[Eyes flicking up again then, to the unconcern on Enjolras' face and the contrast of those nervous hands in revolution around one another, and somehow Combeferre was centered by that faux-pas. Yes, the glass was bad, but...
With a tilt of his head, he looked at his friend squarely, a brow rising and his mouth in a flat, unimpressed line as he finished roping gauze around the wound.]
It's more the fact that you're so unconcerned for yourself that concerns me. Not having feeling in your extremities could mean poor blood flow, or a clot. If you could stamp glass into your foot without batting an eye, what happens if you burn yourself, slip and hit your head?
[He'd pause here, just briefly, before Enjolras could get too indignant about the lecture or 'being treated as a child.' That wasn't his point.]
None of that really matters, though, compared to the fact that you willingly took more than an allotted dose of prescription pills.
[Not an accident. Not a mishap in Joly's explanation. Not even something he'd struggled with.
That Enjolras put his work before himself was nothing new. That Combeferre restlessly tried to remind him not to? Wasn't either. There was a time and a place.
Reaching up to feel his wrist, to take his pulse, he finished,]
You have to care for yourself just a little bit better. Think of how upset you'd be if this was Courfeyrac, or Jehan.
And speaking as someone who proofreads your essays? I doubt this will have improved your spelling, anyway.
[Giving way to a brief, light smile to try to inject a bit of tenderness into a moment that threatened to become too sterile, which wasn't his want at all. Warmth overtaking nerves as he coaxed one of those shaking hands to pause, just long enough to count the pulse.]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-08-16 12:43 pm (UTC)With a tilt of his head, he looked at his friend squarely, a brow rising and his mouth in a flat, unimpressed line as he finished roping gauze around the wound.]
It's more the fact that you're so unconcerned for yourself that concerns me. Not having feeling in your extremities could mean poor blood flow, or a clot. If you could stamp glass into your foot without batting an eye, what happens if you burn yourself, slip and hit your head?
[He'd pause here, just briefly, before Enjolras could get too indignant about the lecture or 'being treated as a child.' That wasn't his point.]
None of that really matters, though, compared to the fact that you willingly took more than an allotted dose of prescription pills.
[Not an accident. Not a mishap in Joly's explanation. Not even something he'd struggled with.
That Enjolras put his work before himself was nothing new. That Combeferre restlessly tried to remind him not to? Wasn't either. There was a time and a place.
Reaching up to feel his wrist, to take his pulse, he finished,]
You have to care for yourself just a little bit better. Think of how upset you'd be if this was Courfeyrac, or Jehan.
And speaking as someone who proofreads your essays? I doubt this will have improved your spelling, anyway.
[Giving way to a brief, light smile to try to inject a bit of tenderness into a moment that threatened to become too sterile, which wasn't his want at all. Warmth overtaking nerves as he coaxed one of those shaking hands to pause, just long enough to count the pulse.]