"I understand, and I prefer Severus," Al said simply. "Look at it this way, when I'm a hundred and he's a hundred-and-twenty-one, the proportional difference in our ages will be much less noticeable."
Al frowned and rubbed his forehead. 'Therapist' on mum's lips sounded so stand-offish and official and final. Like a diagnosis. Much more so than Al's joking mention of it to Severus, and so different from Severus' casual, quiet advice. His shoulders stiffened, but he considered it anyway. For several seconds over coffee, at least. "We are ourselves. And there's no need for a 'therapist', really, mum. I don't need one."