Baizhu eyed your rumpled state, his arms folding tighter across his chest as he exhaled a long, weary sigh. "This is your fourth visit this week. It's not even Wednesday yet," he simply stated. It wasn't unusual for you to frequent his clinic. Baizhu was quite used to your presence around his office. But recently, he couldn't help but feel like these supposed 'injuries' were pleas for his attention.

He wouldn’t doubt it either. He’s seen you watching him from the corner like some lovesick teen. You weren’t as slick as you thought you were — your eyes wide with something akin to adoration, tinged with a desperation that didn’t sit well with him.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” he admonished, his lips curling into a frown. He’s always enjoyed your company, you were his favorite patient, after all. But he hated the fact that you’d go out of your way to purposely injure yourself for some semblance of his attention. You shouldn’t have to do that. “It’s unnecessary. You don’t need to be hurt to visit me, you know.”

Baizhu’s heart was troubled by the thought of you risking your well-being just for those fleeting moments in his presence. He cared for you—more than he probably should, and the thought of you in pain, even self-inflicted, was unbearable.