Silentium

Rorudesu-chan

I should leave, she thought. Two steps back, down the stairs, and out of the door.

She should've left the moment her eyes locked onto his. Those pair of eyes the shade of midnight clashed with her violet ones. He stopped writing when he realized the presence of an unwanted visitor. He hid away his pen and crumpled the sheet of paper in his hand. He wasn't smiling at her.

"Sorry," she said, but it was more like a whisper. She should've known better than to infiltrate his sacred space. The bookshop was the last place he'd be. But she guessed just right.

They all thought he'd gone far away from Lucis. Prompto kept joking how their beloved prince must've confided in a girl he picked up in a bar, and left to elope with her. Gladiolus thought he'd chosen the path of a vagabond, wandering aimlessly beyond their kingdom in search of inner peace. Meanwhile, Ignis simply insisted they initiate a search party. The sooner, the better. The blonde boy and the slick-haired brute agreed with Ignis' plan. Stella agreed too, but suggested it was best they keep the knowledge of their prince's absence to themselves. For now, at least.

"Hey," said Noctis. He cleared away several sheets of paper before gesturing her to sit next to him. Noctis hadn't said anything more than that since she arrived. It made her nervous and embarrassed for taking away the remaining piece of solitude he had left.

After the funeral, it wasn't only the media that had swarmed itself around the Caelum heir. His own relatives too wanted to know his next move. Without a leader, Lucis was susceptible to an attack coming from any foreign nation. The civilians quaked in fear, not just for their welfare, but also for the safety of their crystal from which their great city drew its power from. Nobody really asked how the prince felt after the king's passing. Panic and anxiety had caused everyone to forget that first and foremost, Noctis was the son of the great Regis Caelum.

He took another sheet of paper and began writing. This time, he had bent over slightly to conceal his work, but not so much as to make her think he was completely distraught by her presence. Otherwise he wouldn't have wanted her to stay by his side in the first place.

Stella sat beside him in a contemplative silence. Her arms fastened around her legs as she rested her chin above her knees. Her eyes wandered about the place. The room was dimly lit and the place smelled exactly like what an antique bookshop would. The shelves towering over them were filled with books whose spines carried titles she had often heard of in her history and literature classes. Dante. Shakespeare. Hemingway. Plath. She imagined the pages inside each of them had yellowed throughout the ages; the edges torn and the leaves crisp to the human touch.

On her way to this forgotten part of the city, Stella had prepared some sort of speech to say to him. It started off with something like—I know how you feel, Noct. It's going to be alright. You're going to be okay. People come and go. We just have to accept that fact and move on. But they will remain in our hearts forever. You can get through this. I know you will. We're all here to help you. Every single day. No matter what it takes.

Stella huffed. It wasn't genuine. It sounded like what a therapist would say. Like she didn't know him well enough that of all the things to say, she would be that typical. Perhaps a more gutsy approach? Hey Noct! Man up, won't you! I've seen your grandma holding up better than you! (Give him a light punch on the shoulder, while she's at it).

No, no. That was too darn insensitive even if it came from a friend. Stella bit the tip of her thumb. How about a simple—Are you okay now, Noct? How do you feel?

How does he feel? Stella knocked her forehead against her knee. As if it wasn't obvious enough! The guy basically isolated himself from his own people, from his own friends. He had shut out from the entire world—a world that needs him now the most—and retreated into this bookshop he considers sanctuary.

This was going to be a lot tougher than she had imagined.

Noctis was throwing his blonde companion a glance every now and then. He paused to reflect before the pen in his hand scrawled across the paper once more.

A month after the funeral, Stella became busy making rounds visiting friends and relatives of Noctis' family. She had become their grief counselor. She didn't dare make a profit of it. To see their faces light up with that flicker of hope in their eyes was reward enough. They told her they were glad she was there. They told her that if it wasn't for her, getting through Regis' death would have taken a long time, and a long time was unimaginable. When the elders and even Noctis' friends had asked where she drew her strength, she simply said that she spoke out of experience. They didn't ask any further. But Noctis knew how hard it had been for Stella when she lost her own father. She was inconsolable. He held her hand during Lord Fleuret's wake, and the months that followed it was spent on the fencing grounds channeling out the remaining frustration wrought out by the fact that she wasn't able to bid her father goodbye.

During those days when it was her afflicted with an intense amount of guilt and sadness, he had given her what nobody else did. But with his gift of silence, solitude was far from sight. He went wherever she went, offering a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear. Ears, actually, figuratively speaking. He was listening to her talk the entire time. She regretted not having said goodbye at Lord Fleuret's deathbed. She complained about not visiting home more often. (Ever the enthusiastic diplomat, Lord Fleuret would say). And most of all, she was sorry for not patching things up with her dad. She was the only daughter among the brood of boys. No matter how hard she tried, she found that she couldn't win Lord Fleuret's affection the way her brothers could.

If there was anything else to be remorseful about, it was that of all people, Noctis Caelum had to endure her company. She apologized and thanked him countless of times, to which he'd reply, what are friends for? Finally she asked, "Noct, do you have something you want to say?" She sought advice from his end. Or if not advice, any sign that told her he wasn't just pretending. He was the best confidant she could ever ask for.

"Sorry," was all he said. He kissed her forehead and put his arms around her. He breathed quietly in the scent of her hair. She listened to his steady heartbeat.

He was never really good at talking about these kinds of things. One could say it was more of her forte. It was probably why he was a writer. Why he was still writing up to this very moment that she was watching him. Most people preferred to go through the healing process by talking about the dead to make them feel less bitter, less angry about death itself. But leave it to Noctis to choose an unconventional path to inner peace. Perhaps there were really things better left said in an inaudible language.

Stella was beginning to feel the first few spasms brought by cramps. As she was given the privilege of accompanying him, she felt the need to behave and keep very still in the prince's presence. So she had been subjecting herself to an uncomfortable pose for about an hour now—ankles tucked underneath her, her legs pinned under the weight of her thighs. Her sore legs were too numb to move that she had to practically lift them up and stretch them out before her. When that still didn't relieve her muscles, she rose on wobbly knees. She stumbled as she put one foot in front of the other, unmindful of her companion's curiosity as to her sudden departure.

She got down the stairs safely and what greeted her on the first floor were, of course, more shelves and more old books. A shopkeeper was startled by her presence as much as she was by his. She had entered the premises of the store earlier, unaware of any shop owner standing behind the counter. Her thoughts were very much focused on finding Noctis and trying to save him from the all-consuming darkness of grief and depression. Speaking of which, she had completely forgotten to excuse herself from his presence. How rude of her. She ran back up the stairs and as soon as she reached the top, her body collided with his. He was in a rush too apparently.

He breathed her name. The sound of it said in his voice made her heart skip a beat. "I thought you'd already gone off," he said.

"No, I was just stretching my legs that's all." She smiled, hoping he'd return it.

"Well don't just leave like that." Noctis turned his back to her. He resumed to his position which was sitting in one corner, a pen and paper at hand. It would seem that the prince intended to continue his work.

Stella remained where she was. She was mentally deliberating whether sitting and enduring an hour more of his solo meditation would benefit the both of them. Not that her company had done any good in the last couple of hours. She felt uneasy about being quiet. But it wasn't like anything she would say would be of help at all anyway.

"What are you doing?" His voice cuts through her silent contemplation. "You're not going to faint anytime soon, are you?"

"I feel useless."

There. She said it. Stella dug her nails into her palms and was already anticipating that he'd ignore her and get back to his writing while she quietly slips away out of the bookshop, into the streets—back to where Ignis and the others were waiting for good news about their friend. She failed. She should've left the moment she infiltrated his sacred space. Because the truth was, he didn't want to be found.

But despite her failed attempt (or so she thought) he was not about to let go of her.

Noctis approached her and grabbed her by the wrists gently. He led her back to the spot where they had been sitting and spending time alone, together. Stella wasn't aware of it, but he was. There wasn't anything needed to be said between them. Every second of herself she gave to him was worth more than a phrase, a sentence, a speech of condolences and get-well-soon's.

"I'm writing about my old man."

She looked at him and realized how hard it must've been for him to admit that. Noctis. Ever the strong and proud demeanor. This place he held as sanctuary gave her a glimpse of the real Noctis. Her prince. Her ally. Her friend. And someday, wishfully, her lover.

"I'm writing about my crazy, old man. His achievements as a king. His accomplishments as a father to me, to everyone in Lucis. And how he's stupid enough to leave us all too soon."

Noctis held her and buried his face on her neck. She asked him to stop. Any more and she knew the dam would burst.

After a few moments, he leaned away. "Do you think the shopkeeper would mind if we stayed here for the night?" He was looking at her intently. The smile she loved seeing still hasn't surfaced. But his eyes were pleading her to stay.

"Maybe if we keep quiet, he wouldn't even know we're here," she said. In her mind, she was running a list of exercises to do to keep her legs from cramping up again.

Stella kissed the corner of his lips, and didn't say another word. It was in that silence that they connected the most.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think? :)

x Roru