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[ She can understand the sentiment of having some than nothing at all, of being grateful for what one has in the present. They're very alike in that regard, reflections of each other for not daring to ask for better, even if she wants him to have better. Relationships are not perfect, people are nuanced, and even if something becomes rocky or broken, bonds can be repaired.

...But she believes he's doing it again, it's happening in real time: he's diminishing his own pain-- and it's as if he doesn't see it-- or remember it when just moments ago, he had been been choking because of this. She looks at him is disbelief, then concern. That's not a little thing, that's an extreme reaction, one that clearly signals something is wrong. So quick he is to be concerned for others, but when it comes to himself, he doesn't realize the gravity of it.

She's about to express some of these thoughts, but Carbuncle messages him. Her brow furrows, puzzled as she reads it, and when she hears his sharp inhale, she pauses. ] ...What is it?

[ It sounds as if he's realized something. ]

[He takes a few long breaths, squeezing her hand to acknowledge the question but wanting to work through some of these thoughts first. Why would his dad be so horrified by what's been normal for - surely - generations? He didn't want to be like his father, yes, but he wasn't. Everything Noctis had heard about Mors was cold, calculating, stern. For Regis, it had just been a moment in time where he'd seemed that way, but in truth they were...

...they were...

He looks at Carbuncle again, who does not even blink, simply stares and waits. Slowly his shoulders slump, defeated, recognizing what is being asked of him here, and... kind of hating it, actually. He doesn't want anyone to be wrong but him.]

A while back... Dad got a memory of mine, when I was pissed at him. It was the day we left Insomnia, so... the last time we ever spoke. I was angry because he blew me off the night before, when we were supposed to talk about everything that was going on. The war, the treaty, the wedding, all of it. But he cancelled, so we only talked in the throne room. It... wasn't a good look for him, I guess.

["What did I do?" Those words will resonate in him for a long time. How it wasn't fair, that a single moment would make him question what kind of father he was.]

He was... horrified. I'd never seen him look like that, and I hated that it hurt him. I told him it was okay, that it was more about me than him. I... don't think he believed me. He thanked me for not hating him. As if I ever could, no matter what he did.

[He'd thought it as a child as well, before the Marilith attack. I hate him. He doesn't care. And then he'd nearly died, and his father saved him, called his name and held his hand as he slept, and he'd felt ashamed of his own thoughts afterwards, both times. But the way Regis spoke made it sound as if he wouldn't have blamed Noctis for hating him. As if... what he'd done shouldn't be okay. As if breaking promises too many times to count over the course of a lifetime wasn't normal. As if his greatest fear shouldn't have been that he'd be found so inept that he would be abandoned entirely, because he'd been made to believe he was worth less than all that came before him.

"If that is what family here is meant to feel like then I don't want any part of it." That had been the response he'd received, when he expressed that he was hurt. To share his pain, his weakness, meant losing family. The same had happened on the train, when his paralyzing grief had pushed his friends away from him when they were counting on him.

I can't, he'd said. He can't share it, because if he does, it hurts more, not less.

But that apology of his dad's, it stuck with him. There was something to apologize for. His feelings were valid. He was... allowed... to not want to be hurt.

His hand tightens again, and he takes another slow, shaken breath, closing his eyes. When he looks up, he seeks out Pyra's gaze, surprised by the memory all over again.]

He... apologized to me.

[And Gladio apologized for the train incident, despite Noctis not even seeking one out. Ardyn apologized for the future despite not even having done anything yet. They apologized for hurting him.

" You shouldn’t have to tolerate being harmed by them. You can ask to not be hurt."

He can ask-]

[ He says that as if he's surprised someone would apologize to him, and that he's surprised at all is telling. Perhaps it's happened so scarcely to him in the past, or perhaps the standard of his life is that when someone hurts him, no one does apologize, or that he believes that carrying such pain is normal. Maybe it's both, or maybe it's possible there's far more to it. She can't very well unravel every reason for why he might be so accepting of being hurt; what she knows is that he seems to accept this as normal for what family is.

She hadn't had a family until coming here, and even she knows that isn't how it's supposed to be. What she's seen, here and now, is more damage done than that would have been done by loss itself. A healthy idea of a relationship is... includes being feeling comfortable, loved, accepted... and safe in another's presence. ]

...Is that so novel?

I... don't know. It isn't like no one's ever apologized to me before.

[He purses his lips, looking down, thinking back. He'd gotten apologies. Too many to count. "I'm sorry, we can't meet today." "His Majesty sends his regrets." "I'm sorry I missed it." "My sincerest apologies, Your Highness, but-"

"I apologize for being a selfish, immature, stuck-up bitch."]

If someone apologizes for something they did, but then they keep doing it, or... like you said, if it makes you feel worse. It doesn't really mean anything, does it.

[ Patiently, she waits for his reply, and when he comes to a conclusion, Pyra nods her head slowly. Apologies aren't always the easiest thing to do, they can be awkward, clumsy, or charged with emotion. But always, they must be meaningful, and for the right thing.

Her hand finds his shoulder, giving it a small, affectionate pat. She knows this isn't easy for him-- just maybe, he doesn't want to admit how badly hurt he's been, because it doesn't fit is definition of being strong. ] Just a moment ago... I-- I think that you did it again. It sounded as if you were minimizing your pain, as if it was normal to accept. Your heart is so grand, Noct, but...

[ It leaves him vulnerable and far too giving.

--Ah, no. That's not it. Vulnerabilities, being giving, are two things he can choose to be. It's those who take advantage of that, that are in the wrong. He mourns the losses of the lights he can no longer hold, even the ones that burn, when for anyone else the reflex might be to immediately drop that which scars.

His heart is grand, and he should keep it healthy.

She tries again: ]

If you're being hurt... apologies like that--... You shouldn't have to minimize how you feel.

[ Easier said than done, for many, many, people. She knows, she knows. Internally, she reflects, wondering if there had been any time he may have minimized his feelings while with her-- something she should ask about later. ]

[He opens his mouth to respond, then hesitates. Tries again.

But I'm just whining about things that can't be helped, he thinks.

Minimizing.

They're important people, and important to me, so I should keep that in mind before I complain, he thinks.

Minimizing.

There's plenty of reasons to hurt me or push me away, especially if it's for the world or to protect themselves-

Minimizing.

He closes his eyes again, recognizing the conflict within himself, her words versus his thoughts. She's not wrong. He knows she's not wrong. It goes against every instinct he's cultivated over the course of his existence trying to do well by those around him, to make them proud and keep them close so he won't lose them, fueled to burn even more brightly by the damning voice of the Draconian god that it won't matter if they lose him because his life is nothing, his pain is temporary, but.

She's not wrong.]

I... do it a lot, huh.

[Gods. He tried to do it just now. Again.]

[ She nods again. He's done it enough for her to notice, and maybe, just maybe, he'll begin to notice when he does it, too, enough that he might be able to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts or accept them. ] ...And, I think, since you were young.

[ When a certain month had turned him young, as a child he had spoken of not wanting to trouble his father. This way of thinking is not going to change overnight, not when he's been living so long like this, but she wants to be there with him every step of that journey. ]

That's.... long enough, don't you think? [ She smiles gently. ] It's time to be kinder to yourself.

[ With the time he has left. He can have this. ]

[Kinder to himself, huh...

He looks down at Carbuncle, but the little Messenger just yawns and curls up into a ball in his lap, evidently satisfied with how the conversation has turned for now. He's grateful to both of them, for coming together like this, allowing him inside (or coming to) this place just to help him out. He strokes its fur, and holds her hand, and... he nods, finally.]

...Any advice on... how to start?

[What a question to ask. He's pretty good at being self-indulgent on his own time, but the times where invades on someone else is when he starts to hesitate.]

[ Her fingers twine with his. ]

If you're able to recognize it-- those thoughts, when they're happening...

[ With her other hand, she strokes her fingers over his forehead. ]

Do what we've done here. Take a moment to take a breath-- just for yourself. [ She can't always be there for him to point out when he's minimizing himself, he'll have to begin to recognize it on his own, and even then, it's possible that he might not be able to catch himself every time. But starting now, he's at least more aware, or so she hopes.

Her hand falls from his forehead, moving to place her palm upon his chest, as if she could measure the rise and fall of it. ] Feel my hand here, with you.

...Try it.

[He exhales a faint, humourless laugh.]

Come on, that's too hard.

[He gets it, though. It's fair advice, and for a moment he does just that: breathes in, out, focusing on her presence and the hands on him. She won't always be around to catch him, but he can try to remember at least what this feels like. He can try to catch himself in the act and... maybe do it a little bit less. Not immediately, not always, not all at once. But this doesn't feel great, and it hasn't felt great his whole life. Being used to something doesn't make it okay. It's the same way with his old aches and pains from the injury- he got used to it, but those moments where Ardyn heals him and for a few hours he's relieved of that burden... it's nice. He learned how to be okay with doing that for himself, even if there's a small cost to Ardyn in return.

It's okay to ask not to be hurt.]

...I'll try. I promise... I'll try.

[ Breathing is what anyone and everyone does. And to combine it consciously with a moment of patience for himself will be an exercise— difficult at first, but hopefully easier over time... not unlike anything else for which he’s trained. She believes in him.

And, it’s nice to feel him breathing. He’s still alive, and there’s still a heartbeat within his chest.

She draws in a breath with him, closing her eyes as the exhale follows seamlessly, their combined breaths coupling with the steady and gentle breeze that flows over the hills of Elysium. When her eyes open and she looks down at him again, nothing has changed: still alive, still breathing, still a heartbeat. ] Noct...

Have I ever said or done anything to make you feel like less?

[ Just as she won’t be there every time should he minimize himself, there could be times where others do the same to him, whether knowingly or unknowingly. She wants to let him know it’s good to speak up when that happens. ]

[He winces at that, helplessly, a bit of that regained peace scattering away like leaves in the wind. He gets why she's asking, he doesn't blame her for it, but he doesn't like that she felt as if she had to.]

I don't know. I doubt it? It's you, Pyra... I'd be more worried about me doing that to you.

[She always focuses so much on other people. Surely he's said something insensitive or pushed her in an uncomfortable way- despite her words he's far from perfect, sometimes he fails at courtesy. His words are genuine, though, even ignoring the turnabout: she's kind and thoughtful, mindful of his moods, often questioning what he might be thinking. He's more honest with her than he's ever been with anyone, besides maybe Prompto. (Carbuncle might count as one, but Carbuncle just knows things without him saying it.) He can't think of an instance where she made him feel this way, so even if she had, the fact that it isn't memorable means it can't have been that bad.]

[ As she watches his expression shift from peaceful to concerned, she makes another pass of her fingers across his forehead. ] Good... I-- ...good. [ She repeats, quieter this time. ]

I only want you to feel that it's okay to let others know, or just walk away, if you feel as if they're treating you as less.

[ That sort of toxicity in his life-- he doesn't need it, and she remembers how tightly he had returned one day to their home only to bring her into a hug, the strength of which may have been proportionate to how much he had been hurt. ] What you say... what you feel. It matters. [ To Bahamut, maybe it doesn't, maybe as a child he was led to believe that he didn't, when his father had so much more on his shoulders, and perhaps as an adult he feels the same that the world is so much more. The world is important, but that doesn't make what he feels invalid or any less. ]

[To tell them, or... to walk away. He thought he'd tried it that day, and initially it hadn't made him feel any better; on the other hand, if he'd stayed he likely would have felt worse. Instead he'd gone home to find Pyra, and they'd had a fun afternoon, and in her company he'd felt so much better about, while not the situation, at least himself. They'd accomplished something together and faced the rest of the day smiling. That was better. It can be better.

He inhales and exhales again, slow and steady, trying to take the first steps in making it as instinctive as possible when he's stressed. It's going to take time, he knows, but... this is a start. It's a start of something.

The movement is a little clumsy due to his positioning, but he shifts his free hand from Carbuncle's fur to wind around her waist, a little half-hug as he tries to muster a smile.]

You know... I don't think I've ever felt like that wasn't true with you. Looking back, you've always listened, even when I'm not saying what I should. You make it seem so easy. Do you ever get to feel like that?

[Does he help her feel that way? He's hoping so.]

[ When his arm finds its way to give her waist a small half-hug, she smiles. She's grateful to hear those words-- that he feels valued with her, safe enough to speak his mind. She doesn't ever wish to be dismissive with him, to push his suffering down, or to not take his own words and not reflect upon them. ]

You listen. [ She replies with a quiet, loving expression. He's listening to her right now, her thoughts on this, her want to not see him hurt, her want for him to accept better for himself. That's listening, too, and not tossing her words away.

And sometimes, he listens so much that he forgets about himself.

If he could have stood up to Bahamut and express himself, what would he have said, then? What would he have wanted to shout or cry? It isn't fair to him, to keep that all inside, and keeping all of that inside is just the start of it. The world's fate is a heavy burden upon him, the world is worth saving, but he shouldn't have to feel so isolated and-- silent because of it.

...Ah, there it is again. That sudden feeling of both mourning and yearning-- a part of her wants to abandon all of the seals placed upon her, so that at the height of their power, they could make him into a god.

And wouldn't he just be magnificent? As if it might give him a chance to do whatever it is that he would wish to, to save all of his world and loved ones without any sacrifice. But. Power lends one of air of capability, of wishful thinking, and temptation that blinds consequence...

So she settles with a squeeze of his hand, deciding to get back on topic. ]

So... what will you do? What do you... want to do, with Era, I mean?

[A relieved and grateful look crosses his face when she answers, confirming his hope, and he's able to relax a little. At the core of him still exists - and always will - that desire and need to make people happy; the goal of this is not to squash that desire but to make sure it doesn't supercede his own happiness. He can work on that, but he doesn't want it to come at the expense of someone he loves. It might be a hard balance to find. At least with her, it's much, much easier, and for that he's both glad and grateful.

Next, what will he do... what does he want to do. Both good questions. He purses his lips and tilts his head into her stomach, his gaze drifting up the hill as he mulls it over.]

I'm... not really sure. Nothing yet, I... think. I told her what I thought last time, and when she reached out after it was for all the wrong reasons. I don't... want to ask anything of her. Not if she doesn't want us, or can't say she does. And not if she thinks all we ever do is ask for things.

[The fact that he couldn't even greet her at the party without her questioning him made it clear she needs to figure some stuff out. He can't do that for her. And he can't accept her terrible apologies.]

I'll figure out what I want when she sets the terms for what happens going forward. Just... [Deep breath. Putting it into practice. Not so hard, right? Hah...] Only if what she wants is good for me, too.

[ Balance is key, and this won't be the end of it. Some days it might be hard-- like this day. She hopes they'll get better, and most importantly--

"Only if what she wants is good for me, too."

--he won't feel the need to sacrifice his happiness for another. Although that, too, might take some work. Old habits and whatnot. Nevertheless, this is the conclusion he's drawn after all of their discussion, and ultimately, all she wishes to do is be there for him.

There's only one thing to say about this: ]

Then, I'll support you.

[His hands flex against her in reaction to her words, tightening gently, holding her closer. The smile is stronger this time, still tired and sad, but true, and getting better.]

I know, [he murmurs. As if it was a foregone conclusion, as if he didn't need to hear it but is glad to, anyway. She's always supported him] Thanks.

[And then, softer still, with eyes closed and face against her warmth,] I love you.

[Twenty-one years, and he'd never tackled these thoughts alone or with anything else. He can only hope he doesn't fail after everything she's done, that he can follow through on the advice she'd offered him. With her help, though, he's confident that he'll remember to try, and that isn't without meaning.]

[ Within Elysium, it's easy to set oneself apart from the world to take a moment-- or many moments-- to breathe. She finds herself returning more and more often, and whether he finds himself returning again or not, he'll be welcome. This space is for him, too: the breeze, the bells, the grass below and the sky above.

Oh, how she wants everything for him, and how she laments that some things just can't be given-- such as views he holds of himself, putting him lower or accepting being hurt-- things, habits, and beliefs that he'll have to overcome on his own terms, over time, and with both patience and balance. She'll simply have to be there to support him on his journey. ] I love you.

[ And she-- ] And... I look forward to supporting you, too. [ Because if and when he does overcome these habits, even just partially, or even just small, little victories, she wants to celebrate him for caring for himself-- because the world knows that he doesn't do it enough.

Pyra's arms find his shoulders, giving them a squeeze, her tone cautiously playful. ]

I'm going to hug you so hard every step of the way.

[That at last earns her a proper smile out of him, half-hidden where he's pressed against her. His now-free hand curls fingers around her arm, thumb rubbing idly to acknowledge the hug. It's easier to relax now that they've seemingly shifted a little bit away from the serious unboxing of his emotional mess, though he's well aware that it isn't any kind of instant fix, either. Still, this place and her company has done wonders for him, just like when he'd come home to hug her when he felt like he'd been falling apart.]

Hard enough to drag all this buried stuff out of me?

[That would be one way to get him talking. Maybe.]

Mm, well...! [ A playful glint in her eyes precedes her smile. ] If it can be done-- [ Hopefully, he's ready for a hug here and now!

Pyra shifts to lie against him, and then hugs him to her. Beneath them, the grass remains as soft as blankets. Above them, the sky is blue and clear as his eyes. Against him, she's as warm as her embrace. ]

Iiiisss... this hard enough for a hug?

Mmph.

[A muffled noise is all she gets at first; initially because she's holding him against herself, but then, as he shifts position and wraps himself tightly around her in return, because his face is buried against her shoulder. For a long moment he just... stays like that, the same way they'd started out, quiet and indulging in the sweet comfort of her presence. He wants this. He needs this. He's so, so glad she's here.

Finally he shifts his head a little, enough that she can hear him again.]

Just... just enough. It's perfect.

[ As soon as she hears his voice, she turns her head to nuzzle her cheek against his.

She doesn't need to look at him to see how dazzling it is, the smile she hears in his voice at last. Her arms tighten around him for a moment more. ]

Good... [ She whispers, then repeats: ] Good.

Because I'm not letting go anytime soon.

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