The gaze remained unreadable: just blue, just .. intense, but Rory had been honest. In a situation that seemed this complex, he needed words, or something that was physically tangible. This was just vague, and while he didn't have a problem with that, it also made him feel lacking. What if he was supposed to have understood..?
But he hadn't. Couldn't. It was in the realm of tongues, a dimension their carefree friendship lacked. Rory could say what he wanted, but saying thing after thing and waiting for the fox to nod was just pointless.
So he watched in silence, demanding nothing, asking nothing, merely waiting without knowing what he waited for.
The fox came to a decision, and Rory had a split second of pure nerves: snakes crawling in his gut, his heart racing from the tipping point. A thousand what ifs screamed through his head, pain and fear and anticipation like a thunder echoing through his nerves. Even though he had memories of the fox as a man they were jumbled, full of darkness and red light and in the end .. nothing.
It happened very quickly. The white fur melted in skin and clothing, its shadow stretching to accommodate this new shape: tall and lean and—
And what? Rory felt his gaze travel from the man's feet to his face, but he barely registered what he saw, or chose not to think about it, anyway. He didn't know why, just that .. he couldn't handle it, at that moment. There were things he could say, things he felt he was allowed to say, but he let none of them sit upon his tongue. Just ended up peering into a face that was decidedly human, framed by long hair as white as the fox's fur.
Jigano.
"Yes, that was more specific," he said, something distant in his unfocused eyes. His heart was hammering, his mouth tasted of fear; no longer a blurred memory, but standing right in front of him. The silent keeper of grief and silly moments.
He didn't want to lose it.
He needed something to remind him, to anchor him, something else than the blue, blue eyes: some way of showing that.. that.. that what? That nothing had changed? (Everything had changed.)
His hand fumbled for the loose fabric of Jigano's nearest sleeve, trying to pull on it, to tug the tall man down, closer, to put him within reach—
(Everything was always changing anyway.)
His fingers trembled, his mind blank, his eyes like those of the blind as he tried to—boldly, stupidly, recklessly, without finesse—run his fingers into Jigano's hair, behinds his ear, almost as if he was going to grasp the back of his head and pull him closer and kiss him (only, he didn't).
But it was just that: Rory's face, his eyes elsewhere as he tried to reconcile fox and man, and his hand trying to bridge the gap between the two.
But he hadn't. Couldn't. It was in the realm of tongues, a dimension their carefree friendship lacked. Rory could say what he wanted, but saying thing after thing and waiting for the fox to nod was just pointless.
So he watched in silence, demanding nothing, asking nothing, merely waiting without knowing what he waited for.
The fox came to a decision, and Rory had a split second of pure nerves: snakes crawling in his gut, his heart racing from the tipping point. A thousand what ifs screamed through his head, pain and fear and anticipation like a thunder echoing through his nerves. Even though he had memories of the fox as a man they were jumbled, full of darkness and red light and in the end .. nothing.
It happened very quickly. The white fur melted in skin and clothing, its shadow stretching to accommodate this new shape: tall and lean and—
And what? Rory felt his gaze travel from the man's feet to his face, but he barely registered what he saw, or chose not to think about it, anyway. He didn't know why, just that .. he couldn't handle it, at that moment. There were things he could say, things he felt he was allowed to say, but he let none of them sit upon his tongue. Just ended up peering into a face that was decidedly human, framed by long hair as white as the fox's fur.
Jigano.
"Yes, that was more specific," he said, something distant in his unfocused eyes. His heart was hammering, his mouth tasted of fear; no longer a blurred memory, but standing right in front of him. The silent keeper of grief and silly moments.
He didn't want to lose it.
He needed something to remind him, to anchor him, something else than the blue, blue eyes: some way of showing that.. that.. that what? That nothing had changed? (Everything had changed.)
His hand fumbled for the loose fabric of Jigano's nearest sleeve, trying to pull on it, to tug the tall man down, closer, to put him within reach—
(Everything was always changing anyway.)
His fingers trembled, his mind blank, his eyes like those of the blind as he tried to—boldly, stupidly, recklessly, without finesse—run his fingers into Jigano's hair, behinds his ear, almost as if he was going to grasp the back of his head and pull him closer and kiss him (only, he didn't).
But it was just that: Rory's face, his eyes elsewhere as he tried to reconcile fox and man, and his hand trying to bridge the gap between the two.
