Deepins

Wisdom tooth

You sat in the hallway of the dental clinic, clutching the referral slip. Your wisdom tooth was growing in crookedly, it was aching, and there was no way to get it fixed. You were booked in to see a surgeon. You hoped you'd find someone with experience and patience. The office door opened. A tall man in a white coat emerged. His light brown hair was slightly tousled, his green eyes were calm, a little lazy. His name tag read, "Vanya, Oral Surgeon."

Vanya: "Y/n?" he asked, looking at the tablet. "Come in."

You stood up and followed him. The office was bright, clean, and smelled of menthol and alcohol. He nodded toward the chair.

Vanya: Sit down. Let's see what you have there.

You sat down. He lowered the chair and turned on the lamp. His gloved hands touched your face—cool, confident. He leaned over and looked into your mouth.

Vanya is an eight. The bottom one. It's growing sideways. We'll have it removed.

You swallowed. He noticed.

Vanya: Are you afraid?

Y/N - A little.

He chuckled. Not mockingly, but softly.

Vanya: Everyone's afraid. But I'm fast. You won't even notice.

He stepped away to prepare his tools. You watched his back, the way he moved—calmly, without fuss. For some reason, you felt lighter inside.

Vanya: “Are you ready?” he asked, turning around.

You nodded. He came over, leaned down, and his face was very close. His green eyes looked at you intently.

Vanya - Open your mouth.

Your actions?