More Fire Emblem.
This just never ends. Can you *imagine* what I'll be like after playing Sacred Stones?
Legault, when he meets Heath, tries to avoid forming an attatchment.
He feels vaguely guilty for it, like one of those melodramatic assasins who pretend they know nothing of love. Legault isn't an emotional cripple. He's proven that to himself over and over; with the Reed family, with Nino, with Uhai, with Ursula, with Aisha.
Most of those people are dead now. His capacity for love has taken a lot of damage. Right now, anyway, he needs to take a break from *caring.* Maybe when Nergal is dead he can start again. Not until then.
So he manages to ignore Heath's good looks, his brash, friendly attitude, his competance in self-defense, the idealistic streak that he maybe still shares a little of himself.
He sees Heath flying his wyvern early one morning, low to the ground, so as not to attract unwanted attention. His thighs grip the animal's back resolutely.
When he returns to the ground and dismounts, hair blow in tangles around his face, he spies Legault and, perhaps too exhilerated from his ride to really recognize him, waves. His eyes are in the sky. Inside, he is still flying.
Legault tries to look away. It's too late, his heart has lept into his throat, there's nothing to be done about it. He is in love.
Legault, when he meets Heath, tries to avoid forming an attatchment.
He feels vaguely guilty for it, like one of those melodramatic assasins who pretend they know nothing of love. Legault isn't an emotional cripple. He's proven that to himself over and over; with the Reed family, with Nino, with Uhai, with Ursula, with Aisha.
Most of those people are dead now. His capacity for love has taken a lot of damage. Right now, anyway, he needs to take a break from *caring.* Maybe when Nergal is dead he can start again. Not until then.
So he manages to ignore Heath's good looks, his brash, friendly attitude, his competance in self-defense, the idealistic streak that he maybe still shares a little of himself.
He sees Heath flying his wyvern early one morning, low to the ground, so as not to attract unwanted attention. His thighs grip the animal's back resolutely.
When he returns to the ground and dismounts, hair blow in tangles around his face, he spies Legault and, perhaps too exhilerated from his ride to really recognize him, waves. His eyes are in the sky. Inside, he is still flying.
Legault tries to look away. It's too late, his heart has lept into his throat, there's nothing to be done about it. He is in love.