OOC: A cup of hot cocoa and half a pack of thin Oreos inspired this little musing. That, and a certain someone planted the seed for this musing in my head, so here’s a special shout-out to @lonely--rolling--star!
I love you and your spontaneous comments, Star! Much thanks for inspiring me, even when I’m juggling two other orders at the moment, haha.
To everyone else: Please sit back, relax with your favourite beverage, and enjoy this tasty indulgence of Dr. Akira Kurusu! ☕
That was what had driven you to make the worst possible decision you could ever make in your life: booking a doctor’s appointment.
On the phone, you explained your situation to a secretary, sniffles and coughs lacing your words as you gave the woman any necessary information.
The secretary, Makoto Niijima, was calm, polite, and to-the-point, various clicks and clacks could be heard on the receiving end as she punched in the information. For a moment, and only a moment, you visualized the secretary staring at the glowing computer screen in front of her, but it left as quickly as it had come, shivering as a chill shot through your body, resulting in a shudder.
“When is a conveninent time for your appointment, miss?”
Makoto’s address made you flinch, despite how groggy, sore, and sick you felt. You weren’t mad at her for addressing you in the manner she had, no; you just hated being addressed so formally.
You breathed a weary sigh, dismissing the polite title; it was expected of a secretary to be calm and mild-mannered to a client. Honestly, you’d been called far worse by other, less likeable secretaries.
However, your mild irritation vanished as soon as it had come to you, sniffling as you just barely managed to wheeze out a reply.
“As soon as possible, please.”
“Is tomorrow morning at 10 o’clock suitable?”
You were surprised that this particular doctor had the time to see you so soon.
Perhaps he doesn’t have a lot of clients? you mused quietly, blinking sluggishly.
You’d never heard of this man. Dr. Akira Kurusu. The name didn’t sound familiar to you; it didn’t ring any bells as you quietly uttered the doctor’s name in your head. Your family’s regular doctor had retired a few months earlier, and this Akira Kurusu had apparently taken his place.
How can a new doctor be able to see patients on the fly like that?
Is he a shady quack or something? This sounds almost too good to be true...
Come to think of it... Did the old secretary retire too? Is she on maternal leave? I’ve never heard of a secretary by the name of Makoto Niijima, either.
Well, whatever. It’s probably better not to worry about it right now.
Dismissing your silent thoughts, you mulled over it for a few seconds.
Your boss had given you the green light to be off work until you were better, and with paid sick leave. Your mother and father visited you whenever they could find the time to, always making sure you ate well. Or rather they made sure that you ate as well as you could, given that you got by primarily thanks to their homemade chicken noodle soup, butter rolls, and hot beverages. Your friends stopped by after work, to check up on you, and promising to celebrate your recovery when you got better.
Most of the time you were sick was spent curled up under layers of thick quilts, sneezing, and shivering, despite the heat being set to a level of comfort. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars that it was early fall, and not winter, when the flu had decided to wrap its large, thick, sickly hand around you.
Finally, a reply left your dry lips in a croaky whisper.
“10 o’clock tomorrow morning is fine.”
You could almost picture her smiling to herself, the quick, rhythmic clicks and clacks told of her punching in the appointment’s time.
You listened as she gave you friendly advice, going over the various do’s and don’t-do’s of taking care of yourself, pausing only to breathe a soft “ah” in the midst of her spiel.
“One last thing. You will be overseen by Dr. Akira Kurusu tomorrow morning. Second floor, the third door on your left when you reach the landing, okay?”
“Second floor, third door on the left. Understood, Makoto, and thank you very much.”
“It’s no trouble. Please get plenty of rest, and make sure to stay hydrated. Have a nice day.”
“Thanks again, and goodbye. Have a nice day as well, Makoto.”
The telltale click of the receiver, followed by the familiar be-be-beep, told you that she’d hung up. You clicked on the end call button, setting the cordless phone back on its cradle. There was a soft beep as it began charging.
You stood up from the chair you sat in, pausing only to pick up the pen right in front of you. You ignored the quiet protest as your body silently screamed, your aching muscles begging you to curl up in the layers of blankets.
However, you ignored the voiceless shrieks of your body telling you, ordering you to follow Makoto’s advice and rest, shuffling over to the calendar pinned up on the kitchen wall by a thumbtack. You picked up a pen, scratching the time and name of the man who’d be overseeing you tomorrow.
Soon, the words “Appointment with Dr. Akira Kurusu at 10 a.m.” stared back at you in slightly messy blue ink. The pen was set back on the kitchen table with a clatter, breathing a sigh as a yawn pulled your lips apart.
The day passed by in a mindless blur to you. When you weren’t hunched over the porcelain toilet, heaving up your guts, wishing the terrible ordeal you were going through would just end, you stayed curled up in bed, and hiding from the cold draft underneath layers of blankets.
For a few hours that seemed to stretch on forever, you simply laid underneath the thick quilts, shivering despite feeling perspiration forming, rolling down your feverish body in moist beads. You stared up at the ceiling, your eyes feeling heavy as they fluttered. You struggled to stay awake, breathing a sigh that was equal parts frustrated and tired.
The quilts that covered you shifted as you rolled over, the book you read amidst the dim light of your lamp slipped from your fingers. The novel hit the floor with a heavy thump, but you were too tired to waste the energy required to move, to get out of bed and put the book somewhere safe.
Somewhere out of the way of your clumsy feet; your coordination in the morning was terrible, to say the least.
You muttered to yourself as your eyes slid shut, allowing the encroaching darkness of unconsciousness to consume you.
“...Dr. Akira Kurusu... I wonder what sort of man he is?”
The shrill beeping of your alarm clock woke you up the next morning, silencing it with a weak smack of your hand. You thanked the foresight you had to set the alarm for eight o’clock, rather than running the risk being late. A tired grumble left you as you slowly sat up, shrugging the thick covers off of you. A cold shudder possessed you almost immediately, shivering despite the warm temperature as the heater remained on throughout the night.
Your feet touched the bare floor of your bedroom, a hiss of, “Dammit!” leaving your lips as you slipped on the book you dropped as you fell asleep last night. You picked up the book, your lips pursed as you stood up, setting the book on the vanity adjacent to your room door.
Seeing as how it was a doctor’s appointment, you wanted to look somewhat presentable. You didn’t want to go out looking as sickly as you felt, but you still shuffled about like a zombie as you staggered into the bathroom, flipping on the light and shutting the door behind you as you entered. You disrobed and slowly, carefully stepped into the shower, drawing the curtains, stooping down to stopper the bathtub’s drain.
The faucets were tugged, adjusting the temperature to your liking as the shower mechanism was turned on. The pipes groaned and creaked as a spray of hot water hit your bare form, and you breathed a content sigh, feeling your strained muscles instinctively relaxing as you rode a calming wave of relief.
You soaked in the shower for twenty minutes, washing and rinsing yourself from head to toe. The pipes groaned as the shower mechanism was turned off, the spray reduced to a weak trickle, dripping from the faucet as you pried the stopper from the drain.
The water gurgled as it was sucked down the bathtub’s drain, the plastic rings that kept the shower curtain looped on the rod clattered as, slowly, you pried it open wide enough to stick out a hand. Your fingers wrapped around the body towel, yanking it away from the towel rack as your hand was drawn back behind the shower curtain.
You dried your shoulders, arms, upper and lower torso, and your legs before the body towel was wrapped around you. The shower curtain was drawn back as you stepped out, the moist soles of your feet touching the bathroom floor as you reached for another, smaller towel to wrap your wet hair in. Condensation fogged up the mirror, and a brief gust of warm air wafted over you as the bathroom door was opened, stepping out into the short hallway and entering your room.
The twenty minutes you spent getting ready passed by you in a blur as you selected whatever you decided was comfortable, yet appropriate for the fall, heading downstairs to make a small but quick breakfast to eat. According to the boring voice of a weather forecast on the radio, a light drizzle of rain wouldn’t start until the afternoon, early evening at the latest.
You would be home long before the rain would pelt the ground, resulting in you walking home from the doctor’s office in the rain that would be a faint drizzle at best, and if you were really unfortunate, a drizzle that would become a downpour within minutes.
The sound of the bagel popping from the toaster jolted you from your musings, and the telltale click of the kettle signalled of the water it contained being piping hot, ready to be poured into a mug at a moment’s notice. It took you five minutes to enjoy a toasted bagel with cream cheese spread, and washing it down with your favourite hot beverage. Ten minutes later your face was washed, your teeth were brushed, your mouth was rinsed out with mint-flavoured mouthwash, and your damp hair was brushed.
You took a quick glance in the mirror hung up in the foyer where you stood, shoving your feet into your fall footwear, shrugging your fall coat on and zippering it up. You hummed before nodding, satisfied at your appearance. Your cheeks still had a hint of paleness, and your eyes hinted of your groggy state, despite the alert light they held, but otherwise, you felt better than you ever did for the past two days.
You didn’t feel fully recovered, but you were able to keep breakfast down, which was a small achievement in itself.
You stepped out of your small apartment room, pausing to shut the door and lock it. You lingered behind long enough to check and double-check that it was locked. Satisfied, you nodded and slipped your apartment room key into an inside pocket of your coat, zippering it up as you descended the flight of stairs that led up to the floor of the apartment building you lived in.
The walk from your apartment building to the walk-in clinic didn’t take you long, but for one of the brave souls who walked on the sidewalk, it felt like it took an hour, thanks to the wind as it whistled by you. The brisk air may as well have been cold knives, nipping into the exposed skin of your face, tussling your bangs, and whipping your hair about as you walked, hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat.
Finally, twenty minutes later, you stood in front of the walk-in clinic, pointing a stare up at the bland words that made up for the name of the clinic: Shibuya Walk-In Clinic. The hours of availability, upcoming holidays they’d be closed, and the available doctors were listed on a small billboard sign just outside.
However, there was only one name that stood out to you: Dr. Akira Kurusu.
Slowly, you took in a breath, releasing it in a whoosh of an exhale. A hand left the darkness of your coat pocket, reaching for the latch of the front door. You pulled the door open and stepped inside, glancing around as the door slid shut with a soft click.
It was to be expected of a walk-in clinic’s lobby. The receptionist’s desk was a few feet in front of you. Its granite service counter complimented the smooth wooden base. The wooden floor shone to a mirror-like polish, complimented by the black carpet that led up to the receptionist’s desk. A plasma screen TV was bolted into the wall adjacent to the entrance, showcasing a news report that prattled on about the latest political scandal. Apparently, a politician’s son--married, according to the reporters--was suspected of having an affair with a popular television show hostess.
There were a few cushioned chairs to the right of where you stood, as well as a few other, less comfy-looking chairs. A colourful table was set in the middle of an adjacent room, filled with scattered toy blocks, colouring books, crayons, and a doll or a toy soldier. You suspected it was a waiting room for adults with children, watching as a blonde, blue-eyed woman stooped down to collect the toys.
You looked towards the receptionist’s desk, feeling yourself moving. Your heels clicked as you walked, approaching the service counter as a brunette woman glanced up. Her red eyes peered into your (e/c) irises, blinking before speaking.
“Yes? What business do you have at the Shibuya Walk-In Clinic today, miss...?”
You gave her your name, pausing to spare a glance at the name plaque in front of her: Makoto Niijima.
This is the woman I was talking to on the phone yesterday.
You waited as she clicked on the keyboard, bringing up your file.
“Ah, yes. You scheduled an appointment yesterday.”
“Yes,” you said, polishing off your statement with a nod.
“Go down the right hallway, first door as you turn the corner will you lead you to the second floor.”
“Understood. Thank you, Makoto.”
You paused to bow before turning on your heels, walking away from the receptionist’s desk.
You stuck to the directions you’d been given, walking down the right-hand corridor, and opening the first door you saw as you turned a corner.
As she said, it was the staircase. You began to ascend the small, winding staircase, hearing the door sliding shut with a click as you were halfway to your destination. You opened the door to the second floor, recalling the directions Makoto had given you the other day.
“Second floor, third door on the left,” you muttered, blinking as your eyes fell on the door in question.
You approached the door, pausing to take in the name of the doctor who headed this office: Dr. Akira Kurusu.
Seems legit, you mused quietly, taking in a breath as your hand took possession of the cold doorknob.
With a flick of your wrist, the knob was turned and you pushed the door open. It was a bit more spacious than you imagined it to be.
A few magazine racks were directly adjacent to the office’s entrance, a colourful table was set amidst the cluster of chairs and cushioned seat. Going by the appearance of scattered colouring books, boxes of crayons, toy blocks, and dinky cars, it was a small play area for children while their parents waited to be called on.
Surprisingly, there was nobody but you present in the doctor’s office. You had expected there to be at least some people waiting when you arrived, but evidently not.
“You waitin’ to be called?”
You glanced at the owner of the gruff voice, a male’s voice.
His messy blond hair stood out, and he scowled for a few moments as his brown eyes fell on you, brows furrowing as he breathed a sigh.
“Um, yeah,” you began, suddenly feeling a bit shy.
He sighed at your question, raising a hand to scratch the back of his head.
“Is that who I look like? Nah, he ain’t here. He’s in his office, seein’ someone.”
“Oh, um... I’ll wait here, I guess.”
The telltale sound of a door opening made you two glance down the hallway, watching as a young woman around your age left the office. A giggle left the woman’s glossed lips, and you wondered who she was. She was very eye-catching.
Dark brown hair fell over her clothed shoulders, dark eyelashes fluttering as she eyed him with longing. Crystalline blue eyes stared into a pair of warm gray eyes framed with black spectacles, and he chuckled as he ran his fingers through frizzy black hair.
“Thank you for the examination, doctor.”
You frowned at the clear implications the woman’s voice carried, willing back the sudden urge to roll your eyes heavenward.
Meanwhile, the noiret breathed a laugh as he replied, “It was my pleasure. Please come again.”
You moved to give the woman enough room to walk by you, opening and closing the door as she left.
“Good morning, miss. Do you have an appointment as well?”
You opened your mouth to reply, but the brown-eyed young man standing besides you answered in your place.
“Yeah. Niijima already sent me the deets. She scheduled yesterday mornin’.”
You stared at the doctor, giving him a quick once-over as you quietly judged him by his initial appearance. A hand was raised, gloved fingers toying with a frizzy fringe of black hair as he stared at you, impeccably calm. It befitted someone of his stature, someone with a physician as a chosen career. He was dressed in a standard doctor’s uniform. A white overcoat was over a clean and ironed black suit. There was a crisp white buttoned-up shirt beneath the overcoat and suit, a black tie, black gloves and black dress shoes completed his appearance.
How can a medical professional look so young? you silently questioned, perplexed at who the man staring at you was.
Finally, the glasses-wearing doctor smiled.
“I’m Dr. Akira Kurusu. It’s wonderful to meet you, miss...?”
Again, your mouth opened to reply. Again, you were cut off by the blond speaking in your place.
“Y-Yes,” you stuttered, feeling a familiar tingle of shyness shooting throughout your body.
Dr. Kurusu gestured you to follow him with a gentle wave, and like a puppy obeying its owner’s request, you did so.
You shadowed the frizzy-haired physician down a short hallway, turning into the open doorway of a room. You stopped as the door was closed behind you, sliding shut with a quiet click.
“So... You are Miss (Y/n) (L/n), correct?”
You were sick, but even in your less-than-favourable state, it didn’t stop you from noticing how there was a soft, noticeable enunciation as the onyx-eyed doctor spoke your name. He let it roll off of his tongue, allowing to whisper past his smiling lips.
“Y-Yes. As that man said...”
He breathed a laugh at the waver in your voice.
“Ah, yes. Ryuji does possess a certain.. charm when speaking. Well, Miss (L/n)...”
You mentally flinched at the noticeable stutter that laced your voice, but Dr. Kurusu smiled as he stuck out a hand, waiting patiently for you to take it.
Slowly, you raised a hand, gingerly taking possession of the noiret’s gloved palm and fingers, giving it an awkward, but slightly strong shake. It was for a moment, and only a moment, but you could almost sense a hidden strength in the young physician’s grip.
The way he held your hand in his was gentle, careful, holding your hand as though it was a frail glass figurine that could break if he let go. He did release your hand after a moment’s pause, nodding as he smiled warmly.
Try as you might, there was no way to will back the feeling of heat crawling from your neck to shamelessly burn your cheek.
Your eyes followed Akira’s glove-covered hand, staring at an empty chair set across from his behind the desk. You swallowed and nodded, dutifully obeying the doctor’s instructions.
You took the few precious moments you had before the frizzy-haired man sat down to get a better look at his office.
As with the lobby it was to be expected of a young, talented doctor.
The padded examination table reeked of stale disinfectant, a smell that was prominent in any treatment center, reminding you of the times you went for yearly check-ups as a child. A wash area was directly across from the examination table, complete with cupboards on top and on the bottom, stocked with medical necessities.
A weighing station was adjacent to the wash area, and directly above the weighing station was where the sphygmomanometer hung, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.
Strangely, there were no pictures of his family, biological or extended members. His mother, father, no aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandparents. There were a few photos of him and a small handful of people, all smiling, laughing, or striking silly and dramatic poses, beaming wildly for the camera.
In the display case to your left, there were a few medals of excellence, a handful of awards honouring Dr. Kurusu for outstanding health promotion, and an honourary membership award here and there. A few more award plaques and scholarships were hung up on the wall behind Dr. Kurusu’s desk, the golden awards symbolizing of his evident success as a physician.
He’s young, but he’s no doubt talented, you mused, glancing away from the tapestry.
The telltale squeak from across your seat told you that the doctor in question had settled down. The bespectacled doctor reached for a clipboard and pen, clicking the pen’s top and resting its ballpoint tip on the paper.
“What seems to be the problem, Miss (L/n)?”
Straightforward and to-the-point.
You took in a breath, feeling your clothed shoulders rising and falling as you inhaled. For a few moments, you silently riding a wave of calm. You paused to exhale, opening your mouth to reply to the doctor’s incoming volley of questions.
“How long have you had it?”
“Did you have it at the beginning of this year? How about a summer cold?”
“Do you have a chill? How much sleep have you been getting? Are you able to keep anything down?”
“I have chills. I average about 8 to 12 hours of sleep per day, though sometimes, I end up getting 15 hours. I can keep some stuff down usually, but not always.”
“Frequently. Sometimes, my throat will feel scratchy if the fit’s bad enough.”
“Have you taken any medications recently?”
“Over-the-counter medicine. Other than those, nothing else.”
“What’s your travel history?”
“I’m planning on studying abroad for school in a few years. Nothing other than that.”
“I developed pneumonia when I was twelve. Nothing besides that.”
“How often do you exercise per day?”
“I make sure to get at least half an hour of exercise a day. Mostly taking long walks.”
“How about your family’s history? Any terminal cases?”
“Stomach cancer and ulcers on my father’s side. Leukemia on my mother’s side.”
“Frequency or burning of urine?”
You faltered, hitching in a breath. You felt a hint of renewed heat lighting your cheeks at the blunt medical-related inquiry, but then you silently reminded yourself that it was all part of the examination. Doctors were required to ask their patients questions like that, after all.
“No. I don’t go more than I normally do, and no burning when I do.”
“What of your sexual history? Are you sexually active?”
Again, you blushed at the to-the-point questions, but a bit more deeply this time. You were sure the colour of your cheeks would resemble the hue of a cherry. You inhaled as Dr. Kurusu’s stare seemed to pierce through you, gouging deep into flesh, blood, bone and making his way to your very soul.
You cleared your throat, swallowing a wad of saliva that felt the size of a tennis ball. You felt it slithering down your esophagus, settling down into your stomach, where it squirmed in anxiety, and... And... Strangely enough...
You weren’t a fool; you recognized this feeling for what it was. Arousal.
I shouldn’t be feeling this way. He’s a doctor; I’m a patient.
Dr. Kurusu sat and waited, though for the briefest of moments, you could have sworn the corner of his lips quirked, displaying the smallest of smirks. Behind the glinting frames of his glasses, his obsidian eyes seemed to greedily drink in the sight of you, watching as you nervously shifted in your seat.
He’s smirking. Why is he smirking?
I shouldn’t be feeling this way! He’s... He’s a doctor, and I’m a patient!
That was what you silently told yourself. The larger, more logical part of you chastised you for feeling sexual excitement at such an inappropriate time, and with someone who was probably in a relationship.
There was a tiny, very tiny part of you that felt relieved that there was no wedding band glinting from his ring finger, but even if he wasn’t engaged or married, he could have a girlfriend at the very least.
Again, the logical part of your inner self scolded you for thinking such things about a doctor.
“...Miss (L/n)? Are you alright? Do you need to lie down?”
His voice shook you free of your stupor, causing you to betray an audible gulp.
“No, thank you, Dr. Kurusu.”
It took all of your willpower to force your voice to remain steady, to stay normal, and not to betray no stutters, no wavering undertones as you spoke ten words.
“I have no sexual history. Thus, I’m not sexually active.”
You could have sworn up and down that there was a small, crooning purr that laced his voice. A noise that a wild animal might make when it cornered unsuspecting prey, prey that it found worthy to devour.
The noiret sitting across from you breathed a laugh, as though your embarrassed visage was something to chuckle at.
“...So... What’s the diagnosis? What will you prescribe me?”
“First, let’s do a few more routine things.”
Confused, you watched as the glasses-wearing doctor got up, gesturing for you to follow him. You did after a moment’s hesitation.
As it turned out, the “routine things” involved the mundane things that were expected of a medical examination. Weighing you. Measuring your blood pressure. Gauging your temperature. Opening up and saying “ah” at his request. He took notes of your pale skin, the light bags underneath your eyes, and the rate of your breathing.
You’d occasionally catch a mutter here and there as he examined you.
“Temperature is 102.9 degrees.”
“No abnormalities in the patient’s mouth, teeth, or gums.”
“Blood pressure is within the acceptable range of a young woman.”
“Under eye baggage... Possibly acute insomnia...”
“...Excuse me, but is the examination almost done, doctor?”
Your voice caused him to glance at you, fully in the face. He blinked owlishly before he nodded.
“Hm? Oh, yes. Just one last thing before I prescribe you medication.”
You quirked a brow as he gestured for you to sit back down, producing a stethoscope from the breast pocket of the white overcoat. He quirked a brow at you, betraying the smallest of smiles, the tiniest of smirks again.
“I’ll have to ask you to remove your coat, Miss (L/n).”
“Yes, doctor. I’m sorry.”
You felt like a puppet connected to strings you couldn’t cut, your arms were raised almost mechanically, obediently following Dr. Kurusu’s request to the letter. Your fingers gripped onto the small zipper, tugging it down, followed by shrugging your coat off of your arms and draping it on the chair you sat in.
Without so much as a word, the stethoscope’s buds were inserted into his ears, and the cold circular end was pressed to your chest.
“My, my... Miss (L/n)... I apologize for saying this, but...”
You hitched in a breath, already fearing the worst. Cold sweat began to form on your crown, dripping down your face in tiny beads.
“That flushed hue does wonders for your pale complexion.”
You narrowed your eyes, your teeth biting on the inside of your cheek. You kept a snarky retort at bay. Instead, you settled for breathing a huff.
Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t hold the irritated edge to your voice. However, the frizzy-haired young man simply breathed a chuckle into your blushing visage.
“My apologies, and it is nothing to fret over. You’re suffering from an acute strain of the flu; it should clear up in three or four more days. I will prescribe some antiviral medication to you. Excuse me.”
You watched as the onyx-eyed young man leaned back in the chair, putting pen to paper as he scribbled a quick note on the clipboard, ripping it off and handing it to you.
“Present this to the pharmacy nearest to you. You’ll be given pills...”
He stopped, taking note of your mildly irked stare. You had a hard time swallowing pills.
“Please be sure to take them twice a day. They will shorten the duration of your illness by a day, as well as reducing the severity of your symptoms.”
You nodded, taking the prescription note from Akira’s gloved fingertips. The note was folded and tucked into your breast pocket.
“Thank you very much for your time, Dr. Kurusu.”
That was what you said as you got to your feet, eyeing the frizzy-haired doctor as he looked up at you, watching as you began shrugging on your coat. Again, that small, infuriating smirk touched the corner of his lips as he nodded.
“It was my pleasure, Miss (L/n).”
You nodded as you zipped up your coat, smiling slightly.
“Well, I’ll be going now. Thanks again.”
A chuckle was heard from behind you, flicking a stare over your shoulder.
You watched as Akira walked towards you, smiling slightly as his glasses glinted.
“Oh, one last thing, Miss (Y/n)...”
You took a moment to mentally note how he used your first name, not your surname.
“It may be old-fashioned, but I do make house calls when it suits my patients.”
You almost didn’t notice the sultry undertone his voice took on, all but purring the words “house calls.”
“...I’ll consider it, Dr. Kurusu.”
A soft laugh was your response, a breathy snicker that caused a tingle to shoot through you, but not an unpleasant one.
“Please see that you do. I would hate for this to be a one-time visit.”
