[Luckily, Jotaro's too out of it right now to really register much of anything; this is a state of mind not altogether like the one he was in when he'd just finished the most harrowing fight of his life, with the key difference that there he'd remained vigilant and hovering on the edge of anxiety because he'd felt as though it was vital to, and tonight that feeling of edginess is missing. It's because Rohan's here, he thinks vaguely. Because he's safe somewhere, and Rohan is here, so he doesn't need to be vigilant. He relaxes when Rohan is around. So he's relaxing now, which means there's no humming tension to fill in the void left behind in him, which means that most of what he feels is a whole lot of nothing.
The rag feels so strange on his face. It's so cool, so...sweet. He used to hate it when his mom would do the same thing, when he'd come home from fights with blood on his face and she'd worry, she'd want to clean him up and he'd growl and try to knock her caretaking hands away. For what must be the millionth time now, he wonders if she's all right, and alive. He hopes he managed to get that much right, at least.
This time, his hand makes contact without flinching away. He curls his fingers around Rohan's wrist like a baby testing its motor skills on a parent's thumb; he knows it's going to hinder the progress at washing his face, but hopefully he can make it short, and only momentary.
(He's so full. He doesn't have to focus on being starving anymore.)
He sinks down into a sitting position, carefully, in the hopes of making it easier on both of them, so Rohan doesn't have to reach and he doesn't have to try to stay upright.]
You don't have to...do this. For me.
[It's unsettling how deeply he sounds like he's pleading for it to keep happening, even as he tries to deflect it.]
I didn't...think it would be so easy. To just...pull someone...apart...
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The rag feels so strange on his face. It's so cool, so...sweet. He used to hate it when his mom would do the same thing, when he'd come home from fights with blood on his face and she'd worry, she'd want to clean him up and he'd growl and try to knock her caretaking hands away. For what must be the millionth time now, he wonders if she's all right, and alive. He hopes he managed to get that much right, at least.
This time, his hand makes contact without flinching away. He curls his fingers around Rohan's wrist like a baby testing its motor skills on a parent's thumb; he knows it's going to hinder the progress at washing his face, but hopefully he can make it short, and only momentary.
(He's so full. He doesn't have to focus on being starving anymore.)
He sinks down into a sitting position, carefully, in the hopes of making it easier on both of them, so Rohan doesn't have to reach and he doesn't have to try to stay upright.]
You don't have to...do this. For me.
[It's unsettling how deeply he sounds like he's pleading for it to keep happening, even as he tries to deflect it.]
I didn't...think it would be so easy. To just...pull someone...apart...