head full of thoughts about Ragn's helmet tonight... (and Snell finally taking a "peek" underneath for the first time)
Ragn doesn't want Snell to see his face but he does want to share with Snell... so he compromises with himself and takes his helmet off.... but Snell is only allowed to "look" with his hands.
Snell gently holds Ragn's face between his palms and traces the ridge of his brow bone with his thumb, his index fingers molding themselves around the swell of his cheeks...... There are faint traces of a stubble around his jaw, and a smile tugs at Snell's lips when he hears Ragn grumble about how he needs to shave again.
He feels out Ragn's nose next, and makes an inquisitive noise at the misshapen bridge. Was he born with a crooked nose? Perhaps it broken in a fight—or worse, an esoteric event—and it just never healed properly? He doubts Ragn would've even let anyone get close enough to help him re-set the bone. Or maybe no one in Ragn's life offered to help at all. When Ragn's nose crinkles, either due to being ticklish or to stave off any potential questions, Snell moves on.
He sweeps his thumbs along his under eyes, and up around his eyelids, mapping out the shape of them as best he can. It's hard to know for certain, but his thoughts linger on a single word: kind. There's traces of.... something around his eyes, though. It makes his fingers tingle, and when he lingers in place for too long, the faint presence of something distinctly esoteric zips up his arms and sinks into his chest.
Snell's breath hitches before he can think to conceal his surprise. He feels Ragn start to pull away in response, and he's quick to hold firm, palms gently cupping his jaw as if to say it's okay, I'm not afraid.
"Sorry. That's probably the lingering effects of the restoration spell you're feeling," Ragn says. His voice is painfully neutral at first, but it tapers off with a wobble and Snell's heart sinks.
"I'm glad you didn't lose your eyes, Cleric," Snell says, hoping to divert the course of Ragn's spiralling before it gets out of hand.
"Me too. That would've been bad."
"I'm sure you would have managed either way. You always do."
It strikes him then, that this is his first time hearing Ragn talk without the helmet muffling his voice. Ragn is much louder than Snell would have expected given how much it feels like Ragn is trying to wear Snell's hands like a helmet just to escape the exposed feeling crawling beneath his ribcage.
But then, Snell realizes it's because Ragn is used to compensating for the helmet by projecting his voice a little louder.
He doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it.
Snell touches his hair, tries to feel out what hairstyle he has. It's in rough shape, uneven and choppy from what he can tell. Dry and brittle towards the ends, almost like straw. He isn't surprised. Ragn's roots are soft as they glide between his fingers though, and for a terrible, fraction of a second, Snell considers giving it a gentle tug. He's almost certain Ragn would follow—
"I know it's probably terrible compared to your hair," Ragn says then, dragging Snell back to the present.
"Maybe so, but it's not a lost cause," Snell replies after a beat. He scratches his nails ever so slightly against Ragn's scalp, and catalogues the full body shiver it elicits in response for... later.
Ragn doesn't speak even as Snell slides his fingers past his temples, around the curve of his ears, then down the sides of his neck. When Snell's hands finally return to where they started, cradling Ragn's face between his palms, he feels something damp bead up against his thumb.
Wordlessly, he brushes the tear away. And the one after that, and again, and again, and again until the well runs dry and Snell finally pulls his hands away.
He waits as Ragn slides his helmet back on and gives him the clear to open his eyes again. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but soon enough, the familiar sight of Ragn's helm fills his view. He tries to superimpose the ghost on his fingertips to the cold, metal of Ragn's helm, but it's a losing battle. He'll never forget the warmth of Ragn's cheeks beneath his palms, but now they ache with the desire to carve the memory directly into his skin.
"Thank you for sharing this with me," Snell says, and he means it.
Ragn makes a faint noise. Snell is fairly certain that particular noise precedes a handful of muttered phrases and head tilts before—
"Maybe one day I'll let you open your eyes, too."
Snell barely manages to keep his jaw from dropping all the way down to the Flip. Instead, he smiles and says, "I'd like that."
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