[He sighs quietly. Nero is right in that it's not a real problem, but not for the reasons he likely possesses for deeming it as such. Regardless of whether or not Vergil's best guess at what is going on inside Nero's head is really what's going on for him right now, the problem is something Nero has conjured up for himself and does not truly lie between father and son right now.]
[Although there's a slight furrow in his brow, Vergil does not look at Nero with a critical eye right now.]
Nero, stop. Just listen to me. And before you respond, just take a moment with my words first. A real moment. Not in one ear and out the other.
[One of his hands moves down to Nero's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.]
When I was a boy, all I ever wanted was to please my parents. Nothing made me happier when Mother told me I did something well, or Father said he was proud of me. But nothing made me feel angrier or more frustrated and disappointed in myself than when I felt I fell short of their expectations. Mother barely had to say or do anything for me to know I disappointed her, and I would be in an inconsolable fit of tears. All it took was a few words from Father and I would be stuck replaying them over and over in my head for days afterward. It did not matter to me if it was a mistake that could not have been prevented, or if my own expectations were simply unreasonable, or how foolish I felt for my outbursts later. My reaction was the same each time.
But what I did not understand then is that regardless of whether either of them were ever truly disappointed or I had simply imagined it, they did not think of my mistakes afterward. My mistakes never really mattered, and were never such devastating blows as I thought they were in how they thought of me or what they felt towards me.
[Much as the problem Nero's conjured for himself exists only in his head, so, too, did those problems only exist in Vergil's head. It's a habit Vergil knows he still carries, still becomes lost in once the tide of emotion arises even when a rational part of himself knows better. After all, the memories of his parents still remains colored by those old concerns and hurts even as much as he can recognize now how wrong he was. It's just simply not something that disappears overnight as much as Vergil wishes it could or would be.]
So, whatever outcome you have convinced yourself hangs in the balance, I am telling you that it does not. Whatever opinion you think I might have of you right now, I promise you I do not hold it. [He gives Nero's shoulder another squeeze.] You have nothing to prove to me, Nero. You could have landed absolutely no blows today, and I would not think of you any differently than I did before we sparred.
You are my son. And I will always be proud of you. What you do or do not do will never change that.
no subject
[Although there's a slight furrow in his brow, Vergil does not look at Nero with a critical eye right now.]
Nero, stop. Just listen to me. And before you respond, just take a moment with my words first. A real moment. Not in one ear and out the other.
[One of his hands moves down to Nero's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.]
When I was a boy, all I ever wanted was to please my parents. Nothing made me happier when Mother told me I did something well, or Father said he was proud of me. But nothing made me feel angrier or more frustrated and disappointed in myself than when I felt I fell short of their expectations. Mother barely had to say or do anything for me to know I disappointed her, and I would be in an inconsolable fit of tears. All it took was a few words from Father and I would be stuck replaying them over and over in my head for days afterward. It did not matter to me if it was a mistake that could not have been prevented, or if my own expectations were simply unreasonable, or how foolish I felt for my outbursts later. My reaction was the same each time.
But what I did not understand then is that regardless of whether either of them were ever truly disappointed or I had simply imagined it, they did not think of my mistakes afterward. My mistakes never really mattered, and were never such devastating blows as I thought they were in how they thought of me or what they felt towards me.
[Much as the problem Nero's conjured for himself exists only in his head, so, too, did those problems only exist in Vergil's head. It's a habit Vergil knows he still carries, still becomes lost in once the tide of emotion arises even when a rational part of himself knows better. After all, the memories of his parents still remains colored by those old concerns and hurts even as much as he can recognize now how wrong he was. It's just simply not something that disappears overnight as much as Vergil wishes it could or would be.]
So, whatever outcome you have convinced yourself hangs in the balance, I am telling you that it does not. Whatever opinion you think I might have of you right now, I promise you I do not hold it. [He gives Nero's shoulder another squeeze.] You have nothing to prove to me, Nero. You could have landed absolutely no blows today, and I would not think of you any differently than I did before we sparred.
You are my son. And I will always be proud of you. What you do or do not do will never change that.