Five lets his eyes trail to the floor rather than watch Lan Wangji struggle to regain control over his own senses, and he does a decent job of not thinking about how vividly he was picturing murdering the man not horribly long ago. Or to let himself feel any guilt for noting that he still has a knife up his sleeve that could end his suffering swiftly if he honestly asked for it. There are more dignified ways to go if he didn't think there was any hope for recovery.

Too soon to tell. But he does know it'll get worse before it gets better, and Five finds he's strangely attuned to his suffering. There were enough close calls in the apocalypse before he had a better understanding of what was safe to eat for him to imagine what he's going through. Added with the frustration of being used as a prop in some campaign he pretended to support. If it were him, he'd be furious.

They should never have gotten involved in politics.

Just before he starts pacing again, Wangji surprisingly comes to his senses. The moment he mentions his son he seems to find his will to live, and Five can feel a tug at the edge of his mouth at his conclusion. Hunt time. What a concept.

"Good plan," Five mutters, still hovering inexplicably by. He could say it's because he's waiting to gather more information, but a faint internal pull informs him of what he's successfully ignored going on ten minutes now. He twists and yanks at his hair as he looks down at Wangji. "Shit. That's really bad, isn't it?"

To the side he thinks he hears the healers speaking to themselves again, and Five swallows the anguish he felt bubbling up again to try to listen. He breathes in and out a few times, and nods to himself. It sounds like they're still trying to come up with ideas.

"...There's probably some magic cure they're working on. Maybe they're waiting to get paid."