imagining if grace has some medical procedure on erid, one which he finds himself needing to go under for, that he would panic immensely. he would NOT be okay being jabbed with anaesthesia
him letting things only get worse & worse before the concern gets too much & he relents. until he's on the table, and he instinctively shoves armando away. he runs, runs, breaks down once he hits the walls of the biodome (the fence, he's at the fence, the footsteps, yelling, arms on him, holding his head to the grass—)
he tries telling rocky to pin him during the next try, so he can't run away. it only makes things worse, of course. the hands are real. not human, eridian. they belong to the one person he'd trust more than anyone. he should trust him, right? but he can't. he can't move. he can't breathe around his pleas and and cries to stop.
rocky does stop, frozen between his fear of watching grace get worse—that voice in the back of his mind begging not to have to watch someone die again, not grace, not yet—& the anguish of forcing him to relive one of the most potently traumatic moments of his life. he can't do it either. not yet.
rocky moves to retreat, to give grace his space, but is surprised as grace follows, clinging onto him, seeking the different contours of his carapace through the fitted suit. proof that it's just rocky. he's here, on erid, in the present, with his best friend in the universe who he knows would never hurt him.
they'll keep trying, rocky tells him as he guides him out of the room. slower, more carefully, they'll get there, one step at a time.
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
origamiaround
areudirty
titsay
kianamaiart
discoholicmusic
