Sometimes, Dimitri cannot trust his own senses. In fact, he has often felt that he cannot almost more than he can, at least in the moments that count.
His taste abandoned him long ago, leaving behind only a blank nothing broken up only by heat or texture or its distant cousin of scent. During battle of the harshest kind, during Sreng and so many terribly bloody battles after that, it felt as though his sight ended up spirited away too. How many battles did it feel as though he were not himself? That he could not remember the details clearly of?
Once upon a time, he used to think that at least his hearing served him well. In fact, it served him better than well, because couldn't he hear the voices of his lost loved ones? Couldn't he hear them clamoring for justice, for vengeance, for wrongs to be righted? They kept him such company for so many years, too, even if their words were not always the kindest.
It still hurts, when he remembers his realization. When he remembers that they were never really there at all. It hurts even more when he sometimes has that brief and quiet lapse into believing their presence true, and comes out of it.
But smell has not failed him. Touch has not failed him. At least, not yet. And so as he lays there in the gentle shade, Dimitri keeps his eye closed and focuses on Dedue's hand.
Back when Dedue first appeared, almost a ghost given physical form and so different from the bitter voice in his head, Dimitri had been too overwhelmed to take him in properly like he feels he should have. There was too much relief, too much confusion, too much in general for him to have done so. And then Gronder had been looming so immediately on the horizon, Edelgard's presence like blood in water, and...
None of it should have been an excuse. He should have done then what he does now: hold on tight, rubbing his thumb along the soft skin of Dedue's hand and finding scars marring what should be a smooth surface. How many scars are there, that he never got to see, but that he knows how they came to be?
Dedue deserves so much. He needs to get started on giving it to him, as soon as he possibly can.
Slowly, Dimitri opens his eyes, turns his head just enough to the side. It isn't a surprise to find that Dedue is looking right back him. Touch and sight keep them connected, at least for now, when so much seems ephemeral. "There are many fish dishes here," he murmurs. "Allow me the chance to spoil you with them for tonight, Dedue. I feel.. I have much to make up for."
If he started, he wouldn't know where to stop.
At least the Pokemon seem to be adjusting better. Desta does not seem inclined to leave Dedue's side at any point, curled up against him as though to make sure he will not disappear without her again. At Dimitri's own side, Nicholas has settled down as well, and the Delibird seems absorbed with digging through the strange bag that makes up his tail. Dimitri hardly pays him any mind, honestly. All of his attention is on Dedue.
no subject
His taste abandoned him long ago, leaving behind only a blank nothing broken up only by heat or texture or its distant cousin of scent. During battle of the harshest kind, during Sreng and so many terribly bloody battles after that, it felt as though his sight ended up spirited away too. How many battles did it feel as though he were not himself? That he could not remember the details clearly of?
Once upon a time, he used to think that at least his hearing served him well. In fact, it served him better than well, because couldn't he hear the voices of his lost loved ones? Couldn't he hear them clamoring for justice, for vengeance, for wrongs to be righted? They kept him such company for so many years, too, even if their words were not always the kindest.
It still hurts, when he remembers his realization. When he remembers that they were never really there at all. It hurts even more when he sometimes has that brief and quiet lapse into believing their presence true, and comes out of it.
But smell has not failed him. Touch has not failed him. At least, not yet. And so as he lays there in the gentle shade, Dimitri keeps his eye closed and focuses on Dedue's hand.
Back when Dedue first appeared, almost a ghost given physical form and so different from the bitter voice in his head, Dimitri had been too overwhelmed to take him in properly like he feels he should have. There was too much relief, too much confusion, too much in general for him to have done so. And then Gronder had been looming so immediately on the horizon, Edelgard's presence like blood in water, and...
None of it should have been an excuse. He should have done then what he does now: hold on tight, rubbing his thumb along the soft skin of Dedue's hand and finding scars marring what should be a smooth surface. How many scars are there, that he never got to see, but that he knows how they came to be?
Dedue deserves so much. He needs to get started on giving it to him, as soon as he possibly can.
Slowly, Dimitri opens his eyes, turns his head just enough to the side. It isn't a surprise to find that Dedue is looking right back him. Touch and sight keep them connected, at least for now, when so much seems ephemeral. "There are many fish dishes here," he murmurs. "Allow me the chance to spoil you with them for tonight, Dedue. I feel.. I have much to make up for."
If he started, he wouldn't know where to stop.
At least the Pokemon seem to be adjusting better. Desta does not seem inclined to leave Dedue's side at any point, curled up against him as though to make sure he will not disappear without her again. At Dimitri's own side, Nicholas has settled down as well, and the Delibird seems absorbed with digging through the strange bag that makes up his tail. Dimitri hardly pays him any mind, honestly. All of his attention is on Dedue.