[ He finds it to be a strange gesture, her fingers brushing the hair out of his face. It's one of those affectionate things that's weird coming from her, and he isn't sure why she would want to see more, anyway. At most, it brings his eyes out from shadow, red and bright, ringed by the weathered, irritated skin that has plagued him since childhood. It's not much to look at—or maybe it's too much. Whether there's criticism or approval in her mind, however, he cares not a lick—if he cared at all about the opinions of others, he never would've done anything he has. He doesn't linger on it. ]

There are enough possibilities that guessing's pretty much a shot in the dark. [ Off the top of his head, he can already name a number of possible pop cultural references, ranging from "this is actually a fucked up reality TV show" to "we need your life force to survive." ] And you also haveo to consider the irrational explanations, like "this is just tradition" or whatever.

[ He finishes his words on an exhale. The aphrodisiac and her actions are getting to him. The feeling of her thumb over his lips is soft and smooth, in contrast to his own skin, cracked and uncared for, thickened around the slash of a vertical scar. Does he enjoy the feeling? Uncertain, but the aphrodisiac doesn't care much about that; it's unquestionably taken by the weight and warmth of another body hovering close to his, by skin contact, building every second. In another few minutes, it'll be more than just an insistent nudge at the corner of his attention, but not quite yet. He'll push a little longer, put Tohsaka's medicine to a real challenge. ]