[Rokurou backs off one instance and challenges him the next and -- somehow always seems to make the right choice on which to do when that leaves him equal parts envious and awed as his fingers close around the handkerchief, long and strangely dark eyelashes low as he looks at where the daemon's hand is closed around his wrist]
[he, too, wonders at how difficult it would be for him to snap it, but it's more in curiosity of Rokurou's strength than lauding his own resistance]
[after a few beats of lingering in the air, he draws back, clutching onto it and making another swipe at his puffy face with a sleeve]
[this gift he just wants to keep, untainted for as long as he can]
Mm'already tired. I just want a fuckin' nap.
[emotional breaks exhaust him more than anything, and he pulls himself up from the couch with difficulty, head still swimming, though not as much as before]
...thanks, though. [in general...] Wash and return that container to me when ya can, awright? I ain't got many.
[a gesture to the tupperware still sitting on the table -- and a vague hope that the swordsman doesn't see it as the bid for his attention and company it really is]
( well, this was some first official meeting. Mo brings him a snack and he makes the kid cry. though, he thinks, it may have been born from a need for catharsis than anything the daemon did or said.
the handkerchief is ignored but Rokurou doesn't say anything. what is he going to do, wipe it across Guanshan's face for him like a parent? no. it's there for when he needs it, maybe if he sheds tears later, and there aren't sleeves to dirty.
Mo stands and so does Rokurou, stretching his arms over his head like he had before, bending elbows and gently working out the kink that built in his neck from draping. )
Oh? ( he glances over at the container and—yeah, it is kind of fancy, isn't it? he doesn't think anything else of that. it's a reasonable request. ) Gotcha.
( resting his hands on his hips and offering the younger man a grin, )
I'll do that.
( he's not so rude as to not walk his guest to the door, so he's going to, regardless if Mo complains or not. )
[the grin disarms him, as it always seems to now, and he doesn't know if it holds the secret of that truth or not]
[decides, eventually, it doesn't matter; he'll keep it -- and just like that, his trust in the daemon deepens, takes root and chains itself down somewhere, tight but not unbreakable... at least for now]
[a myriad of confusion and insecurity leave him without complaint, stubbornly refusing to sway or fall until he claims an edge of the doorframe with his spine in a slump as any drunk is wont to do]
[looking up, he squints at the other man, eyes still bloodshot but no longer leaking]
...Mm'I what you expected? In person.
[some first meeting indeed, and now he's looking for an analysis]
( his smile hasn't dropped, and he meets that gaze with an arched brow. what he expected...?
his hand comes up to his chin, finger curled in thought as he gives the question serious consideration. )
Well... ( drifting, in thought, ) ... you have more freckles than I thought.
( from the video—he hadn't been able to tell, really, even if the picture was pretty good. but now, up close, he can see them perfectly well.
same amount of pale though. and just as boney.
dropping his hand, he brushes across Mo's shoulder, something like a pat but too soft to really be considered that. nothing he keeps there, his hand drops down to his hip again in a second.
as for the rest: well, he doesn't look put out, even with the tears. and no one's brought him a snack like this before. )
[with no small amount of reactive, almost fake frustration, a sigh rattles out of his chest, scowling up at the taller man even when his touch lands onto his shoulder, and the pinched expression turns into some confused searching]
[like he's trying to interpret it, what it means, too unaccustomed to physical contact that doesn't come from a fight or a blind, groping fumble in the dark]
...Ya ain't as tall as I thought. [one shallow bit of commentary traded for the other, not delving into deeper waters if he's going to be the only body swimming there]
[hands shove into pockets as he pulls up and off, slouched shoulders cutting a line through the hallway as he rubs softer fabric between fingers -- ]
( not as tall, huh? that draws a huff from him as he crosses his arms. if he was looking for something else it's not going to be offered now—maybe his mind's not made up, maybe he never really had any expectations at all.
watching the way those shoulders slouch for a moment, he doesn't say anything, just considers before nodding his chin up, )
See you, beansprout.
( he'll be fine. so he just watches for a moment before turning, closing the cabin door and leaving the hallway quiet. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[he, too, wonders at how difficult it would be for him to snap it, but it's more in curiosity of Rokurou's strength than lauding his own resistance]
[after a few beats of lingering in the air, he draws back, clutching onto it and making another swipe at his puffy face with a sleeve]
[this gift he just wants to keep, untainted for as long as he can]
Mm'already tired. I just want a fuckin' nap.
[emotional breaks exhaust him more than anything, and he pulls himself up from the couch with difficulty, head still swimming, though not as much as before]
...thanks, though. [in general...] Wash and return that container to me when ya can, awright? I ain't got many.
[a gesture to the tupperware still sitting on the table -- and a vague hope that the swordsman doesn't see it as the bid for his attention and company it really is]
no subject
the handkerchief is ignored but Rokurou doesn't say anything. what is he going to do, wipe it across Guanshan's face for him like a parent? no. it's there for when he needs it, maybe if he sheds tears later, and there aren't sleeves to dirty.
Mo stands and so does Rokurou, stretching his arms over his head like he had before, bending elbows and gently working out the kink that built in his neck from draping. )
Oh? ( he glances over at the container and—yeah, it is kind of fancy, isn't it? he doesn't think anything else of that. it's a reasonable request. ) Gotcha.
( resting his hands on his hips and offering the younger man a grin, )
I'll do that.
( he's not so rude as to not walk his guest to the door, so he's going to, regardless if Mo complains or not. )
Try not to fall asleep in the hallway, okay?
no subject
[decides, eventually, it doesn't matter; he'll keep it -- and just like that, his trust in the daemon deepens, takes root and chains itself down somewhere, tight but not unbreakable... at least for now]
[a myriad of confusion and insecurity leave him without complaint, stubbornly refusing to sway or fall until he claims an edge of the doorframe with his spine in a slump as any drunk is wont to do]
[looking up, he squints at the other man, eyes still bloodshot but no longer leaking]
...Mm'I what you expected? In person.
[some first meeting indeed, and now he's looking for an analysis]
no subject
his hand comes up to his chin, finger curled in thought as he gives the question serious consideration. )
Well... ( drifting, in thought, ) ... you have more freckles than I thought.
( from the video—he hadn't been able to tell, really, even if the picture was pretty good. but now, up close, he can see them perfectly well.
same amount of pale though. and just as boney.
dropping his hand, he brushes across Mo's shoulder, something like a pat but too soft to really be considered that. nothing he keeps there, his hand drops down to his hip again in a second.
as for the rest: well, he doesn't look put out, even with the tears. and no one's brought him a snack like this before. )
no subject
[like he's trying to interpret it, what it means, too unaccustomed to physical contact that doesn't come from a fight or a blind, groping fumble in the dark]
...Ya ain't as tall as I thought. [one shallow bit of commentary traded for the other, not delving into deeper waters if he's going to be the only body swimming there]
[hands shove into pockets as he pulls up and off, slouched shoulders cutting a line through the hallway as he rubs softer fabric between fingers -- ]
Later, Rangetsu.
no subject
watching the way those shoulders slouch for a moment, he doesn't say anything, just considers before nodding his chin up, )
See you, beansprout.
( he'll be fine. so he just watches for a moment before turning, closing the cabin door and leaving the hallway quiet. )