[When someone bites their tongue, they tend to swallow whatever amount of saliva pooled under their tongue and presses their lips together.
When Ryo does that, but moves anyway, Mamoru realizes he has stopped questioning about COST's recruitment policies altogether. No use crying over spilled milk, he supposes.
Still.
Hackles raised, the fur rising at the base of an animal's tail, ears pinned back, the tension in muscles and the grit of teeth. Mamoru knows the signals of trauma well, went to bed with them since he's ten years old, learned the way they feed on moments of frailty and distraction, strived on those moments between dream and awake.
He coaxed and coached them to linger at the bottom of his mind, only allowing them to give him the needed fuel to drive him to wherever he needs to go. It wasn't easy. It made his hands fill with rough skin, and then ground those calluses back to smoothness again.
It's in the way Ryo's feet fall behind him, then in front of him as he turns. He's known that tension before. He is aware that he's not exactly the most approachable kind of guy - it suits him, his job, his purpose. He knows he cuts an intimidating figure, one that he can shape into something even scarier with less than a roll of his shoulders. But even if Ryo has no reason to be nervous, not here anyway, even if he can tell there are symptoms that Mamoru could placate.
He will not.
Even in the relative safeness of their ship, he doubts he will. But for the time being, there's that variant of a deer still behind them, there are unknown fauna and flora considering them the new show in town. He's not focusing on that, as he follows, points, quietly, at a large tree in front of them.
There's a mark on the bark.] Follow the marks, always to your left. That's the way out.
no subject
When Ryo does that, but moves anyway, Mamoru realizes he has stopped questioning about COST's recruitment policies altogether. No use crying over spilled milk, he supposes.
Still.
Hackles raised, the fur rising at the base of an animal's tail, ears pinned back, the tension in muscles and the grit of teeth. Mamoru knows the signals of trauma well, went to bed with them since he's ten years old, learned the way they feed on moments of frailty and distraction, strived on those moments between dream and awake.
He coaxed and coached them to linger at the bottom of his mind, only allowing them to give him the needed fuel to drive him to wherever he needs to go. It wasn't easy. It made his hands fill with rough skin, and then ground those calluses back to smoothness again.
It's in the way Ryo's feet fall behind him, then in front of him as he turns. He's known that tension before. He is aware that he's not exactly the most approachable kind of guy - it suits him, his job, his purpose. He knows he cuts an intimidating figure, one that he can shape into something even scarier with less than a roll of his shoulders. But even if Ryo has no reason to be nervous, not here anyway, even if he can tell there are symptoms that Mamoru could placate.
He will not.
Even in the relative safeness of their ship, he doubts he will. But for the time being, there's that variant of a deer still behind them, there are unknown fauna and flora considering them the new show in town. He's not focusing on that, as he follows, points, quietly, at a large tree in front of them.
There's a mark on the bark.] Follow the marks, always to your left. That's the way out.