[it's another snarl, apparently of affirmation, as the next moment has Badou standing up like some terrible sea creature emerging from the bloody depths (Godzilla, maybe, if that weren't so damn ironic)]
[he fumbles for a manky looking and red-stained towel, wrapping it around hip bones that look like they're going to wear through that paper-rough scarred skin, flash bone and muscle]
[ash falls from his cigarette into a puddle on the floor as he steps out of the tub beside the other man, pausing only to twist his hair like a locker room towel, sending a small torrent of chunky tomatoes back into the tub]
[while the undergrounder's shamelessness is appealing, the actual visuals are not: if the monk had been more prone to Thinking in that moment, he'd have wondered exactly why he was attracted to Badou (too used to the handle of muscles and the fullness of another body to wonder what a living skeleton looks like beneath him)]
[he hoists his own colors calmly, sliding out of pulp-thick floors and wiping boots on the carpet of the room, fetching jeans and a t-shirt that are (questionably) clean and tossing them into the dry sink]
[it's been a while since he's felt as shitty as the other looks, but he recalls a distinct desire to be left the hell alone (from prying fingers and other invasions, as it were)]
[as exhausted as his body is, as much as he is interested in being left the hell alone, and as much as it's all Badou can do to keep on his feet, the returned rasp is warm]
Yah, now m'good.
[the now is both natural and important]
[he'll be crashing, to be sure, and crashing hard, but not without having been rendered a bit more human beforehand]
[he smiles a little at it -- warm, slow, genuine, like a hot-poured liquor or a slow-burning candle]
[a scarred-up arm reaches out, fingers burrowing into hair over a fox-ear, the back of his thumb stroking a fevercheek, smoothing freckles and black strap alike]
[the touch isn't shied from, when the words are as flushed as the fever Genkaku wanted to transfer in the first place]
[and after he's dragged on the jeans and a t-shirt and returned to his barren bedroom, he follows that advice. his last conscious thoughts wonder idly at the shack's dinner menu]
[but he will not wake from that sound black-out, until the morning after]
Reply
[it's another snarl, apparently of affirmation, as the next moment has Badou standing up like some terrible sea creature emerging from the bloody depths (Godzilla, maybe, if that weren't so damn ironic)]
[he fumbles for a manky looking and red-stained towel, wrapping it around hip bones that look like they're going to wear through that paper-rough scarred skin, flash bone and muscle]
[ash falls from his cigarette into a puddle on the floor as he steps out of the tub beside the other man, pausing only to twist his hair like a locker room towel, sending a small torrent of chunky tomatoes back into the tub]
Reply
[he hoists his own colors calmly, sliding out of pulp-thick floors and wiping boots on the carpet of the room, fetching jeans and a t-shirt that are (questionably) clean and tossing them into the dry sink]
[it's been a while since he's felt as shitty as the other looks, but he recalls a distinct desire to be left the hell alone (from prying fingers and other invasions, as it were)]
I'm gonna git. Shit tuh'do, please tuh'see. Y'alright?
Reply
Yah, now m'good.
[the now is both natural and important]
[he'll be crashing, to be sure, and crashing hard, but not without having been rendered a bit more human beforehand]
Reply
[a scarred-up arm reaches out, fingers burrowing into hair over a fox-ear, the back of his thumb stroking a fevercheek, smoothing freckles and black strap alike]
Get some respite, ahn?
[he closes the door to the bathroom behind him]
Reply
[and after he's dragged on the jeans and a t-shirt and returned to his barren bedroom, he follows that advice. his last conscious thoughts wonder idly at the shack's dinner menu]
[but he will not wake from that sound black-out, until the morning after]
Reply
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