[As soon as he gets permission, Shiro heads… well, he heads a direction and soon after realizes he has no idea where’s he’s going. Not that there’s a lot of options… It’s got to be down the hallway. Apparently Sabo already figures that out, offering to show him. Shiro nods and steps to the side, resting his shoulder against the wall and trying to keep everything inside. Heat’s racing over his skin, threatening to soak his clothes from the budding sweat rising on his flesh. Hmph, he chugs the water and now it’s all coming out of him. Sabo passes by and Shiro deliberately keeps his face averted, not wanting to show just how red and dazed he feels like he looks right now.]
Not… really. [He tries to offer a small laugh. Does Sabo think he’s alright? He’s drugged! But the question about holding his hand—Shiro tenses up.] That’s fi-- [Too late, and Sabo’s grabbed him by the hand. And not his metal one either. Dammit, Sabo! Didn’t you say you experienced this kind of thing already?! He’s too flummoxed to respond and only stumbles forward like the blonde just tugged on a proverbial leash around him. Rubbing his head with his metal hand again, Shiro follows him. He’s going over training drills in his head, keeping his eyes on the walls or the floor or Sabo’s shoulders. So long as he doesn’t just stare at the guy, he can keep himself in check.
But getting to the bathroom isn’t a long trip and Shiro’s quick to rest his forehead against the relatively cool wall while Sabo activates the water. He only takes enough time to toe off his boots, strip his belt, and unzip/shrug out of his black vest before walking barefoot and face first into the shower. As he expects… it’s cold. And god does that feel good. It washes over him, flooding the heat down towards the shower floor for the time being. Doesn’t care his turtleneck and pants are getting utterly soaked and clingy right now. The relief is worth it.]
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branchandroot
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Date: 2019-07-16 11:20 pm (UTC)Not… really. [He tries to offer a small laugh. Does Sabo think he’s alright? He’s drugged! But the question about holding his hand—Shiro tenses up.] That’s fi-- [Too late, and Sabo’s grabbed him by the hand. And not his metal one either. Dammit, Sabo! Didn’t you say you experienced this kind of thing already?! He’s too flummoxed to respond and only stumbles forward like the blonde just tugged on a proverbial leash around him. Rubbing his head with his metal hand again, Shiro follows him. He’s going over training drills in his head, keeping his eyes on the walls or the floor or Sabo’s shoulders. So long as he doesn’t just stare at the guy, he can keep himself in check.
But getting to the bathroom isn’t a long trip and Shiro’s quick to rest his forehead against the relatively cool wall while Sabo activates the water. He only takes enough time to toe off his boots, strip his belt, and unzip/shrug out of his black vest before walking barefoot and face first into the shower. As he expects… it’s cold. And god does that feel good. It washes over him, flooding the heat down towards the shower floor for the time being. Doesn’t care his turtleneck and pants are getting utterly soaked and clingy right now. The relief is worth it.]
Thanks. Really, Sabo.