( it's a lot to wake up to, a dizzying blur of motion that sure as hell guarantees the guy beside him is real. not some kind of fever dream or something. adrenaline surging through him, his eyes dart around him, taking in this weird ass situation that can't be the afterlife. one short, stunned look around the room and no way, not the afterlife, not unless the afterlife is weird as fuck. the hand hand on his shoulder draws his eyes frantically back to the guy that's not a fucking angel, but some soft looking chinese guy.
anyone else, he'd swat the worried hand away, but it doesn't even cross his mind. he's just confused. what the hell? he craddles his arm to his chest, doesn't need a doctor to tell him he fucking broke it even though he'd love to know how.
his jaw only drops a little more when pretty guy opens his mouth and -- yeah, chinese. he's like, the least intimating guy jason's ever laid eyes on, but jason feels more batshit than ever, sitting there trying to figure out what the fuck happened. jason is ready to pull out his hair when the guy speaks again. since he understands about ten words of chinese, he looks up, seeing pretty boy's hand on his chest and the intentional look. he's trying to communicate even knowing there's a whole shitty language barrier between them.)
Sizhui? (jason repeats carefully, even though that could fucking mean a number of things. help? his name? doctor? with a little more care for his wounds, he sits up fully, wincing a little. with his good hand, he points to the guy that is definitely not an angel.) Sizhui. (he repeats with more intention behind it, eyes on him. this feels like some tarzan shit, but doesn't stop jason from turning his pointed finger back to himself.) Jason.
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anyone else, he'd swat the worried hand away, but it doesn't even cross his mind. he's just confused. what the hell? he craddles his arm to his chest, doesn't need a doctor to tell him he fucking broke it even though he'd love to know how.
his jaw only drops a little more when pretty guy opens his mouth and -- yeah, chinese. he's like, the least intimating guy jason's ever laid eyes on, but jason feels more batshit than ever, sitting there trying to figure out what the fuck happened. jason is ready to pull out his hair when the guy speaks again. since he understands about ten words of chinese, he looks up, seeing pretty boy's hand on his chest and the intentional look. he's trying to communicate even knowing there's a whole shitty language barrier between them.)
Sizhui? (jason repeats carefully, even though that could fucking mean a number of things. help? his name? doctor? with a little more care for his wounds, he sits up fully, wincing a little. with his good hand, he points to the guy that is definitely not an angel.) Sizhui. (he repeats with more intention behind it, eyes on him. this feels like some tarzan shit, but doesn't stop jason from turning his pointed finger back to himself.) Jason.