he’s tired. tired and his bones ache – he just doesn’t care. caspar’s eyes are out of focus when he looks up at elwood and his jaw clenches. “’m fine.” is what comes out in a rasp and he rakes his trembling fingers through long curls. his knuckles are cut up as is his lower lip and he just doesn’t care. it’s all the same and it will be with the older boy, too. only more so that he’s going to stop coming around and maybe he knows that already. even if the other says otherwise. “’m fine.” he repeats and pushes the rag away. “it’ll scab. people like that – know ‘m used. spices things up.” he gives a hollow chuckle and his grin is weak, full of teeth.
all he can do is stare. there’s BLOOD on his own hands from where shaking fingers had reached up to brush caspar’s lips, the crimson liquid staining his skin. that’ll need to be scrubbed, he thinks, and perhaps there’s a metaphor in there someone about how caspar’s PAIN has just become his own PROBLEM. he had initially been silent in his movements, unwilling to speak, and the boy’s words only fuel what little fire he has left – if he doesn’t want help, elwood certainly isn’t going to beg him. ❛ … fine, do what you want. ❜ he throws the cloth back at him, turning away. ❛ – – at least clean it up. the last thing you need is an infection. ❜