[Nimah is old enough to speak up when something ruffles them, when it feels like it matters. too old not to, they think... but at least they're still willing to listen.

it's funny, they think. the miscommunication had broken down just so abruptly, and they should probably consider why. the implication of inaction is... well, they don't want to think about it, and it doesn't matter here. quiet heartbeats pass, and they put no expectation out there for what Wriothesley will do.]

... I know I didn't.

[it's not as sharply spoken, a soft exhale of a sigh as eyes close. maybe those are bothering them too, even in the dim light of the communal bathrooms. they can't see shapes, but the light still exists.]

You're forgiven. And— [callused fingers draw up over Wriothesley's skin, resting briefly on his cheek, a laugh on his lips.] now you know there is a reason I ask.

[weight shifting under him, their thumb strokes his cheek briefly. it still isn't a perfect return, as perhaps it couldn't be, but they're quite good at just going back to how they were. discomfort? who's that, fam?]

Anyway... to the value of what's enjoyable, then? You were telling me why I was adorable. And leaving marks. Although...

[they don't think that was unclear either, given how loud they tend to be, but—fair's fair enough, isn't it? and this time, they lead him down a little, enough to press their mouths together.

if slow and indulgent is fine, then of course they're going to lean into it.]