[ When he speaks, her head lifts to look at him. She's steady as she holds him, waiting for him to continue. Can't... what? Can't accept that he shouldn't be hurt by family? Can't accept that there is a life for him, here, without being hurt unnecessarily? That he can choose who to keep with him, based on who hurts him or not? Or that he can ask not to be hurt by those that love him, to not accept that hurt, that he can ask for better?
His words fail him, however, and she watches in stalled time as his expression shifts, pales, then cracks before her very eyes, as if instead of gently unraveling what he's feeling, it's all barreling over him at once. He's looking at her, but it's as if he's not seeing anything at all.
Moments ago, she had contemplated a distraction versus talking of his feelings further, over which she had decided to empathize, believing that he only needed encouragement to speak, that this was good. Now, she almost immediately regrets her decision. The pain she sees on his face is more visceral than any expression he's ever worn-- more defeated than when he had returned after re-awakening from his slumber, more wrought than when he had seen the vision of his fate first-hand, struck with dread like when an intrusive memory had bombarded him, and just as grave and gaunt at the moment of his almost-death in her arms....
Something is holding him, gripping him, choking him. ]
....Noct. [ She calls his name softly, a whisper intended for him and only him, but with firmness which she hopes will at least get him to focus back on her, instead of whatever might be plaguing him. She shifts where she's sitting so that she's more in front of him, ignoring the paint that smears around them or in his hands. One of her hands goes to his chest, palm steadily feeling the racing heartbeat beneath. (Is it another memory, so graciously given to him by the Ring or the Crystal? Is it something else, the Ring again maybe, that with just a flutter of him using it can make him writhe? Or is it the Fetter again?) ] Noct... I'm here.
[ Her other hand, the one that had been on his shoulder, lifts to the nape of his neck and then to the back of his head, bringing him towards her.
She doesn't embrace him, for fear of smothering him.
Instead, she does what she did when they had first met: foreheads, pressing to each other, her hand on his chest, and the syncing of their breaths. She adds one more aspect to it this time, though, and that is to bring one of his paint-covered hands to her chest in return, too, just to the side of her crystal. It's something physical, tactile, real and there, so that beneath his palm he might feel the rise and fall of inhales and exhales, cues for him to pick up upon. ]
With me. [ She encourages, keeping her tone calmed, although she cannot help the soft plead in her voice, the sad hope that she can reach him... Reach him, because whatever's holding him is terrifying him, blinding him in this moment. She can ask what he's feeling later; right now she wants him to know that she's with him. And she waits for it, she tires and tries to encourage it out of him no matter how long or how many times it might take, her fingers petting through his hair as she keeps their forehead together. Just one, all she needs is one.
If she gets at least one steadier breath from him, she'll say it again. ]
no subject
His words fail him, however, and she watches in stalled time as his expression shifts, pales, then cracks before her very eyes, as if instead of gently unraveling what he's feeling, it's all barreling over him at once. He's looking at her, but it's as if he's not seeing anything at all.
Moments ago, she had contemplated a distraction versus talking of his feelings further, over which she had decided to empathize, believing that he only needed encouragement to speak, that this was good. Now, she almost immediately regrets her decision. The pain she sees on his face is more visceral than any expression he's ever worn-- more defeated than when he had returned after re-awakening from his slumber, more wrought than when he had seen the vision of his fate first-hand, struck with dread like when an intrusive memory had bombarded him, and just as grave and gaunt at the moment of his almost-death in her arms....
Something is holding him, gripping him, choking him. ]
....Noct. [ She calls his name softly, a whisper intended for him and only him, but with firmness which she hopes will at least get him to focus back on her, instead of whatever might be plaguing him. She shifts where she's sitting so that she's more in front of him, ignoring the paint that smears around them or in his hands. One of her hands goes to his chest, palm steadily feeling the racing heartbeat beneath. (Is it another memory, so graciously given to him by the Ring or the Crystal? Is it something else, the Ring again maybe, that with just a flutter of him using it can make him writhe? Or is it the Fetter again?) ] Noct... I'm here.
[ Her other hand, the one that had been on his shoulder, lifts to the nape of his neck and then to the back of his head, bringing him towards her.
She doesn't embrace him, for fear of smothering him.
Instead, she does what she did when they had first met: foreheads, pressing to each other, her hand on his chest, and the syncing of their breaths. She adds one more aspect to it this time, though, and that is to bring one of his paint-covered hands to her chest in return, too, just to the side of her crystal. It's something physical, tactile, real and there, so that beneath his palm he might feel the rise and fall of inhales and exhales, cues for him to pick up upon. ]
With me. [ She encourages, keeping her tone calmed, although she cannot help the soft plead in her voice, the sad hope that she can reach him... Reach him, because whatever's holding him is terrifying him, blinding him in this moment. She can ask what he's feeling later; right now she wants him to know that she's with him. And she waits for it, she tires and tries to encourage it out of him no matter how long or how many times it might take, her fingers petting through his hair as she keeps their forehead together. Just one, all she needs is one.
If she gets at least one steadier breath from him, she'll say it again. ]
Again, with me. With me.