#oathbroken01.

         ‘ just hold it  ---  there. ’ there’s a bit of gauze stuck to his arm with blood; chris taps just beneath it before moving on to the kit in his lap. ‘ obliged. ’

         “I don’t  —  think anything I said was deserving of that. Kinda hostile.”

the trek from job-gone-sour to the nearest pub comes and goes in a wild, painful blur. it gives chris’ adrenaline a chance to stop pumping, for which he is simultaneously grateful and regretful. he crashes into a quiet panic which betrays itself only by way of his should-be steady right hand.

he’s bleeding from just about everywhere. he’s caked in dirt. he all but falls into the bar to place his order.

         ‘ --- why not take a picture? ’