It was hardly a defense at all, and Edmund chuckled under his breath. "Maybe not written ones. I can hardly imagine you even at a tender age not taking a mental catalogue of everything you try." The glimpses he'd gotten of that youngster always endeared him, intrigued his imagination about who Zexion would be now if that boy had grown up with a heart, with parents who'd cared for him, with everything he'd deserved in life.
He studied him now, the still-slight figure retreating into his folds of fabric, and grew thoughtful as Zexion's uncharacteristic lack of words grew more evident. In groping came a refreshing frankness, something uncalculated and fundamental. A fumbling at sentiment. Zexion didn't like it. Edmund tugged in contemplation at his lower lip. He did like it, clumsy and graceless as it was; maybe he liked it because of that. He bumped at Zexion's foot beneath the table.
"I don't need words from you, you know. Your time and company and friendship make life more normal for me here. That...means a great deal."
It was important for Zexion to realize just what sort of presence he represented for Edmund. A sentimental declaration could be found elsewhere; a chum he trusted with secrets both dark and light, with habits that were small but important, and with grounding rituals of his life, was a rare and precious thing. And it was important for Zexion to recognize the progress he'd made in even wanting to express his feelings. It warmed Edmund from the inside. If they were at home, he would have easily swept Zexion into his arms in a return of affection that even he could not always easily voice. Such a pity they were in a place that spoke to every custom of reserve he'd ever grown up with.
His smile is full of embrace. "Any respectable heart should take care with a King who's tasted Maenad lips." His ankle rubs a nesting place next to the other's; comfortable, congenial, unassuming. "I've tasted things no respectable man should. Witch's candy. Gods' wine. Wild, inhuman bodies. I can put on a proper face when I need to, but that's hardly the real Edmund. Perhaps living in this city has simply let more of him exist." He does not explicitly say it, but there it is: perhaps more of the real Zexion has emerged here too.
Edmund's dark eyes softened with glints of humour. "But let me know if you plan on swooning any time soon, and I shall throw down the softest truffles to break your fall."
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He studied him now, the still-slight figure retreating into his folds of fabric, and grew thoughtful as Zexion's uncharacteristic lack of words grew more evident. In groping came a refreshing frankness, something uncalculated and fundamental. A fumbling at sentiment. Zexion didn't like it. Edmund tugged in contemplation at his lower lip. He did like it, clumsy and graceless as it was; maybe he liked it because of that. He bumped at Zexion's foot beneath the table.
"I don't need words from you, you know. Your time and company and friendship make life more normal for me here. That...means a great deal."
It was important for Zexion to realize just what sort of presence he represented for Edmund. A sentimental declaration could be found elsewhere; a chum he trusted with secrets both dark and light, with habits that were small but important, and with grounding rituals of his life, was a rare and precious thing. And it was important for Zexion to recognize the progress he'd made in even wanting to express his feelings. It warmed Edmund from the inside. If they were at home, he would have easily swept Zexion into his arms in a return of affection that even he could not always easily voice. Such a pity they were in a place that spoke to every custom of reserve he'd ever grown up with.
His smile is full of embrace. "Any respectable heart should take care with a King who's tasted Maenad lips." His ankle rubs a nesting place next to the other's; comfortable, congenial, unassuming. "I've tasted things no respectable man should. Witch's candy. Gods' wine. Wild, inhuman bodies. I can put on a proper face when I need to, but that's hardly the real Edmund. Perhaps living in this city has simply let more of him exist." He does not explicitly say it, but there it is: perhaps more of the real Zexion has emerged here too.
Edmund's dark eyes softened with glints of humour. "But let me know if you plan on swooning any time soon, and I shall throw down the softest truffles to break your fall."