[Not quite so merciful for Sephiroth, however. He might echo those sentiments, that the quiet hunger to feel that weight in his arms and a head against his chest again (and not just anyone-- Tseng) just unnecessarily complicates things. ...It doesn't make it any less prevalent a wish.
And it's funny, really, that Tseng should be so fascinated with him... because he's quite beautiful in his own right. An elegant mix of contradictions. A fair visage that contrasts with a strong jawline. Graceful lips that often press into a stern line. Fine, angled brows that furrow into daunting scrutiny. Long, immaculately kept hair (except, of course, for the endearingly messy bun it's currently in). Of everything, however, Sephiroth finds that he's drawn to his eyes. They're vivid and sharp-- a rich, dark brown often hiding imperceptible secrets. Always chilly, always calculating... but right now, they're subtly warmer.
...Perhaps Sephiroth has spent more time studying Tseng than he'd willingly admit-- and if he pauses his meticulous first aid routine, letting his eyes and touches linger more than they ought to... Well, he doesn't bring attention to it.
Tseng offers a bullshit excuse and a shadow of a smile. Sephiroth, in turn, curves his lips similarly, humming a soft laugh. In hindsight, it probably beckoned more than a few odd stares and certainly some questions-- Tseng bleeding from his forehead and tucked away in the arms of Sephiroth, who sported several messy streaks of that blood on his cheeks.]
Perhaps. Quite the place you wound up in.
[He dabs some ointment on his fingers and begins smoothing it along Tseng's forehead, taking care not to poke and prod the injury too much.]
no subject
And it's funny, really, that Tseng should be so fascinated with him... because he's quite beautiful in his own right. An elegant mix of contradictions. A fair visage that contrasts with a strong jawline. Graceful lips that often press into a stern line. Fine, angled brows that furrow into daunting scrutiny. Long, immaculately kept hair (except, of course, for the endearingly messy bun it's currently in). Of everything, however, Sephiroth finds that he's drawn to his eyes. They're vivid and sharp-- a rich, dark brown often hiding imperceptible secrets. Always chilly, always calculating... but right now, they're subtly warmer.
...Perhaps Sephiroth has spent more time studying Tseng than he'd willingly admit-- and if he pauses his meticulous first aid routine, letting his eyes and touches linger more than they ought to... Well, he doesn't bring attention to it.
Tseng offers a bullshit excuse and a shadow of a smile. Sephiroth, in turn, curves his lips similarly, humming a soft laugh. In hindsight, it probably beckoned more than a few odd stares and certainly some questions-- Tseng bleeding from his forehead and tucked away in the arms of Sephiroth, who sported several messy streaks of that blood on his cheeks.]
Perhaps. Quite the place you wound up in.
[He dabs some ointment on his fingers and begins smoothing it along Tseng's forehead, taking care not to poke and prod the injury too much.]
Is that a regular occurrence for you?