"Tidus. Hey. You're not at the inn or wherever you're at with your friend. You're in the house."
Probably better not to immediately rile him up with WHY he's here, but giving him time to get his brain moving. While he's doing that, he's very much squeezing his husband's hand back.
Tidus is only half-listening—only half-aware—that he doesn't register the healing as something that’s happening, though he probably should. It's his own thoughts that take priority: realising that he's somewhere he shouldn't (wouldn't) be, understanding there's something off, but not yet figuring out what that is. He puts his weight onto his arm to turn himself to look towards the two men, his expression close to blank, if not for the tight knit of his brow showing his confusion. It diverts elsewhere, his mouth slightly parted.
And it's easy to know when it clicks: when the air around the couch becomes thick with moisture and frost, the strong smell of sea salt, and the rivulets that start running along Tidus's skin. Shadows cover him in expanding patches as he sits himself upright, shoving off the blankets onto the floor roughly, now not quite in the reach of Regis's healing. The emotions shift on his face as they come off his person: from shock to anger, to some mix of both, and grief.
Tidus wipes at a thin layer of ice trailing the thin streams of water on him, ends up giving it more area across his cheek to spread. And it just makes the emotions worse, the frustration, everything around him growing heavier with the cold.
He pulls himself towards the end of the couch away from the pair of them where his legs had been, now chucked onto the floor, feet pressing into the discarded blankets.
“I’m going,” he says thickly, not looking at either of them, as if said to the room instead. And he'll stand, if there isn't anything to stop him.
"Tidus, listen to Regis. If you've gotten emotional backlash from something, it can really mess with you.
"I'm going to do this, only because you need to listen clearly and then you can plan accordingly."
With that, Auron takes a deep breath and exhales. And repeats. Within a little bit of time, all three of them feel the invisible wings of calm surround them. It can't make anyone change their mind, but it certainly can bring more clarity so they're not acting in an overly emotional state. He flicks his gaze over to Regis, because he can't physically speak while concentrating and Tidus has shown a lot of dislike for mental conversation.
Residue sticks to Tidus, but the cause for the effects recede with the effect. He’s left with a shiver, and an emptiness in the place where his emotions had curdled. Now they don’t have the same grasp, and Tidus lingers between standing and sitting before finally coming back down on the edge of the sofa. A hand clenching into the arm, his body pointed away from the both of them.
“I don’t need anything.” It’s the best way he can dismiss the offer of the drink, their help, no bite to his words despite the weight to them. “I can make it back to the apartment and be out of your hair.”
Sickness or no sickness. There’s a strange sensation to have those emotions fogging around him and now not, but Tidus can’t pinpoint what it is. It’s not relief; there’s too much turning in his stomach for it to be that, but it might be something close. A phantom feeling.
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blitzcheer) wrote2019-10-26 12:26 am
no subject
Probably better not to immediately rile him up with WHY he's here, but giving him time to get his brain moving. While he's doing that, he's very much squeezing his husband's hand back.
no subject
And it's easy to know when it clicks: when the air around the couch becomes thick with moisture and frost, the strong smell of sea salt, and the rivulets that start running along Tidus's skin. Shadows cover him in expanding patches as he sits himself upright, shoving off the blankets onto the floor roughly, now not quite in the reach of Regis's healing. The emotions shift on his face as they come off his person: from shock to anger, to some mix of both, and grief.
Tidus wipes at a thin layer of ice trailing the thin streams of water on him, ends up giving it more area across his cheek to spread. And it just makes the emotions worse, the frustration, everything around him growing heavier with the cold.
He pulls himself towards the end of the couch away from the pair of them where his legs had been, now chucked onto the floor, feet pressing into the discarded blankets.
“I’m going,” he says thickly, not looking at either of them, as if said to the room instead. And he'll stand, if there isn't anything to stop him.
no subject
No questions from him, not right now. No comment on the emotional effects, either.
Everyone deserves a chance to deal with what happens to them at their own terms, within reason.
no subject
"I'm going to do this, only because you need to listen clearly and then you can plan accordingly."
With that, Auron takes a deep breath and exhales. And repeats. Within a little bit of time, all three of them feel the invisible wings of calm surround them. It can't make anyone change their mind, but it certainly can bring more clarity so they're not acting in an overly emotional state. He flicks his gaze over to Regis, because he can't physically speak while concentrating and Tidus has shown a lot of dislike for mental conversation.
no subject
“I don’t need anything.” It’s the best way he can dismiss the offer of the drink, their help, no bite to his words despite the weight to them. “I can make it back to the apartment and be out of your hair.”
Sickness or no sickness. There’s a strange sensation to have those emotions fogging around him and now not, but Tidus can’t pinpoint what it is. It’s not relief; there’s too much turning in his stomach for it to be that, but it might be something close. A phantom feeling.
It’s uncomfortable. Everything is uncomfortable.
no subject
"One other thing. If you want me to, I can start training you on dunamis. It'll make you even stronger than him."
And there is nothing Tidus likes more than being able to show up his old man.