Adult Content Warning
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Summary
Because he'd not heeded the warning signs, had he. Not in the past months—years, even, since he'd met Eoin by the side of the always green pitch—and not in the past days, where, through poetry and gritted teeth, he had allowed himself to notice things, things small and dreadful.
The way the lamplight would fall on Eoin's neck when he knelt between his legs, how he'd scrunch his forehead when holding the scissors in his mouth while fiddling with the roll of gauze, the way he would set the sulpha powder's cap in the same place each time, and how Paddy's body already knew the exact shape of his movement.
He'd clasped at Yeats as much as at the remnants of the pain, willing it to hurt more than it did.
And yet here he was, foaming at the mouth, and snapping at thin air.