[Emet-Selch just listens at first, and watches; he doesn't even nod to show his comprehension (or what passed for it) at Mettaton's explanation, but he does manage a soft sound in his throat at the kisses pressed to his face. Even more barely does he lean into them, his breathing still not wholly steady, and it's hard to tell if it's from sentiment or this new fragility of his body. The more Mettaton touched him, the more his body kept trying to tear up, even as the wetness was being cleaned away. An absurd use of his limited fluids, he thought... and he tries to pull himself together a little. He can't waste what Mettaton had managed to save for him.]
I think... I could hear you sometimes.
[This is, for some reason, something Emet-Selch decides he needs to express first. Confusion still lurks, disorientation his new companion, causing his thoughts to drift. But this is the memory he hits on initially. If it even was a memory, and not another delusion, the sparks of a dying mind piecing together something he wanted to hear--]
Have I ever said- that I like your voice. [This was the point he needed to say, apparently. His gaze becomes unfocused, distracted; his tone is soft, drifting.] I don't know. I might've imagined it.
[Blinking in his reverie, this time he does risk shaking his head, if only slightly; the stabbing ache in his neck seemed to support Mettaton's claim of a particularly deep bite, and he takes a shaky breath. What had Mettaton been saying again, in his lovely voice? An explanation of events. Emet-Selch had no idea what his Bonded had been doing during his unconsciousness apart from taking care of him. Ensuring that he was as warm as possible, that he didn't bleed out to the last. It didn't matter that the puca had been the cause of the injury, of reducing him to this state. Of actively pulling more blood from what would've naturally flowed from the wound. After all--]
--I told you- to drain me completely. I think. It... sounds like you nearly made it.
[A sentence muttered in a rushed exhalation, a hint of exasperation entering his voice. He wasn't upset- not in any sort of casting-blame sense, anyway. Only unnerved by the experience, yet- finding it strangely comforting to have the opportunity to at all express that unease, that uncertainty, that weakness. He was in company where he could do so, where he didn't have to pretend that he was fine, didn't have to force a defense.
With effort, he manages to move an arm, to let his hand brush against Mettaton's at his face. He was ill, there was no getting around that, but he wasn't dying, and his lover was here. Things weren't exactly great, but he would be fine. They both would be. But he could see Mettaton's fear; he could feel it, and he felt sick to think about what it must've been like to observe him like this. The helplessness, the panic- at seeing someone much cared for fading out before you.
They had to learn how to do this more safely; he didn't want to put his Bonded through that again....]
Water. [His various replies are all disjointed, thoughts skipping from one avenue to the next, and forgetting how to bridge separate concepts. But he was thirsty. Dreadfully so, now that he was aware of it; the stabbing headache was no doubt in part due to severe dehydration.] That would- help.
[It wasn't a replacement for blood, but it was a necessary component for continued living.]
no subject
I think... I could hear you sometimes.
[This is, for some reason, something Emet-Selch decides he needs to express first. Confusion still lurks, disorientation his new companion, causing his thoughts to drift. But this is the memory he hits on initially. If it even was a memory, and not another delusion, the sparks of a dying mind piecing together something he wanted to hear--]
Have I ever said- that I like your voice. [This was the point he needed to say, apparently. His gaze becomes unfocused, distracted; his tone is soft, drifting.] I don't know. I might've imagined it.
[Blinking in his reverie, this time he does risk shaking his head, if only slightly; the stabbing ache in his neck seemed to support Mettaton's claim of a particularly deep bite, and he takes a shaky breath. What had Mettaton been saying again, in his lovely voice? An explanation of events. Emet-Selch had no idea what his Bonded had been doing during his unconsciousness apart from taking care of him. Ensuring that he was as warm as possible, that he didn't bleed out to the last. It didn't matter that the puca had been the cause of the injury, of reducing him to this state. Of actively pulling more blood from what would've naturally flowed from the wound. After all--]
--I told you- to drain me completely. I think. It... sounds like you nearly made it.
[A sentence muttered in a rushed exhalation, a hint of exasperation entering his voice. He wasn't upset- not in any sort of casting-blame sense, anyway. Only unnerved by the experience, yet- finding it strangely comforting to have the opportunity to at all express that unease, that uncertainty, that weakness. He was in company where he could do so, where he didn't have to pretend that he was fine, didn't have to force a defense.
With effort, he manages to move an arm, to let his hand brush against Mettaton's at his face. He was ill, there was no getting around that, but he wasn't dying, and his lover was here. Things weren't exactly great, but he would be fine. They both would be. But he could see Mettaton's fear; he could feel it, and he felt sick to think about what it must've been like to observe him like this. The helplessness, the panic- at seeing someone much cared for fading out before you.
They had to learn how to do this more safely; he didn't want to put his Bonded through that again....]
Water. [His various replies are all disjointed, thoughts skipping from one avenue to the next, and forgetting how to bridge separate concepts. But he was thirsty. Dreadfully so, now that he was aware of it; the stabbing headache was no doubt in part due to severe dehydration.] That would- help.
[It wasn't a replacement for blood, but it was a necessary component for continued living.]