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[It's not the most comfortable of ways they could be arranged, certainly, but it's a necessary one. To give Ezar something tangible to hold onto, like when he was drunk and teary-eyed and clinging to her like a lifeline.]

Giving is what he does when someone around him needs help.

[And maybe that's the puzzle piece that Ezar is missing, really. Maybe he doesn't realize that he needs help, and G'raha sees it when he doesn't.]

The Crystarium was never meant as a gift for me. The First was a blighted wasteland when he first landed there, and the survivors went to the Tower looking for help. And he opened it to them. He welcomed them to take anything from inside it, anything they could put to use. His only restriction was that no one could make a home inside the Tower, because he knew someday he would use it to carry himself to his death and he didn't want to risk taking anyone else with him when he did. The city grew up around the Tower, because being near him made them safe.

[Feo Ul had called the Crystarium the Exarch's garden, and all in it his flowers. It makes her heart ache to think of it.]

He sees you, tortured with memory, and so he gives. And giving frightens you more, and so he gives more. He holds out his hand and you can't help but see a knife in it. And when he sees you startle at the knife, he tries all the more to get you to take his hand.

[ He wraps his arms around her and bends to rest his cheek on her shoulder. He breathes her in and some of the tension leaves him; he breathes himself out. ]

Ah, so it is pity.

[ In a way, knowing that makes it easier. He knows little about relationships, but he knows enough that neither pity nor 'wanting to help' someone is really a basis for one.

But there is part of him that's sad, to realize, that it isn't anything in him really, other than a hurt that seems to require soothing. Though he can hardly expect anyone to want him for himself when he takes such care to not be seen for himself, not unless it's someone like Summer, who is relentless in her own way. ]

I've been overthinking it.

...Pity.

[She'd pull away to stare at him if she could, but as it is he's got her held snug and fast, and so she simply lets her tone convey all the sentiment for her instead.]

What part of anything I just said sounds like pity to you?

You said giving is what he does when someone needs help.

[ ...why does she sound like that? ]

He sees me as someone who needs help. And he is kind to want to.

But...

[ He breathes out a little heh. ]

I'd like to not be merely... someone who needs help, I think. Though that is surely my own failing.

You didn't come running for me when I was scared and alone because you pitied me, you numpty. Besides, you said yourself it's not pity and you know it's not. You just feel safer pretending it's born of pity because it would frighten you to the bone otherwise.

[She shakes her head.]

Wicked white, it's like you think you have to hate yourself twice as much to make up the balance for everyone around you who doesn't.

[So she says, followed by a huff.]

The more you try to punish yourself, the harder he'll work to try to save you. You do understand that, don't you?

[ He opens his mouth to argue with her, because from the first time G'raha met him, it was always in the context of trying to save him, trying to help him... but if he thinks about how he has come to know Summer, hasn't it been the same? Their first several meetings had been him trying to help her out... he was merely much worse at it than G'raha. And he has little doubt she would point that out.

Which leaves only... all else she's said, which is all true, no matter how he'd like to deny it. And all that remains is the question. ]

Why?

[ He doesn't shout it, sensitive to the fact that G'raha is sleeping in the other room. But the quiet word has the all the vehemence of a much louder demand. ]

You're right that I hate myself. I have every reason to. And I don't understand why you don't, nor him, and I can only feel as if I've deceived you in some way.

Because hope is everlasting.

[She shifts in his lap, adjusting enough that she can get a hand free and bring it up to his face — at first like she's going to rest her fingers over his mouth, but then skimming aside to hold his cheek instead.]

You said something earlier, about unspoken things — if you know something, why does it need to be said. You want us both to look at you and recognize the terrible things you've done and say so. And you think that when we don't, it's because you've deceived us.

But like you said yourself, things aren't lesser just because they're unspoken. I know you have blood on your hands. You've made mistakes and bad choices and suffered for them. You've made others suffer for them. You're not a hero, and you've not lived your life trying to be good.

[Her thumb traces over the curve of his cheek.]

In a world destroyed by calamity, Raha took up the burden of hope. In a blighted wasteland of despair, he built a city of refuge. He doesn't look at your sins and pity you for them. He looks to what can be raised out of them, by the work of his hands.

You don't have to believe he's right. You don't have to agree that he can do it. Mayhap he can't. But if nothing else, you do have to see that he thinks he can.

[ And she seemed so surprised, when he said he loved her. How could someone do anything but love her, when she says such things, and so matter-of-factly?

A strange thing for him to think, perhaps, when he's always been certain he wouldn't feel this particular contraction of the heart toward anyone again, let alone a woman. But what he sees when he looks at her, what he takes in when he nudges the bridge of his nose against her neck and breathes her, isn't woman. It's Summer.

Ezar holds her all the more tightly with one arm, so he can raise his other hand to cover hers. ]

I always thought of hope as a poison. But I know it isn't. It's that...

It asks for so much. It opens such space to fail.

[ He's already failed so many people, caused such disappointment. He doesn't want to do that to either Summer or G'raha, but he's already let himself become so close to them that he can fail them, he can hurt them, another mistake on his part, perhaps. ]

I'm so tired of killing hope.

Hope is falling, dragoon. You've only not found the courage yet to step from the ledge.

[She closes her eyes, leaning into him, and lets a slow breath escape. It's always natural in times like this to box up her own fears and set them aside, devoting herself wholly to the problem in front of her.

This time, she lets a little of her own seep through.]

I remember, after Mt. Gulg — after Emet-Selch took Raha, after I failed — I woke up in my bedroom and opened the shutters and the sky was nothing but endless light. Everything we'd done was for nothing. I hadn't saved anyone. I'd just become the monster that had plunged them all back into the same hell.

And I was given the chance to just...stop. Run away to Il Mheg like I'd run away from Zenos to the First. Become Titania. Hide away, as stagnant as the primordial light I controlled. "It won't fix the problem," Feo Ul told me, "but would it really matter?"

[She smiles, and it's a little watery, but it's strong.]

Hope only ever asks one thing. One more step. That's all.

[ Hope is falling. The words draw a soft gasp from him even as they tweak at his pride, mocking him as a dragoon afraid to dive. But every fall is a leap of faith, in self, in the winds, in understanding.

Stop running. One more step. One step at a time.

Ezar makes himself breathe. For all his insistence that he has little left to fear, it's fear that's governed his life all of these years, circumscribed his boundaries, dictated his actions. Fear of revealing the secrets he carries, of being captured, yes, but also fear of simply being hurt, of being in a position once again where he can hurt others. It is another leap of faith, to suppose that this time, things can be different. To try.

But to remain only in fear is stagnancy.

He can take one more step, knowing on the other side there is nothing but the fall.

Ezar lifts his face from Summer's shoulder, his hand finding her cheek in mirror to her own gesture. This, too, he thinks, is a kind of falling, as if he's already made his leap and not even noticed until the wind has begun tearing at his hair. It is trivial to close that distance and bring their lips together in a movement that's desperate for all its softness. ]

[There's a touch of salt clinging to her mouth when their lips meet; one stray tear must've gotten free of her and skimmed down to the corner, just long enough to leave its taste before drying. And later she'll have to think about what any of this means, because the truth is she doesn't know what the picture looks like any more than Ezar does — whether it's one or two, a torn leaf rejoined, a tree with new branches grafted on. She doesn't know, but that doesn't matter. Right now, it doesn't matter.

Anyway, it brings out the flavor of the ice cream still lingering, besides. A poet or a bard could make something of that, the sweetness more pronounced for the sake of the bitter, but it's late and she's neither so she doesn't.

When she does finally draw back, it isn't far. It's only enough room for a whisper.]

You need to talk to him. That's what comes next. Talk to him until you can see the differences between him and the bandit as clearly as you can mark the similarities.

[Gently, she bunts her forehead against his.]

Jump. If you start to falter, I'll catch you. This is my sky; you know I know how to land.

[ I'm afraid. He doesn't need to say that, because she already knows. All he has to do is trust himself to the fall, trust that Summer will catch him like he's promised to catch her.

The sudden relief of it makes him lightheaded. There are no more choices left to make. If he trusts Summer--and he does--then there is no longer any question of doing anything but what she says in this case.

He sighs, leaning in to kiss her softly again again, to rest his forehead against hers. ]

Thank you.

[ They have kept their voices down quite well. It's not them that wakes G'raha up, but the need to use the restroom. He carefully moves the Wind-up Mystel aside, and heads out to relieve himself.

The light catches his eyes on the way to the bathroom, and once he's finished and washed his hands, he heads out in order to get some water. When he spots Summer and Ezar, his ears raise up.

He looks sleep rumpled, his shirt covered in wrinkles, his hair sticking out in several directions. He blinks a little bit and his tail waves. ]

Oh, hello. [ He smiles at both of them, smothering a yawn. ] What are you two doing up?

[There's a distinct difference between the footfalls of a grown man and the lighter skitter (or squish, in Ultros's case) of one of her mammets, so between the soft pad of feet on floorboards and the creak of the bedroom door opening in the otherwise silent apartment, it doesn't come entirely as a surprise when G'raha eventually makes his way into the kitchen. But it's not as though Summer's moved an ilm to accommodate his arrival, either — still tucked snugly in Ezar's lap, wrapped up in his hold, two different shades of red hair mingling and bleeding into each other where they're leaned together.

At the sound of his greeting, however, she picks her head up to look in G'raha's direction, already smiling without even meaning to — like the very sight and sound of him is more than enough to bring it out on her features.]

Hello, sleepyhead.

[It's good to see you awake, she almost says, but keeps it to herself like a private joke.]

Rolanberry bought too much ice cream and wanted to borrow my appetite.

[ Ezar had heard G'raha get up to use the bathroom, and then his approach, the same as Summer. As ill composed as he already is--though he does at least feel no trepidation about the fact that he's clinging to Summer like he is, since it's not as if that's ever bothered G'raha before--he is not in the slightest prepared for how dear the man looks, all rumpled and sleepy and smiling sweetly.

At Summer, is mind supplies. But he doesn't believe that, not really. It's at both of them. And it's a... nice thought. A warm one. Don't overthink it.

Twelve bless Summer for speaking up, because he's just been staring. Though he recognizes his cue to say something. He doesn't bother putting the Lominsan accent back on; the thought of offering that to Summer and then not G'raha feels deeply ridiculous. ]

Yeah.

There's enough for you, too. If you want. It's got chocolate and marshmallow and moonberries.

[ It's a rather large container. And even with two spoons sticking out of it, there's still a lot left. Summer did most of the eating; Ezar hadn't really wanted ice cream when he picked it up. ]

Edited 2022-07-03 16:29 (UTC)

Hmmm.

[ G'raha at least moves to hunt down his desired mug of water - grabbing two more, filling them, and hooking his fingers through all three cups to bring them to the table. Then, he settles himself behind Ezar - leaning up against him, hooking his chin over his shoulder and reaching past them both to snag someone's spoon to steal a taste.

It's nice, cold ice cream, sweet and with the texture of the fruit and marshmallow. But he only takes one bite before he returns the spoon to the container. ]

Delicious. Though more than I need at this hour.

[ He stifles another yawn into Ezar's hair, and mumbles. ]

Will I be going back to sleep alone or will you two be joining me?

Look at you. I daresay if we don't decide in a hurry, you'll be back to sleep as it is, right there where you stand.

[She slips an arm free and reaches it up and around Ezar, carding her fingers through G'raha's sleep-rumpled hair. And she lets his question linger for a moment as she pets him, rubbing her thumb lightly against the furred edge of his ear — giving Ezar time to startle if he needs to and settle again after before addressing him softly: ]

I can find you something to wear to sleep in, if you'd like to stay.

Edited 2022-07-03 22:28 (UTC)

[ Summer and G'raha both acting like this is all perfectly normal makes it feel less alien to him. As if it's just as all right and natural to have G'raha's chin resting on his shoulder than it is to be holding on to Summer the way he has been. Ezar leans back into him, just a bit, turns his head enough to rest his cheek against the side of G'raha's head, and finds that feels good as well.

Still, he's glad to be addressed as part of a unit rather than singled out, as if it's natural that he would come with Summer rather than the question being entirely his.

One step at a time.

And what kind of choice is it, really? To stay and have their company as he did on the island, though it feels far more intimate simply because it's their apartment and it's not as if they're huddling together for warmth and safety while exposed to the elements. But his alternative is to go back to the silent apartment and the nightmares haunting it that had driven him here in the first place.

Put like that, it's simple indeed. Though he still sounds a bit uncertain. ]

All right.

I'm... pretty tired.

[ He can only hope that being around other people will let him sleep quietly, so he doesn't disturb them. ]

Edited (I used the word 'quiet' so many fucking times) 2022-07-03 23:54 (UTC)

[ G'raha's tail picks up a little when Ezar agrees but, mercifully, he doesn't otherwise make a big showing of his joy at Ezar's acceptance. Instead, he rubs his cheek against Ezar's a little, before he straightens up again to not yawn directly into his face. ]

You're not wrong. I feel like I could sleep for another seven bells.

[ Don't ask how long he'd been up researching! ]

Mm, let me move Mystel somewhere out of the way while you get the shirt?

[ He seems disinclined to untangle himself, but he will when he gets given the go ahead. ]

Mmhmmm. And Rolanberry can put the ice cream away in the meantime. I doubt either of the other two have figured out how to get into the freezer. Or would want to, for that matter.

[Imagine opening the freezer and there's a wind-up octopus quite literally chilling inside. Madness.]

...Or, if you do nod off, I'll get Mystel and the shirt both, and he can carry you back to bed. Sleepy.

Yeah, I can do that. [ He wrinkles his nose at her. ] If I find any surprises in your freezer, I don't think I can pin it shut with a knife anyway.

[ He's not that mighty.

He nudges G'raha lightly with his shoulder, unwinding his arm from around Summer so she can get up. ]

And he can't be heavier than carrying someone in full armor.

... I don't wear armor...

[ Guess who drifted back down and is drifting off on Ezar's shoulder? Despite the fact that he'd stood up, his weight is starting to lean more heavily on Ezar, his eyes already closed again. ]

Of course you don't.

[She says, as she slides deftly out of Ezar's hold and lap both, and starts briskly packing up the ice cream to shove in the freezer. The spoons go into the mug of water G'raha brought back for her to the table, ostensibly to soak because she's not bothering with cleaning them up at the moment, and when that chore is done she pauses again at Ezar's side, lingering.]

Bring him, will you? Just give me a bit of a head start to clear the room for you.

[The look she gives Ezar, however, is more questioning. There's an implicit check-in, an are you all right with that, bundled up in the rest of it.]

Of course you don't.

[ Almost at the same time as Summer, in echo. Feeling G'raha's weight starting to lean on him more, he hastens to make sure G'raha's arms are looped over his shoulders so he can hold onto his wrists with one hand, just to keep him from falling over.

He looks over at Summer at the question, catching the look, and reaches over with his other hand to find one of hers, lightly squeeze it. ]

Go. I'll keep him from falling over.

[ He leans his head against G'raha's lightly. This, G'raha so relaxed and sweet and quietly trusting, is very different from anything he had in the past. Nothing is being asked of him but to be still and physically supportive, and he has confidence he can do that as well.

He gives Summer a good head start, silently listening to G'raha's contented, dozing breath, his eyes half closed as he leans back against the man to hold him up. I could really like this, he finds himself thinking. For the moment, at least, being so trusted doesn't feel like a frightening burden. This is a task he's equal to.

After enough time, he takes a better hold on G'raha's arms and leans forward to shift the weight of him more onto his back. It's a little awkward to work around the chair, but not that hard. He still remembers carrying his siblings like this many times when they were even more limp with trusting sleep, and over much longer distances than from the kitchen to the bedroom. He gets his hands under G'raha's legs, hitches him a bit higher on his back, and carries him easily all the way to his bed. It's even more simple to transfer him onto the mattress.

His smiling when he straightens back up, his hair falling into his eyes, an expression soft and small and wholly unnoticed. ]

Edited 2022-07-04 09:06 (UTC)

[In almost the exact same moment that Ezar is lifting up G'raha in the kitchen, Summer is in the darkened bedroom scooping up his tiny Mystel counterpart, sprawled out and snoozing comfortably among the disheveled blankets. She almost hates to move him, really, for all that he's just a little clockwork thing and technically doesn't have feelings to begin with. Still, she's careful not to disturb his artificial slumber as she lifts him up and transfers him over to one of the bureau drawers, making a little nest of the clothes inside before easing Wind-Up Mystel down into it.

(Who knows where the other two might have gotten off to at this hour; that's a problem for another time and place, hopefully.)

She's digging through another of the drawers when Ezar's footsteps start to sound softly in the hall, and by the time he and G'raha have made their way to the bed, she's dug up a pair of possibilities to offer to Ezar, and steps over to stand at his side with the both of them dangling from her hand.]

He was sound asleep before you even had him out of the chair, wasn't he.

[She says, low and warm and terribly fond.]

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