Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

So Wesley had books. Lots of books. And they were... interesting.

By interesting, he meant that they made him blush pretty much constantly. They were that kind of books.

"She'd like that?" he wondered at one point, copying over a particularly surprising passage into his notebook. "How would I even -- " He turned the page, revealing a diagram. "Oh. Oh."

Yeah. Totally blushing.

[[Open door and post, expecting one. I'm a jerk.]]

Wesley couldn't quite clamp down on the small pained noises that rose instinctively in his throat as he made his way agonizingly slowly up the last set of stairs to the fifth floor. It just figured, didn't it, that his room would be on the top floor when he was in this condition. Well. At least it wasn't too far from the stairwell to his room.

He limped the few steps to his door and unlocked it. He knew that he would have to do inventory of the injuries later, but right now he was focused rather single-mindedly on making sure Katniss had enough food and then collapsing in bed. He rather hoped he'd find her sleeping -- he didn't much fancy the idea of her seeing him like this. It would just be another piece of evidence that he wasn't equipped to take care of someone.

[[For the mockingjay. Up early for probable eventual SP.]]