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At this point the nosebleed wasn’t showing any signs of stopping.
Roger looked up from the small puddle of blood that had dripped to the ground beneath him before he had managed to pull a handkerchief from the bottom of his pockets ...and laughed. He laughed so loud that several heads turned his way, those who had not seen what had happened confused and those who had looking on with no less confusion. He continued laughing, shaking his head and pressing the handkerchief tighter against the sides of his nose.
He had told Deaks that he liked him, had gotten a vague-ish agreement to a movie date and, upon Deaky having left the café to give the new progression some more thought, had managed to trip over his own bag, slamming his nose against a chair on his way down.
Still, he smiled. He'd have a hundred nosebleeds (okay, maybe ten. He really doubted he'd survive the blood loss were they to occur soon after one another) if it meant he'd see that silent, shy smile directed at him tug on John's lips more often.