Calypsox



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    “Take his helmet off” Aaron instructs, when Andrew clearly isn’t responding. Neil hesitates. Part of him knows he has to, that its a necessary evil. The other part of him doesn’t want to do it without knowing that Andrew is cognizant enough to recognise Neil’s touch. He shucks off his gloves and unsnaps his wrist-guards first, careful to unclip Andrew’s helmet with a delicacy not often afforded on the court and slips it off slowly enough that he feels it right in his chest when Andrew’s head lolls back against the cold floor. “Someone get his jersey out of the way, the bastard got him in the stomach”

    No” Neil snarls, not recognising his own voice.

    Aaron reaches forward and Neil smacks his arm away. “Josten, will you fucking-”

    “Neil”

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    19 Feb 2025