[Normally he'd press. He'd clarify, too. That if anything changes, he's welcome to go. Because things did change. So many things had changed since they'd left Midgar, for instance, after the Temple of the Ancients, he would have left if it wasn't for the fact he needed to find Aerith. Now? He would leave. He should leave- but he needs to pay Sephiroth back for what he did.
But that's difficult to think on. Especially when Nier turns his head. He finds his eyes- faintly glowing now the light from the monitor was extinguished- meeting Nier's dead on. His statement- blunt as ever, a personality trait that made talking to him preferable, actually- makes his eyes drop, to turn toward the ground. Faint colour graces his cheek- just for a second or two- and he finds his fingers tightening in the other's padded armour.
He... shouldn't be feeling this. It's not the time. Or the place. It's similar- too similar to a longstanding problem of his. The problem that the slightest bit of kindness caused him to feel, to think things that weren't true. A problem that started when, as a child, he found himself spending hours staring into his neighbour's window. A problem that culminated with her falling down a mountainside. A problem that, when he was older, ended with mud, rain, blood, and screaming.
The details on the second instance are fuzzy. He's unsure if it even happened. But he remembers the feeling. Like his soul had literally been wrenched from his body. So he'd adjusted. He'd covered it with sarcasm, feigned disinterest. Even scorn.
He... wasn't so weak any more. But it's a lie. So when Nier mentions his temperature, he moves his gaze back.]
no subject
[Normally he'd press. He'd clarify, too. That if anything changes, he's welcome to go. Because things did change. So many things had changed since they'd left Midgar, for instance, after the Temple of the Ancients, he would have left if it wasn't for the fact he needed to find Aerith. Now? He would leave. He should leave- but he needs to pay Sephiroth back for what he did.
But that's difficult to think on. Especially when Nier turns his head. He finds his eyes- faintly glowing now the light from the monitor was extinguished- meeting Nier's dead on. His statement- blunt as ever, a personality trait that made talking to him preferable, actually- makes his eyes drop, to turn toward the ground. Faint colour graces his cheek- just for a second or two- and he finds his fingers tightening in the other's padded armour.
He... shouldn't be feeling this. It's not the time. Or the place. It's similar- too similar to a longstanding problem of his. The problem that the slightest bit of kindness caused him to feel, to think things that weren't true. A problem that started when, as a child, he found himself spending hours staring into his neighbour's window. A problem that culminated with her falling down a mountainside. A problem that, when he was older, ended with mud, rain, blood, and screaming.
The details on the second instance are fuzzy. He's unsure if it even happened. But he remembers the feeling. Like his soul had literally been wrenched from his body. So he'd adjusted. He'd covered it with sarcasm, feigned disinterest. Even scorn.
He... wasn't so weak any more.
But it's a lie. So when Nier mentions his temperature, he moves his gaze back.]
...Yeah. Thanks. For that.
[He should let go. He needs to let go.]