Framing || bolinesque
Huh? Weird, Bolin found himself thinking that he coulda sworn that the white-haired guy was totally about to wreck into them and—
And the white-haired guy was, in actuality, the one being crushed. Currently. By him, Bolin. …AND Pabu. Man, what a time to be alive. “PA-BUUUU. Get off the poor guy, you’re killing him, buddy!”
Pabu scampered off of the guy before Bolin had hauled himself to his feet, dusting himself off as though nothing of relative importance had just occurred. Until he accidentally backed into the guy and nudged him rather roughly with his heel. “AUGH. Uh. MAN, I’M SORRY.”
Bending a knee and kneeling besides the fallen boy, Bolin frowned. Should he have just started running again? While he was down and out?… Nah. He’d probably done enough.
“Should I call an ambulance? Anonymously, mind…”
Jack finally felt he could breathe again when the extra baggage was off him. His back was definitely hurting like heck. It was like someone dropped a piano on him. The only surprise here was that he lived.
The cuts he could handle and even the bruises, but the throbbing on his ankle was definitely sending him red flags. One, because he had a dance competition in a few days and second that would mean the second hatest (not even a word but it is in Jack’s world.) thing in the world to him --- bed rest.
Days being forced to stay in bed and DO NOTHING? He’d die of boredom.
“No ambulance!” Jack was shouting. He hadn’t looked up yet and instead was dusting off the dirt from the collision. “Thanks any----” This time he did look up to find ... who else? But the idiot that framed him earlier and his rat. “You!!” He hoped Bolin had a very good reason why he shouldn't do him any bodily harm.









