did you miss me?

"You don't have to.

That's what I'm here for.

18. Your muse discovers evidence that my muse has been abused by a family member

For a moment, he’s frozen, breath catching in his throat, choking him. He is silent. Unable to respond.

"This—" he manages at last, seeming to bristle, his anger mounting as he regains himself. "This wasn’t your fucking business!" His lips twist in a snarl and he flies forward, looks like he’s about to strike Sebastian, hard, before stopping, pulling himself back.

"I—"

Even now, he must be composed. He mustn’t show anything. Can’t have that. Can’t have that.

"Get out." 

Then the cold words, and he blinked, not quite processing them. He opened his mouth to question it before realizing what his expression meant, and he just looked down. 

"Of…course, Jim. I’m sorry."

It was too much. He had worked so hard, so fucking hard for this to fall behind him, to erase it, to ignore it, and even if it had never fully worked for himself, at least no one else had ever known.

At least no one else had known.

Now he didn't even have the secret. Now he was exposed, and he was furious and hurt and terrified. 

Slime mold was grown on an agar gel plate shaped like America and food sources were placed where America’s large cities are. 

The result? A possible look at how to best build public transportation. 

Using slime molds as a calculator.

14. My muse is trying to hide an injury. They aren’t coping well.

Jim had been sitting rather quietly at his desk for about twenty minutes with Sebastian in the room before the blood started seeping through his shirt. He frowned at first, almost as if he were perplexed — the pain was intense, but it was difficult for physical agony to affect him. It was easier to ignore it.

Of course, now he was bleeding again, and no doubt the slapdash bandaging job he’d done for the stab wound in his side was not enough, and he was a bit dizzy now, and this was all very irritating and problematic. 

Seeing no better option, in his slightly altered state of mind, his solution was to shift in his seat until the blood was out of Sebastian’s direct line of sight.

When he finally looked up at his boss, he quirked an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?” He looked sort of paler than usual and uncomfortable, seeming to squirm a bit. He frowned and went around the desk without permission, intent on figuring out what was wrong, unintentionally choosing the side that Jim had tried to hide from him.

Should have worn a vest this morning, James. Your own fault.

"I'm fine," he responded, repeating it with a growl and slapping Sebastian's hand away as he tried to lift his shirt. "Don't fucking undress me, I'm not five. I said I'm fine, so I'm fine."