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And so, Lina sat with him, tears swirling in her eyes, panic racing through her heart, and empathy mixed with fear making her blood run cold.
Jeno himself felt as if each and every vein in his body was being severed from his body, then pulled out of his flesh, one by agonizing one from his leg.
And yet, all he could do was wait. Wait for whatever was to come, whether it was the arrival of his gang, or the arrival of something more sinister.
Similar to Jeno, Lina felt useless sitting there. She couldn't help him any further, and could merely attach a belt to his leg, which only slowed his bleeding.
Jeno's eyes glared at the ceiling, following the cracks that spread through it like branches to a tree, splitting into little twigs- stemming from an accumulation of fissures.
He looked like he had just seen a ghost- or, perhaps, he was the ghost. He was paler than snow, and Lina could swear that he was nearly transparent, as if all of the color had been drained from his flesh; a fresh canvas.
The only hues that decorated his skin was black, ringing his eyes like raccoon face-paint.
His dark hair stuck to his forehead, swirled into a hurricane of a hairdo as his shallow breaths echoed throughout the cold home.
His eyelids drooped, and large bags dangled beneath his sullen eyes, looking like he had just pulled five all-nighters in a row.
Jeno's lips were pursed together so tight that his lip quivered, devoid of the natural smile that previously danced upon his expression.
Previously, his wound spilled what felt like an ocean of blood, but due to the tourniquet, his bleeding became a mere dripping, but that didn't make up for the blood he had already lost.
Lina told herself that it was fine- if Jeno was currently alive, it couldn't of been that much blood, could it?
Yet it felt like it was everywhere- soaking Jeno's clothes, adding a new coat of hues to the floor, splattered on Lina, and slipping among her fingers.
And, there she sat, unable to restore the color to Jeno's cheeks, impuissant to take away his pain, and incapable of healing the boy.
She was powerless.
"You couldn't even close the door?" A voice scoffed.
Lina whirled around, eyes wide as she breathed out a relieved laugh, unsure if she could've uselessly sat there for much longer.
A boy with bleached-blond hair peered into the trashed apartment, sighing languidly as he glared at the damage to his house, but he barely lived in it, so it didn't bother him too much.
A burgundy jacket draped off of him, and it was at least two sizes to big for him, spotted dark, nearly black dots.
Hands stuffed into his pockets, the painfully loud sound of crunching echoed throughout the apartment as he approached, watching as shards of glass crumbled beneath his feet.
