[And the thing is, the kick in the dick is that under normal circumstances Sylvain would never let any of his problems anywhere near Dimitri. Ever. Not because he didn't like him, or because he didn't trust him, but because Dimitri was carrying the weight of Faerghus on his shoulders and the last thing he needed was for his margrave to shove more weight onto his back. If they were in Garreg Mach, never, he'd keep as much as he could from Dimitri. He'd take his feelings and bottle them up, decant over a bottle of vodka or in the arms of someone willing.

But they're not in Garreg Mach, are they? Their titles don't mean anything here, and Sylvain just resolved to call Dimitri Dimitri and not Your Highness (unless he has to tease Dimitri and the title was necessary for that, in which case all bets are off) because drawing attention to the fact he is a prince somewhere would be more trouble than it's worth. And Dimitri's his friend and how much of that prince-Faerghus-duty thing applies here?

He doesn't know. And Dimitri wants to know what he's feeling. Just more feelings to add to the pile, to sort through later, by which he means never.]

Yeah. Sure.

[No, that sounds too much like he's taking Dimitri and disregarding him-]

Once I've got an answer for you and not just whatever it is I've got. I don't even know what I've got. I don't even know if I should have anything. Sometimes I feel like I should be more upset than I am, and other times?

[He's spiraling, going in circles. Dimitri tightens up; Sylvain loosens, stretching his legs, hands against the step, feeling the rock beneath them.]

Quick change of subject. What do you make of this place?