[ once made to sit and eventually lie down, wriothesley had found himself content to drift off. part of it was the unbearable pain—as it thrums slow and cuts deep—finally catching up to the pace of his soul’s ability to mend itself. but he knows it isn’t just that. a larger part of the reason, one he’s reluctant to name but wholly evident in the multitude of scars neuvillette is intimate with, is the same dogged instinct that’s always pushed him forward no matter how grievous the wound: his own stubbornness. the need to move, to recover, to carry on. extraordinary as he may be at times, wriothesley is still human, with limits just like anyone else. and when the unconscious part of him begins to recognize that this is the kind of pain he can no longer remain sound of mind through, everything within him begins to dull. his emotions fade into a steady hum, one he can easily drift beneath. his calm doesn’t come from peace—it’s born from the delicate, precarious balance of trying to keep everything from tipping over.
and for a while, that stillness holds. but then something else begins to stir alongside the rhythm of his own mind. it arrives as an undercurrent—sharp and bright, distinctly separate from the slow acceptance that he’s settled into. where his own emotions are subdued, this feeling rings delicately enough to pull some of his focus. it rushes toward the edge of his awareness like an echo too loud to ignore. and when he opens his eyes in response to it, disoriented and slow to catch up, he realizes the source of it has taken shape in neuvillette’s expression.
everything reaches him a few seconds too late. neuvillette’s words, the soft way he touches him, the tender gestures—all of it washes over him as if from a distance. and yet, he’s still aware of the strands of neuvillette’s hair as they brush lightly across his face. somehow, that’s what his senses choose to cling to. ]
I am, thanks to you.
[ his answer comes out steady, quiet, and sincere. there’s no effort to downplay the weight of their situation and it’s not meant to entirely placate. it’s simply the truth—grounded in the imprint that binds them. that connection is what keeps him tethered here, what softens the edges of the pain and gives him just enough clarity to remain present. it grants wriothesley the space to spend what little strength he has left not on survival, but on sharing these last, quiet moments with neuvillette before his body takes over. he’s no stranger to recovery and he’s endured many things before, but nothing quite like this. ]
It’ll be alright.
[ the words are spoken gently. there’s no illusion in them, no false hope—only the same resilient belief that’s carried him through every harrowing moment before this one. except now, he isn’t just holding on for his own sake, he’s still here because neuvillette is. so wriothesley shifts slightly, adjusting the hand that neuvillette holds, and makes the effort to thread their fingers together. only a few have the strength to squeeze, but the intent is unmistakable. ]
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and for a while, that stillness holds. but then something else begins to stir alongside the rhythm of his own mind. it arrives as an undercurrent—sharp and bright, distinctly separate from the slow acceptance that he’s settled into. where his own emotions are subdued, this feeling rings delicately enough to pull some of his focus. it rushes toward the edge of his awareness like an echo too loud to ignore. and when he opens his eyes in response to it, disoriented and slow to catch up, he realizes the source of it has taken shape in neuvillette’s expression.
everything reaches him a few seconds too late. neuvillette’s words, the soft way he touches him, the tender gestures—all of it washes over him as if from a distance. and yet, he’s still aware of the strands of neuvillette’s hair as they brush lightly across his face. somehow, that’s what his senses choose to cling to. ]
I am, thanks to you.
[ his answer comes out steady, quiet, and sincere. there’s no effort to downplay the weight of their situation and it’s not meant to entirely placate. it’s simply the truth—grounded in the imprint that binds them. that connection is what keeps him tethered here, what softens the edges of the pain and gives him just enough clarity to remain present. it grants wriothesley the space to spend what little strength he has left not on survival, but on sharing these last, quiet moments with neuvillette before his body takes over. he’s no stranger to recovery and he’s endured many things before, but nothing quite like this. ]
It’ll be alright.
[ the words are spoken gently. there’s no illusion in them, no false hope—only the same resilient belief that’s carried him through every harrowing moment before this one. except now, he isn’t just holding on for his own sake, he’s still here because neuvillette is. so wriothesley shifts slightly, adjusting the hand that neuvillette holds, and makes the effort to thread their fingers together. only a few have the strength to squeeze, but the intent is unmistakable. ]
We’ll be okay.