s done this countless times, for countless mortal patients, but…never someone like you. Never such a fragile thing as you, whose legs dangle from where you sit and who'se eyes just can’t seem to stay locked with his. You’re delicate, like a lily in bloom. Carlisle wishes to freeze you in this state of purity, forever, like a photograph. So, he cocks his head once more as the dark mist of thoughts that swallowed him get wafted away, and observes your movements once more.