[ At the core of him is a starving, lonely child, and those words are like unexpected sustenance that wrenches him agonizingly to the surface. The boy who sat alone before, during, and after class. Who stood before tutors, guards, and a king who found him wanting. Who listened to all those around him forging new bonds with such unfettered joy like there was no possibility that those bonds could hurt them. That boy is enough?

His face drops into his hands as he tries and fails to convince himself that it's wind that agitates his eyes and sparks that burn, tears springing up against palms that dig forward but still fail to hide the alert of active conversation or mute Kaladin's breaths. Noctis's own turn shaky for a moment in spite of how he tries to stifle them, stress welling inside a body that feels too small to cage all of it.

Within seconds he suddenly pitches back, lying flat against rusted metal with legs dangling over air, reddened eyes staring upward at a cloudy sky. ]

Don't say stuff like that to me right now... all it's doing is messing with me.

Do you not get what you're doing? You can't even let me be pissed at you?