e-l-c-kingor:
Edwin groans, obviously distressed by the prospect of being abandoned as he’d no doubt describe it. He attempts to make some statement to appease Zsasz, only for it to come out a garbled mush of words, Edwin rolling his head to the side to follow the other man as he leaves.
However timely he may be, Edwin’s pout is soon lost as his exhaustion creeps in again, eyes beginning to droop. He tries to fight it, he really does, but his bed is so soft, and there’s still some residual warmth of Zsasz next to him…
He makes an undignified snort upon Zsasz reentering the room, trying to simultaneously sit himself up and figure out what he asked. “Always,” he answers automatically once he does, holding his trembling hands out expectantly. As if he could anything steady right now.
Victor surprises himself. He doesn’t laugh. Philosophize how he might about his awakened, human state, feelings like empathy and, god forbid, care have a way of surprising him, unnerving him even.
He shakes his head at Edwin’s outstretched hands, returning to his seat on the bed. “Not with that tremor, unless you feel like wearing this.” He can’t quite look at him as he twists the spoon handle in his fingers. “Sit back against the headboard, and I’ll...” He gestures, vague. The confidence gone out of his movement, Victor looked almost tentative, as if the upper hand he was so used to relishing had slipped out of his fingers.
“So you won’t choke. Or spill, or...”
[ @who-is-muses ]
