[Although he didn't require Vincent's permission, Kit waited for his acknowledgment before he left. In a way, that solitary word was the only confirmation that he could hope for of his companion's well-being, especially if he wished to spare the other boy's pride.
Choosing to avoid the stairwell, Kit started toward the other set of doors in the lobby and the hallway beyond. The bathroom wasn't difficult to find or very far away, but neither was he in any kind of rush to quickly utilize the facilities and return.
Instead, as soon as the door was closed behind him and he was certain he was alone, Kit proceeded toward the counter and removed his jacket and shirt along the way. In the mirror he was able to see clearly the bruises and welts that had risen up across his skin from his earlier altercation with Vincent. Patches of blue and purple spotted his shoulder blades and his ribs, but with some relief, he noted the lump on the back of his head had gone down in size. Still, there was the matter of his cheek, which he could see now had bled more than he'd realized, and his hand which seemed to hurt with an invigorated pain the moment he turned on the warm water and held it near.
It would be several more minutes before he joined Vincent back in the lobby, but by then he seemed refreshed, all traces of dust removed from his clothes and skin, and even his hair tidied and tied back into a more manageable ponytail. His hand, too, had been bound by what appeared to be a hastily washed and dried scrap of cloth. Possibly something from Kit's own shirt, judging by its color, though from where it was difficult to say. With his jacket in place over top, nothing appeared to have been cut.
But, sure enough, something had been. Or he wouldn't have had the spare scrap in hand to offer Vincent when he returned.
So much for sparing his pride...]
For your hand.
[It had been impossible not to notice the dried blood on his jacket where Vincent had grabbed him. He wasn't sure when, but at some point he must have injured his hand and, like the blood on his face, simply never taken care of it.]
no subject
Choosing to avoid the stairwell, Kit started toward the other set of doors in the lobby and the hallway beyond. The bathroom wasn't difficult to find or very far away, but neither was he in any kind of rush to quickly utilize the facilities and return.
Instead, as soon as the door was closed behind him and he was certain he was alone, Kit proceeded toward the counter and removed his jacket and shirt along the way. In the mirror he was able to see clearly the bruises and welts that had risen up across his skin from his earlier altercation with Vincent. Patches of blue and purple spotted his shoulder blades and his ribs, but with some relief, he noted the lump on the back of his head had gone down in size. Still, there was the matter of his cheek, which he could see now had bled more than he'd realized, and his hand which seemed to hurt with an invigorated pain the moment he turned on the warm water and held it near.
It would be several more minutes before he joined Vincent back in the lobby, but by then he seemed refreshed, all traces of dust removed from his clothes and skin, and even his hair tidied and tied back into a more manageable ponytail. His hand, too, had been bound by what appeared to be a hastily washed and dried scrap of cloth. Possibly something from Kit's own shirt, judging by its color, though from where it was difficult to say. With his jacket in place over top, nothing appeared to have been cut.
But, sure enough, something had been. Or he wouldn't have had the spare scrap in hand to offer Vincent when he returned.
So much for sparing his pride...]
For your hand.
[It had been impossible not to notice the dried blood on his jacket where Vincent had grabbed him. He wasn't sure when, but at some point he must have injured his hand and, like the blood on his face, simply never taken care of it.]