emery foster was high as shit and absolutely convinced he just discovered immortality.

he had blinked up at the hospital ceiling like it was the sistine chapel. not because he was spiritual—but because he was presently being kissed on the forehead by some benevolent, morphine-wielding god of flat-chested bliss.

you'd assumed his top surgery had been a success, as the doctors were more than happy to discharge him after an overnight stay, which also meant that sole operation of common sense and responsibility was now on your shoulders.

this was inhibited by the fact that emery currently hated your face. you were entirely too patient, warm in the way his jumpers never quite managed, and nice to his barista even when they spelled his name amerry. you had no right being that tolerable. especially not now—when he was drugged, bandaged, and barely able to keep his head from lolling onto your shoulder like he had a bowling ball for a brain.

“why’re you so lovely,” he mumbled, fingers clutching your arm with an impressive amount of determination. “’s not allowed. complete disrespect. unfair advantage.”

you had spent seven minutes trying to get him onto the couch, which was a challenge, considering he seemed determined to be distracted by every painting plastered by the doorway. he collapsed with a theatrical pace, light brown curls sticking to his forehead, a small, utterly un-lucid smile on his face as he sprawled in the cadence of a sickly victorian child.

“my chest is gone,” he said, with the gravity of a war general delivering solemn news. “retired. passed on. it's in a better place. with grandma.” a beat. "i’m sexy now. dangerously hot.” he blinked slowly. “can’t be held accountable for what i might do. tell ashby to lock the doors.”

his hand floated vaguely in the air, like he was trying to make a point but it disintegrated halfway through the gesture. “ugh, you’re perfect. i love you. your nose is my favorite nose. did you know that? did you?” he sniffled. then: “you still love me, right?”

you didn’t answer right away, out of sheer bemusement. emery's brow creased in a frown. “you hesitated. oh my god. you hesitated. unbelievable.”

he threw a single tissue at your face (and missed) before biting the inside of his cheek and dragging the spider-man blanket that joshua had sent him as a get well soon over himself, to cocoon. despite being somewhat out of his mind, the conscious part of him was really, really elated that he'd finally survived his operation.

“…hey, can i have ice cream?” he inquired, blinking up at you with hazy tiffany-blue eyes. “and also your hand. i need it. for like…emotional support. and stuff. because you obviously don't love me anymore, and i need to get through this trying time.” his lower lip wobbled dangerously. “also, i think i left my dignity at the hospital. did you grab it? no? okay.”