[Mettaton's clear pleasure pleases him in turn, and though it's a less practical warmth than that of the blankets, it feels like it settles much deeper. That it hits places fabric could never (or should never) reach, and it didn't even hurt as much as it usually would. That might've been because so much of him was hurting or aching already, so his emotional state realized he was well and truly pained, and there was less need to add to it.
And though he doesn't quite hum at the outpouring of affectionate gestures (there's a sort of... hoarse sound that might've been an attempt at one, though), he appreciates them deeply. Both the feeling of contact, and the feeling of emotion that went with it- though it did strike the Ascian as a bit sad that he could rarely express these sorts of things... except under unusual circumstances. And that this time was a bit more unfortunate than most.
But he hadn't imagined him... that part was the most reassuring point of all. And Emet-Selch wondered if it had made it a little easier to surface again. To have something drawing him back... or to at least keep him company in the dark.
Company that was something other than a delusion. Perhaps he was just more susceptible in this state, but- with this reassurance applied, it felt easier to accept that this all was real. That everything he was feeling, the hurt and relief, adoration and exhaustion, all of it was happening, somehow. He was here, in this place, with this person. He could feel Mettaton's hand and his love.
--And his unease, suddenly, which he can't help but hone in on, even in his reduced condition. Whatever concentration he could manifest was for him. His neck? Ah... Mettaton was still supporting it, was still pressing a lump of fabric to it, as though his head might fall off if he let go. Emet-Selch doesn't nod, but he does shift his other arm up to feel for the material there. The pressure he can apply with his hand isn't that great, though, so he's not sure how to respond. He could touch it, but that didn't really qualify as holding it.]
A little.
[That was the appropriate qualifier, he thought. That it might be safe to remove, he doesn't know and is more than willing to accept Mettaton's impulse of It Stays There Forever, Now. Or at least until there are bandages to replace it (especially if the material has at all dried to the wound; removing it will likely tear it open again, so having something else available to take its place would be useful).]
It should be fine. [Though his tone makes a question of that statement, so he adds:] Just- don't take too long.
[But that was more because he didn't want to lose sight of him, didn't want to lose that contact, rather than any concern when it came to additional bleeding.]
no subject
And though he doesn't quite hum at the outpouring of affectionate gestures (there's a sort of... hoarse sound that might've been an attempt at one, though), he appreciates them deeply. Both the feeling of contact, and the feeling of emotion that went with it- though it did strike the Ascian as a bit sad that he could rarely express these sorts of things... except under unusual circumstances. And that this time was a bit more unfortunate than most.
But he hadn't imagined him... that part was the most reassuring point of all. And Emet-Selch wondered if it had made it a little easier to surface again. To have something drawing him back... or to at least keep him company in the dark.
Company that was something other than a delusion. Perhaps he was just more susceptible in this state, but- with this reassurance applied, it felt easier to accept that this all was real. That everything he was feeling, the hurt and relief, adoration and exhaustion, all of it was happening, somehow. He was here, in this place, with this person. He could feel Mettaton's hand and his love.
--And his unease, suddenly, which he can't help but hone in on, even in his reduced condition. Whatever concentration he could manifest was for him. His neck? Ah... Mettaton was still supporting it, was still pressing a lump of fabric to it, as though his head might fall off if he let go. Emet-Selch doesn't nod, but he does shift his other arm up to feel for the material there. The pressure he can apply with his hand isn't that great, though, so he's not sure how to respond. He could touch it, but that didn't really qualify as holding it.]
A little.
[That was the appropriate qualifier, he thought. That it might be safe to remove, he doesn't know and is more than willing to accept Mettaton's impulse of It Stays There Forever, Now. Or at least until there are bandages to replace it (especially if the material has at all dried to the wound; removing it will likely tear it open again, so having something else available to take its place would be useful).]
It should be fine. [Though his tone makes a question of that statement, so he adds:] Just- don't take too long.
[But that was more because he didn't want to lose sight of him, didn't want to lose that contact, rather than any concern when it came to additional bleeding.]