[ Reynir's head is throbbing again, and so he doesn't talk, doesn't argue, when Onni tells him what to do. In fact, he's grateful. Onni picks the clothes, puts them in his hands, tells him to put them on. He's already starting that process before Onni is out the door, stripping off his clothes with a dull, plodding determination. He is normally a tidy person, but he leaves his worn clothes where they fall on the floor, pulling on Onni's sleeping clothes. He has to pull the drawstring on the pants quite a bit, enough that they scrunch a little at the waist, to tie them tight enough that they don't fall off. The big shirt is huge on him, but soft and nice-smelling.
There's a pause, after Onni's knock and question, before Reynir realizes he's asking if he's finished changing. He calls out: ]
Yeah.
[ And then flops down, crawling his way under the sheet and blanket, Onni's heavy cloak draped over the top. He peers up at Onni coming in the door, not much more visible of him than his eyes and forehead and hair, as he burrows down into the bed. His voice is a little muffled, his eyes still hazy as he says: ]
no subject
There's a pause, after Onni's knock and question, before Reynir realizes he's asking if he's finished changing. He calls out: ]
Yeah.
[ And then flops down, crawling his way under the sheet and blanket, Onni's heavy cloak draped over the top. He peers up at Onni coming in the door, not much more visible of him than his eyes and forehead and hair, as he burrows down into the bed. His voice is a little muffled, his eyes still hazy as he says: ]
You don't- have to do that, Onni.