#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴡᴇ ᴅɪᴇ ❞ ◌ ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ¦ 「 Whit 」

[not-bcring]

(( Tag Dump - Whit Young ))

[not-bcring]

「 ☆ 」 Whit patiently waits for Charles to regain his voice, gentle smile unwavering as his hold around the other's hand. It was a similar feeling the first time Whit was privy to Charles's tendency to disassociate because of blood. A secret tension in his frame, expertly hidden behind kind eyes and a calming nature. Tightness in Whit's chest as he wonders how long it may take Charles to come back after what they witnessed for that damn Punishment. If only he had done more instead of just-

No point in lamenting about what he didn't do. Best to spend his energy on what he can do. Right now, that means staying by Charles's side. Keeping him grounded, keeping him safe, providing the other whatever protection he can't supply himself right now. Like in the first trial, when he acted as Charles's voice. Honestly, Whit hadn't expected their relationship to continue past that. Not to this degree. To have shifted the way it did. What was a sense of obligation, from a moral standpoint and amends he had to make, now a true desire.

They're... friends.

A thought that brings a bittersweet warmth to Whit's chest, no matter how weighed down it may be with worry. A sensation he's willing to endure any hardship for. Charles needing to sink to his knees is hardly a surprise, and Whit doesn't draw attention to it. After what they witnessed, he is already beyond proud of Charles managing to even leave the Trial room on such unsteady legs. The others might not realize what a feat was just completed— it's probably best they don't, for the sake of Charles's pride —but Whit does. So he shows as much with a small squeeze around the others hands, a silent show of support for whatever Charles needs to do in order to feel better in the moment.

❝ Heh... Yeah. I don't doubt it. ❞ Chimes a relieved reply, shoulders lightly shaking from the breathy chuckle that laces his words. Good. Charles is talking... Swallowing the instinctive joke that Levi has definitelybeen better, he moves a hand toward Charles. Hesitating, fingers curl inward for a beat, before they gingerly brush a strand of purple from the other's face. That's probably fine... Already lamenting his very much NOT ❛ fine ❜ desire to rest their foreheads together, Whit is forced to make due with what contact feels appropriate.

Tucking the hair behind Charles's ear, his own silken strands fall in a gentle motion when he cocks his head; like a golden-furred retriever, fondly beholding their person as he says, ❝ That's alright. We'll just stay here until things start to feel less... y'know. ❞ Blue hues soft, he huffs out another weak laugh when he realizes that he let his touch linger a bit longer than intended. Hand leaving Charles's hair, he lets it rejoin the other in clasping Charles's hand instead. There. Don't want to risk making Charles uncomfortable when he's already dealing with this.

❝ There's absolutely nooooo rush. I've got all the time in the world~ ❞ Despite how arguably untrue that is— for a number of reasons —Whit seems to mean it. 「 ☆ 」

@not-bcring asked:

In the chaos following the elevator doors finally opening, everyone rushing in and out while seconds passed by with the intensity of a knife slowly pressing against ones neck... there hadn't been opportunity to ask what he wanted. Question brewing in his chest, impatience pricked at the back of his neck as Whit willed events to go quicker. Battling between guilt at where his focus kept shifting and the worry for Levi that managed to break through the noise. Tainted as it may have been. Every frantic step was not fast enough for his liking, every brief glance Charles's way offering no respite to the worry... As soon as Whit is gifted the chance to grab onto Charles's arm— hand trailing down in a careful touch, to hold the others and give it a small squeeze —he wordlessly guides Charles to a less cramped area, seeking some semblance of privacy when in a space full of worried bystanders. Satisfied for the moment, he stands in front of Charles and releases a soft breath he hadn't realized he was keeping. Both hands now holding Charles's, he looks up at the taller male, worry shining in his gaze. Hardly a surprise considering the situation; someone is balancing on the edge of death, after all. With only a unqualified medical professional to help him. Yet Whit's words betray what actually weighs on his mind, ❝ How are you doing? ❞ ❛ Are you okay ❜ is hardly a question worth asking, since the answer is painfully obvious. There's no way Charles is okay... So Whit needs to see how not-okay he is, and do what he can about it. ❝ I know everything was... a lot, in there. ❞ - (( *boops a li'l thing* because Whit be worried rip ))

He desperately wished he had heeded Whit's warning sooner.

The sight of Levi diving into the line of fire, followed immediately by the sight of so much blood—so much more than he'd seen in the computer lab—had left Charles in a dissociated state for the entire elevator ride. It was a miracle he hadn't passed out by that point, likely due to the warmth that trails up his arm and through his body at the feeling of someone else's hand on his arm.

He doesn't need to tear his gaze from the wall ahead of him to know exactly who it is, relief blossoming through his chest. Just keep looking ahead, don't look at the blood—so much blood, so much blood—that painted Levi's body like the world's most unfortunate canvas beside him. Whit was there, he was okay. He just needed to—

He barely processes the elevator opening and the other's running out, attention sorely focused on that hand as he slips into his own and guides him in the opposite direction. He can feel his senses slowly returning, and he finally dares to focus his attention on Whit as he cups both hands around his own.

❝How are you doing?❞ He asks, like the completely selfless angel he is. After everything else that had happened, Whit's first concern was for him.

It takes a moment for Charles to find enough of his voice to answer, mostly due to him sinking to his knees with his hands around Whit's for dear life. "I've been better..."

It's more sarcastic than he means, but there's a bitter truth to it as well. But at least he has those hands—those warm, comforting hands to support him.