he’s lying in nina’s arms, the silence of the barrel closing in around him as he waits. waiting… waiting… ( dying )… matthias coughs, catches jesper’s eye and, with a strained grin, croaks, “how do i look?” // @djelvar 😌
no smile has ever slid from jesper’s face as quickly as this one: he had opened his mouth to say something in relief at the sight of everyone back together, but one look at matthias cracked that relief into a million pieces. something clenches over his lungs, iron - strong and unrelenting, holding his breath until he hears matthias choke something out. how do i look?
jesper is starting to regret the times he told matthias it wouldn’t kill him to make a joke now and again. fate had a terrible, terrible sense of humour. he tries to smile. for his friend’s sake, he tries very hard. tries, and fails, and his whole expression crumbles with it. even if he tried to fake a laugh, it would come out sounding strangled, and would fade to something fearful.
“ like shit, ” he can sense . . . something — metal, and unwelcome. his thoughts are pinging through his head too fast for him to focus; was it a bullet, a knife, something matthias was carrying on his person? he couldn’t tell. he reaches a hand out to see, but it trembles so badly he cannot bring himself to use his powers for fear it would make it worse — for fear matthias would pull back in revulsion. “ hey, eyes open — you’ll be fine, we’ll get you back to your usual grumpy self, just — stay awake! stay awake, helvar, you’re alright — ”
if nina couldn’t help him, who was jesper fooling, pretending that he could?
“ stay with us, helvar — y’hear me? you stay where you are. ”
