[ Pity—an exceedingly rare emotion for William Birkin, but still one he was able to feel. He felt it now, watching his closest friend try not to vomit, or maybe sympathy was a better descriptor; Albert had never been pitiful in William Birkin's eyes, nor could he ever be. Whatever the feeling, it was unpleasant, twisting deep in his gut and joining the generalized chaos of every other emotion this whole nightmarish situation had managed to elicit.
William reached out absently, squeezed his shoulder with a bare hand as he stood beside the bedrail. Neither of them had ever been particularly tactile with other people, but there were exceptions in Birkin's world; this was one of them. Hopefully the touch was grounding, or at least would give him something to focus on other than trying not to vomit.
On some level, it soothed his own nerves at least a modicum, too; the bones and muscles of Wesker's shoulder were solid and immovable under his hand, still warm with life. He hadn't gone anywhere, and hopefully wouldn't be in the near future. ]
Breathe deeply. Through your nose, not your mouth.
no subject
William reached out absently, squeezed his shoulder with a bare hand as he stood beside the bedrail. Neither of them had ever been particularly tactile with other people, but there were exceptions in Birkin's world; this was one of them. Hopefully the touch was grounding, or at least would give him something to focus on other than trying not to vomit.
On some level, it soothed his own nerves at least a modicum, too; the bones and muscles of Wesker's shoulder were solid and immovable under his hand, still warm with life. He hadn't gone anywhere, and hopefully wouldn't be in the near future. ]
Breathe deeply. Through your nose, not your mouth.