[closed]

[moonlighttag]

Characters: You Haibara, Choushiro Kirishima
Location:Horrorspital
Rating: R for Really Fucking Creepy
Time: December 18
Description: Choushiro got a stabbing, and needs a few stitches. if only it were that simple.

Comments

all of my tags are long. what is my life.

[forcingrituals]

[ there was no one else, in the end, that haibara could possibly allow to tend to this particular case- and given the constant chaos, it was an easy thing to arrange. the clinic had been busy since the very first patient had been wheeled through it's doors- and while some injuries were, yes, more severe than others, it left no shortage of work to be done

[moonlighttag]

[it's unfortunate how much time Choushiro has spent in hospitals, whether as a patient or otherwise, to understand the goings on. he isn't the worst case- thanks to that girl- but by no means is he so well off.

eventually, after a span of time he can't quite comprehend around beeping monitors and nurses calling and distressed patients, the rattle of the tray meets his ears and he looks up--

to see Haibara.]

You. [and the struggle begins; where he should lay back and take this professionally, the threat from before lingers and wells up enough to have him reaching for the edge of his gurney with the intention to rise.]

[forcingrituals]

If you do not restrain yourself, I have supplies that will do so for you.

[ bait as the comment may be, it isn't said with the deliberate intention to provoke. there would be, after all, time enough for something like that after the man was well. the detective would be no use, no source of curiosity or entertainment if he were to die now. and over so simple a thing.

he doesn't spare the man's face so much as a glance he he prepares the monitors, and draws the detective's hand away from the gurney's ridge- to place an iv there. ]

Your body has lost enough blood without you attempting to assist it.

[moonlighttag]

[his body wins that struggle for him, though. maybe he'd miscalculated just how weak he was; but Choushiro's lean body sinks back onto the cot, brow beaded with sweat even as he catches his breath.

not once do his dark eyes leave the doctor's form, though they dart to the fingers on his wrist. delicate and deft and the hands of a murderer. it's strange, and unsettling, because the last time they were this close Haibara was the one putting the knife in his gut.]