an arm braces him, ⠀ hand firm on shoulder. ⠀ brows knit as he notes the stagger, ⠀ already feeling out of his depth. ⠀ "hit your head?"⠀ wonders how likely it is he'll find the coffee table ajar, ⠀ if lange rolled off the cushions. ⠀ but he's already settling him,
the bundle of paper towels is pressed into his face, and for a while he just stays like that. simon’s breathing is an anchor he tethers to, not his own. he’s not been able to take a full breath since the stitches opened.
"don't need to restitch if you'd rather have a lie down fast."⠀ his eyes fly to the open kit. ⠀ enough gauze pads,⠀ enough tape.⠀ and the vodka. ⠀ that'll do. ⠀ "stitches need to come out though. ⠀ no infections, ⠀ you hear?" ⠀ his chin ducks, ⠀ eyeing lange.
prior, ⠀ and simon might have offered a kind word or two. ⠀ something sentimental for the younger.⠀ feel–good, ⠀ if not profound. ⠀ "we used all the alc wipes earlier. ⠀ reckon we could use the vodka in the cupboard."
"right." ⠀ schooled neutrality. ⠀ seen this plenty before;⠀ lived it.⠀ the night–terrors tend to creep up on you, ⠀lick at your heels when you finally think you've outrun them. ⠀ he's learned long ago not to pry, ⠀ to mind his own,⠀ so he makes a show of setting down the
it takes far too long for lukas to register ghost’s presence, let alone his words. the dull ringing in his ears had returned with the nosebleed; a gruff, slurred curse is all he can manage in response.
"sofa's rough." ⠀ which is to s͟ay:⠀ he looks like shit,⠀ and after he's patched up (again), ⠀ lange should take the bed. ⠀ he'll survive the rest of the night on that thing. ⠀ it's what little he can offer, ⠀ now. ⠀ a few years into their.. ⠀ friendship
"first aid kit", ⠀ no clean–up after their earlier session. ⠀ tweezers are plucked from pack, ⠀ scanning the site oozing fresh carmine. ⠀ "they'll have to come out."
"'s three in the morning,"⠀ comes drawl, ⠀ edged with lingering sleep as hip leans against doorway, ⠀ his arms crossed over chest. ⠀ he only means half the condemnation, ⠀ lips ticking low at the sight; ⠀ "know my stitching's shite, ⠀ don't have to go opening them over
my floors." ⠀ he moves in, ⠀ one tired step after another. ⠀ it's not hi͟s flat, ⠀ but he's spent more time in licking at his wounds in this safehouse than he cares to admit. ⠀ (may as well sign the lease.) ⠀ the kitchen island is caked in the clutter of a gutted
no. ⠀ thought not. ⠀ way i hear it, ⠀ i don't even have to do the work myself. ⠀ come running for a favor? ⠀ or you taking your chances with h͟er gladiators?