[ Felix flinches, squeezing his eyes shut, expecting the sting that will follow when Sylvain inevitably brushes his fingers over the cuts on his nose and aggravates them even further. It never comes—only a suffusing warmth and a faint glow that bleeds away after a moment, taking the pain with is.
Felix blinks his eyes open, wrinkling his nose. When he reaches up to touch his face, he feels only new, unmarred skin. The cuts are gone. ]
...You're getting better at that.
[ It's an easy distraction from admitting that maybe Sylvain is right. What did he plan on doing, anyway? Hiding up here forever, keeping the changes to himself under wraps so Sylvain would never have to see them? Foolish. He knows that. He'd have to come out eventually, to train, or to eat, or just to get some fresh air. He'd never have lasted cooped up in this place; he's never been good at laying idle.
For a moment, he's stiff and quiet, hesitating to budge any further than he already has. But eventually, he reaches up to gingerly tug the blanket away from his face, letting it fall away about his shoulders. His hair is a tousled mess—he hasn't been able to figure out how to pull it back up now that his ears have changed position and shape so drastically. And the ears themselves, well, they raise maybe a fraction of an inch off his skull, quivering slightly. ]
I don't like them. I want my old, normal ears back.
[ If Sylvain thought he was pouting before, he's really pouting now—tight-lipped and frowning down at his lap, refusing to look him in the eyes. ]
no subject
Felix blinks his eyes open, wrinkling his nose. When he reaches up to touch his face, he feels only new, unmarred skin. The cuts are gone. ]
...You're getting better at that.
[ It's an easy distraction from admitting that maybe Sylvain is right. What did he plan on doing, anyway? Hiding up here forever, keeping the changes to himself under wraps so Sylvain would never have to see them? Foolish. He knows that. He'd have to come out eventually, to train, or to eat, or just to get some fresh air. He'd never have lasted cooped up in this place; he's never been good at laying idle.
For a moment, he's stiff and quiet, hesitating to budge any further than he already has. But eventually, he reaches up to gingerly tug the blanket away from his face, letting it fall away about his shoulders. His hair is a tousled mess—he hasn't been able to figure out how to pull it back up now that his ears have changed position and shape so drastically. And the ears themselves, well, they raise maybe a fraction of an inch off his skull, quivering slightly. ]
I don't like them. I want my old, normal ears back.
[ If Sylvain thought he was pouting before, he's really pouting now—tight-lipped and frowning down at his lap, refusing to look him in the eyes. ]