Parings: Dior x Charlie
W/c: 2,646
Summary: While at the doctor's office, Charlie finds out that Dior has a big fear of needles.
TW: Mentions of GAD- Generalized Anxiety Disorder
'✵•.¸,✵°✵.｡.✰ ✰.｡.✵°✵,¸.•✵''✵•.¸,✵°✵.｡.✰ ✰.｡.✵°✵,¸.•✵'
THE MORNING SUN CAST ITS GOLDEN RAYS UPON THE UNSUSPECTING COUPLE, Charlie and Dior, as they found themselves in the confines of the doctor's waiting room. Dior found herself at the appointment without knowing the reason, while Charlie was equally clueless about why he was there since Dior wasn't unwell. Mrs. Goodjohn had picked him up on the way to the doctor's office, but now she was mysteriously absent, leaving them without any guidance. The whole scenario felt sneaky and devious, much like Dior and Charlie themselves.
Although, it was approximately 7am, and both teenagers were feeling quite exhausted. Dior had dozed off, her head resting on Charlie's shoulder, their hands entwined beneath them. Interestingly, they found themselves surrounded by elderly individuals, likely due to the early hour. The two young celebrities remained in that peaceful state for some time until a voice suddenly grabbed Charlie's attention.
"Dior Goodjohn?" A nurse whispered, her voice carrying a hint of anticipation, as she emerged from the door, a clip clutched tightly in her hands.
Charlie's gaze locked with the nurse's, his eyes conveying a silent understanding, and she nodded in acknowledgement.
With utmost tenderness, Charlie placed his hand on Dior's velvety curls, caressing them gently as he showered her head with a cascade of affectionate kisses, his shoulder reluctantly parting from hers.
"It's time to wake up, Dior. They're ready for you, angel," Charlie whispered gently as the brown head moved slightly. When she opened her eyes, she was greeted by a bright smile from him.
"Come on, beautiful," Charlie whispered, extending his hands gently. Dior tenderly grasped them, and together they rose to their feet, heading towards the nurse who warmly welcomed them. In an instant, the trio disappeared behind the closed doors.
"Miss Dior, how are you feeling today?" The nurse inquired, her tone filled with compassion as they strolled through the corridor, with the nurse guiding the path.
Dior couldn't help but roll her eyes in exasperation. The last thing she wanted was to engage in mindless small talk, especially during the early hours of the day.
"Tired," Dior whispered, exhaustion evident in her tone.
"I bet you are, girlfriend," the woman in her early forties remarked, "But it's best to tackle this in the morning," she suggested.
Charlie and Dior shared puzzled looks. Tackle what? Dior wondered. With a hint of worry, Dior's hand found Charlie's, fingers lacing together as they walked on. Before long, they arrived at their final stop.
"Okay, lovely. We'll be staying in this room today," the nurse announced, softly pushing the door open to reveal the small room. Dior raised an eyebrow, noticing that there was no examination bed, only a phlebotomy chair in the center.
"Just have a seat in the chair, Dior. I shall return shortly," the nurse declared before exiting the room. Dior complied, cautiously settling into the chair. Charlie followed suit, but chose to occupy the chair beside her.
"What do you think they'll do to me, Charlie?" Dior inquired, her voice laced with worry.
Charlie scanned the room, desperately seeking any clues. "Um, I honestly have no idea," he confessed. The absence of medical supplies made it nearly impossible to decipher the purpose of their visit.
