['okay' is probably the wrong word. but he's a lot better than he was, and for once he can actually appreciate that. near-death has a way of making you appreciate that things don't have to be fucking perfect, you don't have to have everything you want. ironic maybe, that the one time he'd truly tried to kill himself in earnest, it'd been with fire.
he blinks. at first, he thinks he's imagining it, but after a moment, he realizes that it's true. he can see kurt. at least, the shadow of kurt, dim against the bed; the curve of his neck, the swoop of his shoulder. he realizes they're prone now, kurt having sloughed bonelessly down onto the bed like a melting ice cream cake and taken kavinsky with him. the bed is dense and firm beneath his head and his shoulder. the room feels very quiet.
his vampire senses aren't what they were still, but he can start to pick things out past the dull throb of healing. he can feel the distant vibration of kurt's slow breathing, his voice dissolving syllables in concentric circles in the air, which kavinsky feels break against him like ripples against the bank of a river.
he can feel the shape of kurt's hands through the fabric of his shirt, the weight of his wrist.]
'M gonna be, [he answers. his voice is slow, almost sleepy. then he moves his hand when he realizes it doesn't hurt anymore, the skin of his fingers lined and strange to look at, but not gorey. he settles his hand on kurt's chest, searching out his heartbeat.] 'Cause of you. Are you okay?
[he'll start to worry in a minute. he'll think of something to do about it in five.]
tw past suicide attempt
he blinks. at first, he thinks he's imagining it, but after a moment, he realizes that it's true. he can see kurt. at least, the shadow of kurt, dim against the bed; the curve of his neck, the swoop of his shoulder. he realizes they're prone now, kurt having sloughed bonelessly down onto the bed like a melting ice cream cake and taken kavinsky with him. the bed is dense and firm beneath his head and his shoulder. the room feels very quiet.
his vampire senses aren't what they were still, but he can start to pick things out past the dull throb of healing. he can feel the distant vibration of kurt's slow breathing, his voice dissolving syllables in concentric circles in the air, which kavinsky feels break against him like ripples against the bank of a river.
he can feel the shape of kurt's hands through the fabric of his shirt, the weight of his wrist.]
'M gonna be, [he answers. his voice is slow, almost sleepy. then he moves his hand when he realizes it doesn't hurt anymore, the skin of his fingers lined and strange to look at, but not gorey. he settles his hand on kurt's chest, searching out his heartbeat.] 'Cause of you. Are you okay?
[he'll start to worry in a minute. he'll think of something to do about it in five.]