( More by happy accident than purpose, Jingyi manages to only cradle underneath the hand he's intent on bandaging, muttering a 'thanks' once it's offered to him. He's used to wrapping, though he'd prefer water to rinse; not the time, and he wonders if death even gets infected wounds.
Or what it would be like, realising what you are when it's not just something as odd as what he is, but even more abstract and powerful and omnipresent. )
laughs no, my bad, i just didn't want to assume
Or what it would be like, realising what you are when it's not just something as odd as what he is, but even more abstract and powerful and omnipresent. )
Promise not to freak out if I show you something?
( Promises like that are so empty, and still. )