Setsuna won't strike back. He won't raise his voice. He won't get angry, won't yell, won't scream like Gilgamesh has been doing. He'll just continue to stare at him with those soulful eyes, and speak in that soft, yet stern voice. Hearing his own words used against him now, I do not understand, I will never, did you not teach me that, has him feeling depressed. It makes all that fury inside him feel useless, so he lets go of it. Looks away. Ashamed. Hurt in a way only very few will ever see. Setsuna has already burrowed deep, to the core of him; there's no sense in trying to hide when he can see everything.]
You're always so faraway. He was like that, too. I could touch him, but to reach him—it always seemed impossible, no matter how tightly I held on.
[Gilgamesh's hands, previously raised in apparent attack, sag at his sides. A small man in a very big room, all of a sudden... that's what he is now.]
No, you do not understand. But despite that, you've come so close to me, telling me these things. You're either too bold or too uncaring of yourself.
[Perhaps both. Gilgamesh moves to sit back down again, rather like a hollowed out shell. He wants to reach for him again, wants to tell him he hadn't meant it, but it wouldn't be the truth. He had meant it, every single spiteful word. But did Setsuna even care at all? So faraway, he'd distanced himself from his own emotions.
Closed off his heart, as Gilgamesh had, to prevent it from being hurt. But maybe, in their case, it was more like avoiding alienation they knew all their lives.]
I am great and glorious still. Yet that does not lessen the pain any more than denying it would.
[A first: Gilgamesh finally admitting to another how tragically Enkidu's death impacted him, and tore him apart.]
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Setsuna won't strike back. He won't raise his voice. He won't get angry, won't yell, won't scream like Gilgamesh has been doing. He'll just continue to stare at him with those soulful eyes, and speak in that soft, yet stern voice. Hearing his own words used against him now, I do not understand, I will never, did you not teach me that, has him feeling depressed. It makes all that fury inside him feel useless, so he lets go of it. Looks away. Ashamed. Hurt in a way only very few will ever see. Setsuna has already burrowed deep, to the core of him; there's no sense in trying to hide when he can see everything.]
You're always so faraway. He was like that, too. I could touch him, but to reach him—it always seemed impossible, no matter how tightly I held on.
[Gilgamesh's hands, previously raised in apparent attack, sag at his sides. A small man in a very big room, all of a sudden... that's what he is now.]
No, you do not understand. But despite that, you've come so close to me, telling me these things. You're either too bold or too uncaring of yourself.
[Perhaps both. Gilgamesh moves to sit back down again, rather like a hollowed out shell. He wants to reach for him again, wants to tell him he hadn't meant it, but it wouldn't be the truth. He had meant it, every single spiteful word. But did Setsuna even care at all? So faraway, he'd distanced himself from his own emotions.
Closed off his heart, as Gilgamesh had, to prevent it from being hurt. But maybe, in their case, it was more like avoiding alienation they knew all their lives.]
I am great and glorious still. Yet that does not lessen the pain any more than denying it would.
[A first: Gilgamesh finally admitting to another how tragically Enkidu's death impacted him, and tore him apart.]