[ 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.
[ He wants to retreat to his familiar den of self-doubt and comfort himself in delusions of pity, the best combatant against his guilt, but that road has been blocked off by Jonas. He's so simply made it impossible for him to feel that's Noctis is an imposition in this moment that all he can do is sit with it, see him and be seen in return, and let the tiredness, sadness, and resignation wash over him while he simply exists and belongs.
And maybe, just maybe sniffs gently with some measure of fondness and amusement when his friend further attempts to comfort him and normalize what they've just experienced together. ]
Yeah? [ Jonas stutters, tripping over his words, and the gentle squeeze he gives to his hand is almost reflexive. ]
... is it supposed to help immediately? Or will I know tomorrow? [ It's a lame joke said with too straight a face to know at first if he's serious, but another harder sniff and another wipe at his face signifies that at last he's returning to his old self. In part, at least, since that sober air has yet to fade. ]
"Life in general"... we don't have any of Cain's whiskey to toast to that. Probably not a good idea for me anyway, after last time.
[ Finally fingers unfurl, and his throat clears upon realizing just how tightly he was holding onto him. Shit. ]
... being here, it's all further away for a while. If we can't do anything about it tonight, I guess we have to just... be here. Maybe take it easy for a night.
( Reassurance in the form of the brief kneading of Noctis' fingers around his doesn't do anything to calm his heart rate. They do, however, have the intended effect of slowing Jonas down. Thoughts may still come too quickly and jumble, giving him pause, but at least he can wield a sentence better. )
Seemed like you had a lot of fun for a sec there. Definitely when you went to take a piss, though... You were pumped about that. ( Enough to relinquish the chips and scuttle away with a dumb little smile on his face.
Jonas bites the inside of his lower lip. Hand freshly warmed, the chill hits it as soon as Noctis lets go. If only taking it back and pulling it into his lap instead didn't seem inappropriate. )
Hey, uh, I vote we "take it easy" inside. It's freezing out here, and I've got cans of coffee we can heat up with our laser tools. ( A teenaged boy plan... but by God, it just might work. ) Raincheck on sitting up here?
[ A huff of a breath and the lilting tone of those words make audible a smile he tries to hide behind his hand, realizing the warmth he feels against his mouth is Jonas's. It startles him but he doesn't jerk, instead sitting up straighter as eyes drop back down to the jacket his friend has carefully wrapped him up in.
It feels like he's dreaming. Light-headed and emotionally raw as he is right now from that cathartic release, would he be able to tell the difference? ]
Sure. Next time we'll have a better plan... at least we didn't run out onto one of the dunes. [ Climbing down into the warmth of Jonas's ship is far easier and safer. ]
Wanna' hand me the food? I'll toss it down for you once you're down there.
Haha, seriously, though. That'd have been such a stupid idea... ( Half-muttered as Jonas tries simultaneously to grab the container of food while staring at a hidden little smile he didn't think he'd see for the rest of the night.
He pats metal until he finds nothing, then embarrassedly turns his head away to assist himself in being less cringe. )
Here, ( he says, handing the container and chopsticks over with a quiet chuckle—well, it's a fucking giddy little girl giggle, so not exactly—of his own. He slides himself on his ass down the wing, gaining momentum until he can make the leap of faith down into the sand below.
It cushions him, making his descent shockingly quiet. Good, they don't want to wake the whole camp up, even if they're on the outskirts of it. )
[ Jonas turns his head away and it feels like, if he allows invasive thoughts to convince him of his own desires, that he's being given permission for something. His gaze lowers, focusing on a loose shirt that nevertheless shows the dips and curves of a solid torso when Jonas twists. Inviting. His arms would slot around him nicely right now, convince both of them that they're real in this moment and no other. That there aren't other worlds to return to, one a void of endless torture and the other a suffocating life of duties and pre-destined choices. Here they could be something else to each other, a fantasy like so many others he's lost himself to while locked away in regal halls.
Incorrect. An imposter. More interested in courting tender feelings than showing up as something stalwart and emotionless. Charmed by stupid hobbies, by banned sweets, by boys.
Now just one boy.
Jonas moves before he's even realized it, pushing himself up with a drape of that jacket over his arm, food in hand. ]
You sure? Drop me and I'll kick your ass. [ It'd be easy for him to jump down. So easy. And yet he lowers himself into a sit on that wing, inched towards its edge for Jonas to ease him down. ]
Please don't kick my ass, ( he says nonchalantly as Noctis scoots toward the edge.
It'll be like helping Alex around, something he's done countless times as her sidekick, except Noctis doesn't need it. His leg must hurt, though, so he's particularly gentle when he encourages a small waist the rest of the way forward.
As it turns out, he's underestimated Noctis. He didn't think he did, and was even careful not to; however, it's clear—from the muscular sides held by his hands—that Noctis is a far harder worker than he ever gave him credit for... and after hugging him so tightly, feeling his skin and hair under his fingers, this adds a level of anticipation to the hold. His palms are hot as his body sheds its excess heat through his extremities, and he swears he's begun to sweat despite the chill.
Raising him off the wing, Jonas realizes it's going to be difficult to explain why he stopped Noctis from descending for seconds longer than he should've. The dismount is far quicker, refusing to make eye contact until they're both on the ground, on even footing, and inches away. Pulling his friend in while he lowered him only made sense; he couldn't keep his arms out straight while lifting at least one hundred pounds of man. They're face to face as a result, and for three electrifying heartbeats, Jonas' olive eyes flick up to make contact with Noctis'.
One. Two. Three—
Let go. Let go.
He doesn't. Momentarily, his grip squeezes instead, an autonomous reaction to touching such a fine figure when what little restraint he had was stripped as quickly as the coat hanging from Noctis' forearm. )
You okay? ( A rushed question to cover for his own excitement, glancing away. ) Sorry, I... I thought you were gonna slip. I...
It's one thing to be hauled around by Gladio or held onto by Prompto, roughhousing with men he's known almost his entire life and trusted as his brothers for just as long. It's another to have hands touch him so carefully, boxing him in against sides which have tensed with anticipatory anxiety for something so small. It would be easier to ignore if warmth didn't sink into his hips and crawl up his torso from large hands that linger far too long before carefully lifting him with impressive strength and easing him down like he's something breakable.
He doesn't even realize those palms are still settled over his body until that grip tightens, locked as he is in another trap laid by pretty hazel eyes.
It's another perfect moment, just like they'd experienced minutes ago on top of that ship, tangled up in comforting each other and making the mistake of letting each other know with that seeking look. Here it is again, only it isn't comfort he sees in Jonas's expression. Curiosity, maybe. Appreciation, the kind that prompts a question he refuses to ask. ]
Jonas? [ Instead his name comes out of his mouth, an immediate regret but it spilled forth so easily and readily that there was no stopping it. A hard blink breaks the trance, finally registering what he's said. ]
Yeah.
[ The answer is as rushed as Jonas's query, turning away with equal speed and with a sidestep around his friend. ]
–the kicking your ass thing was just a joke. You really think I'm that easy to rough up, huh? Come on, it's freezing.
( His name almost sounds like permission—questioning, but acquiescing, as though Noctis is asking him why he's not leaning in.
It'd be easy; they're two or three inches from each other, and his head is slightly inclined to peer down into Noctis' face. In the breadth of a moment, he could brush his lips against Noctis', press in with a sway forward, and make the night perfect. )
Yeah. No, I mean. I—You're tough, I get it. ( His hands feel cold at his sides as his friend skirts him, intent on the interior of the ship. Jonas doesn't know if that's where he should go, at least not for a minute, ducking his head to hide his disappointment in himself.
Withdrawing a hand-rolled cigarette Cain got from V as a gift to him, he sets it against his lower lip. )
I'll be right in, I so badly need a smoke—idiot me, stubbing the one from earlier out. There's, like, a bunch of snacks and stuff in there, so get comfy.
[ Verbal flubs assail his senses and not for the first time, he wonders why Jonas can't be a better actor. It'd make it easier for him to convince himself that the tension in the moment is the kind he himself has fabricated in some kind of post-crying delusion. ]
You sure?
[ His question doesn't help, and fingers lift to rub against the back of his neck like it might ease away the oppressiveness lingering in the air. Or perhaps his own frustration with himself for leaving that door open too long. ]
Take your time, I'll see if I can find the coffee. I've got my tools anyway, so... I'll do what I can. [ His tone might be more even than Jonas's but the word choice betrays him, unsure and awkward. Nevertheless he keeps to his word, and by the time Jonas joins him inside that are two hot tins of coffee waiting.
The conversation mellows, food untouched, and after a few shared jokes about the day and the persistence of that mood, that unspoken expectation, he's not sure which of them suggests they go their separate ways first. Either way, it's easier, and even though he leaves Jonas's ship the boy himself stays on his mind the entire walk back to his tent and well into the night. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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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And maybe, just maybe sniffs gently with some measure of fondness and amusement when his friend further attempts to comfort him and normalize what they've just experienced together. ]
Yeah? [ Jonas stutters, tripping over his words, and the gentle squeeze he gives to his hand is almost reflexive. ]
... is it supposed to help immediately? Or will I know tomorrow? [ It's a lame joke said with too straight a face to know at first if he's serious, but another harder sniff and another wipe at his face signifies that at last he's returning to his old self. In part, at least, since that sober air has yet to fade. ]
"Life in general"... we don't have any of Cain's whiskey to toast to that. Probably not a good idea for me anyway, after last time.
[ Finally fingers unfurl, and his throat clears upon realizing just how tightly he was holding onto him. Shit. ]
... being here, it's all further away for a while. If we can't do anything about it tonight, I guess we have to just... be here. Maybe take it easy for a night.
no subject
( Reassurance in the form of the brief kneading of Noctis' fingers around his doesn't do anything to calm his heart rate. They do, however, have the intended effect of slowing Jonas down. Thoughts may still come too quickly and jumble, giving him pause, but at least he can wield a sentence better. )
Seemed like you had a lot of fun for a sec there. Definitely when you went to take a piss, though... You were pumped about that. ( Enough to relinquish the chips and scuttle away with a dumb little smile on his face.
Jonas bites the inside of his lower lip. Hand freshly warmed, the chill hits it as soon as Noctis lets go. If only taking it back and pulling it into his lap instead didn't seem inappropriate. )
Hey, uh, I vote we "take it easy" inside. It's freezing out here, and I've got cans of coffee we can heat up with our laser tools. ( A teenaged boy plan... but by God, it just might work. ) Raincheck on sitting up here?
no subject
[ A huff of a breath and the lilting tone of those words make audible a smile he tries to hide behind his hand, realizing the warmth he feels against his mouth is Jonas's. It startles him but he doesn't jerk, instead sitting up straighter as eyes drop back down to the jacket his friend has carefully wrapped him up in.
It feels like he's dreaming. Light-headed and emotionally raw as he is right now from that cathartic release, would he be able to tell the difference? ]
Sure. Next time we'll have a better plan... at least we didn't run out onto one of the dunes. [ Climbing down into the warmth of Jonas's ship is far easier and safer. ]
Wanna' hand me the food? I'll toss it down for you once you're down there.
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He pats metal until he finds nothing, then embarrassedly turns his head away to assist himself in being less cringe. )
Here, ( he says, handing the container and chopsticks over with a quiet chuckle—well, it's a fucking giddy little girl giggle, so not exactly—of his own. He slides himself on his ass down the wing, gaining momentum until he can make the leap of faith down into the sand below.
It cushions him, making his descent shockingly quiet. Good, they don't want to wake the whole camp up, even if they're on the outskirts of it. )
Alright. C'mon, I can help you down.
( Holds his hands up. Come to meeeeeeeee )
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Incorrect. An imposter. More interested in courting tender feelings than showing up as something stalwart and emotionless. Charmed by stupid hobbies, by banned sweets, by boys.
Now just one boy.
Jonas moves before he's even realized it, pushing himself up with a drape of that jacket over his arm, food in hand. ]
You sure? Drop me and I'll kick your ass. [ It'd be easy for him to jump down. So easy. And yet he lowers himself into a sit on that wing, inched towards its edge for Jonas to ease him down. ]
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It'll be like helping Alex around, something he's done countless times as her sidekick, except Noctis doesn't need it. His leg must hurt, though, so he's particularly gentle when he encourages a small waist the rest of the way forward.
As it turns out, he's underestimated Noctis. He didn't think he did, and was even careful not to; however, it's clear—from the muscular sides held by his hands—that Noctis is a far harder worker than he ever gave him credit for... and after hugging him so tightly, feeling his skin and hair under his fingers, this adds a level of anticipation to the hold. His palms are hot as his body sheds its excess heat through his extremities, and he swears he's begun to sweat despite the chill.
Raising him off the wing, Jonas realizes it's going to be difficult to explain why he stopped Noctis from descending for seconds longer than he should've. The dismount is far quicker, refusing to make eye contact until they're both on the ground, on even footing, and inches away. Pulling his friend in while he lowered him only made sense; he couldn't keep his arms out straight while lifting at least one hundred pounds of man. They're face to face as a result, and for three electrifying heartbeats, Jonas' olive eyes flick up to make contact with Noctis'.
One. Two. Three—
Let go. Let go.
He doesn't. Momentarily, his grip squeezes instead, an autonomous reaction to touching such a fine figure when what little restraint he had was stripped as quickly as the coat hanging from Noctis' forearm. )
You okay? ( A rushed question to cover for his own excitement, glancing away. ) Sorry, I... I thought you were gonna slip. I...
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It's one thing to be hauled around by Gladio or held onto by Prompto, roughhousing with men he's known almost his entire life and trusted as his brothers for just as long. It's another to have hands touch him so carefully, boxing him in against sides which have tensed with anticipatory anxiety for something so small. It would be easier to ignore if warmth didn't sink into his hips and crawl up his torso from large hands that linger far too long before carefully lifting him with impressive strength and easing him down like he's something breakable.
He doesn't even realize those palms are still settled over his body until that grip tightens, locked as he is in another trap laid by pretty hazel eyes.
It's another perfect moment, just like they'd experienced minutes ago on top of that ship, tangled up in comforting each other and making the mistake of letting each other know with that seeking look. Here it is again, only it isn't comfort he sees in Jonas's expression. Curiosity, maybe. Appreciation, the kind that prompts a question he refuses to ask. ]
Jonas? [ Instead his name comes out of his mouth, an immediate regret but it spilled forth so easily and readily that there was no stopping it. A hard blink breaks the trance, finally registering what he's said. ]
Yeah.
[ The answer is as rushed as Jonas's query, turning away with equal speed and with a sidestep around his friend. ]
–the kicking your ass thing was just a joke. You really think I'm that easy to rough up, huh? Come on, it's freezing.
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It'd be easy; they're two or three inches from each other, and his head is slightly inclined to peer down into Noctis' face. In the breadth of a moment, he could brush his lips against Noctis', press in with a sway forward, and make the night perfect. )
Yeah. No, I mean. I—You're tough, I get it. ( His hands feel cold at his sides as his friend skirts him, intent on the interior of the ship. Jonas doesn't know if that's where he should go, at least not for a minute, ducking his head to hide his disappointment in himself.
Withdrawing a hand-rolled cigarette Cain got from V as a gift to him, he sets it against his lower lip. )
I'll be right in, I so badly need a smoke—idiot me, stubbing the one from earlier out. There's, like, a bunch of snacks and stuff in there, so get comfy.
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You sure?
[ His question doesn't help, and fingers lift to rub against the back of his neck like it might ease away the oppressiveness lingering in the air. Or perhaps his own frustration with himself for leaving that door open too long. ]
Take your time, I'll see if I can find the coffee. I've got my tools anyway, so... I'll do what I can. [ His tone might be more even than Jonas's but the word choice betrays him, unsure and awkward. Nevertheless he keeps to his word, and by the time Jonas joins him inside that are two hot tins of coffee waiting.
The conversation mellows, food untouched, and after a few shared jokes about the day and the persistence of that mood, that unspoken expectation, he's not sure which of them suggests they go their separate ways first. Either way, it's easier, and even though he leaves Jonas's ship the boy himself stays on his mind the entire walk back to his tent and well into the night. ]