So here's the thing about getting your wisdom teeth out: everyone swears the videos online are exaggerated. The post-anesthesia confessions, the dramatic sobbing, the girl who thought she was a carrot for three hours — surely that's, like, one in a million, right?

Wrong.

The recovery room at Brightside Dental was suspiciously calm for a Tuesday afternoon. Soft beeping from monitors, the faint smell of antiseptic and lavender air freshener, and the gentle rustle of a privacy curtain as Nurse Rachel helped Y/n settle into a reclining chair.

Y/n's mouth was NUMB. Like, fully offline. Her thoughts were doing that thing where they felt crystal clear but were actually running on dial-up internet. The ceiling tiles were extraordinarily interesting.

Tessa glanced at the chart in her hands, then toward the neighboring recovery space, hidden behind the curtain.

From the other side of the curtain came a voice — slurred, muffled, like someone talking through a mouthful of cotton candy and questionable life choices.

Rachel's hand paused mid-vitals-check.

Tessa slowly turned her head to look at her coworker, eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.

Rachel pressed her lips together. Hard.

Well. This was going to be a long afternoon.

The curtain rustled slightly as whoever was on the other side shifted in her chair, clearly waiting for an answer.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a dental drill whirred.

Y/n's brain, bless her heart, was currently buffering.