By contrast, Trowa is not the least bit scared of the gun pressing into the fur of his chest. He'd been faced with worse before. Hell, he'd nearly been disintegrated, once. The possibility of getting shot as a result of terrorizing Hiruma was a known risk, and one he'd already accepted as part of the job in typical fashion from the moment he'd planned the action. He also doesn't have a fraction of the problems Hiruma does in controlling himself, his breathing- and heart-rates unchanged; it might almost have seemed like a power all its own, if not for the fact that he'd learned to do it as a child back home.
Gingerly and slowly lowering Hiruma to the ground, Trowa lets the were-creature's expression soften and then fade into a plain, blank mask of nothingness while he backs up a few heavy steps to give the blond some breathing room. The paw-hand with the fork in it pulls away, and he uncurls his fingers, careful not to scrape the other teenager with the tips of the dagger-like claws on their way back out. After gently smoothing the shirt back down with that same hand, he turns, and buries himself back into his work of covering the window with a huffing sound that might have been a quiet sigh if he were still human.
He'd told Hiruma to be careful, earlier. One single test scare aside, short of being brainwashed into it again, Trowa would never intentionally cause him that kind of harm; hell, he'd probably be hard-pressed to keep himself from seeking out anyone else that did.
Keeping his body language so far in check that he is rapidly approaching the appearance of a robot in were-lion's clothing rather than than any real living thing, he continues pinning tines in place.
It isn't the fear that bothers him. He'd have to wonder about someone who failed to have that same initial panicked reaction. What gets to him isn't even being threatened in return, and in such a violent fashion.
It's that he's not sure Hiruma wouldn't have gone through with it.
go whole hog or go home, i say XD
Gingerly and slowly lowering Hiruma to the ground, Trowa lets the were-creature's expression soften and then fade into a plain, blank mask of nothingness while he backs up a few heavy steps to give the blond some breathing room. The paw-hand with the fork in it pulls away, and he uncurls his fingers, careful not to scrape the other teenager with the tips of the dagger-like claws on their way back out. After gently smoothing the shirt back down with that same hand, he turns, and buries himself back into his work of covering the window with a huffing sound that might have been a quiet sigh if he were still human.
He'd told Hiruma to be careful, earlier. One single test scare aside, short of being brainwashed into it again, Trowa would never intentionally cause him that kind of harm; hell, he'd probably be hard-pressed to keep himself from seeking out anyone else that did.
Keeping his body language so far in check that he is rapidly approaching the appearance of a robot in were-lion's clothing rather than than any real living thing, he continues pinning tines in place.
It isn't the fear that bothers him. He'd have to wonder about someone who failed to have that same initial panicked reaction. What gets to him isn't even being threatened in return, and in such a violent fashion.
It's that he's not sure Hiruma wouldn't have gone through with it.
He misses being trusted.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.