[ Yuji’s head lifting pulls Choso out of hiding, bares for the world the tears streaking heavily down his face to run in messy red bars through his weird, oozing blood mark. Once again, Choso is a mess, sniffling loudly now that the jig is up and he need not hide his moistness. (a wet spot has formed on top of Yuji’s head anyway.) When their foreheads meet, Choso’s tears are free to just plop everywhere, dripping bloody and ominous from his chin and jaw all over Yuji and down the deep v-cut of Choso’s outfit.
He hasn’t the breath or the head for words now, not when he’s snuffling, eyes positively running free with tears he can’t even fathom stopping. Bereft of language, Choso lets his hands talk for him, lets his palms run up the planes of Yuji’s back to run his fingers through pink hair.
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He hasn’t the breath or the head for words now, not when he’s snuffling, eyes positively running free with tears he can’t even fathom stopping. Bereft of language, Choso lets his hands talk for him, lets his palms run up the planes of Yuji’s back to run his fingers through pink hair.
Sorry about your head and shirt, Yuji. ]