Rhy just watches him. If Ronan needs to get it out, he'll listen-- even if he doesn't understand half of what he says. Ronan knows that. He knows Rhy has no idea what country or language he's referring to; it isn't said for Rhy, but for himself, and so Rhy doesn't ask.
He doesn't try to stop Ronan or distract him while the other man fiddles with his dreamed-up things on the shelf, golden eyes following Ronan's hands not because he thinks the objects have anything to do with the conversation but for the same reason he assumes Ronan is fidgeting with them in the first place: something to do, outside of their racing thoughts, the way Rhy grounds himself with his arms crossing in front of his chest in an unconscious self-soothing gesture. He wants to reach out; he doesn't.
"I never assumed you had," Rhy responds quietly. Killed anyone, he means. But his attention snags, brows creasing faintly, on the part about destroying a world.
There is so much about what Ronan is and what he does that Rhy can't understand. Rhy's never heard him talk about humans like this before, like some sort of creature entirely apart from the world. Like it somehow gives him the right to be above it all.
Rhy grows frustrated, verging on angry, the sort of real anger Ronan has rarely seen from him. There's an edge creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to hear Ronan out. The conversation has veered so far from what he thought they'd come here to work out.
"Maybe you're right," he agrees flatly. "What difference does it make? Human war, human casualties. You find it easier to separate yourself? Fine. If that's a choice available to you. Unfortunately, I am merely human, and it isn't so easy for me."
no subject
He doesn't try to stop Ronan or distract him while the other man fiddles with his dreamed-up things on the shelf, golden eyes following Ronan's hands not because he thinks the objects have anything to do with the conversation but for the same reason he assumes Ronan is fidgeting with them in the first place: something to do, outside of their racing thoughts, the way Rhy grounds himself with his arms crossing in front of his chest in an unconscious self-soothing gesture. He wants to reach out; he doesn't.
"I never assumed you had," Rhy responds quietly. Killed anyone, he means. But his attention snags, brows creasing faintly, on the part about destroying a world.
There is so much about what Ronan is and what he does that Rhy can't understand. Rhy's never heard him talk about humans like this before, like some sort of creature entirely apart from the world. Like it somehow gives him the right to be above it all.
Rhy grows frustrated, verging on angry, the sort of real anger Ronan has rarely seen from him. There's an edge creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to hear Ronan out. The conversation has veered so far from what he thought they'd come here to work out.
"Maybe you're right," he agrees flatly. "What difference does it make? Human war, human casualties. You find it easier to separate yourself? Fine. If that's a choice available to you. Unfortunately, I am merely human, and it isn't so easy for me."