Byleth feels some small measure of victory at getting Emet to speak of his own past. He seems like the uptight sort. Somewhat reminded of Seteth in many ways. As he begins to tell his story, Byleth tucks his knees up and leans his head on them to listen.

His preference in food is silently noted as well.

If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine a tiny Emet-Selch running around in a robe that fits him like a potato-sack. Though he has a hard time imagining his face any differently, so it's more like just a very short version of him with an adult head. Creepy, but eh. It doesn't take away from the meaning he gleans from the tale.

It's not hard to gather the warmth and love there, the way he words things. Grudging affection, but no less powerful. He is somewhat envious of the idea of having friends since childhood like that. He was lucky enough to have his father though, and their lifestyle did not lend well to making friends. The mercenary company members treated him much as family anyways.

"They sound wonderful." He says finally, clearly basking in the sentiment there like a little sponge. "You must love them dearly. How fortunate not to just have one but two people like that." He means what he says too.

"How did you go about showing your affection? That is something I have always struggled with."