Eating... the idea of doing so was vaguely familiar to Arthur, and definitely appealing at the same time.  All appeal went straight out the window, though, when Alexi revealed to him what was certainly a painful and disgustingly infected looking wound.  The doctor's eyes went wide seeing it, shooting up to Alexi's face.

How could this man stand here and offer to cook for him when he was - was - Jesus Christ.  There was not a single normal person in Whitby.

"You're more than a god to be walking around with that thing festering," he said, grabbing Alexi's shirt and lifting it again.  "And by that I mean, you're crazy.  How long have you had this?  What did this?  This, this is... shit."

For a long moment, he stared at the wound.  It did not make it any more palatable.

"Follow me."  His tone suggested it was not a suggestion.  "We're going to my office so I can look at that properly, treat it, and then you can treat me to - lunch, or a date, or whatever you'd like.  But as a doctor, I cannot let you walk around like this in good conscious!"

Following the noble declaration, Arthur gave Alexi a look and turned on his heel, heading back towards his office with purpose.