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Under the stars that you've brought back, you're walking next to the man who turned himself into something beyond mind's grasp to save the two worlds and, most remarkably, yourself. Has he done it for you? Would he have done it for someone else in your stead, someone with the same loud titles and similarly epic deeds under their belt? Would his eyes glow up just as warmly at the sight of another Warrior? The sudden thought is infuriating.
To distract, you focus on the here and now. The night hasn't yet worn out its newfound charm, its air sweet, darkness above and around you soothing. Stray, distant sounds of the Crystarium abuzz with life and joy, still celebrating every new nightfall. Your companion's slowly swinging crystalline arm catches your attention. Are you imagining it, or does it really reflect the shimmering sky? Should you say how wonderful he is? By now you've learned that any compliment sent his way will be handwaved, bounced back at you, or turned into the source of self-deprecating jokes. Unfair, Exarch.
You keep struggling against your ill temper. Words betray you and get stuck in your throat. You slow down, he turns toward you with a question on his face. Not another moment of hesitation. You take his hand and slowly bring it up to your lips. This'll do better than words. At least by now you've grown close enough to have these silent conversations. And, with some luck, with the two of you remaining still, with his hand facing the sunless sea, he'd realize at least some of the things that you fail to express otherwise.
From now on, you're planning to spend every moment learning more about him and making him see you, not some idolized hero, but your mortal, flawed, real being. You only dare hoping he likes whatever he discovers under the coat of your public image. But, since both of you have gone through all of this and are still breathing, you might as well celebrate being alive. Together.