[ The first thought that arrives is...'I shouldn't have looked.'
But, to Ganymede, curiosity is a beast untamed—even if he tried, he doesn't think he is able to do anything to reign it in. With each passing moment and thought that runs through his head due to experiencing the memory, the horrors keep piling on. The image of restraints in a singular place familiar, the idea that someone's captor would not
Still, he knows for certain he never looked like that—never was treated like an animal, even if he never would wish captivity as a fate on anyone. The casual cruelty has a sound catch in his throat. It makes him want to puke, and he understands that hatred. Even if it isn't his own originally—it is now.
Then, what follows those words in the memory, and the subsequent beating. There is nothing he has in his own mind to put it all into words, a startled wetness briefly flowing down his cheeks.
When it's over, the flare of ferocity in Michel is a mirror. ]
Y...Yes, I did. All of it.
[ There is still a ground underneath them. They're still alive—he can say that they should log out. But, he can't manage it.
Does he reach for him? He doesn't know. Only that he doesn't want Michel to face it alone, because the man didn't leave him be either. He can also reach for that hand that gripped his tightly, take imitative in reaching to take it back in his, though he never has done that.
So, he settles for a compromise. After hesitating, he instead holds a hand out to him, hand unsteady. ]
cw: emeto mention
But, to Ganymede, curiosity is a beast untamed—even if he tried, he doesn't think he is able to do anything to reign it in. With each passing moment and thought that runs through his head due to experiencing the memory, the horrors keep piling on. The image of restraints in a singular place familiar, the idea that someone's captor would not
Still, he knows for certain he never looked like that—never was treated like an animal, even if he never would wish captivity as a fate on anyone. The casual cruelty has a sound catch in his throat. It makes him want to puke, and he understands that hatred. Even if it isn't his own originally—it is now.
Then, what follows those words in the memory, and the subsequent beating. There is nothing he has in his own mind to put it all into words, a startled wetness briefly flowing down his cheeks.
When it's over, the flare of ferocity in Michel is a mirror. ]
Y...Yes, I did. All of it.
[ There is still a ground underneath them. They're still alive—he can say that they should log out. But, he can't manage it.
Does he reach for him? He doesn't know. Only that he doesn't want Michel to face it alone, because the man didn't leave him be either. He can also reach for that hand that gripped his tightly, take imitative in reaching to take it back in his, though he never has done that.
So, he settles for a compromise. After hesitating, he instead holds a hand out to him, hand unsteady. ]
We should still go together.