[ Eren has absolutely no idea what to expect. Maybe for Giovanni to hit him? That's what hands do, after all. But that's not what he does.
It's nails. Eren has to clench his own hands. There's still something in him that doesn't know how to give in to the thing that he wants, even as the small wounds in his skin make his heart beat faster. Maybe he'll learn to ask for things he wants, once he has words for what those are. Maybe he'll demand them — not necessarily of Giovanni, just in general.
Pain gives him one thing that very little else can do: it pulls him into now. He spends all his time experiencing so much at once. Part of his longing for this is the sharp focus it grants him, where he can be only himself in this moment, only this Eren, in only this world, this time.
He sucks in a breath and tries to answer. ]
Physically, I'm really just human.
[ That's more or less true.
Steam rises from the cuts on his throat as they heal. It's half reflex, half demonstration. The steam is hot, but there's only wisps of it. He can choose not to heal for awhile, and bigger things take more out of him. He's full up on magic energy, and it will feedback loop itself with touch anyway. But he's not an endless font. He's been unable to heal before. He knows where the limit is, but only when he reaches it.
Maybe he also has a danger kink!
His eyes flick down to Giovanni's hand on him, brow furrowed in confusion. He reaches understanding only when that pressure comes. Oh.
Oh.
He doesn't fight it. Has he let someone break his bones on purpose before? Not fighting them? He doesn't think so.
Giovanni didn't entirely expect Eren to show up. Eren didn't expect Giovanni to really hurt him and surprise shows on his face. It morphs into pain and he jerks away on reflex. He is, as he said, pretty much just human. He has to clench his jaw to not make too much sound. ]
Shit.
[ But he doesn't leave or run. Pain stays bright and sharp and finally grounding where the delicate bone snapped. The healing that follows is entirely subconscious this time, bone knitting back together under his flesh, the telltale steam of it rising off him.
His pupils are blown when he looks back at Giovanni, turning his green eyes darker. ]
Don't stop.
[ Part of him wants to fight it, hit back, do something. He might; he has his own shit to get over. But he wanted -- and wants -- to be here. ]
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It's nails. Eren has to clench his own hands. There's still something in him that doesn't know how to give in to the thing that he wants, even as the small wounds in his skin make his heart beat faster. Maybe he'll learn to ask for things he wants, once he has words for what those are. Maybe he'll demand them — not necessarily of Giovanni, just in general.
Pain gives him one thing that very little else can do: it pulls him into now. He spends all his time experiencing so much at once. Part of his longing for this is the sharp focus it grants him, where he can be only himself in this moment, only this Eren, in only this world, this time.
He sucks in a breath and tries to answer. ]
Physically, I'm really just human.
[ That's more or less true.
Steam rises from the cuts on his throat as they heal. It's half reflex, half demonstration. The steam is hot, but there's only wisps of it. He can choose not to heal for awhile, and bigger things take more out of him. He's full up on magic energy, and it will feedback loop itself with touch anyway. But he's not an endless font. He's been unable to heal before. He knows where the limit is, but only when he reaches it.
Maybe he also has a danger kink!
His eyes flick down to Giovanni's hand on him, brow furrowed in confusion. He reaches understanding only when that pressure comes. Oh.
Oh.
He doesn't fight it. Has he let someone break his bones on purpose before? Not fighting them? He doesn't think so.
Giovanni didn't entirely expect Eren to show up. Eren didn't expect Giovanni to really hurt him and surprise shows on his face. It morphs into pain and he jerks away on reflex. He is, as he said, pretty much just human. He has to clench his jaw to not make too much sound. ]
Shit.
[ But he doesn't leave or run. Pain stays bright and sharp and finally grounding where the delicate bone snapped. The healing that follows is entirely subconscious this time, bone knitting back together under his flesh, the telltale steam of it rising off him.
His pupils are blown when he looks back at Giovanni, turning his green eyes darker. ]
Don't stop.
[ Part of him wants to fight it, hit back, do something. He might; he has his own shit to get over. But he wanted -- and wants -- to be here. ]