Faust tries to assauge his anger as if it's just a misunderstanding. Of course Faust still wants good for him, it's Faust that needs to be removed from the equation, as Faust himself so gently puts it. Limits and burdens and more bullshit guised in pragmatism.
And on some level, Faust is right. Not about himself, no, Teo refuses to give that. But there's a certain futility in getting Faust to see otherwise. He was never going to be good enough to help Faust that much.
He certainly wasn't going to be good enough for Faust to understand half of what he feels now. He hadn't even hoped for that. He was just going to keep his mouth shut but, with posibility of death at his hands, he can't take this talk.
Scowling off to the side, his eyes close in resignation. There is a faint voice, a smarter one, telling him that if he speaks up now, if Faust lives, he'll have destroyed their friendship. But the voice isn't loud enough. Certainly not enough to drown out the fear that Faust won't live through this.
He opens his eyes, expression hard-set, as he turns his gaze back to Faust. If his eyes were less blank they might burn.
"Whatever I think... huh...?" There's a bitter ghost of a laugh. "What do you know... about your importance...? What do you know... about limits...? You don't even... want me to mourn...? Are you kidding me...?"
He shifts back further. He straightens his spine and braces for ruin.
"I... like... you... I... more... than like you... And I have... for a while... Do you understand...?"
He waits a moment for it to sink in. Then, he turns and rises to his feet.
"It's not... that I need anything... it's not that I... would ever expect... but don't give me... all that trashtalk... like it's any better... than spitting at me... and you..."
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And on some level, Faust is right. Not about himself, no, Teo refuses to give that. But there's a certain futility in getting Faust to see otherwise. He was never going to be good enough to help Faust that much.
He certainly wasn't going to be good enough for Faust to understand half of what he feels now. He hadn't even hoped for that. He was just going to keep his mouth shut but, with posibility of death at his hands, he can't take this talk.
Scowling off to the side, his eyes close in resignation. There is a faint voice, a smarter one, telling him that if he speaks up now, if Faust lives, he'll have destroyed their friendship. But the voice isn't loud enough. Certainly not enough to drown out the fear that Faust won't live through this.
He opens his eyes, expression hard-set, as he turns his gaze back to Faust. If his eyes were less blank they might burn.
"Whatever I think... huh...?" There's a bitter ghost of a laugh. "What do you know... about your importance...? What do you know... about limits...? You don't even... want me to mourn...? Are you kidding me...?"
He shifts back further. He straightens his spine and braces for ruin.
"I... like... you... I... more... than like you... And I have... for a while... Do you understand...?"
He waits a moment for it to sink in. Then, he turns and rises to his feet.
"It's not... that I need anything... it's not that I... would ever expect... but don't give me... all that trashtalk... like it's any better... than spitting at me... and you..."