(Untitled)

[green_and_white]

Jazz is less than happy in the same way that abzolute zero is less than warm

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[green_and_white]

She marches away, with obvious but futile reluctance.

[nowait_letme]

Chainsaw shakes his head and looks up at Will, finally.

"Willy--" he starts, fondly exasperated.

Then he cuts himself off.

"...Will. Shit, must be a hundred years or more since I've seen you."

[eidetiker]

Will freezes, watching him warily.

"It's been a few months."

He's acutely aware of the vulnerability of his posture, of his scars bare in the air.

[nowait_letme]

He ignores them, but it's a very focused lack of attention, and there's visible effort involved.

"Yeah."

A long breath, in and out.

(Gives Jazz time to get out of earshot.)

Softly: "I'm sorry."

[eidetiker]

"--What?"

[nowait_letme]

Snort.

"Yeah, I know. Look, do you want me to get you out of that or what? C'mere."

[eidetiker]

Shockingly, Will looks mistrustful of this offer.

[nowait_letme]

Chainsaw rolls his eyes.

"Fine, whatever. You figure it out."

He tosses the knife into the grass at Will's feet and turns away to head back to the bar.

[eidetiker]

"Wait."

[nowait_letme]

Chainsaw stops in his tracks, but doesn't turn around.

"Yes?"

[eidetiker]

"I need the help."

[nowait_letme]

"Okay."

He turns back around, approaches, and bends down to retrieve the knife.

[eidetiker]

Will lets out a breath and turns around, offering his hands. Blood is running in fine rivulets down the fingers of one hand and smearing the other.

[nowait_letme]

The pressure of gentle fingers on his hands, a brief increase in the tension of the knotted fabric, and a tiny nick in one thumb.

Will's free.

Chainsaw is licking his fingers clean, the knife stowed away in a pocket.

[eidetiker]

He brings his hands around, flexing his fingers, wincing.

He turns.

". . . Thank you."

[nowait_letme]

"Welcome."

He cocks his head.

"And I'm still sorry."