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Because of the mask, he’s used to discreetly observing others. He can feel his cheekbones and brows rub and press against the somewhat damp metal, miming out facial expressions as he waits for the day to use them again. Practicing to smile, to squint his eyes ever so slightly with upturned corners in delight. He’ll furrow his brow, chew on his lip, drop the lid of one eye in a wink. It helped to keep his mind occupied while laboring. Doc tells him to do it, as if he might forget any more.
Now that he’s escaped, been given the luxury of clothing (complete with a shirt collar!), the power of a sword and the freedom to use it, he feels the ignition of determination, eyebrows and lips pressing together to form hard lines, teeth gritting as he practices swings and slashes against monsters, protecting his new partner with his unflinching body as he learns to dance around swipes of claws and weave around expertly placed shots. He learns to read the rolling path of armadillos and anticipate the bullet’s path before it barely rips out of the barrel.
Said partner was…a character, certainly. He finds that Shionne’s habits in battle become more familiar to him than any real details about her. She’s a damn good shot, but stubborn to a fault. Which is how he finds himself crawling through a real mess of ruins, the local fauna not taking kindly to their intrusion. All of this over a dress! It’s hard not to size her up as just one of them, with unbroken skin on the backs of their hands, looking down on Dahna with haughty, gleaming eyes. He can’t feel much, but he can sense relief when she heals him, something like how it feels to gulp down water rations at the end of a long day, so he figures that she does care, in her own way.
They move through the steps of their waltz, bullet and steel tearing through the strange interior of the ruin, kicking up sand and spilling monster blood. He’s relieved once they finally make it to the end. In spite of his disinterest for fashion, he can’t help but be intrigued by the options on display, the quality garments hanging within. Everything is so new, and Shionne’s pale skin seems to almost glow in the low light of the residential chamber, drawing his focus.
For a moment, he forgets he has the mask, nervous that she’ll turn and see him staring slack-jawed, all over an untouchable girl in a simple sundress. No pain is definitely different from no emotions, and he hurries to avert his gaze, cringing at the prospect of possibly being caught. Abashed, he waits politely, standing guard against pretend monsters in the shadows.
It feels like an eternity later, when he hears the click of her heels hit the steps, his breathing grinding to a halt as the sound commands his attention. His gaze is drawn up along the slim curve of boots, up the fine silken dress, torn just barely at the edges, up the armored bodice and the satin ribbon and lace sleeves. Shit, he’s staring, and Shionne has definitely noticed, based on how she’s drawing her rifle. “What’s wrong?” Giving him a quizzical look as she pulls at the action on the gun.
“N-no, nothing.” He murmurs, turning towards the exit. She doesn’t think he’s a creep, which is good, but she’s just as guarded as she was from the start.
First things first, tear down the Gates of Fire. Then, he’d have the time to break down the wall between them.