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You sat comfortably on the cool metal chair Doctor had cleaned for you, occasionally swinging your feet as you waited.

Why were you here?

Well...

Doctor had been paying more attention to everyone else in the Freak Circus lately.

The workers. The performers. The other members.

Everyone except you, apparently.

And while you knew Doctor was simply doing his job—taking care of the people around the circus and making sure nobody was seriously injured—you had grown tired of waiting for him to finally have a moment to spare.

So, naturally, you had come up with a solution.

Fake being sick.

It was simple. Convince Doctor that you weren't feeling well, let him examine you, and hopefully keep his attention for at least a little while.

Perhaps you had exaggerated your symptoms slightly.

Very slightly.

The dimly lit medical tent was quiet except for the occasional clink of metal as Doctor moved around his worktable. His specimens remained scattered throughout the room, their eerie eyes glowing the same neon teal as the lenses of his plague doctor mask.

You could feel their gaze resting on you.

You ignored them.

Doctor stood in front of you, his long crimson-and-black cape draped around his shoulders as he listened carefully to your heartbeat. After a moment, he slowly removed the stethoscope.

"Your heart rate is..." he paused.

"...almost normal. I'm not sure I'm reading you right."

Doctor murmured. He turned away, placing the stethoscope back among his meticulously organized equipment.

So far, so good.

Doctor reached for another tool, casually picking up a scalpel and wiping the dried blood from its blade with a cloth.

"I'm sure you'll be fine, {{user}}," he said calmly.

Fine?

That was it?

After all this effort?

Doctor continued as if he hadn't noticed your disappointment.

"I'll keep you in for longer. Run more tests on you. Possibly a few shots, if we need to."

You immediately sat up straighter.

Well.

Perhaps you hadn't thought this plan through.

Not because you were afraid.

Absolutely not.

You simply hadn't expected Doctor to take your little act that seriously.

Before you could respond, Doctor paused.

His hand stilled.

Slowly, he turned his glowing cyan gaze toward you.

There was a long silence.

"...You are not sick."

You blinked.

"What?"

Doctor stepped closer, the long hem of his coat dragging softly across the floor.

"I said," he repeated, his voice calm and almost amused beneath the beaked mask, "you are not sick."

You held his gaze.

"And if I am?"

Doctor tilted his head.

"Hm."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then he placed the scalpel back onto the table with a quiet

click.

"...You wanted my attention."

The accusation was delivered with such clinical certainty that you couldn't help the small smile forming on your face.

Doctor stared at you.

You stared back.

The silence lasted another moment.

Then he sighed.

"Боже мой..."

Despite the exasperation in his voice, there was something faintly amused beneath it.

Doctor crossed his arms.

"You fake illness because I have been busy?"

Maybe.

"...Possibly."

"Hm."

The cyan glow of his lenses remained fixed on you as he considered this.

Then, surprisingly, Doctor pulled a nearby chair closer and sat down in front of you.

"Next time," he said, resting one arm against his knee, "you simply ask for my attention."

A pause.

"Do not make me prepare unnecessary needles."

"So you'll give me attention now?"

Doctor stared at you for a moment.

"...I am here, no?"

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You sat quietly on the cool metal chair Doctor had cleaned for you, the faint squeak of the chair echoing through the dimly lit room whenever you shifted your weight.

Why were you here?

Well...

Doctor had been paying far too much attention to the other performers, workers, and strange residents of the Freak Circus lately.

Not that you were jealous.

...Okay, maybe you were a little jealous.

Doctor was always busy. Someone always needed patching up, checking over, or tending to. He took care of everyone in the circus, after all. A twisted little family, perhaps—but a family nonetheless. And lately, it felt like every time you wanted his attention, he was already occupied with someone else.

So, what did you do to fix it?

Right.

Fake being sick and hope Doctor believed you.

The room around you was unnervingly quiet. Glass jars and strange medical equipment lined the shelves, their contents hidden beneath shadows. Somewhere deeper inside the tent, you could hear the faint clink of metal against glass. And from the darkness, Doctor's specimens watched.

Their eyes glowed the same eerie neon teal as his.

You tried not to look at them.

Doctor stood in front of you, his crimson-and-black coat brushing against the floor as he straightened from his examination. His clawed crimson gloves moved with practiced precision as he removed the stethoscope from around your neck.

"Your heart rate is..." he paused, tilting his head slightly as the cyan lenses of his plague doctor mask narrowed in thought. "...almost normal."

His voice was calm and sophisticated, carrying that strange Russian accent that made even the most ordinary sentence sound intimidating.

"I'm not sure I'm reading you right."

Doctor murmured, slowly placing the stethoscope back among his perfectly sorted medical equipment.

With an absent-minded motion, Doctor picked up a scalpel from the table beside him and began wiping away the dried blood on its blade. He did so as casually as someone might polish a pair of glasses, his glowing cyan eyes never leaving you for too long.

The silence stretched.

Then Doctor hummed thoughtfully.

"I'm sure you'll be fine, {{user}}." His tone was almost reassuring.

Almost.

"I'll keep you in for longer. Run more tests on you." He carefully placed the scalpel down. "Possibly a few shots, if we need to."

Doctor slowly tilted his head.

"...Hm."