Hotaru
It feels like all of the world is held on a coin, and Hotaru is just waiting for it to topple and tell her heads or tails. She isn't asking for a night in his bed - or at least not in the suggestive sense - but it still feels like a monumental request. Frankly it is given everything between them. Which is why she can't bear to look at him, to see whatever expression she might find there. Too many of the options are painful and for once she wants to spare herself that. Sunjata doesn't give her the choice, and she shudders all over and then goes pliant and docile as his hand cups beneath her chin and lifts until she is staring into his eyes, her own wet in ways she can't blame on tilting her face to the rain.
Whatever he sees or finds in her, it has him agreeing, and her hands clench harder upon his shirt until her wrists shake. Her mouth works soundlessly for a moment before she is able to find her voice. "Thank you." Calling it a whisper would be doing it too much credit. She leans into the slow trace of his thumb along her jaw, eyes fluttering with the temptation to close, but she can't. They can't.
Instead she forces her fingers to release, and they object with a slight cramp but finally acquiesce. "I can get clothes and towels," she offers, and toes her shoes off at the door before grabbing her travel bag and slipping away with it into the bathroom to do just that. The vision of the woman in the mirror is foreign to her, and Hotaru can't keep eye contact for long, uneasy and uncertain what she's feeling. Instead she grabs the two full sized towels in reach, and shucks off all her clothes to dump into the bathtub where they won't wet the floor. Rubbing herself down briskly, she re-dresses in dry night clothes, dressing herself more than she otherwise would wear to bed alone. Tying her hair up in the towel, she emerges with the other towel and the complimentary boring natural linen sleep pants the Inn provided to their guests to offer to Sunjata. Dropping her bag back by the bed, she extends the towel instead of acting on the urge to dry his hair for him. "Not the softest or highest quality, but better than wet underwear," she huffs in amusement as she offers the pants next.
Whatever he sees or finds in her, it has him agreeing, and her hands clench harder upon his shirt until her wrists shake. Her mouth works soundlessly for a moment before she is able to find her voice. "Thank you." Calling it a whisper would be doing it too much credit. She leans into the slow trace of his thumb along her jaw, eyes fluttering with the temptation to close, but she can't. They can't.
Instead she forces her fingers to release, and they object with a slight cramp but finally acquiesce. "I can get clothes and towels," she offers, and toes her shoes off at the door before grabbing her travel bag and slipping away with it into the bathroom to do just that. The vision of the woman in the mirror is foreign to her, and Hotaru can't keep eye contact for long, uneasy and uncertain what she's feeling. Instead she grabs the two full sized towels in reach, and shucks off all her clothes to dump into the bathtub where they won't wet the floor. Rubbing herself down briskly, she re-dresses in dry night clothes, dressing herself more than she otherwise would wear to bed alone. Tying her hair up in the towel, she emerges with the other towel and the complimentary boring natural linen sleep pants the Inn provided to their guests to offer to Sunjata. Dropping her bag back by the bed, she extends the towel instead of acting on the urge to dry his hair for him. "Not the softest or highest quality, but better than wet underwear," she huffs in amusement as she offers the pants next.
But I am just a broken machine
And I do things that I don't really mean
And I do things that I don't really mean
