He knew this was probably consider being a hypocrite. It’s not like he was trying to say that Neo couldn’t be upset or anything. But it happened so suddenly after what he had said, he wanted to know what upset him so fast. So he didn’t make the same mistake twice.
He hadn’t meant any harm in what he said. He would have been right there in the hospital room to make sure they were treating him right. But then again, perhaps it was better if they didn’t go to the hospital. The two holes in Neo’s palm was still there and how would they explain that?
Kenta shook his head. “I told you. I’m not letting go until you talk to me. Tell me what I did wrong.”
He could tell Neo was probably getting irritated at him, but that didn’t make him move away from the bike. He noticed that Neo couldn’t even say the word hospital anymore. Perhaps it was that word. Bad memories about the place? Maybe he was traumatized by hospitals. But Kenta couldn’t be sure until Neo talked to him.
Smell of blood was filling the air again. His eyes lowered to the hand that was bandaged up. His blood was soaking through the cloth. That wasn’t good. He had to stop breathing for a moment, terlling himself over and over again that he had enough blood. He didn’t need anymore. That there was something more important at hand here. He lifted his gaze up once more.
There was no more time to argue. That wounded needed to be attended to. He sighed heavily. This was such a pain sometimes. “Fine. I’ll let you do whatever you want. But I still want answers and I’m not letting you bike there.” He turned around and started to pull the bike with Neo on it. “Just lift your feet up and hold on will you?” He only glanced at Neo for a breif second, whether the other listened or not, he started to run, pulling the bike with him. It would just be faster this way.
He would look back to make sure Neo hadn’t fallen off and finally he came to a halt. He looked around the area. A motel again? Or his house? No not his house. There would be too many questions, too many people, and right now it was probably not the best thing to take Neo there while he was like this. So he made his way to the nearest motel, stopping at the entrance. He let the bike go slowly.
"Is here okay? Or did you already have a place you were staying at?"
Why is it that it seems Kenta’s become the responsible adult in the situation? Lip curling slightly, Neo watches him through steady eyes, each muscle in his body still primed for combat. It’s a stiff movement when he moves to put his feet on the pedals, but when Kenta begins to run, he feels his head duck as the world around him turns into a blurry view through a broken kaleidoscope. He takes the time to steady his breathing. He doesn’t pay attention when Kenta finally stops. His leg, however, moves to keep the bike upright when he’s let go; physical reflexes are all Neo has going for him.
He’s a little bitter when he replies, "Do you think I have a place to be?”
It’s probably awful that all he can think of are the words ‘six feet under’, 'disintegrated’, and 'dead’. He gets off the bike, rolling it to the terminal and leaning it there without chaining. In such a seedy part of town, he knows there’s a low chance it’ll actually be there when Neo goes outside again, but in this moment he doesn’t even care. The toolbox is dropped beside it, the noise banging against the pavement as the metal is jangled inside. Neo’s apathy towards it is larger than even his apathy towards the bicycle.
His grip around the knapsack strap is tight for a second before it releases, and he walks into the receptionist area without turning his head towards Kenta to make sure he’s following.
The process is methodical: he books a room, pays up front, takes the key, and goes upstairs. He opens his door stiffly, closes it just the same, drops the quiver and the bow onto the bed without caring about the spillage, and moves to the bathroom. If he’s rough when he tugs the cloth from around his hand, he doesn’t make a big deal about it. The bloodstained garment drops to the tiled floor as he refuses to look at himself in the bathroom mirror. Then he runs cold water over the wound and watches the water turn pink in the sink basin.
He drops his knapsack and opens it to pull out a Ziploc bag. The alcohol is there, and the cotton from before, but this time there’s a needle and a spool of thread and a lighter. Neo pulls the bag open and takes the needle in his hand, but he doesn’t put the thread through the eye yet. Rather, after disinfecting the metal, he pushes the needle into his wound and digs in for a small shard of metal left behind by the old arrow. He doesn’t even wince when the metal is taken out. There’s a clinking noise when it hits the porcelain of the sink.
He disinfects his wound and the needle again, the metal cleaned with the fire of the lighter instead of the alcohol. Then he disinfects the thread.
He pushes the sharp end into his skin and pulls it out the other side.
Kenta was going to take him to the hospital.
Kenta isn’t someone he can trust.
Kenta was going to take him to the hospital so Kenta isn’t someone he can trust.
Neo stitches and cuts the excess thread off with his teeth.
He doesn’t need a fucking doctor.
He washes the crimson off the glinting metal of the needle, making sure to account for the thread as well once that’s over and done with. Then he shoves everything back into the resealable bag and slips that into his knapsack. He takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and finally he lifts his head to look at himself in the mirror. His eyes are still cold and unfeeling, his scar a darker shade on his flesh than everything else, his jaw still clenched as his fingers curl around the end of the sink.
He doesn’t know if Kenta followed him. He doesn’t care if Kenta followed him.
Neo has the striking urge to vomit, and his knuckles turn white as his grip tightens exponentially.