There is mud in his hair, at the corner of his eyes. (He looks of blustered wheat fields. The downward flicker of mouths. Of cautious sighs.)

He looks of all these, as he pulls off his boots. His soaked overcoat. Placing down carefully warm coffees and donuts and teas. (There is exasperation, flurried and self-aware, attempting to cover the concern that was once there. Calls at two in the morning. Tsuzuki's speech, spilling from his weary mouth, on its own volition: 'Do you think now would be a good time to talk?')

His fingers ache. He brushes back the slicked hair from his forehead. Gives his hands something to do. (His steps are all boldness and timidity. His socks are wet. They make an unfortunate, squeamish noise.)
He murmurs, to himself:
"I was asleep. I just fell ---"

A pause. And Tsuzuki is there. (Appearing out of his bedroom. Sleep tousled hair. Hisoka swears his stomach does not jump a little.)

"His--" Consideration. There is slow recognition dawning in the backlights of his eyes. "...M'going to get you clean clothes." (His movements are jittery. His hands wave, almost sluggishly. Still animated, despite the lack of sleep.)

He knows he wants to discuss what happened the last---

Hisoka finds he trails after him, eyes on all - but him. (His bedroom is crowded. Foreign memorabilia. Herbs in small pots lining his windows. The air smells of ivy and dirt and sugary incense.) And it is a smooth snap that catches his attention, Tsuzuki's hand at arm's length, holding out clothes,
"The smallest I could find." Sheepish. Hisoka's faint display of exasperated eye-rolling makes him smile. (Hisoka makes a hesitant gesture. His fingers work to touch his shoulder, but consider otherwise.)

"Just leave so I can change." And somehow, Hisoka finds his words jumbled. Caged somehow in his mouth. "Idiot." (And it is hard to muster. Tsuzuki makes no indication to exit, and Hisoka makes no movement, at all.)

Predicted words. Soft. Tsuzuki seats himself upon his bed. (He turns his eyes away, of course. Hisoka's fingers start pull the damp shirt off.)
"...I'm sorry if I frightened you."

Hisoka's shirt is caught on his elbows.

"I really didn't---I mean...I wanted...And I wasn't certain..."

Tsuzuki's sweater is far too large. It rests at his collarbone. It smells of sleep. Of warmth.

"And --- I mean, I guess this was bound to ---"

His jeans are sticking to his legs.

"...No, I guess --- I'm making assumptions, now --- But..."

And Hisoka finally, finally, turns to him - looking somewhat ridiculous and feeling as such in Tsuzuki's over-sized attire:
"Tsuzuki. You're making less sense than normal." Clipped. Tsuzuki flinches, somewhat, but Hisoka soothes: "I'm not angry."

(Almost too quiet. Tsuzuki's eyes are dark. Hisoka can hear thunder in the distance.)

A query. Childish. Timid. Lost.
"You're not?" (Hisoka is hyper-aware of how the bed dips slightly as he sits down beside him. How comforting his prescence is against his shoulder. Like a mother, a father, a sibling, a friend. Like---)

And Tsuzuki's eyelashes are thick and long. He can feel him breathing. (At such closeness, Hisoka finds himself numbed. Lulled.)
"No," He casts his eyes, down. (Thissaystoomuch.) He sees Tsuzuki's fingers trembling in search of his own. He indulges him. Knotting. His feelings like the pin pricks of limbs waking up. ThankyouandHisokaandPleasedon'tbeangryatme. "No, I'm not."

And Tsuzuki is silent, for a moment. Testing his honesty. Squeezing his hand. Loosening. Squeezing it, again.

(they both remember the hour. the two o'clock interval. tsuzuki's mumbled, sleepy kisses at his jaw. hisoka's tensing form. relaxing. his fingers in his hair and his mouth reaffirming the sensation of --- )

And Tsuzuki is silent, for a moment longer. Gathering courage. Releasing Hisoka's hand. (And he sees the way Hisoka looks at him. Delayed. Cautious. Warned.) And he can almost imagine the smile. He can almost imagine the laugh to match his own, rumbling like the oncoming storm. He can almost imagine the way Hisoka must read another's feelings, as he sees thought and whitesandpinksand---And the soft, inexperienced way he touches his mouth to Hisoka's own.

(outside the wind picks up. outside, it starts to rain.)