( for a moment, yin han says nothing, just blinking as he slowly pushes himself upright, pale face paling even more with the roiling nausea. he isn't in a position to wonder what causes it, only experience it and grit his teeth to hold back the terrible moment where he feels like he might vomit. breathing softly through his nose, even this makes almost no sound, and though the edges of yin han's eyes are red with strain, the whites are still very white and the black large and sharp, the long lashes fanned out in a way that emphasizes their curve. "phoenix eyes", chang yu told him with her hand under his chin recently, turning his face this way and that with as much jealousy as investment. he's lucky really that this person came by when he did, but even if he hadn't, perhaps also lucky that cheng qi had put out a kill hit on him and nothing else.
once he processes the words, his gaze shifts to the cups briefly before going back to the blond's face. unconsciously he holds the blanket a little closer, shivering. in hindsight going out with such a light coat and only t-shirt and jeans was stupid, but he hasn't been thinking very clearly still. behind his open eyes, the bomb replays sometimes silent, sometimes loud.
he lets his eyes fall again, this time to his own folded hands. )
Thank you...again. I am sorry for the trouble.
( given another month or two, yin han's language will improve with such shocking acceleration it will only be undermined by his writing capacity. for now, he's certainly understandable, but the almost whispering intonation of how he would like to speak sneaks into even his english. to anyone who doesn't know him it feeds into the pure naive frame, a little searching.
his face hurts. he can feel that it's swollen. his head hurts too. none of this is surprising though, and he doesn't think to say anything about it, having taken too much of the stranger's generosity already. out the corner of his eye, he surveys the small room, wondering where they are. )
no subject
once he processes the words, his gaze shifts to the cups briefly before going back to the blond's face. unconsciously he holds the blanket a little closer, shivering. in hindsight going out with such a light coat and only t-shirt and jeans was stupid, but he hasn't been thinking very clearly still. behind his open eyes, the bomb replays sometimes silent, sometimes loud.
he lets his eyes fall again, this time to his own folded hands. )
Thank you...again. I am sorry for the trouble.
( given another month or two, yin han's language will improve with such shocking acceleration it will only be undermined by his writing capacity. for now, he's certainly understandable, but the almost whispering intonation of how he would like to speak sneaks into even his english. to anyone who doesn't know him it feeds into the pure naive frame, a little searching.
his face hurts. he can feel that it's swollen. his head hurts too. none of this is surprising though, and he doesn't think to say anything about it, having taken too much of the stranger's generosity already. out the corner of his eye, he surveys the small room, wondering where they are. )