Re: [(early) kinda sorta mental: holly/noah.]
[As if on cue. He's talking to Ren, and then he's not. Suddenly, it's a hail of gunfire almost making his ears bleed and he's crawling after this spitting spike of pain. No, that's Holly. Holly's crawling. Blood is on his arm, but he can't feel it. His body reacts. Vomit. Crawling. Hiding. Breathing. Phone, phone, phone, please don't let me die here, fuck, fuck, god, fucking god.—At home, Noah's breathing is a stuttering echo, not catching, never enough, and he's pretty sure he puked too. Or maybe not. He can't tell. But, it doesn't matter, because he's hardly feeling it. He's almost projecting himself. He doesn't know that, but it's true. Fingers slip on the screen of Holly's phone, and Noah thinks HERE and SAFE and DON'T WORRY SAFE and LOVE. It doesn't make sense, in the way of language, but it makes sense in the quilting of thoughts.]