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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[ of course she doesn't hate him for it. she could never hate him. no matter what has broken between them, no matter what might change or shift between them, she would never hate him.

but she can certainly be angry with him, and annoyed, and exasperated. she should be relieved to hear that he still loves her, and she is, but the anger is a tide that cannot be easily stopped, most especially when he meets her fully, challenging her with his eyes and body language. ]

That is all?

[ she scoffs, clearly shocked by his admission, but it cannot knock her ire away. ]

You have kept me waiting so long, for that? Why would I not be able to understand that? You let me think - all this time you let me think you did not love me any more -

[ and the injustice of that swells inside of her, urging her forward; gods, she could clock him right in the jaw, but she settles for prodding his chest hard with her fingers. ]

You allowed me to torment myself because you were too afraid to admit that?

What do you mean, that's all?

[ Does she have any idea how difficult that was to even say? And yet she's making light of it, like it's nothing. Like the anguish he has been going through these past few weeks is trivial, like if he had just told her this sooner, everything would be okay.

But it wouldn't, and it isn't. He needed time to make sure he still loved her, but even now that he has come to terms with it, that doesn't change the situation. Anyway, shouldn't she have known that all along anyway? How could she think he would stop loving her, even if he had feelings for someone else too?

She jabs at his chest and he doesn't relent, instead stepping nearer, their faces only inches apart, as he looks deep and hard into her eyes. ]

How could you think I didn't love you? Even if it's been ten years, even if I forgot, even if I liked someone else — how could I ever love anyone but you?

[ he steps nearer, but if he thinks she will step back he has another thing coming. alisaie does not stand down. she never stands down, not before him, not after him, and not for him. meeting his hard, flinty gaze with her own, alisaie bares her teeth, her hand at his chest now grasping at his shirt. ]

Do you think I wanted to believe it? It certainly would not have been the first time you decided you knew what was best for me, and tried to throw away all we had built!

[ it's a low blow, she knows, but nevertheless a true one. she has not forgotten the gala, how such a wonderful night had gone so terribly wrong, how he had returned his ring and left her alone, assuming that she did not want him, when he could not have been more wrong. bringing it up now, flinging it in his face - it is no more right or fair than anything they have been saying, but they are angry, and tense, and old grievances rise to the surface so easily. ]

You can hardly stand to be around me, you hole yourself up to change your godsdamned shirt, you will not touch me, you will not even look at me - how can I feel wanted? How can I feel loved when you are positively repelled by me at every turn?

[ She brings up the gala, and he pales, looking as though she has slapped him right across the face. She knows he regrets that, that he would do anything to change what had happened that night, and yet she calling forth old wounds to add to her arsenal. It's unfair, and infuriating. What is she trying to prove? If she knows him so well, then shouldn't she have seen his reaction coming? ]

Repelled by you? I wasn't doing that because I was repelled, I did it because I felt guilty! I did it because it had been ten damn years since we were last together, and it didn't come back to me as quickly as it did for you! Do you have any idea how long that is? Half your lifetime!

[ It hadn't even been a full day since he had kissed Cindy when he found himself back here with Alisaie. Did she expect him to fall back into it just like that? Every routine they had shared? He couldn't, not without betraying the feelings in his heart that he still had for another girl.

But now that feels almost...trivial. They're so close now that he can see himself reflected in her eyes, a warm feeling flooding his gut, even as the fire burns on, urging him to shout, to fight, to — ]

How could you — how could you throw that back in my face like that? You — you're so —

[ He makes a strangled, frustrated sound, fists balled at his side. He's so, so angry, so frustrated, infuriated, with himself, with her, with this whole goddamn situation — so you know what? To hell with it. Why is he fighting so hard against what he wants?

So he surges forward, closing the space between them, his hands grasping either side of her face to pull it up to his own, his mouth pressing to hers in a hot, hard, fiery kiss. ]

[ she has a retort ready, of course, she has a thousand barbs lined up and ready to fling, aimed to hurt, because she's angry, and irrational, and hurting, and no matter how wrong it is she can't help but want to spread that pain around, to make him suffer, because she cannot bear suffering alone. not in this moment, at least, not when she is desperate and suffocating. it is bringing out the absolute worst in her.

but she does not have the change to throw those darts, because he is surging in toward her, across what scant little space remains between them, and a part of her had foreseen it. she had felt it, viscerally, deep in her gut where her consciousness does not reach, and so her face tips up to meet his own without voluntary thought. at first she is shocked, the breath stolen from her lungs, and she squeals in fury against his mouth, shoving hard at his chest. ]

How dare you -

[ she hisses against his lips, but the fight leaves her quickly, all but instantly, and with a low, desperate whine she presses back into the kiss, into him, tilting her head and seizing his shirt with both hands, her lips parted and her breath quick, her heart pounding fast in her throat.

this is not how she would have wanted it. none of this is how she wants anything to be, but gods, it does not matter, his mouth feels hot and sweet and good and she has missed it with every fiber of her being. these weeks have been so very long, harrowing and torturous, and however they might be mercilessly tearing into one another it feels so irresistibly good to do so, to sink her claws into him where she knows it hurts, to allow herself to bleed, battered by his words. they've needed so desperately to get it out.

it's a good kiss, hells below it is so good, but it is not sweet, or friendly, or loving - alisaie whines into his mouth, pressing against him with all of her strength, her teeth raking his lower lip hard, her hands pressing over his chest, drinking in the heat of his body, the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. it is hardly a barrier at all, but it still feels like too much space between them. ]

[ This isn't how he wanted it, either. When they came back together, if they came back together, it was meant to be sweet, heartfelt, with nothing but love between them. No guilt and anger and pain, no barbs thrown just to cause hurt, and so they would have no regrets. Neither of them would be afraid that it was not right.

But right now, he isn't worrying about whether this is right, or wrong. All he's thinking about is how good this feels, and how much he wants her. The heat had built in his gut while he was diverted by their argument, but now it's all-consuming. She is all around him, filling every space, and he groans as she hooks into him, her hands fielding his body, her kiss rough and unforgiving. It's what he wants. These sharp, forceful, course movements and emotions.

With one hand, he pushes the remaining dishes on the table aside and onto the floor, before lifting her swiftly onto it and pressing up against her, their kiss burning with sweet fury as his tongue presses against her own, like he is issuing a challenge. She better not be gentle with him, because gentleness is he last thing he wants right now. ]

[ the dishes crash to the floor, and even the harsh sound of it excites her, thrills her, drives her. prompto lifts her so effortlessly, and she responds easily, immediately, her legs parting to welcome him between them, her thighs pressing hard to his hips, tightly, so she can arch forward and against him.

he needs not fear gentleness, for there is nothing gentle about this - not in the way she moves or kisses him, not in her hard, harsh breaths, not in her roving touches.

she doesn't care. no, it might not be what they both would have wanted, but it is certainly better than nothing, and a far cry from the cold distance they have kept these long weeks. every night spent in that bed beside him, so near to him - near enough to smell his skin yet unable to touch him - had been torture, every shower spent alone, every morning waking to an empty bed, or leaving early before he had even risen without waking him, without saying a word.. compared with all of that, that horrible loneliness and grief and self-loathing, this feels like heaven. like all she has ever wanted, and waited for.

impatient and greedy, alisaie presses both hands beneath his shirt, the fabric rucking around her wrists as she gropes hungrily, chasing the heat under his skin. he's thicker than she remembers, stronger and broader but still familiar, still a map that she knows so intimately. her tongue lashes against his own, their kiss like a battle, all teeth and harsh breaths and fighting for territory and dominance. their argument has not ended, it has only transitioned into something different, something more, something easier. alisaie can fight far more skillfully and aggressively with her body than she can with her words, physicality has always come to her far more easily than conversation; all of her pain and fury are out, poured into the ferocity of her kiss, into the hard drag of her nails against his skin, into the desperate grind of her hips to his and the breathless, ravening sounds that escape between their mouths. ]

Edited 2019-03-18 06:10 (UTC)

[ It feels good. It feels so damn good that it makes him absolutely dizzy. Alisaie's hands rove everywhere over his body, beneath his shirt, over skin that hasn't been touched in so very long. It's been ten years since he has been touched liked this, kissed like this, though even this is a far cry from the way they usually kiss. They are no strangers to passion, but this...isn't just passion.

It's fury, and anger, and unspoken words. It's frustration and poison and infection. All things they must get out, and so he doesn't stop her. How could he, anyway? When it feels so nice, when her hips rock against his, eliciting desperate, hungry sounds from him, reminding him of how goddamn good it feels to be joined with her, inside her. He wants her, and even if he's already panting against her mouth, he doesn't slow, her dress rucking up over his wrists as he thrusts both hands beneath her dress, seeing out the heat of her body, while his teeth rake over her lip, pulling it taut.

Yes, it feels good. It feels nice. It's numbing and sweet, to lose himself in the heat of this, to ignore everything else in favor of the static in his brain. He has already gone hard against her, eager and ready, and it would be so easy to get what he wants. What they both want.

...But this isn't them. They are fire and passion, but they are also love, and this...

This isn't love. It's just an outlet.

With a shuddering breath, he breaks off from her, and though he doesn't move away from her, he isn't kissing her any longer. He hands aren't roving. He is just...frozen, breathing harshly against her lips, his expression tight and pained. ]

...W-we can't. N-not...not like this.

[ They will regret it, and he can't let their first time in ten years be like this. ]

[ this is the best she has felt since she woke from that accursed pod, since the looked into the eyes of the man she loves to find he did not entirely recognize her. at last there is somewhere for all of that pain and anger to go, an outlet for it to burst through, and for all the pressure had been building inside of her this relief is incredible.

they're so close. she can feel the heat of his body, how hard and ready he is for her, and she is no different, wet and eager and hungry in a way she's never entirely experienced. in some ways she has never wanted him so badly, never needed him with such an incredible ferocity, and it shows. it shows in the arch of her body and the hook of her nails into his hips, it shows in the sounds she makes, beyond needy, like she is starved and only he can sate and replenish her. she's so desperate that she does not notice when he stops, not right away, at least, and it isn't until he speaks that she begins to slow, pulling back only enough to look into his face, like she cannot bear to sacrifice even an inch of space between them. why has he stopped? why has he gone so still? why is he saying such things? ]

What?

[ he's putting on the brakes, and a new sort of fear opens up on her. gods, she needs this, they both need this, can he not see it? an injured sound passes her lips, a soft, anguished whine laced with need and she presses forward again, dragging hot kisses along his jaw, her hands dropping to find his beneath her skirts, urging them forward with something almost like panic. ]

We can, we can -

[ she whispers, her heart pounding, icy fear flooding her veins. they can't stop. she cannot face what they have become, what they were before this needful, desperate moment, she cannot bear his rejection again. ]

Please -

[ He's slowed and stopped, but Alisaie would have them go on, her kisses to his jaw hot and wet and her hands urging him to touch her, but where there was fury and heat and frustration before, now there is only cold and dying embers, and a sudden feeling of wrongness that sweeps over him like nausea. Not because he doesn't want her — he always wants her, and now more than ever. He is desperate for her, so needful that it's almost terrifying.

But this isn't them. Their intimacy has always been so necessary and important in demonstrating their love and their trust, but this isn't love and trust at all. After so long, this...this can't be how they come back together. Because of their mutual frustration and need to vent rather than out of understanding. He feels further from untangling his heart than he did before, and as good as it feels to be needed by her like this, it isn't...he can't...

Tears fill his eyes as he bites his lower lip, swollen from their volcanic kisses, and he draws his hands away, letting them fall uselessly to his sides. ]

I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry...

[ He glances down and away, that same sense of shame eating away at him. He was the one who initiated this, and now he's taking it back? He knows what this will do to her. He knows how this will hurt her. ]

Please, Alisaie, I just...I need...more time...

[ But he's already asked for too much. ]

[ how can he do this? now? she has wanted this since the moment they arrived, since everything disintegrated between them. he says that he loves her, but she has not felt loved. she has felt avoided, unwanted, she has felt every day that he would be more comfortable if she were not here, if he did not have to worry about some forgotten wife from another world.

maybe she should have more faith in him. in their love. but everything he had promised, everything they had promised, has fallen down around them, and alisaie has never possessed the same unshakable hope that he has. she is a realist. a cynic. sometimes terrible things happen. sometimes good things come to an end before we want them to. mayhaps that is what this is, and she has to accept it, however her heart rails against it, however desperately she loves him.

he says he loves her, but it does not feel real. he says it because he thinks he should, because his memory demands it of him, but his warmth toward her is gone, he does not smile for her, he does not touch her, even in passing, he cannot even watch her change, or trust her to see him unclothed. their intimacy is gone, and while she aches for it desperately, he has only ever seemed.. distant. ashamed. like he is afraid to let it end, afraid to say what must be said. that he no longer wants her. that he no longer loves her.

and now, he cannot even touch her. he pulls away so completely, dropping his hands from her body, and she feels.. cold. alone. that terrible tightness in her gut returns, grasping with icy claws, and alisaie feels hot tears fill her eyes suddenly and fully, blinding her, choking her.

there can be no salvaging this, can there?

more time. more time. there will never be enough time. it's over, isn't it? all that they promised one another, everything she was to him, it is.. gone.

alisaie inhales sharply in an attempt to keep her sob at bay - he has seen her cry far too much. she slides off of the table and onto her feet, hastily righting her dress, her face hot with shame and humiliation. to be rejected, and by him -

wordlessly, she moves away, her arms clutched to her abdomen, and hurries toward the stairs and up to their bedroom, snapping the door shut behind her. ]

Alisaie, wait, please, wait —

[ But she doesn't wait. As soon as his hands are off of her, she leaves, up the stairs and away, and Prompto watches her go with growing horror. What has he done? Is this..the end? Has she had enough, and now his last chance to salvage their love is gone? Just like that?

He thought...if he had just a little more time...

A strangled cry cuts from his throat as he slams a fist down on the table. No, it can't end like this, not after everything they were — are. He has to believe they can still be the people they were on their wedding day, that they can still carry out the vows that they made. Even if...even if he's already broken them, and broken everything else. He just — he just wanted to do things right —

Tearing up the stairs after her, he skids to a stop in front of the door, and hesitates a moment — but only one, and then he's pressing forward, throwing the door open and stepping into the room.

It can't end like this. It can't. ]

[ in perfect honesty, she hadn't expected him to follow. he's been so passive, so meek - even their brief, passionate fight lasted the briefest of moments, she would have expected him to remain downstairs, lost in his indecision and confusion the same as he has been these long weeks.

but it doesn't matter. she does not want him to see her cry, but it's too late for all that; besides, she is moving, her canvas bag tossed onto the bed stuffed with toiletries while she rummages in her dresser drawers. her heart pounds and her eyes burn, hot tears on her cheeks that she scrubs away as best she can, breathing through her barely controlled sobs. this is hard. so hard. so much harder than she would ever have thought it might be. it feels like loss, like grief, and while prompto is alive and well, he may as well be someone else entirely, the wonderful, perfect, amazing thing that existed between them is dead, and she mourns it deeply.

briefly, her eyes flicker toward him when he enters, but she looks away just as quickly, crossing to the bed to jam a handful of clothing haphazardly into the canvas sack. ]

You want time. You shall have it.

[ she says sharply, though not venomously. the fight has gone out of her, the heat and poison washed away by resolute anguish. there's no need to hook her claws into him, it will not change anything, and he does not deserve it - but she cannot remain here any longer. ]

[ She's packing.

But of course she is. Why would she stay here? Where he's made it clear she isn't welcome or wanted? It's only then that he begins to understand all his treatment these past few weeks has telegraphed to her, though he didn't mean any of it to come across as the way that it inevitably has. Still, she has to know...she has to know he still loves her, right?

Right?

All of this...it couldn't have convinced her otherwise. Could it have?

The answer seems plain by her actions alone before she even speaks. Her movements are weary, not filled with the fire that had come a few minutes before. She's tired. He's tired, too. But instead drawing them together and giving them a chance to talk without barbs, it only pushes them further apart. How did this happen? Any of this? How could he push her, the woman he loves, his wife, to this point?

But she packs, and he feels powerless to stop it, because her mind is already made up. Still, he has to protest. What if she walks through that door and never comes back? It can't end like this, it can't — ]

Please, Alisaie, don't do this. Don't — don't go. I-I...I need you here...

[ But he isn't so much talking about the house. His breath shakes out of him as he lifts a hand to his chest, where it curls over his heart. ]

[ alisaie stops, briefly, her hand on the bag. ]

That.. that is not fair.

[ he cannot say that now, now, he cannot tell her he needs her after he's spent so much time pushing her away, keeping her at a distance. she has tried so hard to be patient, to wait for him, to give him space and time but it has not made a difference, they are no more healed today than they were when they first awakened from stasis. maybe a few weeks is not enough time for him, maybe he needs months, or years, but she cannot endure the ghost of what they were while he takes his time to figure it out. every moment spent in this home, sleeping beside him, smelling his skin on the sheets, looking into his face every day -

he does not mean to be cruel in asking her to stay, she knows he must be feeling desperate, because he's kindhearted, he's concerned, he wants to fix what is broken between them because he feels that he should, he does not want her to be hurting. but he also cannot give her what she wants. what she needs.

she cannot stay. though it tears her heart in two to go, her mind is made up; lingering here with him will not make his path more clear. if anything, she is only distracting him from what he needs to do. she shakes her head and sets to work again, stuffing a few more items of clothing into her bag until it's full. her voice trembles, breathless, cracking between words. ]

Time is what you need. Not - not me.

[ it aches. it stings like a hot poker in her soul. ]

I have to go. I cannot.. I cannot stay here, like this -

[ it's so difficult to look into his face, especially when her own are red-rimmed and watery, when just looking into his eyes is enough to break her heart, to make her knees weak and threaten her resolve to leave, but she must give him at least this much. ]

Take.. however much time you need to - to think, to understand what you want, whatever you need to do - you know where you can find me.

[ in the place they shared once long ago, the little apartment she found in wyver. there will be memories there, too, but older and faded, bearable. mayhaps the time alone to reflect will be good for her, too. lifting her bag over her shoulder, she moves quickly past him. ]

[ He wants to insist, to push, to fall on his knees and beg, because he fears that if she walks through that door and leaves their home, that she will not return. The fear of being alone is the most paralyzing thing of all, though if he's being honest with himself, hasn't he been alone this whole time? Hasn't he isolated himself from her despite living beside her, just so he could attempt to figure out this tangle in his heart that involves her? Why has he been so goddamn stubborn?

And yet even if he realizes that, he still doesn't have any answers, and Alisaie deserves them before he weeps at her feet and clings to her skirts. She deserves...so much that he has not been. Even if he can figure himself out, will she want him back?

You know where to find me.

And there she goes, shattering his heart along with her, and for a moment, he can only stand there and stare at her retreating figure, frozen in place, horrified of everything he stands to lose. Because he will lose just that if he loses her — everything. She is his whole heart and soul. What is he without her? ]

W-wait —

[ But he doesn't follow her this time to stop her. Instead, he scoop Peo up from off the floor where he skitters nervously, hurries after her, and —

Pushes the pup into her arms. ]

H-he...h-he'll wanna keep you company.

[ If any of them should be completely alone right now, it's him. ]

[ she hopes that he does not follow her this time, because it is difficult enough to leave as it is, her heart and soul urging her to stay here, to stay near him, while her mind reasons that she cannot. it's for the best. if they have even the slightest hope of salvaging even a workable friendship from this tormented mess.. they must do it alone. he must do it alone. but she's so weak, if he asks her to stay again, she isn't sure she can go through with it.

so when his voice rings out again she falls still and closes her eyes, her heart sinking in her breast. she can't resist him when he's hurting, even when she's upset - with her anger burned away she feels only guilt, gone is the desire to sink her teeth in and fling barbs into his soul, and she's ashamed for having felt that way at all. he'll ask her to stay again, and she will relent.

but instead he's pressing peo into her arms, and alisaie doesn't respond at first. she's surprised, glancing from the dog, up to prompto's face again, searching for an answer. ]

Prompto.. no, that isn't..

[ it isn't right.

neither of them want to be alone, but alisaie, of the two of them, is far more accustomed to it. she isolates herself when she is hurting or afraid. but prompto - he thrives on the company of others. it will be difficult for him to be without any people, she can't bring herself to take with her the friendly face he needs to get by. imagining him here alone, heartbroken - she cannot stay, but leaving with peo.. it does not feel right. she shakes her head. ]

You - you will need him more than I will..

[ She's right. He knows she's right, and yet he still can't imagine keeping Peo here and sending Alisaie away alone, because it is no easier for him to picture her heartbroken and alone than it is for her to picture him heartbroken and alone. But he caused this. The reason this chasm has come between them is because of him, and desperate though he is to have her stay, maybe...time apart is what he needs, to help him figure things out. Even Peo might distract him too much, or reassure him more than he should.

No, he...he should be the one who is alone. Completely alone. He made his bed, and he needs to lay in it, by himself.

He leaves Peo in her arms, eyes still upon her own, before he steps back and away. ]

Please. Take him with you. S-someone's gotta watch out for my best girl for me, y'know?

[ His mouth tugs up at one corner, his best attempt at a smile, though it is fleeting, and gone all too soon. ]

...It's okay. [ A beat. ] It's okay.

[ He'll be okay. ]

[ she wants to argue it further. taking peo from him feels like punishment, and for all she had been angry before, for all she had wanted him to suffer, the feeling did not last long. she does not want him to punish himself simply for the sake of it. what would that accomplish?

but there's no reason to debate it any further, his mind is made up, and they're both too tired to continue arguing. alisaie dips her head in assent, cradling peo closer to her chest. best girl, he calls her, and it's like a knife to her heart; it's all she can do not to flinch and recoil at the sound of it, how it both stings and soothes her. if he means it, truly means it, then she should feel better, have hope, but she's.. just far too frightened that he's going through the motions simply for the sake of it, that once she is gone from his everyday life he will realize that what he thinks he feels is not real. that his love for her is gone, and what was left was only obligation, and the burst of emotion tagging along on a rush of old memory.

she cannot know for sure. only he can figure it out. in time.

alisaie opens her mouth to speak, but there's nothing left to be said, nothing she can manage - so in the end she only nods, eyes down, and turns to quickly hurry away and down the stairs, leaving their once warm, happy home in lonely silence. ]

[ ...And then she's gone.

The first night passes in a stupor. For better or for worse, he is numb. He is exhausted and raw and wrung-out and tired, and so for a long, long moment, he can only watch the space that she occupied before she walked out that door, lost in stupor, wondering if she will come back. Hoping that she will come back. She will, right? They've fought before, but they've never...separated. Not like this. Even after the gala, they stayed inside the same house and managed to make peace after a handful of days. Even when she had been recovering from the burns to her leg, he had stayed with her at the hospital. Even...even when he'd been killed, he pulled through death itself to return to her side, to cling to this wonderful, miraculous thing they built together.

So...she'll come back, right?

But she does not come back. And slowly but surely, the silence settles on him. The house hadn't been loud before, with how strained their relationship has been, but he still could feel her presence in the walls. She was still there, and there was Peo to bridge the gap between them. Maybe...he had been too hasty in insisting she take the dog. But...no. This was his choice. He chose to be alone, and not just during their last argument.

He's been making that choice all along, hasn't he?

He's been stupid. So...stupid. Believe their bond would mend itself didn't mean he shouldn't have taken any action, but his guilt had gotten the better of him and made him completely useless. He'd been afraid to talk to her, because of how poorly she'd taken the news of what had happened back home, but...he should have still tried. She was waiting for him to take initiative that he never took, and he rested too long on a thing that was wearing thin. And now she's gone. Maybe...maybe forever. Because how could she ever want him back when he's been so completely horrible to her?

So the second day he cries himself dry. He despairs, fears, he regrets. He contemplates the worst. That she will never come back, that he will be alone for the rest of his miserable life, and he'll have no one to blame but himself for throwing away something so good, so perfect. He looks at his photographs. He reads the letter she left for him, in case she ever returned to stasis without him. He touches every corner of this house that they lived in together, that they cherished. Where they had laughed and smiled and loved and lived, where they had talked the night before they had wedded, where they held each other and kissed. The walls are steeped with their love, with memories.

He picks up his phone, dials her number, his thumb hovering over the send button. But he never goes through with it. He's such a goddamn coward, he can't even call his own wife, but the fear of rejection, of losing it all in no uncertain terms, is too great for his heart to bear.

And then time crawls on. He doesn't fall into a pattern, because the only patterns that he knows here were built around her. Instead he sleeps at odd hours and forgets to eat, he runs out of groceries and loses his key. His situation with Alisaie would be reason enough to fall to pieces, but he also hasn't really...processed what happened back on Eos yet, either. That weighs on his shoulders, too. They saved the world and the sun returned, but Noctis is dead. Would he ever wake up from stasis? Should he ever wake up with stasis? What the hell does he do now?

He misses everyone so goddamn much, and while the dead tundra of Niflheim could give this a good run...he's never felt more lonely in his life than he does in this moment. It's really no different than any other moment, but it hits him particularly hard, and he just — he can't —

He can't go on like this.

It's been several days since he's found any tears to cry, but they return in full force now, and he sinks down onto the kitchen floor, burying his face in his hands, hiding his face from the world, even if there is no one around to see him cry. ]

[ returning to their old home is not as easy as she had anticipated. it's a far sight better than their treehouse, where the memories were much stronger and visceral, where prompto was, skulking about like the ghost of the man she loved, but there are still memories here. this was the first space they shared together, lived together. this was where he held her while she suffered, her body attacking itself, failing, dying. quite a lot happened here. it was their starting point for building their life together.

still, she can breathe more easily. the weight on her chest has lessened tremendously, the air about the place is not so oppressive as it had been at the treehouse. peo is nervous, uncertain, but he settles in well enough, keeps her company, and sleeps tightly against her at night, licking the tears from her face when she weeps. she's lonely, terribly lonely, but alisaie has a natural tolerance toward the feeling, she's isolated herself more than once to process or protect herself, and this is no different. besides, she has work to keep her occupied, and she spends long hours reading.

and thinking. of course she thinks. she reflects on what has passed between them, on her own mistakes and failures, but in the end, she does not act. she cannot act. alisaie has so often been the initiator between the two of them - she is decisive and forward, she knows what she wants, but this.. this is not a choice that she can make for him. prompto's heart is his own, this decision is his own, she cannot tell him to love her, she cannot force them to be as they once were, loathe as she is to admit it - strongarming the world to be what she wants it to be is generally speaking one of her specialties. but this this time.. this thing cannot be rectified with a sword or a sharp tongue.

this, as he had said, needs time, and alisaie is not a patient girl.

but she waits, nevertheless. she waits for him to come to a decision, or perhaps she is waiting for him not to come to one. perhaps she will live out the rest of her days here, in this apartment, perhaps he will never tell her the words she wants to hear. he does not call, or text. he does not come to the apartment. with every day that passes she worries that.. mayhaps he never will.

still, she has to live, and when she had packed it had been hasty. she does not have all of her clothes or books or belongings, she does not have even half of them, and while alisaie isn't a particularly materialistic girl, she could.. definitely use more than three sets of undergarments. and her books. she needs those.

so in the evening she climbs the tall path to the treehouse again with peo bounding at her side. he knows where they're going, he's excited to see prompto again, like as not this separation has taken its toll on him more than she can guess - to have them back from stasis only to be so tense and unhappy.. it shows. it will do peo some good to see prompto again, though a part of her still hopes that he might not be home when she arrives, she would prefer this to be as painless as possible.

but there's a noise before she's even fully in the door - the sound of prompto's cries.

alisaie reacts instinctively and immediately, she doesn't stop to consider that it's not all that unlikely that he would be upset. this is difficult and painful for them both. but her muscle memory kicks in, and her heart aches - regardless of his feelings toward her she still loves him, and she has ever been protective of his heart; that he should be hurting so badly chafes her very soul.

dropping her bag at the door, alisaie rushes to the kitchen and sinks to her knees, folding him into her arms without hesitation. ]

Hush, now -

[ ...He must be dreaming now. He's passed out, too exhausted or lightheaded and how he's dreaming or hallucinating, because Alisaie is here. But she isn't here. She left. He drove her away.

Yet he hears her voice over the sounds of his sobs, soothing and familiar and warm. He feels her arms close around him and the gust of her breath against his hair. He feels her warmth, her gentleness, and the feeling that envelops him is so powerful that it splits his heart in two once more.

Through red-rimmed eyes, he turns his head up just enough to look, to see if the phantom he wants so desperately to be real is actually there. ]

...A-Alis-saie?

[ She...she came back? ]

[ no matter what becomes of them, no matter how far apart they drift, if he chooses to remain only her friend, or even her acquaintance, she will always be powerfully protective of him. she cannot help it. he is so strong, stronger than even he himself knows, but his heart is a tender, gentle thing, soft and sweet where hers is hard and unyielding. it is something she must preserve and protect, even if she is guilty of harming it, she cannot bear to see him like this. ]

I'm here.

[ she says, smoothing his hair back from his ruddy face with one hand, though she still holds fast to him, scooping him close to her body while peo wags his tail nervously and whimpers, uncertain of whether or not he should approach. ]

Try to breathe, my love. Deep breaths, with me.

[ Try to breathe, my love.

Her voice reaches around his heart and holds fast, the lifeline that he needs to pull himself out of this. He no longer has to question that this is real, because of course it is. He doesn't deserve her, he doesn't deserve this, but still she's here, holding him, soothing him and cradling him close. His arms wind right back around her, holding fast like his very life depends on it, his face pressing to the crook of her neck, inhaling her skin, his heart railing within his ribcage.

It's strange. How he could forget her for ten years and never miss a beat, and yet once he remembered her, losing her for even one weak his nearly crushed his heart.

He held her when she vented her tears, and now she does the same for him. Tired as he is, it doesn't take him long, but by the time he finally starts to slow and breathe deep, settling breaths, her collar is soaked with his tears, his skin warm and flushed, his weight heavy against her as he leans on her for support. ]

I-I-I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry...

[ He manages between those steadying breaths, his fingers in her clothing tightening still. ]

[ it isn't a difficult thing to do, to hold him like this, to cradle him near to her heart while he expends his grief. she's done it a hundred times before, and he has done it for her. they were there for one another long before they became romantically involved, he was her dear friend, her confidante, and even once they became more he was still those things to her. they were the best of friends, they laughed together, they mourned and wept together. this is easy. natural. even if it makes her heart ache.

and so she rests her cheek to his hair and rocks gently, back and forth, back and forth, one hand smoothing over his cropped hair, the other against his back, her thumb rubbing soft, small circles between his shoulder blades. like she had before, she knows he need only get it out, expel the pain through tears and sobs, and while it won't fix what is broken it will give him a chance to breathe, and he will feel all the better for it, able to think more clearly. alisaie closes her eyes and rides it out with him, silent save for the occasional soft, soothing whisper.

but even the most violent of storms must come to an end, and he soon begins to quiet against her, though she still keeps him close. ]

It's all right.

[ she says softly, her voice low, and smooth, yet still sad and despairing. even if what happened is not his fault, or hers, it still happened to them, it is still happening, and they are both hurting deeply, in places that are difficult to heal. ]

You are not to blame..