[ he was about to reply, text him back and tell him he's fine but there it is - a flashlight in his face and he has to squint because ow--

there's a lot of overwhelming things happening and he knows he should be more upset but seeing robert so concerned, so gentle with the way his rough fingers caress his face- it just reaffirms how in love with him he is. and boy, does he love robert smalls.

being called baby - robert's baby - is doing a weird amount for him too. god, he's ready to take this man home. fuck the picnic. he doesn't even know where the fucking basket went when he went flying. guess it really does belong to the bears now.

he places his hands on robert's wrists, thumbing them gently to soothe him. funny how craig's the hurt one and he still feels the need to assuage his fears, smiling softly at him in hopes to reassure him. ]

I'm okay. Just twisted my ankle, I think. Sorry.

[ he doesn't want to be a pain, a nuisance, so he's quick to try and stand- though he ends up fumbling because ow, ow, ow- jaw tense, he winces and grips onto robert's arm for support. great.

what a great not-date. he's gonna get bears and ghosts after them for what-- ]

Sorry, again. I think I can walk on it; just give me a second and I'll be okay-

[ listen, he's an athlete. sort of. he's sprained ankles, wrists-- broken a few bones while he's at it. he can do this, probably. the only problem really is that, well, he still doesn't even know where they are.

he hates feeling useless, he hates that he put them in this position. but even now, he tries his hardest to keep his stupid smile on because he knows it's freaking robert out. ]