adelphoi | (no subject)

(no subject)

[ she's cold.

like the last time alisaie woke in one of these pods, at first, that cold is all she can feel. it sinks deep into her flesh, clings to her bones, and though she does not feel faint or hypothermic when she stumbles out of it, she nevertheless feels deeply chilled. her mind and memory feel fogged, and as she stands amidst the rows of pods she is confused, disoriented, until -

like a heavy weight, the realization crashes down.

alisaie does not think, she only moves, sweeping past the endless rows of pods as quickly as her trembling, aching legs will carry her, her heart beating wildly in her throat. she must get home. she must find them.

how long as it been? memory flashes in the back of her mind, images of home, of where she has been and what she has been doing and gods, the entire time she had forgotten this place, she had forgotten her home here, and peo, and prompto. a cold hand squeezes her heart tightly, painfully, as years of longing begin to set in at once, for though she had not remembered him then, she remembers him now, and all the time that has passed since last she set eyes on his beloved face. she's desperate now, to throw herself into his arms, but moreover she is.. afraid. how long has she been asleep? what if he is sleeping as well, no longer here? what if he has moved on? panic clutches her insides relentlessly.

but she does not need to get home. when alisaie turns the corner to the exit, he's there - she would recognize that hair anywhere, even if it looks a little less ostentatious than usual (and a little darker?), and her heart, that had been pounding hard, now stills. ]

Prompto -

[ his name feels so sweet on her tongue, riding on a rasping breath, but it's only the briefest of moments before she's moving again, surging into his arms, her hands clasping his jaw to pull him into a hard, needy, desperate kiss. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I suppose so.

[ for her part, she hardly has any news. alisaie had been home, certainly - or so her memories tell her - and she had been working hard of course, always on the path to save eorzea from itself, to do her work as a scion, but aside from thrilling adventures, she does not have much of a tale to tell. a lot can happen in two years, but she still feels more or less the same as she had the last time she opened her eyes on el nysa. a little older, a little taller, a little wiser, mayhaps, but that is all.

clearly it is not so for prompto, and while she knows that they will talk, that they must talk, she fears what she might hear, what he might have to say to her. the very idea of it makes her heart clench up with apprehension. a decade is a very long time in which to forget someone, and she must prepare herself for the face that too much may have changed for him.

he made so many promises. he had smiled and held her, kissed her, loved her. they knew that they might be separated one day, that they might fall back into stasis, neither of them could promise that that would not happen. but he had promised always to love her, and she him.

she can forgive that he had forgotten her. she can forgive that he had slept. but can she forgive him if he has broken that one, monumental promise? can she forgive him if he.. if he leaves her, like they all do? she had been so afraid to love someone, to love him, afraid to lose something so precious, so afraid that she had needed to be convinced that it would be worth the risk, never thinking that it may perhaps actually come to pass. talking with him, hearing what he has to say.. can she forgive him if he breaks her heart?

she doesn't know. she can't know. but the fear in her heart suggests her answer.

silently, alisaie steps onto the teleportation pad, waiting for him to join her before they journey down together, back to wyver, back to the home they had left behind. ]

[ And wordlessly, he follows her, downcast and a shell of his usual self, his heart and soul in knots like he has never known before. For all he has struggled in his life, he has never, ever faced something like this before, and he has no idea where to even begin to untangle himself. What does he do next? Gods, he doesn't even know if it's the right thing to do to go with her right now. Will he give her the wrong idea? What is the wrong idea?

Taking even those few steps takes strength beyond himself, but he joins her on the teleporter, fiddling with his wedding band, the symbol of those promises he had made so long ago that it feels like another lifetime, another person.

But it was still him, wasn't it? It was still him, and it was still her, and they are once again, together, in spite of everything.

...He considers once, twice, three times holding her hand, but he's too disgusted with himself for it to be more than a passing fancy. It's...not right, no matter how much it feels like it is. Gods, he hates this. Walls between them were never supposed to exist after they had taken them down for one another, let the other closer than anyone had ever been before. And yet now they are still higher than ever, erected tall and seemingly impregnable.

Maybe it's...better. But it doesn't feel better. Nothing feels better right now.

All the way back to their house in Wyver he is silent. He doesn't know what he could even say, if he could find his voice, with every passing landmark striking pangs of bittersweet familiarity into his heart and bringing tears to his eyes that will not dry. He knows this place, this city, and he weeps for it. It had once felt so much like home...as did the little treehouse they approach now. This was the home they found together, that they built, that they lived in before and after they were married. There were other homes they occupied together, but this one...was special. A landmark in its own right. Returning to this place feels so much like coming home, and it's surreal and unsettling.

As they approach, Prompto opens his mouth to say something, anything, but before he can get anything out there's a yelp from one of the nearby homes. A small, scruffy dog comes bolting out of the yard towards them at full speed, barking in recognition. ]

...Peo? No...no way—

[ A joyful sound spills forth from him then, a grin splitting his face as tears renew in his eyes. He takes a knee, welcoming the dog into his arms, and Peo licks his face with reckless abandon. ]

[ as much as she would rather not think about any of this at all, there is no room for anything else in her mind. wyver is the same as it had always been. she remembers these trees, she remembers the earthy smell of the air, the sight of dragons in the skies, the warmth, the shape of the city. this was home, and to her.. it still feels that way. soon enough she needs to find out how much time has passed here, while they slept in stasis, out of space and time.

for now, they approach their home. it looks quiet. abandoned. she knows that she will be alone here, save for prompto - the others.. she had seen them in her pods as she had passed, while she searched for prompto. her brother sleeps there now, and krile, and dear x'rhun, everyone she had known here, her family. to have prompto here, yet feeling so far from her.. she cannot say whether it is a blessing or a curse, whether it would be more or less painful to live here alone, while he still sleeps on in stasis, or to have him here beside her, yet a world away. were he slumbering in the pods, she could have at least pretended at the future they might someday have together.

but now..

an all too familiar noise greets them, and when alisaie sees the dog tearing across the grass toward prompto she feels her heart twist up again, hot tears once more rising in her eyes. what a bittersweet feeling it is to watch them together, and the gods know that she is indescribably grateful to know that they were not gone so long to have lost peo - he still looks young and healthy and robust - but it is more than her heart can handle. somehow, it makes her feel more isolated still than she had been before. peo had been prompto's dog first and foremost, after all.

there reminders are too plentiful, and too painful, but at least they are happy. it warms her aching, bleeding heart to see it.

nevertheless, she turns from them before prompto can see the tears in her eyes and the pain in her expression, her chest impossibly tight as she quickly climbs the walk to their home and lets herself in. ]

[ Given the burden already upon his heart, Prompto hadn't stopped to consider what they might find at the house when they arrived there — or if members of their family might be missing. Like Alisaie, Prompto had seen them sleeping in their pods, but Peo is a different story. When they went back into stasis, poor Peo would have been left all alone (another thing he is guilty of), to fend for himself, and abandoned as he was the day that Prompto found him. But it would seem their dog was smart and loyal enough to stay near home, and found someone kind enough to take him in while they slept. It can't have been all that long — Peo looks virtually the same as when Prompto last recalls seeing him — but even a few weeks or months could have been more than enough time for a terrible fate to befall their poor dog. Seeing him alive and healthy and just as loving as he remembers gives Prompto just a shred of hope.

Maybe...maybe they can find a way for their family to be a family again someday, after all.

Of course, no sooner has Alisaie turned to head into the house than does Peo tear after her, because while he may have been Prompto's dog first, the two of them have always shared a particularly special bond, and Peo has not forgotten. He tears up the walkway after her, surging up to her and pawing at her leg, prancing as he tries to lick her hands.

And Prompto brings up the rear, lost again in silent stupor as he takes in the sight of their home. It looks untouched, just as they left it, and his heart aches with such an exquisitely painful fondness that he can scarcely breathe.

His fingers graze the door frame with reverence. ]

[ it's empty, and dusty, but the house is the same as they had left it - cozy and inviting, warm, familiar, and.. surrounded by mementos. trinkets. reminders. the mantle is still crowded with photographs, prompto's jacket and alisaie's traveling cloak still hung by the door. no doubt her favorite cookie jar still waits on the counter, and the bathrooms are surely still stocked with their soaps and washes (prompto's, mostly), the closets filled with their garments (again, prompto's mostly).

normally it would have been a source of great comfort, but now.. now it reminds her of all she stands to lose. all she may already have lost, even if he has not put words to it.

alisaie cannot make it very far into the house, however, before peo is chasing her down and pawing at her leg. she can hardly deny him. he has not forgotten her, nor has his affection diminished, and it's enough to make her heart tighten fit to burst. dropping to her knees, alisaie pulls him into her arms, and peo whines his concern, licking the tears from her face that are, thankfully, silent. it's hard enough to be so weak around this man that she had once leaned on so fully, she does not want him to see her cry any more than he must, for fear that he will feel responsible, guilty, or.. obligated. she cannot stand the thought that she might be the target of his pity. ]

I know, my sweet. I missed you, too..

[ she says, softly, attempting to keep her voice level, though it trembles in spite of herself. ]

[ It's the photos that draw him in first, of course, and while Alisaie and Peo reunite properly, Prompto lets them have their moment while he approaches the mantle, almost afraid of what he will find there. His memories are still fuzzy and even as they piece themselves together, these pictures help with some of the knitwork. There are many of Prompto and Alisaie and their friends, but the two of them feature in every single one.

And in the center, there is one that is imprinted upon Prompto's heart, from their wedding reception, of them and all their friends who had been with them on that most special day. A soft cry strangles his breath as he plucks the frame off the mantle, staring at it in his trembling hands until he can no longer distinguish the details through his tears.

How could he forget this? Even if his mind forgot, how could his heart...? He feels like he betrayed everything he knew, everything he made here with her. He forgot that he loved her so fiercely. Does he still? Loving her had always been easy, effortless, what felt natural and right. Does it still feel that way?

The answer isn't immediately apparent, and that's what's worst of all.

Slowly, he turns back to Alisaie and Peo, still clutching the photo in his hands, shuffling his feet as he approaches. ]

Um...w-we...did you want...should we eat first? You beat? Or...or did you want to talk now?

[ He owes her this, at the very least, to not be a coward, to not flinch away from the explanation she deserves. ]

[ there had been a time in their lives when wild chocobos couldn't have dragged him into an important conversation, when she'd needed to chase him down, when wrangling him into talking about something heavy had felt like pulling teeth. ever one to keep the mood light and warm despite his heavy heart, it had never been easy, especially in the beginning, to convince him to discuss the more difficult things.

that he seems so ready and willing to dig into it right now feels like a terrible omen. whatever he has to say cannot be good, most especially given the look on his face while he holds that very specific, very special photograph.

dread blooms in her belly, heavy and nauseating.

alisaie is exhausted, exhausted from her long sleep, from crying, from revelation after terrible revelation. nothing sounds better than the idea of a warm meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed. but the very idea of food makes her feel ill, the possibility of sleep so distant and impossible a thing. tempting though these comforts might pretend to be, they will only delay the inevitable, and she wants answers, even if they terrify her. time has not changed her overmuch. alisaie is still the sort to cut right to the chase.

she straightens, and peo's ears flatten back in worry. this should be a happy moment, but he senses the tension, the unease, the sadness. ]

Tell me whatever it is you need to tell me.

[ So, that's her choice, then, and of course, he will respect it, much as he might dread what he has to say, what will inevitably come of this. This...is it, isn't it? This is the unforgivable bridge that he has crossed, and he is now about to burn it to ashes. He can't do this to her, and yet he must. Like an infected wound, it must be cleaned, even if the injury left behind may still be too great for them recover.

...He used to believe in their love so fully, so completely. He wants to, still. But then he left for ten years and forgot her and fell in love with someone else, so what could he possibly know about true love?

Shuffling his feet like he is unsure whether to sit or stand, his gaze drops away from her own, his grip on the frame tightening while he stalls. He can't do this to her, and yet he must. ]

Alisaie...just hear me out. Before you say anything, let me — let me say everything that I have to.

[ It's the only thing he'll ask of her on this. If she wants to walk away from him forever after this, that's fine, but he has to say everything that's in his heart first.

Again he stalls, fumbling his breath, picking his words like debris in his scattered thoughts. ]

When I was back home, a...a lot happened. The Starscourge...you remember? The world fell into ruin. Eos was overrun by Daemons, but the Crownguard kept fighting. We kept fighting, for ten years of darkness, until...Noct came back. That's — that's not what I need to tell you about. While I was there, there...th-there was...there was s-someone else.

[ And from the way he says it, it's clear what kind of "someone". His head dips low in shame, his cheeks flushed against his otherwise pale face. ]

I...liked her for a long, long time. I didn't...I didn't ever think anything would ever happen, because she never seem interested back, but then...when Noct came back and we had to head into Insomnia one last time, I...I took a chance. I told her how I felt, and...w-we...we kissed.

[ And this is the part where he needs her to keep listening, because for as hard as that was to say, and for how hard it was to hear it, he isn't finished. A desperate note rings in his voice as he squeezes his eyes shut, like he's afraid to even see the shadow of her. ]

I-I...betrayed you. I know. And I...I still care about her. I don't... [ A tear slips from his cheek, splattering onto the smiling faces on the photograph he still holds. ] I don't know what to do. It's been so long since we were together, a-and I broke every promise I made, everything I swore I would do for you. But...

[ At last, he finds the courage again to look up and meet her eyes, though his are desperate, pleading, begging her to hear him, even if he's surely broken her heart already. ]

But earlier, when you found me and you kissed me, before I could even remember anything else, I knew, in my heart, that it was right. Th-that...we were right. Kissing you felt like...coming home.

[ ...And that's it. He falls silent, waiting for the guillotine to drop. It isn't enough, is it? It can't be. ]

[ somehow, it is worse than she had expected.

ten years is a long time. she accepts that. she accepts that his memory is foggy, that he has forgotten so much that will need to be relearned. she even accepts that he.. may not want to relearn it at all, that it has simply been too long, that it can't be salvaged.

but someone else.

the words hit her like a fist, hard and brutal and so sudden that she does not see it coming. the shock is plain on her face, alisaie has never easily hidden her emotions, and this is certainly no exception. someone.. someone else? another woman? in hindsight, it seems obvious enough. a decade is a terribly long time, and prompto.. he is so kind, and warm, and loving, desperate for the nearness of others. it only stands to reason that he would seek that sort of company, that he would yearn for love - but this is not a situation to which she can apply reason, and alisaie has ever thought, and reacted, with her heart before her head.

it feels like a knife to the gut. whoever he had chosen.. no doubt they are worthy. prompto is a good man with a good heart, anyone he would choose must be lovely, and worth loving, and he is worth loving, he deserves to feel cherished in all the ways he wants to feel cherished. ten years is a long time to expect anyone to wait for her, especially when he does not remember. but that does not keep it from hurting. he may have accidentally tripped over her heart, he may not have meant to betray her, or hurt her, but the damage is nevertheless done. there is a ringing in her ears and a tingle in her skin, that surreal feeling of the world dropping out from beneath her feet.

there were so many eventualities that she had prepared herself for. for her own death. for his. for separation. for the loss of their family. their homes. but she had believed in their love. he had convinced her to believe in it, his faith had persuaded and bolstered her own.

yet here he is, in love with another. she can hardly process the shock, the pain.

still she listens, as he asks, despite how his words sound muffled by the sound of rushing blood in her ears, despite how her heart pounds and her gut twists, she listens, and allows him to finish, and she feels guilty for feeling so betrayed, so hurt, when it is clear that it was not an intentional slight. but the fact of the matter still stands that, whether he chose it or not, he has inadvertently driven a wedge between them that neither of them could have seen coming. her wedding band feels painfully tight, impossibly heavy.

that kissing her felt like coming home might seem like a comfort, but it is little more than insult to injury wrapped up in pretty words.

alisaie opens her mouth to speak, but all that escapes is a breath. what can she say? how can she translate her heart? is there any reason to? what would it accomplish? like as not everything she feels is clear enough in her anguished, expression, the sting of pain and betrayal has her recoiling defensively, her body language tight, inward focused with her arms clasped over her abdomen. it has been years since she has ever felt so tightly closed off, as if this single blow has her backpedaling to a time long before she learned to open her heart. ]

I-I.. I don't..

[ she starts, but she cannot finish the thought, it spirals off into the great tangle with all the rest. what is he expecting. ]

I do not know.. wh-what you - what you expect me to say..

[ And there it is. A reaction worse than he could have conceived, and he knows that it is over. It's over, and his heart shatters anew, scattering into a million pieces as she closes herself off. He knows what that posture means. He knows her better than he knows himself, and she wants nothing to do with him. And who could blame her? He has trampled right over her heart. He has betrayed her loved, her trust, their vows. He doesn't deserve to wear this ring anymore, for it symbolizes everything that he isn't.

A dry sob hiccups in his throat, as his head hangs low again. Maybe he should follow her example and shut down, close himself off, because what else can he do? There's nothing else he can do or say right now that wouldn't hurt her, and she's made herself clear. She doesn't...want to even entertain the idea of trying to work this out. Which is more than fair, and he can't blame her for it, but still, it hurts. It hurts so damn much.

He runs the back of his hand over his ruddy and tear-stained cheeks, and when he speaks again, his voice is...hollow. Empty. Robbed of the emotion that had swelled in it before. It all just...bleeds out of him, leaving behind his shell, weary and scooped out. ]

...Nothing. Just...nothing.

[ He swallows against his dry throat, the feeling prickling and sharp. ]

We should...get some rest.

[ Even if they know full well that neither of them will rest tonight. What he really means is that they need some time apart. ]

[ it isn't a good enough answer, not for either of them, but it is all that she could give. what should she say? that she can't believe he's done this? that wouldn't be fair. he had no obligation to her in a world where he could not remember her. should she say that it is okay? that would not be right either, because it is not okay, none of this is okay, her world feels tilted, everything is wrong, things are broken that she had thought indestructible. there is nothing her words can accomplish, especially when she does not know what he expects of her.

or what she expects of herself.

what does this mean for them? what is it that he wants?

alisaie is too afraid to ask. too afraid that his love for this mystery woman is stronger than his love for her ever was, too afraid to hear him say that it is over, no matter how good that kiss might have felt. what if it was too little, too late? what if, in the end, he chooses her?

she will need the answers to these questions, and she will need them soon, but not now. for now, she can barely digest the enormous revelation he has dumped on her, her heart could not handle anything more, and she would not trust herself, or her reactions. already she cannot trust them, she cannot know what she will say or do, how she will vent this terrible pain in her heart, but she does know that adding to the weight will only crush her further.

rest. she's drained. exhausted. but she already knows that sleep will not come. still, it seems their only choice. the night is late, there is nothing more they can say to one another without worsening an already terrible situation, and she could not bring herself to eat, or read, or anything else trivial that might pass the time. curling up in bed in an attempt to not think (she will think, she will think a great deal) is the best option in an array of awful choices.

so alisaie drops her eyes, her nod near imperceptible, and draws away and up the stairs, stopping only to fill peo's water dish before she's disappearing into the room they once shared so happily, so eagerly. ]

[ And just like that, she draws away, up the stairs and out of sight, and for a moment, his heart cries out in abject fear. What if she goes up to their room alone and she returns to stasis? What if he never sees her again? What if they never figure all this out, and they remain unresolved, broken, the shattered remnants of what they once were? He can't bear the thought. He had meant to stay down here, to sleep on the couch apart from her, but his heart twists so painfully at the sight of her disappearing to their room that before he can think better of it, he calls out. ]

Wait!

[ A deafening silence follows, one heavy enough that it almost crushes his resolve, but that would be worse, if he stopped her like this and did not follow through. If he gave her hope, and then snuffed it out so quickly, so cruelly.

Maybe he won't even want him nearby, and no doubt he'll feel guilty for it, but the last thing he wants right now is to be so far separated from her, when ten long years of her absence are catching up with him all at once. ]

...I-I...I don't wanna... [ He swallows. Why the hell is this so hard? He used to be able to tell her anything, everything. ] Is it o-okay if I...sleep up there? With you? I-I can sleep on the floor, but I...

[ ...What is he thinking? This is only going to makes things worse, isn't it? ]

[ he calls out for her, and the sound of it is so true and intense that at first alisaie the smallest lift of hope in her heart. what does he have to say that is so important? will he tell her exactly what she wants to hear? that this was all a terrible joke? a cruel, elaborate prank?

will he tell her he loves her?

it has not been lost on her that he has not said it, that for all the things he has spilled from his heart, the expression of his love has not been one of them, which stings more than all the rest. they could get through this, if he loved her. they could find a way. but if he has not said it.. they cannot be sustained on her love alone. they should not be sustained on her love alone. and she knows prompto, she knows his heart, even this distant heart she does not know, and he would not offer her false promises. he would not make jokes about a thing like this. whatever hope she has that he has lied about all this dies just as soon as it breathes.

alisaie turns at the top of the stairs, trying, and failing, to do her very best to mask the deep, impossible sadness she feels. does he have one last barb to throw? the straw to break the camel's back?

no. he is asking something simple. so simple, in fact, that it stings so very badly that he would have to ask such a thing at all. alisaie's expression crumples, and she quickly looks away. ]

Of course it is. This is your home. Your bed. You needn't ask me such a thing..

[ Of course it is. And yet, he still felt compelled to ask. To make sure it was okay. That he could sleep in the same room as his wife.

Shame washes over him again, and his face turns away as hers does, as he fiddles with his wedding band again, that same nervous tic he had had years and years before, suddenly returned to him in full force now that he is here again. ]

...Right. Yeah. I just...yeah. Sounds...sounds good.

[ I just wasn't sure if you would rather be alone, but he doesn't say that, of course he doesn't say that. Of course she doesn't want to be alone. It's only his betrayal that might make it a necessary thing. Will she hold some things in that she otherwise wouldn't, if he weren't around? Is he being selfish?

That's a stupid question. Of course he is.

With his head hanging low like a dog that's been scolded, he ascends the stairs after her, stepping through the doorway into their bedroom where another overwhelming wave of nostalgia waits for them. It's all the same as it was in his distant memories that were lying dormant until he stepped into the room. Their bed, the photos on their nightstand, the dresser full of clothes and personal items, vestiges of the life they had built here together, the life he has destroyed with such simplicity.

Wordlessly, he moves over to his side of the bed and sinks down onto it, reaching down to unlace his boots.

Sleep may not come, but he might as well get comfortable. ]

[ their room is the same as it has ever been, warm and inviting, the walls themselves steeped in memories. good memories. happy memories that fill her heart. their relationship had had its ups and downs, but alisaie had been happy before anything else, even when they fought or cried she still loved him, and was sure that he loved her.

so much has changed so quickly. the layer of dust on the room is thin enough to convey that they have been gone long enough for it to gather, but not long enough for it to grow thick. hardly any time has passed on el nysa at all.

alisaie moves to her dresser, her gaze flicking briefly over the photographs that sit atop it, though she does not linger there - she can't, she isn't ready to look too closely left it drive the thorn in deeper. by rote she tugs free a nightdress and begins to change, her movements mechanical and tired, but being free of her boots and belts and into something soft and yielding and familiar does make it a little easier to breathe. she moves to the adjacent bathroom to wash up and let down her hair.

it all feels so.. familiar. so easy. she should be joyous at their reunion, to have him back in her life, and she is, gods, despite how angry she is with him, and with everything, looking into his face still gladdens her heart. she still loves the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips, the dusting of freckles on his cheeks. she loves every bit of him.

and poor peo, who had been so ecstatic to see the both of them, now hesitates in the doorway with his ears down and his eyes large and forlorn, breathing a soft whine before he hops up onto the foot of the bed, unsure of what to do. ]

[ It feels so familiar and easy, dressing down in this room. They've done it a million times, and the movements are easy to fall back into, even all these years later. But where there was a simple balance between them before, things are skewed now. When she changes into her nightdress, he doesn't look her way, as if he shouldn't see her changing, as if he hasn't seen it a thousand times before, as if he doesn't remember every curve and ridge and dip of her body. As if he doesn't remember all the times that he's held her, that they've made love, that he whispered to her in the aftermath that he loved her, that he would always love her, that nothing would ever stop him from loving her.

...And he hasn't. But admitting it, even to himself, is yet another betrayal. No one wins in this situation. Someone will get hurt, no matter what he does, and he's at loss. He doesn't deserve either of them to begin with.

Likewise, he waits for her to go into the bathroom to dress down himself, guilt and shame in his every movement as he pulls on clothes that fit a little tighter than they did before. Under different circumstances, it would be so easy to make a joke about it, to make light of the way he had changed, but the last thing he wants to do right now is joke. He wants to fall on his knees and apologize and weep and scream and do none of these things at all. But he doesn't want to joke.

Instead, he simply, soundlessly moves back to his side of the bed, stroking a hand over Peo's back as he contemplates whether the guilt will eat him alive if he sleeps in their bed. How has it come to this? ]

[ it certainly isn't lost on her that he won't even change in front of her. nothing is lost on her. she is noticing every little detail, every change in his behavior that demonstrates that he does not trust her as he once did, that he does not love her. gods, he can't even dress in front of her, an act that would have been so simple as to be thoughtless before they fell into stasis. he is her husband, she has touched and kissed and loved every inch of him, but he cannot even bring himself to take off his shirt in her presence.

gods, she is miserable. every little thing feels a slight, she is flayed so raw that even the smallest of things hurts deeply.

alisaie moves to her side of the bed, her pillow the same as she had left it, a book on olympian history still open on her bedside table, marked where she had left off. she sits, and looks to it with hooded eyes, considering its meaning, almost afraid to lie back and let the endless night set in. how will she sleep? how will she find rest, without her thoughts eating her up, circling ceaselessly? she will get through this. she must. he is not the first to have broken her heart and left her behind, and while it feels devastating every time, she has endured. she shall endure this as well, however impossible it feels.

so with a soft breath she lies back at last, tugging the thick, warm covers up to her shoulders, and curling up tightly. ]

[ Maybe she should ask her where he should sleep. Would she rather him be on the floor, as far away from him as this room will allow, or does she want him closer? It would be easier to let her decide, but that too is cowardly. It should be a simple decision, but it isn't. Nothing about this is simple.

After feeling her weight sink onto the bed opposite him, he hesitates a moment longer, before sliding beneath the covers next to her, though he doesn't reach out for her as he once might have. He doesn't pull her into his arms and murmur into her hair, as he longs to. His heart is far too tangled for that, and while they might be sharing this bed, he could not feel more distant from her.

Is that it then? Have they broken irreparably, despite everything? How could his heart, which he has always relied on, led him so far astray?

As he settles to rest his body but not his mind, more questions come, but they have no answers. That's all there is -- more and more questions, with no real answers to be found, leaving him feel more wrung out and desperate then before. Sleep doesn't come, but he knew it wouldn't. Instead, he tosses and turns, he walks to the window and lies back down, he weeps as quietly as possible. The night bleeds on until he is exhausted, hovering in a half-awake state, until the sun begins to rise.

And he needs to get up and do something. Casting a look over at Alisaie's outline across from him, he slips out of the bed as quietly as he can. He knows she's probably not asleep, but he still tries to not disturb her. Heading to the door, he moves downstairs and into the kitchen, falling into a pattern that is so familiar that he almost doesn't even think about it.

He turns on the burner and finds the pancake mix. ]

[ for her part, alisaie does sleep, though not long, and not restfully. she curls in on herself, lost in the spiral of her thoughts, overanalyzing every little detail, repeating every word he had spoken in her mind and deconstructing them, searching for any shred of hope but finding none. what will she do? how will she move forward from this? they built their lives together, around one another, they are so remarkably intertwined that separating themselves again will be a nightmare. where will she go, when he leaves her?

for he will leave her. she is convinced of it. he lingers now because he is a good man with a good heart, but he cannot force a love that is not there, and that will become apparent soon enough. where will he go? where will she live? she could not possibly stay here in this place, where the plentiful memories will choke her.

eventually she falls to fitful sleep, but she wakes several times, and by the time the sun begins to rise she feels even more tired than she had when they had come to bed.

prompto is gone, and when she turns onto her side to find his side of the bed empty, her heart feels raw again. how many times had she opened her eyes to his smiling face and sleepy eyes? how many times had she kissed him and laughed against his lips while tousling his bedhair? she can see it so vividly in her mind's eye, his sleepy morning smile, the sunlight on his face. though her eyes had been dry through the night, when she had been unwilling to weep in his presence, the weight of it now crashes down, as she reaches out a hand to smooth if over the sheets he'd left rumpled. tears flood her eyes and she weeps fully, openly, her soft, broken sobs muffled by the blankets that she holds to her face, the scent of his body still clinging to them.

it's cathartic. it's necessary. it feels as if her heart is tearing in two, but it is something she needs to get out, expelling the blood and ichor of her wounds before it festers and rots. ]

[ For the nth time since he awoke from his slumber in stasis and Alisaie pulled him in for that needful, desperate kiss, he wonders if he's doing the right thing. When he has felt lost before, he could always rely on his heart, he could always search his feels and trust them and come away stronger for the exercise. But this time...it's his very heart that is conflicted. Every choice he makes carries consequences, and already, he's worried that he left her too soon this morning, that he should have stayed in bed until she awoke and they could at least say good morning. Gods, what will she think when she wakes up and finds her bed empty? Will she think he's left her?

The thought is petrifying, like an electric shock to his heart, and thankfully, the pancakes are almost done cooking. Hopefully the smell has already wafted up to their room to reassure her of his presence, but still...he should have at least said something...

Right?

That he still isn't sure is the worst part of all.

Quickly, then, he finds a tray, loading it up with fresh pancakes and syrup that have stayed on the shelves. There is no fresh fruit or juice in the house, so she'll have to settle for a glass of water, and he nearly trips over himself in his eagerness to get back up the stairs to her.

But it's not until he reaches the doorway that he hears the sounds of her sobs, and his heart sinks down into the pit of his stomach, shrinking and writhing. She's...she's crying, weeping, in a way he hasn't often seen her do, and it tugs in his very soul.

Without hesitating, he sets down the tray of pancakes on the dresser, hurries over to her, and folds her up into his arms. ]

I'm here. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...

[ in truth, she hadn't considered that he might have left her now, in this very moment, but the emptiness in bed beside her had driven home the point that he would, that he will, be it today, or in a week, or a month.. whenever he works up the nerve. it feels so final, so inevitable, and she will have to find some way to make it work, to survive it and move forward.

she'll manage. she must. but right now she has to cry, she has to allow herself to feel the pain, to expel it.

the last thing she expects is the sudden grasp of his arms around her, his voice in her ear, the wonderful, familiar heat of his body. it's a shock, and she gasps audibly through the cracking sound of her sobs. at first she tenses, her hands at his chest to push him away. he shouldn't. she does not want his pity, she does not want him to feel guilty for all that has happened, because it is not his fault any more than it is hers, but feeling his arms around her - she can hardly bear it for all it reminds her of what she stands to lose. she doesn't want to hope where there is none.

but how can she resist it? he's so warm, his arms are so strong and familiar and she feels her heart breaking all over again. pressing her face into his collar, alisaie curls all of herself against him, into him, her hands grasping tightly in his shirt, her tears spilling freely. ]

I- I'm sorry -

[ she croaks through her sobs, her eyes squeezed shut. ]

You don't.. you d-don't have to..

I want to.

[ He murmurs back, a sob caught in his throat, as he holds her near, stroking her hair and inhaling the scent of her hair. It isn't fair. It sure as hell isn't fair, not to Alisaie, not to Prompto, and not to Cindy who still slumbers on, that the trappings of this world have caught them in this tangled web. He is no closure to knowing what to do than when he tossed and turned the night before, but he does know that holding her like this feels right. That even those they have changed and grown, they still somehow fit against one another so perfectly, two halves of a greater whole. The love he had for her didn't flicker out when he had been on Eos. It had merely gone dormant, and it has been stoked back to life, slowly but surely, since he woke up in this place once more.

It isn't fair, and he shouldn't allow himself this, the comfort that comes from holding her, the peace. But when he lets his eyelids fall shut, nothing else matters but her, and being here for her in her moment of pain, because he wants to be. ]

I want to.

[ He repeats. He isn't here because he feels sorry for her or because he feels obligated. He's here because he still loves her, her fire and her brass and her unyielding heart. ]

[ of course he wants to, because he is kind and caring and loving and all of the things that she had fallen in love with. his voice and desire are genuine, his heart no doubt aching to see her hurt - prompto would weep for a stranger, if it came to it. ten years have not changed him.

still, for his own good she knows that she should not allow this, she knows that he does not need this burden when he has a terrible choice already to make. part of her is tempted to cling that much more tightly, to fight for his heart, to fight for what is theirs, but that would.. that would not be right. she should not sway him. she should not convince him. even if she fought and won she would never know if his heart was entirely true, and like as not, neither would he. this is not something she can force or strongarm, much as it might be in her nature to.

nevertheless she cannot resist his arms, not when her heart is aching so fiercely, not when his voice is what soothes her most in this moment. she breathes in the scent of his skin, and bittersweet though the feeling might be it calms her even as it breaks her heart, and soon enough she has cried all of the tears she is capable of, emptied her soul and her heart. as she falls slack, her breathing begins to slow, and then to even out, though her eyes sting and itch and her nose and ears feel stuffed.

at last she pulls back, scrubbing at her red-rimmed eyes with her hands, her face pale and blotchy, the collar of his sleeping shirt soaked through. alisaie sniffs, and breathes, and sits up a little straighter, clasping her hands tightly in her lap, keeping her distance now, allowing him his space, though the heat of him that still clings to her clothing is sweetly alluring.

she wishes he had not seen that.. ]

I'm all right.

[ she says, and hiccups, pulling in another deep breath. ]

I'll be fine.

[ When she's ready to pull back, he allows her the space, of course, because the last thing he wants to do is upset her further by staying where he isn't wanted or welcome. Already he isn't sure if he has overstepped a line, if he has trespassed upon what is welcome, but she doesn't have barbs for him when she draws away. She has reassurances, for whatever they're worth. She says she's alright, she says she's fine, but he can still feel the wetness of her tears on his shirt, and the sound of her sobs in his ears. Nothing is alright or fine.

He searches her face for a moment, silent, before his gaze falls away and over to the pancakes waiting on the dresser. ]

...made one of your old faves. Been awhile, but it all came back to me, just like riding a bike, heh...

[ But now pancakes hardly seem like enough to make up for all the grief and anguish he has caused her. Even if he decides it's okay to be with her again, will she even want him? After this betrayal, could there still be love for him in her heart? ]

[ pancakes.

she can't help it. she laughs, or something like it - the sound is hollow and brief and mirthless, but it just seems so.. absurd, in the face of this great upheaval. pancakes are so simple and easy, one small part of their lives that had been common and integral, it almost feels like trying to put a bandaid on a gushing wound.

of course, that isn't how he meant it. surely it was a simple gesture of kindness, of peace, even if it feels like another little cut. he made pancakes for her all the time, served them in bed with a smile on his face and a kiss to follow. though the gesture is sweet, it reminds her of what is not coming with it, that once always did. ]

.. pancakes?

[ she exhales, flicking her gaze to the plate on the dresser. they've no doubt cooled by now, but they still smell sweet. ]

Thank you. You.. did not have to.