[ In contrast, Amos doesn't take his eyes off of Gen. Or maybe it's in similarity, because he's watching Gen the way Gen had watched him repair his arm. Amos doesn't really need to do a whole lot of observing with machines or technology here; people, though? Even if they're people he knows well, even if they're someone he shares an aspect with — it's still good to observe. Especially for someone like him, who's never going to be whole. Never got the chance, his growth stunted before it could even really begin. He gets to see, to feel Gen try, and that's more than enough for him.
Though his eyes do flutter shut for a moment as he feels Gen's anger, wants to take it in for himself. That's the natural response. That's the one he knows best. Of everything that's been cut off from him, rage was never one of them, like it made up for everything else.
And then it dulls, fades, and he opens his eyes to take in the change. Shifts his head to look at the same nothing on the ground that Gen is when he speaks again. Clasps his hands between his knees, one thumb rubbing in agitation over his other hand. ]
Yeah, I did. Won out a couple of times, actually. Managed to kill the boss, managed to build a life for myself before the universe died. I hear what you're saying, I do. It's just...
[ And he can feel that almost possessive concern brushing against his own feelings, where the lines blur between them, and it's. It's so familiar in a way he wouldn't have expected from Gen, in a way that he isn't sure if he's still stuck in the wrong mindset or what, but it doesn't change how soothing it is. To have someone else care about him like that, whether he's five or thirty-five. ]
... It's hollow. You tell me I still feel stuff, and I believe you, because you wouldn't lie about that to me. But there's no real satisfaction in winning. I just... moved on to the next thing. And the next, and the next, and the next, and now I'm here. But if I'd died it wouldn't have really mattered, same as how it didn't when they all did.
[ Because for as much as he may still have emotions, they're buried under layers of nothing. For as much as he cares, as he wants to try, he always needs that little bit of extra help — and isn't it odd that Gen's been someone who's done that for him before, might be doing it again now.
Staring at his hands, Amos finally unclasps them. Tentatively moves one to Gen's knee, broad and callused and a tool of murder, to gently rest it there. And then seeks his eyes again.
Where his voice had been hollow before, there's a rawness that creeps into it now. Quiet, but rough, and maybe a little too sincere. ]
You should come home.
[ To Highstorm. To Zenith. Because Gen looks better than he has in a while. Because Gen probably asked him to come to Springstar for a reason. Because Gen probably has a life here, and that's... not where Amos wants him. That's not where he'll be safe, that's not where they can look after one another, it's not... it's not right.
And maybe it's selfish of him to ask Gen to drop everything he's built for himself to come back to him, but fuck it, he's allowed to be selfish sometimes. Now, after all this, would qualify. ]
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Though his eyes do flutter shut for a moment as he feels Gen's anger, wants to take it in for himself. That's the natural response. That's the one he knows best. Of everything that's been cut off from him, rage was never one of them, like it made up for everything else.
And then it dulls, fades, and he opens his eyes to take in the change. Shifts his head to look at the same nothing on the ground that Gen is when he speaks again. Clasps his hands between his knees, one thumb rubbing in agitation over his other hand. ]
Yeah, I did. Won out a couple of times, actually. Managed to kill the boss, managed to build a life for myself before the universe died. I hear what you're saying, I do. It's just...
[ And he can feel that almost possessive concern brushing against his own feelings, where the lines blur between them, and it's. It's so familiar in a way he wouldn't have expected from Gen, in a way that he isn't sure if he's still stuck in the wrong mindset or what, but it doesn't change how soothing it is. To have someone else care about him like that, whether he's five or thirty-five. ]
... It's hollow. You tell me I still feel stuff, and I believe you, because you wouldn't lie about that to me. But there's no real satisfaction in winning. I just... moved on to the next thing. And the next, and the next, and the next, and now I'm here. But if I'd died it wouldn't have really mattered, same as how it didn't when they all did.
[ Because for as much as he may still have emotions, they're buried under layers of nothing. For as much as he cares, as he wants to try, he always needs that little bit of extra help — and isn't it odd that Gen's been someone who's done that for him before, might be doing it again now.
Staring at his hands, Amos finally unclasps them. Tentatively moves one to Gen's knee, broad and callused and a tool of murder, to gently rest it there. And then seeks his eyes again.
Where his voice had been hollow before, there's a rawness that creeps into it now. Quiet, but rough, and maybe a little too sincere. ]
You should come home.
[ To Highstorm. To Zenith. Because Gen looks better than he has in a while. Because Gen probably asked him to come to Springstar for a reason. Because Gen probably has a life here, and that's... not where Amos wants him. That's not where he'll be safe, that's not where they can look after one another, it's not... it's not right.
And maybe it's selfish of him to ask Gen to drop everything he's built for himself to come back to him, but fuck it, he's allowed to be selfish sometimes. Now, after all this, would qualify. ]