Growing up as Crona had, he really did not grasp a lot of concepts. One of these concepts he did not grasp well was the concept of asking for help. this paired up with the thought process that being taken care of meant you were weak meant that he not only refused to let Noa know he was ill, but ignored the signs. He tried on, because he had suffered all those things so he could be stronger. He would not be weak. And yet he found it hard to concentrate; even to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
When he fell and Noa took on helping him walk, he gave the man a curious look, not comprehending what he meant. "But i'm not on fire..." was all he got out instead of his usual rambling talk.
by the time he was back and laid in bed he decided he did not like feeling like this. he had never felt like this before - likely a result of his mother and her constant injections.Crona tried keeping his eyes open... but they kept closing on him, and his head felt fuzy... but the bed felt good, as did the blanket and... oh, the clothe did as well.
"I don't think I like being sick," he began at a lower volume than was his normal, and slower. "I don't feel right... my head is all fuzzy and hurts." His brows furrowed, lids almost closed all the way, but staying open by his sheer willpower. He, of course, didn't even realize Noa wasn't there to hear what he said until he turned his head where Noa should have been. For some reason he did not like that the man was not there, and so curled up on his side and grabbed the blanket close, pulling it up until it covered up his mouth. He wanted Noa, but it was wrong to call out. "I don't know how to deal with being alone anymore..." he said to no one in particular.
no subject
When he fell and Noa took on helping him walk, he gave the man a curious look, not comprehending what he meant. "But i'm not on fire..." was all he got out instead of his usual rambling talk.
by the time he was back and laid in bed he decided he did not like feeling like this. he had never felt like this before - likely a result of his mother and her constant injections.Crona tried keeping his eyes open... but they kept closing on him, and his head felt fuzy... but the bed felt good, as did the blanket and... oh, the clothe did as well.
"I don't think I like being sick," he began at a lower volume than was his normal, and slower. "I don't feel right... my head is all fuzzy and hurts." His brows furrowed, lids almost closed all the way, but staying open by his sheer willpower. He, of course, didn't even realize Noa wasn't there to hear what he said until he turned his head where Noa should have been. For some reason he did not like that the man was not there, and so curled up on his side and grabbed the blanket close, pulling it up until it covered up his mouth. He wanted Noa, but it was wrong to call out. "I don't know how to deal with being alone anymore..." he said to no one in particular.