[ he's gonna start sympathy-crying... and maybe also just regular crying, since he can't help thinking of his own lost family, presumably safely out there in Long Beach and Sendai and wherever his brother's living nowadays; Chicago?--but unreachable and unverifiable now for over six months.
the guitar wedged awkwardly between them is uncomfortable enough to save him from melting down right here. (thank heaven for small favors.) he shifts enough to make an attempt at eye contact... ]
It's not... It won't be forever. We'll get them back. I really think we will. Come inside?
[ that face paint... jamie suddenly feels weirdly guilty that he owns no face paint gamzee could use to do some retouching. ]
Bagels.
[ he leads gamzee inside and sits him down at the little table... the giant fluffy norwegian forest cat known as kitty sidles over to see what's up while jamie spreads peanut butter. ]
Um, can I get you something to drink? There's... juice. And water, of course. Oh, there's milk!
[ said a little sadly and down in the dumps. god, you how noses get all gross and slimy when people cry? gamzee needs a tissue or something other than his own clothes . . . he sets his guitar down to the side by his leg and sniffs. hello, kitty . . . come to him? for scritchies? ]
[ kitty inspects gamzee's fingers with great interest, then slams her whole face into his hand. jamie takes a break from bagel and milk prep to set the roll of paper towels on the table... (he and minato have some actual tissues somewhere, but who can remember where that stuff is??) ]
Uh, yeah! Of course! Sorry, I should've... yeah. Do you want to use the kitchen sink? Or there's the bathroom. The washcloths on the shelf are clean.
[ oh— that is good. gamzee’s already up and more than halfway toward the sink by the time he’s given an official yes, drowning sorrows and paint away where you usually wash your food dishes. this is fine. a bit of rubbing and blublublub later, gamzee’s reaching around for anything to dry off.
shelf? washcloth? he’s grabbing whatever feels as such before putting it back where it belongs, walking over to jamie with a freshly cleaned face. it’s a weary sort of an attempt at smiling, but he gives one, patting his back. ]
. . . Thanks, for all this hospitality you’re chuggin’ at me.
[ jamie smiles back, of course. it's unrelated to the issue at hand, but he likes the way gamzee looks without the face paint; he can't say as much, though, particularly not now, with this crisis of invisible family. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ he's gonna start sympathy-crying...
and maybe also just regular crying, since he can't help thinking of his own lost family, presumably safely out there in Long Beach and Sendai and wherever his brother's living nowadays; Chicago?--but unreachable and unverifiable now for over six months.
the guitar wedged awkwardly between them is uncomfortable enough to save him from melting down right here. (thank heaven for small favors.) he shifts enough to make an attempt at eye contact... ]
It's not...
It won't be forever.
We'll get them back. I really think we will.
Come inside?
no subject
Bagels?
no subject
jamie suddenly feels weirdly guilty that he owns no face paint gamzee could use to do some retouching. ]
Bagels.
[ he leads gamzee inside and sits him down at the little table... the giant fluffy norwegian forest cat known as kitty sidles over to see what's up while jamie spreads peanut butter. ]
Um, can I get you something to drink? There's... juice. And water, of course. Oh, there's milk!
no subject
[ said a little sadly and down in the dumps. god, you how noses get all gross and slimy when people cry? gamzee needs a tissue or something other than his own clothes . . . he sets his guitar down to the side by his leg and sniffs. hello, kitty . . . come to him? for scritchies? ]
Can I grab some water for my face?
no subject
Uh, yeah! Of course! Sorry, I should've... yeah.
Do you want to use the kitchen sink? Or there's the bathroom. The washcloths on the shelf are clean.
no subject
shelf? washcloth? he’s grabbing whatever feels as such before putting it back where it belongs, walking over to jamie with a freshly cleaned face. it’s a weary sort of an attempt at smiling, but he gives one, patting his back. ]
. . . Thanks, for all this hospitality you’re chuggin’ at me.
no subject
Well...
I'm just glad if it helps at all.
[ and now, Bagel is served. ]