he knows he should be more upset about the things that have transpired recently, but he doesn’t feel much of anything. so when elwood gets upset and the cloth is thrown at him, all he can do is snort. “s’the last thing ‘m worried ‘bout at this point. s’the last thing you should be worried ‘bout, too. if i die from an infection, s’one less thing for you to deal with.” his speech is slightly slurred and he realises he’s probably taken a few too many pain pills. hey – it numbed him even more. he hums softly and plays with the cloth in his lap. deep down he notices something is wrong with the other male and he narrows his gaze because isn’t he supposed to ask at this point? would it really matter considering how elwood had snapped at him the last time? so he keeps his mouth shut and seems to forget how there’s a cut in his lip and accidentally bites down. “owfuckmesideways.” he growls and then presses his fingertips to the wound. he’s still bleeding and he actually giggles. yes, he’s losing it.
he doesn’t bother to correct him, because he gathers there’s no point. s’one less thing for you to deal with. if he’d said it to him a few days ago, he’d have been so angry – – HURT in a way he most likely would have conveyed in unhealthy methods. but now, all he does is watch him, stare vacant. he isn’t upset, he’s far from it, he feels indifferent ; made peace with the fact that his emotions have long since gone haywire. bruises rest beneath his eyes, hair brittle and dry, EXHAUSTED in more ways than one ( and his stomach has felt it, too. ) he wonders if caspar remembers the press of bones beneath his fingers, how when elwood withered and moaned beneath him if he could see the sickening dip of his stomach, the rise of his ribs. but to elwood, that dip is a rise, and his ribs aren’t even visible. such a beautiful boy, caspar had whispered. elwood is proud of himself for not believing him. ❛ you’re getting blood on the marble. clean yourself up. ❜