[ now, he's seen junpei drunk before, and somewhat sleepy, too, so charles thinks he's well prepared to face this. and yet, when junpei turns to him, hair adorably messy and his expression soft and open with the last vestiges of sleep still clinging to him, well — it's not unfair to say that he feels akin to having been punched in the gut, drawing in a breath like that alone could fortify him against the sight of a sleepy junpei. and then he keeps looking at him like that, which makes his chest flutter dangerously and his head duck in a wave of something like shyness, and oh, that is unfair, how much fondness he's able to fit in his pretty eyes — ]
Hey, [ he says back, in that not-quite-a-whisper that people use when they've just woken up, and his great plan of not looking at junpei is thwarted when he lifts his head almost involuntarily, unwilling to miss even a second of this, even if it means his heart is in danger of bursting open.
slowly, he untangles their hands, so he can lift his and card his fingers through junpei's hair, smiling at him with pure adoration, hoping for a moment that he could just pause time, right here, commit this sight to memory. and yet, he doesn't want to have this only in his memory — if he could start every day like this, he wouldn't mind that, at all.
the question is almost a surprise, because in this quiet moment, he's forgotten all about his shock over his own brief state of unconsciousness, forgotten about the world and the reset and everything; it shows, too, in the way he blinks like he has to center himself, in the way it takes him a second or two to tear his eyes away from junpei, to glance to where the arrow had hit him a day ago. ]
I'm fine. Really, [ he adds, reassuringly, he isn't just saying it this time. ] Can't even feel it. [ a pause, and he looks around them. ] You think...
[ he trails off, but the rest of the sentence is pretty clear. because if he'd really been unconscious, then — something must have happened, and yet the room looks the same as it did a few hours ago. ]
no subject
Hey, [ he says back, in that not-quite-a-whisper that people use when they've just woken up, and his great plan of not looking at junpei is thwarted when he lifts his head almost involuntarily, unwilling to miss even a second of this, even if it means his heart is in danger of bursting open.
slowly, he untangles their hands, so he can lift his and card his fingers through junpei's hair, smiling at him with pure adoration, hoping for a moment that he could just pause time, right here, commit this sight to memory. and yet, he doesn't want to have this only in his memory — if he could start every day like this, he wouldn't mind that, at all.
the question is almost a surprise, because in this quiet moment, he's forgotten all about his shock over his own brief state of unconsciousness, forgotten about the world and the reset and everything; it shows, too, in the way he blinks like he has to center himself, in the way it takes him a second or two to tear his eyes away from junpei, to glance to where the arrow had hit him a day ago. ]
I'm fine. Really, [ he adds, reassuringly, he isn't just saying it this time. ] Can't even feel it. [ a pause, and he looks around them. ] You think...
[ he trails off, but the rest of the sentence is pretty clear. because if he'd really been unconscious, then — something must have happened, and yet the room looks the same as it did a few hours ago. ]