Chapter Text
The distance between the two of you is suffocating.
You're unsure if it's how the both of you are now practically back to being strangers again, barely any time to just sit down and talk like you used to before everything got out of hand, or how much you've changed over the course of.... a year? So much has happened between fleeing from Ul'dah to now. Maybe it's both, maybe it's something out of your control but the back part of your brain (and the majority of you, actually) is screaming how this is your fault - the distance, the failure upon failure you've gone thru since his return, everything and anything that has and had gone wrong since all of it has happened; since you've joined the Scions. And now you can only watch, with Thancreds back turned to you, in the warmth surrounding Mor Dhonas night time (it's not warm but you're not accostumed to anything above the freezing snow of Ishgard anymore) and you can't help but think back about how everything was diffrent. How this could be diffrent. How much you both have changed in the span of too many days passing by for you to really care about. Part of you wants to reach out, just hold him and confirm with what you can feel with your skin that he's there, he really returned back from no where and everywhere and is just there, but the bigger part of you holds back, along with the tears, at the thought that he wouldn't want that. He wouldn't want to be near you, not after everything you've (failed to do) done. Minfilia isn't here anymore, thanks to you, and neither is Moenbryda and the Scions are barely holding on to continue the vague mission of theirs, to help those in need and fight Primals. So you settle looking at him from afar, noticing anything and everything you can, and try to convince yourself that it's enough. This is enough. Let him being alive and well be enough. You don't deserve more than that. Not even if you somehow, miraculously, brought order back to this chaotic world.
But it isn't and that fact alone is killing you and it's so hard to breathe and all you want to do is cry with him holding you and telling you it'll be fine, everything is fine, you're alive, he's alive, and in the morning you'd set out to put an end to whatever it is that's doing this because you're the Warrior of Light and that's what you've always done and will always be doing. You don't even notice the blanket on your shoulders until a sob escapes you.
"Not cold?" His eyes look down at you, past you, into you and you're struck thinking how you didn't notice him infront of you. Too weak from feeling emotions you just shook your head and looked down to the ground, trying to keep it all in. You're bothering him, get out of there now before it's too-
A finger lifts your chin and you're stuck staring at his nose because the thought of looking in his eyes (his ever changing eyes - green, hazel, grey that never seem too look directly at you anymore) is terrifying and leaves you breathless in the worst way imagineable and you're more prepared to face Leviathan without a damned corrupted crystal or ship to hold you above water while taking on Garuda than to look at him directly in the eyes. He's silent and you can feel his eyes burning into you, as if searching for something in the depths of your soul and mind. You're unsure of what, and honestly, are terrified to find out so you opt on being quiet. This is the closest you've been to him, after all that has happened since he's returned and part of you is just depressed at that.
When it's clear that he isn't going to say something and is waiting for a reply other than a head shake, you take a deep breath and try to prepare your answer. "Ishgard is colder," the words feel sour in your mouth, it seems the Nation to the north is the only thing you can really bring yourself to talk about nowadays. He silent, just watching, maybe even waiting, not really moving for a moment before pulling on the blanket lightly, to make sure that it's covering you and isn't going to fall off or slide off your shoulder. You swallow, the tension almost too much to bare, "Nightmares?" by the gods, you sound pathetic. He shrugs, hands leaving you when he decides the blanket is secure enough on you and looks out to the wasteland full of crystals. Your gaze stays on his nose, too afraid that if you moved, he'd notice everything that is plaging you. "Just needed some time to think, is all,"
oh. Oh. "....I'm sorry," It's your fault. Your fault. All of it. Everything is wrong and you're the source of it. Your gaze is on the floor again and you don't see him turning to look at you (almost puzzled). Why do you even exists, if all you can manage to do is put everyone around you in misery and pain and suffering and- "What for?" Everything. For meeting me, for getting possesed, for loosing Minfilla, for getting stuck in the Wilderness while you covered for my run away. For failing you and everyone I know. You couldn't find the strength to say anything for a moment - fear of loosing your emotions weighing heavily on you, and just shrug. Right now was not a moment to cry your heart out to him and just admit to it all, he's suffering just as much as you are and it's so obvious even if he does try to cover it by being angry at things for you. He says your name, like a question, once, twice - and you almost just escape into your haunting mind before he puts his hands on your shoulder and keeps you there. In the present, that you don't want to be in, away from your thoughts, that you didn't want to hear. A sound breaks out of you (you don't know what, it's as if your ears are ignoring it) and you find yourself pressed against his chest, hands barely holding onto his shirt as you try, try, try, to keep put and silent and small as possible, try to stop shaking and the warmness in your eyes to tear out. Now is not the time for emotions, this life isn't the time for any emotions. He doesn't deserves it, your emotions, because he's going thru enough already and to burden him with yours is just unacceptable by the highest decree. "I'm sorry," Your hands dig into him, you don't know if you're even hurting him or not, and you vaguley register his arms and hands winding up around your form and something just breaks, makes you just stop resisting the tears, let go of the ever present pressure in your throat and just cry, manners and etiquette your parents taught you when you were younger be damned. You repeat your words, without really thinking or knowing, to him over and over and over and he just holds you.
Why are you sorry? At this point, you don't know anymore and your brain can't bring up a reason for you to care about so you just hold him, even when all the tears are gone, while your crying. You don't notice how hard you're holding on to him (nor how hard he's holding on to you) as if he'd disappear and get erased off of existance if you let go, not until your body registers the pressure on you again and you find it hard to let go of him. (not only because you don't want to, but because it physically hurts to remove your fingers with how tightly they're wound up into his shirt) Great now you ruined his shirt.
You try (barely) to get your fingers off of him, but he's still holding on to you even when you managed to get them out and feel the ringing sensation pulsing thru them, "I'm sorry," Something rests against the top of your head and you angle your face around his chest so that it doesn't hurt as much and the way his hand is gently rubbing against your shoulder blades is pleasent enough for you to feel safe for a moment and forget that there is a ever present and evolving planet apart of this moment, that there are people who need help from you, from him or a world that needs saving. This is enough. Your eyes close and you feel him press you closer. A childish part of you tells you to try to wrap the blanket around him too (as far as it'll go) and you comply. You don't want to move, just stay like this forever, in his arms, burried in the warmth he's giving out. Let this be enough. It isn't and the realization eats away at your heart.
"I'm sorry..."