he looks away again; fixating his gaze upon the wall. she ALWAYS catches him off guard, clovis is startled by how much she worries. he isn’t used to it at all. GUILT twists within his gut, icy and consuming ——- it suffocates him, & it becomes worse whenever he looks back at her. chaos bleeds from his bones, engulfing his form: it results in a MESS of a boy, all sharp edges and barbed wire. both monstrous & vulnerable, a rot within his veins. the skin is split viciously across the first and second knuckles in particular, there’s still residue of blood that dampens the flesh. angry red abrasions, with a STING that slices in distorted bursts across the bone. they’ll undoubtedly sport such furious discolorations tomorrow. an AGONY welcomed.
if the situation were different, he’d of smiled in response to her sarcasm. always endeared by causticity her humor can possess, or the playful ribbing that he’ll roll his eyes at ( feigned of course ). the sarcasm between the two is enigmatic to most. her following words surprise him, his lips part as a consequence of his SHOCK. a quick glance at the torn flesh, before he looks back at her. stiles already has jumped off the bed and turned towards the bathroom. he still struggles to comprehend such gestures. for a moment, he even stares after her, words STOLEN by her immediate DEMAND for his well-being. ❛ if i tell you that, i know you’re going to end up trying to take an eye out & there’s a sizable chance you’d succeed in doing so. i know you stiles. ❜ he follows her, shoving the sleeves of his jacket up. the gesture causes him to inhale sharply as the marred flesh FLEXES, sending a jab of pain across the skin.
brows rise expectantly as she waits for him to get up, and, even while she had mentally made the decision to handle him with care, she’s always lacked terribly in the patience department, especially now with the impending conversation ( one of which she’s positive neither of them want to have ). she’s not as concerned about their connection, or the discomfort that ensues when something cataclysmic happens to one of them — she WORRIES more about him and his well-being, even more so than her own. but that’s the routine for stiles regarding anyone who truly MEANS something to her — she holds them with a steel grip and looks after them in any way she can. after all, she has already lost someone who’s left a gaping wound in their place; she intends to take care of who she still has despite it not being her JOB.
only when clovis finally follows suit does she grab a washcloth and start to run warm water, though she winces when the jab of pain reaches her knuckles, eyes fluttering closed until it passes. she doesn’t comment on it. ❛ nooo, no, no, no, GOD no, who do you take me for, huh? if it makes you feel any better about disclosing that name, i was gonna send them something nice, y’know? maybe flowers — do black roses sound less threatening? ❜ aside from the fact that black roses PORTEND death; that definitely sounds less threatening. he DOES know her well, she’ll admit, much too well for her to muster an act of nescience. she’s far too used, too spoiled and calloused towards the world to be deemed mary’s little lamb. if or WHEN the opportunity arises, she will take an eye or some variation of it to redress the situation. nonetheless, the brunette wets the cloth before taking a marred hand in her own, tenderly pressing it against his skin. ❛ look, i could always make an educated guess and borderline stalk him until i know for sure i’ve got the right person, either way, someone’s losing an eye, just depends on whether you give me a name or i do my own digging. ❜ — she always finds a way. dark hues meet with his before returning to his hand, a quiet huff escaping her lips. ❛ are you at least going to tell me what happened? ❜
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