[Adrian stays put across the room for a handful of seconds, watching as Rosso sort of deflates in front of him. He hates that it has to be an ultimatum, that they're just out here waiting for their turn to die in some fantastically horrible fashion only for the cycle to repeat itself. If fate were kind and not cruel, Adrian would have gotten immediate karma for what he did in the Wastelands. Mukuro's spear would not have missed something vital, and that would have been that.
But if being here has taught Adrian anything, it's that if he died- even for a short period- there are people who would be looking for him. Left behind, wondering after his safety and wellbeing, and that is not something he's experienced since he was a very young child.
He had to think to understand why seeing Rosso's lost compass bothered him so bad. He didn't even have to speculate, he just...knew that Rosso had been killed. There's no way he would have just dropped something that important to him. Then, hearing that he'd been killed, brutally. It set off something in him that he hasn't felt since losing Misha. That blind, overwhelming terror that it's happening again.
His chest heaves a little, as all of a sudden it feels like he can't quite take a full breath. Smoke trails through the gaps in his fangs, but no fire ever comes. He just stands there, stupidly, having a crisis in his head as the silence between them stretches on.
Eventually, he slowly pads forward, but he doesn't move to sit on the couch next to Rosso like a normal person might. Instead, he sinks in front of him, thudding heavily to his knees. He's tall enough that they're still mostly eye-to-eye, Rosso maybe a few inches above him still sitting but not by much.
Then, without...really any preamble or warning, he leans in so he can pull the Werewolf into a hug. His paws grip him tight, firm but not unyielding, one pressed against his shoulder while the other rests in an awkward place between his neck and the back of his head, like he's not sure where exactly it should go.]
no subject
But if being here has taught Adrian anything, it's that if he died- even for a short period- there are people who would be looking for him. Left behind, wondering after his safety and wellbeing, and that is not something he's experienced since he was a very young child.
He had to think to understand why seeing Rosso's lost compass bothered him so bad. He didn't even have to speculate, he just...knew that Rosso had been killed. There's no way he would have just dropped something that important to him. Then, hearing that he'd been killed, brutally. It set off something in him that he hasn't felt since losing Misha. That blind, overwhelming terror that it's happening again.
His chest heaves a little, as all of a sudden it feels like he can't quite take a full breath. Smoke trails through the gaps in his fangs, but no fire ever comes. He just stands there, stupidly, having a crisis in his head as the silence between them stretches on.
Eventually, he slowly pads forward, but he doesn't move to sit on the couch next to Rosso like a normal person might. Instead, he sinks in front of him, thudding heavily to his knees. He's tall enough that they're still mostly eye-to-eye, Rosso maybe a few inches above him still sitting but not by much.
Then, without...really any preamble or warning, he leans in so he can pull the Werewolf into a hug. His paws grip him tight, firm but not unyielding, one pressed against his shoulder while the other rests in an awkward place between his neck and the back of his head, like he's not sure where exactly it should go.]
Dumbass.