It was strange, to say the least.
Hope never imagined being dragged into any of this— saving the world, protecting the very beings the world hated, venturing to hell on earth— let alone meeting a set of new people who claimed to be normal.
Which, and they all knew it, weren't. However, what really was the kicker to this tale was his newly developed crush on one of his comrades.
And, the best part is said comrade was seven years older than him. Yes, she was twenty-one, and he was only a measly fourteen years old. He's had no real battle experience except for the past few weeks (while she's had over six years f harsh military training), always spent his time with his parents (her parents died when she was only fifteen, leaving her to become the woman of the house), and wasn't even that tall for his age (she was a towering five foot seven).
Needless to say, the young boy often wanted to punch himself in the face. Not for his own obvious flaws, but because he had the audacity to love someone as cold as Lightning Farron. Perhaps love was to strong of a word, but Hope knew the difference between admiration and actual strong feelings for another.
And this went beyond admiration. Of course, he did admire her, and often strived to be like her; she'd never notice. Being the "leader" of their group of L'Cie, Lightning didn't have time to pay attention to someone as needy and whiny as a city boy, he'd tell himself. Sure, she was a big help in getting him through his mother's death, acting as his guardian for a short period of time and giving him important pointers when fighting and in life in general. And he did take every word to heart, tucking the advices into a sectio of his mind to think over when they would stop to rest.
Speaking of resting, it was one evening that Fang suggested they take a load off and pick a spot to set up camp for the night, seeing as everyone else was exhausted from a day of fighting off Pulsan creatures. Lightning reluctantly agreed, only because even she knew her own and the group's limits, and offered to keep watch for the first few hours while everyone else got comfortable. Even if someone spoke up to take over watch first, the woman would reject the offer and do it herself, because that was how Lightning was, Hope couldn't help but note. Let her do her own thing for the group, small contributions towards everyone's wellbeing.
It was, well, adorable.
After sharing some words with everyone over supper and the warm fire Snow had conjured up, they bid each other sweet dreams and found their own spots on the grassy ground: Vanille nestled up with Fang, Snow clutching the crystal tear drop as he used his coat as a head rest, and Sazh sleeping like a log the minute he laid his head down. Hope stayed near the fire idly, admiring the flickering flames absentmindedly and letting his mind wander to his own thoughts, seeing as Lightning left to go patrol around their campsite.
His knees were drawn up to his chin, and he wrapped his arms around them to keep a bit of warmth to himself. How Lightning never appeared bothered by the cold or heat puzzled him to no end, and he wondered if the Guardian Corps trained you to be immune to any change in weather or your surroundings. That would explain a lot of things about Light...
"Hope?"
Snapped out of his thoughts, the silver-haired teen turned to face the woman he was just thinking about, gunblade in hand. One eyebrow was raised in slight confusion, her mouth set in a small frown. There must not have been much action tonight, he thought as he noticed her slightly disappointed facial features. "Aren't you tired?"
With a small sigh, Hope shook his head and turned back to the fire as she came to sit next to him, one leg drawn to to her chest as the other extended outwards towards the source of heat. She harbored small scrapes and bruises, but nothing too major, actually it seemed normal for her to have injuries constantly. They were trophies of jobs well done, he remembered her saying once in a joking manner. "Not really, no."
"Something the matter?" Lightning dared to ask, well, it was a dare for Hope, but more of a idle wonder for the woman. Hope wanted to tell her exactly how he felt, he wanted to spill everything that he's been feeling in front of her, let her know how beautiful she is, how strong he wished he could be for her, why he can't look her directly in the eye anymore, explain why his face was constantly a light pink when around her (she's asked about it, to which his face would develop into a deeper shade of pink). But the possible scenario of the woman shooting him down or even threatening him to never speak to her again constantly played over in his mind, scaring him into keeping his thoughts to himself.
The boy wanted to be strong, wanted to be brave for once and not cower away from his own feelings and thoughts. But how could he do that when she was so breathtakingly amazing at everything she was?
"I...It's nothing...just..." he swallowed a lump in his throat quickly, his hands tightening their grip on his ankles.
Lightning waited patiently for his reply, if he ever gave a direct one. Hope decided it was better to let her know than to be forever lovesick with someone who didn't know. It's not a question of can or can't, some things in life you just do, he told himself, her words of advice echoing in his mind. Yes, he had to do this.
"Light, I—"
"Tell me in four years."
It wasn't a "no", it wasn't a "go jump off a cliff", and it wasn't a "yes". Turning towards the soldier, he blinked in confusion at her reply, brows knitted together. Seeing his reaction, Lightning gave a small smile, rising from her spot next to him, and offered a hand to help him up.
"Tell me what you want to say in four years. If you still want to tell me."
If you still feel the same way, was what she meant, and his cheeks instantly flushed at the realization. Hope averted his eyes but took the offerend hand flusteredly, rising to his feet and keeping his head low. After one more smile and a ruffle to his hair, Lightning left to wake a snoring Snow for his shift.
It wasn't a no, and it wasn't a threat. It was a chance.
And was it him, or did her hand linger when she held his own?
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