It does not take much to capture Byleth's attention when it comes to story, and especially when it helps him understand the person behind it all the better. His expression remains at default- his neutral look, albeit just on the happier side of that. Which is to say, he is enjoying himself greatly.
He looks up, when Emet asks him, and for a moment he is caught staring. What a smile it is. It sends a shiver through him, a glimpse at that genuine happiness at least for a moment, for a man so dour. His eyes flutter as he extracts himself, and he places his hand to his chin to think.
"I quite enjoyed it. The tragedy of losing appreciation for what you have, the tangible, in lieu of the ideal. Intangible, yet to exist, yet to be realized, and in the end, never to become. The sets were like nothing I've ever seen. Though most of your world is nothing I've ever seen before, so I suppose that's moot. But still- it was incredible." He hums. "I know how these kinds of stories are, but I admit I was still rooting for him to abandon his pride and take his would-be lover into his arms. You know... ride off into the sunset. But I suppose that would have been less effective storytelling." There's the look on his face that says 'but still', because he really is a romantic.
"I suppose I will just have to take you into my arms and ride off into the sunset instead." He says this as a whisper, mindful of the still applauding crowd. Even then, he leans in, pushing his mask up just enough to allow him to steal a kiss, hidden by the long sleeve of his robes.
"Thank you for this. It was incredible."
By the Goddess he is going to make this man scream tonight.
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Despite his quip, his eyes rarely leave the stage, and even his fidgeting quiets after some time. The story is a classic tragedy. He's read them, and been read them by his father before. They follow a formula, and he is pleased to see that some literary devices do seem to be universally appreciated. The morals are quite clear and perhaps a bit on the nose, but the cliché is cliché for a reason- it works. The story is still good, and it leaves Byleth with a sense of fulfillment when the curtain falls.
He looks up, when Emet asks him, and for a moment he is caught staring. What a smile it is. It sends a shiver through him, a glimpse at that genuine happiness at least for a moment, for a man so dour. His eyes flutter as he extracts himself, and he places his hand to his chin to think.
"I quite enjoyed it. The tragedy of losing appreciation for what you have, the tangible, in lieu of the ideal. Intangible, yet to exist, yet to be realized, and in the end, never to become. The sets were like nothing I've ever seen. Though most of your world is nothing I've ever seen before, so I suppose that's moot. But still- it was incredible." He hums. "I know how these kinds of stories are, but I admit I was still rooting for him to abandon his pride and take his would-be lover into his arms. You know... ride off into the sunset. But I suppose that would have been less effective storytelling." There's the look on his face that says 'but still', because he really is a romantic.
"I suppose I will just have to take you into my arms and ride off into the sunset instead." He says this as a whisper, mindful of the still applauding crowd. Even then, he leans in, pushing his mask up just enough to allow him to steal a kiss, hidden by the long sleeve of his robes.
"Thank you for this. It was incredible."
By the Goddess he is going to make this man scream tonight.