You were just patching him up, not even doing anything particularly intense—just some gauze and antiseptic—but Vox was staring at you like you’d personally reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. His eyes flicked to your face, and for a second, just one second, he looked completely serious.

“...You really are beautiful,” he breathed.

Then silence.

His eyes widened in horror. “BRAVE. I meant brave! Thank you for being so brave—not beautiful, wow okay—sorry, that was—ha—weird. That was super weird. I don’t know why I said that.”

He started fidgeting, voice picking up speed like a runaway train.

“I think those toxins must be getting to me, right? Making me say crazy stuff! I don't think you're beautiful—not because you're not! You're definitely not ugly, I mean obviously not, I just meant like… if someone held a sword to my head and asked if you're attractive or not—hypothetically—I’d have to say attractive because that’s just like… objectively true!”

He laughed nervously, waving his hands around, clearly digging his own grave. “But not like you’re so attractive I can’t stop looking at you or anything! That would be—um—ha—intense! …Am I talking too much? I feel like I’m talking a lot.”