[ The truth is, he felt as though he had no other choice but to smother his own emotions and feelings, lest they consume him. But perhaps he was consumed by sadness in spite of his efforts to prevent that. All he knows is that it is hard for him to feel anything but gloom and even despair.
But before he can say anything further, Meteion speaks again, and as her words wash over him, he finds himself freezing in place as everything he has tried to push away and pretend he cannot feel sweeps over him in one giant wave. His hand shakes when she wraps her hands around his, and somehow, he feels Meteion's presence reaching out for the things he has tried to keep at bay.
His face falls a few inches as she speaks about his loneliness and his feelings of not being understood by anyone, because how could anyone understand what it's like to remember being like them but knowing everything has changed? He can't go back to being how he was, or what he was, and he feels as though no one could possibly understand.
Still, there is a part of him that wants to reach out to her, to apologize for her having to feel what he feels. No one should have to do that, and yet here they are. She asked for this, but he wonders if she regrets that now. And as she continues speaking, he finds himself shaking his head as his thoughts and emotions swirl around. No one would want to treat him as the person he used to be. He wonders at times if the household staff that remain only do so out of loyalty to his parents, because why would they be loyal to him? He has never treated them badly, but he imagines that he must look like such a disgusting creature to their eyes.
Meteion squeezes his hand, and at first, he believes he feels nothing but the same old despair that he has felt all this time. It is slow, and he barely notices it, but as the seconds pass, he feels something strange and unfamiliar. Love, Meteion calls it. And not just any old love that isn't directed at anyone in particular. It's directed at the other person in the room: the one who, for reasons Aymeric barely understands, hasn't fled from him without looking back. ]
Can I even love her? Can I love anyone? [ He has spent so long doubting that very thing that he cannot help but question Meteion now. ]
Of- Of course you can call me Aymeric. [ Anyone could call him anything, insulting or even neutral, and he would most likely answer. His gaze is momentarily pulled to look at Alkaid, and he startles with surprise, because he does not see her as the miqo'te who has stayed with him in spite of everything. His eyes widen and his mind races to try and understand just what it is he is seeing. But again, Meteion speaks, and his focus turns to her once more. ]
no subject
But before he can say anything further, Meteion speaks again, and as her words wash over him, he finds himself freezing in place as everything he has tried to push away and pretend he cannot feel sweeps over him in one giant wave. His hand shakes when she wraps her hands around his, and somehow, he feels Meteion's presence reaching out for the things he has tried to keep at bay.
His face falls a few inches as she speaks about his loneliness and his feelings of not being understood by anyone, because how could anyone understand what it's like to remember being like them but knowing everything has changed? He can't go back to being how he was, or what he was, and he feels as though no one could possibly understand.
Still, there is a part of him that wants to reach out to her, to apologize for her having to feel what he feels. No one should have to do that, and yet here they are. She asked for this, but he wonders if she regrets that now. And as she continues speaking, he finds himself shaking his head as his thoughts and emotions swirl around. No one would want to treat him as the person he used to be. He wonders at times if the household staff that remain only do so out of loyalty to his parents, because why would they be loyal to him? He has never treated them badly, but he imagines that he must look like such a disgusting creature to their eyes.
Meteion squeezes his hand, and at first, he believes he feels nothing but the same old despair that he has felt all this time. It is slow, and he barely notices it, but as the seconds pass, he feels something strange and unfamiliar. Love, Meteion calls it. And not just any old love that isn't directed at anyone in particular. It's directed at the other person in the room: the one who, for reasons Aymeric barely understands, hasn't fled from him without looking back. ]
Can I even love her? Can I love anyone? [ He has spent so long doubting that very thing that he cannot help but question Meteion now. ]
Of- Of course you can call me Aymeric. [ Anyone could call him anything, insulting or even neutral, and he would most likely answer. His gaze is momentarily pulled to look at Alkaid, and he startles with surprise, because he does not see her as the miqo'te who has stayed with him in spite of everything. His eyes widen and his mind races to try and understand just what it is he is seeing. But again, Meteion speaks, and his focus turns to her once more. ]
How much does she feel?