[He gives a small shake of his head at her apology. She’s handling it fine, he doesn’t want to make a big deal about it, either.] It’s fine. I’ll be right out.
[Heading into the bathroom, he neatly folds his clothes and showers, washing off the day’s grime. Stella isn’t wrong, the water pressure is wonderful and he keeps the temperature steaming hot. While he doesn’t linger, he does enjoy how good it feels. Stepping out and toweling dry, he faces the conundrum he already knew would happen. Putting dirty clothes back on. He can’t help it with his pants and socks. His suit shirt though bears the worst of the blast with tearing and soot stains. He knows she said she doesn’t mind him dirtying her sofa, but he’d rather avoid it where he can.
The alternative is wearing just his undershirt. It’s a plain gray one, short sleeved, which would show the skin of his arms from his gloves to where the sleeve starts. Which feels a bit silly after his reticence with his gloves, even though it’s not the same in his mind. Any bare skin feels exposed and vulnerable, but his hands are especially.
He’s getting cold and irritated with himself for overthinking it. He dresses in his pants, socks, gloves, and undershirt. On his right arm are visible his two tattoos, the Dregs one on his forearm and the bottom part of the black R peeks out beneath his sleeve on his bicep. Running a hand through his damp hair, he picks up his clothes and shuffles back to the living room.]
Do you have a bag I can put my shirt in until I can wash it?
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2023-10-02 07:45 pm (UTC)[Heading into the bathroom, he neatly folds his clothes and showers, washing off the day’s grime. Stella isn’t wrong, the water pressure is wonderful and he keeps the temperature steaming hot. While he doesn’t linger, he does enjoy how good it feels. Stepping out and toweling dry, he faces the conundrum he already knew would happen. Putting dirty clothes back on. He can’t help it with his pants and socks. His suit shirt though bears the worst of the blast with tearing and soot stains. He knows she said she doesn’t mind him dirtying her sofa, but he’d rather avoid it where he can.
The alternative is wearing just his undershirt. It’s a plain gray one, short sleeved, which would show the skin of his arms from his gloves to where the sleeve starts. Which feels a bit silly after his reticence with his gloves, even though it’s not the same in his mind. Any bare skin feels exposed and vulnerable, but his hands are especially.
He’s getting cold and irritated with himself for overthinking it. He dresses in his pants, socks, gloves, and undershirt. On his right arm are visible his two tattoos, the Dregs one on his forearm and the bottom part of the black R peeks out beneath his sleeve on his bicep. Running a hand through his damp hair, he picks up his clothes and shuffles back to the living room.]
Do you have a bag I can put my shirt in until I can wash it?