[002:] [Location: Room 305, then the hallways.] With a bit of a mind flip...
There are certain things that are very easy to miss when they're happening to you.
Eric's ego would dictate that this was beyond him, but it wasn't. He woke up that night on the dizzy side, and frowned, closing his eyes again. Strange, but not unheard of. Neither was the fact that he was starving. After a moment to collect himself -- which was pointless, he still wound up dragging his not quite steady body out of bed -- He crossed the room to the stash of blood he had in the mini fridge.
One full glass of AB negative later, Eric was sprinting across the room and vomiting into a trash barrel.
Strange.
Head spinning twice as fast now, he spit into the bucket and fell back, arms just barely catching him to prop him up. He took a deep breaths to steady himself further, swallowing down the remaining blood and bile in his mouth, and nearly lurching forward again for another round. It took far longer than it should have for Eric to realize how much those breaths were needed.
His breathing slowed to nearly nothing. Then he held it. Held it until his lungs burned, and he was forced to gasp for air again. Air that was somehow now a necessity. Reaching up, Eric slowly brought two fingers to his neck.
There are certain things that are very easy to miss when they're happening to you.
It turned out a pulse was one of them.
In spite of the trauma it'd just endured, and the inexplicable sense of panic amidst a rush of warring emotions its owner currently faced, Eric's stomach growled as ferociously as he currently couldn't.
Still, it was a long time before he found his way to getting back on his feet again. And even longer before he slowly slipped out of his room, and moved quickly to the door to avoid Natasha catching him. Oh so aware, with every single step, that he wasn't moving nearly fast as he should be moving.
As he went out into the hallway, Eric's fingers found his pulse again of their own accord, and lingered there. It was still there. He was still breathing. He raised a hand, putting it over where his heart had laid dormant for over a thousand years.
The steady beating cemented it. Somehow, some way, he was human.
Staggering a bit out the door with the weight of it, his stomach twisted and snarled again in protest of neglect. Yes, he was definitely human.
And he was fucking starving.
Eric's ego would dictate that this was beyond him, but it wasn't. He woke up that night on the dizzy side, and frowned, closing his eyes again. Strange, but not unheard of. Neither was the fact that he was starving. After a moment to collect himself -- which was pointless, he still wound up dragging his not quite steady body out of bed -- He crossed the room to the stash of blood he had in the mini fridge.
One full glass of AB negative later, Eric was sprinting across the room and vomiting into a trash barrel.
Strange.
Head spinning twice as fast now, he spit into the bucket and fell back, arms just barely catching him to prop him up. He took a deep breaths to steady himself further, swallowing down the remaining blood and bile in his mouth, and nearly lurching forward again for another round. It took far longer than it should have for Eric to realize how much those breaths were needed.
His breathing slowed to nearly nothing. Then he held it. Held it until his lungs burned, and he was forced to gasp for air again. Air that was somehow now a necessity. Reaching up, Eric slowly brought two fingers to his neck.
There are certain things that are very easy to miss when they're happening to you.
It turned out a pulse was one of them.
In spite of the trauma it'd just endured, and the inexplicable sense of panic amidst a rush of warring emotions its owner currently faced, Eric's stomach growled as ferociously as he currently couldn't.
Still, it was a long time before he found his way to getting back on his feet again. And even longer before he slowly slipped out of his room, and moved quickly to the door to avoid Natasha catching him. Oh so aware, with every single step, that he wasn't moving nearly fast as he should be moving.
As he went out into the hallway, Eric's fingers found his pulse again of their own accord, and lingered there. It was still there. He was still breathing. He raised a hand, putting it over where his heart had laid dormant for over a thousand years.
The steady beating cemented it. Somehow, some way, he was human.
Staggering a bit out the door with the weight of it, his stomach twisted and snarled again in protest of neglect. Yes, he was definitely human.
And he was fucking starving.