Ultimatum

2. Periorbital

Warning: implications of abuse.

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Berry Park Surgery
Surbiton, London

Three rounds of bruises later, they return to familiar sterilisation.

"I don't know why we're even here. It's a black eye. We don't need to waste the time of a doctor for that diagnosis. Can we just go home now?" Theo whines for the fifth time.

Dexter shakes his head. "It's not just the black eye. It's everything. All of it. Your body's been through a lot of trauma recently and we need to make sure you're okay."

"I am okay. I can tell you that myself." Theo tries. He watches the man tapping a rolled-up magazine against his knee, waiting for some sort of response. The ensuing silence causes him to slump back in his seat.

Dexter's head turns towards the nearby desk, slightly narrowed eyes injecting the receptionist's personal bubble with nervous discomfort. Every so often, between phones calls, she'll glance up and catch his eye, then immediately rescind the contact.

The original patters of the magazine against his jeans are soon joined by his fingertips, as if he'd interlocked a soft tune between his ears. From his hand slips the magazine. Still, he refuses himself a reaction.

Once again, the receptionist - 'Sandra', according to her nametag - briefly meets his stare. He swallows, catching himself. He averts his gaze.

"You need to stop looking so predatorily at her. You'll scare her." Theo mumbles, tearing his eyes from the side of his sunglasses to his hands. Dexter's fingers fidget in his lap. Another hand settles on his knee as if to challenge them.

This causes him to glance up and meet the blond's gaze but, before he can speak, Dexter flinches his stare away. A hollow chortle is heaved.

"I've come to the conclusion," Theo starts again, a hint of a smile like a hologram against his lips. "That I ought to consider plastic surgery."

Finally, Dexter croaks out, "what?"

"It can't be a good sign when your husband takes one look at you and flinches." Theo says with a dramatic frown. After a moment's pause, he glances at the older's perplexed expression. He delicately touches his nose. "I always knew you hated my nose."

Sighing, Dexter shakes his head. He leans forward in his seat and pulls off his glasses, palm tightening around Theo's leg. Whether initially done to ground himself or provide reassurance, the intentions are slightly blurry. Either way, it serves both purposes, as his other hand stuffs his glasses into his pocket.

"Don't be ridiculous. You know why I flinched when I looked at you. Nothin' to do with your nose." He eventually mutters, chin now lazily resting atop his palm. The tip of his thumb massages the skin just below his ear. "Just wish I wasn't so familiar with that sight."

"Hey, that's still my face you're talking about. There's only so much I can change about it." Sliding his fingers beneath Dexter's palm, he sends him a playful smile.

"There's only one thing I would change about it." The brunet answers, dropping his hand to raise his own to Theo's cheek. His fingertips feather over the indigo skin, causing a wince. "Wish I did when I had the fuckin' chance."

"You didn't have the chance. You need to get that into your head."

"If I-" Dexter begins, face wrinkled with guilt.

"If you had what?" Theo sharply asks. His attitude sobers. "Stalked me home from work? Quit your job to have walked me home on your arm? What? If you had what?" He pauses to puff out an irritated sigh. "Listen, Dex. I love you. You know I do. But I wish you didn't have this attitude- not everything that happens to me is your responsibility. You're my husband, not my bodyguard."