[ David holds onto him, and Quentin takes the support happily. The ache remains, but the fists in David's shirt at either of his shoulders are only holding, not shoving or punching or leaking strength by the second. It takes him a long few seconds of breathing through pursed lips to open his eyes again, another few seconds of blinking the teary bleariness away before he can gasp: ]
Fuck. Okay. Okay. Um--gauze?
[ Right hand unclenches, fumbling for the flap on his bag. It's wild how easy the blood rushes over his mouth. ]
no subject
Fuck. Okay. Okay. Um--gauze?
[ Right hand unclenches, fumbling for the flap on his bag. It's wild how easy the blood rushes over his mouth. ]