Serah never takes off her pendant, and Noel never asks her to. Her future belongs to Snow, but now is a different story, because right now, she's tracing her fingers along old scars from past battles and fresh bruises from blows he's taken for her, and right now, he's gripping her hips like he always does, when they're in battle and he's pulling her out of danger only this time he's pulling her to him.
Thinking about it like that, it doesn't seem so strange. She's always put her body in his hands.
,,
Words are overrated; it's not how they communicate anyway. In the split second of battle they communicate via eye contact, body language, a quick shout of Serah or Noel; a one word request that is simply understood by the other no matter what the circumstance.
So when the lights go out they talk in a similar fashion: Noel lets his hands drift across her sides, up and down her body in question until she gives permission when she closes the space between them, and he lets her know how much he wants her when his arms hoist her legs around his waist; she lets him know she doesn't want him to go anywhere by the way she digs her nails into his back.
They don't have to explain it to each other. The nature of the request is simply understood.
,,
When she thinks of Snow, it's almost like thinking about an idea rather than a person.
Her golden haired hero, who's going to sweep her off her feet, and then they'll live happily ever after. Sometimes, when Serah twists her pendant between two fingers, she thinks it's rather like being in love with a movie star.
When she looks at Noel (as she often does) she sees where dirt has gotten underneath his nails and attached to his face, and sometimes when they've gone so long fighting and trudging through unfamiliar, dangerous worlds his hair gets plastered to the back of his neck and his forehead, but when his blue eyes go wide with curiosity and his lips curve upwards with the thrill of being elsewhere, she grabs his dirty hands, laces her hands behind his sweaty neck, kisses his cracked lips.
She clings to the feeling of dirt and sweat under her hands; imperfections reminding her that it's okay to be imperfect.
,,
Maybe it's just a relief: a relief from worrying about the future, from having to be the person she was for three years, waiting and smiling and being strong. When she looks at him, she sees the same thing reflected in his eyes: the look of someone who had to say goodbye too many times. They have to keep going, so they don't have to say goodbye to anyone else, but when they're alone in their own world they don't have to be strong. She's just Serah and he's just Noel and they are both damaged but even broken pieces can fit together.
When her face is in his neck, and she's arching up into him, they do.
They fit.