So... up the stairs they go, mostly side by side. Mark lags by a step or two.
There is a persistent silence.
"I... didn't think you'd react the way you did," he says finally. "I mean, I thought you might—that there might be something there, but not that you'd actually."
The neck rubs definitely show no sign of stopping.
"I'm like... two, three years older than you are," says Mark. "Dwarf boy. What if I want infinite neck rubs?"
"Dwarves don't dream," he feels the need to explain, after a moment. "Well, I dream, but I'm a pretty fucked-up dwarf."
Snuggle.
"I like how you're fucked up. Don't kill me for this one, but the bruises are hot."
"Hmm... mostly because I'm imagining myself with them, I think," he says. "But also, it means you hurt all the time. And I don't want you to, I wish it was me and not just because I like pain, but watching you handle it like it's nothing... yeah, I like that."
"...I can kind of see your point," Stalas admits. "I hadn't thought about it that way. It's just life, for me. Things are going to hurt."
Stalas rests his hand on the back of Mark's neck and lapses into a thoughtful silence.
"Some. You were definitely thinking about me liking pain for a little while there. I'm not telepathic, though, I just have a well-trained intuition for people who are you."
"No, but really," says Stalas. "I kind of want to hurt you but I don't want to hurt you. It's a conundrum."
"...I like that I can say things to you and you can tell what I mean," says Stalas. "The benefits are starting to seriously outweigh the drawbacks."