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[ She lifts her hand, movement quiet and expression thoughtful as she begins by brushing back a few locks of his bangs to the side. She can't accomplish much here, not without a comb or proper products, but she can at least make his hair a little more presentable. With a few more gentle, light strokes, her fingers begin to sculpt the way the dark strands frame his cheekbones and the back end of his jaw...

His hair is softer in reality, she recalls, even with all of that gel in it. But this-- this is fine, too.

With one final comb through his hair, causing a wave to it, she backs away as soon as she's done. ] ...There.

[ He really does wear this style well, too. She smiles. ]

[He squints, eyes lifting to see where his bangs have been shifted, hand returning to his hair to feel what she's done with it. It feels a bit strange to have it down like this. Like it's lighter and heavier at the same time. He's not too sure how to feel about it, but maybe something to consider if (or when) they run out of hair gel. Temporarily.]

Well? Look okay?

[Not like he can see it.]

[ There's also the issue that his hair is wet. It'd look better dried...

Anyways, that sounds like a perfect invitation to compliment him, and she speaks with a soft sincerity as she looks over the style he poses. ]

It looks nice on you. A little formal, but.. still, very nice.

[ Privately, she thinks to herself that he should wear it down more often. Pyra links her hands behind her. ] You're a handsome man, Noct.

[Oof. He shouldn't have asked, now he's embarrassed.]

You say things like that with such a straight face...

[Is this why Prompto gets so awkward when he talks to a pretty girl? Because it feels like this? He's not allowed to tease the poor guy anymore.]

And you say that as if you don't believe me. [ She insists with a brighter smile, angling her head just slightly to the side. ]

No, I definitely believe you.

[He believes she believes it, absolutely. And it's not like he thinks he's ugly or anything, he just has no idea what to say.

...Hm. Tit for tat?]

It's not always easy for a guy to accept a compliment like that from a beautiful woman, you know.

[ ......In the context of her unkempt, wet hair, and a sudden relay to her in that same “cool” tone he’s used before while adopting bravado, it sounds like he’s joking. He’ll have to be more sincere.

She appreciates the effort, however, and answers playfully in return. Really, she’s curious to see how far he can go while still sporting a blush. ]

What charisma! As if you just stepped off a chocobo in full knight’s armor! I’m flattered.

[One day he'll be good at this, surely. Apparently not today.]

Last time you did my hair it was to make me a dashing rogue, wasn't it? [HE... REMEMBERS THIS....] I'm taking that to heart.

[ Knight, rogue— It’s almost like she’s saying he can be just about anything over the course of months. It’s an overarching theme... Perhaps one she’s been too vague on trying to nurture.

Her expression softens. He mentioned he had his mother’s eyes. This hair style brings them out more, without them partially hiding beneath bangs. ] This style unveils your eyes. I like it. [ She murmurs, pauses, then begins again. ] But... not that much, if you do not. It’s up to you how you wish to be. Rogue or knight. Styled hair or loose hair.

[ This is why after complimenting his hair before, she had complimented him, himself. It’s Noctis. ] ...I do wish I had a mirror for you, though.

Yeah, I can't really tell like this.

[He fiddles with the bangs a bit, considering her words. His eyes, huh. He'd been doing his usual style for so long now that it's more natural for him, something he barely thought about; aesthetics were important, for his age but moreso his position, but... this isn't Lucis, or Insomnia. She'd said it before, but in a more general sense- here, he can do whatever he wants. With his hair, with his training, with his life. He could dye his hair blue and restyle it, he could become a proper game designer, or work at the zoo, or just be a couch potato. Live those dreams. Be whatever. The time he has left is his to spend, and no one can tell him otherwise. There's a sliver of freedom in that misery. Or a silver lining, as the saying goes.

After a moment he glances back at her, reaching out to give a loose lock of her wet hair a little flick.]

What made you cut yours?

[ She blinks as he leans in, flicking at one strand of her hair. Excess drips reach her cheek, but she smiles anyway at the gesture, finding it... fun. He doesn’t do things like that, usually. Not with her, at least. ]

Why do you ask...? Should I grow it out?

I could say the same thing to you- it's up to you, how you want to be.

[He shrugs, leaning over to twist the material of his shirt to drain some of the water out. Even in VR, no one likes soggy clothes.]

And I asked because I wanted to.

[ This topic is also... fragile for her, but she settles into a smile. She decides to sit down at this point upon the boat, patting to the seat next to her. They can chat and enjoy the peaceful fishing scenery together. ] Oh, you know how it goes... It was a symbolic way to move forward.

[ LIKE GRADUATING HIGH SCHOOL--

No, it's not that, but she can find some amusement in making such a drastic change (such as constructing another self and body for themselves after what happened), if only because it's not so different to a human wanting to start anew. The form Pyra takes had been necessary to move on, to add an extra layer of protection against the world: another seal placed, imperfect, with what power she does have only what happens to leak through. The humor is private, but her smile is wry, and, of course, as bittersweet as it is reflective. And, as she's said before, I'm moving forward. The future is the only way in which to proceed. ]

[He sits with her, ignoring the silent menu asking if they'd like to play again, focusing on the open view on the opposite side. It's not like they can't afford to linger in the game as long as they want, even if the game is technically "over".

He can sympathize with the sentiment; it's one he's felt a few times in his life, needing a shake-up or a new environment to find his feet, determine his own place in the world. Moving out of the Citadel, or getting a job, or something as simple as a hairstyle like they're discussing now. Like announcing to the world, "look at me, I'm different." He is different now; he's changed, not to something unrecognizable but he can feel it every day, even if he's getting better and learning to live with it.

He glances sidelong at her, studying her expression instead of the scenery. He doesn't know what she's thinking of - he's pretty sure that he rarely does - but she gets it, and that's enough for him.]

You can do it again when we get back home, if you want. Show me then.

[Maybe this'll be the change he needs right now, and maybe he'll like it, but even if he doesn't that's okay too. He'd come out here with her to try, to take one more baby step forward, and he'd learned a few things about her at the same time. It's worth it for all of that.]

[ Her eyes remain upon the horizon framed by a coniferous forest and tall mountains beyond the lake. There is not so much as a wake to stir their boat, with the game idly allowing them to float aimlessly.

When she had first appeared, she had appreciated being able to speak with others, let along hold their hands. In these months she's also grown to appreciate quiet with others, the unspoken understanding of having a moment.

She would like that. His hair is softer, in reality. It's nice. And she enjoys trying to bring comfort to others, too. She likes the feel of contact, of warmth. She likes being near others. Yet all these likes, nigh on impossible to admit... Fortunately, hair styling is surprisingly not as difficult to admit it for being such an innocuous activity. It's okay. And she wants things to be okay, right now, even if it's not.

She's sure Noctis might feel similar, what with is going on in in his own world and life. What a thing to have a similarity, however she does believe he has gone through so much more. Perhaps more than she might even imagine.

Quietly, Pyra scoots closes to him and... rests her head upon his shoulder. That's as close to a verbal "absolutely" as he might ever get. ]

[The silence between them is comfortable; he has no words to break it, no thoughts to share worth interrupting the calm that falls around them. The game has ambiance, tricking water and chirping birds in the distance, the occasional cicada's buzz, and it reminds him of home. Not the home they share - although he had called it that, hadn't he? how odd - but the one from his childhood, the little pond in the wilder outskirts of Insomnia, outside the city while still within the walls. Gladio took him out there to learn survival skills, something he learned with middling success but in the process discovered his love of fishing. The pond was a little like this, quiet and calm and surrounded by what looked like untamed wilderness but was in fact a carefully cultivated region within a greater city, a protected spot of green amidst steel and stone and technology. It was one of his favourite places. He'll probably never see it again, so... this is nice.

He tilts his head until it touches against her hair, indulging in that half-dry softness on his cheek, accepting her answer for what it is and content to leave it at that.]

[ There’s a long moment that she doesn’t speak, being content with this quietness, his warmth, this scenery.

Her stillness is consumed in hesitation. She wonders if she should speak more, share more.

Another moment passes, then another. Finally: ] The change.... it was to try to be different than who I was before.

[ Weaker, for one. The form Pyra takes had been necessary to move on, to add an extra layer of protection against the world: another seal placed, imperfect, with what power she does have only what happens to leak through. ]

Not— not to be stronger. [ She feels the need to clarify. ] But to be... better.

[ To be kinder. More compassionate. To attempt to show what Mythra had grown to value and admire in others: compassion, kindness, care. The ability to listen to others and support. To value, to... love, to be able to admit that love. And perhaps one day, to be worthy of others in return. All of these qualities Mythra had learned to cherish these too late, when all had already been lost. In the short time they now have left before oblivion, they have resolved to be better.

It’s part of the reason she retains that doubt: is what she is doing enough for him, for others, right here and right now? It rarely ever feels as if it is. ] If... that’s understandable.

[The words are unexpected, not just for the break in silence but more importantly what she says: volunteered information without prompting. He shifts slightly against her in surprise but doesn't pull back or lift his head. Rather than responding immediately, he lets those words roll around in his head for a bit, considering carefully.]

I think it is.

[He doesn't know what kind of change she wanted, why she felt the need to be better, but the sentiment at least makes sense to him. People don't always know what will help them. He sure as hell doesn't, 99% of the time. Would a shift in hairstyle change that much? No, probably not. But he's no stranger to symbolic gestures. Why had he changed his hair after coming back from Tenebrae, when he was learning how to walk again, when he was rediscovering himself as a person, having lost a huge fragment of his former self? Why had his personality changed, his style, his self-expression? It was like... starting over from scratch. Maybe she had that, too. Maybe she wrestled with ways to proceed and like him, it was easiest to start with the smallest of changes and work upwards from there.]

...Did it work?

[She's pretty wonderful, in his opinion. Whatever she was before, to him, who she is now is great, so if there was a change it must have been good.]

[ Did it work...? Did it? ] I’m.... I wouldn’t be the one to decide that.

[ Who says she is better, kinder, more compassionate. That wouldn’t be her to decide— that would be others and how they view her.

At the very least, she had some reassurance on how others treat her here. She’s seen some smile when she’s around them— that must count. She’s had people be willing to hold hands with her. That, too, counts for something. These wouldn’t have happened, five hundred years ago. Then again, she’s hiding so much of herself. Excuses of her fear aside, they wouldn’t call her as good, if they knew the truth. ]

Calling oneself as succeeding in being kind or nice... [ Less harmful, less destructive, less callous, less dangerous, dangerous, dangerous— Entombing her had been a mercy to the world for centuries. Now she is here. ] it seems a bit vain, doesn’t it?

Maybe. But I think someone can recognize if they're a better person than they used to be.

[That doesn't seem so vain, to him. To look back at your past flaws and realize you can do better, to rip off a bandage and see the wounds left to fester beneath, work on healing them properly. He's seen it. He's still trying it.]

Anyway, you're...

[He pauses, lips pursing, fumbling a little as he continues.]

You're- you're amazing. I think so, anyway. If whatever happened changed you, it did okay in my book.

[ ”You're- you're amazing.”

She angles her head to look at him, blinking.

This— this compliment, impromptu and volunteered— she did not expect to hear from him. She hadn’t spoken seeking reassurance, yet to hear him say this is... ]

[ She looks away with a wistful, but quietly appreciating smile.

The circumstances which had led to taking this form had been in the face of immense stress, grief, and trauma: the kingdom turned to ash, a continent sinking, its refugees scattered, a new desperate purpose found. Too little, too late, did she come to realize how much she had grown to love the world and those in it— love, in of itself a corruption over her original form’s inhuman neutrality and purpose. It was trauma that Mythra could not handle on her own, but knew she had to prevent from ever happening again; thus she constructed this form, this seal, this weakness, and retained a base of fear. If posing as weak means not risking using her abilities in another world, then so be it.

He doesn’t know any of this, the reason for her change coming from turmoil that hasn’t truly been resolved. But it’s nice to hear reassurance from him all the same, that something good came of it... especially when it’s from someone she views as wonderful in his own right.

Pyra rests her head back upon his shoulder, her gaze dropping to their hands. She turns his over hers, thumb brushing along his knuckles. In reality within the cafe, her actual hand mimics this. Once, there had been a time she wouldn’t ever have imagined being able to do this or imagine someone wanting to hold her hand. Once... much longer ago, she hadn’t even had hands to grasp another’s, a physical body to experience that touch, let alone the emotions to be grateful for it. This, too, she feels conflicted about.

All the same, ] ...Do you know how much that means, coming from someone as good as you are?

[ He might think her to be placing him on a pedestal, but that’s not it. Noctis is good is ways many she’s seen so rarely in others: of not just in action or duty, of how he helps and protects, but in personality and words... and in his resilience to his own woes, seeing a bigger picture, bringing others together, being down to earth, genuine. She recalls that they themselves had one, perhaps two times where they had disagreements before, and still he’s able to spend time with her, laugh with her. He’s understanding, accepting.

Softly, ] It’s... almost too much.

[There are still times when he's taken aback by her comments about how good he is; he's never felt exceptionally good, no more or less than any normal person. He'd been raised to do what's right whenever possible, to look after his people- and even if they weren't strictly his people, it's a mentality difficult to shake. To an extent, he can accept it, that he's a good person and she feels strongly about that. But the way she says it... how much it means? Too much?

He glances sidelong at her, trying to catch her expression, though it's difficult at this angle, with her pressed so close at his shoulder. When that proves to be too difficult he shifts his eyes to their joined hands, the way she touches him, soft and gentle, a gesture both new and oddly familiar in a way he can't place. Even through VR, though they were soaked to the bone not long ago, she's warm. She's always warm.

Too much, she says. But also: almost.]

Want me to stop?

[It's mostly rhetorical, unless she offers him a sincere refusal. She's given him so much encouragement, and while she doesn't say it, he's certain she must have struggled plenty on her own, things she can't or won't share, hurts she's been forced to bear alone. He's clumsy with his words at times, might not always say the right thing, but his intent is still to make sure she knows that she's important, and that she's helped him. She deserves to know that much at the very least.]

[ It's an almost, because she values what he has to say. She admires him, even, and if he believes in her to be "amazing", perhaps she can allow herself some reassurance that... she's doing something right, to have gained his favor. Five hundred years had come and gone before receiving this reassurance. She wants to be worthy of all he's given her, his friendship, his time, his magic, his... trust. Still, she thinks-- has she done enough for him? She's not ready to share more of herself with him, but is there more she can do to help him through what he's going through, more she can do for him in general? ] What I mean is...

[ As for Noctis, he believes he couldn't even try to stop being so good. His power from his world's Crystal and his deities may make him grand, but it's that light, the one from his benevolence-- that is his power, the very same power that makes him... untouchable. ] Thank you, for saying that. It's the first time I've heard something so... sweet.

[ --Yet here she remains, hand with his, head upon his shoulder, comfortable. It's indulgent, wretched. If he knew the truth, he wouldn't share this light with her. She fears losing it; this is why she hides still. Her smile is complex but content, and she finishes as she always does, with something about him: ] Consider me dazzled by it, ...this light and goodness you have.

Hmm.

[It's a noncommittal noise, quiet and thoughtful as he focuses his eyes forward again. She's not flustered by his words, the way he gets sometimes with her showered compliments, but she's smiling, sounding content. Like she's taking his words to heart. Like what he says matters in the grand scheme of anything, to someone who believes in others so wholeheartedly. She feels confident in him, in the people she meets and cares about, but when it comes to herself, that certainty falters. ...ah. That's relatable, too.

Well. Well, then.]

I'll say it every once in a while. So you don't forget.

[Not in jest, not teasing or with that false bravado or cool-guy tone. He might falter and stumble with it later, he might shrug it off if called out, but these words, at least, he can say and show her that he means it. In the moment, she'll know.]

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