tibiiuro answered:
————- “I… can’t breathe…”
Hands rose to claw at his chest, writhing in hopes of relief. His body doubled over on the pavement; abdomen heaving as it tried to absorb any oxygen they could. Forceful gasps unable to return air to collapsed lungs.
He had been struck in the chest hard by a Trump Card, choosing at the last second to push Gilbert out of the attack to safety and take the blow himself— being flung yards due to the force of the impact much like a rag doll. Upon landing the youth had blacked out for just a second, mind restarting as he came out of the hard stun only to find breathing surprisingly challenging.
“I can’t—…!”
For a moment it all crumbled. There was the attack (he was sure he wouldn't be able to dodge it this time) and then there was Oz (his light, his sun, his everything); and then both were gone and Gilbert was left alone, staring at the Trump Card that seemed to be too worn out to attack again.
It wasn't until he could hear the thin voice that his mind was able to put thie shards together, his head slowly turning to where the slim figure was lying on the ground, desperately trying to breathe.
His feet moved on their own, he grazed his knees when he crumbled on the ground next to his Master; he didn't even notice.
Hands trembled when he ripped his already bloodstained shirt open, his thoughts begging for Oz to be alright, to be okay, to survive this.
He cursed under his breath when he finally saw the wound. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit oh shit ohshitohshit -- Oz!"
