Dissociate My Associate

Your alarm clock rings at 7am sharp.

That statement is, of course, a little fallacious. Seven in the morning implies, well, a morning. A specific position of the Sun, a set time between sunrise and sunset, and a handful of other shenanigans signifying that time is in fact running. All things you do not have as Chaldea hovers right outside of time and the absolute destruction of humanity. Strictly speaking, it is not 7am, and every hour is 7am, because time is fake and you and the Chaldea crew are really just puppeteering its corpse so as to not go completely insane.

That works in your favor, mind you. You’ve never been a morning person. But now you don’t so much have to go to sleep early as go to sleep eight hours before the assigned time which is all in all much more appropriate for your sleep schedule.

(Once upon a time you needed a long time to fall asleep. Now you fall like a rock. Sometimes it feels like you’ll never wake up at all. And yet here you are, every morning.)

You turn off your alarm and stretch. You feel amazing today; no awkward kinks, no odd ache, nothing but your joints popping in silence.

You promptly jump out of bed to head towards the cafeteria, leaving your blanket neatly folded in your wake. You greet the people you meet on your way. The Chaldea staff does not greet you back, unfortunately, hurrying towards… their work station, you assume. Maybe they’ve got urgent things to take care of. You’re sure the Doctor will brief you later.

The servants greet back, though. Arash waves his hand at you. Caesar verbally calls for you. Gawain nods towards your direction. And-

“Good morning to you too, Count.” His grip is tight around your bicep. It doesn’t hurt yet, but he is definitely going on too strong here. “You okay there?”

The Count is staring at you. You’re not sure how to read his expression. Disappointment? Worry? “My accomplice,” he says, “you are long overdue for your medical check-up.”

… While true, what’s the rush? Surely this can wait until you’ve had breakfast. (And your daily training. And lunch. And your briefing. And dinner. You have successfully used that argument to dodge check-ups for weeks now.) You open your mouth to say just that, but the Count walks away and does not release his grip.

“Hey- rude.” You do not fight back though. Not that you could win in a contest of raw strength with a servant either way, but if he’s that eager then it must be urgent. You’ve learned to roll with the flow with All That Shit.

Surprisingly though, he does not drag you to the Doctor’s office. In fact, he drags you all the way back to your room, and pretty much shoves you through the door.

“Count, come on.” He releases you, and you immediately cross your arms in discontentment. “I’ve got stuff to do. You can’t just-”

He points to your bed. Your gaze follows the movement.

Oh.

Your blankets lie on top of it, undisturbed. Most likely because your body is still resting beneath them, unmoving.

“Get back in here, my accomplice, or God as a witness I will make you.”