[center][h3][color=cyan]『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』[/color] [color=8493ca]『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』[/color][/h3][/center]
[center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][img]http://i63.tinypic.com/2h84geb.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   [@RedDusk][@January][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝕃𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕝 ℤ   / /  ~𝟘𝟡𝟘𝟘[/color][/center][hr]

The Squishable manatee worked wonders for Christmas's mood. He had been less than thrilled at the prospect of being left to his own thoughts without the distracting comfort of his Vita, but now, staring at the ridiculously soft stuffed toy on his desk, a lot of his worries--well, he wouldn't say they melted away, but they certainly didn't drown out the 38-centimeter plush staring back at him.

He gave it a long hug, reminded of the one he had left behind.

Mr. Chair.

The old Mr. Chair was probably gone now. His mother wouldn't have kept any of his stuff that hadn't gone with him to USARILN East.

He had been quick to comply with the entourage of guards escorting them all to a classroom, some of his fellow students' faces he vaguely recognized from the first day and the battlefield, though both events had been a confusing jumble of terror and screaming. Worried that they would be sent out again? Yes. Scared that he would pass out and wake up only to find the battle all over again? Absolutely. Panicked at the thought that he could die in so many ways and that his power only exacerbated the issue? 100%.

And then there were the whispers and chatter about new students having already died. He couldn't even remember who had been where in that fight to identify who was missing. If anyone asked, he'd be scared to admit that he had no recollection of the deceased students. Not good, to be the only one who didn't know the details. He regretted not asking for specifics, but given the events of the past few days maybe he would rather not know.

So it was a bit of mood whiplash, then, that they were taken to a regular classroom to attend regular classes. The sudden nostalgia of being treated somewhat normally in the blur of adjusting to his new environment gave Christmas some traction on the downward slide of his thoughts. He was okay here. He was okay in this moment, in this classroom, in this place. Or perhaps despite this place.

A subnatural seemed to be leading the class, and it had surprised Christmas how the man had undeniable command of the regular staff around him. Almost as surprising as the man being the same one he had encountered in the hospital before. Someone important, then. And he was overseeing their group.

But before Christmas's thoughts could start hobbling towards another series of conclusions he'd [i]really rather not[/i] think about, the sudden entrance of yet another person he had encountered before startled him. The lady from the dining hall. And she came with a group of guards bearing gifts like a demented version of Santa Claus and his reindeers.

Now a Squishable manatee was parked on his desk, beside Lawrence's worn copy of [i]Meditations[/i]. Meanwhile, quiet yips and mewling came from various corners of the room, courtesy of the students who had requested pets.

The woman (Daisy?) had told him to make good choices, and he had only blinked stupidly at the order (suggestion?). The choices he made weren't usually because he wanted them, but because he [i]had[/i] to make them in some capacity.

His gaze had followed hers when she had glanced at Sander, but the moment had passed quickly enough.

And then classes had begun in earnest, and he realized belatedly that he couldn't write with his right hand in that state. He considered just ignoring class and hugging Mr. Chair for the rest of the duration until lunch, but the need to follow regular procedure compelled him to pull out the notebook and pen from the open drawer below the desk's surface.

[i]Meditations[/i] perched on a corner of the desk and Mr. Chair sat snugly on his lap before Christmas started taking notes--or trying to take notes. Writing with his left hand was bizarre. Lettering came out as deranged scrawls rather than the tiny handwriting he usually commanded. By the time classes ended for lunch, Christmas had filled up a good 15 pages of his notebook with large, uneven scribbles, taking up far more space than he truly needed, especially with the lesson on sentence diagramming.

He took his time huddling in his seat: second to last row in the back, furthest on the right. If possible, he would've remained in the classroom, but he didn't really want to stay behind by himself. Gathering his Squishable up in the fold of his right arm and grabbing Lawrence's book with his left hand, Christmas edged towards the exit, pressing his hip against the push bar handle to nudge the door open before slipping out.

[hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔻: 𝔻𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕝   / /   ~𝟙𝟚𝟘𝟘[/color][/center][hr]

When lunch break arrived, Sander was one of the first to leave the room, but he monitored the coffee scent as he walked. After realizing that his roommate hadn’t moved yet, he decided to wait outside, leaning against the patch of wall right next to the exit. It was long before the scent drew closer, so he switched his ability off, then turned to the door, greeting the blond boy with an easy smile as he emerged. 
 
“[color=cyan]Hey, Christmas. Want to get lunch?[/color]” 

Laden down with a Squishable manatee almost as large as his torso and carrying a book in the other hand, Christmas started at his roommate's waiting presence and fixed his eyes on the floor to stymie any further reactions while considering the question.

[color=8493ca]"Um,"[/color] he finally answered, [color=8493ca]"is it okay if I put...uh...[i]this[/i] back in the room?"[/color] He moved his right arm to wiggle the plush creature.

Sander stared at the stuffed manatee for a few moments, eyebrows raised, though he quickly schooled his expression back into neutrality. 
 
“[color=cyan]Sure. Need a hand?[/color]”

The question was like a pop quiz. Was it okay to say he'd rather keep hugging his stuffed animal? Maybe it was rude to refuse. 

Deciding on a compromise, Christmas tentatively handed over Mr. Chair with a soft [color=8493ca]"Sure"[/color] and [color=8493ca]"Thank you,"[/color] figuring Sander could hold the more comfortable of the two items.

Sander took the stuffed animal, then mirrored Christmas’ action, tucking it under his right arm. With that done, he turned and headed back to their shared dorm. Once they arrived, Sander’s eyes immediately came to rest on the mini fridge set up right next to his bed. Almost as if he was in a trance, Sander moved toward it, nostrils flared as he extracted the scents from the air. It felt cold and unappetizing, like days old leftovers, but he didn’t find the gamey, earthy undertones of animal blood. Placing the manatee on his bed, he leaned down and opened up the fridge, rummaging through its content. Bags and bottles of red liquid greeted him, and he could tell from scents alone what they were. Some were not like the others though. Sander reached out to grab the lone red canister, then tentatively gave its exterior a sniff. 
 
Definitely not animal blood. 
 
Biting down on the urge to crack the canister open there and then, he placed it back and retrieved some other bottles, which he proceeded to open up and sniffed. 

While Sander sniffed the contents of the new mini-fridge, Christmas left [i]Meditations[/i] on his desk and carefully retrieved Mr. Chair from his roommate's bed, settling into a seat on his own bed while he waited for Sander. He snuck a few curious glances at the bottles and bags, but didn't stare, preferring to repeatedly pet his stuffed animal instead.

Whoever gave him the fridge had some sense of humor. Sander remembered correctly he did not ask for tomato juice or kool aid. Regardless, they were already delivered, so he might as well make use of them. Casting a glance at Christmas, he realized how unusual his actions must have looked, so he quickly regained his composure and grabbed two bottles, one tomato juice and one kool aid, before shoving the rest back in the fridge. 
 
“[color=cyan]Sorry about that.[/color]”- He walked over to the blond boy –“[color=cyan]Would you like some drinks? I have tomato juice and…strawberry kool aid.[/color]” 

[color=8493ca]"Oh--um, thank you,"[/color] Christmas set the manatee aside, looking at the drinks Sander offered. [color=8493ca]"The tomato juice...then?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]Good choice.[/color]”- Sander handed over the bottle to the healer, before opening up the kool aid for himself and taking a gulp. It tasted just as horrible as he remembered, but he swallowed his grimace, opted to simply walk back to the fridge and place the bottle back inside. His fingers brushed the red canister though, and after a moment of hesitation, he grabbed the thing. He needed it later, anyway. For Ground Zero. The canister felt like it was the same type they gave him back in the Facility, so he figured it would be fine out in room temperature. 
 
“[color=cyan]Do you need anything else?[/color]”- He hefted the canister in his hand, feeling its content sloshed about. Fortunately, the metal shell muted most of the scent, unappetizing as it was. 

Christmas shook his head, giving his plush one more squeeze before standing up with the bottle of tomato juice in hand. If he was being honest, he was grateful Sander took the time to...invite him to lunch? Bring his Vita to the hospital? Talk to him?

But it felt strange. Between his vigilance against what he knew would eventually become his dependency on someone else to take care of his problems [i]yet again[/i] and his selfish need for companionship, he hadn't considered why Sander was going so far to oblige him.

Now that the thought had surfaced, though, there was no quelling it. At the same time, there was no way to ask without seeming ungrateful. As Christmas shuffled out the door behind Sander, he ruminated on his roommate's reasons for--he'd like to call it "putting up with him."

The dining hall was quite busy at this time of day and the usual receptionists at the lobby scanned their cards through without protest. Inside, Christmas looked around for an empty table, spotting one in the far corner, close to the bar in the back. He didn't bring it up, yet, waiting on Sander's decision for which floor and which seats to take.

Sander glanced around the dining hall, searching for an empty table until he found one near the bar. Which did bring back some memories of his talk with Zhang the previous night. He looked almost lost for a brief moment, staring down at the red canister, then at the blond boy by his side. However, reality pulled him back soon enough. 
 
“[color=cyan]There’s a nice spot in the back.[/color]”- He gestured toward the empty table –“[color=cyan]You go on ahead. I will get the food this time. What do you want?[/color]”

[color=8493ca]"Uh, whatever you get is fine--probably,"[/color] he mumbled the last part, waiting for Sander to move towards the trays of food before making his own way towards the corner table. He was careful to skirt and avoid people before they could bump into him, eyes frantically darting around as he tried guesstimating where someone would go from their direction of movement. Nothing as precise as math. Just his usual trepidation when he actually had to navigate a crowd on his own. Bumping into someone was a veritable nightmare, after all.

He practically fell into the seat with relief when he got there, wishing the dining hall wasn't quite so boisterous but simultaneously grateful for the liveliness surrounding him. Settling into the mixture of chatter and laughter going on around him, Christmas left the bottle of juice on the table and absentmindedly fiddled with the gauze on his right hand, wrapping and unwrapping the strands as he tried not to think too much on the disturbing sense of gratification he felt from someone taking care of him again. Unpleasant, and he swallowed like it would make that bitterness go away.

Sander spent the first few minutes just staring at the food displays, pondering his options. Admittedly, he had never been particularly great with choices. Meals, to him, had been neatly portioned trays of food slid in underneath the door of his room for the longest time. Even now, he had trouble recalling what his favorite dishes were, before all of…this. His gaze drifted aimlessly, before he settled on a plate of spaghetti with meatballs. The choice would have been rather odd, considering the enemies they faced in the last battle. Then again, if Sander were being honest with himself, that violent experience felt hardly unpleasant to him. Quite the opposite, actually. The blood high painted every frame of his memory with a golden hue, and they easily entranced him like some helpless moth. 
 
For Christmas, Sander grabbed a sizable piece of steak and some kale salad with apple and cheddar, mostly because he thought they would help with flesh wounds and blood loss. After gathering all the food, along with two cups of coffee, he squeezed them all onto a single tray and headed back. The coffee sloshed a little bit on his spaghetti when he finally got there, but Sander didn’t really care. He took the seat opposite from the blond boy, before pulling the spaghetti and coffee toward himself. The rest he pushed toward Christmas. 
 
“[color=cyan]Here you go.[/color]” 

[color=8493ca]"...Thank you,"[/color] Christmas murmured at the plate. Leaving his right hand at his side, he prodded the kale salad clumsily with the provided fork, his left hand still proving repeatedly that he would likely never become ambidextrous.
[hider=Beating around the bush so hard a moat formed. It's a nice moat though.]
Sander sipped his scalding coffee gingerly, watching the blond boy struggled over the brim of his cup. His gaze drifted lower, blue eyes narrowing slightly when he looked at the loose bandages around his roommate’s right hand. 
 
“[color=cyan]Do you need help?[/color]”- Eventually, he spoke up, placing his cup down.
 
The awkward fork unsuccessfully jabbing at the salad stopped moving. Christmas chewed on the inside of his lower lip before he reluctantly nodded, following up with a quick [color=8493ca]"Sorry."[/color]
 
“[color=cyan]Please don’t be.[/color]”- Sander replied, slightly confused for a moment. That right hand was more or less his fault, after all. Christmas was far too kind for his own good. Regardless, Sander took his unused fork and steak knife before proceeding to cut the slab of meat in more manageable pieces, then slid the plate back toward Christmas. 
 
He was about to offer help with salad as well, but then he remembered that what [i]she[/i] did was not normal, so he let the words die in his throat and went back to his meal. There was no need to make his roommate uncomfortable.

Another muted [color=8493ca]"Thank you"[/color] and Christmas was silent once more, fastidiously eating his food with a slight furrow of his brow. He wanted to ask--at some point--why Sander was helping him to this extent. It was strange to find himself with company in a place where he had expected to be more or less alone.

Strange to find himself settling back into old patterns of behavior when he had been so adamant on leaving it all behind before.

[color=8493ca]"Um..."[/color] he started to ask, but shook his head, thinking better of it. Instead, he replaced the rest with [color=8493ca]"Thank--thank you, again."[/color]
 
“[color=cyan]Okay?[/color]”- Sander looked up from his food, a puzzled look on his face. He could ask, but he remembered well how their last conversation went. Maybe it was better to take everything at face value and leave it at that. It was probably better that way. He didn’t want to delve into unnecessary topics and make the blond boy uncomfortable. Christmas was already squeamish enough. 

The rest of the meal passed with that line of awkward silence stretched taut. Christmas finished his plate with a rough 20 minutes to spare and he finally mustered enough nerve to look up at Sander. His roommate no longer looked as close to death's door as the day Sander had brought the Vita to the hospital and Christmas wondered how long Sander would remain relatively "well" until he regressed to that state again.

[color=8493ca]"Do you like coffee?"[/color] he asked instead, voice almost drowned out by the ambient sounds.

Sander was still finishing up the last of his meal when Christmas decided to finally break the silence between them. 
 
“[color=cyan]Hmm?[/color]”- He lifted his head, swallowing a mouthful of pasta before speaking –“[color=cyan]Well, I actually prefer tea.[/color]”  

[color=8493ca]"Um..."[/color] Christmas's eyes strayed to the two empty cups of coffee on the table. [color=8493ca]"Do you want tea, then?"[/color]
 
“[color=cyan]No. Not really.[/color]”- Sander followed the blond boy’s gaze, as if taking in the contradiction in his words. Christmas didn’t really need to know why he always drank coffee in the blond boy’s company. He had scarred the healer enough. 
 
“[color=cyan]Um. So. You have a manatee.[/color]”- He decided to switch to a more pleasant topic, the words coming out of his mouth stiffly.  

[color=8493ca]"H-huh? Yes?"[/color] Christmas blinked at the change in topic.
 
“[color=cyan]Well, do you like it?[/color]”- Sander forced a smile, silently berating himself for picking such a random thing to talk about. 

Christmas nodded fearfully, staring at Sander now. [color=8493ca]"I-If it's a problem, I can put it somewhere else..."[/color]

“[color=cyan]No no[/color]”- Sander spoke quickly, lifting a hand for emphasis –“[color=cyan]It’s fine. I don’t have any problem with it. Just…curious is all.[/color]” 

A bit more fiddling with his bandages and Christmas managed a small response, eyes focused on the pepper shaker in the table's condiment caddy, [color=8493ca]"Mr. Chair."[/color]

"[color=cyan]Excuse me?[/color]"

[color=8493ca]"The--um--the manatee. It's Mr. Chair."[/color]

“[color=cyan]Oh. Right.[/color]”- Sander blinked as the realization set in –“[color=cyan]Interesting name.[/color]”
 
“[color=cyan]So was it because…you like chairs?[/color]”

[color=8493ca]"Oh, n-no. I just...named it that. Um. I was looking at a chair."[/color]

"[color=cyan]That's...appropriate.[/color]"

Christmas cast his eyes across the table, his gaze darting about erratically as he tried to piece together what he really wanted to say.

[color=8493ca]"...Sander?"[/color]

"[color=cyan]Huh?[/color]"-Sander raised an eyebrow.

[color=8493ca]"Is this..."[/color] Christmas nibbled on his lower lip, directing a confused look at his used napkin. [color=8493ca]"You're...nice. How--how do I..."[/color] he trailed off again, as if the words had abandoned him. [color=8493ca]"Why were you waiting for me?"[/color] he settled at last on the one question he had been curious about. 

"[color=cyan]Because I want to have lunch with you?[/color]"- Sander spoke slowly, brows once again furrowed in confusion. 

The answer seemed to take Christmas by surprise. He blinked repeatedly before looking back down.

[color=8493ca]"O-oh. I--uh--thank you. Um...why?"[/color] 

“[color=cyan]Uh…Yeah.[/color]”- Sander looked even more lost at his roommate’s odd questions. Then again, he wasn’t actually known for intelligence queries, especially with this morning episode in mind –“[color=cyan]Because we are roommates and you have been nothing but nice so…I thought we should hang out.[/color]” 

Now it was Christmas's turn to look at Sander strangely.

[color=8493ca]"...We're hanging out?"[/color]

"[color=cyan]...We are not?[/color]"

[color=8493ca]"I--"[/color] the salad fork found its way to his mouth as Christmas tried to put something there besides his foot. A fork was perhaps better--marginally. He pressed the metal between his lips for a while, wondering how to respond before finally pulling the utensil out. [color=8493ca]"I'm not used to--thank you, though."[/color] Two thoughts jammed together should maybe make more sense, right?
 
“[color=cyan]Oh you don’t?[/color]”- Sander echoed lamely, parts of his brains still hadn’t figured out what Christmas really meant when he said he wasn’t used to thank yous. Maybe it was a culture thing? He wasn’t quite sure –“[color=cyan]So, Christmas. That’s a name I don’t see often. Where are you from anyway?[/color]”

Christmas was used to following and listening, doing nothing beyond agreeing and being present at the behest of others. Nodding and shaking his head was usually enough. He had already talked to Sander more than he properly talked to his parents, and the question of his name only served to prod at the memories he had been very good at not thinking about thus far.

[color=8493ca]"North Carolina,"[/color] he whispered after a pause, keeping his head bowed. [color=8493ca]"W-what about you?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]Right.[/color]”- Sander poked at his dirty plate, mindlessly moving the fork around to form white lines on the stained porcelain-“[color=cyan]I’m from Seattle. Haven’t been back there for a while, though.[/color]”
 
However, since the topic of his old life was something Sander didn’t care to discuss, he simply switched to another, just in case Christmas decided to dig deeper-“[color=cyan]So tell me about yourself. Do you have any hobbies? Play any sports back home?[/color]” 

That's a lot of things to say at once. Hobbies, sports, self. Wow. Christmas opened his mouth and closed it several times, not sure where to start when it came to answering all of that. He could count on one hand the number of people who had ever cared enough to ask in the past.

[color=8493ca]"That's--um--well...uh."[/color] he mumbled out the first few mouth noises that came to mind, unnerved by the prospect of talking about himself. [color=8493ca]"M-my Vita and, um--used to take karate classes?"[/color] 

He looked up at Sander tentatively, gauging the response.

“[color=cyan]Wow, karate. You have been doing that long?[/color]”- Sander smiled, before pushing for more. Anything would do. Anything except talking about himself –“[color=cyan]What game do you usually play?[/color]”

[color=8493ca]"N-no, just--I, um, joined it with a-a--classmate..."[/color] Christmas fiddled with the bandages again, tugging on a loose end and pulling a few centimeters of the gauze loose. [color=8493ca]"Uh...and I just...play visual...novels?"[/color] This time, Christmas looked up to see if that even made any sense to Sander.

“[color=cyan]Visual novels?[/color]”- Sander repeated the words, his mind going back to the game he played on Christmas’ Vita at the hospital. He played it, sure, but he still didn’t quite understand what it was about. His knowledge of games was rather outdated, after all –“[color=cyan]So, like text games? What do you do in those?[/color]”

[color=8493ca]"Just...read. Sometimes you, um, pick a choice."[/color]
[/hider]
“[color=cyan]Yeah. That sounds great.[/color]”- It didn’t take a genius to figure out the conversation was once again drying up, and Sander wasn’t sure how to keep it going. He was so used to being the one answering questions, not asking them. Silence stretched between them as Sander continued picking at his plate, half-hearted waiting for Christmas to say something more.

The timid blond would have picked at his plate in silence, too, except there was nothing left to pick--there hadn't been for quite a few minutes now. He was unsure how to hold a conversation, and Sander seemed unsure about what to ask. And somewhere in the gap between their misunderstandings were the real questions both had awkwardly chatted around.

[color=8493ca]"Can--may I ask something...?"[/color]

"[color=cyan]Sure. Go ahead.[/color]"- Sander looked up, an encouraging smile on his lips. 

[color=8493ca]"Um,"[/color] he swallowed, gulping down air and saliva to assuage the nerves. The tactic had never worked before. Christmas wasn't sure why he thought it would now. But the words had somewhat aligned themselves on his tongue and he let them fall before his mouth could decide on something entirely different. [color=8493ca]"Earlier you...said it doesn't--it doesn't have to be all I am. But--uh,"[/color] he almost lost it, but blurted out the rest just in time. [color=8493ca]"But what about you?"[/color]

"[color=cyan]What about me?[/color]" -The smile lingered, but the blood mage's expression was unreadable. 

[color=8493ca]"...Would you..."[/color] the shuttered expression could have been enough to deter Christmas. Would have, under other circumstances, but he had already traipsed into that landmine they had danced around for the past ten or so minutes, and there would be no leaving unscathed. [color=8493ca]"If that was all you were, would you still take it?"[/color]

Sander worked his jaws again, barely-there movements that he had the habit of making before he chose his words. However, minutes passed and still, no words came out. He found himself glancing sideway at the bright red canister, its obnoxious colour taunting him.
 
“[color=cyan]It is all I have left.[/color]”- He mumbled, voice low and gaze steely as he stared the blond boy down. However, he diverted his eyes soon enough, expression mellowed into a mix of shame and resignation. 

Of course Christmas shrank into his seat at the glare. Of course he was afraid. But this he [i]understood.[/i] And it was like catching insanity together.

[color=8493ca]"Then use me. It's all I have left, too."[/color] 

His voice was quiet--that much would likely never change. But it was firmer than anything he had said before.
 
Sander’s only response was to let the fork in his hand drop, silverware clicking against porcelain. He lifted his gaze to look at the blond boy, but still didn’t say a word. What there was to say? His head was in turmoil, trains of thoughts fought to stop and go, and his words just failed him. So for the longest time, he just stared, looking, but seeing nothing. 
 
“[color=cyan]If that’s what you want, then why me?[/color]”- Eventually, he asked –“[color=cyan]You can heal others.[/color]”
 
“[color=cyan]It doesn’t matter to me where it comes from.[/color]”
 
Christmas looked away, eyes roving across the other tables of seated subnaturals and staff members. Some looked immensely carefree while others sat with harrowed eyes and gaunt expressions.

[color=8493ca]""Because we are roommates and you have been nothing but nice so…"[/color] he repeated Sander's reasoning from before in a soft voice. 

A moment as someone nearby swore, scalded by hot coffee. Christmas's gaze flicked to the injured party sitting two tables away before he turned back to Sander. It was easy to ignore little things like that around him. Also easy to notice if he looked for them. It was true. He could heal others. The doctors had wanted to decide that much for him, anyway.

[color=8493ca]"If...."[/color] Always conditionals. Never certainties. [color=8493ca]"If I wanted to start somewhere, I think...I'd want to be the one choosing."[/color] He didn't clarify if he meant only his power. He wondered if he needed to.

“[color=cyan]So you chose me?[/color]”-[i]The failure. The mistake.[/i] His mind helpfully supplied, but Sander finally settled for the familiar term he was used to –“[color=cyan]The violent X.[/color]” 
 
“[color=cyan]You are not making this easy for yourself.[/color]”- He shook his head, but knew well enough that it was not his place to tell Christmas what to do. Others were entitled to their own choices. The only ones he questioned were his own. 

The least he could though, were making sure he would not endanger the boy anymore than he already was –“[color=cyan]If you are not doing this for yourself, do this for me. I only ask that you don’t offer it to me so easily.[/color]” 
 
“[color=cyan]This school has resources. They can get me what I want.[/color]”- He reached out for the canister, holding it out in front of him –“[color=cyan]Don’t worry too much about me. I can heal on my own.[/color]”  

[color=8493ca]"I...chose the roommate who..."[/color] Christmas placed his right on the table in a splay of loose bandages [color=8493ca]"[i]tried[/i] to fix...this,"[/color] he nodded at the hand, and meant something beyond that. [color=8493ca]"I think you're...probably stronger than--"[/color] 

He breathed out slowly, stopping himself mid-sentence and settling back into his seat, eyes fixed on the empty plate in front of him.

A lurking, feverish emotion hummed at the bottom of his frayed nerves and Christmas closed his eyes, good hand clutching his stomach on instinct as a familiar sensation cropped up there, too. [color=f7976a]"Just butterflies in your stomach,"[/color] he had once been told. He had never worked up the voice to tell them it was more like hornets.

The dining hall's analog clock ticked towards 12:44.

[color=8493ca]"I-I'll head back in a bit. I'm sorry. You can--you can go ahead."[/color]

"[color=cyan]Are you okay?[/color]"- Sander stayed put, eyeing the healer carefully, noting the hand on his stomach.

Christmas took a shuddering breath. [color=8493ca]"I'm sorry. For--um--"[/color] he winced as a small pang of stomach pain jolted through him [color=8493ca]"--bringing it up. I'll--I'll head back in a bit."[/color]

Sander glanced at the clock on the wall and moved to stand up, but he didn’t leave just yet. Christmas seemed suddenly unwell, and he was concerned –“[color=cyan]The infirmary is not far away.[/color]”- He said, half a suggestion and half an offer. 

Another harsh breath in as Sander stood to leave. Christmas shook his head to the comment. [color=8493ca]"Thank you for--"[/color] a short exhale [color=8493ca]"--lunch."[/color]

"[color=cyan]Don't worry about it.[/color]"- Sander recited once again, the courtesies were second nature to him -"[color=cyan]See you.[/color]" - Reluctantly, he gave the blond boy one last worried glance, before heading back to the classroom, taking the red canister with him.  

Once Sander had left, Christmas checked the time on the clock again. If he remembered right, they were expected back at the classroom by 1300. It would probably be enough time for his reflexive stomachache to ebb, though he might just barely make it. A barely audible groan escaped his lips as he leaned his head against the wall next to their corner table, waiting for his pounding pulse and hammering heart to slow down.