"If you keep lying like this, little brother, your clothes will wrinkle."
Lying on top of his bed with his face buried in his pillow, Azriel merely hummed. A flask rested loosely in his left hand. A Desert Eagle hung loosely from his right.
"If someone else, like a maid, walked in right now, they might mistake this for a suicide scene..."
Jasmine muttered under her breath.
Her eyes narrowed in worry as she stared at his neck. There were clear scratch marks there, raw and red, with dried blood staining his skin and seeping into the pillowcase.
"Did you recharge your gun?"
"Mhm."
"And you regenerated your mana with the flask?"
"Mhm..."
"...Was that really smart, considering you have mana core syndrome?"
"I'm not feeling feverish, so it's okay," Azriel mumbled into the sheets.
But Jasmine's expression stayed dark.
"How many times did you drink after recharging your mana?"
"...Just a few more sips. I'm not drunk... so you don't need to worry about me causing trouble..."
