Work Text:
“You’re still quite underweight,”
The words hung heavy in the sterile air for a moment, reflecting off the bleak, white, and probably asbestos-filled walls. Thom shuffled his socked feet nervously on the scale, waiting for the man behind him to continue. It seemed like he was doing the same. But thankfully;
“The scale reads one-hundred and seventeen pounds, which is comparatively…erm, lighter than the last time we’ve met. You’ve lost around-”
Thom cuts him off- in his brain, of course- and thinks ‘6 pounds, I know, I’ve lost 6 pounds. Last time I was 123. Satisfying number.’
“-Six pounds. We’ll discuss- ah, you can put your shoes back on now. We’ll discuss further in a little while, in the consulting room,”
Dr. Greenwood raised his arm meekly to point down the hall, in the direction of what Thom assumed was the aforementioned consulting room.
“Straight ahead, second to last door on the left. I’ll be in there shortly, just sit on the exam bed…”
He trailed off. Thom couldn’t tell if this was another one of his doctor’s strange tendencies, or something else. For some reason, he felt uneasy- like something bad was about to happen, but he couldn’t define what exactly. Just something generally unpleasant and inconveniencing.
“Uhm…I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned for you…Thom.”
Bingo.
That…that thing they all do. All doctors- they say ‘I’m worried’, ‘I’m concerned’, then follow it up with a strangled, bristling pause, trying to decide if they want to be more formal and call him Thomas, as it says on their clipboards- Or Thom, to establish some semblance of a ‘friendly relationship’. They go back and forth before they ultimately settle on the former.
But not Dr. Greenwood.
This, as far as he could remember, was the first time a doctor (or any medical professional, for that matter) had referred to him as Thom. He was trying to get friendly. Thom decided this was worse than someone trying to keep it formal.
If Dr. Greenwood wrote his name, he’d forget the H.