Kitchen, The Ibutatu Residence, Quarter Fords
“No. No, you –”
Meraki watched while the other man acted as if he’d been frightened or… disgusted? One or the other… or perhaps, both. His initial surprise faded into a slight expression of bemused confusion. He hadn’t thought such a reaction would result from something as simple as a kiss to the stump of a wrist. Not from someone so quiet and seemingly calm. Even during the danger of the thugs, when Aremu could barely walk and Meraki had helped the man to the very house they were now in, the Mugrobi had seemed calm. Yet he panicked about this. About something that to Meraki seemed to just be a part of the man. Why was he so shy about it? Where had his hand gone? How had he lost it? He felt so curious, even more so than when he’d first guided the limb out of the pocket. Was that it? Had Aremu already lost his treasure? Had someone stolen it already?
He noticed that the other man seemed to quiver with… was it rage? No, it didn’t seem like that. Aremu wasn’t exactly glaring at him, just looking… until he wasn’t anymore, and instead had fixed his dark-eyed attention onto the kitchen window.
The Anaxi exhaled in a heavy sigh, out his mouth, that fluttered his bangs from the breath. He tapped his fingers on his knee and leveled his own gaze to look at the mess on the table. Not saying anything either, he got back to his feet. He picked up a washrag and took to sopping up the spilled coffee. Meraki thought over what had just happened, glanced at the other man, then frowned in a pout of his bruised lower lip.
“I- uh… Did y’…” he struggled to figure out what he wanted. He hadn’t thought there’d be as much disconnect as he’d found after going forward with the pursuit. He hadn’t expected that at the edges of his thoughts, along the borders of any concern he might have for the other man he currently remained near, was a powerful desire to seek and find the harlot. To see if Lars was okay. It was an unusual compulsion for Meraki. Why would he care about something like that, in such an immediate feeling? It was poor of him, he recognized, to think of the harlot when he'd brought such disquiet to the man he was currently with. Yet he still did.
Gods, he didn’t want to apologize though. He had simply pursued, and how could he have known Aremu would have reacted that way? It was just a kiss! Just a stupid little kiss. It wasn’t like the severed wound was freshly bleeding! Was it weird? He didn’t know. Maybe it was. Yes, it was. Meraki brought the kofi-soaked rag to the sink and wrung it out. He draped it to dry, then set his hands on the sink edge and stared at the drain while he leaned over. His shoulders slumped in an improper casual posture. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, then forced himself to just say it. “I’m sorry, Aremu.”