[Junpei learns a lot of things at once: about the Ketsorans, about two Peters which is apparently significant (did he even know there was one Peter? he can't remember), about the seemingly capricious nature of these weird portals everyone's been jumping in, wow, glad he didn't go anywhere—
But all of that is set dressing, really. All of that is good to know, and he is listening and will remember, but all of that is secondary to what happened to Charles. Junpei waits until he's settled, shed layers and all, before running his fingers through Charles' hair the same way Charles has done for him plenty of times, repetitive, comforting (he hopes). But his gaze lingers on the torn shirt and the glimpse of the wound beneath, and he swallows around the bitter taste of you can't do anything a second time.]
Hey, come on, don't do that, [he says, soft and low,] You made it back.
[Junpei sat around for a few days doing nothing! He's fine! Charles doesn't owe him this apology, or any apology, except maybe for the things he isn't saying in the middle there— throwing himself into danger, not taking care of himself... Make no mistake: Junpei continues to find these behaviors upsetting, hypocrite that he is, but is he going to yell and scold about it? No, of course not.
(And that, of course, is because he's a hypocrite about this; he's been there, he's done this, and it has never once made him feel better to be told he fucked up real bad, period, no discussion. So, no, he's not going to scold.)
And, alright, maybe he should ask something about the terminal, the fate of the world, the others who were there— but, well! That's still secondary, admittedly. He spends a quiet moment carding his fingers through Charles' hair in silence, considering, then just as soft and quiet,]
Think you can make me another promise? Take better care of yourself, next time...? I'll promise too.
no subject
But all of that is set dressing, really. All of that is good to know, and he is listening and will remember, but all of that is secondary to what happened to Charles. Junpei waits until he's settled, shed layers and all, before running his fingers through Charles' hair the same way Charles has done for him plenty of times, repetitive, comforting (he hopes). But his gaze lingers on the torn shirt and the glimpse of the wound beneath, and he swallows around the bitter taste of you can't do anything a second time.]
Hey, come on, don't do that, [he says, soft and low,] You made it back.
[Junpei sat around for a few days doing nothing! He's fine! Charles doesn't owe him this apology, or any apology, except maybe for the things he isn't saying in the middle there— throwing himself into danger, not taking care of himself... Make no mistake: Junpei continues to find these behaviors upsetting, hypocrite that he is, but is he going to yell and scold about it? No, of course not.
(And that, of course, is because he's a hypocrite about this; he's been there, he's done this, and it has never once made him feel better to be told he fucked up real bad, period, no discussion. So, no, he's not going to scold.)
And, alright, maybe he should ask something about the terminal, the fate of the world, the others who were there— but, well! That's still secondary, admittedly. He spends a quiet moment carding his fingers through Charles' hair in silence, considering, then just as soft and quiet,]
Think you can make me another promise? Take better care of yourself, next time...? I'll promise too.
[He can't stay home and sulk every time—]