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With eyes turned eastward, Dion watches the darkened haze that drapes the world, a startling reflection of that which envelops his heart. Hours, days, weeks; time passes, but even years hence the results of his patricide and his ensuing loss of control will continue to dog his heels, to haunt his every thought.
The clawing shadows of agony swirl around him, enshrouding him; a burden he refuses to allow a moment's respite. For to refuse it, to ignore it - would be as forgetting what he had done. The blood of his father, his people, his home. Red-drenched gauntlets and the wind beneath Bahamut's wings buffeted by the anguished cries of those he swore to protect. Dion resolved himself to ridding Sanbreque of its poison, and instead took that which made her complete. Shining citadels and grand streets could be rebuilt - but one cannot hope to restore the laughter and strength of a people, the love of a father; on Dion's heart will the guilt ever weigh down.
He refuses to dwell on that which he has lost. No, his mind turns only to what he has taken. A home, a people, an emperor. Grieving stars shine through the haze, pinpricks of light weeping for what has been done. There is nothing he could do, no apology or deed grand enough to encapsulate the void of his sorrow, of his remorse.
Dion is not naive nor self-absorbed enough to think throwing himself unto his lance would absolve him, would pay the impossible due of his transgressions. He darent even hope for the opportunity. The unthinkable deeds have been done, and never once would he think himself worthy of forgiveness. There are none left in the ruins of his home even left to offer it. All that remains is the steadfast hope, the will to bring a better tomorrow, reflected in the haunted eyes of Phoenix and Ifrit. And it will cost his life -he hopes, he prays it does- but still he will take to the skies as Bahamut once more, grief punctuating every beat of his wings, as he bears on his back the hope for a future he does not deserve to see.
Joshua finds him still deep in contemplation in the early hours, before the first rays of dawn could break across the horizon. There is a chill dancing about the air, breath fanning forward in pale wisps as they stand in comfortable silence, content to simply gaze out upon the world gone so utterly, ruinously wrong.
He tries not to dwell on it. Where heartbreak threatens to split him in twain, he remembers there is hope. In those surrounding him, in those that look to Ifrit and those whose hands may shape a brighter future. Maybe, even, some hope for him; just a little.
"Have you slept?" Joshua asks, voice hushed as to not break the facade of peace that permeates the air. Because of course he begins with that; Phoenix is ever the healer, the caregiver, the protector. Concerned only for the well-being of those around him and not a whit for his own ills or pains.
He cares too much for one so young, Dion remembers thinking when they met as children. This small boy, this Dominant of Fire, who kneeled in the dirt and coughed from the dust dispersed. Only stopping long enough to look annoyed about it, before using his abilities as Phoenix to heal the broken wing of a bird.
Who heals the healer? he thinks now. Certainly nobody he would even allow, insisting others be placed before himself. Dion believes, wholeheartedly, that he'd have made a fine Duke, were things - different. A man he would have been proud to stand beside, uniting their lands and ushering in an era of peace.
He'd left whimsical dreams behind long ago, the only thoughts left remaining were ones of how to ensure Sanbreque's victory and the survival of his people. But something about Joshua -his earnestness, his optimism, his very presence- makes Dion want to believe. Makes him think he's worthy of it.
"A scant couple of hours," is all Dion says in reply once he pulls himself from spiraling thoughts, unable to lie to one so gentle. Gazing out over the calm waters surrounding Ifrit's hideaway in staunch refusal to meet eyes too kind to be cast in his direction. To stare too long would prove his undoing, in more ways than he is comfortable putting a name to. Still, Joshua moves in his periphery, until the press of a bony elbow brushes into his forearm. When he glances a look, just as he expected, Dion cannot look away.
He's beautiful, in the calm of morning. No expectations, no fuss or hassle. The wind tussling his mussed hair, pale eyes bright with something warm. He belongs here, Dion thinks somewhat softly to himself. With the gossamer glow of sunrise bathing him in light, throwing his delicate angles into sharp relief. Impossibly long lashes of burnished gold brushing against the tops of his cheeks, mouth curving up into a secret smile that has Dion turning his attention swiftly elsewhere.
It is a struggle, sometimes, to see Joshua. Unlearning habits take time, but Dion works at it even amidst the fire and flame. His entire life Dion has been defined by simple measures; he is a Dominant, he is crown prince, he is dragoon commander. He is Bahamut, and not simply Dion. A symbol of light, a means to protect the empire. Faceless. A beacon. Simple.
Joshua is not simple. And yet he is; he's merely a man, holding fast to his convictions and his heart. A man with a sweet smile and gentle hands, who loves as fierce as any wildfire. A kind man, who paradoxically keeps any and all at arm's length in the hope that weakness and vulnerability are kept carefully hidden beneath those carefree smiles.
It comes full circle as all at once the taste in his mouth is reminiscent of the ash that blanketed Sanbreque. Dion is no longer any of these things, and those childhood fantasies of finding someone who saw through the gilded silver veneer of an imperial Dominant to unfurl the man trapped beneath - perhaps now, at the end of all things, there is the chance to simply be. Be understood, be - Dion.
Simple, he thinks with a bitter quirk of his mouth, just as I wanted.
"It's a lovely morning," Joshua remarks at his side, leaning just so until he can brush his shoulder against Dion's. Expertly wielding word and action to pull Dion from distraction; his frown shifts into something softer, something worthy of a serene early morning at the side of someone precious.
When he turns to respond, it is to the sight of Joshua looking to him and not the view. Something clenches just beneath his ribs, and it is only in the quietude of an unassuming morning that Dion feels the world around him fall away, locking gaze with a still-smiling Phoenix.
Dion was never quite able to see himself in Joshua; too starkly different in method if not desire. But perhaps they're more similar than he first surmised, evidenced in the way the younger man studies him awash in the glow of sunrise, in the understanding clear as glass in those lovely eyes. The pressure that comes part and parcel in being fundamentally nothing more than a tool for your people, be it as weapon or shield. The trauma of a lost home, lost family. The guilt of bearing responsibility for so much loss, so much death and destruction. Dion finds himself reflected in those eyes, that have seen and wrought as much pain as he has. But even still, so too is there love, and acceptance, and maybe even peace.
"Lovely indeed," Dion whispers, eyes still locked on Joshua's and soft words nearly lost to the wind.
There are no further words, but none are quite needed. A grin, beautiful with closed eyes and full of teeth and tender joy, breaks across Joshua's face like the dawn. He laughs, very nearly shyly, and brings a hand to cover his mouth. As though he were embarrassed of his mirth, as though he wished to hide from Dion's searching expression.
It is not a morning for hiding, nor is it one for things left unsaid. Dion doesn't expect to see the next rising of the sun, and shrugs off the idea of his own indulgence. The world and his life have gone to hell, yet the rise of a new day is stunning to behold. Paling very nearly to the pink that dusts Joshua's cheeks, to the way nerves and delight seem to wash from him in near-tangible waves.
He's beautiful enough to break hearts, Dion thinks. In face and in soul both, in equal measure. His heart must feel much as he does right now; warmth from the gentle light of the sun, filtering through clouds to bathe them, for a moment, in something greater.
Dion feels nearly as shocked as Joshua looks when, not a heartbeat later, his gloved hand moves to curve over Joshua's elbow. The thrum of awareness carries between them, and yet again the world has gone quiet. Breath held, a moment in limbo; anticipation gathers heady around them. Dion cannot move further, cannot make his mouth work to tell Joshua above everything else I see you, I hear you. As you see me, as you hear me.
The linger does not last, Dion jolted from his yet once more spiraling thoughts to find Joshua cupping his cheek. Hand bare, his skin softer than silk. Thumb rubbing small circles beneath Dion's eye, lips parted and something familiarly unspoken dancing on the tip of his tongue. He runs warm, Dion realizes. Some quirk of Phoenix's power, perhaps; or maybe there is some merit to the rumors that all those from Rosalith have fire in their blood. Or perhaps, he thinks, when Joshua leans forward to close what distance lingers between them; perhaps it is simply Joshua. Sunlight manifest.
The press of his mouth to Dion's feels startling natural. Much like in all other aspects Joshua is reserved, but not timid, when he kisses. Testing the waters, searching for an answer in Dion's reverent silence. And silent he remains; breath stopped short, a gentle gasp stolen with the rush of his pulse. Loud in his own ears, Dion hesitates for barely half a moment before he allows himself to simply feel.
Eyes slipping shut, Dion moves until he grips tight, certain, to Joshua's slim waist. Pulling him close with desperate, grasping fingertips until they are pressed tight enough they threaten to fold together into one. It's heady, made more intoxicant by the way he can feel more than hear the soft moan from Joshua, heat and desire making Dion's head spin. He breaks the kiss, basking and breathing, before pressing another, and another, to Joshua's pliant and waiting mouth.
He doesn't question, doesn't hesitate. Fate and the future are ever fickle, and whether he deserves even a moment's respite in a question he refuses to entertain at present. Instead Dion savors it, when he grips tight to the hair at Joshua's nape just to hear that sweet sound once more. Perhaps there is nothing that awaits him this day save further agony, perhaps only a quiet death is all he deserves. But for now he has Joshua in his arms, against his mouth. Swallowing down Dion's every small sound, holding tight and refusing to let go. He is no longer shy, no longer gentle; Joshua licks into his mouth and every slick glide of their tongues has Dion falling just that little bit further.
The sun finishes its ascent, blinding even to Dion's closed eyes. The warmth that surrounds him, that resides within him, echoes and builds with every harried pulse of his desperate heart, resonating like the beat of a firebird's wings.