[Maybe things would have been easier, simpler, if they had just hated one another with equal ferocity. Maybe he would have preferred that over the complicated tangle that they had ended up with. Even if Diluc had wanted to he has seen Childe vulnerable too many times to hate him, and has seen sides of him that - although he struggles to admit it - he could come to like.
It would have been easier if Childe hated him, but Diluc can't say that it would have been something that he would have wanted. Something he would have expected, accepted, yes. But wanted? Diluc isn't the kind of person to actively want to be hated. His level of bitterness over his past doesn't cut him quite that deeply.
He glances at the door when Childe does, but doesn't keep his attention there for long. The other man's words draw him back, and he finds himself struck by a thought that's almost amusing in its absurdity.
It's pure, unbridled impulse that has him reaching one hand over the table, placing it on top of Childe's and shifting the side of his thumb just a little against the soft patch between his thumb and forefinger. His other forearm takes his weight against the edge of the table, just slightly.]
You're beginning to make a bad habit of walking away from me, Childe. [And he does wonder why, when he couldn't seem to get rid of him before.] Is there something about me that you've started to find unsettling?
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[Maybe things would have been easier, simpler, if they had just hated one another with equal ferocity. Maybe he would have preferred that over the complicated tangle that they had ended up with. Even if Diluc had wanted to he has seen Childe vulnerable too many times to hate him, and has seen sides of him that - although he struggles to admit it - he could come to like.
It would have been easier if Childe hated him, but Diluc can't say that it would have been something that he would have wanted. Something he would have expected, accepted, yes. But wanted? Diluc isn't the kind of person to actively want to be hated. His level of bitterness over his past doesn't cut him quite that deeply.
He glances at the door when Childe does, but doesn't keep his attention there for long. The other man's words draw him back, and he finds himself struck by a thought that's almost amusing in its absurdity.
It's pure, unbridled impulse that has him reaching one hand over the table, placing it on top of Childe's and shifting the side of his thumb just a little against the soft patch between his thumb and forefinger. His other forearm takes his weight against the edge of the table, just slightly.]
You're beginning to make a bad habit of walking away from me, Childe. [And he does wonder why, when he couldn't seem to get rid of him before.] Is there something about me that you've started to find unsettling?