Work Text:
You blink rapidly and try to keep the document in front of you in focus. Your left eye scratches horribly every time you blink. You rub it with your hand and attempt to dislodge whatever object is irritating it, but it never gets better, no matter how much you pull and rub and scratch. You pull a small hand mirror from your desk and hold it close to the affected eye, but the reflex to close it is so strong, and the mirror is so small - there’s not really any way to see. You consider for a moment going to the bathroom and leaning close to a mirror there, but you get the feeling you need someone’s help.
There’s always Emma, sitting right next to you, tapping her toes in her pink shoes along with the quiet music playing in the background. She’d help, you know she would. You almost want to ask her, but for some reason -
Ah, worth a shot.
“Emma?”
“Hmmmmm?”
“Can I ask you a super weird favor?”
“Anything.”
“Will you look at my eye? I think I’ve got a lash in it or something. I tried to get it myself but I can’t.”
Emma puts down her pen and crosses the narrow space between your desks. “Which eye?”
You open your eyes, or more accurately, open your eye, and she laughs. “Well that answers that.” She leans close to your face. “Can you open it?
“Not really.”
“Can I try and open it?”
“Sure.”
Emma presses a finger into your eyelid and attempts to raise it, hoping to get a better look. You flinch. You can’t help it. It’s a reflex, in the purest form of that word. You’re trying so hard to master it, but it’s impossible.
“Sorry,” Emma says. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. It’s just reflex. I’m trying. I can’t help it.” Every attempt to move your eye scratches further, and you find yourself flinching away again against your will as Emma reaches for your face again.
Emma laughs. “Okay. That’s it. Come on. Follow me.”
“What - why?”
“I don’t think your reflexes are going to be able to let you sit still for me to do this. But I think you might be able to let someone else.”
“Emma -”
Emma puts her arm around your shoulders and squeezes you affectionately. “I’m not judging. I’m just taking you to the person you really need.”
Emma raps on Dr. Way’s doorframe as she approaches. “Hey G?”
“Mmmmm?” Dr. Way looks up, sees you, eyes pressed closed, and makes a face. “Are you alright?”
Emma nudges you into their office, teasing, but loving. “Patient for you,” she says.
Dr. Way chuckles. “How can I help?”
“They’ve got something in their eye. Probably just an eyelash. They asked me to help but I couldn’t get them to sit still. But I thought - if they couldn’t let me help, they just might let you.”
“Yeah, of course,” Dr. Way says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’m not that kind of doctor, but I think I can handle that.”
You feel Emma pat your shoulder as she walks away. Dr. Way approaches you. “I’m gonna sit you down on the sofa, okay?”
“Okay.”
Dr. Way takes your hands and leads you gently to the large sofa that lives in their office. You sit down on it, eyes still closed. “Stay right there, okay? Keep your eyes closed. I’m going to take my gloves off.”
“Yeah.”
A brief pause, and then you feel the weight of Dr. Way sitting next to you on the sofa. “Head towards me.” You obey. “Which eye?” Dr. Way asks.
“This one.” You point up at your left eye.
“Can you open it?”
“A little,” you answer, and attempt to open your eyes. It’s no easier than it was earlier. “I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do.”
“No sorries, honey. You have nothing to apologize for. I know you can’t really control it.”
“I really can’t.”
“You’re probably right that it’s an eyelash. I can probably get it, but I’m going to have to actually get in there to do it.”
“I know. Just - just do it. Emma was right. I think it’ll be easier for me to not flinch if it’s you.”
“Okay. Let me see.” Dr. Way wraps their hands around your face, warm and soft and firm. “Try and hold as still as you can. I know it’s a reflex, just do your best.”
“Okay.”
“Does it feel like it’s on the top or the bottom?”
“Top.”
Dr. Way presses their fingertip into your upper eyelid and gently pulls it upwards. Your eye scratches with the movement, and you fight hard against the reflex to squeeze it shut again. In fact, you’re not really winning - but their fingertip is. “Sorry, honey. I know it’s irritated.”
You want to respond, but you’re afraid if you open your mouth you’ll lose focus.
“It is indeed an eyelash,” Dr. Way diagnoses. “You’re right. And I see why you were struggling to get it out, too. I can absolutely get it for you but I’m going to have to get my nails very close to your eye to do it.”
“That’s fine. Just go for it.”
“Look down. Just your eyes, not your head.”
You do your best to obey.
“Okay. Stay looking down. Don’t try to look at me. Hold very still, alright? I know it’s a reflex but I promise not to stab you.”
You nod, the tiniest bit. You’re looking down through your lower lashes, and you can sense the motion of Dr. Way’s fingertips and painted nails so very, very close to your eye.
“You’re fine. You’re going to be fine. Just don’t move. Still as you can be.”
You focus your energy on fighting the reflex to blink. Dr. Way’s nail comes within a millimeter of your eye, but true to their word, never quite touches. They grab onto the errant lash and pull it from your eye in a single swift motion.
“Got it! Blink.”
You unfreeze and blink rapidly. “Oh, fuck. Thank you. You did.”
“Better?”
“So much better, oh my god.” You can actually open your eyes now, and make eye contact with Dr. Way, who’s smiling softly at you.
“You’re welcome.”
“My hero for the day. Sorry. I know that was kind of weird. But Emma was right. She thought it would be easier for me to not flinch if it was you. And she was right.”
“Look at me?”
You look directly into their eyes.
“Look down?”
You do.
“I don’t see any sign of injury other than it just being a little red, which makes sense. Don’t ever apologize for weird, sweetheart. What are friends for?”
“You’re the best.”
Dr. Way knocks their sunglasses off their head and back onto their face. “I know.”