Sidurgu had already known this had been a mistake from the first.

He had bid her to leave, had thought he could cool his simmering blood alone, could force his hands to undo the knot in his stomach through the tremble of fury. Frustration coiling in his core, Ystride’s venom in his veins, Rielle’s pitiful eyes, misty and betrayed, clear as day in his mind.

And so now he paces his room, alone, until he finds himself strapping his gauntlets into place, the weight of his cuirass bringing a sense of normalcy to this hell he'd come into, had lost Fray to. House Fortemps, was it? The place she was staying at, where she went home to each night— according to her, anyhow. He had known of the late night escapades, how she'd excuse herself to the manor only for him to hear the whispers in the tavern later the same night. Gillebront would be pouring his drink, as he eavesdropped on some hushed conversation or another about another sighting, another temple knight sent scurrying by that Viera adventurer.

Ungrateful shites can't even bother to use their savior’s name; that's how it always went.

He knocks on Rielle’s door, flatly telling her to lock it until morning— he will be back anon.

Then onto the streets and up the spires. Not too far, not enough for the knot in his stomach to rise to his throat— he waits at the bottom of the stairs that rise to The Pillars, hoping that the only person remaining who might understand even an ilm of what he felt might allow him her company even after he had denied it, should he chance upon her. It doesn't take long before he sees her shadow slinking down the staircase, the woman casting it not far behind. He’d thought she’d be surprised— but instead she only looks at him, the question in her eyes more platitude than true curiosity.

“I thought you needed time to think.” She says flatly.

“I’ve had my fill of it for now.” He grumbles.

What she is thinking as he turns his back to her, as she falls in line behind him and follows him back to Cloud Nine, he cannot say. He can barely see through the mire of his own anger, can barely consider the logic behind his actions. Fray would know, were he here, but he is not— who else can put him back together then?

They return, and she unlatches her cape at the door, before sitting by the fire, not bothering to look at him as he takes off his armor, pours himself a drink and heats the milk and tea leaves for her. There is nothing but silence, one of the main reasons why he had grown fond of her company, and yet tonight it grates on him; it pushes against the wounds of his heart, rubbing them raw again. He sits next to her on the ground by the hearth, setting their tankards down without much fanfare, and it is only then that she looks at him.

“Rielle didn’t deserve that today, what you said.” She’s quiet, as she grabs her mug, nurses it between her hands.

“And we did?” His hands run through his hair, giving it a tug for good measure, anything to keep himself grounded. His voice is a lash, he knows it so, but she doesn't not flinch, doesn't back away from it. “Fray deserved to face trial by combat, while not even knowing what in the seven hells he was fighting for?!”

She sips her tea slowly, letting the frost in his words dissipate before slowly, but surely, finding her mark. “Had he known, would it have changed anything?”

It is all he can do to keep his nails from digging into the flesh of his palm with enough force to break skin, to pretend that she hadn’t hit his vitals, found the softness underneath the iron.

“Would you have left her to her fate, if only he would live another day?” His head spins to look at her, flame and fury on his tongue— until he sees her eyes glistening in the firelight, her mug softly trembling in her hands. “Would Fray have parried that final blow, had he known?”

“Sacrifice is to renounce that which binds you .” Eithne continues, and Sid can hear her struggle, straining to remain steady, her voice both her’s and another’s. “To recognize that which matters─and forsake all that does not.”

Sidurgu doesn’t know who the person sitting next to him is anymore— but had he ever?

He swallows the fire, stores it in his stomach; for all the foolishness he is capable of, he knows when he has lost. She is right, and through her he knows that Fray is right, as he had always been. The silence takes them again, until the crackle of fire fades and the air becomes stagnant, until her misty eyes find his once more.

The same golden eyes, the same pitiful smile.

Inviting her had been a mistake, but who else could he turn to?

There is no forethought, no discernment in his actions; his chest simmering with anger, and his mind all too overwhelmed by her distant gaze. He leans in toward, keeping his eyes on her’s, and he wishes she’d whisper to him, Kiss me, quietly, distantly—

but she keeps her silence, and Sidurgu has no one to blame but himself.

He knows this wrong, thinks of all the ways he is overstepping their boundaries. Comrade, Mentor, Ally, Friend— all lines crossed, every limit surpassed, in an instant. Their lips meet, and he is consumed by how soft and sweet she is, milk and spice on her tongue, how incongruous the feeling was with his mental image of her. She is hesitant, he can feel it, and so he parts from her,

“Forgive me, I—”

“I didn’t—”

Silence.

It was wrong, the way she had spoken, the way her pupils struggled to focus, the tremble in her voice. It was not the first time he had invited her to talk, and each time the conversation was sparse and the silence in between heavy. But this— this was different.

It is not yet too late, he thinks, apologize and move on, Sid.

Her hand comes up to his neck, fingertips lightly tracing the ridges between scale and flesh, and Sidurgu knows that he will do neither.