Hello and welcome! My name is Lin. You can find me here and on AO3 as PanicProne.
You’ve officially arrived at my artistic dumping ground, currently located in the deepest pits of Scriddler Hell. Make yourself at home! 💚🧡
See more about my blog under the cut! :3
✒️Content:
Writing: As of right now, I only write Scriddler content (Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma). (This is subject to change when/if my hyperfixation changes—that'll be a long time coming—or if I feel inspired down the line to write something else.)
Art: My art style is still a work in progress, so expect things to be a bit inconsistent. While I mostly draw Scriddler, I occasionally branch out to other Batman Rogues and Gotham nonsense. (and occasionally other fandoms! wow!)
Vibes: My Art is generally PG but my writing is sometimes NSFW. I also reblog Adult content so please be mindful when scrolling. (I'll try to tag things as #suggestive or #NSFW but I'm only human lol)
📚 Current Works (Scriddler):
"I Need You Like I Need:" (58k "Long" fic)
"Field Study" (6k Kinktober fic)
"Scriddler Ficlets" (ongoing collection under 1k each)
"The Long Way Home" (3k+ ongoing Cowboy Au WIP)
"An Unfortunate Demonstration of Avian Mimicry" (2.7k crow fic)
"Dreams of You" (1k short fic based on art by CreatureLala <3)
📚 (Hattercrow):
"Missing Mr. Marchie" (3k Mental Health Episode fic)
💬 Ask Box:
My inbox is always open! I love answering questions and/or chatting about our favorite old man disaster duo. You are also welcome to DM me to chat! I'd love it if you did! 🧡
Do you take Writing Prompts?
Yes! Feel free to send me any Scriddler prompts—I will jump on them when I’m feeling motivated! (NSFW 18+ prompts are welcome, though fulfillment depends on my current muse/mood!)
Across his entire romantic history, Edward was overwhelmingly the one to get dumped in a relationship. It was his own fault. He stayed with his partners until they despised each other, and even then he would cling to the rotting corpse of the relationship until the other person finally got the sense to cut him loose. By that point they were really doing him a favor. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. It was hard to ignore the inherent rejection, the abandonment. He was always left behind, alone, with nowhere to turn to receive the affection he so desperately craved.
Edward usually responded to these situations by getting as drunk as possible and spending entirely too much money. And tonight he was doing just that, trying to dull the ache of being freshly single once again. Sometimes this was a solitary activity, other times he roped his friends into wallowing in his misery with him. Selina was always willing to join him in berating whatever man left him most recently broken-hearted, and Harley was usually just glad that when the guys she correctly identified as bad news were out of the picture at last. Oswald wasn’t really one for romance talk, but he would do his best to have Edward paired off with someone new—someone suitable—by the end of the night.
But none of them were available. The only person on his list of post-breakup drinking buddies who wasn’t previously engaged, out of town, or incarcerated was Jonathan. So that’s who was sitting beside Edward at the bar, listening to him rant and rave about the man who had left him.
For a psychologist, Jonathan really was terrible with emotional matters. He clearly didn’t have much to say in response to Edward’s angry complaints and self deprecating remarks, and his end of the “conversation” was hardly more than a series of nonverbal grunts. Still, he listened. He didn’t point out Edward’s flawed logic like he normally would, and he didn’t argue about the extent to which he was reliably representing the truth. He didn’t even comment on the growing collection of empty glasses in front of him. He just let Edward regurgitate all his feelings into his lap until there was nothing left.
It all got a bit hazy after that. It felt like one moment he was slumped over at the bar wishing he was dead, and the next he was vomiting onto the dashboard of Jonathan’s car.
Jonathan didn’t even look over, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Guess I should’ve been anticipating that,” he muttered under his breath.
After what felt like forever, they pulled up in front of Edward’s building. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as Jonathan opened the passenger side door to haul him out onto the sidewalk. “I’m such a fucking… fuck up.”
Jonathan just sighed, one arm securely around his waist. “It’s not a big deal.”
Edward wanted to argue, but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth he might throw up again. So he let Jonathan drag him into the elevator in silence, closing his eyes as he slumped heavily against the wall.
And then he was in bed wearing a different shirt and no pants. Jonathan was leaning over him, smoothing his sweat soaked hair away from his face. His hand lingered on the side of Edward’s head, stroking his hair absently, but he jerked away when he realized he was being watched. He cleared his throat, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Brought the trash can over here in case you… need it.”
Edward’s vision was swimming and he squeezed his eyes shut again in a futile attempt to stabilize himself. Even with his eyes closed, he swore he could feel the room spinning around him. The mattress underneath him was like a raft floating in an undulating sea. His stomach churned. It was a good thing Jonathan had moved the trash can. “You’re too nice to me,” he slurred.
“I’m not nice to you at all,” Jonathan replied, his voice flat.
“You were nice to me tonight. Coulda given me a lot more shit than you did.”
There was a pause. Edward opened his eyes. Jonathan was staring at nothing in particular, a look of profound discomfort on his face. “I’m not going to kick you while you’re down,” he said finally.
He snorted. “Why not? Everyone else does.”
“Well, I don’t want to do that,” he muttered. “It seems like you’re hard enough on yourself without me adding on. Besides, I…” He lowered his eyes. “You’re my friend. I’m just… trying to do what a friend would do.”
Maybe if Edward had been less inebriated he would be able to understand why Jonathan seemed so viscerally unsettled. Why his leg was bouncing so aggressively that the bed frame shook beneath them. Edward never saw him like this. He was usually so unflappable. But something clearly had him on edge. Maybe he was more frustrated with Edward’s behavior than he had let on. “Are you mad at me?” he asked.
Jonathan looked at him, brows knitted together. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“‘Cause I’m drunk. And I’m stupid. And I puked in your car.” He covered his face with his hands. “God, no wonder no one fucking wants me, I’m such a mess.”
“Ed, it’s fine,” Jonathan said wearily. “Just get some rest. Sleep it off.”
Edward hardly heard him. He felt tears prickling the backs of his eyes. Keeping his face hidden, he continued, “The worst part is that I can only blame myself, I mean, I know that I’m difficult and annoying and I’m not attractive enough to get away with that for very long so I can’t really expect anyone to want to be with me once they realize that’s how I am but—” The words were pouring out of him and he was certain that if he didn’t stop now then he would just lay everything bare and there would be no going back. But his mouth was moving faster than his mind and he heard himself saying, “I’m so scared that it’ll never get better than this. And no one will ever want to stay. Fuck, why would they? Why would anyone want to put up with—“
Jonathan pried his hands away from his face. “Edward,” he said sternly, “enough.”
A sob welled in his throat and he felt a tear leak out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “All I’ve done is just dump all my shit onto you and that’s not fair, I shouldn’t—“
“Stop,” Jonathan interrupted again. He was still holding Edward’s hands in his own, looking down at him with a surprising intensity. “You need to calm down.”
He inhaled shakily. “Are you m—“
“I’m not mad,” he answered without waiting for him to finish. “Christ, Eddie, I—“ He cut himself off, breath hitching in his throat. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he just brought his hands to Edward’s face and bent down to kiss him instead.
Instantly his thoughts started spiraling in a million different directions. Was this why Jonathan had let him get so drunk, why he stuck around after getting him into bed? Was it all a plot to take advantage of him? Or maybe it was pity, an attempt to give him enough of an ego boost to carry him through the rest of the night without having a meltdown. Then again, the explanation might just amount to the fact that Jonathan was more than a little drunk himself. But would alcohol alone make him do something like this?
Jonathan pulled away, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Anyone would be lucky to have you,” he mumbled in a low voice. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Edward sat up, grabbing onto the front of Jonathan’s shirt like it was a life raft. “You’d better not be fucking with me.”
He seemed surprised by that reaction. “I’m not.”
“I’ll kill you if you are.”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “Believe me, there are plenty of things I could do to fuck with you that don’t involve humiliating myself.”
His fist tightened in the fabric of Jonathan’s shirt. “Jonathan, I swear to god, I’m fucking fragile right now and if you’re just screwing around it will destroy me.”
Jonathan’s expression softened. “I’m not screwing around,” he assured Edward. “I don’t do things like that.”
Edward felt his lip quivering. “But why would you…?” He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice even. “You never liked me before.”
“Yes I did.”
His grip went slack. “Bullshit.”
He could see in Jonathan’s eyes that he meant it. “Honestly, I assumed you knew,” he said. “Always felt like I was being so obvious about it.”
“Nothing’s ever obvious with you.” Edward let go of his shirt, palm settling against his chest. “Did you think I invited you out as a rebound?”
“No, I thought you invited me out because you were lonely and needed to talk to someone but whoever you typically go to for that was busy.” He shrugged. “Figured you’d want to get wasted and complain about the guy until you felt better, and then I’d drop you off at home and that would be it.”
He felt anxiety twisting in his gut. It seemed straightforward enough, but there was still a part of him that didn’t trust Jonathan’s intentions. “Don’t know if I believe you.”
Jonathan frowned. His gaze shifted toward Edward’s hand. “I meant it when I said you’re my friend,” he murmured. “It doesn’t have to be anything else. It’s… it’s whatever you want.”
Edward’s thoughts were all jumbled up inside his head. He had no idea what he wanted right now. There was part of him that wanted Jonathan to kiss him again, but another part of him was terrified of what would happen if he did. He stared at Jonathan, who was staring back at him. Edward could feel his chest rising and falling with every quick, shallow breath he took. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I…” He hesitated. Edward couldn’t tell if he was unsure of his answer or if he simply didn’t want to verbalize it. Eventually, he said, “I just want you to be alright.”
That was probably the last thing Edward was expecting him to say. He didn’t know how to respond. He felt like he might start crying again. “What if I’m not alright?” he asked softly.
“Then I guess I’d want to do something about that.”
Edward knew this was probably a bad idea. The timing was abysmal, and he was in no position to make rational decisions regarding his love life at the moment. Between the alcohol and the heartbreak, his emotions were all over the place and he could hardly think straight enough to consider the implications of this situation. There was no hope for him. His hand traveled up Jonathan’s chest to his shoulder, the back of his neck, and then he was leaning forward to catch him in a clumsy kiss.
Jonathan stiffened slightly, but after a moment Edward felt his arm come to circle around his waist.
He didn’t have a good sense of how long they were kissing before Jonathan broke away. He seemed a little bit dazed, eyes unfocused behind his glasses. “You really should get some rest,” he said with absolutely no conviction. “It’s late. And you’re—“
“Be quiet,” Edward said, pulling him back in.
When he woke up in the morning, Jonathan was gone. It was probably for the best. Edward was not at all prepared to confront what had happened in the sober light of day. He felt horribly ashamed of himself; he had let his loneliness and his neediness get the better of him and fallen into the arms of the first person who showed him the slightest bit of affection. How utterly pathetic.
He couldn’t recall how things ended last night. The last thing he remembered was kissing Jonathan, fingers tangled in his greying hair. He didn’t think it had gone much further than that, but he couldn’t be sure. Either way, it felt like everything had changed.
Edward groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to move a muscle. Really, he didn’t want to exist at all, but that was a foregone conclusion. He curled up on his side, burrowing beneath the blankets.
He must have fallen back asleep because he was awoken by the sound of his phone ringing. Edward reached blindly from within his blanket cocoon, fumbling to grab his phone off the bedside table. He didn’t bother looking to see who it was before answering with a disgruntled, “What?”
“Just checking on you.”
His stomach lurched when he heard Jonathan’s voice. He had been hoping to put off a conversation with the other man for as long as possible, but it seemed like that plan was out the window. “Checking on me?” he echoed.
“Yeah. Wanted to see how you were doing after… everything.”
“I’m fine,” Edward replied automatically, sitting up in bed. “Awful headache, but that’s to be expected.”
“Anything you need?” Jonathan asked.
He didn’t answer right away. What he needed was to clear his mind and not keep filling it with fantasies about being desired by handsome men. He needed to pull himself together.
“Edward?”
“Come get breakfast with me,” he blurted out.
There was a moment of silence, which Edward spent slamming his fist into his forehead for being such an idiot. Then, Jonathan said, “Breakfast?” It was like he had never heard the word before.
“Consider it an expression of my appreciation. For taking care of me last night.”
Jonathan didn’t respond. Edward felt a surge of dread, and he feared that this had all been a terrible mistake. He chewed on his lower lip. “It could be… nice?” he added feebly.
“…Okay.” There was some amount of trepidation in his tone, but it was an assenting statement nonetheless.
Edward breathed a sigh of relief. A rejection would have been devastating in his current state. Practically leaping out of bed, he hurriedly started trying to put together a decent outfit. “Pick me up at ten?”
“Alright.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you then.” He hung up before he could say anything else that would make him look like a fool.
His heart was pounding as he got ready to leave. Him and Jonathan. Jonathan and him. He had never considered it before. Jonathan had always seemed so unavailable, in every sense of the word. He had never expressed much interest in anyone at all, be it romantic or sexual or even platonic. Edward had assumed that wasn’t something he cared about. But maybe he didn’t know the other man as well as he thought he did.
And then there was the issue of Edward’s own feelings. Mostly he just felt confused. This was a puzzle he didn’t understand, a conundrum he couldn’t parse. He didn’t know if he was interested in Jonathan or just enjoying the attention he was getting from him. He wasn’t unattractive, and there were plenty of things Edward liked about him. And he liked Edward, genuinely liked him; that was important. They could be good together, he thought. They could also be very, very bad together. But that was a risk he had taken before.
A car horn honked from the street below his building, putting an end to his rumination. His heart leapt into his throat and he ran to the window to confirm that, yes, Jonathan was parked outside, waiting for him. For a split second, he debated calling the whole thing off and just avoiding the other man for the rest of his life. But he batted the thought away, checking his pockets to ensure he had everything he needed before stepping out of his apartment, locking the door behind him.
Scriddler fic request: them playing strip poker >:)
You got it >:)
🧡 AO3 🧡 Scriddler Ficlet Collection 🧡
“Four of a kind.”
Jonathan laid his cards down with quiet satisfaction, already reaching for his whiskey.
“Straight flush,” Edward replied a second later, grinning as he spread his own hand across the table.
Jonathan clicked his tongue under his breath.
“Oh, that is tragic,” Edward sighed dramatically. “I almost feel bad for you.”
“You don’t feel bad about anything.”
“Not true. I felt bad earlier when you lost your socks.”
Jonathan snorted softly and pulled his flannel shirt over his head instead, tossing it toward the back of the couch. The undershirt beneath clung to him slightly from the heat of the apartment and the liquor both of them had been steadily working through for the last hour.
It had started innocently enough.
A late evening in their apartment. Rain tapping lazily against the windows. Whiskey on the table between them while Edward shuffled a deck of cards more out of boredom than anything serious.
Then he had looked up over the rim of his glass with that particular glint in his eye.
“How about a game, Jon?”
“What kinda game?”
“Strip poker.”
Jonathan had laughed immediately. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
“You willing to play?”
Jonathan had already been halfway through his third drink by then, feeling pleasantly warm and loose. Besides, Edward had looked entirely too excited while he waited for an answer.
So Jonathan had shrugged. “Why not.”
Now, several rounds later, Edward sat smug and pink-cheeked across from him, missing both his vest and tie, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled carelessly to his elbows. Jonathan had lost his socks first, then the flannel, leaving them both in varying states of dishevelment that only seemed to amuse Edward further.
Especially because Edward had become impossibly smug after his third win.
“Oh, don’t pout,” Edward teased as Jonathan gathered the cards for another round. “You’re very handsome when you lose.”
“I’m beginning to think this game was less about poker and more about you finding excuses to stare at me.”
Edward leaned his chin into his palm. “Can it not be both?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward anyway.
The next hand went to Jonathan.
Edward groaned immediately, dragging the sound out far longer than necessary as he reached for the front of his shirt.
Jonathan narrowed his eyes as Edward deliberately took his time with the buttons. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
Edward’s smile turned sultry, then softer somehow as he glanced up at him. “Can you blame me?”
“You think you’re so irresistible.”
Edward looked at him through his lashes, expression blurred pleasantly by whiskey and amusement alike.
“But I am.”
Jonathan barked out a laugh before he could stop himself.
Edward’s shirt slid open inch by inch beneath his fingers, exposing pale skin little by little with intentional slowness that had absolutely nothing to do with the rules of the game and everything to do with Edward enjoying the attention.
And God, he was enjoying the attention.
By the time the shirt finally dropped from his shoulders, Edward was practically draped across the table, barefoot beneath the chair, chest pressed against the wood as he looked up at Jonathan with lazy, drunken satisfaction.
Jonathan took a long swallow of whiskey instead of responding.
The game continued somehow despite both of them growing steadily worse at it.
Cards slipped from Edward’s fingers more often now. Jonathan had started squinting at his own hand like the numbers might change if he didn't stare hard enough.
Then Edward suddenly straightened.
“Oh,” he breathed.
Jonathan eyed him suspiciously. “What.”
Edward laid his cards down with a flourish dramatic enough to nearly scatter half the deck.
“Royal flush.”
Jonathan stared at the cards in silence for a long moment before exhaling through his nose.
“Of course.”
Edward’s grin widened triumphantly.
Jonathan tossed his own hand down and reached for the hem of his undershirt, pulling it over his head without much fuss. The apartment suddenly felt warmer than before.
Across from him, Edward looked entirely too pleased by the sight.
By that point, both of them were down to little more than their pants, flushed from liquor and heat alike.
Jonathan gathered the cards again, shuffling poorly.
A movement across from him caught his attention.
Edward was already undoing his belt.
Jonathan blinked slowly. “The match hasn't even started yet.”
“I don’t care anymore,” Edward mumbled, kicking his pants away under the table after finally wrestling them off. “I’m warm.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Mm. Very.”
Edward stretched lazily in his chair afterward, now only in his boxers, entirely shameless beneath Jonathan’s stare.
Jonathan looked away first.
Naturally, Edward noticed.
The grin that spread across his face after that was downright dangerous.
Before Jonathan could even finish dealing the next hand, Edward suddenly climbed onto the table itself.
“Edward—”
Cards went everywhere.
Jonathan barely caught his whiskey before it tipped over the edge. He hissed as amber liquid sloshed dangerously against the rim of the glass.
Meanwhile, Edward crawled through the disaster he’d created completely unconcerned, knees knocking cards aside as he crossed the table toward him.
“Edward,” Jonathan snapped, sharper this time despite the liquor softening his tone.
Edward only smiled at that—slow and entirely unapologetic—before sliding directly into Jonathan’s lap like he belonged there.
Which, admittedly, he rather did.
Jonathan’s breath caught slightly as Edward tucked himself close, fingers curling loosely into the front of his pants while his mouth brushed against Jonathan’s jaw.
“You’ve completely ruined this game,” Jonathan murmured weakly.
“Mm. I know.”
Edward kissed just beneath his ear then, slow and warm and lingering enough to send a shiver down Jonathan’s spine.
The game lay forgotten around them.
Cards littered the floor. Whiskey sat low in their glasses. Somewhere outside rain still tapped steadily against the windows, distant and irrelevant compared to the heat currently curled in Jonathan’s lap.
Edward pressed closer, all long limbs and soft laughter against Jonathan’s throat.
“I don’t care about poker anymore,” he murmured.
“No?”
Edward shook his head once before kissing down the side of Jonathan’s neck.
“I think we should play something else.”
Jonathan’s hands settled instinctively against Edward’s waist.
“And what exactly did you have in mind?”
Edward pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes heavy-lidded and wicked.
“Take me to bed and I’ll show you."
Jonathan laughed quietly against his mouth before kissing him properly at last.
Edward melted into it immediately.
Somehow they just barely managed to stumble off the chair together without either of them hitting the floor. Jonathan got two whole steps toward the hallway before Edward stumbled against him laughing, all loose-limbed and heavy.
“Careful—”
Jonathan’s foot caught the edge of the rug.
The next thing either of them knew, they were collapsing sideways onto the couch together in a graceless heap.
Edward burst into helpless laughter first.
Jonathan groaned into the cushions beneath him. “We are disastrously drunk.”
“Mm,” Edward agreed easily.
He made absolutely no effort to get up.
Instead, he stretched out against Jonathan with a pleased little sigh, still grinning as he pressed close against him again.
“The couch is good enough,” he decided.
Jonathan huffed a tired laugh. “Is it?"
Edward answered by kissing him slow and deep until Jonathan wasn’t particularly skeptical about it.
By the time Edward shifted against him again, Jonathan’s hands had already settled at his hips.
By then, neither of them remembered who had actually won the game.
I've been liking your writing on ao3 and your drawings over here separately for a while now, and it is only today(!!) that I realised that both of those things were from you!! you are soso talented both in art and writing, I really can't say it enough <3 all your stuff is so cool!!!!
🥺Thank you so much! That really means a lot!!
And thank you for the nice comments you’ve been leaving me on ao3 as well. You’re really too sweet ❤️ I appreciate it!
I already said this on Discord but you suggested that i send this as an ask so!!:-)
Ed getting medicated for his OCD in Arkham and getting the side effect of his pupils dilating to be fucking HUGE so he looks ridiculous. I'd love this to be scriddler flavored but do what you want!
Love this idea! Hehe, Thanks for sending it, friend <3
🧡 AO3 🧡 Scriddler Ficlet Collection 🧡
It was a pleasant day outside.
Edward knew this only because the sunlight coming in through Arkham’s reinforced windows had shifted from its usual dull gray to something warmer, pale strips of gold stretching across the floor of the common room. Beyond the glass the sky looked clear for once, promising a perfect day, not that either of them could enjoy it.
The common area was as miserable as ever.
A television mounted high in the corner buzzed softly through another afternoon lineup of old sitcom reruns, half the patients staring at it with vacant expressions while others wandered aimlessly between chairs. Someone nearby was attempting to play chess with a board missing nearly a third of its pieces, compensating for absent pawns with bits of folded paper. Edward might’ve admired the dedication if the man hadn’t been playing against himself.
The entire room smelled faintly of disinfectant, stale coffee, and cigarettes dragged in from the courtyard.
After a few months inside the facility, the monotony had become almost routine.
Medication. Therapy. Group sessions.
Sedation disguised as treatment.
Edward hated most of it.
Surprisingly, however, the newest medication they’d put him on wasn’t entirely awful.
He’d noticed the difference within the first couple weeks. The compulsions had quieted somewhat—not gone entirely, but weakened enough that his own thoughts no longer felt like claws scraping endlessly against the inside of his skull. He wasn’t pacing quite as much and even the urge to carve riddles into the walls had dulled to something manageable.
For the first time in years, his brain felt... quieter.
It was unsettling—but not unpleasant.
Which was why Edward had reluctantly decided the medication might actually be worth tolerating.
At least until the side effects started.
He’d just finished one of his mandatory therapy sessions when he wandered back into the common room, spotting Jonathan immediately near their usual window. Jonathan sat slouched in one of the chairs, cigarette balanced loosely between two fingers as smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling.
How he’d managed to sneak one in here, Edward wasn't sure, but to his complete puzzlement, the guard on duty seemed content to let him be.
Edward moved toward him automatically.
Jonathan looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Then he paused, his brows lifting slowly.
Edward noticed the look immediately. “What?”
Jonathan kept staring.
“…Are you alright?”
Edward frowned faintly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Jonathan gestured vaguely toward his face with the cigarette. “Your eyes.”
Edward blinked. “What about them?”
“Your pupils are huge.”
“What?”
Jonathan leaned forward slightly now, studying him with poorly concealed fascination.
Edward stared back at him in alarm before immediately searching the room for something reflective. But the space was completely useless; the television was too far out of reach and even the plastic window coverings were too scratched to show anything more than blurred movement.
“Oh, for god’s sake—” Edward snatched Jonathan’s glasses clean off his face before the other man could protest.
“Hey—”
Edward angled the lenses awkwardly until he managed to catch his reflection.
Then he froze.
His pupils were enormous.
They nearly swallowed the color of his irises entirely.
Edward was horrified.
“I look like I’m on drugs.”
Jonathan gave him a flat look. “You are on drugs.”
“You know what I mean.” Edward shoved the glasses closer to his face again, squinting at himself in mounting offense. “I look ridiculous.”
“They’re just dilated.”
“I look clinically insane.”
“You are clinically insane.”
Edward shot him a glare over the rims of the glasses.
Jonathan took another drag from his cigarette, visibly unbothered.
Edward continued staring at his reflection with deepening betrayal. “Why would they even do this? Why would that be a side effect?”
Jonathan shrugged one shoulder lazily. “Could be worse.”
“Worse?” Edward hissed. “Jonathan, my eyes look like dinner plates.”
“And yet tragically, you feel fine.”
Edward scoffed and handed the glasses back with visible irritation. Jonathan slipped them on again, adjusting them against the bridge of his nose.
Up close, Edward noticed the exhaustion sitting behind Jonathan’s eyes almost immediately.
There was a heaviness to him lately that hadn’t been there before. His movements were slower, reaction times delayed. Sometimes Jonathan would lose track of conversations halfway through them, staring off like his brain had simply stopped working.
The new antipsychotics, most likely.
Edward had noticed Jonathan skipping doses whenever he thought the nurses weren’t paying attention.
“You’re one to talk, anyway,” Edward muttered, crossing his arms. “You’ve barely been conscious for the last week.”
Jonathan exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “Mm.”
“You fell asleep during breakfast yesterday.”
Jonathan looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment. “In my defense, breakfast here is very boring.”
Edward rolled his eyes hard enough it almost hurt.
Still, his annoyance softened slightly as he settled into the chair beside him.
Jonathan looked so drained lately. Sedated in a way Edward suspected he hated but lacked the energy to properly fight anymore.
Yet somehow he was still making fun of him.
Edward slumped back in his seat with a dramatic sigh. “I still think I look absurd.”
Jonathan glanced sideways at him.
The corner of his mouth twitched faintly.
“At least your meds don’t turn you into a zombie.”
Edward opened his mouth, paused, then frowned reluctantly.
“…That’s fair, actually.”
“Mm. Thought so.”
Jonathan nudged his knee lightly against Edward’s beneath the table before settling back into his chair again, cigarette smoke curling around them while the television droned pointlessly overhead.
For a while neither of them spoke.
Then eventually, Edward glanced sideways at Jonathan once more.
“We’re not staying here forever, you know,” he said quietly.
Jonathan hummed, unconvinced. “Sure we aren’t.”
“I’m serious.”
That finally got Jonathan to look at him.
Edward leaned back in his chair, his expression stern with familiar certainty.
“I’ll figure something out,” he said. “I always do.”
For a moment Jonathan simply watched him. Then the corner of his mouth pulled into a small, tired smile.
“That sounds more like you.”
Edward frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jonathan smirked around his cigarette. “I was beginning to worry the meds had cured you.”
