[Of course, he's not really prepared to be rejected, so he's certainly fortunate that he isn't. Instead of worrying about anything much, Hasebe's focus is on the fingers wrapped around him, the way his hand rests beside them and keeps the blade steady, guides it safely as it's inspected. If anything were to harm this man, Hasebe's anger would be palpable. It's not something he acts on, but should it ever come to it, he has within him the capacity to make someone apologize, or worse.
Unwisely, he doesn't stop the motion to touch the blade itself, to stroke the steel and examine the moat fearsome part. It's incredible, the way his breath hitches and his stomach drops when he sees the injury happen, when the blood threatens to drip down. A sword wasn't made for this. Hasebe can't possibly know what to do.
He eases the blade away slightly, brow furrowed, chin resting lightly on Guanshan's shoulder.]
That was foolish.
[But with the hand not holding the sword steady, he takes the injured finger in hand and examines it. How... he's a weapon. He's a thing of death and anger and chaos and destruction and he's being treated like this, so kindly, respectfully... It hurts, somehow. Feelings occur, but aren't processed, as they aren't understood. He makes no effort to create a true picture out of any of this. He just brings the bloodied finger to his lips and presses a kiss there. He acts on instinct and mimics what he could learn of human liaisons from his life as the blade alone.]
no subject
Unwisely, he doesn't stop the motion to touch the blade itself, to stroke the steel and examine the moat fearsome part. It's incredible, the way his breath hitches and his stomach drops when he sees the injury happen, when the blood threatens to drip down. A sword wasn't made for this. Hasebe can't possibly know what to do.
He eases the blade away slightly, brow furrowed, chin resting lightly on Guanshan's shoulder.]
That was foolish.
[But with the hand not holding the sword steady, he takes the injured finger in hand and examines it. How... he's a weapon. He's a thing of death and anger and chaos and destruction and he's being treated like this, so kindly, respectfully... It hurts, somehow. Feelings occur, but aren't processed, as they aren't understood. He makes no effort to create a true picture out of any of this. He just brings the bloodied finger to his lips and presses a kiss there. He acts on instinct and mimics what he could learn of human liaisons from his life as the blade alone.]
Shall I bandage it for you?