promotion (locked) school life (locked) choco and me (locked) arm care (locked) a girl friend (locked) pai and soccer (locked) the photoshoot (locked) friendsgiving (locked) the third fight (locked)
Despite what everyone says you do have self-control, and you wait the better part of visiting hours before you go bother him, even though you know he'll be alone (and he is). He's also way more bandaged than you are and hooked to a million beeping machines. But he's awake this time and not in traction and he smiles at you, and you let out a breath you'd deny you were holding in court.
"Tired of this place yet?" you say, returning his crooked grin. Given what happened during the mission, you're supposed to be under observation for another day or two. Given what happened during the mission, you snuck out here immediately. "Your crows're probably lonely."
"Eh. They’re just wondering where the bread is." But he still sits up--reels but doesn't pass out--starts detaching the various needles and tubes and sensors and you turn away. Unplugging the machines before they start squawking is just as important, then you plunk him into the wheelchair you thoughtfully brought because you not only have (some) self-control, you are a helper. Also, you're not sure you could've supported his weight right now, but it's better to think about using the chair to ride through the medic bay in style.
A few paces to pick up momentum then you jump on the back of the chair like a luge--like a shopping cart--barrelling down the long hallways and darting around the odd staff or patient at increasingly inadvisable speeds. Then, duck for four beats to get clear of the nurses' station--almost capsize at the hard right to the freight elevator--laugh breathlessly as you make it to the roof no worse for wear.
It's chilly up there, but more importantly it isn't stark white walls and antiseptic scent and empty visitors' chairs, and behind the cloud cover the sun is bright. You oust him to the rooftop so you can attempt to do wheelchair tricks, poorly. Your arm is killing you but the buzzing in your teeth is blessedly silent.
He looks to you, curious. "Did you bring the bread?"
Your expression likely goes comically blank; the wheelchair overbalances and smacks to the rooftop and you let out a distressed little noise with the impact. With everything else, bird food has slipped your mind completely. The quick patdown you try fails to add pockets to your hospital gown and it's not crumbs that make your arm so itchy under the bandages.
"Those things could sweep off a small child, they can last one day without bread crusts," you say instead, bravado falling a little flat. Then you sit up, next to him, and it's silent for a while, just the wind and the crows and the muffled sounds of the city in the distance.
"Sorry." You don't exactly mean about the bread.
He is quiet, too. Then: "...You wouldn't break a pinky swear. So I knew you had it covered."
Something catches in your throat. It dislodges as the startled bark of a laugh. Had it covered, huh.
...Well.
"Yeah," you begin, soft. "I always do."
Later you'll find he's a lot better at wheelchair tricks than you are. Later still, security will drag you back downstairs, lecturing (again) that the rooftop's off limits, please stop going up there. For now you just sit, quiet, and work on having it covered.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
probably three days later [[unlocked day 9]]
"Tired of this place yet?" you say, returning his crooked grin. Given what happened during the mission, you're supposed to be under observation for another day or two. Given what happened during the mission, you snuck out here immediately. "Your crows're probably lonely."
"Eh. They’re just wondering where the bread is." But he still sits up--reels but doesn't pass out--starts detaching the various needles and tubes and sensors and you turn away. Unplugging the machines before they start squawking is just as important, then you plunk him into the wheelchair you thoughtfully brought because you not only have (some) self-control, you are a helper. Also, you're not sure you could've supported his weight right now, but it's better to think about using the chair to ride through the medic bay in style.
A few paces to pick up momentum then you jump on the back of the chair like a luge--like a shopping cart--barrelling down the long hallways and darting around the odd staff or patient at increasingly inadvisable speeds. Then, duck for four beats to get clear of the nurses' station--almost capsize at the hard right to the freight elevator--laugh breathlessly as you make it to the roof no worse for wear.
It's chilly up there, but more importantly it isn't stark white walls and antiseptic scent and empty visitors' chairs, and behind the cloud cover the sun is bright. You oust him to the rooftop so you can attempt to do wheelchair tricks, poorly. Your arm is killing you but the buzzing in your teeth is blessedly silent.
He looks to you, curious. "Did you bring the bread?"
Your expression likely goes comically blank; the wheelchair overbalances and smacks to the rooftop and you let out a distressed little noise with the impact. With everything else, bird food has slipped your mind completely. The quick patdown you try fails to add pockets to your hospital gown and it's not crumbs that make your arm so itchy under the bandages.
"Those things could sweep off a small child, they can last one day without bread crusts," you say instead, bravado falling a little flat. Then you sit up, next to him, and it's silent for a while, just the wind and the crows and the muffled sounds of the city in the distance.
"Sorry." You don't exactly mean about the bread.
He is quiet, too. Then: "...You wouldn't break a pinky swear. So I knew you had it covered."
Something catches in your throat. It dislodges as the startled bark of a laugh. Had it covered, huh.
...Well.
"Yeah," you begin, soft. "I always do."
Later you'll find he's a lot better at wheelchair tricks than you are. Later still, security will drag you back downstairs, lecturing (again) that the rooftop's off limits, please stop going up there. For now you just sit, quiet, and work on having it covered.