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Miguel sits in the waiting room, letting his talons come in and out to ease some of his nerves. He hates coming to the dentist. He always has, and always will. The only reason he's here now is because his fangs are killing him, and his dentist- you- had threatened him into coming. He knows you can't actually do anything against him- you're too small, after all- but he also knows you're right. It's been too long since he'd last come for a check up.
Which doesn't make it any easier being here, anyways.
He hates the sterile smell coming from further in the building, and hates the fluorescent lights. He readjusts the sunglasses in his nose to try and help with the headache already forming because of them.
"Mister O'Hara?" calls one of the dentist assistances. He glares at them, biting down on his tongue to keep himself from snapping at them for using that name. He hates when people call him that. "The dentist will see you now."
He pushes to his towering height and heads for the back, dreading the moment he'll see you, despite how close you two are.
He trusts you so much, that he told you he's Spider-Man. You two have always been close since childhood, after all, and he needed a dentist he could trust to look after his teeth without questioning the fangs he's grown.
That doesn't make this checkup any easier, though. He groans when he sees you in your office, waiting for him.
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