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It's so strange, being back.

Ishgard hasn't changed in hundreds of years, strange to think it would have changed since he'd been here last, but then, everywhere else he'd been has changed just in the time he's been there. So it's strange to be walking streets he knows from his childhood but with eyes that are so different.

Beside him, Emmanelain chatters on about the different facets of city life. He had made sure Haurchefant knew to petition his former family with as much discretion as possible. They, of course, had simply said their son had died and they were certain some fugitive from Uldah couldn't be him anyway. He hadn't expected any differently. He feels like that person is dead and he breathes on as someone wholly different anyway, but it's strange, to be being shown around the place he grew up in by a member of one of the High Houses, someone his parents would have killed for him to be friends with just a few short years earlier, as though he were a stranger to this place.

He has always been a stranger to this place.

Dressed in Gridanian fashion and tanned lightly by the sun, he doesn't expect there's anyone here who would recognize him. He'd been barely more than a ghost when he left, hardly a warrior of anything. But as they pass through the Jeweled Croizer and Emmanelain gets caught up talking to some girl he's been trying to woo, there's a sudden, strange sensation at the back of his head, something like and unlike the Echo, and he turns, eyes scanning the busy street for... something. Someone.

(For some reason, unbidden, he remembers the night of the Calamity, giant pieces of some other part of Eorzea raining from the sky..

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That response actually gets a little laugh out of him, and a soft smile with it. Really, that shouldn't surprise him. He really hasn't been able to hide from Gustavain for quite a while now.

"Just making sure," he says, with a little shrug, "It seems like the kind of thing people like to know in these situations. ...Though admittedly I haven't heard of anything quite like this before." Not that this part really matters anymore.

"It's nice to hear, all the same," he says, warmly, rolling more over onto his back so it's easier to look at Phillip. "Honestly, I was more worried that you would be worried about me than think differently of me-- at least once we had a chance to talk about it. I guess it's pretty abnormal, you know? It didn't seem like the other Dark Knights had this problem, and I don't know why I do," he shrugs, "I mean, they talk about unleashing their dark sides and all of that and calling on the power of the darkness, but it doesn't seem like it's usually quite so... divisive? Literal?" Another soft shrug.

"I mean, I am a little worried," Phillip admits, "More because of how divisive it seems to be. But if you don't know why it does that then I'm not sure much can be done about it."

He's quiet for a moment, but Gustavain can probably tell he's not done, instead trying to figure out how to say what he wants. "...And I admit there was a part of me that worried you'd regret the whole thing and avoid me for days." The last part is a bit of a joke, but saying what he means is progress.

Gustavain studies him for a moment, considering what to say in return. It's not exactly fraught or even very long, but it's long enough to notice it, and to know that, if nothing else, he's choosing his words.

"And what part of it were you worried I might regret?" There's an easy answer here, given the violence of the whole thing, but there are several doors also left open, if Phillip wants to walk through them-- the emotional one, but also the slightly less harrowing one if he would like more of that particular type of treatment.

Phillip knows why Gustavain does that, leaves the paths of conversation open and plenty of 'outs' available. But in times like this, he really wishes he wouldn't. They do need to talk about it, sooner or later, and at this point later will be all the more difficult for all the chances they've had and chose to ignore. It's still tempting, every time it's offered, to just abandon this and go back to something lighter, back to their now customary dance where they admit nothing.

He keeps the gentle movement through Gustavain's hair, though there's a tension to him now, primed for that regret, for rejection. "What you said," he replies after a long moment, clearly have to push his way down the path, forge through unknown territory, "About wanting me."

And this, right here, is why they need to talk, because Gustavain is running from this, make no mistake, but not in the same way Phillip is. Because his brow furrows slightly to that,

"Why would I regret the obvious?" he says with a small smile, a moment later. Though he sobers in the next, "'Tis never been the wanting that's the problem," he reaches up, lays his hand against Phillip's face, his own surprisingly serene, "But I'll not take back the claiming, either. Not now."

Phillip reaches up with one of his hands to cover Gustavain's, leaning into the touch. "Obvious, hm?" he says with a little smile, clearly not thinking it was- but then again, they are coming at this from very different places. One who is all but fueled by want and connections, and one who has scarce ever seen it.

There is a moment of quiet between them as Phillip just soaks in the gentle warmth of the hand before he speaks again, a little uncertain. "What is next, then?" He's not trying to be clever, he genuinely does not know. In a way, to him the path forward is incredibly obvious, a devotion that comes with want and belonging and everything Gustavain is. But if it was so simple as that, he feels like Gustavain would have laid his claim before now.

Gustavain raises both his eyebrows,

"Is it not? We've known each other nearly my entire life. Do you think I would allow myself to be any kind of vulnerable around you, knowing what you are, if I didn't love you in some fashion? Do you think if Nabriales had been good in bed I would have crawled into his?" he references Phillip's connections very sparingly, mentions his own interactions with other Ascians even less, but there's a point to be made here and he's going to make it. "That I would lie to my friends about it, to keep him close?"

"You are the one who is ever a mystery," he strokes his thumb against Phillip's cheek, gently, "At least to me. I would think both my feelings and my hesitations would be obvious."

Phillip is quiet for a long, long moment, still holding on to Gustavain's hand and still leaning into it. It is not quite that he has never thought of it in that manner, he has certainly wondered why Gustavain did not tell the Scions, why he keeps coming back even when he has every excuse to not. He has known that there has been trust between them, but had not known if that extended to anything more. He realizes, with hindsight, that without love the trust may not have been possible at all.

"I do not intend to be," he says, his eyes slightly averted from Gustavain's not in shame or avoidance but in thought, clearly trying to find the words as he speaks, "I suppose I may well not know how to be otherwise. Especially since I was so often sure you'd come to your senses and write me off sooner or later."

That is a tease, but also not, in the way these things so often are with Phillip. He tried not to feel anything because to do so was an invitation to get his heart broken, and he has never forgotten what Gustavain said to him that first night, that to be with him was at minimum a betrayal of everyone who fought for and with him. Even now, he struggles with how to put it into clear words and not just subtle, easy to obscure actions. "I was going to tell them myself, soon," he says, and perhaps that is a bit out of nowhere but he is trying, so much, "Though I'd prefer that be a conversation I only have once and I feel like Y'shtola would be very cross if it was something she had to find out second-hand."

"I've oft been told I'm nonsensical," he says with a grin, "most often by you. I don't know why it would come as a surprise that I would not come to my senses," it's teasing, but soft. And then, a shift, but it's not avoidance this time, not really.

"Let us go ahead and eat. I feel like this is a conversation best had in bed at this point and I long to be there," he sits up, but he remains close, pulling Phillip against his side while he works to fill a small plate with food from their small feast, "Making sure Y'shtola is present and can box your ears properly from the start is likely the wisest thing you've said all day. It only gets worse with avoidance."

Phillip lets out a short laugh, staying tucked against Gustavain's side as they turn the attention to the display in front of them. "Oh I'm quite sure I've already avoided it too long for her liking," he says, shaking his head as he too begins to help himself, "Though honestly the reprieve I'll get from Tataru's hassling may well be worth the lecture and ear boxing both."

Tataru has no idea he's an Ascian. She's had plenty idea of how he's felt and has been utterly impossible about it.

They likely don't talk much while they eat, the exhaustion from the day momentarily put aside for the hunger that came with it. But once they've had their fill the bed is not too far off, comfortable and warm and all but waiting to be fallen into.

"Oh? Has she been meddling?" he asks it, but it's an idle question, more something to fill the silence while they eat than anything of any real consequence. Whatever conversation there might be is light and Gustavain doesn't waste much time with the food, eating just enough to keep his hunger at bay for a bit before rising to move over and all but flop into the bed. He'll finish the rest tomorrow, if he's still hungry, he figures, or maybe just later in the evening after he's had a chance to rest, but his body is feeling every last swing of that giant sword, now, and laying down is too fine a thing to resist anymore.

He leaves the soft robe they've been given the use of on when he collapses into bed, but it gapes in a way that suggests he's not wearing anything underneath it, and the picture he paints on the bed is both sensual and cozy, moreso for how little he seems to realize it. Phillip coming closer (if he hasn't just followed him down to start with) will get him caught with that longer reach and dragged over into the bed, pulled close and warm almost immediately.

"Much better," Gustavain intones, humorously grave, once he can settle his head on Phillip's collarbone, limbs wound around him.

“Doesn’t she always?” Likewise, Phillip doesn’t take the conversation anywhere meaningful, a very gentle and fond ribbing of their friend being the most of it. He doesn’t eat much either, enough that he won’t starve through the night but the weight of both the exhaustion and the pending conversation (however cautiously optimistic he is about it) pull him to the bed before too long.

He allows himself to be pulled in with a smile, hand finding its familiar perch in Gustavain’s hair and smoothing gently through it. “Indeed,” he hums playfully, shifting the two of them close as he can get.

He’s quiet for a moment, looking over the man beside him and taking in the picture of him lounged on the bed, relaxed and impossible to resist despite everything. “I do love you,” he says softly, realizing now that that might not have been as painfully obvious as he’d thought it was.

"I know you do," it's soft, gentle, even there's a sort of unheard, affectionate you giant idiot at the end. He's silent for a moment, but it's the silence of someone working out how to express something, not the end of the conversation.

"People always say that like it's the end of the story," he says, after a moment, not moving his head from Phillip's chest, "Like it's the ultimate declaration, the only thing in the world that truly matters. But that's not true, is it." It's not really a question. Gustavain takes a deep breath into a soft sigh, tension leaving his shoulders more by active choice than naturally,

"And yet, isn't it really the beginning rather than the end? My parents loved me. I loved my sister. I've loved you since Ishgard. I've loved both before and after you. But all of those stories have ended differently, for different reasons, for different kinds of love. I've loved and lost and I've lost before I even know if I could have loved. Love is just an emotion, like any other. It doesn't carve a specific path."

"That's what I mean when I say I look at you and see a mystery. Your feelings have never been in doubt. And I would think neither have mine. But this story doesn't have an ending yet and, whether we like it or not, the world literally hangs in the balance between us. I trust you and I want you, more than anything. And the selfish part of me that doesn't care if the world burns doesn't care about the rest. But I do."

“I know you care.” And maybe that’s why Phillip hasn’t bothered to be more clear about what that means for him, because he thought it would be as obvious as Gustavain thinks their feelings are. “So I’ll help make sure it doesn’t.”

He says it like it’s simple, because to him it is. Phillip never speaks about his fellows, and while it might be assumed to be part of their discretion, it is also in part because he doesn’t have the kind of connection to them that the two of them have to each other, or the Scions, or most anyone else in this realm. His feelings about the other Ascians are... complicated, to say the least, and he doesn’t believe in their goal enough to pursue it in the face of all this. Hells, he actively ran away from it. Making sure the people he loves are happy and safe truly seems like the natural choice.

"I know. I do, but..." he shakes his head a bit, "I might be a bard by trade, but I don't have words for everything. That's what music is for. But I wouldn't be here if I didn't know already. Maybe you're not even the problem." He falls quiet for a moment.

"I don't know what to tell you, what to say that I haven't already said. I don't know what you need to hear. But there's nothing you need to say and there never has been."

Phillip frowns, though it’s one of puzzlement more than anything else, a hand still stroking the other’s hair. He has always assumed he was the problem, needed to prove that he wouldn’t just turn tail and plot a Calamity. But...

“I don’t understand,” he finally says, because he doesn’t and turning it around in his head isn’t helping, “If I don’t need to say anything, then... what is the problem?” What else is holding this back?

"I... don't know?" he picks his head up and finally looks at Phillip, "You are the one who speaks about my regret, who talks about me coming to my senses. Is there a problem? I made my peace with this the same night I saw your necklace. I'd not have let you stay close otherwise."

He sighs, settles back down to Phillip's chest.

"Don't misunderstand, the complication isn't in my heart, it's in all the rest of it. I'm going to die trying to save the world, like every other bearer of the Echo, like every other Warrior of Light," he says it so plainly, "It scares me, but tis the truth, and there's naught to be done about it. The likelihood that it will be an Ascian that kills me, directly or indirectly, is so high as to be nigh indisputable. But then I will be in the aetherial sea, beyond caring, and you will be here. Can you blame me for not wishing that fate on you?"

Phillip has, officially, lost the entire thread of this conversation. “You are worried about me,” he says, and part of it is a question because surely that can’t be right, but he can’t think of any other way to interpret that.

He raises his free hand to his face, and it’s likely not clear what emotion drives it, frustration or bafflement or annoyance. “Why do you think I am here?” he asks, and the tone of his voice does not clear up anything, “Do you think I did not know that you would die long, long, long before me? I have already made that choice, that being around those whose lives are so utterly fleeting as all of yours is preferable to being alone.”

He drops his hand, and while the curve of his face is closer to annoyed, his eyes are different, filled with depths of sadness. “I have watched those I care for die before,” he says, and there’s clearly more to that but he’s not getting into it now, “I don’t enjoy it, certainly, but having nothing is not better. I can only try to keep you with me as long as possible.”

Gustavain's brow furrows,

"Of course I'm worried about you. I love you." To him, the connection seems obvious. He does, however, let Phillip get the rest of it out, patient and silent for a moment, before there's that slow, sly smile, the one that usually means trouble, but also sometimes, just means he's being some kind of clever or wry,

"So you're saying you prefer me selfish, when it comes to you?" it's teasing and pitched like he's definitely referencing pushing him down in the dirt, to the extent that Phillip might have to check to make sure his eyes are normal, but it's a real question.

He does glance down to check his eyes, but even before then he’s got that little curve of a smile to his face. “I can confidently say I do,” he says dryly, letting his fingers slide over his jaw, “Quite frankly you’re entirely too bloody selfless the rest of the time, you’re entitled to it I think.”

And really, Phillip does want it. He wants to claim and be claimed, even if it’s temporary, even if it won’t last forever. It would be enough, for now.

Gustavain can't help but laugh softly at that,

"I don't know about that. I live in the world I'm saving, after all. And so do you," he leans in though and the tail end of the last word melts into a warm, soft kiss. "Maybe what I am is the most selfish," he adds, between one kiss and the next.

They don't really lead anywhere, or at least, he's not using them to lead anywhere. It just feels good to be warm and relaxed in bed at the moment. He's tired, and, if Phillip isn't planning on stopping him, he's probably going to eventually more or less doze off between kisses. He's still awake enough to be prevented, however, if Phillip is so inclined.

It seems whatever issue needs to be settled has been, and Phillip is not inclined to drag conversation out for the sake of it. He returns the kisses but also doesn’t push them towards anything in particular, perfectly content to just curl them up together on the bed. When Gustavain drifts off he stays still where he is, gently petting his hair and watching his features until exhaustion finally takes him as well, resting their heads together as he falls into sleep.

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