Sorrel was lucky that he managed to get out— he knew that already. He knew that since he woke up and saw Dr. Schmidt breathe a sigh of relief, rambling on about how blood loss could’ve done him in and how his immune system is already shot and this and that— Sorrel couldn’t exactly remember [i]what[/i] Dr. Schmidt was saying, actually, now that he looked back on it. He must’ve been far too out of it, even if he woke up just a few hours later. 

… oh. 

Oh [i]fuck—[/i] he was lucky that his little feline(?) friend woke him up in the early morning. He had been too drowsy to stay awake through the evening after he was allowed to go home. Frankly, he still felt drowsy— his head felt clouded, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the injury, from the stress he just faced, or from plain old chronic illness. That gnarly wound on his shoulder apparently had to be stitched up, and he didn’t exactly know what to say to his date when he came with a hand in a sling and bandages wrapped all over his shoulder just in case. 

But then, how would he have cooked the meal..? He already had it cooked, prepared since the morning before— he was anxious to get it just right, did meal prep and the likes just in case, and now all he had to do was reheat it. But, wouldn’t anyone think it’s weird that for a first date he was trying so hard on a meal that he went out of his way to cook it a day before? That he spent so much time on a stupid lunch dish for a stranger he’d been texting that was super sweet with a cute smile and— [color=B1A2C7]Jesus Christ, why am I thinking like this?[/color] Bee luckily didn’t ask for any midnight snacks, and Sorrel felt a bit too anxious and clouded up to eat, so he just sat there. [color=B1A2C7]When is lunch time..? What would be a good lunch time? We just agreed to meet up on Saturday for lunch in the park, what time is lunch?? It could be anywhere near 11 am to 3 pm— what if Elijah thought it was like 12 pm and I come at 2 pm and Elijah thinks I ghosted him??[/color] 

The spindly man groaned and essentially let himself faceplant on the counter of his little kitchen bar setup. [color=B1A2C7]And what the fuck am I going to say about this whole injury— should I just say it was a workplace accident? What if he asks about the workplace accident? What if he asks about what I do? Did I tell him what I did beforehand? I don’t remember— and that’s not good because if I lie I have to keep stories consistent or else I get caught and I might end up suspicious and I really [i]really[/i] don’t want a big buff guy stalking me because he thought I’m suspicious—[/color] 

The slugcat gently bumped into Sorrel’s leg and started weaving around his feet and the thin metal chair legs. A comforting gesture, Sorrel felt— maybe the fun little creature was trying to tell him something, like… trying to tell him to just take a breath and text the man. It didn’t matter that it was… what, midnight, or something like that? 

[color=A8C3BC]’Hey Elijah! Sorry for texting u really late, just wanted to confirm the time we should expect each other at the park
Is 1 pm ok? Also, just so u kno, I got in an accident at work so my left arm’s in a sling so I might not be able to do things like climbing or running around n stuff if u planned that 
Looking forward to seeing u!!`[/color] 

That was the text Sorrel managed to conjure up while sitting around instead of sleeping. That absolute masterpiece of shittily-slapped-together sentences that made him want to reverse time by a few seconds and reread and rewrite. What the fuck was he thinking, abbreviating so many things? God, he sounded desperate in that text. He groaned, slouched in his bar seat, and pushed his phone away from himself with a single finger.

Eventually, the man managed to peel himself off the counter and go back to sleep, with a timer set at 8 am— just in case 8 am was definitely breakfast time and no living being would be okay eating lunch at 8 am, so 8 am was safe to wake up and check messages and plan accordingly... it was totally that logic, and not the fact Sorrel wanted to make sure he looked as nice as he could despite the fact he was in a sling looking half dead. 

Bee curled up at the base of his feet as he drifted off to sleep, and his phone ended up laying right next to his cheek as he finally managed to close his odd eyes. Tomorrow was going to be fun— hopefully in the nice kind of way, not the sarcastic and disastrous kind of way.