fox is losing consciousness in broad daylight, swimming beneath the hazy swell of the sun as i slam my hands somewhere near his breastbone-- an effort beyond me, beyond my comprehension, but it's all flying away beneath my fingertips as i realize that he's bleeding from somewhere underneath his(more) ribs.
"wake up," i scratch over the bruise at the base of his throat. i'm flying, my head soaring over the clouds, and it takes too long to understand where i'm touching him and what it all means. "god."
god? the earth is soft and rain-damp, turning to mud at my knees, and i keep on thinking that if i just hit him enough he'll stay awake.
he ain't awake. he ain't staying awake. i think of blood under my nails and the patter of rain on waxy green leaves. sun fizzles over the back of my neck.
"fox," he's all red hair and sharp lines, gaunt in the hollow of his throat and dimly yellowed with jaundice. my thumbs skate over the slopes of his cheekbones. i am breathless.