( it's such a strange, unusual feeling--it's not the first time that someone has fisted up the front of his hoodie, but usually that's in their dying moments, begging him, cursing him, trying to reach for him through the fire. the way that esikko touches him is more pleading, like a child begging to stay up another few hours, or for another few bites of a good snack. with a slow breath, he straightens out his shoulders; careful, he keeps his hand pinched at esikko's nose, not letting the movement disrupt him from his task.
it's only when that head lifts that he lifts his own brows in expectation--and his face doesn't change, even as esikko smears a streak of blood across his cheek.
his eyes lid, like he's going to get angry; carefully, his hand lowers from esikko's nose, blood pooled into the palm, dripping down his fingers. )
Maybe you shouldn't invite yourself over. ( mildly, as he lifts his bloody hand to push it back through esikko's pretty hair, mottling it up, strands stuck together as he brushes out the strands; when he's done, he paps esikko's cheek with his palm in playful punishment. )
But if you ask me nicely, I guess I'll let you use the shower. You look like a fucking mess.
( he does not, at least, agree to clean up with him together just yet--that'll be the next hurdle esikko has to jump, made apparent by the slow curve of his smile. )
( Esikko expects anger, some sort of smart ass comment, or a firm rejection. Bloody fingers through his hair, though, catch him completely off guard. There's an annoyed sound that slips out, one of weak protest, but by the time he lifts his hands to try and swat Dabi's out of his hair, he's already getting a pap to the cheek, the gentle "punishment" of it earning one closed eye as he waves him off. )
If I don't invite myself, who will?
( His brows are furrowed, his face a little red, and he's undeniably pouty over Dabi's reaction, without any real heaviness to the irritation lying beneath. The comment he'd just made comes out without a thought, without a pause for the implications of how he thinks. Instead, he spends a second hovering a hand cluelessly over his own head, debating if there's anything that can be done at all with the state of his hair now, for the walk down. But with a huff, he gives it up and drops his hand. )
Fine. You want me to say pretty please? I can stand.
( But he does use Dabi's shoulders as a brace, placing a hand on one to push himself up and snatching his journal off the ground with the other as he goes. )
Pretty pleaaaase. ( Dryly, as he gathers a few more of his jars and shoves them into a bag. And then, with a slower sort of turn, he looks back at Dabi again, his eyes and the tense way he grips at the bag over his shoulder giving away his uncertainty, even when his words come out snappy. )
( his gaze watches, mild, tracking, as esikko cleans up--gathers up his jars, gathers up his journal, doesn't make any move to smudge anything out. if this is a little corner that he's claimed for himself, then it probably doesn't matter; still, he's careful about it, as he eases up onto his feet, careful as he steps away, just as he'd stepped in. he doesn't want to fuck anything up on accident--easier to push his hands into his sweatshirt and wait for him, assuring that he doesn't wobble when he eases up his bag.
he thinks he could offer to carry it--then decides against it. his eyes narrow, playful, looking esikko down once, then back up again. )
You? Nah. You'll shower with me.
( as if it had been that easy all along--and with another curve of a smile, he eases back a little more, already intent on heading towards the exit, to head towards the elevators, to head towards his room. he'll wait, at least, for esikko to fall into step beside him before he leaves--after all, he doesn't know how he feels about that comment.
if i don't invite myself, who will?
he may not be willing to put it into words, may not be willing to keep extending out invitations to his room like it's some kind of halfway house. but the implication of his body language, of the way that he sticks close to him, the way that he takes charge at the elevator, once they arrive, to hit the button for his own floor: that should speak more than his words will. )
( Those are the words Esikko decides on, in response to that acceptance, but his lips curve into his own smile with the sideways glance he gives him. It's also not lost on him, the closeness, the body language, the initiative— and while he doesn't connect it to being due to anything he'd said, he can at least realize that if Dabi really didn't want him to come over, he wouldn't be acting like this.
When the doors open to Dabi's floor, Esikko hesitates only a moment to be sure that no one else is walking along the hall before stepping out with him, readjusting the bag on his shoulder. )
Hmm, should I be thinking of ways to thank you for the shower? ( Teasing, he dares to lift a hand just enough to brush feather-light against Dabi's hair. The risk of being swatted away is worth the reward, he thinks. ) Washing your hair? Your back? ...Something else?
( Flirting when his hair and face are caked with blood, at like, four in the morning. )
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no subject
it's only when that head lifts that he lifts his own brows in expectation--and his face doesn't change, even as esikko smears a streak of blood across his cheek.
his eyes lid, like he's going to get angry; carefully, his hand lowers from esikko's nose, blood pooled into the palm, dripping down his fingers. )
Maybe you shouldn't invite yourself over. ( mildly, as he lifts his bloody hand to push it back through esikko's pretty hair, mottling it up, strands stuck together as he brushes out the strands; when he's done, he paps esikko's cheek with his palm in playful punishment. )
But if you ask me nicely, I guess I'll let you use the shower. You look like a fucking mess.
( he does not, at least, agree to clean up with him together just yet--that'll be the next hurdle esikko has to jump, made apparent by the slow curve of his smile. )
Can you stand?
no subject
If I don't invite myself, who will?
( His brows are furrowed, his face a little red, and he's undeniably pouty over Dabi's reaction, without any real heaviness to the irritation lying beneath. The comment he'd just made comes out without a thought, without a pause for the implications of how he thinks. Instead, he spends a second hovering a hand cluelessly over his own head, debating if there's anything that can be done at all with the state of his hair now, for the walk down. But with a huff, he gives it up and drops his hand. )
Fine. You want me to say pretty please? I can stand.
( But he does use Dabi's shoulders as a brace, placing a hand on one to push himself up and snatching his journal off the ground with the other as he goes. )
Pretty pleaaaase. ( Dryly, as he gathers a few more of his jars and shoves them into a bag. And then, with a slower sort of turn, he looks back at Dabi again, his eyes and the tense way he grips at the bag over his shoulder giving away his uncertainty, even when his words come out snappy. )
You're really going to make me shower alone?
no subject
he thinks he could offer to carry it--then decides against it. his eyes narrow, playful, looking esikko down once, then back up again. )
You? Nah. You'll shower with me.
( as if it had been that easy all along--and with another curve of a smile, he eases back a little more, already intent on heading towards the exit, to head towards the elevators, to head towards his room. he'll wait, at least, for esikko to fall into step beside him before he leaves--after all, he doesn't know how he feels about that comment.
if i don't invite myself, who will?
he may not be willing to put it into words, may not be willing to keep extending out invitations to his room like it's some kind of halfway house. but the implication of his body language, of the way that he sticks close to him, the way that he takes charge at the elevator, once they arrive, to hit the button for his own floor: that should speak more than his words will. )
no subject
( Those are the words Esikko decides on, in response to that acceptance, but his lips curve into his own smile with the sideways glance he gives him. It's also not lost on him, the closeness, the body language, the initiative— and while he doesn't connect it to being due to anything he'd said, he can at least realize that if Dabi really didn't want him to come over, he wouldn't be acting like this.
When the doors open to Dabi's floor, Esikko hesitates only a moment to be sure that no one else is walking along the hall before stepping out with him, readjusting the bag on his shoulder. )
Hmm, should I be thinking of ways to thank you for the shower? ( Teasing, he dares to lift a hand just enough to brush feather-light against Dabi's hair. The risk of being swatted away is worth the reward, he thinks. ) Washing your hair? Your back? ...Something else?
( Flirting when his hair and face are caked with blood, at like, four in the morning. )