[ He sips in the air between his teeth at the first touch of the cloth, then presses his lips down even harder as he applies the pressure over the cut himself. But Red nods to the question, a quick bob of his head, after his feet has moved back to give Cilan the space when he crouches. ] 'm fine.
[ It's cold, from the back of his arms down, though where alarms are going off in his body, it doesn't really dull the pain shooting and surrounding the cut. Good job there, great job--does Cilan mind if we just rest ourselves against the back of the couch, because there's a small pacing in the space Red occupies before he goes to do just that, keeping his hand up in front of a head slightly bowed. ]
I should've wiped my hands. [ His fault, there. He says it just to say something, to point it out, and not let it be any more awkward than him so soon ruining their plans with too much silence. Our bad, Cilan. ]
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[ It's cold, from the back of his arms down, though where alarms are going off in his body, it doesn't really dull the pain shooting and surrounding the cut. Good job there, great job--does Cilan mind if we just rest ourselves against the back of the couch, because there's a small pacing in the space Red occupies before he goes to do just that, keeping his hand up in front of a head slightly bowed. ]
I should've wiped my hands. [ His fault, there. He says it just to say something, to point it out, and not let it be any more awkward than him so soon ruining their plans with too much silence. Our bad, Cilan. ]