DEL
Send me “DEL” and my muse will forget everything about yours.
His head… his head is throbbing.
What… what… happened…
He can’t focus. He’s in pain, that much is… obvious. But… Fingers twitch against something cool, and soft. Individual pieces beneath his fingers… dirt… no, grass… blades of grass. Eyebrows draw together. Why is he on the ground? Oh God his head–
And his body hurts… seriously, what happened, he can’t remember. Bruises? Scrapes… the fizzy taste of potion on his tongue… the smell of blood. His fingers curl into the grass and then press into the ground, very slightly pushing himself up. He can move. That’s good. The potion’ll take care of whatever injuries. That’s good. He just wished he knew… focus, Noct.
He thought… maybe… he’d been on a… hunt? Maybe there were enemies? Maybe he’d hit his head? Or something? God, he doesn’t know.
Managing to get a hand pressed to the ground, he pushes himself up a little more– and instantly there’s a hand at his arm, helping him up, an accented voice speaking to him– he flinches more out of surprise than anything– looks up at green eyes and half framed glasses, at the man speaking to him, worrying about him–
“Who…”
Noct blinks, frowning– God that makes his head hurt even worse–
“… are you…?”
He collapses onto his backside, bracing one hand against the ground, the other instinctively raised as though to summon up a sword– it’s fair enough, he thinks, although he doesn’t really know– fuck, his head hurts–
