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previously prettyboythief.
She rushed forward as he fell backwards into the cushion, gingerly placing one hand over his across his abdomen. The worried knit of her brows came accompanied by a slight smile that meant to act at least somewhat reassuring.
Her arm reached out to one side to ruffle through a drawer of supplies, careful enough not to break eye contact (though that arguable made the task of locating the bandages and thread more difficult than it needed to be).
❝ Ye need more than a minute. You don’ need to be “on” all th’ time, y’know. It’s alrigh’ t’ need help sometimes. Now c’mon. Gotta get rid a th’ vest, Pretty Bae. ❞
Despite his stubborn need for independence, the boy shuffled slightly in his seat to take off the vest. He would wince every time he shifted wrong as it would send an electric bolt throughout his entire body ; in a way, the wound made him feel like he would catch fire any minute. The top was tossed onto the floor and then his eyes were brought back to hers - he had noticed how she didn’t break the gaze, not once, and in a way, that brought comfort to him ; something that was much needed right then.
