He stays where he is as Seto shifts, rooted to the spot. There are too many of those marks, all in the same place, to be combat scars - either Seto is terribly unlucky or those were intentional-
Then Seto turns to face him, and the moment fades. He has seen Seto self-assured, recovering from injury, and exhausted, but he has never seen Seto look so...young.
It is on Siebren, then, to be reassuring, much as he dislikes being in this situation himself. Perhaps it will help. He hopes it will.
"Forgive the intrusion," he says, crossing the car, "I could not sleep." He removes his hoodie and folds it neatly, placing it against the wall and far away from any potential splash zone. "And unfortunately, statistical unlikeliness does not forestall occurrence. Life will have its way." Whether either of them like it or not.
He takes a breath and lets it out slowly - it is still so, so difficult to do this, even in front of someone who will likely understand - and turns to head towards the pool. He is unexpectedly fit for an older man with what would ostensibly be a desk job; he is also scarred himself, and it takes an act of will to not rest an arm across the worst of them. An old laceration traces his ribs, and another arcs over his collarbone and right shoulder; his left shoulder and abdomen both sport clusters of starburst scars - bullet wounds, and the incisions required to remove them. Scars have stories, and his speak of Sigma, a conversation he would much rather not have.
He sinks into the pool opposite Seto, doing his best to leave them both plenty of room - the dance of two very tall people in a shared space - and waits, unable to relax just yet.
no subject
Then Seto turns to face him, and the moment fades. He has seen Seto self-assured, recovering from injury, and exhausted, but he has never seen Seto look so...young.
It is on Siebren, then, to be reassuring, much as he dislikes being in this situation himself. Perhaps it will help. He hopes it will.
"Forgive the intrusion," he says, crossing the car, "I could not sleep." He removes his hoodie and folds it neatly, placing it against the wall and far away from any potential splash zone. "And unfortunately, statistical unlikeliness does not forestall occurrence. Life will have its way." Whether either of them like it or not.
He takes a breath and lets it out slowly - it is still so, so difficult to do this, even in front of someone who will likely understand - and turns to head towards the pool. He is unexpectedly fit for an older man with what would ostensibly be a desk job; he is also scarred himself, and it takes an act of will to not rest an arm across the worst of them. An old laceration traces his ribs, and another arcs over his collarbone and right shoulder; his left shoulder and abdomen both sport clusters of starburst scars - bullet wounds, and the incisions required to remove them. Scars have stories, and his speak of Sigma, a conversation he would much rather not have.
He sinks into the pool opposite Seto, doing his best to leave them both plenty of room - the dance of two very tall people in a shared space - and waits, unable to relax just yet.