#THIS !! HES OSB HRRR HR HE HYPER ENTIALITALOY

[scribs-dibs]

i'm going to kill myself.

kuras x reader. wc ≤ 1k.

You could kill him right now.

That thought to most, including the subject of your gaze, is no doubt concerning. However, around these parts, the modus operandi of every drunkard, street performer, Bloodhound or Monster is a resounding kill or be killed. 

The fabled Dr. Kuras of Lowtown doesn’t snore. What else would you expect? The pinnacle of propriety, the man mounted upon his high horse (that still stoops low enough to extend a helping hand), the magnanimous genius at rest. Thick eyelashes graze the apples of his cheeks, broad shoulders normally drawn taut now lowered with the rise and fall of his chest.

Your second thought cuts through all rationality: He shouldn’t be that pretty.

…well, you suppose that’s not all that irrational. Being easy on the eyes around these parts can be disarming; it can earn you a place to stay for the night, salacious stares, and most importantly, a favorable perception among shallow people. For you, Kuras falls in the middle. His character doesn’t disarm you, it instead makes your hackles raise - but just enough to prevent you from gutting him.

Such a stupid predicament. 

It isn’t like him to not be on his feet. He’s always ushering patients in and out, acting only mildly offended when offered payment, before conducting his own personal business. This is alluded to by noncommittal anecdotes or pure, direct confrontation if you catch him in the act.

(Nothing incriminating, of course; Kuras is not a criminal. People-watching, conversation with an odd acquaintance here or there, playing coy with Senobium alumni that still beg for his insight. All legal and a far-cry from what he thinks is wrong.)

Everyone seems to be in majority agreement that Dr. Kuras must be good. There will always be distrusting, twice-shy folks like you, but he’s practically the legs that the injured and ill stand on so confidently. He’s inclined to prove all of his detractors wrong while still keeping them at arm's length. 

Having said that, what the hell is going on?

Napping in one of his chairs, slumped against the backrest with you visiting, is not arm’s length behavior. It’s too close, too trusting, and it makes you sick. And not in the way that can be remedied, either! 

You could kill him right now, but you won’t. The stubborn part of you reasons that it’s broad daylight outside, anyone could come knocking - but your mature counterpart singsongs that it’s because you have a huge, hulking crush! What a childish word used to downplay your cautious intrigue--

Kuras stirs. Right.

You’re not sure what his motivations were, inviting you back here. Running into one another at a grubby food vendor, your first instinct was to book it - but of course he’d seen you and called out your name with a warm timbre to his voice, parting the crowd with his presence alone. Never let it be said that you didn’t try to deny Dr. Kuras.

But he’d said something about wanting you to test some kind of new treatment. You’re an interesting patient, plus you’d do quite well for such short notice. I’d appreciate it greatly.

Then you were following him back on familiar cobbles, shadowed by his almost Herculean height. The new treatment wasn’t anything to write home about - ointment, experimental. In Eridia, the last bastion of humanity, you’d almost expected something more magical in nature. Serves you right for assuming, because even after the trial run, you found yourself locked into a battle of wits with the doctor himself.

Chess is not your forte, and the abandoned board reflects that nicely. Kuras almost has you in check, playing white (resembling that pristine coat) with you playing black. You’d clocked the timer to ask for some fresh air, contemplating your life decisions as it were, before stepping outside. It was a short reprieve, must’ve been only ten minutes or so.

Returning from your recess, you were met with a very sleepy Dr. Kuras.

Loathe as you are to care, that can’t be comfortable. How tired must he be, to fall into slumber, completely at your behest, likely causing mild damage to his posture? The light filtering through the raised windows above the sanitation station and various supplies illuminates more of his visage as the sun sinks lower into the sky.

You take your seat, owlishly staring at him like one would a jarred specimen. Dr. Kuras looks more exhausted the closer you scrutinize his condition - it’s easier now that you’re free of a piercing but sincere amber gaze - diligently spotting the telltale dark circles and chapped lips.

…and to think he scolds patients for the negligence of their health. What a guy. You want to severely maim him as a little treat. He doesn’t surrender many of his secrets as peace offerings, but this is pretty close; your whirlwind of thoughts are dominated by top notes of rubbing alcohol and herbs, giving way to bittersweet regret and something surely unattainable.

In Eridia, if you don’t have something, you’ll perish chasing it.

With that in mind, you still stick around a bit longer. It’s a slow day, the doctor is asleep at your mercy, and you scramble the dormant pawns and queens and rooks around to ensure your victory. When Kuras wakes, he’ll be left at a loss.

(You will be as well, considering you’ll be bereft of company, but that should not sting as much as it does. No one is ever as they seem, and no companionship is ever permanent.)

Even so, you toss a thin sheet over his lap after ripping it off one of the nearby cots. It’s flimsy, frivolous, and his coat provides more protection from the cold, but you do it all the same.

Kuras does not so much as stir as you slip out into the street, instead opening his eyes fully without a hint of bleariness as the sidedoor clicks shut. It’s as if he’d never been asleep at all. Swallowing, the doctor’s gaze falls to his lap, pinching the thin sheet with deft fingers. 

“No one is ever as they seem,” he echoes similarly, aloud to no one but himself.