[In all likelihood, there was no permanent risk, he did know that. Even if- when- he faced indelible pain here, it wouldn't be added to his collection of memories.
That wasn't a reassurance. How could forgetting anything that meant something to him be reassuring? The only reason there wasn't a risk was because it couldn't last, but if it couldn't last, then loss was guaranteed. But it wouldn't matter because he'd forget? None of that was acceptable.]
What you're asking--
[It was cruel of Mettaton to remember his words and hold him to them. He hadn't been thinking in these terms. How could he? Even the idea- he could scarcely even begin to approach it.
But he had to. Emet-Selch tries to focus on that, resign himself to it. Let himself be crushed by it if he had to. If there was no escape regardless, arguing against the flood accomplished nothing. The sound he makes is some choked, bleak echo of what should've been a laugh.]
--You're right, aren't you? 'Tis not as though it matters. Who or what I love here.
[He doesn't relax so much as- give up. Or run out of defiance, at least for the moment. There remained a small trembling, as he listened to the sound of his own struggled pulse, felt the stroke of his back. Thought of the tighter way Mettaton had held him. Despised how pathetic it felt, to be so affected once again by something so transitory. No matter how much he tried, he never, ever learned--
Of course he didn't want there to be any pretense between them. That would be- cruel and unpleasant, rather than just painful. Emet-Selch could never ask that or want it of him. Just the thought was repulsive, and his grip on his lover tightens for a few seconds, before gradually calming again. His fingers still against Mettaton's ears; his breath barely stirs his hair.
His tone is nearly even. Less broken or despairing, but not resolute or anything approaching it either. Only very small. Quiet.]
Just... don't forget.
[He knows its an impossible request. There's a hesitation in his breath.]
no subject
That wasn't a reassurance. How could forgetting anything that meant something to him be reassuring? The only reason there wasn't a risk was because it couldn't last, but if it couldn't last, then loss was guaranteed. But it wouldn't matter because he'd forget? None of that was acceptable.]
What you're asking--
[It was cruel of Mettaton to remember his words and hold him to them. He hadn't been thinking in these terms. How could he? Even the idea- he could scarcely even begin to approach it.
But he had to. Emet-Selch tries to focus on that, resign himself to it. Let himself be crushed by it if he had to. If there was no escape regardless, arguing against the flood accomplished nothing. The sound he makes is some choked, bleak echo of what should've been a laugh.]
--You're right, aren't you? 'Tis not as though it matters. Who or what I love here.
[He doesn't relax so much as- give up. Or run out of defiance, at least for the moment. There remained a small trembling, as he listened to the sound of his own struggled pulse, felt the stroke of his back. Thought of the tighter way Mettaton had held him. Despised how pathetic it felt, to be so affected once again by something so transitory. No matter how much he tried, he never, ever learned--
Of course he didn't want there to be any pretense between them. That would be- cruel and unpleasant, rather than just painful. Emet-Selch could never ask that or want it of him. Just the thought was repulsive, and his grip on his lover tightens for a few seconds, before gradually calming again. His fingers still against Mettaton's ears; his breath barely stirs his hair.
His tone is nearly even. Less broken or despairing, but not resolute or anything approaching it either. Only very small. Quiet.]
Just... don't forget.
[He knows its an impossible request. There's a hesitation in his breath.]
For as long as you can.