Numbers is all lines. Brows knit, lips dubiously downturned, jaw set: he looks either distrusting or disapproving, Teddy can’t say which, but it’s not as though it matters: whatever happened, happened.
He reaches out, though, and they can’t claim they don’t appreciate the gesture, gripping his hand firmly and righting themself. They give him a little appreciative nod. …And then they hold on just a bit more of a moment than they’d rather, letting the wash of seasickness and general panic settle, trying to push away that feeling of abruptly being lifted in a stretcher.
Scout leans into her legs a little, offering her own support, and Teddy lets go, embarrassed, already about to apologize. Her brows crease, though, at the question, lifting her head. It’s not something people associate with seizures, and usually don’t ask about unless she’d mentioned it or, once in a blue moon, something else that made them think they have them.
“I…” they start and pause on a little hmm of an exhale, almost a tick or a hyphen made into sound instead of a huff. “Ye-sss…,” they agree, almost reluctantly. “but not usually this weir— How did you know?“
Her mind is a flutter of connections that are all a little hard to hold onto, and she looks up at Numbers, face scrunched in confusion and almost suspicion.
no subject
He reaches out, though, and they can’t claim they don’t appreciate the gesture, gripping his hand firmly and righting themself. They give him a little appreciative nod. …And then they hold on just a bit more of a moment than they’d rather, letting the wash of seasickness and general panic settle, trying to push away that feeling of abruptly being lifted in a stretcher.
Scout leans into her legs a little, offering her own support, and Teddy lets go, embarrassed, already about to apologize. Her brows crease, though, at the question, lifting her head. It’s not something people associate with seizures, and usually don’t ask about unless she’d mentioned it or, once in a blue moon, something else that made them think they have them.
“I…” they start and pause on a little hmm of an exhale, almost a tick or a hyphen made into sound instead of a huff. “Ye-sss…,” they agree, almost reluctantly. “but not usually this weir— How did you know?“
Her mind is a flutter of connections that are all a little hard to hold onto, and she looks up at Numbers, face scrunched in confusion and almost suspicion.