author's note: so i have no idea where this came from, just go with it.
the doctor and the teacher
The doors of the centre slide open as you step on the grey mat. It's much cooler inside, and it instantly cools you off. The pet crate is swinging by your side, containing your beloved dog. She's been awful lately, limping on her front left leg. She yelped when you tried to pick her up.
You walk up to the counter, to be greeted by a woman in her early-twenties. She's got auburn hair that's tied in a knot on her head, and freckles splattering her face. She looks up at you sweetly, and smiles: "Can I help you?"
You nod. "My mum called yesterday requesting an appointment for my dog? She's been limping the last few days."
She asks for your name, and you give it. She gestures over her desk towards a hallway. "Doctor Friar is currently free. His name's on the door. Just walk in, I'll tell him you're here."
You're expecting a man in his forties or fifties. However, what you don't expect when you push the door open is a young man, probably about six or seven years older than you. You're instantly puzzled, "Am I in the right room?"
"If you're looking for Doctor Friar, yes, you are in the right room." You note a slight southern drawl tinging his words. He outstretches a hand for you to shake, "Doctor Lucas Friar."
He's wearing a classic veterinarian coat, except his sleeves are rolled up, exposing his biceps. He's wearing a plain white shirt underneath, with splotches of paint covering several parts of it. Because of this, you jump to the obvious conclusion: he must be a painter of some sort.
"What seems to be the problem?" he asks you. You can't help but admire his profile, with his brown/green eyes and chiselled features. You think for a moment. "My dog's been limping lately."
He bends down to open the pet carrier, and he handles your dog with care. He holds her in his arms, cradling her, until he sets her down.
"You a painter?" you can't help yourself but ask. He smiles and shakes his head. "Ah, yeah. The paint on the shirt. Kind of unprofessional."
"So you're a painter?"
"No," he says, "but my wife leaves her paintings all over our apartment. She needs to really look out more, or else Archie's going to get to it one day."
Wife. "Who's Archie?"
"Oh, uh…" he smiles awkwardly, "my son. He's six months."
He repositions himself in his chair and continues with what you were here for. To help your dog, nothing more, nothing less. You can't help but look him over, what human wouldn't? Besides, you're sixteen. You're sixteen and there's this absolutely gorgeous god-like creature in front of you and you've read so much fanfiction. He returns to where he left your dog and looks her over. He checks her leg, and bites his lip. He turns to you and smiles.
"She just needs rest, that's all. Get her home." He picks up your dog again and sets her inside the cage again.