[As soon as the clothes are set down beside him, Stiles is standing to dress. The sheet crumples to the ground, forgotten. In this moment, his haste to leave Broken Wing supersedes his self-consciousness. With sharp movements, he slides each garment on. The two of them are of an approximate height, though Sasuke’s physique is far more toned than his own; because of this, the clothing fits well.
There’s only a small blip in his expressionless façade as the turtleneck is pulled over his head. As the fabric settles against his neck, he flinches—a hand immediately flying up to adjust the sweater. It doesn’t seem to help with his apparent discomfort.]
I can walk.
[Stiles pauses, glancing around the space—searching for anything useful to steal. Nothing catches his eye.]
Alright. C’mon. The sooner we’re outta here, the better.
[And he’s shoving the curtain aside, stalking out from the clinic with an energy that speaks of restrained aggression. The nurses wave him goodbye, some blowing kisses; if possible, that intangible aura only darkens.]
no subject
There’s only a small blip in his expressionless façade as the turtleneck is pulled over his head. As the fabric settles against his neck, he flinches—a hand immediately flying up to adjust the sweater. It doesn’t seem to help with his apparent discomfort.]
I can walk.
[Stiles pauses, glancing around the space—searching for anything useful to steal. Nothing catches his eye.]
Alright. C’mon. The sooner we’re outta here, the better.
[And he’s shoving the curtain aside, stalking out from the clinic with an energy that speaks of restrained aggression. The nurses wave him goodbye, some blowing kisses; if possible, that intangible aura only darkens.]