（ she opens her (his???) mouth to make an angry retort — and then her mouth closes with a click. she can't even be mad, really, since she'd said effectively the same things for the same reason. tangled up in an adolescent panic at having the object of her longstanding affections given unfettered access to her body, she stops now to consider from the other side. it isn't just about orochimaru, the autonomy he'd once been prepared to surrender in blind hunt for power — it's her. she's always been desperate and jealous and eager to assert a claim on him, too.
there's a small part of her that stumbles over the realization she'd actually wanted him to — notice, to see her, to touch despite her protests, and the burst of quiet horror and self-directed shame has her turning away from him the instant she plucks her phone from his hand. she needs to think about something, anything else that isn't just being alone in a room with him in the state they're in now. so, she turns to the network, trawling through it to see if anyone else has mentioned the effects they're currently mired in, and hits on someone else's post detailing the very same thing.
she chews absently on her (his) bottom lip, the only real manifestation of her anxiety as she scrolls, and pointedly does not look at him. the walls of the small room seem to lean in against them, and she suddenly feels claustrophobic in his body, as if the muscles and tendons and sinew and bone have constricted in on themselves, caged her consciousness and flattened her out to nothing. ）
It looks like other people are experiencing these effects as well — someone is already back in their own body. It seems to just be a matter of waiting it out.
（ she takes a deep breath — it's meant to be bracing, but instead it hitches on his ribs and instinctively she puts a hand against the radiating pain, identifying an old, badly healed fracture beneath an instinctive questing pulse of chakra sent along the leylines of his body. in fact, now that she's thinking about it and it poses something, anything else to seize on, there are myriad things standing out in her medic's mind, injuries left untended to mend poorly on their own. very likely he's stopped noticing them altogether — but when she's able and has chakra, she keeps her body entirely free of lingering maladies, and the shift is her awareness puts a few things in salient perspective. the amputation is perhaps the least of all the not-inconsiderable damage done to him — no lingering nerve pain to speak of — but then she'd done that surgery herself.
the rest...
she gestures again to her own body, wrapped now in a black fabric tent and rather than bicker about his mistrust, says: ）
Give me a bandage, left thigh pocket. And then come here.
cw: ... idk man, 'cultural internalized misogyny/patriarchal impact on female sexuality'?/??
there's a small part of her that stumbles over the realization she'd actually wanted him to — notice, to see her, to touch despite her protests, and the burst of quiet horror and self-directed shame has her turning away from him the instant she plucks her phone from his hand. she needs to think about something, anything else that isn't just being alone in a room with him in the state they're in now. so, she turns to the network, trawling through it to see if anyone else has mentioned the effects they're currently mired in, and hits on someone else's post detailing the very same thing.
she chews absently on her (his) bottom lip, the only real manifestation of her anxiety as she scrolls, and pointedly does not look at him. the walls of the small room seem to lean in against them, and she suddenly feels claustrophobic in his body, as if the muscles and tendons and sinew and bone have constricted in on themselves, caged her consciousness and flattened her out to nothing. ）
It looks like other people are experiencing these effects as well — someone is already back in their own body. It seems to just be a matter of waiting it out.
（ she takes a deep breath — it's meant to be bracing, but instead it hitches on his ribs and instinctively she puts a hand against the radiating pain, identifying an old, badly healed fracture beneath an instinctive questing pulse of chakra sent along the leylines of his body. in fact, now that she's thinking about it and it poses something, anything else to seize on, there are myriad things standing out in her medic's mind, injuries left untended to mend poorly on their own. very likely he's stopped noticing them altogether — but when she's able and has chakra, she keeps her body entirely free of lingering maladies, and the shift is her awareness puts a few things in salient perspective. the amputation is perhaps the least of all the not-inconsiderable damage done to him — no lingering nerve pain to speak of — but then she'd done that surgery herself.
the rest...
she gestures again to her own body, wrapped now in a black fabric tent and rather than bicker about his mistrust, says: ）
Give me a bandage, left thigh pocket. And then come here.