One moment, Kavinsky is just macking on a cute boy who's playing hard to get because that's the way he thinks about being a creep.
The next, he's floating down a corpse-choked shit river and feeling... what. Bad about it? 'Bad' doesn't begin to encapsulate how bad he feels, the nausea jumping off the fever, the fear of drowning managing somehow to cut through a misery deep enough to drive a suicide. Except Kaz isn't dead, is he? which is something that Joseph Kavinsky, a previous perpetrator of suicide himself, has a split-second to recognize and perhaps admire Kaz's fortitude, if that's what we're going to call it, before
"Pggghk," is his very eloquent lung collapse sound that he makes when the butt of the cane hits his gut.
He winds up leaning over forward, blinking.
Not as emotionally distraught, as afraid as he probably should be, but even before Dr. Chilton got his fingers in Kavinsky's brain, he had a somewhat flat response to physical response. Something wrong with him, probably. He wheezes a breath, blinking, and then his tattooed fingers abruptly snap shut on the shaft of the weapon plugged into his midsection, with surprising strength. That much, one can credit to Dr. Chilton.
tw sexual harassment, problematic make-believes, suicide
The next, he's floating down a corpse-choked shit river and feeling... what. Bad about it? 'Bad' doesn't begin to encapsulate how bad he feels, the nausea jumping off the fever, the fear of drowning managing somehow to cut through a misery deep enough to drive a suicide. Except Kaz isn't dead, is he? which is something that Joseph Kavinsky, a previous perpetrator of suicide himself, has a split-second to recognize and perhaps admire Kaz's fortitude, if that's what we're going to call it, before
"Pggghk," is his very eloquent lung collapse sound that he makes when the butt of the cane hits his gut.
He winds up leaning over forward, blinking.
Not as emotionally distraught, as afraid as he probably should be, but even before Dr. Chilton got his fingers in Kavinsky's brain, he had a somewhat flat response to physical response. Something wrong with him, probably. He wheezes a breath, blinking, and then his tattooed fingers abruptly snap shut on the shaft of the weapon plugged into his midsection, with surprising strength. That much, one can credit to Dr. Chilton.