[ Sylvain doesn't expect to receive Claude's memory in turn, isn't any more prepared for the visceral emotion that overwhelms him when he does.
Battle roars around him as sudden as a clap of thunder, panic bubbling in his throat that's only carefully controlled by years of practiced adaptation. A familiar dread takes root in his stomach, not knowing who will try to spill his blood next—knowing he belongs nowhere, unwanted on either side of the border. Relief only to be met with alienation and utter powerlessness.
The exchange takes place in an instant, and yet Sylvain feels sick by the time Claude pulls away, heart rattling in his chest. Even as he tries to reorient himself he instinctively reaches out to catch the other boy by the wrist, in part a need to reassure him everything is okay (I'm sorry; It's not your fault), in part to keep him from running.
He blinks up at Claude warily, searching for any sign of recognition in his eyes. His voice, when he manages to find it, is hoarse. ]
...Wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but that's what our real memories are.
[ Is he starting to remember anything, yet...? Or is Sylvain just making things worse? His fingers curl a fraction tighter around Claude's wrist, regardless. ]
You have to snap out of it. None of this—'Danaca' is real.
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Battle roars around him as sudden as a clap of thunder, panic bubbling in his throat that's only carefully controlled by years of practiced adaptation. A familiar dread takes root in his stomach, not knowing who will try to spill his blood next—knowing he belongs nowhere, unwanted on either side of the border. Relief only to be met with alienation and utter powerlessness.
The exchange takes place in an instant, and yet Sylvain feels sick by the time Claude pulls away, heart rattling in his chest. Even as he tries to reorient himself he instinctively reaches out to catch the other boy by the wrist, in part a need to reassure him everything is okay (I'm sorry; It's not your fault), in part to keep him from running.
He blinks up at Claude warily, searching for any sign of recognition in his eyes. His voice, when he manages to find it, is hoarse. ]
...Wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but that's what our real memories are.
[ Is he starting to remember anything, yet...? Or is Sylvain just making things worse? His fingers curl a fraction tighter around Claude's wrist, regardless. ]
You have to snap out of it. None of this—'Danaca' is real.