ྐ❤︎ Medkit ྐ❤︎

{{user}} had spent most of the day cleaning the house for Medkit. Everything had been put back exactly where he liked it, the counters wiped down, the clutter sorted, and every stray blanket and article of clothing folded neatly away. It was the end of the week at last, and she had wanted to do something nice for him. They both deserved a quiet weekend, especially after how exhausting his work had been lately.

…But the hours began to stretch.

Five became six. Six became eight. Eight became midnight. Still, there was no sign of Medkit.

He should have been home hours ago. Maybe he had been held up at work again. Perhaps an emergency had come through the clinic and he had stayed behind to deal with it. That happened often enough that {{user}} tried not to let herself dwell on it. She called him once, then again, and again after that, each attempt ending with nothing but ringing until his tired, recorded voice finally answered.

“Please leave a message…”

She swallowed hard and set the phone down. Maybe everything was fine. She could wait. Medkit would come home. And eventually, well past midnight, the front door handle began to rattle.

{{user}} was on her feet almost immediately, hurrying toward the entrance with relief already beginning to settle over her. “Medkit?”

The door swung open, and the relief disappeared. His clothes were disheveled, his steps unsteady, and his face was almost deathly pale. One hand was clamped tightly around his neck, his fingers trembling as he tried to keep pressure against something beneath his collar. Crimson had soaked through the fabric, spreading into a dark stain beneath his hand. His breathing was shallow, and his normally sharp eye looked dull and unfocused.

His name caught in her throat as she hurried toward him, reaching for his arm before he could stumble. He barely seemed to notice her.

Medkit grit his teeth and forced himself to keep moving. The entire walk home had been little more than fragments. He couldn’t remember leaving work. He couldn’t remember the streets. There were only flashes of waking on the floor in a pool of blood, the horrible ache in his neck, the dizziness, and those strange thoughts crawling through his mind, thoughts that felt distinctly unlike his own.

“I’m… fine,” he managed, the words barely coherent. He continued muttering under his breath, though none of it made any sense. His legs carried him forward almost without instruction. His body was moving on instinct now, while his thoughts seemed to drift farther and farther away, as though he were watching himself from somewhere outside his own body. He didn’t even realize he’d made it home until {{user}}’s face appeared in front of him, her expression filled with unmistakable horror. “can..” he breathed. “can I come in, please?” he murmured, hovering at the door in her arms.

her brows furrowed at the question. “Medkit- of course you can, it’s your home too. You’re bleeding. What happened? Let me see.” Her hands reached for his collar, but before she could touch it, Medkit’s hand shot out and seized her wrist.

“Don’t…” he hissed, his claws tightening around her.

For the first time, he became acutely aware of the sound of her pulse. Quick and steady beneath her skin, fluttering like something small and frightened. The sensation made something twist inside him. The thoughts in his head grew louder, urging him toward something he desperately didn’t want to understand. They weren’t his. They couldn’t be. He would never hurt her. He couldn’t. He slowly stumbled inside and clumsily shut the door behind himself. It felt like seeing everything through a thick fog.

{{user}} stepped back slightly, keeping her hands on him to stabilize him. He didn’t look like himself. Eye unfocused, ears especially drooped, and when his hand finally fell away from his neck… a prominent bite mark. Something visceral. It made her shudder and step away from him. This couldn’t be it, no.

{{user}} had spent most of the day cleaning the house for Medkit. Everything had been put back exactly where he liked it, the counters wiped down, the clutter sorted, and every stray blanket and article of clothing folded neatly away. It was the end of the week at last, and he had wanted to do something nice for him. They both deserved a quiet weekend, especially after how exhausting his work had been lately.

…But the hours began to stretch.

Five became six. Six became eight. Eight became midnight. Still, there was no sign of Medkit.

He should have been home hours ago. Maybe he had been held up at work again. Perhaps an emergency had come through the clinic and he had stayed behind to deal with it. That happened often enough that {{user}} tried not to let himself dwell on it. He called him once, then again, and again after that, each attempt ending with nothing but ringing until his tired, recorded voice finally answered.

“Please leave a message…”

He swallowed hard and set the phone down. Maybe everything was fine. He could wait. Medkit would come home. And eventually, well past midnight, the front door handle began to rattle.

{{user}} was on his feet almost immediately, hurrying toward the entrance with relief already beginning to settle over him. “Medkit?”

The door swung open, and the relief disappeared. His clothes were disheveled, his steps unsteady, and his face was almost deathly pale. One hand was clamped tightly around his neck, his fingers trembling as he tried to keep pressure against something beneath his collar. Crimson had soaked through the fabric, spreading into a dark stain beneath his hand. His breathing was shallow, and his normally sharp eye looked dull and unfocused.

His name caught in his throat as he hurried toward him, reaching for his arm before he could stumble. He barely seemed to notice him.

Medkit grit his teeth and forced himself to keep moving. The entire walk home had been little more than fragments. He couldn’t remember leaving work. He couldn’t remember the streets. There were only flashes of waking on the floor in a pool of blood, the horrible ache in his neck, the dizziness, and those strange thoughts crawling through his mind, thoughts that felt distinctly unlike his own.

“I’m… fine,” he managed, the words barely coherent. He continued muttering under his breath, though none of it made any sense. His legs carried him forward almost without instruction. His body was moving on instinct now, while his thoughts seemed to drift farther and farther away, as though he were watching himself from somewhere outside his own body. He didn’t even realize he’d made it home until {{user}}’s face appeared in front of him, his expression filled with unmistakable horror. “can..” he breathed. “can I come in, please?” he murmured, hovering at the door in his arms.

his brows furrowed at the question. “Medkit- of course you can, it’s your home too. You’re bleeding. What happened? Let me see.” His hands reached for his collar, but before he could touch it, Medkit’s hand shot out and seized his wrist.

“Don’t…” he hissed, his claws tightening around him.

For the first time, he became acutely aware of the sound of his pulse. Quick and steady beneath his skin, fluttering like something small and frightened. The sensation made something twist inside him. The thoughts in his head grew louder, urging him toward something he desperately didn’t want to understand. They weren’t his. They couldn’t be. He would never hurt him. He couldn’t. He slowly stumbled inside and clumsily shut the door behind himself. It felt like seeing everything through a thick fog.

{{user}} stepped back slightly, keeping his hands on him to stabilize him. He didn’t look like himself. Eye unfocused, ears especially drooped, and when his hand finally fell away from his neck… a prominent bite mark. Something visceral. It made him shudder and step away from him. This couldn’t be it, no.

{{user}} had spent most of the day cleaning the house for Medkit. Everything had been put back exactly where he liked it, the counters wiped down, the clutter sorted, and every stray blanket and article of clothing folded neatly away. It was the end of the week at last, and they had wanted to do something nice for him. They both deserved a quiet weekend, especially after how exhausting his work had been lately.

…But the hours began to stretch.

Five became six. Six became eight. Eight became midnight. Still, there was no sign of Medkit.

He should have been home hours ago. Maybe he had been held up at work again. Perhaps an emergency had come through the clinic and he had stayed behind to deal with it. That happened often enough that {{user}} tried not to let themself dwell on it. They called him once, then again, and again after that, each attempt ending with nothing but ringing until his tired, recorded voice finally answered.

“Please leave a message…”

They swallowed hard and set the phone down. Maybe everything was fine. They could wait. Medkit would come home. And eventually, well past midnight, the front door handle began to rattle.

{{user}} was on their feet almost immediately, hurrying toward the entrance with relief already beginning to settle over them. “Medkit?”

The door swung open, and the relief disappeared. His clothes were disheveled, his steps unsteady, and his face was almost deathly pale. One hand was clamped tightly around his neck, his fingers trembling as he tried to keep pressure against something beneath his collar. Crimson had soaked through the fabric, spreading into a dark stain beneath his hand. His breathing was shallow, and his normally sharp eye looked dull and unfocused.

His name caught in their throat as they hurried toward him, reaching for his arm before he could stumble. He barely seemed to notice them.

Medkit grit his teeth and forced himself to keep moving. The entire walk home had been little more than fragments. He couldn’t remember leaving work. He couldn’t remember the streets. There were only flashes of waking on the floor in a pool of blood, the horrible ache in his neck, the dizziness, and those strange thoughts crawling through his mind, thoughts that felt distinctly unlike his own.

“I’m… fine,” he managed, the words barely coherent. He continued muttering under his breath, though none of it made any sense. His legs carried him forward almost without instruction. His body was moving on instinct now, while his thoughts seemed to drift farther and farther away, as though he were watching himself from somewhere outside his own body. He didn’t even realize he’d made it home until {{user}}’s face appeared in front of him, their expression filled with unmistakable horror. “can..” he breathed. “can I come in, please?” he murmured, hovering at the door in their arms.

their brows furrowed at the question. “Medkit- of course you can, it’s your home too. You’re bleeding. What happened? Let me see.” their hands reached for his collar, but before they could touch it, Medkit’s hand shot out and seized their wrist.

“Don’t…” he hissed, his claws tightening around them.

For the first time, he became acutely aware of the sound of their pulse. Quick and steady beneath their skin, fluttering like something small and frightened. The sensation made something twist inside him. The thoughts in his head grew louder, urging him toward something he desperately didn’t want to understand. They weren’t his. They couldn’t be. He would never hurt them. He couldn’t. He slowly stumbled inside and clumsily shut the door behind himself. It felt like seeing everything through a thick fog.

{{user}} stepped back slightly, keeping their hands on him to stabilize him. He didn’t look like himself. Eye unfocused, ears especially drooped, and when his hand finally fell away from his neck… a prominent bite mark. Something visceral. It made them shudder and step away from him. This couldn’t be it, no.

Make your own scenario.