[ Even mid-sentence, he knew why it was hard for Ed to ask. It certainly wasn't rocket science, and he knew that he couldn't have done it either. There still wasn't a definitive label of what they were, so how could they possibly figure out how to feel about this situation except uncertainty? Well, and extreme bashfulness and embarrassment on Oswald's part. He was only helping him with his injuries, of course, but to get there they had to respectively take and allow certain actions that otherwise were quite intimate. It was almost too much to handle, and that was partially why he actually had taken good long time to undo all of the buttons. The next part... how to even respond to that? Acting as though it didn't phase him would be the best thing, but could he even pull that off? It was going to phase him, rather he managed to hide it or not.
Oswald's eyes lingered the pendant for just a few seconds. He could only assume that was the important thing he'd gotten his hands on, but it really didn't matter what it was at that point in time. He didn't even spare it another thought. Ed's stability was much more important. He was nodding at him to keep going. Oswald studied the bloody stain for a few lingering moments before mentally bracing himself and carefully grasping the bottom of the shirt and starting to lift it upwards. He was especially gentle around the area of the wound, knowing that some of the blood had dried and begun to cling by then. When the fabric lifted and his wound was on full display, he pressed his lips together in dissatisfaction. He felt guilty for some reason. Would Ed have even joined that contest to begin with if Oswald hadn't? Maybe he could have prevented this if he'd discouraged it. It took him a few moments to realize he'd been staring mid-thought. ]
I'm sorry. [ The words were blurted out. It probably sounded like he was apologizing for staring at Ed, not his injury. Not that he didn't want to stare at Ed. Because he did. But that was inappropriate and -- oh goodness. Was he panicking? Was his face turning red? It felt like it was. He was supposed to keep himself under control, dammit! He was much more speedy and proficient about taking the shirt off the rest of the way before tossing it aside and quickly stepping back. Eyes back on the floor. ] W-What should I bring from your room? [ Oh for the love of -- stuttering? At a time like this? He wanted to slap himself. This wasn't intimate. It wasn't romantic. It didn't mean anything. Why did he have to be this way? ]
action;
Oswald's eyes lingered the pendant for just a few seconds. He could only assume that was the important thing he'd gotten his hands on, but it really didn't matter what it was at that point in time. He didn't even spare it another thought. Ed's stability was much more important. He was nodding at him to keep going. Oswald studied the bloody stain for a few lingering moments before mentally bracing himself and carefully grasping the bottom of the shirt and starting to lift it upwards. He was especially gentle around the area of the wound, knowing that some of the blood had dried and begun to cling by then. When the fabric lifted and his wound was on full display, he pressed his lips together in dissatisfaction. He felt guilty for some reason. Would Ed have even joined that contest to begin with if Oswald hadn't? Maybe he could have prevented this if he'd discouraged it. It took him a few moments to realize he'd been staring mid-thought. ]
I'm sorry. [ The words were blurted out. It probably sounded like he was apologizing for staring at Ed, not his injury. Not that he didn't want to stare at Ed. Because he did. But that was inappropriate and -- oh goodness. Was he panicking? Was his face turning red? It felt like it was. He was supposed to keep himself under control, dammit! He was much more speedy and proficient about taking the shirt off the rest of the way before tossing it aside and quickly stepping back. Eyes back on the floor. ] W-What should I bring from your room? [ Oh for the love of -- stuttering? At a time like this? He wanted to slap himself. This wasn't intimate. It wasn't romantic. It didn't mean anything. Why did he have to be this way? ]