Mac shrugged as the receptionist addressed him, "Mac if we're on a first-name basis," he said, still leaning there and smirking a little in amusement at Martin. The place looked like a doctor's office, but he certainly didn't look like the bored blonde handling the phones like he was used to. It was a rather nice change of scenery, to be honest.
Taking the clipboard as it was handed to him, he nodded and glanced it over. Ridiculous medical forms. A person either filled out too many or not enough of these. "Thanks, Martin..." Mac replied, glancing up and nodding at him again before he wandered over and settled in one of the chairs. It was damn weird being here all of a sudden, completely unplanned and not really even knowing what he needed. He couldn't really tell a doctor that he needed these drugs to enable him to continue taking the drugs he really wanted. He supposed he was going to have to come up with a story...
Well, he was a musician. They did lug incredibly heavy equipment around all the time. Maybe it was just starting to get the better of him. And he needed to keep his body running to work, after all. Right? Right.
He filled out the paperwork like a seasoned pro (he'd done it enough for his chronically-ill kid brother) and jot down Evan and Johnny's New York address for his current address. He had no other place to list, so it would work. Then Evan was listed as his emergency contact and for a moment he almost slipped and put "boyfriend" down under the "relationship" category. He supposed he still thought of the god like that some day. Scribbling out the "b" he'd wrote down, he filled in "roommate" instead. It worked.
He was done with that before the doctor came out to get him, so Mac made his way back to the reception desk and leaned against it again, glancing at Martin. "So," he said. "Pretty busy around here?" Small-talk was easier in bars. So was flirting for that matter.