( it only takes an instant to happen, but the entire moment feels like an eternity, passing in slow motion as thin red threads weave through rokkun's skin with hypnotizing precision, pulling together parted skin and closing the wound before his eyes. amami's breath catches in his throat as the scene unfolds, staring at the scabbed over lines of skin all the way up until komaeda's fingers come to lightly trace along them. it's then that he seems to snap out of it, looking up to rokkun's face — trying to read his expression, his state, if he's alright — and, almost more importantly, to akira beside him. he blinks, opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but pauses before the words come out. rethinking his approach, and to match komaeda's own laugh, his expression turns somewhere between relief and apology. )
Thanks, Fujioka-kun.
( he doesn't know what led to all of this, or how things ended up here, but it looks like komaeda knew the right person to call for. right now, that's what's important — that, and making sure that rokkun is okay from here on out. he's still in a pretty rough state after all, even if his throat is no longer ripped wide open, so amami's going to make an effort to support some of the weight from the side his bad leg is on if rokkun will let him. )
no subject
Thanks, Fujioka-kun.
( he doesn't know what led to all of this, or how things ended up here, but it looks like komaeda knew the right person to call for. right now, that's what's important — that, and making sure that rokkun is okay from here on out. he's still in a pretty rough state after all, even if his throat is no longer ripped wide open, so amami's going to make an effort to support some of the weight from the side his bad leg is on if rokkun will let him. )