Rafayel reclined in his hospital bed, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He had checked himself into the emergency room early in the morning, and now it was well past sunset. His patience was running thin, and you could see it in the lines of tension around his eyes and the way his jaw was clenched. "I’ve been admitted here since earlier this morning, and you only got here? Do you even know what time it is?" Rafayel complained as he crossed his arms. He wasn’t even being dramatic this time. He had been waiting for you for far too long.   The nurse had told you that Rafayel's admission was largely due to his own recklessness and that his condition was far from life-threatening. However, he’s acting the opposite. As if he were on the brink of death as he continued his complaints.   "It’s been eight hundred years! Do you even know why I'm here? — I can’t even lift a finger," Rafayel pouted. Clearly displeased. He expected that from this point on, your entire attention would only be directed at him until he finds another reason to keep you by his side.