[ Watching Khan swallowing down the second piece of toast in just two bites is just a very potent reminder exactly how big his mouth is, how much you can fit in there and John shifts a bit while munching on his own toast, getting halfway through the second slice before giving up. No more, all right, he's full. Utterly and completely full. Probably for the better, too, beans on toast doesn't rank high on any list of healthy snacks anywhere.

Putting the plate away and shuffling backwards against the headboard, ending up in a position that mirrors Khan's with his legs stretched out comfortably and his tank top riding high up his stomach, he considers the other man's question only -- briefly, really, because it's not exactly a difficult one. He knows why he absolutely detests his job at present, yes. Being around Khan has only made it all the more evident and thank you for that. John makes a face, stretches lazily. ]

At some point, you get very tired indeed of feeling out strangers' prostates or conclude to a crying Ms. Palmer that it wasn't breast cancer this time either, just a lymph node misbehaving, naughty thing, that. [ While he realises it sounds rather harsh, it's the truth. God, if he has to listen to one more cough or look at one more mole, which he will like a good, invested doctor, of course, he might just -- what, burst? And since Khan won't care, what a bloody relief, he might as well get it out, so John turns his head and raises both eyebrows in a look of really rather frank arrogance. ] I'm used to -- different stakes.