Admitting Arguements

[antiqueatrocity]

A sits, again, in his shared room with Near--but instead of reading another fiction work, he's going through a large tome of something that looks suspiciously like magic.  The workspace is rather neat, save for the charts he's pinned up along the walls, covered in nothing but numbered lines, and the notes he has spread out along the table.  He

Comments

[coordinated_n]

A?

*Plaintive.*

[antiqueatrocity]

He glances over, eyes suddenly widing at the condition Near was in.

Oh--god, what--are you okay? Are--does it hurt? Oh--oh, shit--

Forces himself to shut up, but he stands and moves over to Near almost immediately, eyes wide with concern.

[coordinated_n]

It's not too bad. *Reaching out for him.* Hold me.

[antiqueatrocity]

Of course--okay, um.

He wraps his arms around Near--gently, in case it still hurt--and slowly tugs him over to the bed.

Come on. You need to s-sit down, or--or something, what--?