roxy/dirk happystuck??????

"Got a minute, Rox?"

Roxy looked up from the small netbook she had resting on her lap, tedious lines of code filling most of the screen. She sighed heavily, but nodded at Dirk. She stood and closed the tiny laptop, tossing it onto her bed. Crossed her room. Stood at least a head shorter than Strider, who was in her doorway. Hands on her hips, she looked up at him with a face that simply read 'what' in all its deadpan glory.

"It's more like 45 seconds now, so talk fast." She pushed her bangs from her eyes, ignoring how fucking awful her cast felt under her long-sleeved shirt. She wore the pink hoodie to cover the hiddeous thing, but if anyone kept tabs on how awkward and stiff her movements were, it was a little obvious.

It'd been two weeks since the incident in which she'd 'fallen' off her balcony. When the agony of the only person to ever tell her they loved her lived hundreds of miles away caught up with her and she nearly suffered alcohol poisoning, the other blonde decided it was finally time for him to visit her. Save her from herself, basically. He'd been there a few days already. He had meant to talk to her about when he would be taking his leave, but... The words didn't find their way out of his mouth.

Neither of them had mentioned the incident since it had happened. That may have been why. He felt like it was an extensively important part of why he was there, so leaving without saying anything about it seemed... to make the journey pointless. Not that seeing her hadn't been absolutely fucking wonderful.

"Thirty seconds - Dirk, what do you /want/?" Her arms were folded across her chest now. If she sounded irritable, it wasn't at him, or because of him - the pain meds she was on were to blame entirely. Not to mention she obviously couldn't take them while inebriated. So, she was grouchy and sober. He knew her irritation wasn't at him. It didn't make him feel any better about it. A hand reached out, stroking her cheek gently. When she didn't flinch or shy away, he sighed.

"Are you doing okay, Roxy?"

"That's it? You want to ask me if I'm okay? Why the fuck are you HERE, Dirk? You're here because I'm certifiably NOT okay." Her tone rose in volume, little by little. "My mom left to some retreat because she couldn't handle me. You came here because I'm pathetic and can't take care of myself. You took all my booze so it didn't happen again - so tell me, Strider. How 'okay' do you think I am? One to ten. Take a fucking guess."

The small speech brought a frown to the boy's face, brows knitting just barely behind his shades. His hand fell to her arm, feeling the cast under her sleeve. His hand wrapped around it gently, then its pair joined - holding her arm delicately like one might something precious and fragile.

"Dirk, don't-"

But he didn't let go. He knew she wouldn't struggle out of fear of hurting herself. But it didn't stop her from slapping him cold across the face. His sunglasses flew off to the side, Dirk wincing a bit. Ah, fuck. Openpalmkind and fistkind seemed to be nearly the same. Almost immediately after she did it, she gasped; free hand flying to cover  her mouth.