Dragged across the finish line

Every moment that passed was more painstaking than the one that came before it. There was no telling anything, not how Ghoul was looking at him, not if there was anyone else watching them nearby, nothing but pitch black fucking darkness. He hesitated, sniffing the air as a slight breeze whisked past the two men, trying to gauge anything he could about Ghoul's demeanor. His tone said something specific... was he uncomfortable? He didn't remember Ghoul being the awkward sort, but a lot had changed since he'd really last spent time with him.

"No," Veigar started, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty. If he wanted to get better, truly better, he'd have to confide in someone. Medusa had caught on quickly enough and still she had praised him for how well he'd done in the raid... despite everything.  But he wanted to be praised not in spite of what he lacked, but for his true skill and prowess in battle. And hiding in the shadows simply wasn't going to help him do that. He grit his teeth, clearly struggling with his decision to out himself to Ghoul.

"I can't see. Anything," he clarified, lifting his head and turning it in the direction of the other man's voice. He didn't even know what his own eyes looked like now, but he could guess they looked hazy and unfocused, based on how Medusa had scoped out his disability. "You're the only one I've told, besides Medusa. I still want to fight. I don't want to be seen for what I'm lacking, but rather my strengths." Being so open and vulnerable made his stomach turn uncomfortably, like sharp daggers twisting in his core. He braced himself for whatever Ghoul might say in return, but fearing his reaction.