Hugh has words, of course. (Always does, usually too many.) But he feels that touch at his spine and - jolts, at first, tenses up because he's so self-conscious about those. Showing them is one thing, an effort at establishing camaraderie, but... this is different. And they're - sensitive, honestly. That brief touch before, that had been different. This is--
Hugh's pulse is in triplicate again. He lets out a shuddering sigh, fingers curling in and out of a fist at his side as he gently - so gently moves Cassius' hand off his spine, presses it to his side instead. No pits there. Just the warmth of his skin.
"That's - hah. Sort of a. Sensitive spot." He's nearly mumbling, fighting for composure. This is not the time, holy shit. Cassius is leaning his weight into him and Hugh can nearly see the shape of him through closed lids, squeezing Cassius' hand reassuringly. Nothing has been done wrong, nothing is bad, just-- "Not awful, but maybe. Later. Hm."
Get it together, Anastasios. Get it together. He has to get the slur out of his tone, school his expression back into cool and collected, not - heated, buzzing pleasantly in ways that he shouldn't be when he's about to walk in front of a goddamn firing squad. Possibly literally, if the Captain's little brat is there (and she absolutely is).
"Yes. Singh is - he'll be on our side. We'll need him. Obnoxious show-off twat that he is, he's still useful." Hugh sighs, long and lingering. "Things could get... heated, Cassius. I'm not known for deescalation, and they're afraid. Of me, of you. Of Caelan. You have to promise me you won't act against them unless I ask."
Softer. Nearly desperate.
"Please."
(He worries. He worries for Cassius so much. Earnest, loyal thing that he is, he'd burn the ship down to its fastenings to see him safe.)
no subject
Hugh has words, of course. (Always does, usually too many.) But he feels that touch at his spine and - jolts, at first, tenses up because he's so self-conscious about those. Showing them is one thing, an effort at establishing camaraderie, but... this is different. And they're - sensitive, honestly. That brief touch before, that had been different. This is--
Hugh's pulse is in triplicate again. He lets out a shuddering sigh, fingers curling in and out of a fist at his side as he gently - so gently moves Cassius' hand off his spine, presses it to his side instead. No pits there. Just the warmth of his skin.
"That's - hah. Sort of a. Sensitive spot." He's nearly mumbling, fighting for composure. This is not the time, holy shit. Cassius is leaning his weight into him and Hugh can nearly see the shape of him through closed lids, squeezing Cassius' hand reassuringly. Nothing has been done wrong, nothing is bad, just-- "Not awful, but maybe. Later. Hm."
Get it together, Anastasios. Get it together. He has to get the slur out of his tone, school his expression back into cool and collected, not - heated, buzzing pleasantly in ways that he shouldn't be when he's about to walk in front of a goddamn firing squad. Possibly literally, if the Captain's little brat is there (and she absolutely is).
"Yes. Singh is - he'll be on our side. We'll need him. Obnoxious show-off twat that he is, he's still useful." Hugh sighs, long and lingering. "Things could get... heated, Cassius. I'm not known for deescalation, and they're afraid. Of me, of you. Of Caelan. You have to promise me you won't act against them unless I ask."
Softer. Nearly desperate.
"Please."
(He worries. He worries for Cassius so much. Earnest, loyal thing that he is, he'd burn the ship down to its fastenings to see him safe.)