[Was it the insidiousness of a Bond, or was the world wearing on him, in some way...? He didn't know Mettaton that well, and while physical proximity to strangers was something Emet-Selch viewed with apathy rather than discomfort, this was still more than he typically would've allowed.
Not that they were really strangers at this point; shared strange experiences counted for something, he supposed. And very few knew his history. Perhaps altogether that made things like this easier to tolerate. And a stronger Bond was a useful Bond; that was something to remember.
So the hand at his neck has him pause, but not twitch from it. And after a moment's thought, he lowers his hand at Mettaton's chest, to drape loosely around his waist instead. And though the look he gives him is unimpressed, skeptical, it doesn't keep him from ducking his head in, to rest the side of it against the crook of the other man's neck.
Most of the Ascian's associates were far (far) shorter than him, and even if they were strong enough to support his weight, it wouldn't have been a comfortable position for anyone. Not that he was resting entirely against Mettaton, but it was a relief to get some pressure off his leg. So even if it was the robot's fault that he was standing up to begin with, at least he was being a useful support. It balanced out.]
As though caught between fire and flood....
[It's a long-suffering tone, his sigh carrying the weight of his quite clear misfortune. Nevermind that he seems otherwise quite content to be resting against the robot's somewhat strange body.]
Were you always this way, or is it the result of some long-honed, terrible habit?
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Not that they were really strangers at this point; shared strange experiences counted for something, he supposed. And very few knew his history. Perhaps altogether that made things like this easier to tolerate. And a stronger Bond was a useful Bond; that was something to remember.
So the hand at his neck has him pause, but not twitch from it. And after a moment's thought, he lowers his hand at Mettaton's chest, to drape loosely around his waist instead. And though the look he gives him is unimpressed, skeptical, it doesn't keep him from ducking his head in, to rest the side of it against the crook of the other man's neck.
Most of the Ascian's associates were far (far) shorter than him, and even if they were strong enough to support his weight, it wouldn't have been a comfortable position for anyone. Not that he was resting entirely against Mettaton, but it was a relief to get some pressure off his leg. So even if it was the robot's fault that he was standing up to begin with, at least he was being a useful support. It balanced out.]
As though caught between fire and flood....
[It's a long-suffering tone, his sigh carrying the weight of his quite clear misfortune. Nevermind that he seems otherwise quite content to be resting against the robot's somewhat strange body.]
Were you always this way, or is it the result of some long-honed, terrible habit?