@not-bcring asked:
In the chaos following the elevator doors finally opening, everyone rushing in and out while seconds passed by with the intensity of a knife slowly pressing against ones neck... there hadn't been opportunity to ask what he wanted. Question brewing in his chest, impatience pricked at the back of his neck as Whit willed events to go quicker. Battling between guilt at where his focus kept shifting and the worry for Levi that managed to break through the noise. Tainted as it may have been. Every frantic step was not fast enough for his liking, every brief glance Charles's way offering no respite to the worry... As soon as Whit is gifted the chance to grab onto Charles's arm— hand trailing down in a careful touch, to hold the others and give it a small squeeze —he wordlessly guides Charles to a less cramped area, seeking some semblance of privacy when in a space full of worried bystanders. Satisfied for the moment, he stands in front of Charles and releases a soft breath he hadn't realized he was keeping. Both hands now holding Charles's, he looks up at the taller male, worry shining in his gaze. Hardly a surprise considering the situation; someone is balancing on the edge of death, after all. With only a unqualified medical professional to help him. Yet Whit's words betray what actually weighs on his mind, ❝ How are you doing? ❞ ❛ Are you okay ❜ is hardly a question worth asking, since the answer is painfully obvious. There's no way Charles is okay... So Whit needs to see how not-okay he is, and do what he can about it. ❝ I know everything was... a lot, in there. ❞ - (( *boops a li'l thing* because Whit be worried rip ))
He desperately wished he had heeded Whit's warning sooner.
The sight of Levi diving into the line of fire, followed immediately by the sight of so much blood—so much more than he'd seen in the computer lab—had left Charles in a dissociated state for the entire elevator ride. It was a miracle he hadn't passed out by that point, likely due to the warmth that trails up his arm and through his body at the feeling of someone else's hand on his arm.
He doesn't need to tear his gaze from the wall ahead of him to know exactly who it is, relief blossoming through his chest. Just keep looking ahead, don't look at the blood—so much blood, so much blood—that painted Levi's body like the world's most unfortunate canvas beside him. Whit was there, he was okay. He just needed to—
He barely processes the elevator opening and the other's running out, attention sorely focused on that hand as he slips into his own and guides him in the opposite direction. He can feel his senses slowly returning, and he finally dares to focus his attention on Whit as he cups both hands around his own.
❝How are you doing?❞ He asks, like the completely selfless angel he is. After everything else that had happened, Whit's first concern was for him.
It takes a moment for Charles to find enough of his voice to answer, mostly due to him sinking to his knees with his hands around Whit's for dear life. "I've been better..."
It's more sarcastic than he means, but there's a bitter truth to it as well. But at least he has those hands—those warm, comforting hands to support him.
