( he clarifies, fingers twitching at his sides. he's still scared, because he doesn't think there's a right answer. he feels like there aren't any wrong ones either by now, just degrees of living through as they are. growing as whatever the hell kind of person they'll be, pursuing the goals and dreams and careers that matter most.
frankly, if Anya never had found hers, Yuri doesn't think he'd even have hesitated in telling her no. he cannot understand or support the passionless or directionless, not the way people seem to expect. certainly not in these situations. but she has; he has to admit and face that it's something he can respond to, perhaps already has been. there's an equality in it that's... appealing, for all he has different concerns, all the same ones he had before Anya confessed to him on a stage after her own debut at a convention that ended in tearing Recolle apart.
so it goes. and in this case, as a rush of words that tumble out, lancing a wound he didn't know he had before. )
I don't get romance. I mean, I don't know how you can tell the difference between that kind of love and any of the rest. I know I love you, and I don't know right now if that's different from how I love Dave, or how I love Karkat. I know I like you. I think you're attractive ( he lifts a hand to tap over his temple, indicating where he means ), I like spending time with you. I... ( he can't help the fact he starts to blush, because it's embarrassing, because admitting he's now thought about any of these things is scary; it's vulnerable. he hates it. he thinks he needs it. ) ... would like to kiss. You, specifically. And I don't know if that's enough or if it means what you might want it to mean, because I still don't get it. What I mean is I'm... I want to figure it out, if you still do. I can't promise I'm a frog who's going to figure out how to be a prince, I'm not going to be any less dedicated to getting where I want to be with dance, or figuring out what the hell is going on with our lives and this stupid excuse for a city we live in. We're not going to have a lot of time together when we're both busy. We can talk and text and it's just like it is usually, I think? I don't know what's supposed to make it different.
( he doesn't know what qualifies the difference. he really doesn't know; is it just the potential for physical intimacy? are there other levels of emotional intimacy he's going to stand there, hackles up, trying not to run away from? he thinks he can handle being reliable, because in his eyes, he's already reliable. but staying open, not closing off, what is it? what's the difference?
is there any? he rushes to add one last thing, for the first time looking away. not for long: he drags his eyes back to her face right after, but now he looks... both red in the face and faintly panicked. if he throws the worst, most blunt parts of his issues out there, maybe it'll be enough to get her to decide against a fairytale romance that he'll never be. )
And I don't — okay, this is going to sound stupid and I'm not saying we'd ever have sex but I'm saying that I don't think I'd be okay with it until we were both, um, older. Like over eighteen.
( his hands are clenched in fists now, because he knows why he's saying that, and that it's far too close to things back home and he would not, he would not, have the same caveat with a guy. it's inherently unfair, but he doesn't want to deal with any chances at...
... he just can't. he can't do it, and he had decided, weeks ago, to be up front that there's only so much of himself he can commit like that. the fact he's shortsighted and focused on only one... particular... aspect.......................... is because of the bigger fear he has about families and things like that. also, frankly, a lack of imagination and experience.
but he's talking to Anya, so they should both be secure in that lack of experience or... desire... as far as he knows. also, he's hoping none of those knights heard what he said, and that the ghosts (who did) stop laughing. the fact they laugh at all has his hackles up; he turns to glare at them and tells them to: )
no subject
( he clarifies, fingers twitching at his sides. he's still scared, because he doesn't think there's a right answer. he feels like there aren't any wrong ones either by now, just degrees of living through as they are. growing as whatever the hell kind of person they'll be, pursuing the goals and dreams and careers that matter most.
frankly, if Anya never had found hers, Yuri doesn't think he'd even have hesitated in telling her no. he cannot understand or support the passionless or directionless, not the way people seem to expect. certainly not in these situations. but she has; he has to admit and face that it's something he can respond to, perhaps already has been. there's an equality in it that's... appealing, for all he has different concerns, all the same ones he had before Anya confessed to him on a stage after her own debut at a convention that ended in tearing Recolle apart.
so it goes. and in this case, as a rush of words that tumble out, lancing a wound he didn't know he had before. )
I don't get romance. I mean, I don't know how you can tell the difference between that kind of love and any of the rest. I know I love you, and I don't know right now if that's different from how I love Dave, or how I love Karkat. I know I like you. I think you're attractive ( he lifts a hand to tap over his temple, indicating where he means ), I like spending time with you. I... ( he can't help the fact he starts to blush, because it's embarrassing, because admitting he's now thought about any of these things is scary; it's vulnerable. he hates it. he thinks he needs it. ) ... would like to kiss. You, specifically. And I don't know if that's enough or if it means what you might want it to mean, because I still don't get it. What I mean is I'm... I want to figure it out, if you still do. I can't promise I'm a frog who's going to figure out how to be a prince, I'm not going to be any less dedicated to getting where I want to be with dance, or figuring out what the hell is going on with our lives and this stupid excuse for a city we live in. We're not going to have a lot of time together when we're both busy. We can talk and text and it's just like it is usually, I think? I don't know what's supposed to make it different.
( he doesn't know what qualifies the difference. he really doesn't know; is it just the potential for physical intimacy? are there other levels of emotional intimacy he's going to stand there, hackles up, trying not to run away from? he thinks he can handle being reliable, because in his eyes, he's already reliable. but staying open, not closing off, what is it? what's the difference?
is there any? he rushes to add one last thing, for the first time looking away. not for long: he drags his eyes back to her face right after, but now he looks... both red in the face and faintly panicked. if he throws the worst, most blunt parts of his issues out there, maybe it'll be enough to get her to decide against a fairytale romance that he'll never be. )
And I don't — okay, this is going to sound stupid and I'm not saying we'd ever have sex but I'm saying that I don't think I'd be okay with it until we were both, um, older. Like over eighteen.
( his hands are clenched in fists now, because he knows why he's saying that, and that it's far too close to things back home and he would not, he would not, have the same caveat with a guy. it's inherently unfair, but he doesn't want to deal with any chances at...
... he just can't. he can't do it, and he had decided, weeks ago, to be up front that there's only so much of himself he can commit like that. the fact he's shortsighted and focused on only one... particular... aspect.......................... is because of the bigger fear he has about families and things like that. also, frankly, a lack of imagination and experience.
but he's talking to Anya, so they should both be secure in that lack of experience or... desire... as far as he knows. also, he's hoping none of those knights heard what he said, and that the ghosts (who did) stop laughing. the fact they laugh at all has his hackles up; he turns to glare at them and tells them to: )
Shut-up!