[zero reason at all, other than he's a terrible person to be nursing anyone, bedside manner completely absent in his demeanor even on the best of days. the stream of water soaking blond hair doesn't seem to be calming or cooling him at all and it's only when he's hunched over in that low light that the samurai actually sees the squirm of... of tumors under his thin clothing, whipping back with a start]
[it takes entirely too long for him to catch up to reality, staring wide-eyed at the squirm and furl of flesh -- and he finally moves, ripping at a lace, nearly tearing open the top of the fabric]
What the hell. [it's as raw as that flesh looks, and when his fingers drift over the back of his neck to pull the gown down, he can feel that he's even hotter here than he was on his face]
[ -- somehow, he regains his calm quickly, clearly a man used to emergencies and quick thinking. his instincts tell him to press his hands to those two burgeoning lumps, press them down and hold them in... but the more rational and experienced part of him reminds that vomit, pus, infection is always better out than in]
[if only he had a... a what? a kitchen knife? a...]
Just stay like that. [a hand claps down on the back of his neck and pins him there, bent over the sink, keeping him from thrashing and risking greater injury to himself. the fingers of his other hand dip under the stream for a rinse and then... hesitantly touch his shoulderblades, pressure light, working towards their center where dark pinpricks are starting to raise, dark blood bubbling out in two fine streams]
I'll pull it out. [whatever it is]
[whatever it is, it doesn't need his fucking help.]
[(is this aid or pure, dark curiosity? he would lie if asked.)]
no subject
[it takes entirely too long for him to catch up to reality, staring wide-eyed at the squirm and furl of flesh -- and he finally moves, ripping at a lace, nearly tearing open the top of the fabric]
What the hell. [it's as raw as that flesh looks, and when his fingers drift over the back of his neck to pull the gown down, he can feel that he's even hotter here than he was on his face]
[ -- somehow, he regains his calm quickly, clearly a man used to emergencies and quick thinking. his instincts tell him to press his hands to those two burgeoning lumps, press them down and hold them in... but the more rational and experienced part of him reminds that vomit, pus, infection is always better out than in]
[if only he had a... a what? a kitchen knife? a...]
Just stay like that. [a hand claps down on the back of his neck and pins him there, bent over the sink, keeping him from thrashing and risking greater injury to himself. the fingers of his other hand dip under the stream for a rinse and then... hesitantly touch his shoulderblades, pressure light, working towards their center where dark pinpricks are starting to raise, dark blood bubbling out in two fine streams]
I'll pull it out. [whatever it is]
[whatever it is, it doesn't need his fucking help.]
[(is this aid or pure, dark curiosity? he would lie if asked.)]