[The suggestion unnerves Stiles. Frozen with indecision, he gazes down at the calloused palm presented between them, suddenly hyperaware of how easily the knife might be fumbled and slice the delicate, pale skin at the wrist. But this abrupt cognizance doesn’t stem from any kind of sanguine hunger to feed on Sasuke; instead, there is something darker and more sinister lurking out of sight beneath the surface of his consciousness. The American teen feels his flesh pebbling with goosebumps as he slowly flips the knife around to grasp the handle.]
The tip of your finger, [he says, a gentle warning, and tries to subdue the roar of triumph howling in his ears as the knife eases closer.] I’ll get you a band-aid after.
[But as the point hovers over the index finger, Stiles forces himself to pause. He’s struggling with himself—pupils dilated alarmingly, teeth grit against baser urges. When he finally sets the knife on the rough finger pad, his arm trembles with the restraint necessary to maintain a light prod. At last, a tiny bead of blood wells up. Stiles hurriedly pulls the knife away.]
Uh. Okay. Just—
[Cringing, he leans down and tries to scent the air. There is no reaction—nothing beyond the swell of vague disappointment still stewing in his heart for having failed to remove the finger altogether.]
Huh. I mean…I kinda doubted she turned me, but…
[The knife is returned to its spot. And as he said, Stiles takes a moment to dig out the first-aid kit once more.]
Here. [An appropriately sized band-aid is peeled open, decorated in flowers that are clearly meant to resemble female genitalia. Despite how trivial the cut may be, Stiles is tender as he dresses it.] Okay, this is just more proof for my current working theory. (Remember what I said about only telling people you trust?) The resort nurses claimed the doctor saved my life. But there’s no fucking way. Not with how much blood she would have drained me of. I think… I think I seriously died.
[Solemn, he looks up at Sasuke.]
There’s…another reason I’ve got this theory. I should give you a minute if you’ve got any questions first, though.
no subject
The tip of your finger, [he says, a gentle warning, and tries to subdue the roar of triumph howling in his ears as the knife eases closer.] I’ll get you a band-aid after.
[But as the point hovers over the index finger, Stiles forces himself to pause. He’s struggling with himself—pupils dilated alarmingly, teeth grit against baser urges. When he finally sets the knife on the rough finger pad, his arm trembles with the restraint necessary to maintain a light prod. At last, a tiny bead of blood wells up. Stiles hurriedly pulls the knife away.]
Uh. Okay. Just—
[Cringing, he leans down and tries to scent the air. There is no reaction—nothing beyond the swell of vague disappointment still stewing in his heart for having failed to remove the finger altogether.]
Huh. I mean…I kinda doubted she turned me, but…
[The knife is returned to its spot. And as he said, Stiles takes a moment to dig out the first-aid kit once more.]
Here. [An appropriately sized band-aid is peeled open, decorated in flowers that are clearly meant to resemble female genitalia. Despite how trivial the cut may be, Stiles is tender as he dresses it.] Okay, this is just more proof for my current working theory. (Remember what I said about only telling people you trust?) The resort nurses claimed the doctor saved my life. But there’s no fucking way. Not with how much blood she would have drained me of. I think… I think I seriously died.
[Solemn, he looks up at Sasuke.]
There’s…another reason I’ve got this theory. I should give you a minute if you’ve got any questions first, though.