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Sure. I'll be here. [She'll kick her feet up onto the bed, reclining properly as her gaze finds the ceiling instead of Minato.]

Take your time.

[ /reenacts the Shirakawa Boulevard scene--

but not really. Minato leaves and takes a change of clothes with him and disappears out into the shared bathroom on the other side of the hall, toying with the thought of just filling up the tub and letting himself soak for two hours because no one's been home for a month and that means their water bill wouldn't be ginormous.

15 minutes as promised, in a t-shirt and sweats and sobbing wet hair that he neither bothered to towel dry or comb down before he dumps his old clothes into a hamper somewhere in the corner of his room and bellyflops onto his bed. ]

[Maybe it's his imagination, but when he turns to Angela in the bed he might find her laying there wearing...decidedly less. Her pants have magically disappeared and been replaced with a tiny pair of shorts. The window is cracked slightly. Daintily, she reaches out and touches his hair with her hands, the soft, imitation flesh of the inside of her palm and fingers brushing it around lightly.]

Your hair is still wet.

[ ..........I probably did mean sopping wet hair but I'm just freudian slipping everywhere today ]

It'll- ...dry.

[ His voice catches in his throat when he turns to look at her because 1) why is the window open, 2) it's March and it's cold and she's wearing shorts, 3) those are really short shorts ]

[~~be careful what you wish for~~]

[Her hands travel downward, one gently cupping his face––big blue eyes peering into the subject of her attention. Her other hand presses gently against his chest now.]

You're warm. [Even with the muted, artificial nerves, she can tell.]

But you're probably feeling the opposite...[And one of her legs nudges his, with dubious intent.]

So...[Her words disappear into a long, slow exhale of hot breath...]

[ His hands are cold because they always are, but he can definitely feel the heat up the back of his neck and is glad that's not where Angela is touching. Can't do anything to hide how hard his heart hammers in his chest, though, but maybe it's under a thick enough set of ribs that she can't feel it. ]

I just took a hot shower, so...

[ So!!!

...

So he pulls up the covers and throws it over her head, she looks colder than him and now she doesn't have to look at him. ]

[. . .

The hand on his chest straightens out, now poking him instead.]

...Is something wrong? [She says from underneath the veil he has hoisted upon her.]

[ Very obviously something wrong because he's hiding but he shakes his head no anyways, even though she can't see him. ]

I'm not used to being touched. [ a pause, because he knows that's something Angela has been working on, hands on his arm, fingers interlaced with his, pressed against his chest... ] Like that.

[Angela will peek out from the covers before this becomes rather ridiculous.]

...Like what? I was just...[Touching you normally...?]

Like...

[ He's not going to say it. Instead, when she pulls the covers off from over her head, he reaches over and returns that same gesture of cupping her face with his hand.

...Both hands. Squishes her cheeks in between his palms. ]

[Her eyes narrow like "this is not the exact same and you know it, mister"]

I was not this aggressive. [She says jokingly between squished cheeks and lips before gently taking his wrists with her hands and relieving the pressure he's been applying. And now, a touch more serious.]

Did I make you uncomfortable...?

[ It's same enough.

He lets her move his hands apart, but he doesn't take them back. Just lets them rest on her face, properly holding her in his hands. ]

Not a bad uncomfortable. Just uncertain.

Uncertain...of what?

[ ...Squishes her cheeks again, like it's a familiar gesture that he's falling back on. ]

Of what I'm supposed to do. What I should do.

You're not...supposed to do anything. There's nothing that you should do.

[She removes her hands from his wrists and places them back on his face, gently mimicking his own current gesture.]

You do whatever feels natural. You don't have to do...anything.

[Unless you want to.]

I felt like I needed to.

[ But whether that's what he believes is expected of him, or whether that's what he wants to do, he can't tell. But he likes it a little better when Angela's hands are on his face than the other way around, and he places his hands over hers again, as if to keep them there. ]

Like if I didn't do anything, the moment passes, and it's not important anymore. That's what "not doing anything" feel like.

[ Which has been basically years upon years of his life. Not doing anything. Letting things by. ]

If you feel like you need to...and you want to, then you should. But if you only felt like you needed to because of that specific moment, then...I don't know.

[She does hold her hands on his face, taking this time to simply look at him. The bags under his eyes, the tip of his nose, the structure of his jaw, his lips...She brushes the inside of her thumb over one cheek. She finds her leg brushing against his again, as if her body is unconsciously expressing a desire to curl into him, be close with him. Everything is so hot and cold at the same time, and her cheeks flush red and the thumb over his cheek trembles ever slightly.]

It's just...whatever feels right to you, in the moment, this moment, the next, the one after...

You can do as you like, Minato. Whatever you want...

[ The thought of that much freedom is a little dizzying, although that might be the way Angela looks him over, her voice lowering. He can feel a shiver run down his spine when she moves her leg, and he can't decide whether to pull back or lean in and he just sort of rocks in place instead.

For all his running away, living on his own, deciding that he can do whatever the hell he wants, he's never done anything with that freedom other than sleep unhealthy amounts, because that sort of thing only affects him and that makes it okay.

Is this okay? Moving his arms to wrap around Angela's waist? Resting his forehead against the space in between her neck and shoulder? Pulling her close. Is this okay? ]

[This is okay. She gently moves a hand from his cheeks to his slightly more dry hair, holding him against her every bit that he's doing the same from her. It's nice. It's protection. It feels good, joining the warmth of their bodies. It's been a long month for him, hasn't it? She can feel the weariness of his body, heart and mind in the way that he leans against her, and it makes her feel...a bit selfish. Her other hand runs up and down his back, and she hums softly. The way that she always used to before...all of this.

And as much as she wants to say something, words manage to elude her as her whole body seems to flare up as hotly as her cheeks. The feeling of his body hushes her lips and steals her breath.]

[ He feels at once hyper aware of everything— where his hands are, how hard his heart's beating, how slow he's breathing until he catches himself and it comes out shaky instead, mixing with the scent of Angela's skin when he breathes it back. The hand on his back, rubbing, soothing. A brief hum next to his ear that he can still hear echoing in his mind when she stops. He wants it to stay, just like this, in this moment, and then next, and the one after, butting heads against his own gut reaction of needing to do something.

Staying like this, but in a way that's okay.

One of his hands leave her side to fumble around to find the edge of the blanket again. Maybe they can do that nap thing. ]

[This is better. Maybe. A world where, maybe, nothing exists. Nothing except for them. A feeling of comfort. Rising and falling like her breath-–Like Minato's breath. The way his chest moves against her. Sleep comes easily. A release of long built up tension––this being the only place she can finally do such a thing. It's good. Nothing is happening to her, maybe, maybe...

She leans her head into his freshly washed hair, the world around her, her world continuing to rise as fall as her arms swallow him up like a pill.

This is better.]

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