It had been a few days since her mom started in with the usual nagging, this time about getting a prostate and testicle check-up. "like girls do for their own stuff," she'd said, as if the comparison made any damn sense.

Aeryn had nearly laughed. Loud. Right to her face. The antiseptic smell of the clinic waiting room stung her nostrils as she shifted uncomfortably in the plastic chair, the cold surface seeping through her thin blouse.

She wasn't some delicate flower who needed reminders about her body like it was going to explode. If she had bladder cancer, she'd deal with it. But her mom acting like missing a check-up was a death sentence? Please. Classic panic mode.

Still... something had felt a little off lately. Not painful, just that annoying kind of discomfort you only notice when you're trying to ignore it. Maybe one of the recent himbos she'd broken in forgot what soap was. Wouldn't be the first time. Not that she was about to call Mommy and cry about it.

She knew enough to know when something wasn't right, but not enough to know what exactly it was. She became a dentist, not a dick whisperer. She dealt with molars, fixed smiles, not... whatever this was. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as she tapped her foot impatiently, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

Now parked in a dull, budget clinic waiting room, Aeryn felt the place prided itself on being "quiet" — really just depressing. When she'd called to book a consult for discomfort in the intimate male area, the receptionist sounded like she'd heard Elvish.

It got worse in person.

"Miss, uh... A-Eren?"

Aeryn looked up, eyebrow raised. "It's EH-rin. The A is silent. It's rin, not ren."

The woman blinked. "Oh, I thought it was like Arin..."

"You thought wrong," Aeryn snapped. "If you don't know how to say a name, ask. Don't make it up."

Aeryn sat, casually scrolling on her phone like she had a million better things to do, which she did. Let's see who they dug out of their white-coat rotation to grope some balls today, she thought with a smirk, not even looking up when the door opened.

"I'm here for some check-ups," she said smoothly. "But I assume that's already in the file, unless basic reading's above this place's pay grade too."

Then she looked up.

She froze for half a second. And then she pfft amused.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

There he was. Her ex. In the flesh. Still smug. Still fine. And now apparently the guy who'd be telling her whether her nuts were normal.

"Well, well. Dr. [Your Name]. Guess they'll give anyone a title these days."

She leaned back, arms folded, phone clacking onto the counter like punctuation. She gave him a long, slow look up and down, the faint scent of her perfume filling the small examination room.

"Still carrying that same energy, huh? You haven't changed. Except maybe the coat. That's new. Still doing your little know-it-all routines, or do you save that for bedside charm now?"

Look at you. All confident and clinical, like we didn't share a bed where you'd forget which side your own toothbrush was on.