[ Done the same in a way. Oswald is going 2 to 1 as far as he's concerned. There's Butch's strangling situation. Though Oswald being unconscious with a gunshot wound was more of a mess. Bringing out that expression of worry isn't something Ed was planning on doing again. People rarely plan to get hurt. He thought he could handle this part until he hit the roadblock. Normally, one-hand could handle buttons but at this stage of fatigue, it just wasn't working out.
He didn't want to have to ask him to do this part but he hadn't needed to. Oswald is close and only hesitated for a moment. Mumbling. He must think he's foolish for not being capable of getting the words out. He finds himself unsure what to say. Only Oswald seems to be able to make words fail him. He doesn't know why he couldn't just ask. It's like there was another layer to it he's not completely aware of.
Ed's watching Oswald's hands. It feels like Oswald's doing it slower than needed. Careful. Silence outside of breathing. Is this dragged out or is he so lightheaded that the concept of time is avoiding him? He catches his eyes when he does look up and nods at him, maneuvering himself without hurting himself so Oswald can slide the shirt off easier. It feels like he peeled off a layer of skin, having that come off. ] Incredibly.
[ The darker fabric of a false uniform hid most of his own injuries and had blended it with blood from other sources than himself. The stark white of the undershirt puts the red on display, broadcasting exactly where he got hurt, exaggerating it by retaining a stain far past the tear in the fabric.
Ed takes a breath, puts a non-injured hand over the pendant on his chest to quickly remove it and put it aside by carelessly dropping it on the floor. It's not important. He looks back to Oswald, returning with a look of his own and a nod. Keep going. ]
action;
He didn't want to have to ask him to do this part but he hadn't needed to. Oswald is close and only hesitated for a moment. Mumbling. He must think he's foolish for not being capable of getting the words out. He finds himself unsure what to say. Only Oswald seems to be able to make words fail him. He doesn't know why he couldn't just ask. It's like there was another layer to it he's not completely aware of.
Ed's watching Oswald's hands. It feels like Oswald's doing it slower than needed. Careful. Silence outside of breathing. Is this dragged out or is he so lightheaded that the concept of time is avoiding him? He catches his eyes when he does look up and nods at him, maneuvering himself without hurting himself so Oswald can slide the shirt off easier. It feels like he peeled off a layer of skin, having that come off. ] Incredibly.
[ The darker fabric of a false uniform hid most of his own injuries and had blended it with blood from other sources than himself. The stark white of the undershirt puts the red on display, broadcasting exactly where he got hurt, exaggerating it by retaining a stain far past the tear in the fabric.
Ed takes a breath, puts a non-injured hand over the pendant on his chest to quickly remove it and put it aside by carelessly dropping it on the floor. It's not important. He looks back to Oswald, returning with a look of his own and a nod. Keep going. ]