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Have you ever looked at someone in the light that they were made in, and realized they were made in all of heaven's glory and the genuine goodness of mankind?
It's not intentional, because these things never are, but there's a warm breath of July in the air and there's a burst of laughter that's as bright as all the stars pressed into one pocket. It pulls you in, these kinds of things, they pull you in and wrap you up ad encase your bones in it so it's ingrained into your core that-- that this is it. This is the moment where you soul finds another it was made for.
Or maybe, it's a moment when your soul aches to redeem itself.
All there is, that you know, for sure, is that there is a light and you have a kindred-ness to it, and you wish it. You wish it in a thousand ways, wish for joy and anger and sadness and you feel a thousand lifetimes in that one moment. You feel your own life pass in the spin of a second and you fade into the next, and the next, and the next--... until it fades and Cardin feels that right now. He feels that fade blossom into a clutching ache within his chest because it was in the moment meant for these kinds of things.
Jaune's standing, with a hand pressed to his stomach and his lips are spread wide with the loudest burst of joy from any human he's heard, and his eyes have crinkles at the side and the sun catches his hair and it's like he's set into an aura of gold. He's seen hints and remnants of Jaune's aura over time, something he later understood, and he knows this isn't it-- it's something else, the way he seems to glow in a way he's never seen before.
It makes his chest hurt, makes him feel like he'll float out of himself if his hands weren't clenched tight enough that his knuckles grew white. Cardin doesn't know these feelings, has never felt them, and it's not as if he's felt much empathy to pay attention to explanations of feelings from others (though, it should be emphasized that not all feel the same things in the same way, so to speak). It's like rocks collect in the pit of his stomach and he feels like he's been set aflame from the core of his spirit. It burns and he's going to be swallowed up and he's angry-- so angry because he doesn't fucking know.
Not knowing isn't something Cardin likes.
Before the sun that's collected in his chest bursts and let's its liquid gold spill into his veins, there's a jerk of his head and a growl of something course under his breath, hands raking over his scalp because he needs to leave.
He can't-- He can't look at Jaune like that, feel those things, there's been so much between them to grow and change with the seasons as a new home is crafted in their lives. Cardin's done his best to keep it so, because for all his snide comments and crude nature, he knows he owes that courtesy. He owes Jaune, because who was Jaune to save him when his own partner abandoned him? It's an ache Cardin doesn't talk about, it's an ache he doesn't feel he has a right to.
It haunts him, and it probably will continue to do so, but Jaune's shown that he doesn't think himself above Cardin.
Cardin's stated thinking now, immersed in an unorderly-ordered fashion of thought. It's almost as if there was a set beat, a rhythm to how things have set into motion-- tripping turned into good-natured nudges, there's a humored laugh from the JNPR leader when there's taunts exchanged, and there's a sense of belonging that Jaune's developed. A sense of pride in who he is, in who he stands for, and he throws the taunts right back and it's so... so much more invigorating than anything Cardin's ever felt. That beat and rhythm changing in the core of Cardin, though, it's growing and it's booming and it's like thunder and cymbals colliding into a beat you'd run to.
He feels like he's running, or at least his heart does, because that thought of Jaune laughing and that he wants that laughter, that he wants those smiles-- he wants, wants so horrible to let those smiles shine as much as possible, to let his back become a wall great enough to stand against a world that threatens them. Cardin doesn't get why though-- it's what he feels, but god, there's no reasoning for this transition. Friends was fine, it's nice, it's pleasant. To be able to say they're friends is something he should consider an honor. Why would you indulge yourself with more than you deserve?
That seed of a sunbeam planted into his heart that he's trained to stone wears away in a slowly, agonizing manner. It's something he can ignore for the most part, until he cracks a joke and makes Jaune sputter and cough while swallowing his soda and erupt in that same unashamed laughter. The stone's wearing away, tendrils of gold slipping from the seed and making it crack when Jaune smiles at him or when they're sitting in silence on the roof. The first time, Cardin could specifically recall Jaune's nervousness-- he'd just apologized, the best way he could, poorly scrawled on unevenly folded paper. He was nervous, shifting constantly and tapping against the ground, keeping his gaze to the horizon opposite of Cardin. Of course he'd have liked to let that change, or encourage it, but it seemed as it was something that needed to come on it's own. It's not like he could force Jaune to step across a welcome mat.
Here they are now, going on about the classes, and the last time Jaune had pitifully been caught sleeping (which resulted in a lot of defensive and tiny pouts from Jaune, and muffled snorting from Cardin). It settled down into the noises of night, which were peaceful and plenty, enough to make that low burn in his chest flicker when more of those golden roots caused the stone to fall away, his heart growing as if it ached to exposed and open.
It ached for Jaune, he realized-- he'd realized this a long time ago (well, not too long ago, but it felt long ago). He wouldn't say so, though, wouldn't ever even properly recognize it. Cardin had realized it in a passive manner, but he actively avoided it-- because who was he to want more? He had no place to do so, he ought to be grateful with just this, so he was. He was happy with that soft burn that was consuming him, slow and easy like a sunrise over mountains with a thicket of fog below. It's enough, he's decided.
It's enough.
It's enough for now.