[ Konstantin reaches for the cloth, pressing it to his mouth and letting it stay there, shoulders tensed upwards. He holds that wave of tension for a few moments, listening to the other man, and only after that much has been said does he finally relax his muscles again, slowly, carefully. Wiping his mouth is an equally carefully process, one he takes his time with — and perhaps it gives him some time to sit with his own shame, to not have to speak.
But he can't stay quiet forever, and finally removes the washcloth, setting it awkwardly down into the emesis basin. Head turning, chin lifting a little, he finally looks back up to Vasiliy. ]
Dark's good?
[ He does genuinely seem to focus on that, attention drawn to the assurance the other man is trying to give him. His mind's turning, trying to make sense of it — is the blood from the accident, then? Not from this thing squirming its way into him, doing whatever it's doing? (What will it do? Tear through him? Eat him from the inside out if it doesn't find food elsewhere?)
He swallows, trying to suppress the persistent feeling of nauseated horror. ]
I see. That is a relief.
[ Another pause of thought, an uncomfortable silence as he sits there with the smell of blood and his own sickness so pungent. There will be no more attempts for water, to be sure. He gives a faint smile, past the discomfort, past the horror, past the uncertainty of this peculiar man who has so diligently tried to take care of him. ]
You must be exhausted. If you need to leave, it's okay.
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But he can't stay quiet forever, and finally removes the washcloth, setting it awkwardly down into the emesis basin. Head turning, chin lifting a little, he finally looks back up to Vasiliy. ]
Dark's good?
[ He does genuinely seem to focus on that, attention drawn to the assurance the other man is trying to give him. His mind's turning, trying to make sense of it — is the blood from the accident, then? Not from this thing squirming its way into him, doing whatever it's doing? (What will it do? Tear through him? Eat him from the inside out if it doesn't find food elsewhere?)
He swallows, trying to suppress the persistent feeling of nauseated horror. ]
I see. That is a relief.
[ Another pause of thought, an uncomfortable silence as he sits there with the smell of blood and his own sickness so pungent. There will be no more attempts for water, to be sure. He gives a faint smile, past the discomfort, past the horror, past the uncertainty of this peculiar man who has so diligently tried to take care of him. ]
You must be exhausted. If you need to leave, it's okay.