Eye Candy [yan! various × gn-fem!reader]

bandaid stickers

"hey... wake up."

you already did, long before they arrived to your room. you're laying on (strapped to) a hopital bed. surprisingly, there were no wires attached to anything of you. maybe it's because the wounds were minimal.

"we need to talk about your last concert."

or maybe because of your manager's order for the staff to not even bother with it.

"sorry for almost dying." you rasped.

"i appreciate the apology but that's not going to cut it, the cost of repairs and healthcare are going to be docked from your paycheck--- plus, not even a day in on the job and your guard dog's already damaged!"

you hate their dumb voice--- and their stupid mug! call you childish but they always seem to bring out your worst.

"it was a gift from the higher ups! you were supposed to take care of it!"

wasn't the point of it's whole existance to be the exact opposite of that statement?

"they were kind enough to repair part of it, but now you have do the rest on your own. hopefully you'll be more careful with company property."

they love switching between who has custody of the damn thing. but then again, you'd rather have the fucker euthanized than have to live with him.

"be thankful that you're not being held accountable for the stunt your fans made during the performance. it would reflect badly on your career. you do remember what almost happened last time, right?" 

"yes, it will not repeat again."

"i hope so."  and with that sentencw, the whole room became heavy with silence.

you flinched when you felt something heavy drop into your lap, looking down on instinct to see that i was your bag. you turned your head to gawk at your manager only to meet with empty hospital walls. 

they forgot you were still strapped onto the bed, or not, they were an asshole so it's not unfair to assume they did that on purpose.

you sigh to yourself, at least you get to deal with the embarassment alone.

... you ignore the chunky horizontal stripes that lay on you body that came the amount of struggle you had to endure during the whole fiasco. instead focusing in trying to cram the new filter into the lock-mechanism of your air-mask, the mask itself was a creepy thing that looked like it came from a hasmat kit with it's symmetrical filters and full face covering, straps wrapping arouns your head in a constricting manner. it's not like you're rich enough to be able to augment yourself to be able to breathe or see without dying.

at least you can glue stickers on it.

you eventually emerge victorious but hesitant to traverse the next step of leaving this room and going to the outside world. you don't know if it's the fear of general responsibility or if you're actually starting to grow attached to the dentist quality of this room.

you notice the weird camera that protruded from the corner of the ceiling and the weird lack of sound coming from outside.

you know what? you're not that fond of mad-scientists anyway, you'd rather not end up on someones medical documentary/snuff film thank you very much.

the elevator stops on the ground floor, a slight jolt from the capsule-room springs your flight-or-fight instinct once it settles. reflective doors retracting back and revealing a familiar but unwelcome sight.

an android at the waiting room by the double-door entrance, sitting on some black sofa-like stool, hands folded at his lap with a straight posture.

you sympathize with the other patients that try to take as many seats far away from him as possible. you too would feel apprehensive if some giant man with chewed-gum for a mask showed up at your local hospital.

hell, you wouldn't even blamed them if they thought it was even his actual face. which reminds you, since he's in your care now (eugh), you need to find him a replacement, quickly, before it haunts your dreams.

the object of your shit-talking perked up when he saw you step out of the elevator. moving to stand up to his full height, much to everyone's terror--- you included, and follow you outside.

he was a few steps behind you, you'd describe it as some sort of shadow following you with his intimidating aura and dark clothes but, with the way it loomed over you, he came across as a shade-- curling it's body over yours in an almost protective way.

and just like last time, it towered over you, but this time, he carried himself differently. but it's so subtle that you can't exactly pinpoit how and in what way.

the outside world is hectic. 

your pretty face plastered on almost every building's bright-ass screen, some paid advertisements from some big brand whose logo you never bothered to remember (you were paid to sit pretty, not to think). posing with whatever product the big-brand wanted to sell, clothes, food, whatever. clean and pristine looking backgrounds that became a contrast to the dirty roads and people that lived in, almost literal, downstairs Escarva, muddy with filth and aging metal like a rusting cog.

then again, the place wasn't the only thing that was rusted, the higher layers were also riddled with polution. just take a good look at the sky; not even night yet and already seem like it, swarms of drones and smoke obscuring darkness, floating ads and window-lights from tall buildings replacing the mythical stars.

speaking of hiding shit, you wonder how are you going to sneak this man into your cramped apartment without attracting attention... more attention.

... to which you end up resolving the problem by calling a cab. it took an embarassing amount of time to reach that conclusion on your own.

no wonder you ended up as an idol in the entertainment industry, you were... stu---no, you saw the world with rose-colored lenses.

---

lore.

(is-car-vuh)