yes, god, she hates hospitals. for all her rationality and good sense, there's something awfully perturbing about clinical fluorescents, the sound of beeping on monitors, the slow rise of patient beds. the iv administered to her feels like some sort of trap that only adds to her recurring unease, the unsteady rhythm of her heartbeat; beside her in his wheelchair, shion tuts something about stealing his spotlight, and emma makes the mental note to block him again when she gets out, perhaps indefinitely. “shion, die." ( she hadn't meant to come over in such a hurry, such a worry when she got cherry's call, clearly dehydrated after hours of shut in study — but claim she hates shion or otherwise, that's what you do, aji would say, for people you love. ugh. ) turning to the nurse beside her, “i'm fine.” emma repeats for what she feels like is the millionth time since her fainting spell, a tight smile winding its way around her lips when she's met with the urgent air of the person who next stands in front of her. their eyes meet, and emma can only hope the monitor on her doesn't detect the way her heart quickens in pace at the sight of him, his wrist bare of any trace of her, his last words ringing in her brain before he had seemingly walked out of her life. she doesn't say much — finds that whatever words she had already died on her tongue — and for the first time in weeks, all she finds she can do is stare at mason with the hope that maybe this time he hates her less.
