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Damn it.
Feofan’s head hurt. Specifically, his sinuses and nose hurt. A steady stream of blood left both nostrils and a large splatter covered the nearby bed post. He was a fool for trying to wander about without his glasses, especially when everything in this damned lab was so white.
So, he lay on the floor as blood gushed from his nose, briefly staring up at the equally white ceiling as he waited for the adrenaline of the impact to fade. Sure enough, the pain in his now-broken nose was steadily increasing, as was the pool of blood on his neckline and chest above his shirt. It was a loose thing, also a bland white meant for test subjects in the famed Il Dottore’s lab. Now, though, it had a blooming blotch of blood on the front from his collision with the bedpost. Most other patients had blood splatters from surgeries. Not from being foolish.
Truly a shame, Feofan thought he was beyond such mistakes. Especially after the enhancements Dottore had given him. That’s why he was in this boring medical ward to begin with— a stupid surgery meant to augment his vision and fix it had been unsuccessful, meaning he was to be kept there for further observation.
The room itself was separated from other test subjects. Perks of dating the Doctor, it seemed. Such a strange thing to think as he lay there. Feofan and Dottore, or as the man had insisted he be called in private, Zandik. They had been together properly for months now. The resulting changes to their relationship after their agreement to begin a courting phase were all so unexpectedly pleasant. For such a cold, clinical man, Zandik was shockingly tender and caring when alone. Constantly fretting over Feofan and his health. Not that Feofan was fragile, the doctor assured him that no one fragile would have survived the severity of exposure Feofan had seen to the abyss. But still, he worried simply because he could. Zandik had explained to him that most other patients required a certain detachment, especially those in more volatile and potentially lethal experiments. But with a proper partner, he had decided that fretting like a mother hen was all too comforting to his conscience to pass up.
As a result, it was no surprise when a misshapen white and blue blob hovered over Feofan with a frown laced through his voice, even if he couldn’t see it. “Is this what that loud thudding was? Oh what a large amount of blood… I was certain your coagulants were normal at the last check up, yes. You’ve gone and broken your nose, dear. And a good clean break at that. Did you really run straight on into a bedpost?” Zandik asked, crouching down to thumb away some of the blood.
“Why is everything in your lab white when I can’t see anything with a clear definition?” Feofan hissed, sitting up on one arm as more blood dripped onto the also white pants he had on.
“I suppose that would cause you some issues.” Zandik nodded, hauling his partner to his feet. “I’ll have to set the cartilage back properly, you know. We can do it now while it’s loose, or set up another surgery for you.” He chuckled out the last part, watching the other man’s face crumple into a scowl.
“I would prefer no more damned surgeries with recovery spent in such an unfairly uniform room, thanks.” Feofan grumbled, the pair shuffled out into the halls of the lab, attendants knowing better than to spare a glance at the two. Feofan kept his eyes screwed shut from a mixture of pain and light sensitivity that came with his eye surgery as they shambled over to the nearest operation room.
“Why are the bedposts white anyways?” Feofan asked, still grumbling as he tenderly touched his nose.
“It was cheaper wood painted white or metal. The current Regrator in charge of Fatui finances wouldn’t spare the cost for such a large renovation.” Zandik’s voice was also shockingly bitter. “Sometimes I wonder if killing the Ninth would do us all a favor. Shneznya’s finances have only been in shambles during his tenure. Alas, there is no one yet who has proven quite as proficient at diplomacy as him.”
Feofan nodded, recalling his short time as a bookkeeper of sorts for the Abyss operation that had rendered him so disabled. “Perhaps I could take up the mantle. I have no qualms with numbers”
Dottore could only chuckle. “Let’s focus on setting your nose first, and fixing your eyes. You can’t read ledgers all day if your eyes aren’t working properly.”
Dottore helped him lay down on a sterile operating room table, already donning a mask and putting on disposable gloves. “Would you like anything for the pain, Feofan? I imagine it’s unpleasant at the very least.”
“No— I— argh.” He sighed, eyebrows twisted in pain. “The anesthesia from the last operation… you said it wouldn’t be safe to mix other drugs for a few hours. Has that time limit passed?” A genuine question, and one that caught The Doctor by surprise.
“Y-yes… it seems the recommended window has not passed yet…” Dottore was frowning now as he prepared a splint and the necessary gauze. “That nearly slipped my mind…” His voice was low, somewhat bewildered. “What a distraction you are, dear.” He settled on, ears tinted pink being the only indication of blush hiding beneath both the Fatui and surgical masks.
The following procedure went off without a hitch after that, mainly due to Dottore’s own horror at being so distracted initially to not check the potential of conflicting medications. Feofan was left in Dottore’s personal chambers in the lab to recover, which were decidedly less of a uniform white.
—————
“I have a request for you, Pantalone.” The man in question was now freshly inaugurated as the Ninth Harbinger, and Dottore was the first to approach him with a formal funding request.
“And whatever could it be, dear Doctor?” He asked with a smile, setting down a feathered pen. Here, in his new office, notably nothing was white except for the Second’s own lab coat.
“I’d like to request funds to renovate my laboratory’s patient rooms. I have had some complaints over the years that they are notably… too white, and are thus a hazard to some.” Dottore slid a formal request across his desk, circling around to loom over the sitting man. “Do you happen to recall such complaints?”
Feofan couldn’t help but laugh, his practiced smile morphing into one of genuine amusement. “I do recall, in fact. Tell me my love, how long would renovations last with this proposal?”
“Two months at least.” Dottore replied, hands resting on the other man’s shoulders.
“To think… all these years and such a small change was neglected. It’s approved, just let me sign the papers and you’ll be able to order supplies in no time.” Pantalone tilted his head up towards the Doctor, stealing a quick kiss on his cheek. “I imagine it won’t be long before I’m swamped in similar requests from the other Harbingers, but this one seems rather important to expedite.”
In the end, no other incidents of people breaking noses on bedposts occurred after the renovation.