[ He's almost out of air. The world is dark and his lungs are burning and he is desperate to take a breath, but he can't— he has to get through this— he can't let all that work go to waste.
Maybe it's the hand at his wrist. Maybe it's the sense of responsibility. Probably it's pure adrenaline: Flynn kicks, full of frantic energy and the need to breathe, and breaks through the surface of the sand with a gasp that fills his lungs with scouring sand and air alike. It's in his eyes and his ears and his nose and everywhere else, and he wastes no time in yanking his arm free too to make sure they're both scrambling up. The world is dark and blurry; his eyes are squeezed shut and leaking frantic sand-filled tears. ]
Th— [ he starts, and bursts into coughing. Talking later. Get out the sand now. ]
no subject
Maybe it's the hand at his wrist. Maybe it's the sense of responsibility. Probably it's pure adrenaline: Flynn kicks, full of frantic energy and the need to breathe, and breaks through the surface of the sand with a gasp that fills his lungs with scouring sand and air alike. It's in his eyes and his ears and his nose and everywhere else, and he wastes no time in yanking his arm free too to make sure they're both scrambling up. The world is dark and blurry; his eyes are squeezed shut and leaking frantic sand-filled tears. ]
Th— [ he starts, and bursts into coughing. Talking later. Get out the sand now. ]