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It's like a splash of cold water, a bucket of ice over his head, when Beckett Kang skids down the hall of the freshly abandoned dim halls, the rumor of a killer on the loose sending everyone else in a panic- running for every exit and ever door, just to find his best friend settled against some wall, a hand holding his bloodied side. They both look grimy- er, Beckett feels grimy, with his wild hair and even wider eyes, pupils trembling as they enlarge in fear. Not for the killer, of course. There's a basic first aid he stole from one of the other rooms in his grasp. Beckett already knows who's on the loose. He's not afraid of the boy on the loose, the only other boy in the building with him now.
He's holding his side, the other boy. Soren, Beckett's best friend, is holding his side. And oh. Oh, there's so so much blood. So much of the red fluid that seemed to flow from between the crevices of Soren's fingers. The hand that's holding his side is so so bloodied and--
Beckett feels a wave of lightheadedness wash over him. His vision feels hazy suddenly and his head spins with an attempt to grapple for anything- anything that'd keep him here. Present in the moment. So that he doesn't fucking pass out before even helping his best friend in some way. There's a panic that floods his senses and despite the tumble of his stomach and how fucking grimy he feels- all too fucking hyperaware of the nonexistent dirt under his fingernails and nonexistent dust clinging to his bare skin. It's all in your head, it's all in your head. Focus!
Shaky fingers reach for the box; Beckett Kang tries his best not to look at the fluids seeping onto the floor- that's his best friend's blood! He tries to suppress the nausea, as his fingers graze the various tools to suture a wound. He's gonna need stitches isn't he- oh god, Soren's gonna need stitches and Beckett feels like he's gonna vomit-.
He doesn't even know how to stitch someone together- let alone stitch up his best friend. Beckett's rarely been in a first aid setting in his life- er. He's rarely been on the other side like this in his life. It feels crazy.
And even though Soren's the one who groans in pain, holding his injured side, he's surely the braver of the two. The more jaded, less afraid of a lil blood or the slash along his side. It's Beckett who's looking pale. As if the color had drained from his face and was leaving his body the same way Soren was bleeding. It's a ghastly scene; and even though the thoughts that cursed Beckett seemed to drag out and prolong the panic and adrenaline, the time that passes is short. A few minutes at most, and even before Beckett's able to register what he's done, his hands have already worked to lay out a towel from the first aid, tools of various kinds between the two boys. Where did he even find it in his subconscious to know what to retrieve?
And to make matters worse, the thought of the needle sinking into his best friend's skin- Beckett doesn't know it, but he's broken out into cold sweat as a shudder travels down his spine.
Be brave for Soren. Be brave, you can do this, it's not a b-
Suddenly something flies over Beckett's head and his vision goes dark- dimmed, but not completely gone. The soft material of a towel whispers over his skin, flattens his hair, and Beckett blinks. He's still here. He's not simply gone. It takes the boy a beat or two more to register that Soren had thrown a towel over his head. The other boy's voice comes not long after, gritted and tight; must be from the pain. "Give me what I ask for and I can stitch it myself, don't throw up. Keep your eyes off, Beckett."
