a single brow raises at his unanswered question, but he lets it slide in favor of more comfortable ( namely, elwood’s ) clothing. he nods, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and sitting at the corner of the bed. “ please ? that’d be nice. “
he nods, before momentarily analysing mason’s figure - he’s so much thinner than me, he thinks. he won’t have a problem finding something for him, and with a slight frown elwood turns to his wardrobe, biting his lip. eventually, he tugs out one of his t shirts and a pair of sweatpants, figuring that’s what he used to wear. turning around, elwood passes them to mason before holding his own in his hand, thumbing behind him towards the bathroom. ❛ m’gonna – give you some privacy. ❜
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. ❜
he remembers everything. remembers someone’s tone when they spoke of his weaknesses, when they pushed him down. he remembers the time of day, the setting… but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t move past it in his own way. rehab has somewhat helped with that. therefore, when he receives the call that elwood is definitely in a bad place with his own journey through rehabilitation, he finds no trouble in making a visit to the facility to help. he has to wonder why he’s still in his contacts, or why he’s an emergency contact, but he chucks it up to the fact elwood probably wouldn’t want lucas to see him like this.
when he arrives, they get some kind of verification, to which he explains his name is actually brandon micah juniper( through some much needed compulsion ), & they make their way back. he’s in there. eyebrows furrow at the sight of the boy who’s curled up, & once the door has been shut behind him, the vampire stands, hesitant on moving forward, simply taking in the surroundings. ❝ elwood, ❞
he feels like his stomach is on fire ; the pounding behind his eyes escalating with each intake of air, never settling. he’s situated in the middle of the hospital bed ( he refuses to call it his ) with his knees tucked to his chest, eyes fixed on the wall before him. it’s like he’s a shadow of himself ; hospital gown hanging from protruding collarbones, dauntless expression never faulting. elwood doesn’t even hear their words, their voices fading into dull, mindless echoes. we need to call someone. he wants to go home.
someone enters the room but he makes no attempt to verify their identity ; expression unblinking as he watches the wall intently, critically. elwood is silent for a few minutes, before the smallest of frowns lines his features, eyes narrowing just this side of enough to be subtle. “ it needs painting. ” he mumbles, head slowly tilting to the side. elwood’s voice is hoarse from the lack of use ( and too much screaming ) but he continues, regardless. “ the wall. it’s fading, it needs painting. ”
