[ He rolls his eyes. Bas. All the same. Nervous little creatures.
But oddly, despite everything, his temper and his otherwise arrogance, he simply meets the young man's eyes. Nervous and scared, worried about touching. Then when he begins to clean the wound - Dimos shuts his eyes, grits his teeth, hangs his hands onto the wood of the bed frame.
And goes completely silent. There's no faint whimper, no hiss or grunt to the pain of it. Oh, the signs are there - his knuckles turn white in starburst scars where they grip hard. The bed frame groans from the pressure he is exerting on it.
But for the stinging to the next: that slide in of needle against already screaming nerves, he makes not one little noise. No flinch of pain, even when his scowl deepens. Fixed in rage over pain, where he was well trained in being attended this way. He would make his Tama proud, he thinks, in his silence to endure pain. ]
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But oddly, despite everything, his temper and his otherwise arrogance, he simply meets the young man's eyes. Nervous and scared, worried about touching. Then when he begins to clean the wound - Dimos shuts his eyes, grits his teeth, hangs his hands onto the wood of the bed frame.
And goes completely silent. There's no faint whimper, no hiss or grunt to the pain of it. Oh, the signs are there - his knuckles turn white in starburst scars where they grip hard. The bed frame groans from the pressure he is exerting on it.
But for the stinging to the next: that slide in of needle against already screaming nerves, he makes not one little noise. No flinch of pain, even when his scowl deepens. Fixed in rage over pain, where he was well trained in being attended this way. He would make his Tama proud, he thinks, in his silence to endure pain. ]