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How did I casually forget I have the weekend concert td

Morse code? Really? [ With a sigh, she places the lens back into her eye before shoulders slump dramatically. ]  Lie detecting is a whole other world, doc! And why would I need that when I have you already. [ Oopsies, she's suddenly recalling how she may have accidentally (totally accidentally) forgotten to take her bed rest seriously ... The look of guilt slowly appears as she shifts her gaze away. ] Anyways— 'Cyborg Supreme' sounds too... [ She makes a vague gesture with her hands. ] It's not cute enough for me!

He barely flinches,   just arches a brow and watches the lens trick with the same expression he’d give a malfunctioning vitals monitor.   ``…Wow.  Incredible.  Truly,  the future is now.``   He crosses his arms,   tilting his head slightly.   ``Should I start calling you ‘Cyborg Supreme,’   or do we wait until it starts detecting lies and scanning snack expiration dates?``   A beat.   Then,   dry as ever:   ``Please tell me it at least blinks in Morse code. ``
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@miracleshots⠀⠀⠀,

``Is this your way of bribing me with sugar and soft domesticity?  Because it’s working.``   He huffs a small laugh,   already grabbing his keys.   ``Alright,   I’ll help.  But only if I get the corner piece—and you swear it’s not a trick to make me fold your laundry again.``
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@rebiirths⠀⠀⠀,

*   LMAOOO 

@aenerqy    *    LMFAO   Praying for you

*  Me,  being a pharmaceutical student:

@doczaey      ⟢    you never know, maybe you should check my heart beat. i think it’s been feeling a little weak,      [and he acts as if he’d been wounded. a hand over his heart, crouched over slightly as emélie mocks the feeling of hurt. eyes closed shut, before one opens to take a peek at the other’s expression. though his lips press together, the corners of his ears unable to conceal the redness as he listened carefully. finally straightening out,]      symptoms that make it worse? don’t tell me i might have to avoid you too, doctor. that might be the opposite effect of what i’d want to do, you know?      [a wry smile, his head tilts towards the side as a singular hand rests against his hip.]

He lets his thumb rest a second longer than necessary—right over Emélie’s pulse,   steady but warm beneath his touch.   ``Well,``   he murmurs,   voice low and clinical only in tone,   not in meaning,   ``you’re clearly still breathing,  so I’m ruling out the dramatic options.``   Then his eyes lift—dark,   sharp,   but softened around the edges in a way he rarely lets show.   ``But if we’re talking cures…``   He tilts his head slightly,   that telltale smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.   ``I’d prescribe exactly ten hours of sleep,   three meals a day that aren’t vending machine garbage,   and—just to make sure it sticks—limited contact with emotionally reckless agents who think flirting is a treatment plan.``   He steps back,   but only just—enough to let his voice drop into something quieter, almost like a secret:   ``…which is unfortunate.  Because I think I’ve got the only case that makes your symptoms worse.``
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@evolus⠀⠀⠀,

@doczaey      ⟢    do you not think so?      [emélie swallows thickly, watching as the delicate thumb trace over his vein line before pressing to where his pulse would be. well, where he thought it would be—it was something that he learned in passing while being at the clinic so often.]      then what would you prescribe me, doc? hopefully something that could cure me entirely.      [though, flirting in this manner was beyond the brunette. but considering how the two of them were? being this cheesy wasn’t necessarily beyond them, and he wondered if everyone else was bound to be sick of them and the way they behaved.]

@doczaey      ⟢    works better, doesn’t stop me from doing what i want to do, the list goes on and on.      [though his confidence wavers. it sinks it’s way into the mirth of dark orifices, lifting slightly so that their gazes would meet with one another. his upper set of teeth settles into his bottom lip, there’s a bit of hesitance that bleeds into his expression. tongue brushing across his upper set of teeth, brows knit together as his eyes flicker down to the floor.]      i know—i know, zayne.      [emélie whispers, his voice trailing off as the warmth which the doctor offered only added an additional ache.]        /so,/    are you caring for me because i’m your number one loyal patient? or because you’re falling for me, huh doc?      [a brow rises, spirits lifted at least slightly. a smile stretching as he leans forward, head tilted.]

For a second,   he doesn’t speak.   He just watches—the rub at the nape,   the way Emélie’s voice falters,   that hand pressed over his heart like it could hold something in.   Zayne exhales,   slow.   Steady.   But his voice is softer now—lower,   without the usual edge.   ``So you want the one that actually works,  huh?``   A pause—then he pulls open the nearby drawer,   rifling through with practiced ease.   But when he turns,   it’s not just a bottle of pills he sets down—it’s his gaze,   steady and unwavering.   ``You don’t have to joke your way through this.  I know what hurting looks like.``   Then,   his fingers brush Emélie’s briefly—just a passing moment,   but grounded.   ``And yeah.  You’ve been here a lot.  Which means I’ve got more data than anyone else.``   A breath,   and with a wry,   low chuckle to soften the tension:    ``Your prescription?  One dose of actual rest,  minimum seven hours.  Hydration.  And… ``   He leans in,   just enough to let the teasing edge return to his voice.  ``…maybe letting someone care a little without acting like it’s a crime scene.``   And then—because it’s Zayne—he hands over the real medication.   Quietly.   No ceremony.   But with that same careful look that says:   ' I’m not letting this slip through the cracks. Not you. ' 
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@evolus⠀⠀⠀,

@doczaey      ⟢    what, would you rather me be sad about it? that doesn’t sound all that great either.      [a soft laugh escapes, it’s weaker than it usually would be. free hand rising so it could rub against the nape of his neck. the edges of his ears would stain themselves with red, unable to contain the way he became flustered over just a couple words that the doctor had spilled.]       a little more care? i’ve slept here more than i slept in my own bed. i think it’s a lot more care,     [and instinctively, his hand falls against his chest. rubbing the spot over his heart, as if it could soothe the pain which etched deep inside. lips press together,]       lately..       [brown irises flicker elsewhere, eyes narrow before doe—eyes finally bring themselves to look into dark orifices.]      it’s been hurting, a lot more than usual. i was wondering if you could give me my usual prescription again, the one that—helped.

*    ykw   yuh

*  :3 

*   Pls

⠀⠀⠀⠀ZAYNE ANON. LOVE & DEEPSPACE.