"You sure?" Chris asked warily, as Joey gently propelled Lance inside and directed him towards the couch.
"Yep," Lance said.
"Because it looked like it fucking hurt."
"I'm fine."
"Don't play with it," Justin said, leaning over the back of the couch and slapping lightly at Lance's arm when he picked at the edge of the bandage. "You're going to get infected or something."
"I have to change it anyway," Lance said, and peeled back a corner of the bandage from his palm. "The doc has to wrap it. But it's not bad. See?"
JC, who had come up to stand beside Justin, looked down over Lance's shoulder, at the two inches of tight, nasty-looking black stitches, and felt the world slowly roll and lurch sideways under his feet.
"This *is* pretty gross," Chris muttered.
JC closed his eyes. He could feel his own skin beginning to prickle, teeth biting into him from the inside out, and he could see the needle now, wicked and sharp and curved, digging over and over into the tender flesh of Lance's palm. A shiver zipped up his spine, and he fisted the couch cushions in his hands, swallowing hard against the bile puddling in the back of his throat.
"I hope they gave you a shot so it won't get infected," Joey said. His voice echoed, as though he was a thousand miles gone on a shaky telephone connection, and not three feet away on the couch, cuddling Lance against his side. Lance, with a row of black stitches in his hand. Lance, with needles in his hand.
"Yeah," Lance replied absently. "Right in the cut. That's what hurt." He lifted his hand up into the air a little, peering at it critically.
And with a dip and loop that was almost graceful as his knees turned to water, JC crumpled to the ground, his vision fading to a blissful white before he ever felt himself connect with the concrete floor.
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"You sure?" Chris asked warily, as Joey gently propelled Lance inside and directed him towards the couch.
"Yep," Lance said.
"Because it looked like it fucking hurt."
"I'm fine."
"Don't play with it," Justin said, leaning over the back of the couch and slapping lightly at Lance's arm when he picked at the edge of the bandage. "You're going to get infected or something."
"I have to change it anyway," Lance said, and peeled back a corner of the bandage from his palm. "The doc has to wrap it. But it's not bad. See?"
JC, who had come up to stand beside Justin, looked down over Lance's shoulder, at the two inches of tight, nasty-looking black stitches, and felt the world slowly roll and lurch sideways under his feet.
"This *is* pretty gross," Chris muttered.
JC closed his eyes. He could feel his own skin beginning to prickle, teeth biting into him from the inside out, and he could see the needle now, wicked and sharp and curved, digging over and over into the tender flesh of Lance's palm. A shiver zipped up his spine, and he fisted the couch cushions in his hands, swallowing hard against the bile puddling in the back of his throat.
"I hope they gave you a shot so it won't get infected," Joey said. His voice echoed, as though he was a thousand miles gone on a shaky telephone connection, and not three feet away on the couch, cuddling Lance against his side. Lance, with a row of black stitches in his hand. Lance, with needles in his hand.
"Yeah," Lance replied absently. "Right in the cut. That's what hurt." He lifted his hand up into the air a little, peering at it critically.
And with a dip and loop that was almost graceful as his knees turned to water, JC crumpled to the ground, his vision fading to a blissful white before he ever felt himself connect with the concrete floor.
More to come...