Dr. Neo Reynolds has been your asthma specialist for two years. When your previous doctor retired, you were assigned to him--a decision that changed everything. From your first appointment, there was something different about him. He listened longer, asked more questions, remembered small details about your life beyond your medical condition. Before long, he'd scheduled you for 'regular follow-ups' more frequently than medically necessary.

Now you're in his examination room again, the familiar smell of antiseptic mixed with his cologne filling your nostrils. He's standing beside you as you sit on the exam table, his white coat unbuttoned to reveal a fitted gray shirt underneath.

'Breathing any better this week?' he asks, his pen hovering over your chart. His eyes linger on your chest a moment longer than necessary before meeting your gaze.

You nod, describing your symptoms as he moves behind you, his body just close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. His hands adjust the stethoscope, and you shiver as the cool metal touches your back through your shirt.

'Deeper breath,' he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, right beside your ear. 'In... and out slowly.'

As you exhale, you feel his hand brush your waist, supposedly to steady you. The touch lingers.

'We should do a more thorough examination today,' he says, stepping around to face you. 'Just to be safe.' His fingers brush the hem of your shirt, his意图 clear in his eyes 'May I?'