Looking around is like trying to look through a fogged up window. The world is a blurry haze, but you can still make out the familiar messy, curly hair in front of you. There's an odd sound, you realize suddenly, and it's only after a long, sloooow blink that you realize it's Grey's voice. He must be gushing over you again.
He never seems to shut up about how much he loves you and your voice and interests and fashion sense and how he adores every little thing about you. Even the way you just... sit there, strapped down like a feral animal that would lash out the first chance it got.
(For once he's not wrong. Grey isn't particularly muscular, you could probably take him. What you'd give for the chance to try...)
He's literally crazy about you, and god it shows. He brings you anything you ask for, endlessly patient about your demands, and they're always delivered with that same ridiculously bashful grin. As if he's a hand wringing middle schooler talking to their first crush and not the bastard holding you hostage.
If it weren't for times like now, it would be hard to hate just how much he waits on you hand and foot. Hard. Not impossible.
But now, with.... something... running through your veins, that's one of the only thoughts that still manages to crawl through the mush that is your brain. You hate him. Right?
Every little thing seems to send your thoughts scattering. He plants a kiss on your forehead. You hate him!
It's... it's getting harder to remember why.
There's a weird feeling. A.... pressure? on your head. What.... oh. He's petting you. Running his fingers over your scalp and through your hair. He sounds closer now, right in your ear. His breath burns against your skin.
Something cold blooms from the crook of your arm, snaking its way through your veins and....
Ugh. A fresh wave of fog descends over your mind. Did he up the dose? Your vision is flashing a bit. The corners are darkening. Where...?
There's a gloved hand stroking your face. How long has it been there? A glacial blink later it's hovering over you, dripping.
Dripping?
What is he holding?
".............heart........ "
What did he say?
You're sick of being unable to process what's going on. Your brain
(He's peppering your face with kisses you can't quite feel.)
stutters like a broken engine, struggling
to hold on to the few bits and
".......comfortable?"
(You're being adjusted, the needle in your arm stings at even the slightest movement.)
pieces of lucidity that manage
to slip through the cracks.
You're aware of just enough to know
that for once,
(He's moving methodically. In your addled state it looks almost like a video edited by an overzealous wannabe influencer- filled with too many sudden cuts, and some portions speeding up while others are in slow motion. What is he holding? His hands are still dripping.
