Crona opened their door, hearing a knock. They gave a gasp, seeing Vince, shaky and sobbing and blood all over him... His or someone else's? They couldn't tell. "Oh... Oh my goodness, Vince! What happened? What's going on? Are you all right?" Oh man, whatever the explanation, this was bad. "Hey... You should at least come inside and get cleaned up or something."
  Aren’t they  so. kind.
He almost hates that he went to them like this, knowing that despite his less than acceptable behavior they’re still. So. Kind to him. How they empathize when they shouldn’t.. It eats at him.Â
But these are thoughts held subconsciously, or at least buried beneath static, because thinking is far too much right now. He’d just barely managed to drag himself here. Leaned to the door. Tried to make noise. A pathetic call for help that they shouldn’t have answered.
Pathetic, how his face is reddened and stained with tears, and deep gashes in his side sting the kind of sting that freezes. Pathetic. He’d tried pacing to wait for their answer to the door, like an animal, stumbling, crawling, standing again.
He’s not even able to keep up with their questions when they do open the door to him, instead offering what would be a blank stare if it weren’t for reddened, tearful eyes and tense, pained features.
Feels like some lost dog, barely able to walk properly, stumbling into their living space, his own blood draining into his clothes and threatening to stain whatever he touches.
He never looks directly at them, but here he is. Bleeding on their floor in shamed, disoriented silence.
