Re: Holly's place: Holly/ Noah
Noah watched his phone go and sniffled. His tears, all things considered, were fairly subdued. It was mostly just some leakage and sniffling, along with the usual red glow of the nose and tired eyes. Noah reached down to where his shirt was still sort of tucked into his pants and lifted the fabric to his nose. He wiped there, then at his eyes, then let the damp fabric drop. Because he didn't really want to be crying. Because whatever Holly thought, man, the fact that he, Holly, was the one who was sitting there without a sling was important to Noah. He shook his head, springing that curl Holly had just tucked loose. He didn't actually say anything for a minute there. Holly was telling him to convince him, and Noah was bad at convincing like that. Maybe once he'd thought he was good at it, but he learned that wasn't actually true at all.
"Put your arm back in the thing," he told Holly, falling short of bossy, but not sounding particularly wishy-washy about it either. "You're not supposed to be moving your arm so much." Noah pushed off of the bed and went to Holly's desk, where some of the pills were congregated. He tried to find the painkillers he'd just picked up, because Holly was so supposed to be having more than that half he'd had.—Once he managed to find the bottle, Noah carried back to the bed. "I just don't want to do it," was all he said. "Let me talk to my primary, man. I can probably get my Xanax 'scrip increased. I know you don't like that or you think it's going to turn me into a pill popper, but I am supposed to take it." Noah cleared his throat and popped open the pill bottle. "Do you have water?"