[A single word, like a nail being hammered into the mind, as soon as Louis' telepathic response brushes paths with someone else's consciousness nearby. Perhaps he might recognize it; it has the same underlining of impatience, and bitterness, and the unwillingness to cover it up as easily and as often as he usually does.
Should Louis bother to look askance, over to the bed next to him, there sits Henry, skin still glistening with fever, his head stooped down and face buried in his hands. Blond strands poke out between pale fingers.
He's clearly in better shape than Louis, but the bar is still low. Frustratingly so. His next response is at least spoken verbally, low and strained.]
Keep your complaints to yourself. I don't need them ricocheting in my head.
no subject
[A single word, like a nail being hammered into the mind, as soon as Louis' telepathic response brushes paths with someone else's consciousness nearby. Perhaps he might recognize it; it has the same underlining of impatience, and bitterness, and the unwillingness to cover it up as easily and as often as he usually does.
Should Louis bother to look askance, over to the bed next to him, there sits Henry, skin still glistening with fever, his head stooped down and face buried in his hands. Blond strands poke out between pale fingers.
He's clearly in better shape than Louis, but the bar is still low. Frustratingly so. His next response is at least spoken verbally, low and strained.]
Keep your complaints to yourself. I don't need them ricocheting in my head.