[ the blood catches his attention as it drops to the floor, but he isn't jumping or leaping or yelling, just moving quietly to where there are supplies tucked away for first aid. he carries them on his person, but there's also a general reserve in a dresser drawer up top.
sometimes you don't care to have many clothes, but a small stash of first aid items is critical to equip one's self for the arrivals on thursdays. he doesn't know what he'll need, but he grabs what he thinks he might—bandages, gauze, something to clean and disinfection, butterfly closures, just in case. ]
I can get that for you after you sit down.
[ he says it softly, like if they really wanted one, artemy would pad out and grab one without hesitation. glancing over his shoulder as he shuts the drawer with a heel of his palm. ]
[ The reaction is... in a way, familiar. Briefly it feels like a certain supposed Researcher would behave. In the form of a falsely pointed sigh, shuffle off, coming back with what's needed... their thoughts spiral negatively. Is he disgusted with them? Disappointed? Ashamed?
(you're such an idiot, of course it'd be there, why didn't you just move more quieter, faster)
There's an obvious hesitation before they slowly, slowly sit back down and move their hand onto their lap but extended out nevertheless. That fist still tightly enclosed to keep mostly in check until opening to reveal said injury to their palm. A clean steady slice once and done. Despite their earlier panic, it didn't waver.
An explanation would be expected in this moment. What happened. What were they thinking. But their words fall empty, silent, and they just lower their head to stare at the floor instead. ]
[ there is no follow up for an explanation. artemy moves quietly and goes to sit beside them, meeting their eye a moment and then letting his eyes trail back towards the clean cut. there's maybe something that looks like a tired ache in his expression. his brow pinches only slightly, not in disappointment, or disgust, or shame, but in concern. he hesitates, but then holds out his own hand, hovering it just beneath theirs.
they hurt similarly, but seeing this cut now, hearing the shift in breath, feeling it deep inside himself after what they've both had to see of each other. ]
Just going to take a better look, alright?
[ he's slow, steady hand taking siffrin's if permitted, cupping it from beneath at the knuckles and drawing it with just a little closer. his own hands are steady, rough to the touch, but warm. his eyes train on the small wound a moment, but flick slightly to look at them.
his free hand reaches a bit, touches their arm ever so lightly. ]
I'll clean this up, then bandage it... [ if agreeable. then, softer: ] Did you go somewhere else... in your sleep?
[ There's no answering verbal reply, their hand shifting with small curls of their fingers before it relaxes again and they finally nod once more. Permission given. Allowing that hand to cup beneath, keeping their gaze focused somewhere else. Not at him, too ashamed for that. Not at their own hand, guilt swimming. Their arms feeling almost itchy when they do.
The touch to their arm does make them jump a little. Some tension. But it loosens just a little, only once they're sure he's not going to be searching their arm. Find out for himself just how broken they are.
There's another silent nod. Clean up and bandage is fine. Their gaze staring off, until slowly looking back up to meet that gaze. ]
..I did. Back to the.. loops.
[ Felt like he was back.. stuck again. His voice is so, so quiet. Almost a whisper. It may as well be, not wanting anyone else in their team to know they're awake. ]
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no subject
sometimes you don't care to have many clothes, but a small stash of first aid items is critical to equip one's self for the arrivals on thursdays. he doesn't know what he'll need, but he grabs what he thinks he might—bandages, gauze, something to clean and disinfection, butterfly closures, just in case. ]
I can get that for you after you sit down.
[ he says it softly, like if they really wanted one, artemy would pad out and grab one without hesitation. glancing over his shoulder as he shuts the drawer with a heel of his palm. ]
... Will you show me what's behind your back?
no subject
(you're such an idiot, of course it'd be there, why didn't you just move more quieter, faster)
There's an obvious hesitation before they slowly, slowly sit back down and move their hand onto their lap but extended out nevertheless. That fist still tightly enclosed to keep mostly in check until opening to reveal said injury to their palm. A clean steady slice once and done. Despite their earlier panic, it didn't waver.
An explanation would be expected in this moment. What happened. What were they thinking. But their words fall empty, silent, and they just lower their head to stare at the floor instead. ]
no subject
they hurt similarly, but seeing this cut now, hearing the shift in breath, feeling it deep inside himself after what they've both had to see of each other. ]
Just going to take a better look, alright?
[ he's slow, steady hand taking siffrin's if permitted, cupping it from beneath at the knuckles and drawing it with just a little closer. his own hands are steady, rough to the touch, but warm. his eyes train on the small wound a moment, but flick slightly to look at them.
his free hand reaches a bit, touches their arm ever so lightly. ]
I'll clean this up, then bandage it... [ if agreeable. then, softer: ] Did you go somewhere else... in your sleep?
no subject
The touch to their arm does make them jump a little. Some tension. But it loosens just a little, only once they're sure he's not going to be searching their arm. Find out for himself just how broken they are.
There's another silent nod. Clean up and bandage is fine. Their gaze staring off, until slowly looking back up to meet that gaze. ]
..I did. Back to the.. loops.
[ Felt like he was back.. stuck again. His voice is so, so quiet. Almost a whisper. It may as well be, not wanting anyone else in their team to know they're awake. ]