Strel's laugh maintained that faustian quality; brittle, un-Strel-like, and angry. Those men before Noss... They had hurt Strel deeper than Noss had realized. Having never loved like he was then, he didn't know the pain of a broken heart, much less one that had been broken over and over again. Hence, he could not fully comprehend Strel's pain. All he knew was that Strel was hurting and he wanted to make it stop. But he just didn't know how... He had told the redhead he was coming back, had told him that he loved him, had told him everything honestly without sugar-coating... What else could he do...? Much like he had the first time he had surprised Strel in such a severe way, Noss went to kneel in front of the bed. Although Strel was sitting cross-legged on the bed, Noss's height at kneeling level allowed him to lean over the edge to watch Strel's face. He had seen Rallado this; seen her try to talk with eyes. But it would be no good if he didn't know how to communicate that way, or if Strel would even deign to look his way. With an embarassed air, he talked to himself in his head, trying to convince his emotions to at the very least try to speak out through his eyes. Because... Noss saw so much when he looked in Strel's eyes, he wondered if he could do it, too.
Strel's words struck home again like desperatly sharp thorns, and Noss couldn't see Strel's eyes; couldn't tell what was going on in the tailor's head. As the redhead stuck his snout up, Noss thought that his next words just had to be the effects of him telling himself to let his emotions go. He couldn't regret it, then, because he was the one who had convinced himself of them in the first place. And the convincing hadn't been hard; the feelings just needed that little push to get out. "I'd miss you," he said, his back slumped in mock-ease as he rested his chin on one hand, the elbow resting at the edge of the bed, his sharp eyes looking at Strel's face. He forced himself to keep the rest of his face stoic out of habit--afraid to show any other mushy emotion--but his eyes, even when sharp...that sharpness of the moment was made to show how serious that statement was. "I've tried to think how my life back home would be, now that I've met you. But it all seems pointless if you're not there." With all his concentration keeping his face as aloof as possible, the mushiness couldn't help but come through the words.
"I promise I'm coming back," he repeated, striving to drive the point home. He knew Strel was still under the influence, but holding it off would only make it worse later. He tried to keep his voice even and steady; tried to make it so Strel would believe. But despite that effort, some softness crept in unawares. "Even if you say you don't want me here... I'll come back." The only reason he could say that was because Strel had yet to truly throw him out or give Noss reason to believe that Strel really didn't want him there. Strel had his biting words... But Noss was conditioned to most of them. Sure, some of them were hurting him now, but he was a warrior; he didn't go down with a few light wounds.
Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.
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