[He wants to tell her that she should've asked his help, waited until he could do more. But... she worked so hard on this, and he doesn't want to return the gift by scolding her. It's only born of worry for her anyway and it doesn't actually take away from how overwhelmingly grateful he feels.
His eyes close. His smile is soft.]
I'll make sure... to bring you... whatever you need... Butler for... a day...
[He doesn't deserve her. He could never deserve something like this. He wishes he could reach out.]
Thank you... for all this...
[Once she's taken off for her own bathtime, then comes the reality of stripping down and actually looking at himself. It's been... a fair bit. She was fair to think he needs the soap, even if last time was much, much worse.
Piece by piece he's undone. He slips into the cool water, folding a little to fit in the tub. It's a comfort. It really is. Even if, through scrubbing himself down, he does cry in the bathtub. He's proud (not really) to say that it's only once and only for a short time this time, mostly out of wanting to keep the water from turning black. As it is, the color is already not too great to look at.
He scrubs and scrubs until he just about feels clean. Then he pulls the drain, wonders where the water goes now, and dries himself off, being thorough yet again with towels before finally slipping back into his most basic of clothes. Jeans, shirt, tee. The sweater will get a wash tomorrow and then he'll return to its comfort.
It's then that he finally settles on the bed, settled to one side and on top of the covers, but there nonetheless. His black-grey hair is loose and long around him, draping on the pillow and giving him something to stare at. He waits, waffling between checking on her and not invading her privacy. As soon as she arrives back he's got warm smile ready.]
no subject
His eyes close. His smile is soft.]
I'll make sure... to bring you... whatever you need... Butler for... a day...
[He doesn't deserve her. He could never deserve something like this. He wishes he could reach out.]
Thank you... for all this...
[Once she's taken off for her own bathtime, then comes the reality of stripping down and actually looking at himself. It's been... a fair bit. She was fair to think he needs the soap, even if last time was much, much worse.
Piece by piece he's undone. He slips into the cool water, folding a little to fit in the tub. It's a comfort. It really is. Even if, through scrubbing himself down, he does cry in the bathtub. He's proud (not really) to say that it's only once and only for a short time this time, mostly out of wanting to keep the water from turning black. As it is, the color is already not too great to look at.
He scrubs and scrubs until he just about feels clean. Then he pulls the drain, wonders where the water goes now, and dries himself off, being thorough yet again with towels before finally slipping back into his most basic of clothes. Jeans, shirt, tee. The sweater will get a wash tomorrow and then he'll return to its comfort.
It's then that he finally settles on the bed, settled to one side and on top of the covers, but there nonetheless. His black-grey hair is loose and long around him, draping on the pillow and giving him something to stare at. He waits, waffling between checking on her and not invading her privacy. As soon as she arrives back he's got warm smile ready.]