It had been a while since he had been in such rough shape (an understatement), and he wondered if it had ever been this bad before. He was too tired, too much in pain to care about the impression he made on his roommate now, and only set the basket of clean laundry at the foot of his bed before promptly falling face-first on top of the mattress which was, apparently, not a good idea. "Do we have ice?" he asked, voice muffled by the sheets.
Lukas looks up from his composition sheet as Steven stumbles into the room. Fencing must have been rough because, ouch, haven’t seen the guy like this before (or this roughed up in general). He places his pencil on his desk and silently watches as the latter falls onto his bed with a muffled thud. It must have been really bad. He flinches at the sound of Steven’s voice-- tired and drained. Damn, it really was bad. “Uh,” he pushes himself up and looks around the room, opening their fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. “We have… a cold water bottle?” He hands it to the poor boy. “It’s half frozen? That count as ice?”
He rubs the nape of his neck, unsure of what to say or how to coax his roommate. “Er, was today’s practice really that bad?” He kneels to the ground and props his chin on top of the mattress. “You’ve never... really come back this... bad?”
