[ He gives himself a cursory towel-down before following her out. He fishes out his sweatpants and another tee, slipping them on. He uses the towel to dry off his hair, though he stops for a split-second at her question.
He licks his lips, glancing back at her. ]
I'm worried about hitting your wound.
[ Which is why he slept on the couch last night.
... mostly, anyway. That's 90% of the reason why.
The other 10% was because everything else feels— weird.
All the shit from last night has flipped things on their head, and all the shit going on now has made things so fucking complicated. She's hurt, and she's tired, and he's forced to interact with people he promised himself he wouldn't see for the rest of his life, and now he has to ditch everything he's known for the past handful of years, and—
—and she's paying him, he reminds himself. She hired him for a reason.
He falters for a little, pulling the towel down so it hangs around his neck. ]
no subject
He licks his lips, glancing back at her. ]
I'm worried about hitting your wound.
[ Which is why he slept on the couch last night.
... mostly, anyway. That's 90% of the reason why.
The other 10% was because everything else feels— weird.
All the shit from last night has flipped things on their head, and all the shit going on now has made things so fucking complicated. She's hurt, and she's tired, and he's forced to interact with people he promised himself he wouldn't see for the rest of his life, and now he has to ditch everything he's known for the past handful of years, and—
—and she's paying him, he reminds himself. She hired him for a reason.
He falters for a little, pulling the towel down so it hangs around his neck. ]
Anyway. You probably need the space.