( Noctis pulls him up with little effort. That's the soldier in him, Jonas thinks, though the prince seems more present now, even if both are hidden behind the friend he missed the last few days. Jonas crouches there to survey their position on the ship, taking a knee against the next bluster of wind. )
Oh, yeah, I've been up here a couple of times so far. It's way easier when you pull me, though; I look like I'm trying to ride a bike mid-air when it's just me. ( Self-deprecating humour is used to reduce tension in their stilted conversation, and Noctis helps further by offering the food again.
He can't tell him he isn't hungry, but... )
I, uh, ( he begins, joining Noctis where the wing meets the fuselage. He deposits himself there, arm against arm, peering down at the container of food with a sheepish smile. ) I can't actually use them? I've tried before, but I... I could never figure it out.
It's okay, though, really. I'll eat after you and, like... shake it into my mouth or something.
... shake it into your mouth, [ he repeats with some level of disbelief, meeting Jonas's eyes before looking pointedly down at the tray of food that has those wrapped chopsticks affixed to its lid. ]
No way. Me showing you how to use them will be less annoying than watching you do that. [ Those palms remain pressed to the ship's hull as he leans back, unable to muster any protest to the arm against his when it's an obvious need for both of them in this chill. But– ]
Anyway I already ate. All that's yours, so you don't have to rush with it like you did with the cigarette if you're not ready.
Don't give it all away just yet; I bet you'll be hungry after the three hours it takes me to learn how to hold them. ( My doubt in myself is strong, it's stronger than my will to eat.
Wouldn't that be a bit embarrassing? He has very little pride left, but scissoring chopsticks together and dropping rice everywhere sounds wasteful. If Noctis wants to teach him, though...
Well, he's in a repentant mood. He's ready to do just about anything his friend tells him to. )
I didn't rush, by the way. I, like... burnt my finger.
( Removing the chopsticks from the lid, Jonas gestures upward at the stars with them. )
Look, a distraction— ( Feigns tipping the container of rice against his mouth and shaking, lid still on. )
[ Blue eyes soften as he watches his friend, the exaggerated gesture causing the corners of his mouth to turn upward into a small, reluctant smile. It's hard not to be charmed by him.
He's sweet, self-deprecating in a goofy way that makes Noctis want to laugh, and that in itself is a striking rarity. Lately it's only been even more so. ]
Nice try. Is that why I came here? To look at the stars so you have privacy to eat?
[ He does look up, however, that smile fading as he stares upward at a blanket of stars he doesn't recognize. Eos could be any one of them, he's sure of that, a distant brilliant light reaching back out for him. ]
... it feels like we've been here a lot longer than we have. You get that too?
( Noctis' dissolving smile is observed with a lowering of the container. Even after it's gone, replaced by a contemplative look, eyes linger.
With a concept of time as strange as his, Jonas wonders if he should disagree with the statement. He thinks he can split the difference, however, by offering something more than a yes or no: )
I know what you mean.
( It's hard to know what else to say, so he lapses into a short silence. Their initial conversation feels done and dusted, and another, more serious one begins. Though he knows he never will be, he tries to get ready. )
It's only been a couple of months, right? You must be missing home—your friends.
[ Jonas is quiet for a few moments, just enough for Noctis to self-reflect, and that carefully worded answer has him turning his head. Of course, he wants to agree, but first– ]
Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say to you. [ Already he's struggling to articulate his thoughts, and putting his foot in his mouth when he knows pieces of Jonas's story is insensitive. A hand drags through his hair as he suddenly sits up, choosing to instead hunch forward over bent knees. ]
I guess what I mean is it feels like we've known each other for a long time.
So yeah, sure. I want to go home. I need to go home. But I fell into a rhythm too fast here.
It wasn't, seriously, ( Jonas explains, nudging his elbow in against Noctis' side. ) It's weird, it's crazy... I really don't mind, I just didn't want to lie to you.
( He wants to lean forward with Noctis. Put an arm around his shoulders. Comfort him. It helps not to look inward. To take care of someone instead of facing the stars and trying not to feel an overwhelming sense of confusion.
Anchored to this moment, he only really feels grateful. )
Do you mean you got used to things too quickly, or... Do things feel, like, routine now?
[ Jonas dismisses his words and he wonders if it's selfish to feel relieved that they hadn't been taken too seriously. Or... maybe it's more that everything right now has him feeling a sense of guilt, even a friend accepting an apology. ]
The first one. Parts of it, anyway.
Back home, things are more complicated than I told you they were. And besides that... even though I have my friends, they're feeling the weight of it all too. They look at me and they see someone they care about, but it's not like we can pretend they don't see something else too. They see their prince, and they see the duties they have to fulfill.
[ Fingers curl against his arm, ignoring the goosebumps on exposed skin from the increasingly cool air as he tries to force himself through thoughts he's been trying to arrange in order for days. ]
You... and Cain too, you don't see that. You just see me. And it's not like I want to get used to that. But maybe I was, a little. So the other day when I thought something was changing with us already, and maybe I was the odd man out, I just... tensed up.
It's stupid. I get that. I shouldn't even be thinking about any of this at all.
( Bearing a weight alone, not wanting to burden anyone with it... That's so typically Noctis, one of many things he's learned about him in the two months they've known each other; he should've expected this to happen. If he had, though, would he have spoken to him any differently?
Maybe he would've asked him how he was feeling, or if he'd like to hang out with them more often. If he'd like to stay in the same tent, like on the night they hugged. )
Noctis... Hey, c'mere...
( Noctis helped him through his panic by casting an arm around him. Jonas repays him by doing the same, not unperceptive enough to miss how he holds himself against the cold. In a deep lean forward, he joins his friend in that hunched position, knees coming up to better huddle in with him. )
It's not stupid. It's not stupid, and you didn't do anything wrong. We had a misunderstanding, and—Look, we're talking about it now, right?
( His grip on Noctis' far shoulder tightens, a squeeze to emphasize a point. )
It's okay to tense up. To want to be, like... wanted. To be protective of that feeling—especially if it's kind of new to you.
[ "Tensed up" feels like a woefully inadequate way to describe his reaction to learning that his new friends were intimately involved. Or to learn that Jonas had advocated for him to Cain, leading to such a slew of conflicting emotion that it had taken this many days to untangle. Now that he has, while purposefully leaving many threads untraced, he still attempts to downplay it. "Tensed up" is how he feels instead when that arm encircles his shoulders, taking a second or two to ease back into a gesture that's still so unfamiliar but now a little less so than it used to be. It's warm, and safe. It's comfort.
He feels tired. He feels like he wants to cry. And he feels so fucking weak, childish, and guilty for all of it. ]
My friends want me around, [ he manages suddenly through a tight throat, as if the idea of leaving them undefended is too abhorrent to set aside right now. ]
It's just different. [ Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto would never choose to leave his side, he knows that. But at the same time, they'd never really had the opportunity to consider that. Jonas has, and Cain has. Now here they are, and he's being embraced just for explaining his side in an argument that never should've happened. Did he earn this? ]
I don't know where they are right now. Just that I should be there with them, fighting with them. And instead I'm just thinking about myself, again.
Hey, ( he whispers, ducking his head to get closer to him. There's cigarette smoke on his breath when he speaks. ) It's okay. I know it doesn't feel like it, but...
( Something solidifies in him, then. As he trails off, he realizes that Noctis offered to bring him back to Eos with him, and he hasn't made the same promise back. Yes, maybe Noctis mistakenly thought they were from the same land, that Jonas was one of his people, but do the semantics really matter?
Shaking his head, his fingers squeeze again, kneading into his friend's upper arm. )
You'll get back there. I'll help in any way that I can, I promise. I'm coming too, remember? ( The joke sounds choked up, emotion quickly swallowed so that he can provide advice he wishes someone told him years ago: ) Until then, you have to think about yourself. That's how you take care of yourself: make sure you're good, and when you see them again, they'll know you totally thrived—wherever the fuck you were. That you're strong and brave, and you did that.
I... I would want to know that. That you actually lived—relied on people—instead of stretching yourself too thin.
[ Jonas's voice falters and it's like a fist to his chest, leaving his throat tight and his breath uneven. His head turns, feeling deeply avoidant and vulnerable but his need to see his face outweighs that. He's glad he does, too, able to see the emotion in warm hazel eyes as his friend says one of the kindest things he's sure he's ever heard. Something as foreign as the rest of his experiences here, always told to push forward and be strong and hold his head high but never to reflect and look out for himself. That's what his attendants are for. And without them here... maybe Jonas is right. ]
Yeah. [ His voice sounds rough and affected when he ekes the word out, turning away in another increasingly futile bid to regain his composure. ]
Relying on you feels like all I've done... maybe you don't see it, but I do. So... thanks. I owe you a lot already.
More, maybe, if I say I don't wanna' let you get stuck anywhere else. If that means making sure you have a place in Eos, then that was never a joke to me. It's my job to protect my people, and... I already see you like that. [ A full body shiver racks him after the difficult words, tense and braced for more. Things he knows he needs to say, but first he wants to return even an ounce of that affection. Underpracticed and awkward, one hand balls into a fist that he softly knocks against Jonas's knee, resting there still curled tight a moment later. ]
But if I was gonna' show you Lucis, I'd wanna' show it to you the way it should be. Which means I have work to do first.
( His head shakes again, harder this time. A firm denial that Noctis owes him anything, and he's sure that's communicated even if he can't verbalize it. There's no repayment necessary when the feeling is mutual; he feels protective and protected, and he can remember the last time he knew that kind of comfort.
His mother would like Noctis. Cain. His team. His boys. He wishes they could've met her, especially now that they're the closest friends he's ever had.
Crying was inevitable, but the bump of Noctis' fist is the catalyst. Tears are hot in the corners of his eyes, and a hand sneaks up to his face to hurriedly wipe at them. ) Jesus. Yeah, you're my people, too. I'm... I've... I've been lonely for a long time, and I just...
( A shrug is all he can muster, refusing to release the cold body pressing to his. Maybe they should get blankets. Hot drinks.
Maybe they should share his coat. Say less. Touch more. )
How could you think you're selfish? God, I don't... I don't get it. You're...
[ It seems insane now that he thought their argument could've had a lasting impact. But at the same time, now as they share more of themselves and grow closer, the fear can only amplify. Because it's something that would be more damaging to lose, and that's a continuing inevitability in his life.
No. I can change it. I have to.
Jonas's tears only catalyze his resolve, hearing all the usual doubts that plague his thoughts but when they're mobilized against his friend, his strength to fight back against them grows exponentially. That fist gently unfurls after an unsure hesitation, fingers firm in their warm press against his knee. More secure. More open. ]
Hey... come on, [ is all he can offer at first, soft but intent on steering Jonas away from that loaded question he doesn't want to answer. The confession of recent life events fades away as he allows himself to lose courage, far more invested in this display of emotion history tells him to correct but time with Jonas tells him to encourage. ]
You're not lonely now, right? If you wanted to stay like this for a while... I would. At least until that feeling goes away.
Right. Yeah. ( A helpless little nod at Noctis' offer to stay, wanting that more than anything.
The only thing that'd make this better is having Cain's hand on his other knee, maybe offering a wisecrack at how sensitive they are while showing the tenderness in his eyes that he thinks he hides well. He needs another cigarette. )
Ugh, ( Jonas vocalizes after taking a moment to get ahold of himself. It's such a pathetic sound that it makes him chuckle immediately after. ) We're... We're supposed to be looking at the stars and stuff, and I'm crying again like an idiot. I swear, I don't plan to do this ever.
Are you cold?
( It's a question he thought to ask earlier but was distracted from it, and having felt Noctis shiver beneath his arm, he realizes he's been a poor host. )
I'd like to stay out here longer. Maybe... Maybe you could tell me about your perfect Lucis. Like, how it really looks. ( Wetly, earnestly sniffs back his emotionalism, sliding his hand to the middle of Noctis' back. ) Do you—You can have my coat. Or, like, I could go get you a blanket or something?
[ He's ready with a dismissive joke but it gets stuck in his throat, a burning need for sincerity gripping at him so tightly he feels it's mania. No... not gripping at him, but rather he's gripping at it. This mood will fade and he'll slip back behind his mask while Jonas reverts to his own coping mechanisms, and the cold night air will turn back to desert heat and this moment will be lost. He's fixated on how short his time is, and it causes his stomach to flip when Jonas prompts him with more ideas. ]
Ah... yeah, I am. [ His free hand even rubs at a reddening nose, sniffing once in retaliation against the chill. ]
But it's okay. That, and everything else. You're not an idiot, seriously.
And I don't want you to go anywhere, even if that's to get me a heater or a blanket or whatever. I can handle it. [ That hand slides down his back and he looks away suddenly, back out at an expanse of moonlight-tipped dunes stretching out in a rolling sea. ]
I can tell you about it. To be honest, it's part of what I wanted to talk to you about. But saying all of that is still new for me, so I don't know how good I'll be at it.
( Eyes tired, heart not, he nods again. It's more resolute this time, though it's silent, and he wants Noctis to hear confirmation that he'll stay rooted to this spot. )
Okay... I won't.
( It doesn't stop him from sharing his own warmth, however. Removing his arm only briefly, he works himself out of the heavy coat, leaving him in a hoodie. With a flap and a drag up over their knees, it is used as the blanket he failed to retrieve for Noctis before his arrival. The interior is almost hot with his accumulated body heat, and though his back's getting cold, it should be a happy medium for them both.
Noctis is still looking away when Jonas seeks eye contact. In finding none, he gazes at a straight nose and the curve of soft lips. Pale in the moonlight, almost light grey where the rest of him is silver. )
Whatever comes out, I'm listening, Noct.
now it's my turn to get this all over with at once, TL;DR
[ He exhales softly when Jonas confirms he won't leave his side, relief removing some tension from constantly squared shoulders. It returns redoubled, however, not just when his friend drapes that warm coat over their bodies but when he first removes his arm. The separation is mitigated with a soft squeeze of his own now hidden hand, wanting to again glance back when he feels that gaze on him but a more conscious decision has him refusing. ]
... my perfect Lucis is one where it's free and at peace. I wanna' say I've seen that, but we've been at war since before I was born. Part of what made our lives go on like we weren't was what my dad did. The shield around Insomnia, the one I told you about. It was his magic that kept that in place... and eventually, it was gonna' be mine.
Until– until this treaty Niflheim offered us... [ His hand abandons Jonas's knee, suddenly, as a powerful swell of anger passes like a ghost over clenched features, fingers drawn back into a tight fist he doesn't want to allow to harm him. ]
I'd go marry Luna, a friend I knew from back when I was a kid. Her country was already occupied by Niflheim, so it'd make things official. And my old man... He'd meet with their emperor after I left the city, iron out all the terms. Like they needed to come to Insomnia to do that. Even just saying it out loud, it sounds insane. How didn't I see– fuck, who would be dumb enough not to know that was a trap? [ There's a sudden huff of a laugh but it sounds tight, chased by a rapid inhale as Noctis turns his head even further away. ]
He knew. My dad knew, and he sent me off so I wouldn't get caught up in it. He let them in... and he got himself killed for it. Got the city taken. Because sending his son off was a better gamble than waiting it out, I guess.
My "perfect Lucis"? My perfect Lucis is one where I drive out every last one of those bastards and fix this. I have to. I can't... I can't be some kid waiting for someone to protect me, Jonas. I n-need to make it what it deserves to be.
( The spectrum of Noctis' worries is so great that to name each facet feels impossible. When Jonas tries, he only gets so far: War, high expectations, political strife, parental loss, an arranged marriage, assassination, occupation, and pressure to be more than what he feels he currently is. He knows Noctis isn't alone, that he has his friends—and soon, his wife, the Queen—to support him, but the weight on strong shoulders must be so immense it's no wonder they're locked in rigidity.
Tears prick at Jonas' eyes again, but he doesn't cry; he's not the one who needs to now. Without expectation that Noctis will, however, his hand finds that clenched fist that was once a bracing heat on his knee. He draws it close beneath the coat that protects them from the night air, thumb slipping over knuckles. )
Noctis, look at me. Hey, ( a soft voice coaxes, not wanting to startle Noctis by turning his face himself. This takes time, and he's got all night to wait. That's what his mother would do.
She'd rub his back, starting low and then moving high. Stroke his cheek, his brow. Bundle him up against her, kiss his hair. Let him smell her faint perfume, but because she always smelled like that, not because she applied any that day. Then she'd softly begin to sing. She was peaceful, like Noctis' future Lucis, and that's what he wants to be in this moment. While Noctis becomes coldly furious, divulging his worries and trying to bite back the stress he needs to release, Jonas wants to be his peace.
The hand not holding Noctis' fist telegraphs its intent to move with a shift in posture, coming to rest on a back exposed to the chill. And with a subtle start, he applies bracing pressure, rubbing wherever he thinks is weariest from carrying his burdens. )
Look at me, it'll be okay. No one can do it alone, and you won't. You won't be alone.
[ Air is sucked in past grit teeth before he lets it go with a shaky breath, his immediate instinct counteracting Jonas's request. He feels the hand on his and he wants to twist his own, to interlock fingers with his friend and squeeze tight enough that he can drive out loss with companionship. But he doesn't yet. The fear of a leak in that dam holding back emotion is so great, and the memory of his friends turning away from his tears is too near. This isn't who he needs to be.
But it is who he wants to be. ]
Don't– [ The protest starts harsh, something akin to anger pushing past his panic but the waver in his voice is telling. He's a wire drawn so taut that it needs to snap, and channeling all that feeling into violence has been effective so far. Not now, though, not here with someone showing him such gentle care and affection that's blinding him to anything but the warmth of his hands and the softness of his voice. ]
... he didn't trust me, [ he offers finally, a diversion from something as complex as duty and honor to something as simple as grief. ]
He... if he just told me, did he really think I wouldn't do what I needed to do? That if he let me say goodbye that it would ruin everything? I... I always did what he wanted me to! I did everything everyone wanted! Why couldn't I have that?! [ Hoarse shouts are lost to an impassive, vast expanse, drowning in sand that cushions any echo and guarantees those thoughts will remain in solitude. Just for him... and now for Jonas.
When his head finally does turn it's rage that darkens his expression, but upon meeting hazel eyes the cracks in the facade begin to widen. His own eyes are wet with unshed tears and the overwhelming emotion in them is pure sadness, that of a child without closure. ]
He could've told me what to do; he would've known how to help me. [ His throat's almost too tight for the words to escape as he hangs his head, a small frame seeming even smaller when he shrinks himself. ]
( Nothing could scare him away from this moment, not when it feels so crucial. The protest, the shouting—all of it is received with unmoving support, because it's relatable, and he wants to share in it. Be on the right team instead of forcing those narrow shoulders to curve more until his friend collapses in on himself.
Anger is good. Sadness is good. Releasing it is the first step to being able to accept anything, even if it seems impossible to do so. Feeling anything is better than feeling nothing, and Jonas' hand rises higher up Noctis' spine to begin spreading warmth there, too. )
Yeah, ( he whispers the encouragement as he watches red eyes dampen. The blue of bright irises is only made that much bluer, and the moonlight seems to light them from within, momentarily entrancing him before he feels bold enough to touch Noctis' hair.
Palming the back of his neck, sweeping up his bowed head, Jonas manoeuvres them in small increments. The coat is pulled from one knee to puddle it further over Noctis' chest and arms, feeling responsible for keeping him comfortable up here in the cold desert air. Collecting him against him might prove difficult, but any resistance from Noctis is met with a long pause before he tries again to embrace him fully. )
Yeah, of course you are... Of course you do...
( Why are goodbyes so important? Closure, squaring things away. Getting to say what you need to say. It feels ridiculous when he considers just how long he's been mourning his mother, but more so when he realizes a great part of that is being robbed of his ability to listen to her tell him she forgives him.
Does Noctis feel the same? Will he be restless for the rest of his life, wondering what could've been if only he'd had the opportunity to really speak to his father?
That's too much for anyone to bear. So, Jonas hangs onto him. Wills that acceptance into him by pushing his forehead against Noctis' temple with firmly shut eyes. Hopes eking out even a fraction of that raw, repressed agony will make his friend sleep better tonight. )
[ Jonas is insistent even after his first attempt to push closer to Noctis is met with a grimace, a shake of his head, and a lean away. He feels like an open nerve-ending and any wrong word or wrong touch will burn right into his very core. It's excruciating.
But Jonas is patient even through a murmured series of "no"s, broken by uncertain fidgeting and strained breaths that he fights to keep even. None of that matters when a thoughtful touch drapes warmth over him and a strong arm encircles him, however, forcing him to go still as he bows over his own knees. He drags Jonas's hand closer when he does, settling it in his lap like something warm to protect with a hunched body, a desperate comfort he selfishly wants to take for himself.
Now, in this moment, when those tears finally start to fall and the dam breaks.
No words make it out through soft sobs that rack his body, just the quiet gasps for air between waves of emotion that shudder through him violently. It's been held in so long that it's agonizing to experience, every muscle tight like he might somehow protect himself from being overwhelmed.
It feels like hours but in reality is only minutes that they sit there together, him fighting for breaths as tears wet his arm and drain him of every ounce of that sadness that's willing to come. More than once he experiences a false stop, thinking the well's run dry before another thought of his father, another pang of fear, another haunting regret passes through him and fills him with dread, gut clenching and forcing tears back into a free-flow.
When his head finally lifts, cheeks wet and expression unsure, he feels drained. ]
... sorry. [ At last that single word escapes, his free hand lifting to immediately wipe at his face. ]
( Although he has no expectations for how emotional Noctis will get after the fight drains from him, Jonas is ready when the tears come. Noctis' reservoir empties into the night air, and he can do nothing but hold him tightly through it, refusing to let go in the rising depths of this moment. He finds himself choking back tears of his own, overwhelmed by the trust that's been put in him.
He's always fucked everything up. Right now, though, isn't he helping? In a small way, hasn't he just guided a friend into releasing some foul and stagnating feelings?
Possessed by his mother's warm comfort and gentle support, Jonas strokes Noctis' hair as she once did to his. Blunt fingernails scrape over his scalp and spread to collect sections by the root, squeezing just enough before retracting, making it feel massage-like. And quietly, very softly, he hums. To the tune of his mother's favourite song, remembering it clearer than anything else when the containers of memories of her are so much larger than anything else, he closes his eyes until each new wave of tears dries.
It's not "finally" over, but it does eventually end. When Noctis lifts his head, Jonas does, too, and meets tear-stained—yet still distinctly stunning, and now in an entirely new way—with an assessing gaze. )
No, no, it's okay. ( Voice light as a feather, he refuses the apology. ) It's okay, Noct. I promise.
( Expectations he has for this aftercare, however, are numerous, but the first and most important is ensuring that Noctis is warm. Warmth is safety. This is why he doesn't remove his hands or shift away, content to be close when it's all he's wanted for innumerable years.
Searching Noctis for more signs of distress, as though waiting for another crack and subsequent leak, he looks almost... satisfied by how tired the face peering back at him is. )
[ Later he'll reflect on the moment without shame and divorced from a wealth of negative emotion, and he'll realize that that gentle gathering of his hair is the nicest thing he's ever felt, and that Jonas's soft hums are the most gentle thing he's ever heard. For now, all he can do is mourn their loss when Jonas pulls back and sits up straighter with him, a true weariness in that blue gaze that goes back further than just a few weeks.
Jonas.
Isn't seeing his face, with warm attentive eyes and that hint of an encouraging smile waiting on chilled lips, one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, then?
Sitting here with him he doesn't feel that his emotions are seen as burdensome or, worse, a hindrance. He doesn't feel rushed through his grief, or judged for lashing out. He doesn't feel lectured or ignored. He feels heard, encouraged, and protected. And it isn't just that he never realized how that could really feel with someone, which he didn't. It's that he's never met someone quite like Jonas that could handle it so effortlessly, and that realization startles him. He stares openly at him for a few seconds longer than is easily explainable before finally turning away again, hand still maintaining its tight grip on Jonas's. ]
Yeah, I, uh... [ His voice still sounds shaky and it makes him hesitate, clearing his throat like that might help it regain some strength. ]
Sorry. [ Again. ] I'm fine. It just all came out, I guess. I didn't mean for all that. [ Another apology is loaded in the chamber but this time he catches himself, not wanting to flout that promise he's been given. But what can he say when he isn't allowed that? ]
( In Noctis' stare that lingers on his, there's tension. It's faint, almost ignorable, but compels him to lean forward. To take hands away from a face flushed from the cold and crying. To kiss cheeks chafed raw by knuckles. To kiss pale lips until they're red. To carry him inside where it's safe and warm.
The force of the urge is so great that it feels as though he's already gravitating closer. He's both relieved and anxious when Noctis hides his face again, left instead to helplessly search the profile of a straight nose, long, teary eyelashes, and soft, tousled hair. )
It's—Really, it's okay. ( Truthfully, it's throwing him through a loop that's just now beginning to shake him, lowering his gaze to where their hands remain linked beneath the coat. ) Sometimes it's just... what you need.
( It's selfish to keep his hand there, isn't it? Hoping it won't be detected by Noctis until he's ready to move or leave his spot. It's selfish to extract it, too, though. Noctis needs it as an anchor right now, needs to hold onto it to keep him connected to the moment, and Jonas can't conceive of pulling away when their fingers wind so perfectly together.
A distraction may perfectly balance both: Their hold can remain, but he can also draw attention to reality. Ease them back into it. Put their masks back on to better fool themselves into believing there was no chemistry transferred pupil to pupil like an electrical current. )
Uh, it's... weird, actually.
Not you, my—The fact I'm about to tell you. Ugh, uh, it's—Someone told me it helps, like... regulate things. Like, if you cry, it's actually a chemical thing and it... It's actually a relief. It doesn't get rid of the problem, obviously, but—I mean, it's supposed to help with stress or whatever. That's... That's all.
( It's his turn to look away, eyes shutting until he's sure they're raised to peer at the sky when he opens them again. If his focus remains above his head, the matters of the ground below him won't seem so significant. That's what stargazing is meant to make you feel. )
It's just hard, you know... It's not like you can prepare for any of it. Life, just... in general. All of it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Oh, yeah, I've been up here a couple of times so far. It's way easier when you pull me, though; I look like I'm trying to ride a bike mid-air when it's just me. ( Self-deprecating humour is used to reduce tension in their stilted conversation, and Noctis helps further by offering the food again.
He can't tell him he isn't hungry, but... )
I, uh, ( he begins, joining Noctis where the wing meets the fuselage. He deposits himself there, arm against arm, peering down at the container of food with a sheepish smile. ) I can't actually use them? I've tried before, but I... I could never figure it out.
It's okay, though, really. I'll eat after you and, like... shake it into my mouth or something.
no subject
No way. Me showing you how to use them will be less annoying than watching you do that. [ Those palms remain pressed to the ship's hull as he leans back, unable to muster any protest to the arm against his when it's an obvious need for both of them in this chill. But– ]
Anyway I already ate. All that's yours, so you don't have to rush with it like you did with the cigarette if you're not ready.
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Wouldn't that be a bit embarrassing? He has very little pride left, but scissoring chopsticks together and dropping rice everywhere sounds wasteful. If Noctis wants to teach him, though...
Well, he's in a repentant mood. He's ready to do just about anything his friend tells him to. )
I didn't rush, by the way. I, like... burnt my finger.
( Removing the chopsticks from the lid, Jonas gestures upward at the stars with them. )
Look, a distraction— ( Feigns tipping the container of rice against his mouth and shaking, lid still on. )
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He's sweet, self-deprecating in a goofy way that makes Noctis want to laugh, and that in itself is a striking rarity. Lately it's only been even more so. ]
Nice try. Is that why I came here? To look at the stars so you have privacy to eat?
[ He does look up, however, that smile fading as he stares upward at a blanket of stars he doesn't recognize. Eos could be any one of them, he's sure of that, a distant brilliant light reaching back out for him. ]
... it feels like we've been here a lot longer than we have. You get that too?
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With a concept of time as strange as his, Jonas wonders if he should disagree with the statement. He thinks he can split the difference, however, by offering something more than a yes or no: )
I know what you mean.
( It's hard to know what else to say, so he lapses into a short silence. Their initial conversation feels done and dusted, and another, more serious one begins. Though he knows he never will be, he tries to get ready. )
It's only been a couple of months, right? You must be missing home—your friends.
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Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say to you. [ Already he's struggling to articulate his thoughts, and putting his foot in his mouth when he knows pieces of Jonas's story is insensitive. A hand drags through his hair as he suddenly sits up, choosing to instead hunch forward over bent knees. ]
I guess what I mean is it feels like we've known each other for a long time.
So yeah, sure. I want to go home. I need to go home. But I fell into a rhythm too fast here.
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( He wants to lean forward with Noctis. Put an arm around his shoulders. Comfort him. It helps not to look inward. To take care of someone instead of facing the stars and trying not to feel an overwhelming sense of confusion.
Anchored to this moment, he only really feels grateful. )
Do you mean you got used to things too quickly, or... Do things feel, like, routine now?
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The first one. Parts of it, anyway.
Back home, things are more complicated than I told you they were. And besides that... even though I have my friends, they're feeling the weight of it all too. They look at me and they see someone they care about, but it's not like we can pretend they don't see something else too. They see their prince, and they see the duties they have to fulfill.
[ Fingers curl against his arm, ignoring the goosebumps on exposed skin from the increasingly cool air as he tries to force himself through thoughts he's been trying to arrange in order for days. ]
You... and Cain too, you don't see that. You just see me. And it's not like I want to get used to that. But maybe I was, a little. So the other day when I thought something was changing with us already, and maybe I was the odd man out, I just... tensed up.
It's stupid. I get that. I shouldn't even be thinking about any of this at all.
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Maybe he would've asked him how he was feeling, or if he'd like to hang out with them more often. If he'd like to stay in the same tent, like on the night they hugged. )
Noctis... Hey, c'mere...
( Noctis helped him through his panic by casting an arm around him. Jonas repays him by doing the same, not unperceptive enough to miss how he holds himself against the cold. In a deep lean forward, he joins his friend in that hunched position, knees coming up to better huddle in with him. )
It's not stupid. It's not stupid, and you didn't do anything wrong. We had a misunderstanding, and—Look, we're talking about it now, right?
( His grip on Noctis' far shoulder tightens, a squeeze to emphasize a point. )
It's okay to tense up. To want to be, like... wanted. To be protective of that feeling—especially if it's kind of new to you.
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He feels tired. He feels like he wants to cry. And he feels so fucking weak, childish, and guilty for all of it. ]
My friends want me around, [ he manages suddenly through a tight throat, as if the idea of leaving them undefended is too abhorrent to set aside right now. ]
It's just different. [ Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto would never choose to leave his side, he knows that. But at the same time, they'd never really had the opportunity to consider that. Jonas has, and Cain has. Now here they are, and he's being embraced just for explaining his side in an argument that never should've happened. Did he earn this? ]
I don't know where they are right now. Just that I should be there with them, fighting with them. And instead I'm just thinking about myself, again.
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( Something solidifies in him, then. As he trails off, he realizes that Noctis offered to bring him back to Eos with him, and he hasn't made the same promise back. Yes, maybe Noctis mistakenly thought they were from the same land, that Jonas was one of his people, but do the semantics really matter?
Shaking his head, his fingers squeeze again, kneading into his friend's upper arm. )
You'll get back there. I'll help in any way that I can, I promise. I'm coming too, remember? ( The joke sounds choked up, emotion quickly swallowed so that he can provide advice he wishes someone told him years ago: ) Until then, you have to think about yourself. That's how you take care of yourself: make sure you're good, and when you see them again, they'll know you totally thrived—wherever the fuck you were. That you're strong and brave, and you did that.
I... I would want to know that. That you actually lived—relied on people—instead of stretching yourself too thin.
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Yeah. [ His voice sounds rough and affected when he ekes the word out, turning away in another increasingly futile bid to regain his composure. ]
Relying on you feels like all I've done... maybe you don't see it, but I do. So... thanks. I owe you a lot already.
More, maybe, if I say I don't wanna' let you get stuck anywhere else. If that means making sure you have a place in Eos, then that was never a joke to me. It's my job to protect my people, and... I already see you like that. [ A full body shiver racks him after the difficult words, tense and braced for more. Things he knows he needs to say, but first he wants to return even an ounce of that affection. Underpracticed and awkward, one hand balls into a fist that he softly knocks against Jonas's knee, resting there still curled tight a moment later. ]
But if I was gonna' show you Lucis, I'd wanna' show it to you the way it should be. Which means I have work to do first.
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His mother would like Noctis. Cain. His team. His boys. He wishes they could've met her, especially now that they're the closest friends he's ever had.
Crying was inevitable, but the bump of Noctis' fist is the catalyst. Tears are hot in the corners of his eyes, and a hand sneaks up to his face to hurriedly wipe at them. ) Jesus. Yeah, you're my people, too. I'm... I've... I've been lonely for a long time, and I just...
( A shrug is all he can muster, refusing to release the cold body pressing to his. Maybe they should get blankets. Hot drinks.
Maybe they should share his coat. Say less. Touch more. )
How could you think you're selfish? God, I don't... I don't get it. You're...
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No. I can change it. I have to.
Jonas's tears only catalyze his resolve, hearing all the usual doubts that plague his thoughts but when they're mobilized against his friend, his strength to fight back against them grows exponentially. That fist gently unfurls after an unsure hesitation, fingers firm in their warm press against his knee. More secure. More open. ]
Hey... come on, [ is all he can offer at first, soft but intent on steering Jonas away from that loaded question he doesn't want to answer. The confession of recent life events fades away as he allows himself to lose courage, far more invested in this display of emotion history tells him to correct but time with Jonas tells him to encourage. ]
You're not lonely now, right? If you wanted to stay like this for a while... I would. At least until that feeling goes away.
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The only thing that'd make this better is having Cain's hand on his other knee, maybe offering a wisecrack at how sensitive they are while showing the tenderness in his eyes that he thinks he hides well. He needs another cigarette. )
Ugh, ( Jonas vocalizes after taking a moment to get ahold of himself. It's such a pathetic sound that it makes him chuckle immediately after. ) We're... We're supposed to be looking at the stars and stuff, and I'm crying again like an idiot. I swear, I don't plan to do this ever.
Are you cold?
( It's a question he thought to ask earlier but was distracted from it, and having felt Noctis shiver beneath his arm, he realizes he's been a poor host. )
I'd like to stay out here longer. Maybe... Maybe you could tell me about your perfect Lucis. Like, how it really looks. ( Wetly, earnestly sniffs back his emotionalism, sliding his hand to the middle of Noctis' back. ) Do you—You can have my coat. Or, like, I could go get you a blanket or something?
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Ah... yeah, I am. [ His free hand even rubs at a reddening nose, sniffing once in retaliation against the chill. ]
But it's okay. That, and everything else. You're not an idiot, seriously.
And I don't want you to go anywhere, even if that's to get me a heater or a blanket or whatever. I can handle it. [ That hand slides down his back and he looks away suddenly, back out at an expanse of moonlight-tipped dunes stretching out in a rolling sea. ]
I can tell you about it. To be honest, it's part of what I wanted to talk to you about. But saying all of that is still new for me, so I don't know how good I'll be at it.
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Okay... I won't.
( It doesn't stop him from sharing his own warmth, however. Removing his arm only briefly, he works himself out of the heavy coat, leaving him in a hoodie. With a flap and a drag up over their knees, it is used as the blanket he failed to retrieve for Noctis before his arrival. The interior is almost hot with his accumulated body heat, and though his back's getting cold, it should be a happy medium for them both.
Noctis is still looking away when Jonas seeks eye contact. In finding none, he gazes at a straight nose and the curve of soft lips. Pale in the moonlight, almost light grey where the rest of him is silver. )
Whatever comes out, I'm listening, Noct.
now it's my turn to get this all over with at once, TL;DR
... my perfect Lucis is one where it's free and at peace. I wanna' say I've seen that, but we've been at war since before I was born. Part of what made our lives go on like we weren't was what my dad did. The shield around Insomnia, the one I told you about. It was his magic that kept that in place... and eventually, it was gonna' be mine.
Until– until this treaty Niflheim offered us... [ His hand abandons Jonas's knee, suddenly, as a powerful swell of anger passes like a ghost over clenched features, fingers drawn back into a tight fist he doesn't want to allow to harm him. ]
I'd go marry Luna, a friend I knew from back when I was a kid. Her country was already occupied by Niflheim, so it'd make things official. And my old man... He'd meet with their emperor after I left the city, iron out all the terms. Like they needed to come to Insomnia to do that. Even just saying it out loud, it sounds insane. How didn't I see– fuck, who would be dumb enough not to know that was a trap? [ There's a sudden huff of a laugh but it sounds tight, chased by a rapid inhale as Noctis turns his head even further away. ]
He knew. My dad knew, and he sent me off so I wouldn't get caught up in it. He let them in... and he got himself killed for it. Got the city taken. Because sending his son off was a better gamble than waiting it out, I guess.
My "perfect Lucis"? My perfect Lucis is one where I drive out every last one of those bastards and fix this. I have to. I can't... I can't be some kid waiting for someone to protect me, Jonas. I n-need to make it what it deserves to be.
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAH IT'S BEAUTIFUL
Tears prick at Jonas' eyes again, but he doesn't cry; he's not the one who needs to now. Without expectation that Noctis will, however, his hand finds that clenched fist that was once a bracing heat on his knee. He draws it close beneath the coat that protects them from the night air, thumb slipping over knuckles. )
Noctis, look at me. Hey, ( a soft voice coaxes, not wanting to startle Noctis by turning his face himself. This takes time, and he's got all night to wait. That's what his mother would do.
She'd rub his back, starting low and then moving high. Stroke his cheek, his brow. Bundle him up against her, kiss his hair. Let him smell her faint perfume, but because she always smelled like that, not because she applied any that day. Then she'd softly begin to sing. She was peaceful, like Noctis' future Lucis, and that's what he wants to be in this moment. While Noctis becomes coldly furious, divulging his worries and trying to bite back the stress he needs to release, Jonas wants to be his peace.
The hand not holding Noctis' fist telegraphs its intent to move with a shift in posture, coming to rest on a back exposed to the chill. And with a subtle start, he applies bracing pressure, rubbing wherever he thinks is weariest from carrying his burdens. )
Look at me, it'll be okay. No one can do it alone, and you won't. You won't be alone.
soaks this all in
But it is who he wants to be. ]
Don't– [ The protest starts harsh, something akin to anger pushing past his panic but the waver in his voice is telling. He's a wire drawn so taut that it needs to snap, and channeling all that feeling into violence has been effective so far. Not now, though, not here with someone showing him such gentle care and affection that's blinding him to anything but the warmth of his hands and the softness of his voice. ]
... he didn't trust me, [ he offers finally, a diversion from something as complex as duty and honor to something as simple as grief. ]
He... if he just told me, did he really think I wouldn't do what I needed to do? That if he let me say goodbye that it would ruin everything? I... I always did what he wanted me to! I did everything everyone wanted! Why couldn't I have that?! [ Hoarse shouts are lost to an impassive, vast expanse, drowning in sand that cushions any echo and guarantees those thoughts will remain in solitude. Just for him... and now for Jonas.
When his head finally does turn it's rage that darkens his expression, but upon meeting hazel eyes the cracks in the facade begin to widen. His own eyes are wet with unshed tears and the overwhelming emotion in them is pure sadness, that of a child without closure. ]
He could've told me what to do; he would've known how to help me. [ His throat's almost too tight for the words to escape as he hangs his head, a small frame seeming even smaller when he shrinks himself. ]
I'm so angry and I... I miss him so much.
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Anger is good. Sadness is good. Releasing it is the first step to being able to accept anything, even if it seems impossible to do so. Feeling anything is better than feeling nothing, and Jonas' hand rises higher up Noctis' spine to begin spreading warmth there, too. )
Yeah, ( he whispers the encouragement as he watches red eyes dampen. The blue of bright irises is only made that much bluer, and the moonlight seems to light them from within, momentarily entrancing him before he feels bold enough to touch Noctis' hair.
Palming the back of his neck, sweeping up his bowed head, Jonas manoeuvres them in small increments. The coat is pulled from one knee to puddle it further over Noctis' chest and arms, feeling responsible for keeping him comfortable up here in the cold desert air. Collecting him against him might prove difficult, but any resistance from Noctis is met with a long pause before he tries again to embrace him fully. )
Yeah, of course you are... Of course you do...
( Why are goodbyes so important? Closure, squaring things away. Getting to say what you need to say. It feels ridiculous when he considers just how long he's been mourning his mother, but more so when he realizes a great part of that is being robbed of his ability to listen to her tell him she forgives him.
Does Noctis feel the same? Will he be restless for the rest of his life, wondering what could've been if only he'd had the opportunity to really speak to his father?
That's too much for anyone to bear. So, Jonas hangs onto him. Wills that acceptance into him by pushing his forehead against Noctis' temple with firmly shut eyes. Hopes eking out even a fraction of that raw, repressed agony will make his friend sleep better tonight. )
I've got you, man...
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But Jonas is patient even through a murmured series of "no"s, broken by uncertain fidgeting and strained breaths that he fights to keep even. None of that matters when a thoughtful touch drapes warmth over him and a strong arm encircles him, however, forcing him to go still as he bows over his own knees. He drags Jonas's hand closer when he does, settling it in his lap like something warm to protect with a hunched body, a desperate comfort he selfishly wants to take for himself.
Now, in this moment, when those tears finally start to fall and the dam breaks.
No words make it out through soft sobs that rack his body, just the quiet gasps for air between waves of emotion that shudder through him violently. It's been held in so long that it's agonizing to experience, every muscle tight like he might somehow protect himself from being overwhelmed.
It feels like hours but in reality is only minutes that they sit there together, him fighting for breaths as tears wet his arm and drain him of every ounce of that sadness that's willing to come. More than once he experiences a false stop, thinking the well's run dry before another thought of his father, another pang of fear, another haunting regret passes through him and fills him with dread, gut clenching and forcing tears back into a free-flow.
When his head finally lifts, cheeks wet and expression unsure, he feels drained. ]
... sorry. [ At last that single word escapes, his free hand lifting to immediately wipe at his face. ]
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He's always fucked everything up. Right now, though, isn't he helping? In a small way, hasn't he just guided a friend into releasing some foul and stagnating feelings?
Possessed by his mother's warm comfort and gentle support, Jonas strokes Noctis' hair as she once did to his. Blunt fingernails scrape over his scalp and spread to collect sections by the root, squeezing just enough before retracting, making it feel massage-like. And quietly, very softly, he hums. To the tune of his mother's favourite song, remembering it clearer than anything else when the containers of memories of her are so much larger than anything else, he closes his eyes until each new wave of tears dries.
It's not "finally" over, but it does eventually end. When Noctis lifts his head, Jonas does, too, and meets tear-stained—yet still distinctly stunning, and now in an entirely new way—with an assessing gaze. )
No, no, it's okay. ( Voice light as a feather, he refuses the apology. ) It's okay, Noct. I promise.
( Expectations he has for this aftercare, however, are numerous, but the first and most important is ensuring that Noctis is warm. Warmth is safety. This is why he doesn't remove his hands or shift away, content to be close when it's all he's wanted for innumerable years.
Searching Noctis for more signs of distress, as though waiting for another crack and subsequent leak, he looks almost... satisfied by how tired the face peering back at him is. )
Are you alright?
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Jonas.
Isn't seeing his face, with warm attentive eyes and that hint of an encouraging smile waiting on chilled lips, one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, then?
Sitting here with him he doesn't feel that his emotions are seen as burdensome or, worse, a hindrance. He doesn't feel rushed through his grief, or judged for lashing out. He doesn't feel lectured or ignored. He feels heard, encouraged, and protected. And it isn't just that he never realized how that could really feel with someone, which he didn't. It's that he's never met someone quite like Jonas that could handle it so effortlessly, and that realization startles him. He stares openly at him for a few seconds longer than is easily explainable before finally turning away again, hand still maintaining its tight grip on Jonas's. ]
Yeah, I, uh... [ His voice still sounds shaky and it makes him hesitate, clearing his throat like that might help it regain some strength. ]
Sorry. [ Again. ] I'm fine. It just all came out, I guess. I didn't mean for all that. [ Another apology is loaded in the chamber but this time he catches himself, not wanting to flout that promise he's been given. But what can he say when he isn't allowed that? ]
Thanks. No one before has ever–
Thanks.
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The force of the urge is so great that it feels as though he's already gravitating closer. He's both relieved and anxious when Noctis hides his face again, left instead to helplessly search the profile of a straight nose, long, teary eyelashes, and soft, tousled hair. )
It's—Really, it's okay. ( Truthfully, it's throwing him through a loop that's just now beginning to shake him, lowering his gaze to where their hands remain linked beneath the coat. ) Sometimes it's just... what you need.
( It's selfish to keep his hand there, isn't it? Hoping it won't be detected by Noctis until he's ready to move or leave his spot. It's selfish to extract it, too, though. Noctis needs it as an anchor right now, needs to hold onto it to keep him connected to the moment, and Jonas can't conceive of pulling away when their fingers wind so perfectly together.
A distraction may perfectly balance both: Their hold can remain, but he can also draw attention to reality. Ease them back into it. Put their masks back on to better fool themselves into believing there was no chemistry transferred pupil to pupil like an electrical current. )
Uh, it's... weird, actually.
Not you, my—The fact I'm about to tell you. Ugh, uh, it's—Someone told me it helps, like... regulate things. Like, if you cry, it's actually a chemical thing and it... It's actually a relief. It doesn't get rid of the problem, obviously, but—I mean, it's supposed to help with stress or whatever. That's... That's all.
( It's his turn to look away, eyes shutting until he's sure they're raised to peer at the sky when he opens them again. If his focus remains above his head, the matters of the ground below him won't seem so significant. That's what stargazing is meant to make you feel. )
It's just hard, you know... It's not like you can prepare for any of it. Life, just... in general. All of it.
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