[ he’s honestly want someone to be here with him, now— but professionally, jun was not the person for that. the tips of his fingers squeeze at fabric before it falls back to him, sitting himself upright to get through the ridiculous amount of sniffles he has. he can’t shake it off, this feeling— his neck is okay, thank god, but he feels . . . lonely. scared? a horrible partnership. ]

O-okay . . . [ he drops his head and rubs the bottom of his nose with the back of his sleeve, not worried if it streaks wet. drying his tears come after, when he lifts his arm and uses his shoulders for each side. ] Thank you, Father Orden. You risked yourself to do that . . .

[ all that’s left now is for him to recuperate, physically and mentally. he’s not feeling the chicken coop anymore, and sighs again when he’s caught himself thinking about people. gah. it might just make him cry again. he’s sensitive and missing them and considers, immediately, a remedy his body seems to call for. ]

Is it safe to lay down for a little while?

[ in bed, he means— to get some rest. he’s still a little spooked, for sure, but also inherently tired. almost like if he’s just come out of a shift, pain and crying is ultimately exhausting. ]