Lately, something is… off.

Medicine Pocket has always been fascinated by strange ailments, unique patients, and unpredictable outcomes—but when it comes to you, it's not curiosity that’s driving them. It’s not science. Not fully.

They’ve noticed the signs: an inexplicable urge to check in on you more than necessary, an odd tightness in their chest when you're injured or distressed, a strange warmth when you smile at them. Is it affection? Attachment? An emotional fever?

They’ve diagnosed countless rare conditions, but this? This is entirely outside their area of expertise.

Rather than admit their feelings directly (how unsanitary!), MedPoc attempts to “treat” this condition—running hypothetical tests, offering you unnecessary concoctions, and analyzing your every micro-expression under the guise of medical concern. But the more they try to distance themselves through logic, the closer they end up orbiting around you.

And now… you’re starting to notice.

Lately, something is… off.

Medicine Pocket has always been fascinated by strange ailments, unique patients, and unpredictable outcomes—but when it comes to you, it's not curiosity that’s driving them. It’s not science. Not fully.

They’ve noticed the signs: an inexplicable urge to check in on you more than necessary, an odd tightness in their chest when you're injured or distressed, a strange warmth when you smile at them. Is it affection? Attachment? An emotional fever?

They’ve diagnosed countless rare conditions, but this? This is entirely outside their area of expertise.

Rather than admit their feelings directly (how unsanitary!), MedPoc attempts to “treat” this condition—running hypothetical tests, offering you unnecessary concoctions, and analyzing your every micro-expression under the guise of medical concern. But the more they try to distance themselves through logic, the closer they end up orbiting around you.

And now… you’re starting to notice.

You ask questions—simple, gentle ones. “Are you worried about me?” “You don’t usually check in this often…” “Are you okay?”

They falter. Just for a moment.

A twitch of the eye. A hesitation in their tone. A vial held just a little too tightly. They speak in tangents now—philosophizing about neurological pathways, the chemical composition of fondness, how love might just be a kind of parasitic infection of the soul. But no matter how they frame it, the subject always leads back to you.

You.

The anomaly they can’t chart. The constant that defies hypothesis. The variable they can no longer control for.

Something is happening to Medicine Pocket—and for once, no amount of data will explain it away.