adelphoi | (no subject)

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[ 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. ]

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[ 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.

[ He actually jumps at the sound of her almost-laugh, because he isn't expecting to hear anything like a laugh from her right now. Was there something amusing about pancakes? Is he missing something here? Or is she just so surprised herself that that was the only way for it to come out? ]

...I know. But I wanted to.

[ He emphasizes that again, that he did it because he wanted to, not because he had to or because he felt sorry. None of this is done out of pity, but love, even if he struggles with...exactly what that entails.

After a lingering moment, he rises, clearing his throat in a vain attempt to cut the tension that is thick upon the air. ]

Um, think I'm gonna hit the shower...yeah.

[ He can't think of anything else to say. What will they do after that? He...he doesn't know. But for now, a hot shower sounds amazing, and with any luck, maybe it will bring him some clarity. ]

[ what will they do after, indeed?

that is the question, and over a week later, alisaie still does not have the answer to it. they fall into something of a routine, not unlike their usual one, and yet so vastly different. it is a farce, the framework of what they once had, but without all of the filling that made it what it was, that made it real, and special, and intimate. he will not watch her change, nor will he change in front of her. they do not reach for one another in bed, she does not wake up tangled in his octopus limbs, or with her arm thrown over his face. they do not even always eat together, and when they do it is silent and strained, their conversation civil but strained. they no longer know how to exist together, not even as friends, barely as acquaintances.

every day it tears at her already wounded, bleeding heart.

she settles back into life on el nysa, back into work. the knightryders welcome her back into their ranks without question, she remembers all of her old haunts, her favorite bakeries, the walking trails she took, but everything still feels.. empty. prompto was always a warm presence in her heart, even when they were not physically together the thought of him made her smile - knowing that she would go home to him every night, able to complain about the stress of the day, or tell him an amusing story before they fell into bed together, tangled up.. it gave her days meaning. now she dreads returning to their little home, she stays at work as late as possible, she spends more time outdoors, or in the library, anything to avoid the tension and heartbreak that weighs heavy on her the moment she passes through that door.

to think, this home had once brought her so much joy..

but it isn't only prompto that weighs on her heart. everyone is gone. her friends. her family. there is no one that she can talk to about what she is feeling, how she is hurting, there is no real outlet for the pain. it stagnates, she suffers, and every day she hopes it will be the day that prompto will finally give her the answer to the question they both know needs fulfilling, that neither of them particularly want to address, but that they must.

but he gives her no answer. sometimes, when she looks into his eyes, she thinks that he is about to tell her, that what he wants to say is right there behind his lips, and her guts twist up in terrible anticipation.. but then the moment passes, and he makes an offhand comment about his day, or their dinner, or the weather.

she is calm at first, because she does not want to push him, she cannot push him, this is something he must decide for himself, but as time wears on, her patience grows thin. it is agony, living this way, being close enough to touch him, yet feeling a thousand malms away, seeing all the familiarity in him, yet feeling still that he is a stranger to her, someone she does not know.

at last the tension snaps like a dry twig over dinner, when prompto hesitates over a sentence, like he has something important to say, then once more swerves around the topic and asks her how her day had gone, instead. the tension in her body is evident, her jaw clenched and her eyes hard, and at last alisaie slams both fists hard onto the wooden table, rattling their plates. ]

That's enough -

[ she snaps, her knuckles white, fingernails biting into her own palms. ]

How can you ask me that? How can it matter how my day has gone?

[ He's been afraid of this.

It's seemed inevitable for some time now, that something had to give. At first, he had been sure, so sure, that his feelings would sort themselves out in a matter of days, once he had all his memories back and he could have some time to reflect upon how he really felt. He was sure that between the two of them, they would find a way to reconcile, even if he didn't know what that would look like. After all, they always had been able to in the past. Even when he had broken her heart at the gala, and he had thought he had lost her, they were able to reconcile.

But this has created a schism between them unlike any that has ever come before, and what's worse, is the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that it isn't his fault — not really. That doesn't make it any easier to bear, because he is still the one who betrayed her trust and love and fell for someone else, but no matter how he slices it, he didn't remember her. He couldn't have. That's how it goes when you're in stasis, and Alisaie had done just the same. She just...hadn't fallen in love with anyone else while she was home.

So the problem is still him, but it isn't his fault, and so he doesn't know how to fix it. He can't apologize, he can't take back what's been done, and he can't move forward knowing that Cindy is up there in stasis, and he promised he would come back to her after Insomnia was reclaimed and the sun rose again. Their relationship had been new and exciting, only a kiss to their name, and then Prompto wakes up here, remembering the intensity he shared with Alisaie, the love, the heat, the passion. He's never felt for anyone what he felt for her, but that was ten years ago, and while he loves her still, and he knows she needs an answer from him, how can he give it, unless he is absolutely, unequivocally decided?

So he puts it off. They go through the motions living their lives, side by side, but it isn't the same. It leaves him feeling hollow and empty, devoid of the spark of joy that he carries with him. But...still, this must be better, right? Better that they hang onto some semblance of peace and coexistence before the dam bursts?

But he's waited too long. Hesitated one too many times, avoided the elephant in the room, and now she's furious, her fists hitting the table as she shouts, and for a moment, all he can do is stare at her with quiet desperation as he sets his fork down on his plate.

He's asked for too much long. She can't wait any longer, but he still doesn't have an answer for her. ]

A-Alisaie, c'mon...can we do this...later? After dinner?

[ He has no room to ask for this, and he regrets it immediately. ]

[ still, he asks for more time? still he tries to push it away? it stings and infuriates her, and given the way her eyes flash, it's quite clear. ]

After dinner?

[ she retorts, her voice a sharp bite. ]

Why not tomorrow, then? Or next week? Or in another ten years?

[ she can't stand it. the dam is giving way, these long days have been torture on her, looking at him, living beside him, knowing that his heart is no longer hers, knowing that she is utterly, completely alone. and honestly, whether it is fair or not, the fact that he needs this much time - the fact that he needs any time at all - to decide, cuts deeply.

the prompto she had known would not have hesitated. he would have loved her completely, fully, he wouldn't have had to choose at all, because his choice would always be her. that was the promise that they had made to one another. that he wavers at all in coming back to her, in chasing what they had.. it hurts in a way she's not sure will ever heal, and undermines the trust she had so painstakingly built with him. the longer he makes her wait, with each and every day, the more she begins to think that his love for her might never have been so strong and pure and and fierce as she had been so sure it was. cynicism comes naturally to her, and it is all too easy to be sure of it.

shoving her plate aside, alisaie rises, her face alight with pain and fury. ]

I will not wait forever, Prompto. I should not have to wait at all. I can't do this anymore.

I didn't mean —

[ But she's firing like a pistol, her words sharp and barbed, and he deserves every single one of them. He's made her wait way too long. But what else could he do? Give her an answer he didn't mean, or one that he might regret? Gods, what is he even supposed to do here?

She isn't the only one breaking like a dam, and the pain that has been festering in his heart for these past weeks begins to boil and bubble over, spilling into his blood and bones. He rises, too, an unusual heat in his expression that is not often there. It takes a lot to make Prompto truly angry, and it wouldn't be accurate to say that Alisaie is the cause. He isn't mad at her — or, well, he is, but only insofar that he is mad at this whole shitty situation that they have to endure, purely because of the whims of this world and those that bring them here.

He shouldn't — he should keep himself in check, stay calm, try to talk through their feelings rather than shout, but she's obviously not going for that, so why should he? Why should he? ]

What do you want me to say? You don't want to hear me say I'm sorry, even though I clearly have something to be sorry for, since you've been treating me like some kind of traitor since the moment I told you the truth!

[ Doesn't she think he beats himself for it enough already? That his heart has ached like a disease since the moment he realized what had happened? What does she want him to say? If he told her he still loves her at this point, would that even be enough? ]

A traitor?

[ disbelief flashes over her expression, but it does little enough to quell her anger, which only seems to grow stronger once it passes. she rounds the table to meet him, fire in her eyes, her fists still tightly clenched. ]

That is always your problem, isn't it? You assume to know what I am feeling, you don't ask -

[ ever since they met he has been this way, quick to assume that she is always thinking the worst, that she is always blaming him, thinking little of him - is that what he thinks when he sees her? that she is cruel and hateful, that she thinks this way of him, always? ]

I do not want an apology, if you would talk with me you would know that, but you would rather hide, and put it off, and tuck away everything that is difficult and painful because it is easier than facing the truth!

[ it's a truthful enough problem, one they have always struggled with, but she is getting away from the point, and she knows it. a frustrated sound catches in her throat, and she shakes her head. ]

I do not want you to be sorry, I want you to give me an answer!