âśż = buying them flowers {okay but sending him flowers while he's recovering from the billet surgery tho}
send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse ---✿ = buying them flowers
To say Wocky is currently miserable is a bit of an understatement.
His hair is messy and still damp (showers are a tough venture when it hurts as much as it does for him to move around), there are dark marks under his eyes (a telltale sign sleep has been a struggle as well), his posture is terrible and he appears to be gripping the front doorway with as much of a vice grip as he can manage.
He's wearing pants, of course, but a lack of a shirt obviously shows the bandaging on his chest, and he spends a good twenty seconds or so just staring at Apollo and trying to catch his breath.
"...hi."
His voice is hoarse, the effects of a breathing tube having done its job at the cost of scratching one's throat up something terrible.
"I.. can't talk much right now. L--" A cough. "Lucky you, huh...?"
Being as out of it as he currently is, it's only then that he notices the flowers. He knows he could easily make some sort of ornery remark, or question if it's pity...
--but he just can't find it within himself to do that.
Instead, he sighs lightly and reaches out to take the flowers, trying (and failing) to hide how his hands shake, grateful for how the blooms hide most of his hands as he stares down at them.
"...I'm... sorry. For.. everything, y'know? I.. didn't make your job easy on you, and--" Another cough, and he winces, the movement having pulled at some of the stitching on his chest.
"I... don't know what to say aside from 'thanks'. I, uh.. imagine you lawyer types are a-always real busy, but.. I-if you ever feel like stoppin' by again, I.. wouldn't mind. I know my parents wouldn't either. They both think the world of ya..."
A smirk, though it's a weak one.
"--yeah, even my dad."
