[the silence between them is drawn out, even as the merriment continues relentlessly around them. felix watches dimitri's face, stunned and quiet, and waits for it all to settle in—for him to react, in whatever form that would take.
except as he watches, he becomes aware of something in the background of his mind, a growing feeling, like a dry river filling with water in a flash flood. slowly at first, then rapidly, pushing fully into his mind, until the sensation of it all is nearly all he can perceive.
dimitri is speaking again, but it's suddenly hard to make sense of the words. grasping at his forehead with his left hand, felix holds up his right, trying to shush dimitri—although he can barely focus on the conversation in the first place. gritting his teeeth, he cuts dimitri's apology off, tone sharp and urgent.]
Stop it.
[but his head is already so full of it—a sort of mourning, full of grief and despair, yet buzzing like a torn-open hive of wasps. guilt and regret twist and pulse, the whole mental spectacle playing out like a macabre chorus.
for a moment, he closes his eyes, attempting to will the feelings away, or at least get them under control, crushing them down and out, with only moderate success. ultimately, he just speaks around them, the remains of the elysium doing wonders for his temper.]
I don't need your apologies.
[he shakes his head, sighing out, and places both hands flat on the table to steady himself. whatever that was, he had an uneasy hunch where it was coming from.]
Just... be better. [leaning forward, his voice drops into a demand.] Swear it.
no subject
except as he watches, he becomes aware of something in the background of his mind, a growing feeling, like a dry river filling with water in a flash flood. slowly at first, then rapidly, pushing fully into his mind, until the sensation of it all is nearly all he can perceive.
dimitri is speaking again, but it's suddenly hard to make sense of the words. grasping at his forehead with his left hand, felix holds up his right, trying to shush dimitri—although he can barely focus on the conversation in the first place. gritting his teeeth, he cuts dimitri's apology off, tone sharp and urgent.]
Stop it.
[but his head is already so full of it—a sort of mourning, full of grief and despair, yet buzzing like a torn-open hive of wasps. guilt and regret twist and pulse, the whole mental spectacle playing out like a macabre chorus.
for a moment, he closes his eyes, attempting to will the feelings away, or at least get them under control, crushing them down and out, with only moderate success. ultimately, he just speaks around them, the remains of the elysium doing wonders for his temper.]
I don't need your apologies.
[he shakes his head, sighing out, and places both hands flat on the table to steady himself. whatever that was, he had an uneasy hunch where it was coming from.]
Just... be better. [leaning forward, his voice drops into a demand.] Swear it.