[ not a single reservation, no. it's funny, because gansey's friendliness is generally a shallow thing, easily passed out to any stranger. this isn't quite that, and he's not really thinking about why. perhaps it's the feeling of amnesia that creeps at the edges of his thoughts, perhaps it's something else. what he knows for sure is that the hands of his watch are still spinning senselessly, sometimes forward, sometimes back, never pausing. he knows the air stinks of burning metal like the car he'd thrown a molotov cocktail into what feels like at least a lifetime ago. he knows first aid and there's a man that smells like sand and blood and gunpowder in front of him with glass in his head. that's a fixable problem, and gansey is going to fix it.
...well. he's going to fix it once the man stops poking him. the initial touch he just ignores, but the deeper prodding makes his muscles tense under max's fingers, pushing back against the pressure. he's soft in the way that everyone gansey knows would be soft to anyone from a world as harsh as max's, but his muscles won't give unless max does more than just poke. ]
Stop that, I'm trying to clean this.
[ the words aren't harsh or even particularly scolding; they're almost absent, in the tone of someone who is used to being annoyed by people he's trying to help. ]
no subject
...well. he's going to fix it once the man stops poking him. the initial touch he just ignores, but the deeper prodding makes his muscles tense under max's fingers, pushing back against the pressure. he's soft in the way that everyone gansey knows would be soft to anyone from a world as harsh as max's, but his muscles won't give unless max does more than just poke. ]
Stop that, I'm trying to clean this.
[ the words aren't harsh or even particularly scolding; they're almost absent, in the tone of someone who is used to being annoyed by people he's trying to help. ]