[ Basch does rescue the pants, if only because he will have to return through the hotel at some point, but the shirt only comes with him to be a further cleaning aid.
He looks up, unsure what to make of Sylvain’s sheepish grin. He hasn’t connected it to the desire to offer aid, and so he wonders if he’s done something odd; he hasn’t seen anything remotely like shyness on the other man. Puzzled, but loathe to make it worse, he just follows Sylvain out. The other man’s comment draws his attention to the sky dome. Beautiful. But something in him still feels wrong. Trapped. A prison is a prison, and the air doesn’t move right. He won’t say it though. What he does say is ]
The building is enormous across, so it follows the gardens would be large.
[ And then he’s glancing back at Sylvain, more interested in that view, and his brow is twisting, lips parting. He looks at Sylvain’s hand in confusion, gaze darting back to his face in question. There’s just a smile there.
Were the rules just different where Sylvain was from? Or — he realizes his heart is beating faster — was whatever that deeper, messier thing he was feeling…mutual?
He wants to shake his head, write it off, hide from the vulnerability that if he accepts, he can be so much more hurt. But—
But he doesn’t. Almost like someone else is reaching in and steering, he sets his hand in Sylvain’s. His smile, though, small and sheepish as it is, is all his. It takes all his not-small a line of self restraint not to say anything stupid, which essentially means limiting himself in words altogether. ]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-01-15 05:24 am (UTC)He looks up, unsure what to make of Sylvain’s sheepish grin. He hasn’t connected it to the desire to offer aid, and so he wonders if he’s done something odd; he hasn’t seen anything remotely like shyness on the other man. Puzzled, but loathe to make it worse, he just follows Sylvain out. The other man’s comment draws his attention to the sky dome. Beautiful. But something in him still feels wrong. Trapped. A prison is a prison, and the air doesn’t move right. He won’t say it though. What he does say is ]
The building is enormous across, so it follows the gardens would be large.
[ And then he’s glancing back at Sylvain, more interested in that view, and his brow is twisting, lips parting. He looks at Sylvain’s hand in confusion, gaze darting back to his face in question. There’s just a smile there.
Were the rules just different where Sylvain was from? Or — he realizes his heart is beating faster — was whatever that deeper, messier thing he was feeling…mutual?
He wants to shake his head, write it off, hide from the vulnerability that if he accepts, he can be so much more hurt. But—
But he doesn’t. Almost like someone else is reaching in and steering, he sets his hand in Sylvain’s. His smile, though, small and sheepish as it is, is all his. It takes all his not-small a line of self restraint not to say anything stupid, which essentially means limiting himself in words altogether. ]
Yes. I’d like that.