There were already things he was desperately grappling with - chief among them the writhing twist of desire-shame of seeing someone else in the clothes Asmodeus conjured for him - and now he's confronted with impossibly sincere compassion, empathy, pity -
Stop it. Are you so certain that was me?
It doesn't matter, he needs to stop this before it gets out of hand. His expression shutters on that stark, yearning vulnerability because whatever he's grasping for, he doesn't deserve it - not from anyone, certainly not from a lost soldier from another world who needs to get the fuck out of here.
"After you fought, they used your image for their own ends. But the war itself - you said you volunteered. You believed in it, what you were fighting for?"
no subject
There were already things he was desperately grappling with - chief among them the writhing twist of desire-shame of seeing someone else in the clothes Asmodeus conjured for him - and now he's confronted with impossibly sincere compassion, empathy, pity -
Stop it.
Are you so certain that was me?
It doesn't matter, he needs to stop this before it gets out of hand. His expression shutters on that stark, yearning vulnerability because whatever he's grasping for, he doesn't deserve it - not from anyone, certainly not from a lost soldier from another world who needs to get the fuck out of here.
"After you fought, they used your image for their own ends. But the war itself - you said you volunteered. You believed in it, what you were fighting for?"