Work Text:
Langdon regrets taking that last swig since he nearly spits it out—a common reaction to an angel asking for a plastic surgery consultation—but then he’d cover her perfect face with coffee. A truly perfect face, he thinks.
Before he can let her know, she asks if they offer Juvaderm.
Apparently, she didn’t catch it the first time, so he reiterates: “absolutely fucking not. Dr. King.”
“That’s a little mean,” the sweet blonde responds. Fuck, he put a damper on her mood. That’s no way to greet his next (and last) wife, but she needs to hear it. “Am I in the wrong place? Your receptionist confirmed you offer fillers as well.”
“Now, what do you need Juvaderm for?”
“Oh, nothing, just considering getting myself something with my new attending salary, I’ve, uh– never really had this much to spend, so I thought I’d go all out.”
If three months of this plastics rotation didn’t kill him, that beaming smile certainly will. “And some jackass suggested fillers?”
“Dunno, something I thought I’d consider.” Her brows crinkled in confusion, and her lips pursed to the side. Adorable, he thinks.
“Well, let’s go ahead and relieve you of that thought and send you on your merry way. Here’s a card, call me anytime– not for a consultation, you’re fucking perfect– for dinner sometime.”
“Perfect?” she asks, blush spreading from her nose.
Slipping the business card in her jacket pocket, Langdon smiles at the lady. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”