The nervousness is to be expected – that’s why Shinya’s talking so much. In the rare instances where someone else had tended his wounds growing up he’d been glad for someone’s voice to take up the awkward silence. It covered up his own hisses of pain, too.
He can only assume it’d help Mika; he’s still learning how to take care of other people, himself. The shirt’s not even off before he’s scowling, displeased at what he’s shown. He keeps the angry comments to himself, quietly putting his emotions in a box and shoving them far away from the forefront of his head.
Oh, but he’s supposed to talk about what he’s doing. Crap. Whatever, he’ll just open the box and pull out what he needs to dress the wounds. It doesn’t look like there’s any dirt or debris hanging around in the gashes, admittedly what he was afraid of the most.
“I’m going to put ointment on the cuts,” he says, giving Mika no warning before carefully following through. He’s as gentle as he can be, mostly to keep the wounds from reopening. “Neosporin’s good for this, especially the spray stuff. You don’t want it on too thick.” Shinya doesn’t comment on how he expected the skin to be far more irritated and red, instead chalking it up to little kid super-healing.
That’s it. That’s the worst of it, and all that’s left is to cover the injuries in bandages, unless Mika’s got cuts on his chest. “Just your back, right? Be honest.”
☆彡 A little more warning would have been nice, but at least the boy had been braced for the stinging sensation either way. He hissed under his breath at first, albeit he quieted down after that, instead choosing to ball his fists into the towel he’d been given. It helped, at least a bit. Over time, he’d gotten used to avoiding the need to voice his discomfort, so he wouldn’t complain.
It was done before too long, though, and then the boy was left to answer the next question. “Yeah, just my back.” There were bruises on his chest, yes; however, it probably wouldn’t do much good to mention those. That and he was still hungry.
And so Mika silently willed the elder to hurry up so that they could move onto eating and the serious conversation he hadn’t been looking forward to. Showing Shinya any other injuries would only give them more to talk about, and that was the last thing the boy wanted. He waited, though, idly wondering how long it’d be before he had to see his dad again.
As the pain faded, his hands moved to fiddling with the towel instead of wringing it. There was nothing remarkable about it other than the fact that it seemed far less expensive than the ones his parents bought for their house.
“Is it almost done?” The boy shifted, careful not to cause too much of a disturbance. Children got restless, though, and he still had yet to eat or drink anything.
