Alan Statham - First Aider

Alan/Boyce

PG

"Sorry?" Boyce said, the class looking at him expectantly. Blinking a little, he realised he had been day-dreaming about Alan again.

Whilst busy trying to look nonchalant on the outside, frantically rewinding anything he might have heard question-wise on the inside and simultaneously saying "damn, damn, damn " to himself about the Alan-daydream, he absent-mindedly swooshed his hand through a sheaf of papers on a desk, and gave himself a paper cut.

It was actually quite sore, and immediately dripping with blood.

"Mmm, mmm, not content with disrupting the class with his er mmmm, mmm, complete failure to pay attention, Mr Boyce is a-ha a-ha, vying for our attention with a bloody sticky finger. Hmmm?" said Alan, waving his pointer about. Striding across the floor, white coat flapping, Alan grabbed Boyce by the ear and dragged him off towards his office.

"Luckily for you, young wastral, I am a qualified and-and-and experienced first-aider, ha!" he said.

Once inside, he pushed Boyce into a chair and took a plaster from the first aid kit. Going down on one knee, he carefully peeled the wrapper off the plaster, a look of deep concentration on his face, and wrapped it around the offending digit. Enclosing Boyce's finger in his hand, presumably to make sure the adhesive had stuck, he looked up at Boyce and smiled rather shyly. "Ha ha ha, if "persons known or unknown" were to walk, walk in and see me like this, they might think, hmm, they might be under the mmm, mmm, mistaken impression, that I, a man, am proposing to another man!! What do you think of that, eh, young Boyce?"

"I don't care what they think" Boyce replied, putting his hand over Alan's.