unironically zayne's matter-of-fact brand of humor and caring would be so helpful to a schizo!mc. also tho i feel like he'd just. go along with anything they needed?
"Can't undress," MC would say, hands fidgeting with the hem of their shirt, with that voice that Zayne's come to recognize as carrying an undertone. It tells him, There's something bothering me. It's not real, but my mind won't accept that.
"Why?" Zayne asks. There's no judgement in his voice, only a genuine curiosity. MC takes a shaking breath, then points, face feeling hot, to the candle they'd brought home a couple days ago.
"Camera," they mutter, feeling ridiculous. Zayne hums.
"And how are you feeling right now?" he asks, a careful prod at how deep this delusion goes. MC grits their teeth, pointedly not looking at the candle.
"I know there's no camera," they manage, "but... Ugh. I just- I can't stop thinking there is." They peer up at Zayne, fingers wrinkling their shirt, feeling profoundly odd. "Y'know?" Zayne tips his head to the side a bit, a wordless acknowledgement.
"I don't," Zayne says truthfully, "but that doesn't mean much." MC appreciates that. They appreciate the lack of that empty I know how you feel. Zayne walks leisurely over to the dresser, where the camera sits. He picks it up. Examines it.
"Which side is the camera on?"
"Where the label is." Zayne nods — a single, decisive movement.
"I will take it out onto the porch."
"No!" MC spits hurriedly. When Zayne stops, they calm slightly, forcing themselves to take a breath as their fingers curl and uncurl midair. Finally, they mutter, "They're- They'll see where we live." Zayne takes in their word for a moment. Then, he simply covers the label with his hand.
"I will set it facing the wall," he says easily, "so camera cannot broadcast the view from our street." MC's shoulders slump out of their previous tension as they nod.
"Okay."
It's... oddly relieving. Zayne goes downstairs, hand over the label of the candle the entire time. MC hears the front door open, the candle being set down and rotated slightly (Zayne is actually facing it to the wall, oh...). Then, the door shuts and Zayne comes back upstairs.
"I'm sorry," MC immediately spills, though Zayne's barely had time to walk back into the bedroom. "I know there's no camera, and we're not like, being stalked through our purchases, but I just-"
Firm hands on their shoulders. Hazel, kind and steady and caring.
"It's okay," Zayne says, soft. Then, truthfully, "I don't mind." MC feels, for a moment, like they could cry. Zayne asks, gentle, not rushing, "Do you feel safe to undress now?" When they nod, his deft fingers drift down to the buttons of their shirt, unclasping each one with easy, smooth movements. It's not sexual; it's nothing but a soft worship, a wordless reassurance.
A few moments, and MC's shirt is slipping from their shoulders. Zayne lets his fingers trail over their arms as he guides the sleeves down.
"Come," Zayne says with that faint, sappy-eyed smile that's reserved for MC's eyes only. "I'll wash your hair." MC smiles back, a louder, brighter thing than Zayne's, a sun to his gentle moon.
"Okay," they say with a pleased little sway back and forth.
As cheesy as it is, MC begins to discover just how untouchable they feel within Zayne's orbit.
