[This is it. This is where the chorus swells and the leads kiss. This is where the camera blurs and suddenly the love interest has no flaws. He feels like he's melting. Everything hurts so much. His stupid fans sound like they're a plane taking off.
This is the worst. He hates this. If he could stand to be around this poetic jerk for more than five minutes at a time, he might fall in love.]
YOU IDIOT... I CAN'T EVEN CRY... [He's talking to himself because good lord does this shaky voice sound like he's trying despite himself, but the insult stands for both of them.
This is what Giorno was talking about, Mettaton. This is that moment where you either run away and regret it or stay and just hope that you don't. It's always so much easier to go for the known regret. That's what he's always done.
Fine. Fine. Okay.
There's a burst of light and smoke, and he's back to the form Keats is definitely more used to. The cloak comes with it, automatically, to reflect tears that aren't actually there. It shudders off in an instant, leaving just... metal.
Just Mettaton.]
What if I can't? Live without it?
[Ugh, he can see himself in the mirror and it looks like he's dying. Like he's having to explain to someone that he only has one more day to live. His entire body is shaking. He didn't even think that could happen.]
...You don't understand. You can never understand what it is spend years, decades, every day pretending you'll have some happily ever after where you're finally complete and your one true love sweeps you off your feet and kisses you and every horrible thing you did and all the pain you went through ends up worth it. You don't know what it's like to never be able to interact with the world. You don't understand how suffocating it is to never touch or taste or dream or--
[He doesn't even need to breathe. Why is he acting like he needs to catch his breath?]
...I know you like me. I'm exquisite. And I... somehow like you, [he croaks out, mumbling over the words.
Okay. Okay.
Leave now and know you'll regret it. Stay and you might not.
Okay.
He's still shaking, but it's with the sort of preemptive anger that comes with revealing anything you don't want to. When you want to trust someone so much, but the fear of that coming back to haunt you (haha) turns you bitter at just the thought of it.]
...If I show you something, you have to promise me that it will never leave this room. I mean it. You will regret for the rest of your life that I trusted you and you betrayed it. I can ensure that.
no subject
This is the worst. He hates this. If he could stand to be around this poetic jerk for more than five minutes at a time, he might fall in love.]
YOU IDIOT... I CAN'T EVEN CRY... [He's talking to himself because good lord does this shaky voice sound like he's trying despite himself, but the insult stands for both of them.
This is what Giorno was talking about, Mettaton. This is that moment where you either run away and regret it or stay and just hope that you don't. It's always so much easier to go for the known regret. That's what he's always done.
Fine. Fine. Okay.
There's a burst of light and smoke, and he's back to the form Keats is definitely more used to. The cloak comes with it, automatically, to reflect tears that aren't actually there. It shudders off in an instant, leaving just... metal.
Just Mettaton.]
What if I can't? Live without it?
[Ugh, he can see himself in the mirror and it looks like he's dying. Like he's having to explain to someone that he only has one more day to live. His entire body is shaking. He didn't even think that could happen.]
...You don't understand. You can never understand what it is spend years, decades, every day pretending you'll have some happily ever after where you're finally complete and your one true love sweeps you off your feet and kisses you and every horrible thing you did and all the pain you went through ends up worth it. You don't know what it's like to never be able to interact with the world. You don't understand how suffocating it is to never touch or taste or dream or--
[He doesn't even need to breathe. Why is he acting like he needs to catch his breath?]
...I know you like me. I'm exquisite. And I... somehow like you, [he croaks out, mumbling over the words.
Okay. Okay.
Leave now and know you'll regret it. Stay and you might not.
Okay.
He's still shaking, but it's with the sort of preemptive anger that comes with revealing anything you don't want to. When you want to trust someone so much, but the fear of that coming back to haunt you (haha) turns you bitter at just the thought of it.]
...If I show you something, you have to promise me that it will never leave this room. I mean it. You will regret for the rest of your life that I trusted you and you betrayed it. I can ensure that.
Do you understand?