"Not your fault," he mutters, looking away as well even though Koumyou's turned his back. "Pretty sure I'd drifted off."
He is profoundly tempted to lever himself up out of the pool and leave it to the other man. In fact, he's been low-key avoiding him, which is certainly easier said than done given the limited quarters of the train. Koumyou's presence is too compelling, and Devero remembers-- wet and giddy in the aftermath of the sprinkler incident-- how close he had come to doing something rash in the garden car. He has to be more careful.
Anxiety flutters in his throat, a constricting reminder that he has Rules and he has to follow them. He can't lose control of himself like that around Koumyou again. He can't-- he can't--
He can't help but look as the water sloshes gently against him. What he sees as Koumyou steps down into the pool is distraction enough to ease the choking pressure building in his chest.
What he sees is a man lean beyond the point of wellness, muscles defined with that almost-grotesque sharpness he'd sometimes seen in professional bodybuilders-- and in the bodies of desperate, scrabbling ludds out in the wild country, too stubborn or misguided to accept Gov's care. He sees a man whose skin is a testament to a life he can't even imagine. No one he's ever met has scars like this, even the ones with 'bad' scarring following accidents or extreme procedures. The level of medical technology available to citizens of the World Government is too high. And the nature of some of those scars, ragged and organic when he's used to neat surgical lines-- he couldn't begin to guess at what might have caused them.
It does not escape him that some of this damage he sees is fresh. In fact, he lurches half up out of the water, hand outstretched as if he's worried Koumyou might collapse right there.
CW: relationship abuse
He is profoundly tempted to lever himself up out of the pool and leave it to the other man. In fact, he's been low-key avoiding him, which is certainly easier said than done given the limited quarters of the train. Koumyou's presence is too compelling, and Devero remembers-- wet and giddy in the aftermath of the sprinkler incident-- how close he had come to doing something rash in the garden car. He has to be more careful.
Anxiety flutters in his throat, a constricting reminder that he has Rules and he has to follow them. He can't lose control of himself like that around Koumyou again. He can't-- he can't--
He can't help but look as the water sloshes gently against him. What he sees as Koumyou steps down into the pool is distraction enough to ease the choking pressure building in his chest.
What he sees is a man lean beyond the point of wellness, muscles defined with that almost-grotesque sharpness he'd sometimes seen in professional bodybuilders-- and in the bodies of desperate, scrabbling ludds out in the wild country, too stubborn or misguided to accept Gov's care. He sees a man whose skin is a testament to a life he can't even imagine. No one he's ever met has scars like this, even the ones with 'bad' scarring following accidents or extreme procedures. The level of medical technology available to citizens of the World Government is too high. And the nature of some of those scars, ragged and organic when he's used to neat surgical lines-- he couldn't begin to guess at what might have caused them.
It does not escape him that some of this damage he sees is fresh. In fact, he lurches half up out of the water, hand outstretched as if he's worried Koumyou might collapse right there.
"Are you all right??"