[ Nishikiyama's eyes find the touch on his leg, formerly without target or focus but now with something to process. He lets them stay there in thoughtful quiet, his stomach still dipping and head still light. What Mine wants of him now, the very reason he'd been followed into the hallway is as anticipated; yet, the patriarch won't say anything about it.
The cigarette falls from his mouth because he's too intoxicated to hold it there properly. It bounces somewhere in the still wet bowl of the other sink when he shifts to lean forward. He touches the backs of Mine's knuckles with one of his hands. The other stays in his slick hair, steadying and cradling his head against the nearest wall while he melts against it like a slab of sick butter. ]
What is it?
[ He asks, quieter. The room seems to spin less than it had been when he does. An idle thumb strokes a masculine tendon on the back of Mine's hand. ]
no subject
The cigarette falls from his mouth because he's too intoxicated to hold it there properly. It bounces somewhere in the still wet bowl of the other sink when he shifts to lean forward. He touches the backs of Mine's knuckles with one of his hands. The other stays in his slick hair, steadying and cradling his head against the nearest wall while he melts against it like a slab of sick butter. ]
What is it?
[ He asks, quieter. The room seems to spin less than it had been when he does. An idle thumb strokes a masculine tendon on the back of Mine's hand. ]