Everest
In paramedic mode, Ever is used to being touched, and it's with a much stronger and more confident grip than Mateo will have experience from him, that he wraps his arm around his friend and helps him to stand. 'Is that okay?' He asks once they're upright, tilting slightly to encourage the florist to lean against him.
"I have your phone." Ever says soothingly, walking them toward the road with the quiet confidence of a man who knows he has a can of mace in his pocket. "You didn't cause any trouble, Mateo. Not at all." Raising his injured arm with a wince, Ever hails a cab over. In his mind he's running through a checklist of things to do once they get home: bagging Mateo's shirt and taking scrapings from beneath his nails in case he wanted to press charges. Documenting his wounds both for the police as well as for whatever treatment he'd need. Adding epsom salts in earnest to Mateo's bath to help him relax.
But before all that, there was getting home. Turning to Mateo, Ever looks his friend earnestly in the eye(s). "This wasn't your fault and you're going to be alright." He whispers. "Okay?"
"I have your phone." Ever says soothingly, walking them toward the road with the quiet confidence of a man who knows he has a can of mace in his pocket. "You didn't cause any trouble, Mateo. Not at all." Raising his injured arm with a wince, Ever hails a cab over. In his mind he's running through a checklist of things to do once they get home: bagging Mateo's shirt and taking scrapings from beneath his nails in case he wanted to press charges. Documenting his wounds both for the police as well as for whatever treatment he'd need. Adding epsom salts in earnest to Mateo's bath to help him relax.
But before all that, there was getting home. Turning to Mateo, Ever looks his friend earnestly in the eye(s). "This wasn't your fault and you're going to be alright." He whispers. "Okay?"
I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
