Thank goodness for Nighteyes and his interrupting nose, or Huaisang might have spent the next several minutes just holding onto Fitz's hand and not letting him get up to tidy, ahem. Men have complicated feelings indeed, and men have much simpler feelings about the magnetic pull of a smile and a definitely-not-just-crying gaze and hands on hands. Fitz will clear up the mess, and ah- yes, yes, nose in his face, thank you, Nighteyes. Huaisang gives the wolf a surprised but earnest laugh and one last ear scratch before he hops off to the other bed, and then... well, then he is sitting there on the bed all by his lonesome.
Hmm. He does watch Fitz go around tidying up, for lack of anything else to watch (and some other reasons). What else should he do but scoot to one side of the bed and at least smooth out his many fancy silks before he sleeps in them like an utter slob, while Fitz is off putting plates away and whatever else? This is fine.
The one nonnegotiable is his hair, however, so as Fitz does some fascinating layer-removal, Huaisang begins the arduous process of letting all of his hair down and untwisting the braids. The delicate hairpiece he puts on what passes for a rickety night table (but not before sighing at it, what kind of place is this), busying himself with undoing the braids one by one.
There are. Quite a few of them. So he's still sitting up and at this when Fitz finally lays down in the bed to be, Huaisang thinks, not as awkward as he could be about it. Still - he pauses in his ministrations to reach over and put a hand on Fitz's arm at the same time Nighteyes tells him to leave the light, unable to help laughing slightly again. Please, Fitz.
"Stop, stop—" The lights are fine! The latch is shut! There are no dying brothers or desperate friends lurking outside the windows (probably)! If Huaisang believes this hard enough it will be true, but of course, it does help that merely putting a hand on Fitz's arm again seems to mollify the most persistent part of his anxieties. He arranges his remaining braid to hang in front of his shoulder, so he can also shimmy down to lie on his side, propped up on his elbow to finish the laborious untwisting. Hello, bed buddy.
"Do you think they serve breakfast here, as well?" This isn't sleeping.
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Hmm. He does watch Fitz go around tidying up, for lack of anything else to watch (and some other reasons). What else should he do but scoot to one side of the bed and at least smooth out his many fancy silks before he sleeps in them like an utter slob, while Fitz is off putting plates away and whatever else? This is fine.
The one nonnegotiable is his hair, however, so as Fitz does some fascinating layer-removal, Huaisang begins the arduous process of letting all of his hair down and untwisting the braids. The delicate hairpiece he puts on what passes for a rickety night table (but not before sighing at it, what kind of place is this), busying himself with undoing the braids one by one.
There are. Quite a few of them. So he's still sitting up and at this when Fitz finally lays down in the bed to be, Huaisang thinks, not as awkward as he could be about it. Still - he pauses in his ministrations to reach over and put a hand on Fitz's arm at the same time Nighteyes tells him to leave the light, unable to help laughing slightly again. Please, Fitz.
"Stop, stop—" The lights are fine! The latch is shut! There are no dying brothers or desperate friends lurking outside the windows (probably)! If Huaisang believes this hard enough it will be true, but of course, it does help that merely putting a hand on Fitz's arm again seems to mollify the most persistent part of his anxieties. He arranges his remaining braid to hang in front of his shoulder, so he can also shimmy down to lie on his side, propped up on his elbow to finish the laborious untwisting. Hello, bed buddy.
"Do you think they serve breakfast here, as well?" This isn't sleeping.