[ Without warning, without hesitation. Momo knows that it isn't easy for Sinistra to reach out, to allow himself tactility where isolation is a more preferable punishment— so he holds his ground when Sinistra threatens to topple him off-balance, with his heels in the pavement and his arms around the fragile rise of his friend's shoulderblades.
Momo catches, centers, and corrals. Pats along the length of Sinistra's spine, and tightens his grip just a fraction. ]
I've got you, I've got you. [ A low hum, and Momo rests his chin against his companion's mussed hair. ] Breathe, okay?
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Momo catches, centers, and corrals. Pats along the length of Sinistra's spine, and tightens his grip just a fraction. ]
I've got you, I've got you. [ A low hum, and Momo rests his chin against his companion's mussed hair. ] Breathe, okay?