#polyship!au

It took him another moment, after that, of looking at the expression on Nyx’s face to realize what had happened, and what’d he’d done.  The Kingsglaive had come to sit next to him, on his right side, and struck up a conversation about the photos he’d taken earlier.  The blond had grown accustomed to his little touches over the months-- the bump of his knee against his own, the brush of his shoulder, the powerful arm wrapping around his shoulders or waist to pull him into his side-- but Nyx’s fingers tugging idly at the cloth around his wrist had been jarring.  He’d blanked and recoiled, moving his arm safely away in a violently abrupt movement.

Now Nyx’s expression was a half-hearted smile, somewhere between an apology and wounded.

“I…” Prompto stammered, not knowing what to say.

“Nah,” The Kingsglaive shrugged and lurched to his feet, “my bad.”

Ariel was looking over, clearly sensing something amiss, but Nyx waved her off and headed toward where Cor was checking the edge on his sword.  They heard him offer a quick spar in his usual casual, unbothered way.

Prompto was still looking at his boots when Ariel sat down in the spot Nyx had been, “I didn’t…”

“I understand,” She said gently, “We… have the luxury of hiding what makes us… different… from others.”

It was then that Prompto realized that Nyx had touched him with his left hand-- his scarred hand.  Nyx had sat on his right side, exposing his left side, which bore the ravages of the Ring of Lucii.  Nyx never seemed terribly self-conscious about anything, ever, but Prompto and the others could tell it bothered him how people stared and whispered about the big, gnarly scars…

“That’s not…!  I didn’t… it wasn’t about that!” “I know.  He knows too, in his head.  But he thinks about it all the time.  Like you do.  Like I do.”

“You do?” The blond stared at her, unable to fathom how anybody could think any part of her wasn’t anything less than wonderful and beautiful and amazing…

“... Nyx’s scars prove what he’s willing to do… how much he’s willing to give.  You weren’t here when we met, he and I, but he was dying.”

“You saved him.  He told me you saved him.”

Her dark eyes were on her hands clasped together, and it worried him how she didn’t respond to what he’d said, “... You are afraid your… marking… defines what you are.  That the sum of your worth is there written on your arm.  Part of you knows it isn’t true, but other parts of you find good evidence everywhere you look that confirm it, over and over again…”

“... Y-you know…” Horror washed over Prompto like a wave of ice. “Cor told us.  You’ve had it since you were a baby.  He’s known that long where you came from.  He’s known that long the reason why he ought to mistrust you, Prompto… but did he ever?”

“H-he kn-- Why didn’t he ever--?!”

“Because it didn’t matter.  It wasn’t important.”

It was too simple.  Too warm.  Prompto wouldn’t go so far as to accuse her of lying, but he rejected it all the same as something hard clattered down his throat and lodged between his collarbones, “Yes it was.” She didn’t reply, so he said, “... A-anyway… I was asking about you…”

“... Like you, I’ve been different since the beginning.” She said quietly, “...Nobody noticed until I was around six or seven though.  People would get hurt.  I would cause damage.  What I can do… is dangerous.  I must always be very careful.  I can’t treat it like a weapon that I can put away, disarm, or unload.  It is always just there, threatening to lash out and cause harm.  That frightens people.  My nature is the scar I hide away.  You were made to be one thing, and you are making yourself another.  I… am trying to do the same thing.”

“... You didn’t ask for this…”

“Cor did.”

“What?”

“He’s like us… his scars are on the inside.  Except he asked for them.  He worked hard, sacrificed and bled for them.  Now he has them, and everyone looks at him different.  He looks at himself different… and sometimes he doesn’t like what he sees.” “But… e-everybody thinks he’s great--”

“Everybody is afraid of him.”

Searching for his voice, for the words to deny it, Prompto could only say, “B-but…”

“But,” She agreed, “worst of all… like you, and me, and like Nyx… he wonders if he hasn’t really changed at all.  That those who loved him saw in him that he hadn’t changed enough to be trusted with the truth.  That he was still that reckless young soldier, and would make decisions through the heat of his blood instead of the wisdom of experience.  What if everything he’s been through… hasn’t changed anything?”

She was looking at him now, dark eyes warm, a soft smile on her lips, “We’re all the same, Prompto.  We’re all broken by this world, by our expectations, by the expectations of others.  But we’re here, together.”

Her hand reached up and caressed the side of his face, “We’re together, and we’re enough.  That’s why we’re together: so we can remind each other that we’re enough.”

It was… really nice.  So nice to think about.  Prompto wanted it to be true in a very real way with all his heart, but…

But he wasn’t convinced.  He knew Cor and Nyx probably weren’t either.

Still, it was really, really nice.  So he smiled at her.

Then, after Cor had finished trouncing the Kingsglaive one more time, he made sure to go and help him up by offering his left hand, making Nyx’s natural reaction to reach with his own left hand.  His scarred hand.

“... I’m sorry,” The blond said, “Maybe one day I’ll be as brave and tough as you are.”

With a light laugh, a grin spreading across both the scarred and unmarked sides of his face, the Gahladian answered, “Sure, Prom.  Just don’t almost kill yourself trying to prove it.”

“That’s your schtick,” Cor grumbled, checking the edge of his sword again.

“Look who’s talking, Mr. ‘Immortal’.”

Cor didn’t have a smart retort, and Prompto couldn’t be sure, but he thought the Marshal had withdrawn a little.  Maybe Ariel was right-- maybe they all had their little wounds, marks, and scars that they drew boundaries around and worried over.

It didn’t explain the other strange things about the morning: like how instead of gathered around for breakfast, the others were scattered in disparate activity.  Or how Prompto was avoiding him.  Again.  Or as well as any of them could avoid one another without leaving the confines of the camp.  It was in the way he refused to meet his look-- turning another direction or ducking to the side, busying himself with nothing.

But here was Ariel, bringing him a steaming mug and a smile, pressing the metal and ceramic into his hands before leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, “Good morning.  Hungry?”

“Mm,” He agreed into the lip of the mug, welcoming the bitter taste and warmth of coffee only barely sweetened.  It wasn’t burnt, so she must have made it.  Prompto didn’t drink it, and Nyx claimed to like it long over the coals.  Before the young woman could continue on, he caught her wrist, and her dark eyes returned to his face, “What’s wrong with Prompto?”

Cor watched confusion flicker over her expression before she gave the blond an inquisitive look herself, “Nothing…?  What’s wrong with Prompto?”

“He’s avoiding me.”

“Really?” She frowned, lips pursing slightly, “Do you want me to ask him about it?”

“... No.” And Cor sipped again, releasing his companion, deciding he could ask himself.

“Hey Prompto.”

The blond nearly jolted out of his boots and turned to stare wide-eyed, “Y-y-y-yess-sir?”

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing’s wrong!” Was the reply with the most unconvincing delivery possible, secrecy and guilt flashing through every line in his face and body.

“Nothing besides how we’re suddenly out of fire-starters and potions,” snarked Nyx as he came back from where he’d been rummaging through their supplies, “Seemed somebody shorted the two we had out…”

“That wasn’t--”

“--Oh no?  You’re the only one who uses them for stuff other than lighting fires for cooking, kid.”  Ulric had mastered the technique of delivering an effective guilt-trip with an incredibly cheerful tone.  The blond’s mouth worked uselessly while his face went from bleached bone to bright red.

“So now I gotta go get another one.  And an endless match like I said in the first place…” The Galahdian went on, just as cheerfully.

Furrowing his brow, thinking of their very light wallet, Cor countered, “... Do we really need replacements?  We have magic.” “Yeah most of the time we have magic.” Nyx shrugged, “If we’re all together, and Ariel and I are good to go.  If that checklist isn’t filled out, are we just gonna stay in the dark and eat cold food?  Come on…”

It was a strange morning when Nyx was thinking further ahead than he was… Cor shrugged, “You going now?”

“Yeah.  You coming?”

“... Sure.  Let me eat first.”

“I’ll get you a plate, old man.”

They were just crossing under the stone arches leading to Lestallum when Nyx looked at him, bemused, “Okay, what are you doing?”

Frowning back at him, Cor answered, “What.”

“You keep messing with your pockets.  Are you looking for something or just fondling yourself?”

“Funny.” Sighing, the Marshal withdrew his hands after verifying once again that he did have all his personal effects on his person and hadn’t misplaced one “... I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve forgotten something is all.”

“Really?  Like what?” The amusement on Nyx’s scarred face split into a full grin.

It was strange, suspicious almost, so Cor slowed his pace and spoke with more consideration, “... I don’t know.”

The Kingsglaive hadn’t slowed, and was continuing on ahead, casual and confident as ever, “Must be your age catching up with you.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Cor stopped, “... My age.”

“It happens to the best of us, Marshal.  No reason to be dramatic about it.”

“... So that’s what was going on…”

Now Nyx turned and looked at him, back to the quirking eyebrow and lazy smirk, “Oh?”

Cor didn’t answer, he was too busy remembering how he’d strangely been the last one out of the tent, and how the others hadn’t been eating together but doing separate tasks around the camp.  How Ariel had come immediately to monopolize his attention.  How Prompto had been acting so strange and evasive.  Nyx’s sudden accusations…

“Ulric,” He snarled, pinning the younger man with a glare, “you’re in on this.”

“In on what?”

“The three of you are planning something for today.  For my birthday.” Irritation throbbed through his guts, “... This is entirely unnecessary.”

“Some of us don’t agree.” Nyx shrugged.

“We don’t have resources or time to waste on celebrating a middle-aged has-been getting one year older.  You know I don’t want a fuss made over me.  At all.”

The amusement left Nyx’s face and he folded his arms, “Okay, I could agree with your sentiment until you called yourself a ‘has-been’.  If you’re a has-been, what does that make me?  Your self-depreciation has no place in this conversation, Cor.”

“What are they planning?”

“Nothing expensive.”

Irritation threatened to flare into anger, something cold etching along his bones.  Cor swallowed it back. “... I don’t want to waste time and energy with this.”

“Can I ask why?”

It was a reasonable request.  More reasonable than Cor was feeling, but he sighed slowly and pinched between his eyes, “Bad memories.  Birthdays were never a good time growing up.  Then… Re--His Majesty found out about it, and tried to make… kind gestures.  A crown prince’s kindness looked a lot like pity back then.  He and the others learned to… tone it down… over the years.  Now they’re gone, and I’m growing older without them.”

He wasn’t sure if Nyx would get it.  What he’d learned of Galahdian culture had reinforced their clannish, survival-focused customs-- birthday celebrations were private affairs within close social circles.  Nyx might be left wondering if he and the others were somehow outside Cor’s closest social circles.  But that wasn’t the case at all. It was just… the tradition.  Regis had re-framed the birthday tradition for Cor from what his childhood had made, and now that Regis and Clarus were gone, and Weskham and Cid far away… He just didn’t have the wherewithal to try and establish a new tradition without them.  It just didn’t matter that much to him...

Nyx was looking at him, then he shrugged and dropped his arms to his sides, “Okay, sure.  I can get behind that.” “Thank you.” “It wasn’t ever me you needed to convince.” Nyx’s smile was apologetic, “Come on, we still have shit to buy.”

Shit…

Altissians had altogether much different and dramatic views on the cultural significance of birthdays and the commemoration of them.

“Please don’t.” Was all he said when he saw the camp.  It wasn’t, he admitted, as bad as Cor had dreaded.  No balloons or streamers.  No crowd of people.  Only Cid and Cindy, a small round cake, and a few small gifts wrapped in scrap paper and string.

And his two other companions who were thinking themselves very clever-- though he thought Ariel looked a bit distressed, as if keenly aware that unwritten rules from her childhood demanded that if she really cared, she’d have arranged for so much more.

Prompto was happily preparing to snap photos.

“Happy birthday!” They all cried.

“Thank you.” He was suddenly glad that Nyx had insisted on a bottle of whiskey-- which Ariel was coming over to take from him, along with the other supplies he and the Galahdian had carried.

“--I know.” She interjected before he could tell her, “You’re mad at me.  That’s fine.  It’s just a little cake and a few small gifts and your friends and then some shots of whiskey, okay?”

“Just so we’re clear.”

“Are ya still on about all that, kid?” Cid groused at him, a scowl on his face but a grin hidden in the creases of his eyes, “When are you gonna grow outta bein’ such a brat?”

“Maybe after you do, you old coot.”

It was, after all, a nice little respite from the usual routine of their days of hard travel broken up by frantic battle, and when they settled down around the campfire with shots of whiskey, Cor could quietly admit to himself that it hadn’t been a waste of a day after all.  The cake, now gone, had been tasty and enjoyable-- especially the satisfaction of smashing the remainder of a slice into the side of Nyx’s head so that frosting was still in bits of his hair and probably in his ear after the Kingsglaive had thought himself quick, clever, and ballsy enough to bump Cor’s forkful into his nose.  Prompto had graciously taken a slew of shots despite his laughter.

If either Hammerhead mechanic thought anything of how casually the four of them leaned and lounged on each other, they didn’t voice it.  Cor figured they knew-- Cid most certainly understood what he was looking at, even if he didn’t understand how it had happened.  Cid knew what kind of trust was needed to be able to casually touch Cor.