"They were," he says distractedly, as if he's still watching something very, very far away. "Are in one case. As you have said, we never fully appreciate nor understand the shape these people have carved into our lives until we blink - and they are gone."

Emet-Selch does not confirm nor deny the rest, although the answer is plain even to someone who does not know him well. Grudging affection, indeed. A well of deep and abiding love buried beneath a mountain.

It's the question that finally drags Emet-Selch back across the eons. Abrupt enough that his eyes widen as his head whips in Byleth's direction. He manages to look taken aback before his scowl catches up with him - having now returned in full.

"I beg your pardon??" he sputters, sounding mildly scandalized. He lets out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as if Byleth has somehow broken an unspoken code of etiquette. "You do just say whatever it is that pops into your head regardless of how others will react, don't you? I'm hardly the most appropriate person to be asking a question like that."

"Still. It is not a matter I would find myself worrying about. Their are some individuals, like the Emissary, who are open with their affection and choose to convey it with words, compliments, and a gentle hand. Others have their own way. Mayhap it shows in their acts of service, or the time they spend in another's company. Or mayhap they do not show it at all and simply feel it privately. None of these are wrong."