He wakes up in the middle of the night, pulse hammering in his ears. The smell of fire and brimstone hangs over him like a shroud; the taste of molten iron cakes his throat. Thousands upon thousands of thoughts ring through his head, echoing into a mess yet still all too clear. 'Too slow! Why am I always too slow?!' 'Why did I let her go ahead? Why didn't I have her wait?' 'Stupid! It was stupid to not consider a traitor! Why am I always so damn stupid?' 'Please, be okay! Please, be alive! Please… please…!'
"Than… cred…?" Somehow, though, Syna's sleep-slurred call slices through the mess. "Mmm… what's wrong…?" she mumbles. Between her yawns and sleepy blinks, she almost reminds him of a kitten. A kitten that can, and has, ripped apart everything from primals to Garlean generals, of course. But a kitten nonetheless. "You're tense…"
"Just a nightmare," he whispers, shakily stroking her cheek. He's half-afraid she'll burst into nothing, but she doesn't. No, she smiles slightly and nuzzles into his palm, just as she always does. She's real, delightfully real, and warm. It helps ground him back into reality, and dash away the dregs of the nightmare of a memory. The memory of Ifrit, her first battle with a primal, her first of many miracles… "Go back to sleep."
"Mmm…" She sulks at him, with a tiny frown that's too adorable for the late (or early) hour. He's tempted to try and kiss it off her. "Lala again?"
"No, not this time." He has to bite back a chuckle, though. He always finds her 'name' for Lahabrea terribly amusing, far more than he should. "Seriously, you should sleep. We're up early in the morning."
"But…" She tries to protest, but instead, she yawns loudly and with a little squeak. "...Fine…" She snuggles closer to him, all but climbing on top of him in fact, and is fast asleep within moment with her arm draped across his chest. Her right arm…
Carefully, he takes her right hand and brings it up to see the scars that mottle it, from the tips of her fingers to the top of her shoulder. He's seen them a thousand times and more, of course. Syna is not embarrassed by them, no more than she is by her scales or horns. They are simply part of her. To him, though, they are a visual reminder of… everything. Everything that happened that day.
The panic of seeing that lone guard stumbling into the camp. The horror of hearing just what had happened. The intense need to make it there 'in time'. The bitter frustration of finding every path blocked. The terror of seeing her fighting Ifrit, a primal, alone. The awe of watching her deliver the killing blow. The relief of seeing her smile. The guilt at seeing her wounds. The worry of seeing her collapse. The numbness of realizing just how tiny, how fragile, she was, cradled in his arms and barely conscious. The shock at hearing her thank him, for thinking he played any sort of part in helping her…
Terrible things had happened in the past; he's seen her in too many dangerous situations to count and knows there's more he's never seen. He has no doubts that terrible things lurk in the shadows of the future, more dangers she'll face that he'll either witness or hear about far later. Yet he can't help but remember that day. How his mistake cost her so much and could've cost her so much more. It haunts his nightmares, and as he falls more and more in love with her, bright and beautiful her, the terror only grows. To not see her smiles, hear her laugh, taste her kiss… to not know the joy of simply being with her…
He almost sighs at the direction his thoughts travel, and only doesn't out of fear of waking her up again. Instead, he brings her hand to his mouth and kisses it gently. Kisses each branch of scarring and brushes more over the scales that wrap around her wrist. Kisses to chase away the cloying remnants of the nightmare of a memory, to remind himself that despite everything she is somehow still here. Still alive. Somehow loves him. May or may not be all right in the head for that last one, but he's not in a hurry for her to regain any sort of good judgement…
"No fair..." Sadly, despite his best efforts to keep still, Syna stirs awake again, smiling sleepily at him. "Kissing me while I sleep…" she 'complains'. Her smile is too content for the words to have any weight. "No fair."
"Perhaps I should've restrained myself, since I have now disturbed your rest twice," he whispers, smiling apologetically. He still holds her hand, still has it by his mouth, and can't quite stop himself from kissing her palm. Her smile only sweetens. "I'm sorry."
"Why? I'm fine being awake."
"You need your sleep."
"But I like looking at you." She says the words so easily, completely unaware of the flirtatious nature to them. That is, of course, how she is. Which certainly meant a lot of hell for all her admirers, himself included. "I like talking to you. I like seeing you smile." Her smile grows and she rests her chin on his chest. "I like you kissing me."
"Even if its just your hand?"
"I like it when you kiss me anywhere." Again, the words are said easily. He stops his imagination from running too wild with implications and mostly succeeds. Kind of. "But yes, I like it when you kiss my hand. Makes me feel special, like a princess in a story."
"Perhaps I should do it more often, then." He kisses her palm one more time, just to hear her sleepy giggle, and pulls her closer. "Still, I'm certain you'll wish to avoid a lecture from Y'shtola in the morning about the need to rest."
"I don't mind her lectures. I know it's because she's fussy and loves me." She pushes herself up just enough to nuzzle his cheek before settling down next to him again. "Will you sleep too?"
"Yes."
"Okay..." She barely manages to finish the word before dozing off again. Before long, she is fast asleep, lost in her dreams.
He watches her for a long moment, just as another reminder that she's truly here, and looks to the scars on her arm once more. What happened that day will never disappear from his memory, just as the scars Ifrit's flames left refuse to fade. But they're still here. It's simply another thing to live with, and he intends to live. So, he kiss her hand just one more time and intertwines their fingers before closing his eyes and trying to sleep. Syna might not mind Y'shtola's lectures, but he does, after all.
Author's note: Just… a very self-indulgent thing that popped into my head while plotting a novelization? Haha? Vague timeline is on purpose, since I'm still not all that far into the game (all things considered, at least)