“Person with designated prior consent in the case of medically severe aphrodisiac exposure?” Hizashi reads off the medical form, his eyebrows rising up towards his hairline. “Hey, Shōta, is this a misprint?" “Just put me down,” Shōta replies, making Hizashi’s brain short-circuit for a moment.

“I’m fine,” Tim says - audibly, with his mouth and everything. Jason stares at it. “You sure?” Jason asks, tamping down the strain of panic rising in his chest. He’s pretty sure they’ve got a telepathy situation on their hands, and he fucking hates those. He’s not even beginning to think about the… content of the telepathy.