❰ a week ago, he might have glanced emil's way when he entered. peered in a way that carefully failed to seem hopeful, in case emil had finally gotten enough rest or thought enough thoughts to get through this thing that lalli had long since come to understand he had no actual way to help him through. but now, he just offers a vague greeting hum on his way by, focused on the more practical goal: food.
but all at once, emil grabs his arm.
lalli stops short, and for the second time in less than a day, his gaze darts first to emil's hand, then to his eyes. wary but questioning. only belatedly does he realize he's been betrayed by how obviously he's forgotten to breathe. he does that now, exhales slowly and quietly, not at all sure what to make of the panicked energy in emil's eyes and the grip of his hand. he doesn't know what it is that emil wants or needs, but has he ever? ...no, he did once. for a long time he did. it's just so hard to picture now.
another second passes, then another. then the arm in emil's grip shifts a little, his hand lifting just enough to set feather-light fingertips just below emil's elbow. ❱
Hungry? ❰ he can make emil something too, as if that helps anything at all. ❱
( It's a scene that he can almost pass off as normal if he squints, and that's more than he's gotten in a while. But there's one major thing in Emil's vision that reminds him that this isn't so pristine. The single-word question is ignored; he couldn't eat at the moment with how dry his throat is.
Instead, his other hand goes up to finger a clump of hair that hangs past Lalli's ear. There's a downward angle to the cut of it, and he can so easily picture his friend's slender fingers white-knuckling his dagger, dangerously close to his face as he slices the hair off with a slight yank. Emil holds the ends in his fingertips with knitted brows. )
Your hair. ( It escapes from his mouth accidentally, as his brain struggles with what to do. His arm jutted out against his better judgement, and his muscle memory strains against his brain that says touching should be off limits. Maybe it would be easy enough to fix this mess Lalli has made on his head, and from there everything would be easier -- or everything could break, leaving their relationship like those jagged clumps of hair on the floor.
Finally he lets go, both hands slowly lowering as his eyes shift from the hair to Lalli's eyes. Still a painful place to look, but where he's always intrinsically drawn. ) I could...? ( But he trails off again, scared to finish the question as his gaze breaks again, eyes quickly shifting downward to the floor. The longer he stares, the more sure Emil is that he'll remember something he really doesn't want to. )
❰ and though lalli's eyes shift to watch that hand as it approaches and takes hold of a bit of his hair, he doesn't move. the first pair of words go entirely ignored, unnecessary as they are in light of the way emil's fingers still hover in the hair around his ear. it's the first deliberate contact since that initial relieved embrace. any response lalli might offer has the distinct possibility of shaking the pair of them back to the way they were before.
it turns out that he didn't need to worry so much - it was going to break anyway. there goes emil's hand, a fact that not even the eye contact can genuinely make up for, and the 'i could...?' earns a shake of lalli's head as he turns with intent to keep on perusing the cabinets. ❱ It's fine.
❰ it's the first deliberate contact in weeks, and it's all because lalli dared to look homeless. that was the word emil used, right? to tell lalli that he was a mess?
he knows he's a mess. a stupid haircut isn't going to change that. ❱
( If only he could communicate to him that this isn't some shallow fixation on how Lalli looks. Emil looks up again and no he can see the back of his friend's head. The jagged, mismatched strands are so much more noticeable, one even long enough to be missed altogether.
The longer he stares, the more a dark pit forms in his chest and the harder it is to exhale properly. Being truthful, a regular, self-given haircut would probably look a lot like this. But knowing it's after his nightmare, and coupled with how much screwing up Emil has done lately...this isn't coincidental. This was an act of upset, not simple practicality or a need to get the hair off of his neck.
So he's got to think about how upset Lalli would have to be to hold a knife, stare into a mirror like it's a void and slash at his hair until he can't or doesn't want to anymore.
And that also includes just how much he himself has contributed to that numb yet sharp feeling he knows has burrowed into the Finn's own chest. )
No. ( Another word that slips out accidentally, but that feels too jagged to continue. But it's not fine. The opposite. If only he could find someway to explain himself that wasn't pathetic. That's not the case, so he answers a question that previously went ignored. ) I'm not hungry.
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but all at once, emil grabs his arm.
lalli stops short, and for the second time in less than a day, his gaze darts first to emil's hand, then to his eyes. wary but questioning. only belatedly does he realize he's been betrayed by how obviously he's forgotten to breathe. he does that now, exhales slowly and quietly, not at all sure what to make of the panicked energy in emil's eyes and the grip of his hand. he doesn't know what it is that emil wants or needs, but has he ever? ...no, he did once. for a long time he did. it's just so hard to picture now.
another second passes, then another. then the arm in emil's grip shifts a little, his hand lifting just enough to set feather-light fingertips just below emil's elbow. ❱
Hungry? ❰ he can make emil something too, as if that helps anything at all. ❱
no subject
Instead, his other hand goes up to finger a clump of hair that hangs past Lalli's ear. There's a downward angle to the cut of it, and he can so easily picture his friend's slender fingers white-knuckling his dagger, dangerously close to his face as he slices the hair off with a slight yank. Emil holds the ends in his fingertips with knitted brows. )
Your hair. ( It escapes from his mouth accidentally, as his brain struggles with what to do. His arm jutted out against his better judgement, and his muscle memory strains against his brain that says touching should be off limits. Maybe it would be easy enough to fix this mess Lalli has made on his head, and from there everything would be easier -- or everything could break, leaving their relationship like those jagged clumps of hair on the floor.
Finally he lets go, both hands slowly lowering as his eyes shift from the hair to Lalli's eyes. Still a painful place to look, but where he's always intrinsically drawn. ) I could...? ( But he trails off again, scared to finish the question as his gaze breaks again, eyes quickly shifting downward to the floor. The longer he stares, the more sure Emil is that he'll remember something he really doesn't want to. )
no subject
it turns out that he didn't need to worry so much - it was going to break anyway. there goes emil's hand, a fact that not even the eye contact can genuinely make up for, and the 'i could...?' earns a shake of lalli's head as he turns with intent to keep on perusing the cabinets. ❱ It's fine.
❰ it's the first deliberate contact in weeks, and it's all because lalli dared to look homeless. that was the word emil used, right? to tell lalli that he was a mess?
he knows he's a mess. a stupid haircut isn't going to change that. ❱
no subject
The longer he stares, the more a dark pit forms in his chest and the harder it is to exhale properly. Being truthful, a regular, self-given haircut would probably look a lot like this. But knowing it's after his nightmare, and coupled with how much screwing up Emil has done lately...this isn't coincidental. This was an act of upset, not simple practicality or a need to get the hair off of his neck.
So he's got to think about how upset Lalli would have to be to hold a knife, stare into a mirror like it's a void and slash at his hair until he can't or doesn't want to anymore.
And that also includes just how much he himself has contributed to that numb yet sharp feeling he knows has burrowed into the Finn's own chest. )
No. ( Another word that slips out accidentally, but that feels too jagged to continue. But it's not fine. The opposite. If only he could find someway to explain himself that wasn't pathetic. That's not the case, so he answers a question that previously went ignored. ) I'm not hungry.