[There was nothing innocent when it came to emotions, as far as Emet-Selch knew. He couldn't sort them very well, beyond 'notable' or 'otherwise'; one to be viewed with suspicion, the other with indifference. As Mettaton's declarations fell into the former category, he can only regard it with complete seriousness, as he would a potential threat.
It was fine for the Ascian to care, if only just. That meant he could push the emotion aside and ignore it, suffer over it in private and otherwise neglect it. Mettaton having feelings of his own and expressing them was unnerving, forcing him to acknowledge things he would rather stay unaddressed.
As it was entirely true that he was already viewing this connection as lost. How could he not? Everything else he'd ever been attached to had vanished. There wasn't even any ambiguity here; someday, this world would deign to send one of them home, and they would never see each another again in this life, nor any other. The best possibility was to disappear simultaneously, and what sort of hope was that?
As the past was lost to him, the present was likewise in a continual state of being lost. What did it matter that he could breathe in Mettaton's presence now, feel his lips on his skin, his arms around him? It was already gone.]
...Stop that.
[It's quiet, unsteady. He's not at all sure whether he's referring to the words or the sentiment behind them. Because he can tell that what he's saying is true, at least in Mettaton's mind. The Bond couldn't lie to him, and he couldn't escape it- couldn't even bear to try and block it off, not after how unreserved he'd recently been. It would be akin to being alone again, even while held.]
How can you expect me to endure--
[He cuts off again with a sharp breath, a tighter cling. He'd better not leave, but he'd better not care about him either? Emet-Selch could almost laugh at the absurdity, making a wheezing sound into Mettaton's hair instead. Why couldn't he just ignore it? It didn't have to do anything with him. It shouldn't matter at all.]
I can't. Not again.
[He couldn't accept something that was doomed to abandon him from the start. Yet his hand still shakily caresses Mettaton's long ears, a single point to tie himself to. Some small, ineffectual attempt towards self-soothing. He'd always been sentimental; he hadn't expected it to be his undoing.]
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It was fine for the Ascian to care, if only just. That meant he could push the emotion aside and ignore it, suffer over it in private and otherwise neglect it. Mettaton having feelings of his own and expressing them was unnerving, forcing him to acknowledge things he would rather stay unaddressed.
As it was entirely true that he was already viewing this connection as lost. How could he not? Everything else he'd ever been attached to had vanished. There wasn't even any ambiguity here; someday, this world would deign to send one of them home, and they would never see each another again in this life, nor any other. The best possibility was to disappear simultaneously, and what sort of hope was that?
As the past was lost to him, the present was likewise in a continual state of being lost. What did it matter that he could breathe in Mettaton's presence now, feel his lips on his skin, his arms around him? It was already gone.]
...Stop that.
[It's quiet, unsteady. He's not at all sure whether he's referring to the words or the sentiment behind them. Because he can tell that what he's saying is true, at least in Mettaton's mind. The Bond couldn't lie to him, and he couldn't escape it- couldn't even bear to try and block it off, not after how unreserved he'd recently been. It would be akin to being alone again, even while held.]
How can you expect me to endure--
[He cuts off again with a sharp breath, a tighter cling. He'd better not leave, but he'd better not care about him either? Emet-Selch could almost laugh at the absurdity, making a wheezing sound into Mettaton's hair instead. Why couldn't he just ignore it? It didn't have to do anything with him. It shouldn't matter at all.]
I can't. Not again.
[He couldn't accept something that was doomed to abandon him from the start. Yet his hand still shakily caresses Mettaton's long ears, a single point to tie himself to. Some small, ineffectual attempt towards self-soothing. He'd always been sentimental; he hadn't expected it to be his undoing.]