[ Not being 'okay' has never been very acceptable at any point of his life.
His father saw it as weakness. His brother saw it as an opening. Dimitri took it as all the more reason to fret and worry and carry it on his shoulders. Felix got annoyed and Ingrid found it uncomfortable, or worse, got angry about it. Not being okay was... inconvenient.
It was just easier to bury it instead. He was a firm believer in 'fake it till you make it'. It had always been the best strategy. At least until now.
He didn't think she was going to buy that as a viable coping method.
He lays his hand over hers, where it rests against his knee, grateful for the contact. Something else he'd had to adjust to, here. With Claude and Jesper, too, but especially with her. People reaching out in comfort, a tactile connection, physical reassurance. It had been an immense adjustment for someone who had wielded his physicality as a weapon - and had it wielded against him in kind - for so long he'd all but forgotten it could be used any other way.
Squeezing her hand, he makes a face at her suggestion to talk to Claude about this. Which... just sounds awkward as fuck, honestly. ]
I'm not sure how that could ever be good for either one of us.
[ ...Spoken like a true Faerghan. What are feelings and can he eat them?
Vulnerabilities were to be hidden under thick inches of heavy armor, not left exposed on his back for anyone to take aim at.
And Claude had very good aim. ]
Ghosts can't hurt me, Hilda. [ He's not Dimitri. He doesn't let them haunt him like that. Has no intention of ever giving them that much power over him ever again. ] Miklan is dead. And home - and all its troubles - are a long way away. Probably quite permanently. He's made enough of my life hell. I don't intend to let him ruin any more of it.
[ ...That applied to more than just his brother, actually. ]
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His father saw it as weakness. His brother saw it as an opening. Dimitri took it as all the more reason to fret and worry and carry it on his shoulders. Felix got annoyed and Ingrid found it uncomfortable, or worse, got angry about it. Not being okay was... inconvenient.
It was just easier to bury it instead. He was a firm believer in 'fake it till you make it'. It had always been the best strategy. At least until now.
He didn't think she was going to buy that as a viable coping method.
He lays his hand over hers, where it rests against his knee, grateful for the contact. Something else he'd had to adjust to, here. With Claude and Jesper, too, but especially with her. People reaching out in comfort, a tactile connection, physical reassurance. It had been an immense adjustment for someone who had wielded his physicality as a weapon - and had it wielded against him in kind - for so long he'd all but forgotten it could be used any other way.
Squeezing her hand, he makes a face at her suggestion to talk to Claude about this. Which... just sounds awkward as fuck, honestly. ]
I'm not sure how that could ever be good for either one of us.
[ ...Spoken like a true Faerghan. What are feelings and can he eat them?
Vulnerabilities were to be hidden under thick inches of heavy armor, not left exposed on his back for anyone to take aim at.
And Claude had very good aim. ]
Ghosts can't hurt me, Hilda. [ He's not Dimitri. He doesn't let them haunt him like that. Has no intention of ever giving them that much power over him ever again. ] Miklan is dead. And home - and all its troubles - are a long way away. Probably quite permanently. He's made enough of my life hell. I don't intend to let him ruin any more of it.
[ ...That applied to more than just his brother, actually. ]