at some point, june was going to have to admit defeat, or at least that she wasn’t in a state to be arguing with anything connor was doing to try and get things under control, and let him take control. evidently, the time was now. she leaned against him, half humming out laughter even as her sad little socks were abandoned outside the upstairs bathroom; banished for causing a sticky-gritty feeling in her toes. add that to the list of things she was going to hate her drunk self for in the morning. “do you think that would help?” she asked, looking down at her hand to contemplate if stitches (by connor, jesus christ) were necessary. by some miracle of the gods, she shook her head. “no, no, look. the blood isn’t getting… bigger.”
and with that scientific, medical conclusion, she opened her hand to release a little bit of the pressure. sure enough, the patch of blood on her palm - wet, dried, and crusty from where it had continued to bleed for a while - wasn’t getting any worse anymore. it was pretty gruesome and she thought to herself that it was no wonder connor thought she was going to need stitches, and maybe it was just how royally fucked up she’d gotten, but it really didn’t hurt all that bad. the quiet of the bathroom was a stark contrast from the chaos of the party this late in the night downstairs. one of her favorite tears for fears songs was playing over the speakers down there, loudly enough that she could hear it near perfectly from where she’d stationed herself on the corner of the bathroom counter. “thanks for making sure i didn’t die,” she added after a hazy pause, smiling like connor was the other thing in the world that mattered. she’d been thinking of more things to say, surely, but all but that one escaped her. “that’s one of my resolutions this year, to not die. i feel very supported right now.”
“cool. ‘cause i don’t really have a license for that,” he chuckled, guiding her to sit on the toilet. the porcelain throne, if you will. (only the best for his president.) the lighting in the bathroom was not the greatest, considering one of the lightbulbs was out and everyone who lived there refused to change it due to a disease called extreme lazy bastard syndrome. however, after a few seconds of rummaging through the cabinet, he was able to find some spongebob band-aids that had probably been purchased in 2015. maybe 2014. it was hard to remember, or even focus on anything as he listened to the sounds from downstairs. and this is my four leaf clover, i’m on the line one open mind, this is my four leaf clover...
“i mean, that was mine too so i got your back!” he grinned, setting the box on the sink before grabbing a washcloth and running it under the water. “or, your hand, i guess. ba dum tssh.” he moved to kneel down in front of her, carefully spreading out her palm and beginning to dab it with the cloth. “okay-- the good news is that i don’t think it’s stitch-worthy,” he murmured as the blood began to come off. “bad news is that i'm not a doctor and i’m... can’t really see. heh.” his line of vision was indeed more of a circle at this point in the evening, but as far as he knew, spongebob band-aids had the ability to solve most problems, so she’d probably be okay. “might need a couple of these, though,” he added as he reached for the box. “maybe even three. scandalous!”