( 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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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. )