[When your dreams are your one unique thing, it just makes it harder to distinguish the sight from the nightmares - what parts of his are recycled memories and what are things yet to come all swirl in his head as a barrage of questions he can't answer. Life, for a moment, feels - fake - and this time he's been lucky enough to come to consciousness next to Sylvain, not alone in his bed thinking he might be crazy. That's happened too many times, with Sylvie's face fixed to the forefront of his brain - haunting him day in and day out as a ghost of someone he thinks he must know until he inevitably does.
Lately, Emmet's started to feel ripped out of his own head with dreams like this. The borders of what his true reality are feel fuzzier, spawning beats of confusion and a fear in him that only seems to make it worse. If he'd only start to trust his visions, he'd realize how helpful they can be, even if they contain things he doesn't want to see. He needs to trust himself and not run from the ability, but - he's not there yet. He doesn't think he can ever be.]
I...
[He grips Sylvain's hand, tight and sound as he leans further forward and lets the sheets pool over his lap, pulled off of them both in the motion. He can still feel his pulse with the fingers of his other hand, and he's breathing harder than he thought he was. He doesn't know, in this moment, if Sylvain and he have just met or if they've been together long. He's still stuck in the world of war and chaos, dragging himself back to even breaths and a dangerous question he'd only ever ask Sylvie:]
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Lately, Emmet's started to feel ripped out of his own head with dreams like this. The borders of what his true reality are feel fuzzier, spawning beats of confusion and a fear in him that only seems to make it worse. If he'd only start to trust his visions, he'd realize how helpful they can be, even if they contain things he doesn't want to see. He needs to trust himself and not run from the ability, but - he's not there yet. He doesn't think he can ever be.]
I...
[He grips Sylvain's hand, tight and sound as he leans further forward and lets the sheets pool over his lap, pulled off of them both in the motion. He can still feel his pulse with the fingers of his other hand, and he's breathing harder than he thought he was. He doesn't know, in this moment, if Sylvain and he have just met or if they've been together long. He's still stuck in the world of war and chaos, dragging himself back to even breaths and a dangerous question he'd only ever ask Sylvie:]
How did I last die?