[He had never wanted to see another dead body again, had even sworn to himself in some fit of emotion or another that his own funeral would never be open-casket, because he did not want to subject anyone to the sight of his body suspended in his final moment. He did not know George, but the spray of blood that had gushed from his body, making of his flesh a limp-limbed ragdoll so carelessly tossed aside, brings him back to Sam. Even though he is across the wide room, he can see in his mind's eye the glassy gaze that must film the dead man's eyes. The memory of what death looks like up close gurgles too readily to the surface.
He did not know George, but that was a life.
Connor hardly takes heed of the person ducking down beside him, too ensconced in his panic to mind what others are doing around him. That is, until a familiar voice brings him to jerk his head up. Even now the mere sight of him is enough to make his heart rise in his chest, and under any other circumstances he might hate himself for it. At present, however, he does not think about how Oliver had broken his heart, or how they had argued the last time they spoke and he was left to adjust to such an unlucky lot alone. He thinks only that this is Oliver.]
What are you doing here? [He begins to reach for him, whether out of habit or want for reassurance, but hesitates, the familiarity of the gesture tarnished.] Wait, were you in jail?
no subject
He did not know George, but that was a life.
Connor hardly takes heed of the person ducking down beside him, too ensconced in his panic to mind what others are doing around him. That is, until a familiar voice brings him to jerk his head up. Even now the mere sight of him is enough to make his heart rise in his chest, and under any other circumstances he might hate himself for it. At present, however, he does not think about how Oliver had broken his heart, or how they had argued the last time they spoke and he was left to adjust to such an unlucky lot alone. He thinks only that this is Oliver.]
What are you doing here? [He begins to reach for him, whether out of habit or want for reassurance, but hesitates, the familiarity of the gesture tarnished.] Wait, were you in jail?