[ Krouse knew what he was agreeing to when Noelle said she'd take care of it. He told her that he trusted her. He put himself in her hands without a second thought.
It still takes almost everything left in him to stay where he is when she gives him that last clear warning. He leans forward like a bird of prey on a branch, fingers curled into the scratch of hospital sheets, and bites through the urge to offer to intercede.
He always tried to carry this for her. He pretended that he could, like this was a burden he could shift from her shoulders to his as easy as the strap of her backpack. All it ever did was make them both carry it twice.
Touching Noelle means someone dies. If Krouse didn't believe her when she said she could handle it, he should have said no. When she flexes and spews, his bent shadow unfolding in the slick mess, that no shudders in his choked throat. He believes her. He trusts her.
And if sheer force of will counts for anything in a universe that's always been indifferent to anything he's ever really wanted, some part of his stooped reflection does too. He can barely see it past the space she takes up as it gets closer, gangling and sickly delicate as it moves, but he sees the too-large eyes, the elongated span of its hands.
Nothing she could ever make out of him would ever want her to hurt. Neither of them can help it. When the unmistakable sound of bone cracking inside meat bounces off the walls, Krouse slips off the bed and to his feet, his face as skinned over with steady calm as his clone's was with skin. ]
We're going.
[ He echoes, softly, skirting around the spreading edges of vomit without looking down. There's another set of doors across the room, double wide. He pushes one open, then the other, kicking down the doorstops on each to hold them in place. The hallway they open into is wider than the one he came in through. ]
Let's get you some air.
[ There's a tremor at the edge of his words, a horrible longing buried underneath. When he turns around to face her again, he feels as shaky as the crumpled body on the floor looked, sick with the same want. One more touch. One hand on her back, or on the swell of a crooked limb. It's okay, even though it's not.
But he can't. All he can do is look at her, understanding dark and liquid in his eyes. ]
The sun's out.
[ The sun's out, and it's beautiful. The sun's out, and they're both murderers, and it'll still be warm. ]
cw: body horror, ableism, emeto, minor character death
It still takes almost everything left in him to stay where he is when she gives him that last clear warning. He leans forward like a bird of prey on a branch, fingers curled into the scratch of hospital sheets, and bites through the urge to offer to intercede.
He always tried to carry this for her. He pretended that he could, like this was a burden he could shift from her shoulders to his as easy as the strap of her backpack. All it ever did was make them both carry it twice.
Touching Noelle means someone dies. If Krouse didn't believe her when she said she could handle it, he should have said no. When she flexes and spews, his bent shadow unfolding in the slick mess, that no shudders in his choked throat. He believes her. He trusts her.
And if sheer force of will counts for anything in a universe that's always been indifferent to anything he's ever really wanted, some part of his stooped reflection does too. He can barely see it past the space she takes up as it gets closer, gangling and sickly delicate as it moves, but he sees the too-large eyes, the elongated span of its hands.
Nothing she could ever make out of him would ever want her to hurt. Neither of them can help it. When the unmistakable sound of bone cracking inside meat bounces off the walls, Krouse slips off the bed and to his feet, his face as skinned over with steady calm as his clone's was with skin. ]
We're going.
[ He echoes, softly, skirting around the spreading edges of vomit without looking down. There's another set of doors across the room, double wide. He pushes one open, then the other, kicking down the doorstops on each to hold them in place. The hallway they open into is wider than the one he came in through. ]
Let's get you some air.
[ There's a tremor at the edge of his words, a horrible longing buried underneath. When he turns around to face her again, he feels as shaky as the crumpled body on the floor looked, sick with the same want. One more touch. One hand on her back, or on the swell of a crooked limb. It's okay, even though it's not.
But he can't. All he can do is look at her, understanding dark and liquid in his eyes. ]
The sun's out.
[ The sun's out, and it's beautiful. The sun's out, and they're both murderers, and it'll still be warm. ]