( there is a casual way that mikazuki goes about everything that leaves eugene utterly mystified — as if he's always guided no matter what, compass never ossified, conflict absent. he knows better, but knowing doesn't always stop that visceral conviction known as awe.

the stool cuts sharply across the hard floor as he drags it, scraping and creaking loudly until it's positioned right at mikazuki's bedside. eugene settles on it with a frown, rearranging a couple of items on the table to make room for the tray, finding the noise of it all against the silence of the room to be almost embarrassing. in an almost immediate bid for distraction, eugene decides that he'd like to hear himself talk over the sound of the crinkling of the straw wrapper or the soft clanking of the silverware. honestly, he's never had to care for someone in this way, and the task shouldn't be so daunting. but it's mikazuki. )

You're probably really bored, huh? ( sticking the straw in the cup now, ) But, you know, you're getting a lot of attention from us all. ( — and just how does he go about this? eugene grasps the cup and shifts in his seat, staring at the juice uncertainly and wondering if oranges taste different on earth. )

So you can't really complain, because everyone really needs you ... ( he trails off for a pause, feeling a heat hit his ears as he thrusts the cup forward at mikazuki's chin, ) — to be better. ( was it ok to hold the drink for him while he drinks? though mikazuki has an arm that works perfectly fine, eugene adjusts the straw anyway. ) Um, here. ( he can justify this to himself with concern of mikazuki's morphine-addled coordination, which is less lame than admitting he's simply copying what he's seen merribit do for tekkadan's youngest members. all of whom totally milk the attention of course. )