His eyes widen perceptibly when Tsuna drags his sleeve over his eyes in messy, shuddering swipes, and that's enough of an answer. He doesn't begrudge him of much, nonetheless. Yamamoto's gaze absently slants up so Tsuna won't catch him staring for too long at the pinprick of tears misting at his eyes — he never really seemed to genuinely like the attention, even before, when everyone looked to him as a leader to easily trail in the wake of.
It's a kind of dissipation in untempered physicality, shying and indistinct, because Tsuna would sooner vibrate out of his skin than hurt another living being. Fighting with hands braced around contrite psalms, even, because he was never as confrontational as much as he was pacifistic. There's nothing abstract about the way Yamamoto carefully folds him into a tight hug, though — partially because of the injuries Tsuna's sustained, partially because he might just need it too, blinking down at the looming fragility in his friend's complexion.
Quick and painless.
Yamamoto retracts after a while, his palms finding both of Tsuna's shoulders and holding him steady, an echo of earnest warmth. He smiles in tired relief, straightening after a moment, mouth puzzled between a slivered grin and something entirely indiscernible when he speaks. ]
'Course, Tsuna. Anything you want! Just say the word.
[ It's a little like baring his soul: Yamamoto says too much but won't say enough, and it's never quite what he means, even in complete exposure. Tsuna's changed, somehow, growing brittle with the beginning of a nascent, waxing desperation. Evidently, he can't voice that much, either. Hands pulled away from the clasp, Yamamoto pivots Tsuna on his heel in one decided movement, leading him back toward the main encampment. ]
You look exhausted. Have you been here for a while?
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His eyes widen perceptibly when Tsuna drags his sleeve over his eyes in messy, shuddering swipes, and that's enough of an answer. He doesn't begrudge him of much, nonetheless. Yamamoto's gaze absently slants up so Tsuna won't catch him staring for too long at the pinprick of tears misting at his eyes — he never really seemed to genuinely like the attention, even before, when everyone looked to him as a leader to easily trail in the wake of.
It's a kind of dissipation in untempered physicality, shying and indistinct, because Tsuna would sooner vibrate out of his skin than hurt another living being. Fighting with hands braced around contrite psalms, even, because he was never as confrontational as much as he was pacifistic. There's nothing abstract about the way Yamamoto carefully folds him into a tight hug, though — partially because of the injuries Tsuna's sustained, partially because he might just need it too, blinking down at the looming fragility in his friend's complexion.
Quick and painless.
Yamamoto retracts after a while, his palms finding both of Tsuna's shoulders and holding him steady, an echo of earnest warmth. He smiles in tired relief, straightening after a moment, mouth puzzled between a slivered grin and something entirely indiscernible when he speaks. ]
'Course, Tsuna. Anything you want! Just say the word.
[ It's a little like baring his soul: Yamamoto says too much but won't say enough, and it's never quite what he means, even in complete exposure. Tsuna's changed, somehow, growing brittle with the beginning of a nascent, waxing desperation. Evidently, he can't voice that much, either. Hands pulled away from the clasp, Yamamoto pivots Tsuna on his heel in one decided movement, leading him back toward the main encampment. ]
You look exhausted. Have you been here for a while?