A/N: I don't own Final Fantasy. I was sad writing this, hoped it would help.

Balm

Take care of those who're left. — Noel/Hope

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/I/

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The Academy was all that Hope had.

A life project which had reached above ground-level, stood for the future, possessing the coming solution preventing a devastating disaster. He guessed that he couldn't ask more of himself, that he should be proud. Somewhere, though, it felt like there was something missing. That the plan was fine, but slackening bolts made the solid ground wobbling.

The only thing Hope Estheim could do now was wait, with a promise of a three days assassination—where he was the victim—neatly wrapped in his mind. A naïve want would be that this didn't concern him the slightest—too bad nativity always stroke back, because he was terrified.

Awaiting a death, and waiting for Snow's and Serah's return, was not Hope's favorite way of handling a situation. This waiting made thought walk freely inside his head, doubt to knock on the door, and he preferred to do something. It he acted, he had done what he could, if he remained still there was hundreds of treads to wrap around his finger and make something bigger off.

Instead of taking the message of Hope's assassin seriously and arrange some sort of protecting, he chose to stay inside the Academy's building and start sorting out older articles made by former researchers in order to find some gold to use in his own research to make the new Cocoon. As always, he didn't notice when light started to fade outside his office's window, nor the alarm clock as dinner time, and not either when some of his co-worker knocked on his door and asked about his well-being—they just slid by, he couldn't handle concern right now, the time started to run out anyway. It was too late for everything, and the only thing he had left was to keep trying assuring the continuation of this project, even though it would be without him.

His eyes started to sting, fatigue sent its sharp needles through him, and his bones felt soft and breakable, but he had no plans of going home yet. "Home" was a place where nothing could protect him from the obvious truth; that it didn't matter that he had shaped the future and had a order of respect, because no matter of the weight of the fame it didn't make him feel less lonely. Once upon a time he had friends, and now he couldn't make new ones. Not friends that stayed with him, many of them thought it was enough, what he had—it was never ever enough.

It wasn't even a start.

Hope turned a paper to be able to read back when he heard footsteps tipping outside the door. He flinched, for some reason the smallest of things scared him nowadays, but pretended it didn't. People came and went, nothing more with that. As that token had moved down the door burst open and Noel walked in without an invitation.

Hope had to admit he'd forgotten about Noel in all of this, which was wrong of him, since Noel too was in a situation he didn't appreciate—to sit and lend over the difficulties to someone else. While Snow and Serah were out traveling thirteen eras Noel was stuck inside a building he wasn't used to, a government built of intelligence alone, where he didn't exactly know anyone, besides Hope. Hope let out a sigh. Sometimes, it felt like he'd forgot that other people also were in this situation, and it hurt to confess that there was nothing he could do to help them.

"Hope," Noel said, interrupting Hope's inside moral trial and walked to him. "Day's over, time to go home."

"It's okay, Noel, I'm fine," Hope said, not that it sounded very convincing. "You don't have to stay here."

"Yeah, I'm not," Noel agreed, "and you're coming with me. All this papers are killing me. It's okay, I only want to help you. I've heard what you have on your sleeves, Hope, and you don't have to be all alone on this. Alyssa's gone, but I'm here."

"But." Hope didn't say more, there was no meaning. Instead, he let himself be dragged out his safe spot, to a place so unfamiliar, so screaming empty.

It was nice to let someone else take care of everything, Hope had to admit. That way, he didn't have to think so much. About Alyssa. About the world. Everything.

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Inside his own apartment, it felt like the air got out of him. Realization dripped like icing melt water inside, and all his joints felt filled with sand. Breathing became a trial, his pulse rose without a reason, and Noel had to lead him to the sofa, he'd no idea how to manage that on his own.

Sitting there, it felt like Hope's head took a turn. Nausea rose inside his throat, knotting, and cold sweat purred. What was happening? Stop.

"Are you hungry?" Noel asked, probably his way to solve everything, through food.

"No, it's alright." Hope felt ill. He didn't know what to do. This was not supposed to happen, not now. Not now when he had to—

Hope's train of thought changed direction when he felt Noel switch position in the sofa, moved a half circle until he sat in Hope's lap. He moved his fingers through Hope's hair, carefully, softly, before they slid to his cheek, touching skin. It felt right. It wasn't right.

"Noel. What are—" He couldn't continue. It was no idea to change what was happening. To him and to everyone else. He could only follow. Notice how Noel started to unbutton his uniform, top to down, and easily manage to slid it off Hope's shoulders. Noel repeated the procedure with Hope's boots, socks, and then his pants, and everything felt like a routine. There was something more to this, a good reason probably, but the only thing appeared was; how did this happen? How embarrassing.

Hope was much for keeping his rigid stance, not letting others see his weakness. To become better. He was melancholic, he knew that, other saw this too, but falling to disadvantage felt worse than a knife to the side.

Right now, he was more than in disadvantage, he was in a dependency state.

Noel easily slid of Hope's legs now, and Hope naively thought it was over now, only to find himself be carried to his bedroom on the upper floor instead.

Dear Eden.

"Noel," Hope said, hanging in the air, sounding more tired than anything else. Suddenly, he remembered how Noel worked, that this was his auto-pilot, taking care of others. He'd done it before, and it was Hope that needed a life-line right now. Hope didn't appreciate the thought, but there was another side of the same coin—Noel cared. He didn't help everyone.

Thirsting for love, that was the monster he'd become. When he had it, he wanted to flee.

With a light shove, Hope rolled down to the bed, and while he lay there among pillows and softly smelling sheets, he received a new impulse.

"Noel," he started. "Where are you going?"

"Dunno. Maybe wipe up something in the kitchen."

"Noel," he repeated.

"Yeah?"

Hope wanted to be strong, but he still wanted to be taken care of. Irregularity. He looked down into the mattress and he'd been given his right, as Noel positioned himself at Hope's side and started playing with silver locks again.

"Wait a minute," Noel said and removed most of his clothing—don't blush, don't blush—and joined him in the bed.

Hope didn't know why—he'd never been a fan of touching before, if you didn't count Lightning—but when Noel carefully laid one arm over Hope's waist and gently pushed Hope to him while the other hand rubbed circles in Hope's hair again, it felt different, like something lifted. Not much maybe, it didn't work that way, but a little bit. Like the black faded to a lighter gray. Feeling a warm breath against his forehead made him loose the logic. Because, the world wasn't, logic that was, not after all of this.

Sometimes, Hope thought and crawled closer, you need to let go and allow someone else take the place.

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