( The gesture, as small as it is, grounds Esikko a little. The more he digs into this, the more it feels like something is digging back, and so it's easy to get lost in that. To want to push past and rush forward with an impatience that matches his desire for information. With the reminder, he considers those questions, eyes moving back to trace along the bloody "skeleton" he's forming. )
It's different. ( Calmer, confident, he says this. One of his hands parts from the web, but then just before its destination, pauses. Hovers, as he gives another sideways glance to Dabi. It feels foreign, somehow, to stop and give any sort of warning, any sort of semblance of a request for permission, but he finds himself doing it before he realizes, and so— ) ...You'll likely feel this one, just for a second.
( It shouldn't be an unpleasant feeling, as his bloody fingers find the root of this complex tree that leads straight to Dabi. It's almost like the touch of cold fingertips up along a spine, when Esikko briefly reveals that connection, a too-sensual stroke along the string that's admittedly at least partially indulgent. But with a slow breath in, he adds quickly: )
Your soul is still very much something still alive. Like... ( And this comes with the smallest breath of a laugh ) —a candle that's still brightly burning.
( His touch lingers a bit longer than he originally meant for it too, but then he pulls back, suddenly, eyes over focused on the web as his original hand slides along a particularly thick root, more flowers still blooming. )
These ones have gone out. But they still feel warm. Does that make sense?
( it isn't asking for permission--more like asking for forgiveness, when esikko touches whatever the fuck it is he touches, whatever it is he thinks he can reach inside of him and feel. despite his disbelief, he feels it all the same, like a cold hand in the early morning hours, fingers tracing the ridges of his spine, beneath the seams of damaged and healthy skin alike. a little like there's someone inside of his own skin with him, someone curious and eager, someone that makes him feel--alien, there, for a moment, lips pressed together against a sound, like he could tear a hand in and burn the intrusion out of himself.
he probably wouldn't have given permission, anyway--not that he thinks it would have stopped esikko, anyway. but he doesn't lash out, doesn't boil up with anger, either: too late for that, and not like he feels anger, either. just something odd, and strange, like they've shared something intimate that he's not sure he likes.
a scoff of breath, stubborn and bated. ) Yeah... alive. The soul is willing, the body isn't.
( but his gaze slides, moves away from esikko to look into his lap, like he's--embarrassed, or something, like he doesn't like it being called out like that.
better, then, to focus on what else they have here. more information. )
...Maybe it's like that, then. ( a brief glance up, then down again. ) Warm, because the soul is there, even a little bit. But maybe the body is different.
( Soul is willing, body isn't... Esikko flicks a glance in Dabi's direction, just briefly catching the way his head dips. )
The body... You might be right about that. It's hard for me to tell from here, with this, but— I'll write that down.
( Later, when his hands are less busy. Right now, he opens his mouth a little, like he wants to continue that thought, like he could probably ramble about souls and bodies for another ten minutes— but his wandering fingers have gathered as much information as he can get, right now, and the House wants to rummage right back. His eyes dart right back to the skeleton of what he's working with as bloody roots wrap around his wrists, threatening to work up further as Esikko's body slumps into unconsciousness.
Thankfully, it only lasts a matter of seconds, three or four, and then he's jolting back awake with a short gasp, yanking his wrists back and free with a snap of bloody strings that sounds more like a tree root being ripped from soil. From there, all of his hard work falls apart in an instant— blood loses shape and splatters to the ground, the offerings he'd placed around burst into flames and burn right out in curious fires that don't seem to spread. )
Damn it— ( Well, now it's even more of a mess than it had been before. There's blood on the both of them, not helped as Esikko places a palm on Dabi's leg to steady himself as he's sitting, his other lifting to touch curiously beneath his nose, where far more blood than the last time is rushing past the smeared blood from before. It's a little dizzying. )
It searched back. ( Just, an explanation for this very messy ending to what he wanted to be a neat, helpful, useful gathering of information. He cups his hand over it now, and when it begins to drip through that, pinches his nose. God, why, the biggest thing he's bothered to show Dabi and this is how it's going, that's just Great— ) But I was able to get a bit more... I can write it down, maybe. I can give you a summary, in text, if you want.
( for a moment, he wonders if it's some sort of possession--a little hilarious to think it, all things considered, but he's still not convinced that this isn't some weird kind of occult magic or something bizarre like that. what would even possess him, the spirit of the resort itself? believing that the whole thing has a soul is one thing, but going this far would be something else entirely: and someone like that stupid j guy would probably know about that kind of thing, and would have at least teased some kind of information. still, it's undeniable that esikko slumps forward like he's suddenly unconscious; with a discerning eye, he waits to see what might happen.
at the very least, it's not very long. life breathes back into him, and with it, comes the end of the magic show--at least as much as he can assume. blood spatters, flecks of it staining his hoodie, flinched onto his thighs, but it doesn't bother him; it's not the first time he's been covered in blood that probably doesn't belong to him.
with a slight wince, he lifts up a hand again. )
Slow down. You can write it later.
( his fingers bodily pull esikko's hand away from his nose, just so he can see the damage--with a click of his tongue, playfully annoyed, he reaches in to pinch his nose himself. )
Put your head forward. Breathe through your mouth. Slow.
( this is getting esikko's blood all over him, too, but he doesn't care. )
( Write it later? There's an immediate rush of worry that comes with that. What if he forgets? What if he doesn't get the chance? What if any number of mistakes leads to this being some useless mess? )
But—
( The pinch to his nose being replaced by Dabi's puts a stop to his thoughts, for the moment. With the pause of that rush, he becomes aware of just how dizzy he feels, how losing even this much blood can be an annoyance for someone like him. And so he listens to the instructions, as calm as they are, even if the first breath through his mouth is more of a frustrated exhale. He closes his eyes in an attempt to keep things from spinning.
There's blood everywhere, but it's only Esikko's that smells oddly floral, and so strongly so. Not even the jars of blood mixed with flower petals manage to smell so much like a flower field, between the sickly smell of injury it normally carries. Only his that's unusually cold, that seems to drip like it has a mind of its own, curving over arches of knuckles and palm with a subtle slowness. But that's all that seems to be different, and as Esikko focuses on breathing, it at least becomes clear that he's not going to pass out again.
Though this nosebleed is going on for a bit longer than he'd like, the pinched nose is helping. )
I've made a mess out of you. ( Spoken with a huff that's close to a laugh, though a little too irritated with himself to carry properly, Esikko slides the hand on Dabi's thigh over a little, smearing some of the droplets of blood. But... )
You must not mind so much, if you're grabbing my face after that.
( dryly--he doesn't care if esikko smears his own blood into them, smears the blood he's collected into them. these aren't the clothes that had been designed for him, fireproof, ragged like his mind; these aren't the clothes he kept in an old dirty backpack, when he'd been living on his own, the only few items he ever possessed there. it would be easy enough to send them all out to be cleaned, and even easier still to just request that the house deliver him new ones. easy enough to shell out a little cash for them.
it doesn't matter. not his clothes, not his skin. esikko's blood smears a soft, gentle scent on his skin, but it doesn't matter.
with a slight narrowing of his eyes, he pulls his hand back for a moment to assess--his nose is still dripping, but it's not the gushing of before, puddling around his palm and fingers. with a soft sigh, he puts his hand back in, pinching gently. )
And I've had my dick inside you. Think I care about a little blood?
( there's some wry amusement in his voice, all the same. )
You're not gonna stay here, are you? You're gonna go back to your room, write in your little journal, and wash your face.
...Most people do, even if you make that sort of comparison.
( It's a mumble, sounding even funnier with his nose pinched shut again. It's disappointing, that this is over like this. That he didn't find some full, secret connection, or the key to getting them out of here. That he passed out for half a second and now this little outing is going to end, right when he was starting to feel a little useful.
He leans his weight forward a little, pushing through the gentle hold of Dabi's hand at his nose to rest head against chest, like the softest of headbutts. And since he doesn't mind the blood, since he doesn't have any attachment to these clothes, he reaches a bloody palm up to scrunch at the front of his hoodie, a pathetic cling. Wait, don't try to leave so quickly. )
I don't even have a sink to wash my face at in my terrible little excuse for a bedroom, you know.
( Those words combined with his sulky little hunch show, he hopes, that he wants to go back to Dabi's room, not his own. That he wants to borrow his space for just a little bit more, while he's so freshly avoiding the other he'd been using. ...That's when something hits him, though, and he shifts, lifting his head enough to peer at Dabi's in the normally reversed orientation of being "taller"— and moves his free hand to smear a little streak of blood across Dabi's cheek. )
( 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 different. ( Calmer, confident, he says this. One of his hands parts from the web, but then just before its destination, pauses. Hovers, as he gives another sideways glance to Dabi. It feels foreign, somehow, to stop and give any sort of warning, any sort of semblance of a request for permission, but he finds himself doing it before he realizes, and so— ) ...You'll likely feel this one, just for a second.
( It shouldn't be an unpleasant feeling, as his bloody fingers find the root of this complex tree that leads straight to Dabi. It's almost like the touch of cold fingertips up along a spine, when Esikko briefly reveals that connection, a too-sensual stroke along the string that's admittedly at least partially indulgent. But with a slow breath in, he adds quickly: )
Your soul is still very much something still alive. Like... ( And this comes with the smallest breath of a laugh ) —a candle that's still brightly burning.
( His touch lingers a bit longer than he originally meant for it too, but then he pulls back, suddenly, eyes over focused on the web as his original hand slides along a particularly thick root, more flowers still blooming. )
These ones have gone out. But they still feel warm. Does that make sense?
no subject
he probably wouldn't have given permission, anyway--not that he thinks it would have stopped esikko, anyway. but he doesn't lash out, doesn't boil up with anger, either: too late for that, and not like he feels anger, either. just something odd, and strange, like they've shared something intimate that he's not sure he likes.
a scoff of breath, stubborn and bated. ) Yeah... alive. The soul is willing, the body isn't.
( but his gaze slides, moves away from esikko to look into his lap, like he's--embarrassed, or something, like he doesn't like it being called out like that.
better, then, to focus on what else they have here. more information. )
...Maybe it's like that, then. ( a brief glance up, then down again. ) Warm, because the soul is there, even a little bit. But maybe the body is different.
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The body... You might be right about that. It's hard for me to tell from here, with this, but— I'll write that down.
( Later, when his hands are less busy. Right now, he opens his mouth a little, like he wants to continue that thought, like he could probably ramble about souls and bodies for another ten minutes— but his wandering fingers have gathered as much information as he can get, right now, and the House wants to rummage right back. His eyes dart right back to the skeleton of what he's working with as bloody roots wrap around his wrists, threatening to work up further as Esikko's body slumps into unconsciousness.
Thankfully, it only lasts a matter of seconds, three or four, and then he's jolting back awake with a short gasp, yanking his wrists back and free with a snap of bloody strings that sounds more like a tree root being ripped from soil. From there, all of his hard work falls apart in an instant— blood loses shape and splatters to the ground, the offerings he'd placed around burst into flames and burn right out in curious fires that don't seem to spread. )
Damn it— ( Well, now it's even more of a mess than it had been before. There's blood on the both of them, not helped as Esikko places a palm on Dabi's leg to steady himself as he's sitting, his other lifting to touch curiously beneath his nose, where far more blood than the last time is rushing past the smeared blood from before. It's a little dizzying. )
It searched back. ( Just, an explanation for this very messy ending to what he wanted to be a neat, helpful, useful gathering of information. He cups his hand over it now, and when it begins to drip through that, pinches his nose. God, why, the biggest thing he's bothered to show Dabi and this is how it's going, that's just Great— ) But I was able to get a bit more... I can write it down, maybe. I can give you a summary, in text, if you want.
no subject
at the very least, it's not very long. life breathes back into him, and with it, comes the end of the magic show--at least as much as he can assume. blood spatters, flecks of it staining his hoodie, flinched onto his thighs, but it doesn't bother him; it's not the first time he's been covered in blood that probably doesn't belong to him.
with a slight wince, he lifts up a hand again. )
Slow down. You can write it later.
( his fingers bodily pull esikko's hand away from his nose, just so he can see the damage--with a click of his tongue, playfully annoyed, he reaches in to pinch his nose himself. )
Put your head forward. Breathe through your mouth. Slow.
( this is getting esikko's blood all over him, too, but he doesn't care. )
no subject
But—
( The pinch to his nose being replaced by Dabi's puts a stop to his thoughts, for the moment. With the pause of that rush, he becomes aware of just how dizzy he feels, how losing even this much blood can be an annoyance for someone like him. And so he listens to the instructions, as calm as they are, even if the first breath through his mouth is more of a frustrated exhale. He closes his eyes in an attempt to keep things from spinning.
There's blood everywhere, but it's only Esikko's that smells oddly floral, and so strongly so. Not even the jars of blood mixed with flower petals manage to smell so much like a flower field, between the sickly smell of injury it normally carries. Only his that's unusually cold, that seems to drip like it has a mind of its own, curving over arches of knuckles and palm with a subtle slowness. But that's all that seems to be different, and as Esikko focuses on breathing, it at least becomes clear that he's not going to pass out again.
Though this nosebleed is going on for a bit longer than he'd like, the pinched nose is helping. )
I've made a mess out of you. ( Spoken with a huff that's close to a laugh, though a little too irritated with himself to carry properly, Esikko slides the hand on Dabi's thigh over a little, smearing some of the droplets of blood. But... )
You must not mind so much, if you're grabbing my face after that.
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( dryly--he doesn't care if esikko smears his own blood into them, smears the blood he's collected into them. these aren't the clothes that had been designed for him, fireproof, ragged like his mind; these aren't the clothes he kept in an old dirty backpack, when he'd been living on his own, the only few items he ever possessed there. it would be easy enough to send them all out to be cleaned, and even easier still to just request that the house deliver him new ones. easy enough to shell out a little cash for them.
it doesn't matter. not his clothes, not his skin. esikko's blood smears a soft, gentle scent on his skin, but it doesn't matter.
with a slight narrowing of his eyes, he pulls his hand back for a moment to assess--his nose is still dripping, but it's not the gushing of before, puddling around his palm and fingers. with a soft sigh, he puts his hand back in, pinching gently. )
And I've had my dick inside you. Think I care about a little blood?
( there's some wry amusement in his voice, all the same. )
You're not gonna stay here, are you? You're gonna go back to your room, write in your little journal, and wash your face.
no subject
( It's a mumble, sounding even funnier with his nose pinched shut again. It's disappointing, that this is over like this. That he didn't find some full, secret connection, or the key to getting them out of here. That he passed out for half a second and now this little outing is going to end, right when he was starting to feel a little useful.
He leans his weight forward a little, pushing through the gentle hold of Dabi's hand at his nose to rest head against chest, like the softest of headbutts. And since he doesn't mind the blood, since he doesn't have any attachment to these clothes, he reaches a bloody palm up to scrunch at the front of his hoodie, a pathetic cling. Wait, don't try to leave so quickly. )
I don't even have a sink to wash my face at in my terrible little excuse for a bedroom, you know.
( Those words combined with his sulky little hunch show, he hopes, that he wants to go back to Dabi's room, not his own. That he wants to borrow his space for just a little bit more, while he's so freshly avoiding the other he'd been using. ...That's when something hits him, though, and he shifts, lifting his head enough to peer at Dabi's in the normally reversed orientation of being "taller"— and moves his free hand to smear a little streak of blood across Dabi's cheek. )
Maybe we should clean up together. ( devious. )
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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?
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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. )