starting sentence: ' I cant... c-can't breathe. '
Apollo is injured — Phoenix tries to help.
" Apollo? "
The voice is weak, but it's clear, and Nick's heart just about shatters along with the rest of his body. ' I can't… c-can't breathe — '
Damn, everything hurt Phoenix. Every bone in his body hurt, and he was sure there was more than one wound of his bleeding, but he had to keep a clear head, and he couldn't let Apollo suffer because he was too preoccupied with his own wounds.
The explosion hit hard, and Phoenix wasn't sure what it was that was breaking Apollo's voice — the fire was raging, and the smoke was thick. Phoenix found himself coughing, forcing his arms to support the weight of his upper body and he lifted himself up, inch by inch.
It only got harder for Phoenix, the closer he got to sitting up properly. Himself, he was struck by a few chunks of concrete, but he was going to live.
( Where the hell is he ? )
The moment he saw the shock of red, he'd forced his body to heave itself over to the still lawyer. His chest was moving, albeit slowly, and Phoenix let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, collapsing to his knees, with a small cry of pain, at Apollo's side.
A brief look at the lawyer, at his state, and Phoenix's heart just about fell to the bottom of his stomach yet again.
Fuck, Phoenix didn't know what to do with so much d. He could see one serious wound on the younger male's side, and even with the red vest, he could clearly see the blood pouring out from it. He wasn't trained for this — he was a lawyer, he was only used to handling the autopsies' descriptions of wounds, not the actual flesh and blood — pun unintentional — itself. But this was Apollo, and he had one hell of a wound, and, as an incredibly quick scan over him, Phoenix could tell he had quite a few others.
( What do I do, what do I do, what do I do ? )
This was no time for Phoenix to sit around and do nothing. He needed to act and fast. His jacket was immediately torn off, as he roughly scrunched it together, pressing the wadded up fabric, hard, against the wound. Apply pressure, right ?Isn't that what he was supposed to do ?
Bright blue eyes, shiny and wet with the pricking of tears stared desperately into pained brown ones, lingering only for a few seconds before Phoenix snapped his head up, screaming for help, for anyone to help — he screamed at the top of his lungs, a volume to give Apollo's ' chords of steel ' a run for their money.
Finally — finally, he'd heard something akin to a confirmation, another voice, someone who Phoenix hoped to God was going to help them, and looked back to Apollo, to see him simply blink and grimace in pain back at him. He looked as if he'd made to speak, but no noise could come out.
This couldn't be the way it would happen, this wasn't how Apollo was supposed to go —God, the kid was only 23. He was a kid. He had so much left to live for; he needed to keep breathing. The world wasn't done with Apollo Justice. Not yet.
He gripped Apollo's right hand, with an especially tight squeeze to let him know that there was someone there with him, that he was going to be okay, that he better be okay.
" It's okay, Apollo. I'm here.
" You're not alone."
