Re: in-person: holly/noah
[He didn't type back. Instead, of typing, he called out:] Help. Help. [The sound was loud enough to carry, but it couldn't be called a yell. Deadpan. It was a deadpan request for assistance, one offered from the sitting room attached to the bedroom on the first floor that they'd temporarily claimed.
Holly was on the couch, leg up and wrapped thickly, a soft brace from upper thigh to ankle making moving a bitch. His crutches were across the way, on the table, and he had a pillow and blanket with him. His baseball tee was paired with pajama pants, but he'd cut the leg fabric off one side raggedly. Okay, okay, he'd totally torn it with his teeth. Whatever. He was lying on the couch, hair in need of a wash and all the blinds shut, waiting for Noah to bust in.] I'm looking at him. [Again, deliberately deadpan. But he did look. His expression was muted, but his interest was evident.] You look hot.