[ there's something in ugetsu that has this sense he should be offended at that, but he's surprised to find he isn't offended so much as dubious. he's about to tell mars he needn't bother, that he could do it himself he just was being dramatic and feeling sorry for himself; then mars scoops him up like a cat and ugetsu shuts his mouth for the first time voluntarily in probably Ever.
the truth: ugetsu was being dramatic and feeling sorry for himself. also the truth: he could not have made it to his bed on his own save perhaps on his hands and knees and probably ugetsu would rather literally die than do that. so. you know.
his eyes try to follow viola who's in their wake, her tiny kitten legs a-flurry to keep up, but it makes him dizzier so he closes his eyes only to have them snap open as his head jerks up to stare at mars.
there are just some words ugetsu isn't equipped to hear.
with aki, ugetsu will yell or even hit him. they'll fight until they're both bloody and bruised and equal parts love and the inability to apologize.
with mars, he can't do either of these things; he doesn't want to.
he settles for a lie he supposes mars can see through.]
I think I'd sound poorly right now.
[ he wouldn't. and when he's more coherent he'll try to anyway. but that's later, probably tomorrow in fact. ]
Hmm.
[ everything in the basement apartment is close together enough that the walk to the bed is hardly far, but ugetsu has enough time to get fascinated with the neckline of mars' shirt, absently picking at it, the focal point of his vision so narrow it's immeasurable. the fabric is soft, a word he associates with mars and certainly viola. his vision swims so he closes his eyes again. he's reaching a point where he doesn't feel the cut on the back of his head or its bruising, and not the one on his face either. everything is delightfully blurred except for the way mars carries him -- careful, like he could be protected from himself.
no subject
the truth: ugetsu was being dramatic and feeling sorry for himself. also the truth: he could not have made it to his bed on his own save perhaps on his hands and knees and probably ugetsu would rather literally die than do that. so. you know.
his eyes try to follow viola who's in their wake, her tiny kitten legs a-flurry to keep up, but it makes him dizzier so he closes his eyes only to have them snap open as his head jerks up to stare at mars.
there are just some words ugetsu isn't equipped to hear.
with aki, ugetsu will yell or even hit him. they'll fight until they're both bloody and bruised and equal parts love and the inability to apologize.
with mars, he can't do either of these things; he doesn't want to.
he settles for a lie he supposes mars can see through.]
I think I'd sound poorly right now.
[ he wouldn't. and when he's more coherent he'll try to anyway. but that's later, probably tomorrow in fact. ]
Hmm.
[ everything in the basement apartment is close together enough that the walk to the bed is hardly far, but ugetsu has enough time to get fascinated with the neckline of mars' shirt, absently picking at it, the focal point of his vision so narrow it's immeasurable. the fabric is soft, a word he associates with mars and certainly viola. his vision swims so he closes his eyes again. he's reaching a point where he doesn't feel the cut on the back of his head or its bruising, and not the one on his face either. everything is delightfully blurred except for the way mars carries him -- careful, like he could be protected from himself.
and what would that be like if it was true?
he almost laughs. ]