averagemedium | [Off-Comm Threads]

[For the moment, there's no real response. He's still blank (though not for much longer now, he's already been in this long enough to get close to finishing the circle round his wrist), but he doesn't resist much at all; he's vaguely trying to continue, but so long as Henry keeps hold of his wrists he's not returning to it.

He's also not letting go of the needle, though, and pulling his wrists apart just pulls the most recent stitch tight, a little more blood trickling in response. Ryan hardly even seems to notice.]

[A tighter stitch is better than more of them, he figures, though now that he's there, Henry's more than a little distracted by all that blood. It was tempting to just let go- he'd gotten so far, after all, he might as well finish the job-

No. Ryan probably wouldn't like that, probably wouldn't even want to keep it attached after all that work, so Henry just keeps holding on.

He's not even capable of being alarmed himself, yet, too tired and detached- but even as he leans against him, eyes half-closed, his grip is firm.]

...c'mon Ryan. You don't really need to do that.

[There's no response for another few moments, but then he abruptly relaxes-- the needle falls from his fingers, the muscles in his arms going slack briefly before he blinks awake, bleary and confused. Ryan's not really registering much just yet besides his presence and the fact that his wrist hurts, and he winces, reflexively trying to pull it away.]

...Henry? What...

[And then he looks at it, eyes instantly going wide and flicking back to Henry's face. I'll just have to wait til you fall asleep, was it?]

--What the hell?

There you are.

[A bit of relief enters his expression when Ryan 'wakes', letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Concern was still an unfamiliar enough feeling that he barely recognized it.

But he lets go now that Ryan's aware of himself again, a bit of his blood getting on his own fingers in the process. Glancing down at the stitches, he absently licks it off.]

...pretty good work, isn't it?

[That question's really not helping change his immediate assumption, and the look he gives Henry is full of disbelief.]

I was joking about stitching it on, I-- I didn't think you would actually fucking wait til I fell asleep-- god, how didn't this wake me up?

[The shirt's already bloodied, and so he wraps the fabric around his wrist to try to soak up some more of it, frowning deeply as he watches more little spots of red show up from the other side of the makeshift bandage.]

--wha- what do you mean?

[Henry's just confused at first, shaking his head in denial even before he realizes the assumption.]

I didn't do it! I was the one asleep- you were almost done when I woke up.

[His gaze keeps flickering to the blood though, watching the way it kept seeping through the fabric. Ryan did have really nice blood.]

...I did?

[He's not sure whether to believe that or not, but he really hadn't been tired beforehand. Not enough to suddenly pass out mid-project. And now that he's pulling the shirt away and looking at it more closely-- there is a long, dangling thread connecting the last stitch he'd made in it and the first one in his wrist. They look like his too, he's not sure if Henry's work would be quite as evenly spaced.]

I don't remember it, Henry, I thought-- I figured I must have fallen asleep.

You've got a steady hand for sleep-stitching.

[As he leans in to get a better look at it himself, only just resisting the impulse to reach out and touch the bloody marks.]

Dunno how you did it, but it was definitely you. Don't think I could've done 'em that well, even if I'd been awake.

...I thought sleepwalking was the worst of this, now I have to worry about not doing this to myself?

[It comes out sounding more scared than anything, a slightly higher pitch to his voice. He's about a step from panicking, trying not to stare but finding that his eyes just keep wandering right back to it-- he gives his head a hard shake to try to clear it, wrapping his wrist back up.]

Guess so!

[Not the most reassuring of responses, and Henry makes a small, disapproving sound when Ryan's covering up those lovely little wounds, and he's tugging a bit on the shirt before he realizes what he's doing.]

...wanna cut it off? I can get a knife.

[He keeps a firmer grip on the fabric in response, giving his head another shake. No, he doesn't want to, he doesn't even want to look at it again right now.]

--don't want to touch it. Why're you offering, anyway, I thought you liked this kind of thing?

[It's still juuust this side of really freaking out, and the look Henry gets is almost accusing.]

[He pulls at it with more deliberation (even if he's not thinking why he's feeling so insistent), probably jostling the sewn bracelet in the process.]

Wanna see it-- What? I do, but you want it off, don't you? I can get rid of it-

[His attention keeps flickering between his face, and down where his wrist was hidden. Distracted. Not even bothered by the accusation, and though in the back of his mind he was aware that something was off about Ryan, and maybe he should be trying to do something other than attempting to pull the shirt away from him-

...that blood.

It was such nice blood.]

Would you leave it alone for five fucking seconds--

[And there's the panic. He jerks his arm away at the same time he tries to scoot further down the couch from Henry, intent on shaking him off. The look he gives him is wary, unsettled, and when he quickly comes up against the arm of the couch he's curling up tightly there, protectively.]

[If he'd been closer to himself, he would've stopped, backed off and apologized, worried and possibly even unnerved by the way Ryan was reacting. And maybe the feelings were still there, doing nothing but feeding into a sense of stubborn hurt. He said he cared about him, why was he doing that, why wasn't he sharing?]

You're always hiding your blood, let me see it for once--

[And Henry's clambering after him, pulling at Ryan's arm, the shirt, demanding and impatient.]

No!

[It's high, sharp, and a little fearful. He's used to Henry backing off, he'd expected that to happen, and the fact that he doesn't seem to be listening is horribly worrying. Ryan scrambles back, trying to climb over the arm of the sofa to get away.]

--I don't want you to touch me.

[The fear both makes him hesitate, and makes him frustrated. It's a sound he's familiar with, but not coming from Ryan- and it's enough to let him escape, at least over the edge of the sofa.

But he shakes it off, moving closer again, leaning over the couch as if a second away from crawling over it to get to him again, his voice a dark and soft sort of hurt.]

Why can't I?

Because I said.

[There's a waver in his voice, for all he tries to keep it level. That tone was really not reassuring in the least, but he stays where he is for now, watching.]

What's wrong with you?

What's wrong with you?

[He returns at him, expression oddly neutral, watchful. Henry somehow manages to not continue the lunge after him, but does reach an arm over, grabbing at the protective shirt again.]

I'm not the one stitching my wrist up.

I don't know, okay? Do you think I wanted to do that?

[The motion's jerky as he pulls his arm back, though his grip on the fabric slips- it's easy enough to pull away. He's stepping a little further back, holding his wrist with his other hand instead.]

Just-- just leave me alone.

Why're you saying that?

[Finally he could see it again, but Ryan was still backing away. That wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to do that.

So he gets up and follows.]

I'm going to help- don't you want that?

Not when you're acting like this.

[Ryan reflexively continues to shift backward in response, all the way up to the wall. He could make him stop if he wanted to, he's more than aware-- and a part of him wants to do it, wants to show Henry that he can.

He isn't, not unless he needs to. This is all wrong, making it more wrong isn't going to fix it.]

I don't know what's going on but you need to listen to me.

I'm listening.

[Good, the wall would stop him. Even if it wasn't Henry's intention to seem threatening, that's only because he didn't have much conscious intention at all. And he advances on him, with blank eyes and a half-smile.

He'd fix him. He'd protect him, from himself if he needed to.]

To~tally listening. Let me see, I want to see it-

You aren't. If you were listening to me you'd back off.

[There's as much force behind that as he can manage, but his voice still shakes, his eyes are still wide-- it's the only time he's looked honestly terrified of Henry. That expression unsettles him badly, and he keeps his wrist clutched possessively to his chest.]

Please, Henry. Don't. [There's a desperate note in that plea.]

[That tone, his face- Henry hasn't quite closed in when he stops short, staring at him. He wants to shake off the confusion, the unease that's creeping up.

That blood, he was almost to it-

Something was wrong.]

--You're afraid of me.

[It was soft and confused, but at least not accusing. Tense, he didn't know what to do. He was doing something wrong, but he couldn't tell what it was.]

...little bit.

[More than a little bit. The tiny laugh he huffs out is obviously not genuine, completely a nervous response.]

Why wouldn't I be, you-- you're-- I told you to stop I don't know how many times. If I can't trust you to back off, what then? How am I supposed to trust you not to do anything else?

[He isn't relaxing, still tense and watching him warily.]

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