[He'd tried to describe the feeling of the search many times, writing in journals anything that came to mind in trying to put into words. It was a force, like magnets struggling to pull together, an entire force that sent him out into the world searching sometimes before he even knew what he was looking for. Most of the time he remembered on account of his dreams because even if he never found Sylvie in the flesh, he would often find him in his dreams. Snippets of his life as it played out or how it would, wherever he was. He'd use those to try to navigate his way toward him, surrendering to the search as it often took over his life with insistence until he found him. Or until that pull stopped, telling Emmet that he never would.
They'd find each other somehow, eventually, and that feeling could also then subside. So when he feels awash with the loss of that magnetism today, writing his class plan on the board in quiet strokes, he falters. For half a second he can't tell which way things fall but he hears his voice and turns around, heart pressed against his sternum from the inside - a myriad of emotions going through him like a bullet in only half seconds. It culminates in a quiet stretch of a smile across his lips, and his hand reaching for Sylvain's. Physical touch. Warmth. Reunion.]
You're not one of mine, so fuck it. Not that I'd have stopped if you were.
[Not a thing he wouldn't do for him. They barely met in this life and all he wants to do is lean in and kiss him - but he holds out, barely, by threads of his own hesitancy. But he doesn't let go of Sylvie's hand - he strokes his thumb over the mark and makes a quiet hum, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze. Gravitating, even still, toward him. He can't hold back - so he leans further still.]
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They'd find each other somehow, eventually, and that feeling could also then subside. So when he feels awash with the loss of that magnetism today, writing his class plan on the board in quiet strokes, he falters. For half a second he can't tell which way things fall but he hears his voice and turns around, heart pressed against his sternum from the inside - a myriad of emotions going through him like a bullet in only half seconds. It culminates in a quiet stretch of a smile across his lips, and his hand reaching for Sylvain's. Physical touch. Warmth. Reunion.]
You're not one of mine, so fuck it. Not that I'd have stopped if you were.
[Not a thing he wouldn't do for him. They barely met in this life and all he wants to do is lean in and kiss him - but he holds out, barely, by threads of his own hesitancy. But he doesn't let go of Sylvie's hand - he strokes his thumb over the mark and makes a quiet hum, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze. Gravitating, even still, toward him. He can't hold back - so he leans further still.]