[Dimitri remains where he is, unmoving, back pressed to the cool stone as he stares out at the dark sky. His hands are cold; he's left on his gloves and curled them into his lap, knowing not to expose more vulnerable limbs to the element, but his body is used to the sheer temperature difference. If anything, he is reminded of Faerghus—an aching burn of nostalgia that is only embittered now. He wonders if he will ever return to his home country again. He wonders if he has a right to.
Even feeling Byleth in his peripheral, he is reluctant to turn. Something about the professor's presence is... overwhelming at such proximity, and he feels made of transparent glass, seen straight through and puzzled out to his deepest hurts. There is no mystery. Dimitri would disagree with that sentiment. All of it is a mystery from beginning to end. He doesn't understand what he's done to deserve the concern; in fact, if anything he should be bracing himself for yet more blame and anger. It should come raining down upon him like hellfire.]
I cannot make you leave. [Stated darkly, like its own insult—pointed upon himself rather than the man who was once his professor.] I can only tell you that your consideration for me is unwarranted and unnecessary.
[Dimitri's hands clench into tight, cold fists in his lap. His head aches; his chest throbs where the infected wound sits.]
... Your home is in a sorry state. ["I am in a sorry state." He could argue the point of Byleth finding somewhere else to go, but then, he is not one to preach about abandoning the past.] What will you do now, then?
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Even feeling Byleth in his peripheral, he is reluctant to turn. Something about the professor's presence is... overwhelming at such proximity, and he feels made of transparent glass, seen straight through and puzzled out to his deepest hurts. There is no mystery. Dimitri would disagree with that sentiment. All of it is a mystery from beginning to end. He doesn't understand what he's done to deserve the concern; in fact, if anything he should be bracing himself for yet more blame and anger. It should come raining down upon him like hellfire.]
I cannot make you leave. [Stated darkly, like its own insult—pointed upon himself rather than the man who was once his professor.] I can only tell you that your consideration for me is unwarranted and unnecessary.
[Dimitri's hands clench into tight, cold fists in his lap. His head aches; his chest throbs where the infected wound sits.]
... Your home is in a sorry state. ["I am in a sorry state." He could argue the point of Byleth finding somewhere else to go, but then, he is not one to preach about abandoning the past.] What will you do now, then?