( the lie makes harumasa laugh, a mistake because it's always bound to become a struggling cough in his current state; the smile doesn't wane though, the faintest shrug to narrow shoulders as he does his best to accommodate the direction. well. half. "relax" is a grain of salt they both understand as well as something like "trust me", like "i'm not worried", like "i'm fine". like.
and harumasa does like him.
useful. amusing. kind whether he knows it or not. some people carry a sense of some kind of fight even when they stand with their posture relaxed and their head canted as if considering the weather and nothing more. the red scarf sometimes catches harumasa's eye, when they are outside, and the flicker thrush of it in the wind is like a flame no matter the hour. he doesn't need the shadowed ghosts of lighter's details to know they are there, but he also already knows perhaps more than most.
nosey.
but if lighter had a real problem with that, he wouldn't be here, right?
well. hard to say with kind people.
he feels very light, held and lifted, and it is almost like he's not fully tethered to his body. if he couldn't feel lighter's contrasting body heat, it would be more cause for worry; but he can. so, shivering, he finds tiredness betrays him and his head falls, face sort of pressed at the juncture of lighter's neck and shoulder. it's a bit of a strain to keep his arms looped up around as he is, but it also lets him stay close; lets him stay.
forgiveness? permission? some of harumasa's stuttering little breaths tickle near the clattered dogtags. )
Ha...do you...really think I'd nitpick my midnight hero?
( yes he would. if he was feeling more up to it.
it's also deep past midnight, but never mind.
he breathes. slowly. so slowly. but he breathes.
one hand ends up curled more at lighter's nape, harumasa's thumb again with the back and forth motion. it's unconscious this time, but maybe instinct really is a thing. like with the smaller stray darting past them right through the champion's legs. for a champion fighter, sometimes harumasa feels like he can all but taste the nerves coming off of him. even now, being so deliberate. maybe his touch means nothing. that's alright. maybe it would be easy too to dismiss as incidental. just holding onto what he can hold onto; who.
wind whispering around a tenacious, flame that, sometimes, seems to whisper back.
fair warning.
harumasa's eyes close again though he's still conscious. yeah.
no subject
and harumasa does like him.
useful. amusing. kind whether he knows it or not. some people carry a sense of some kind of fight even when they stand with their posture relaxed and their head canted as if considering the weather and nothing more. the red scarf sometimes catches harumasa's eye, when they are outside, and the flicker thrush of it in the wind is like a flame no matter the hour. he doesn't need the shadowed ghosts of lighter's details to know they are there, but he also already knows perhaps more than most.
nosey.
but if lighter had a real problem with that, he wouldn't be here, right?
well. hard to say with kind people.
he feels very light, held and lifted, and it is almost like he's not fully tethered to his body. if he couldn't feel lighter's contrasting body heat, it would be more cause for worry; but he can. so, shivering, he finds tiredness betrays him and his head falls, face sort of pressed at the juncture of lighter's neck and shoulder. it's a bit of a strain to keep his arms looped up around as he is, but it also lets him stay close; lets him stay.
forgiveness? permission? some of harumasa's stuttering little breaths tickle near the clattered dogtags. )
Ha...do you...really think I'd nitpick my midnight hero?
( yes he would. if he was feeling more up to it.
it's also deep past midnight, but never mind.
he breathes. slowly. so slowly. but he breathes.
one hand ends up curled more at lighter's nape, harumasa's thumb again with the back and forth motion. it's unconscious this time, but maybe instinct really is a thing. like with the smaller stray darting past them right through the champion's legs. for a champion fighter, sometimes harumasa feels like he can all but taste the nerves coming off of him. even now, being so deliberate. maybe his touch means nothing. that's alright. maybe it would be easy too to dismiss as incidental. just holding onto what he can hold onto; who.
wind whispering around a tenacious, flame that, sometimes, seems to whisper back.
fair warning.
harumasa's eyes close again though he's still conscious. yeah.
fair. )