acronychals:
   he canât help but towards the otherâs touch, feeling NERVOUS and SHAKY, the feeling of floating from the blood loss and definite concussion that he has making him drop his guard. heâs too TIRED to discern whether or not this person has MALICIOUS INTENT, and by the way hands GINGERLY and CAREFULLY nurse his wounds, he doesnât think theyâre going to hurt him. if he was more lucid, more sober, he would be trying to RUN AWAY. but instead, heâs practically CUDDLING UP to the other. stupid.
   â ââ  i d ⌠whatâs goinâ on ?? â he mumbles, and he tries to WAKE UP, blinking, but he feels like heâs been wrapped in warm VELVET. his voice goes from scratchy to slightly SLURRED, and he lifts a hand to rub at his eyes. heâs vaguely aware of how CHILDISH he looks, but heâs too tired to care. he kind of just wants to SLEEP.
   âDonât you remember?â Without quite registering it, he runs a caring hand through a lock of Werewolfâs hair, and itâs just as soft and fluffy as he remembered. Just as tangled, too, perhaps moreso than his own, but that was to be expected. It was also to be ignored. There was no way he would remember this. Dark Choco could be as affectionate as he wished.
   âYouâre hurt. Iâm going to fix your injuries, then leave, okay?â Shaking fingers pull the fabric away, grimacing at the volume of blood collected on it, almost pooling. Yet, the flow seemed somewhat staunched, and he found a little comfort in that.
