[ he should've brought him adderall instead of the gel.
ashe follows silently after him, watching delta go through all of the cabinets in the kitchen with alarming speed, coming up with one banana that looks like it's twelve seconds away from turning completely brown. he takes the stool beside him when delta finally sits down, reaching into his pocket for the little glass bottle of clove oil, setting it carefully on the granite counter top. ]
This'll help. Just put a couple of drops on it and it won't hurt as much. I got it from my mom.
[ which isn't exactly a seal of confidence, but he wouldn't have brought it over if he didn't think it would help. he tucks his hair behind one ear, all of it hanging loose because he couldn't be bothered to spend more than two seconds in front of the mirror. the mottled bruising around the corner of his mouth certainly isn't the worst he's ever had, but he doesn't like to think about how delta was the one to put it there.
he fiddles with one of his cloth bracelets, looking around the empty kitchen and struggling to weave together a sentence. fuck. ]
You're the only one that knows. About — me, I mean. Aside from my mom. [ he bites his lip out of habit and then winces, muttering out a curse. ] Just — let me see your hand. If your stitches are fucked up then I can do them better. You need to change your bandages anyway. They don't even look good.
no subject
ashe follows silently after him, watching delta go through all of the cabinets in the kitchen with alarming speed, coming up with one banana that looks like it's twelve seconds away from turning completely brown. he takes the stool beside him when delta finally sits down, reaching into his pocket for the little glass bottle of clove oil, setting it carefully on the granite counter top. ]
This'll help. Just put a couple of drops on it and it won't hurt as much. I got it from my mom.
[ which isn't exactly a seal of confidence, but he wouldn't have brought it over if he didn't think it would help. he tucks his hair behind one ear, all of it hanging loose because he couldn't be bothered to spend more than two seconds in front of the mirror. the mottled bruising around the corner of his mouth certainly isn't the worst he's ever had, but he doesn't like to think about how delta was the one to put it there.
he fiddles with one of his cloth bracelets, looking around the empty kitchen and struggling to weave together a sentence. fuck. ]
You're the only one that knows. About — me, I mean. Aside from my mom. [ he bites his lip out of habit and then winces, muttering out a curse. ] Just — let me see your hand. If your stitches are fucked up then I can do them better. You need to change your bandages anyway. They don't even look good.