[ The turmoil in Krouse's mind doesn't stop his body from being pliantly cooperative. If anything, the disorientation makes it easier, the rippling spasms of shock and pain quieted by the familiarity of being moved by someone not himself. Hands on his shoulders, the snip of scissors by his ears. A soft fall of dark hair that seemed to not belong to him anymore on bare concrete.
He's been handled like this before. With his protective veneers stripped back, his body only remembers it as comforting in the stability, and that sense of being guided into corrected shapes steadies undercurrents he's in no state to be consciously aware of. ]
I c- I can try?
[ The sound of his sniffling seems huge as he attempts to even out his breathing on instinct, wooziness distorting his sense of place and proportion. He wants to curl back in on himself, his hands closing protectively over nothing until Hannibal coaxes them back open for inspection.
He looks at them after he answers. He shouldn't have. His next inhale comes as a wounded keen, strangled and thin, and he closes his eyes futilely against knowing that it's been heard. ]
No'. [ Another tidal gush of a sob, strained against the limits of his throat to hold it. ] I didn't - I didn't want - we were okay, we were okay, I had it -
[ But while his mouth chants denial, he'll find his legs underneath him when Hannibal urges him to stand with his dispassionate carefulness. ]
no subject
He's been handled like this before. With his protective veneers stripped back, his body only remembers it as comforting in the stability, and that sense of being guided into corrected shapes steadies undercurrents he's in no state to be consciously aware of. ]
I c- I can try?
[ The sound of his sniffling seems huge as he attempts to even out his breathing on instinct, wooziness distorting his sense of place and proportion. He wants to curl back in on himself, his hands closing protectively over nothing until Hannibal coaxes them back open for inspection.
He looks at them after he answers. He shouldn't have. His next inhale comes as a wounded keen, strangled and thin, and he closes his eyes futilely against knowing that it's been heard. ]
No'. [ Another tidal gush of a sob, strained against the limits of his throat to hold it. ] I didn't - I didn't want - we were okay, we were okay, I had it -
[ But while his mouth chants denial, he'll find his legs underneath him when Hannibal urges him to stand with his dispassionate carefulness. ]