The open appreciation startles the dragon badly enough that he draw a bit back, eyes wide with surprise, a hint of disbelief. But it fades fast, as warmth replaces it, and even a faint blush comes to redden the tip of his ears, embarrassed by the words.
It's not-- He's flattered, but Seto has it backwards.
"It's selfish, really," the half-dragon protests, his voice surprisingly meek, but Seto won't let him have this argument. And... he's glad. He's glad that his friend is there with him. He's glad he's gotten to meet him.
The mention that he can hug his stoic friend whenever has him grin brightly, fully aware that he'd be a pest with such a blank card, if it were anyone but Seto. He might bother him a bit a few times at first, but he'll not abuse the newfound gift, because he does respect his friend, even if he's not above a little pranking from time to time.
"I know exactly how much pressure ribs c'n hold b'fore cracking," he teases with a cheeky grin, blue eyes narrowed in far too much mischief to be comfortable.
"... But-- thanks," he returns quickly enough, feeling lighter, feeling better. There's a thought for their dust-and-grime coated discussion, the way Seto had startled him out of the vicious cycle, a thought he needs to share. He takes a deep breath at his companion's shoulder, and the tip of his tail fans against the programmer's calf as he gathers himself.
"Rem'mber-- when we talked 'bout withdrawin'?" He asks lightly, drinking in the comfort, drinking in the presence by his side. He's helped. More than he can know. He's helped.
"... Y' saved me that day, Seto."
It's... heavy. It's heavy because of the burden of grief-- grief that will follow Esteban his whole life. But there is Seto, there are his friends here, there are people Esteban knows, and people he doesn't know yet, and even though grief is familiar; Seto had pushed its weight away, for now.
"Sometimes, t's hard to remember that it's worth it." There's another squeeze. It's easier for the redhead to tell his friend this without staring at him in the face-- without admitting to how weak he can be. There's words that flutter on his lips. Mentions of butterflies that mean too much in his own world. But Seto had pulled him out, tugged him back into walking again, and it-- it had saved him. Was still saving him.
"But y' reminded me that it is." He can't tell his friend enough, so Esteban backs away, an arm's length between them. Blue eyes staring into his own.
"Y' saved me," he repeats once more. Weight to words too deep, before Esteban finally backs away, wings rustling and warmth draining as he grins his cheeky grin.
"Betcha she's really proud 'f you for that too!" he adds, lighter now, brighter now, as if all the sunshine in the world could be contained into a little carriage, on a train, in the middle of a storm, in the middle of a void.
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It's not-- He's flattered, but Seto has it backwards.
"It's selfish, really," the half-dragon protests, his voice surprisingly meek, but Seto won't let him have this argument. And... he's glad. He's glad that his friend is there with him. He's glad he's gotten to meet him.
The mention that he can hug his stoic friend whenever has him grin brightly, fully aware that he'd be a pest with such a blank card, if it were anyone but Seto. He might bother him a bit a few times at first, but he'll not abuse the newfound gift, because he does respect his friend, even if he's not above a little pranking from time to time.
"I know exactly how much pressure ribs c'n hold b'fore cracking," he teases with a cheeky grin, blue eyes narrowed in far too much mischief to be comfortable.
"... But-- thanks," he returns quickly enough, feeling lighter, feeling better. There's a thought for their dust-and-grime coated discussion, the way Seto had startled him out of the vicious cycle, a thought he needs to share. He takes a deep breath at his companion's shoulder, and the tip of his tail fans against the programmer's calf as he gathers himself.
"Rem'mber-- when we talked 'bout withdrawin'?" He asks lightly, drinking in the comfort, drinking in the presence by his side. He's helped. More than he can know. He's helped.
"... Y' saved me that day, Seto."
It's... heavy. It's heavy because of the burden of grief-- grief that will follow Esteban his whole life. But there is Seto, there are his friends here, there are people Esteban knows, and people he doesn't know yet, and even though grief is familiar; Seto had pushed its weight away, for now.
"Sometimes, t's hard to remember that it's worth it." There's another squeeze. It's easier for the redhead to tell his friend this without staring at him in the face-- without admitting to how weak he can be. There's words that flutter on his lips. Mentions of butterflies that mean too much in his own world. But Seto had pulled him out, tugged him back into walking again, and it-- it had saved him. Was still saving him.
"But y' reminded me that it is." He can't tell his friend enough, so Esteban backs away, an arm's length between them. Blue eyes staring into his own.
"Y' saved me," he repeats once more. Weight to words too deep, before Esteban finally backs away, wings rustling and warmth draining as he grins his cheeky grin.
"Betcha she's really proud 'f you for that too!" he adds, lighter now, brighter now, as if all the sunshine in the world could be contained into a little carriage, on a train, in the middle of a storm, in the middle of a void.