Chapter Text
WARNING: brief mentions of injuries, and various diseases.
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You awoke while the night sky was still dark, gray clouds blending together as they covered the round silver moon. Your skin feels cold to the touch, and the tips of your fingers are numb from the freezing weather.
As your teary eyes scan your surroundings, a vague feeling of disappointment combined with dread grips your heart. Despite everything you experienced the day before, a small voice in your brain had convinced you this was a dream. A bad nightmare, fueled by stress and sleep deprivation from your insomnia, had created this elaborate and fucked-up scenario.
Unfortunately, the small blades of grass that prickle your back tell you that you're still trapped in this world with no way to go back to your home.
Feeling the sleepiness leave your body, you groan as the bones of your stiff back crack loudly as you stretch your arms above your head, and like a chain reaction, your movements inadvertently wake your other two roommates who were snoring soundly next to you.
Fígaro is the first to open his eyes, slowly removing his right hand that had accidentally landed on your stomach while tossing and turning in his sleep. Man, he moves a lot. While he sleepily runs a hand through his tangled locks, Yuuken rises next to him, some dry leaves and twigs stuck into his hair as he rubs his eyes using his fist. “Mornin',” he grumbles with a yawn, and you both reply with an incoherent string of words along the same greeting.
You kick off the heavy sheet; your skin feels sticky and oily from exposure to the dirt and the ungodly heat emanating from Fígaro. “Somebody has the time?” the Finnish man mutters beside you, turning to his side as he snuggles further into the pillow. Yuuken drowsily stares into the distance, ignoring the conversation. “I’ll go check,” you reply with a yawn.
Your legs feel like jelly as you get up and wobbly make your way to the Ramshackle dormitory to check the hour ticking away on the miraculously still-alive wall clock you found yesterday during your “cleaning” spree. As you grumpily open the dilapidated door, you encounter three particularly annoying faces.
“Ooooooh, good morning, child!” the chubby ghost greets you happily, the other two semi-invisible dumbasses behind him giggling annoyingly as if the prank they were playing was so hilarious. Too tired to argue with them, you push past the cold figures and squint to see the clock hands moving behind the dirty, yellowed broken glass. 4:18 a.m. Well, at this point it might be best to just start the day… you highly doubt you’ll be able to go back to sleep.
“Awwww, leaving so soon, friend? We hope you come back alive! The dust misses you,” mocking laughter echoes through the rotten walls as you leave the house without looking back, you feel something pulsing in your brain trying to give you an unnecessary headache. You’ll deal with the ghosts when you return, for now, it’s best to get a move on.
The howling wind from last night has died down to a light breeze, but the temperature has dropped considerably, as little puffs of warm steam leave your mouth with every breath you take. Judging by the dead leaves littering the ground and the bare branches, this place is either in the middle of autumn or approaching winter.
Unfortunately, as you return to your makeshift campsite and feel the sharp wind cut against your skin, you're made painfully aware of the lack of sweaters, as your world was still in the middle of summer when you were abducted. Shivering from the cold, Yuuken steals the blanket that was lying on the ground, wrapping himself in the fabric to protect himself from the air. Fígaro doesn't seem to mind the temperature, lying in a star position while looking at the sky.
At this point, it's best to start the morning routine.
So the three of you unanimously decide to check the “lost and found” first for any kind of warm clothing or other items that might help you get through the next few days. Since Crowley covers food and water, you suggest using your first paycheck to buy some underwear, toiletries, and maybe some cleaning supplies. You want to avoid repeating the events of the previous day and be able to sleep comfortably in a bed without worrying about bugs or dirt.
Fígaro adds, with a yawn, that to speed up the process of getting more money, it would be wise to sell any valuables you have with you, such as jewelry and watches, unless they have some sentimental value. You gently nudge the Kendo student walking sleepily beside you, pointing out the sad expression on the Finnish man's face as he stares at his decorated fingers.
Though you and Yuuken quickly intervened that he shouldn't feel pressured to sell his valuables, the blond man simply shrugged you off, having already taken off most of his jewelry except for a silver ring with a small chalcedony stone that sits on his index finger.
“Thank you for your concern, both of you, but most of these were from sponsored merchandise or gifts from acquaintances. This is the only piece that is very precious to me,” he whispers as he lovingly looks at the ring. Without much thought, you step forward and deposit any loose jewelry that you had little to no attachment to, only keeping a black leather wristwatch that you bought with your first salary.
While it hurts to sell what had been hours of part-time work, at this point surviving and seeing your family and friends are the only thoughts that drive your decision. Yuuken seems to think so too, as he drops a sterling silver thumb ring on the pile.
Fígaro stores the jewelry in a well-worn cross-body bag he found in one of the sheets the ghost had used to prank him the night before. It had seen better days, with pieces of fabric torn off in various places and several indentations on the black leather straps from stress. Although the blond man complains about the quality, he insists that it will work. He gives you a small smile before gently ushering you to continue your path.
The rest of the way is quiet, except for a few yawns and some brief but awkward banter. Back inside the huge building, you lead your two roommates to the library, remembering the twists and turns on the map you examined yesterday.
You highly doubt that you'll be able to find so many clothes or useful materials in there, after all, the "lost and found" is usually a big cardboard box that the secretary sticks under the desk, right?
You were dead wrong.
As the friendly ghostly librarian led you through the room where the bookcases were so high you swore they touched the roof, the last thing you expected to find was a utility closet labeled “lost and found”. Even more impressive was the fact that every single shelf in there was filled to the brim with various items.
“Feel free to take anything. Most of these articles have been in here for over a year and no one has come to claim them. I'm sure you'll make good use of them!” with a cheerful farewell, the sweet ghost disappears, leaving the three of you staring at the room with open mouths and owlish eyes.
“Well then, let’s give these things a good home,” Fígaro states as your hands and fingers begin to dig through the shelves, picking out various items, examining them, and either taking them or putting them back in their place. You're able to find four sweaters in good condition that could help protect you from the cold.
You end up taking other items like a scarf, a (surprisingly) clean water bottle and a thermos, a portable sewing kit that was missing a few threads and needles, and a small fiction book. But the most valuable item of all, and the one that you could hardly believe had not been claimed by anyone to this day, was a tablet with a shabby charger attached to it.
“I call dibs!” you announce quickly before grabbing the rectangular device, feeling like a gremlin as you chuckle mischievously and eye it like a piece of gold. Yuuken lets out an “aw” behind you, disappointed that you beat him to it, while Fígaro gives you a dirty look, questioning your behavior before shaking his head with a chuckle. “I think we’re good, I don’t know what else to take,” the Kendo student mutters under his breath while doing one last look over the shelves.
“If we’re missing something, we’ll make a mental note and return here. But, we should get a move on, or else we won’t have time for breakfast,” you indicate while gazing out of a nearby window, observing as the twilight merges with the sunny colors of the sky. “Goodness… let’s first head to the showers.”
As you hurriedly leave the library, Yuuken and you exchange some jokes while Fígaro quietly laughs at your childish banter. You fail to notice a pair of green eyes curiously examining you from the dark. Again.
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You’re absolutely, 100% sure that what you’re currently doing is illegal.
This has to violate some type of law, right? You're well aware that Crowley could potentially be sued for violating child labor laws, especially since even though you're 17, your parents have to sign a contract and the crow can only make you work a certain amount of hours.
Also, even though you have some first aid certifications, you don't have a medical permit to work, much less administer medication. Holy crap, you don't even have supervision! What if you screw up?
Well, the headmaster of this institution didn't give a damn, because after showing you how to work the system, he gave you a comforting pat on the shoulder and quickly left the infirmary.
You feel a little nervous as you’re left alone in the office, but you lift your spirits as you promise to do your best to take care of the students.
And here you are. The warm, bitter liquid touches your lips as your fingers type away on the tablet’s screen, opening a new email account. It's a moment of peace since you began your shift, and by God, you never imagined how reckless some students at this place could be. You expected them to be more rowdy than usual for an all-boys school, but treating over twenty different injuries in four hours is a cause for concern.
It started pretty normal, with headaches and scraped knees that weren't that big of a deal. Just some medicine and a note to rest and avoid exercise for the day. Then it went up a notch when two students in white and red suits stormed into the infirmary, holding their hands as they'd suffered first-degree burns while making tea. All that was needed was to place the reddened skin under cool water, apply and prescribe petroleum jelly, and bandage the wound.
And then it got weird.
A boy had crashed into a tree while riding his broom and required help removing the splinters. Then, two students were suffering from the effects of a faulty spell and needed to be prescribed a special concoction (thank whatever deity for the digital medical encyclopedia installed in the infirmary's computer). Another student was accidentally turned into a monster during a fight, and you had to subdue the creature until the spell wore off.
And now, you're currently dealing with a person who has contracted "fisherman’s fever" from a failed experiment performed in potionology class.
The device in your hand vibrates as a shrill but catchy tune plays over the speakers, indicating the timer is up. You place the dark green ceramic coffee mug that has the cringeworthy inscription "Adulting is hard AF" on the white desk and take a look at the potion brewing in the glass pot.
According to the medical encyclopedia, to treat the disease, the scales that appear on the person's skin must be delicately removed using a sharp object. Then, to cure the internal effects such as the transformation of human blood into cold blood and the appearance of gills, the person must drink a special tea made with a bizarre combination of ingredients three times a day for a week.
You sigh softly, the scent of mint and mandrake permeating the air as the rays of the morning sun stream in through the window, adding some color to the gray infirmary. As your weary eyes watch a series of hot bubbles appear and quickly burst at the inner corners of the pot, you grab the metallic spatula spoon and carefully stir the liquid, which has taken on a muted cyan hue. A voice behind you coughs, drawing your attention, but you keep your gaze on the tea.
“Is he going to be okay?” the student's friend, whose name you learned is Kyle Blackwood, asks from the side of the bed, worried eyes watching his friend's tanned skin turn an awful shade of pale green.
After straining and then pouring the scalding liquid into a ceramic mug, you approach the stiff bed, avoiding the metal bucket on the side with the remnants of the shiny green scales you removed with a scalpel nearly half an hour ago. You softly nudge the shoulder of Hyde Sage, the sick student, to wake him up from his stupor.
“He'll be fine so long as he doesn't skip his tea. If he gets worse, like his skin turning blue or you see some gills on the side of his neck, take him to a hospital,” you indicate with a stern tone, hoping that the threat of a hospital visit might scare the first year into not skipping the medicine.
Unfortunately, the rumor that you and your roommates are magicless people spread faster than you had expected, as such, some of the students you had attended decided to disobey your instructions, refuting under their breath that what would you know, being from another world and without magic.
You are grateful for your interactions with customer service that you gained from your many part-time jobs. Despite being bad and even traumatic memories, you learned quite a lot on how to deal with stubborn people. This was no exception; instead of giving in to the anger or being intimidated by their comments and mocking grimaces, you kept a neutral expression and listed all the possible side effects of what would happen if they didn’t get their injuries or sickness treated.
Of course, you never lied, after all a small wound can develop into a catastrophic disease. It worked most of the time, their faces turning pale at the large list of infections and illnesses, and they quickly snatched the medicine from your hands, consuming it as fast as they could before they exited the office. Some quietly thanked you, others didn’t say anything.
Other times, when they were particularly argumentative, they were scolded by friends or classmates who brought them into the infirmary, telling them to shut up and just take the pills. You silently thanked them with a small smile, and they returned the gesture with a nod.
As you place the mug on a nearby table, both Hyde and Kyle let out a gasp as their eyes widen at your words. Still, many of the students are relatively nice or are too preoccupied with schoolwork to bother you or deny the treatment, such as the two teenagers sitting in front of you. Sensing their distress, you shake your head, gently patting Hyde's shoulder to ease their panic slightly.
“Don’t worry, it’s a worst-case scenario. Your fever has gone down, and your skin is starting to return to its normal color. Just, make sure to not skip the tea,” your lukewarm fingers gently press against the student’s forehead, a sigh of relief slips past your lips as you feel the earlier fever has subsided. Your free arm slides under his back and pushes, silently instructing him to sit up.
Kyle jumps at the opportunity to help him up as well, fluffing up the pillows and tucking them behind his back to make him more comfortable. As you hand the freshman the hot cup and tell him to be careful, you chuckle to yourself as you watch his nose scrunch up at the strong smell. “Bottom’s up, bud. Unless you want to become a fish.”
Hearing your words, he panics momentarily before judgmentally staring at the rather viscous liquid and bringing it close to his lips. As soon as a drop sneaks past his open mouth and lands on his tongue, Hyde physically recoils, a shiver shakes his shoulders and makes his skin crawl. He almost places the mug down in disgust, but pushes forward, remembering how much a trip to the hospital costs. Kyle gingerly pats his back as a sign of support and comfort.
Meanwhile, you return to the desk, moving your attention to the enormous metal cabinet that houses a variety of pills and medicines. You crouch down and open the compartment underneath, the door sliding open with a loud, unpleasant squeak, giving way to rows of glass bottles of various sizes and other medical paraphernalia.
Your fingers brush gently against the various containers as you calculate how much liquid is left in the pot. After a few seconds of mental calculations and the clatter of glass, you successfully locate and pull out a bottle to store the remaining tea; your ears perk up as you hear the clink of a ceramic object on a table and the rustle of sheets and clothing.
In one swift movement, you uncork the bottle, place the strainer over the opening, and begin to pour the liquid into it with ease. You unconsciously hold your breath as all of your mental concentration is focused on avoiding spilling as much as possible, although a few drops do escape and gently run down the side of the crystal. Two pairs of footsteps approach you as the last few drops of the tea land inside the bottle.
“This should give you 7-8 cups of tea. Drink it at a temperature of 65°C and don't let it cool down, it will lose its effects,” you screw the cap on as tightly as you can to avoid spills and turn around, running into the two students. Hyde's complexion looks much better, and a small smile is now appearing on his face instead of a terrified expression.
Gently, you hand him the bottle and your free hand grabs two small notes you wrote while the tea was boiling. One has a checklist written in blue ink, while the other is a more formal sheet of paper. "Here are the instructions on how to make the tea and this is your excuse to skip the rest of your classes today, deliver it to the headmaster. Then, return to your dorm, set the alarms for your tea, and try to rest today to regain your energy."
Both students nod eagerly at your instructions, gently taking away the notes from your tired hands. You’re relieved to see Hyde in a much better condition than when he arrived, remembering Kyle's panicked yells as he dragged him to the infirmary office. He was limp and couldn’t stop shivering, his skin was clammy and his eyes were constantly rolling to the back of his head. As you dismiss both of them, you’re taken aback when the two of them suddenly bow with big, happy smiles on their faces.
“T-Thank you very much, Mx. (Y/N)!” you scratch your head sheepishly at the way Hyde addresses you, not expecting such a reaction. “Don’t mention it… just doing my job. Also, (Y/N)’s fine. No need to be so formal,” the two return to their original positions before nodding merrily. As they walk towards the door, they wave again, the crimson and yellow ribbons tied to their left arms fluttering slightly as they move.
Soon, the door to the infirmary closes softly, and the office is plunged into a comfortable silence as the footsteps and lively conversation of the Scarabian students fade into the distance. You sigh as you lazily throw yourself onto the swivel chair, which creaks loudly under the sudden weight, and bring your fingers to massage the temples of your forehead.
‘That should be patient number #21… I better fill out the form and get to cleaning if I want to finish opening my accounts.’
Your hands land on the gray keyboard that sits in front of you, several of the letters blurred or missing, showing the constant use of the device. The monitor comes to life as you move the mouse, the cursor hovering over the “ ” symbol and opening a new window, displaying an empty patient form. Without wasting a second, your fingers tap out different combinations, forming words to fill the empty boxes.
Time passes; outside, the birds chirp a happy tune and the clouds dance in the sky as you click the “Send” button and a message appears on the screen informing you that the form has been successfully accepted. As you stretch your arms over your head, your bones cracking stiffly, the rectangular device that’s been sitting idle for nearly an hour vibrates and the screen turns on to reveal a new notification.
Beyond satisfying your dire need to consume technology and geek content, the tablet is a key factor in your survival. In an unfamiliar world, where you don't know its customs, let alone its politics, the most important thing you need to do is nourish yourself with information on how to navigate this new labyrinth. Therefore, the moment you reset your device to its factory settings, you opened several accounts on various social media sites.
Strangely enough, many of the sites looked like bootleg copies of the ones you had back at home, right down to the bizarre similar yet different names. You almost burst out laughing when the words “MagiCam” appeared on the screen, immediately understanding what the application should be about. Thankfully, this also meant that you'd be able to navigate it much more easily since the UI was the same as Instagram’s.
In the brief respites of peace you’ve had during your turn, you’ve also understood a little more about how Twisted Wonderland works. Feeling calmer now that you know more about Night Raven College and the island where it resides, you then examined the world map and learned about the various continents of this world and who inhabits them.
You’ve also started to delve deeper into the magic of this world, but the concept still feels rather foreign and confusing, so, you’ve decided to wait until you’re in a calmer environment to pay closer attention to the details. Still, in your opinion, you’ve made good progress, and you make a mental note to share this information with your new roommates when you reconvene at lunch or later in the day.
You throw your head back, and the upper half of your body languidly lies against the chair's comically small backrest. You still feel a bit sore from yesterday's events, even after taking a hot (almost boiling) shower and replicating some of Yuuken's stretches. It also doesn't help that you've been running around for most of the morning.
You're tired... you want to go home.
As you stare blankly at the false ceiling, your mind wanders to the dark places you tried to avoid yesterday...
Will you ever be able to go home? Are your parents okay? Is Momoko okay? How long have you been gone? Does time pass differently here than it does in your world?
... Are you actually dead? This world feels so real, but you can't help but wonder…
Thought after thought flashes through your mind, as the earlier feeling of dread comes back with a biting force, stabbing at your stomach and tearing at your brain, making you feel sick. “Stop,” you silently beg to yourself, wanting the cursed string of detrimental questions to just end. And yet, your inner self continues to produce more and more, completely ignoring your desperate pleas.
Fortunately, you don't get to lose yourself for long as you're jolted awake by a hasty banging on the door to the infirmary. It startled you so much that you nearly fell out of the chair, the tip of your shoe smacking against the underside of the desk, followed by the clanking of glass, reminding you of the dirty dishes you didn’t wash. “D-Doors open!” you stammer with a shaky, feeling your heart pounding against your chest as you wobble out of the chair.
In a matter of seconds, the door opens, and a familiar man with orange hair peers in, his eyes widening in surprise as they fall on your figure. You instantly remember him from the entrance ceremony, a phantom feeling of warmth still lingers on your shoulder.
“The fu-!? H-Hey! Long time no see~!” he attempts to mask his shock with a cheerful tone before opening the door further and standing awkwardly at the entrance. “Um… do you know when the nurse is coming back?”
Without saying a word, you raise your right hand and point your thumb at yourself, swaying slightly back and forth, making the lab coat you wear over your navy blue sweater rustle. “I’m the temporary nurse. Do you need help with something?” even though his face is one of happiness, you notice that he is nervous due to his pale complexion and a slight tremor in his hands.
“O-Oh… Cool! Uh…” the orange-haired man stutters, sticking his head out of the room once more and whispering unintelligible words to someone standing outside. The exchange continues for a few more seconds, each one more confusing. Finally, with a frustrated groan, he returns and opens the door wider. “Sorry for that! We need a consultation!”
A bit weirded out by his behavior, you silently point toward one of the beds, ushering him to enter the room. You hope this consultation will be fast. As he opens the door wider and signals for the other person to come in, you turn around back to the computer and quickly open an application that pulls out a screen showcasing the list of all the students of Night Raven College.
As a precaution, before you can do a consultation or even prescribe medication, you must ensure the student isn’t allergic to any specific ingredients, takes some type of chronic medication, or has any important medical history. That way, you avoid any mishaps and save yourself a possible heart attack and a phone call to the hospital. Thankfully, the school has a nifty medical system that allows you to check for these kinds of things, all you need is a name or ID number.
Behind you, the shuffling of feet and the hushed voices weirded you out even more. ‘ What’s up with the secrecy ?’ Ah well, time is precious, and you want this consultation to be over quickly, so there’s no point in beating around the bush. With your gaze still focused on the screen, you click on the search bar and speak to the people. “Alright, what’s the name of the patient?”
As the question leaves your lips, a tense silence follows. You suddenly don’t dare to turn around, an uneasy feeling settles itself in the pit of your stomach as you wait for the answers. As the clock on the wall quietly ticks away the seconds that feel like minutes, somebody finally clears their throat and speaks. “Uh… Riddle Rosehearts.”
An eerily familiar voice speaks out, and you promptly turn around to watch a guy with green hair and glasses enter the room, a small and thin arm slung around his broad shoulders. And you feel the world fall apart and tear itself at its core as a head of red hair wobbles beside him, gray, piercing eyes turning to observe, widening at your figure before a recognizable scowl etches at his face.
"What in the Seven's name are you doing here?" fucking great, the last person you wanted to see, the tiny tyrant has come back to torment you again. Was the yelling match of yesterday’s night not enough for him? You take a deep breath, repeating to yourself that you won’t win showing your annoyance; you need to be a professional. Instead, you simply shrug your shoulders, maintaining an apathetic expression.
"Beats me, dude. Ask the crow man, not me," as you quickly type in his name into the application, Riddle scoffs as he’s helped to walk further into the room. "Do not address the headmaster in such a way. Have you not been taught to respect your superiors?" you roll your eyes at his comment, focusing more on his medical profile as he settles in one of the beds. Good, everything seems in order.
You don’t waste much time, reaching over to one of the desk drawers and pulling out a black bag containing a diagnostic kit and a clipboard with an empty consultation form. “I have, thank you very much. But I find it justifiable to insult the man who thought it was a good idea to stick me and the other two inside a dilapidated house,” you reply, slightly irritated as you place the stethoscope around your neck and head over to the bed.
The orange-haired man, whose eyes were intently focused on his phone’s screen, suddenly perks up at the mention of the house. “What!? Are you living in Ramshackle? I thought they were going to demolish that thing,” he mumbles the last part sheepishly as you pull a chair over to where the three men are standing.
The green-haired guy perks up at the name of the dormitory, his worried eyes suddenly landing on you. “How did your night go there?” you glance away from the prying eyes, scratching your cheek as you remember how stiff your back still is. “Awful, we ended up sleeping outside… Anyways, what's up? What are we dealing with?” although the orange-haired man seems more interested in hearing about your night, Riddle interrupts the conversation with a sharp cough.
“I'm completely fine. I just contracted a simple cold,” he remarks nonchalantly, covering his mouth with a gloved fist. However, even though the boy tries to pretend that he's fine, you notice that his chest moves up and down rather quickly, his cheeks are also slightly flushed, and small beads of sweat trickle down the sides of his face.
‘Difficulty breathing... I can cross out asthma, anemia, and anaphylaxis since his allergy chart is clear. A common cold wouldn't have him panting this way unless he overexerted himself with a clogged nose... Hmmm, it could be some kind of respiratory infection, but I need more details…’
Before you can intervene, however, the green-haired man shoots a glare at the housewarden as he angrily crosses his arms, his pose resembling a mother scolding her child. “A simple cold? Riddle, you were puking your guts out just a few minutes ago and you can barely walk!” he reprimands with a frown, and the redhead simply clicks his tongue in frustration. “As I said, I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle.”
You jot down your observations and the glasses man's comments on the clipboard, nodding quietly as your brow furrows. “Besides the vomiting and shortness of breath,” — you feel slightly insulted as you notice Riddle’s eyes monetarily widen in surprise at your last observation. Man, he thinks you’re not capable, huh? — “Are you feeling any discomfort or other symptoms?” at your question, the housewarden ponders for a few seconds before his hand drops from his mouth. “Just a stomach ache.”
“Is the pain mild or severe?” the man shakes his head, placing a hand on his abdomen to indicate the source of the disturbance. ‘ I can also rule out hepatitis at the moment. Seems to be from the core .’ “In between,” you simply hum at his response as you take more notes. “When did the symptoms start?” you finally raise your head to meet him, taking notice that he has difficulty keeping his eyes open.
He takes a deep breath and a hand shoots up to massage his temples. As you’re about to recommend he lays down on the bed and you’re three steps away from dialing Mr. Crewel, he speaks. “A-About two… no, one hour ago. I just feel dizzy. I’m fine,” he keeps repeating the last sentence as if to reassure the people in the room, but honestly, it makes you more nervous.
“Well, it might be a stomach bug rather than a cold. I’ll check your vitals before we move to treatment,” you announce before standing up and silently motioning for Riddle to remove his blazer. As you put on the earpieces of the stethoscope, his shaky and clammy hands pull off the piece of cloth, the glasses man stepping in to help. “Oh, my bad. I didn’t ask for your names.”
The orange-haired man jumps at the opportunity, flashing you a dashing smile as he holds up two fingers to his face, forming a peace sign. “Hey, hey! I’m Cater Diamond, but you can call me Cay-Cay!” he announces cheerfully, winking in your direction. ‘ Well, what a charmer. ’ You make a mental note not to call him that nickname, you'll just stick with Cater.
You simply wave back as you take a seat in front of Riddle and look in the direction of the green-haired man, who nods at you. “Trey Clover, vice housewarden of Heartslabyul. Good to meet you,” he replies as he flashes a small smile, though his gaze shifts to worry as he looks back at Riddle. An annoyed cough from the tiny tyrant interrupts your greeting.
“If we’re done with idle chatter, I would like to get out of here and return to my duties as soon as possible,” he grumbles as you simply roll your eyes and adjust the stethoscope. “Alright, alright. Take a deep breath,” you command in a toneless voice as you hook a finger around the collar of his shirt and harshly pull down, revealing a patch of milky skin.
A furious blush spreads across Riddle's cheeks as he short circuits for a second, a million thoughts racing through his mind as he feels your lukewarm fingers poking at his chest. He finally comes down to earth as he feels the cold nip at his exposed skin and he swears he feels on fire. “W-What’s wrong with you!? A-A warning would’ve been nice!” he shouts, almost slapping your hand away if it wasn’t for the glare you threw him back.
“Damn, you go, Riddle, getting some action,” Cater quietly giggles as he covers his Cheshire grin using his phone, which causes the housewarden’s face to turn even redder. “Shut it! Say a word of this and I’ll have your head!” the orange hair chokes on his laugh at the last words of the red hair. All of a sudden, the preppy attitude of the man is drained alongside the color from his face, instead, it’s replaced with an awkward laugh as he gingerly scratches the back of his neck.
‘ What the hell is that reaction? ’ Sure, the phrase elicits a rather daunting reaction from anyone who hears it, but, to pale at such words? That’s quite suspicious, but you frankly don’t want to stick your nose in the business of people who are already aggressive to strangers, especially when it comes to the tiny tyrant. You also don’t have the energy to bother, unless it becomes a bigger issue.
“My bad, sorry. But, you need to calm down or else I won’t be able to measure your heart rate,” you retort between your teeth, drawing Riddle's attention back to you. “Calm down!? Easier said than done! Are you even sure you know what you’re doing?” his booming voice does nothing but irritate you as you tighten your grip on the stethoscope. “Yes, I do. Now, shut up and let me do my job.”
About to respond angrily to your comment when he's stopped by a warm hand patting his shoulder, Trey giving him a small smile as the cold chest piece of the stethoscope touches his skin. The housewarden reluctantly agrees and gives you a nod. “Take a deep breath,” you instruct again in a low voice, listening carefully to Riddle's worryingly slow heartbeats. Each time you hear a “thump”, you draw a line on the clipboard resting on your leg, mentally counting up to fifteen; the entire room holds its breath as you remove the device after a while, your lips tightening as the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach returns with a vengeance.
‘ Only 14 beats… this is bad, ’ you swallow dryly as you waste no time calculating his heart rate, multiplying the number of beats by four and silently thanking your 12-year-old self for choosing first aid classes over rowing at summer camp. Unfortunately, the fleeting feeling of accomplishment soon fades, replaced by anxiety as you watch the number from the equation over and over again. “Holy shit…”
“Is everything alright?” you accidentally ignore Trey's worried voice, too consumed in your panic, as you run back to the computer and check Riddle's medical profile again. Again, he has no hereditary diseases or disorders, and his allergy chart is empty and clear. His normal heart rate, listed under his blood type, shows he has 75 beats per minute, so why the hell did your calculations show his current heart rate is 58 bpm? That's below average!
‘ Is it bradycardia? It could be that he just developed it, but that doesn’t explain the vomiting or rapid breathing… Perhaps he has arrhythmia? Did I make a mistake in my calculations? ’ you turn around to address the trio, wincing as you observe a powerful shiver shake Riddle’s body. ‘ Whatever it is, I don’t have the proper resources, much less the adequate experience to deal with this. ’
The red-haired man irritates you, his attitude is obnoxious, but there’s no way you’re letting him die here. “I’m calling an ambulance. Riddle’s heart rate is worryingly low and his conditioning is worsening. He needs professional attention.”
The three men's eyes widen in pure surprise, the shock is so severe for Riddle that he starts coughing loudly, the green-haired man next to him jumps in fright at the sound, but quickly concentrates on calming him down, gently patting and rubbing his back.
Cater reacts the fastest, shaking his phone with a pale face as he looks at you, terrified. "I'll call them!" he types restlessly on the keypad as you approach the bed to help Riddle get comfortable and calm his reaction.
But strangely, before Cater can even press the call button, a hand shoots up from the bed and rips the phone out of the orange-haired man's hands, causing him to choke on air, startled by the sudden movement.
It was Riddle.
“NO! I’M NOT TAKING ONE STEP IN THERE! I’M COMPLETELY FINE!”
… Huh?