♟:Patching up a wound
Teeth clenched firmly around the old rag he’d been offered as a method of coping as the other focused on his wounds, that were severe to a degree that was ridiculous to have his ex best friend attempting to disinfect them in the bathroom of his shitty apartment on the dodgy side of town. “Bastard!” The curse was muffled by the fabric in his mouth and may or may not have came out in Slovenian, he always went back to his roots in moments of anger or distress. Needless to say this one was both, he’d failed and not only lost the notebook but half of his face along with it. Chipped painted nails dug into the pasty speckled skin on the others forearm, eyes squeezed shut- or rather one of them as the other was unable to open and he’d most likely lost his sight. Great.Of course he was appreciative that the other had came to his aid after years of neglect, but if Matt didn’t hurry the fuck up and force some more drugs down his throat or into his bloodstream he’d end up punching a hole in the neatly tiled wall- possibly the only thing that was so in here.
“Matt. I need drugs. Fucking now. I can’t feel my face and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not…” Spindly fingers constricted like a boa thirsty for it’s prey, however Mello’s issue wasn’t hunger here it was pain and bringing little to the other seemed to be some sort of coping mechanism. “Knock me out, fuck. I don’t care. I can’t handle this fucking pain… I’m going to throw up.”
Sweat stuck what was left of his once luxurious locks to his forehead and healthy cheek, along with the smell of his own burning flesh and leather. Never having had a strong stomach anyway Mello was sure he’d soon enough throw up whatever was left in his stomach, possibly bile. But, before he could do so he collapsed, his body too drained to keep him in a conscious state.
