stars bear witness
His body aches in anticipation, every nerve alight with activity until his brain starts to overheat; he pays it no mind, however, for his focus has found a far more worthy target. Ignoring the heat flooding his veins, Zenos forces his body to remain still and poised as he leans against the doorframe, watching the Miqo'te's actions from a scant distance. Just a few yalms away, the Warrior of Light folds clothes into tight rolls and tucks them into a saddlebag; his movements are precise and measured, not a hair out of place as he organises and reorganises his belongings until the spare clothes supplied for Zenos have been given a place to stay.
His clothes are alongside the Warrior of Light's. They shall journey together. Every waking moment, Zenos shall be by his dearest companion's side. It still feels like a farce, but he is determined to see it out to the end, he has decided.
Their packing is for a journey, it seems. The Miqo'te will not stay in Garlemald; instead, he must be off, for he had never intended on lingering upon Ilsabard for this long. "It is better if I take him with me, anyways," the man explains when Alphinaud comes to check in on him halfway through the packing process. "We cannot let him stay here where Jullus and the other are in proximity."
The young Elezen shifts away from Zenos in utter disgust, but his words are full of naught but kindness when he speaks to the Eorzean champion. "You're doing the right thing, my friend," he murmurs, voice soft and hoarse, as if broken after a long night of arguing. That theory holds up as he carries on, "Alisaie's distraught, you know. We all are."
"I'll be fine," the Miqo'te replies.
"But did you not promise us to take some time-"
"I'll be fine." The words are firm, final. He embraces Alphinaud like one might hold a dear younger sibling, comforting and assured as the younger droops into his arms; then, he sends the Elezen on his way and turns back to his packing, sparing not a blink for Zenos' waiting form.
It is only when that task is done does the shorter man finally stand tall and stretch, chestnut-coloured tail stiffening then relaxing along with the motions. Glancing over his shoulder, he then sighs, gaze shifting away the moment it lands upon Zenos' visage. Rather than speaking, the Warrior of Light then grabs his spear once more, slipping it into its holster upon his back before gathering the bags and turning to Zenos properly. "Take these," he murmurs, tenor soft-spoken and weary as he hands two of the leather sacks to the Garlean. "These should be enough for you on the road. Your chocobo can carry them."
Zenos groans, wrinkling his nose. The mere thought of the ungainly horse-bird pests which the Eorzeans are so fond of make him recoil; although he does not care much for Garlemald, magitek always felt like a far more practical option for mobility.
The Eorzean champion notices his distaste. Deadpan, the Miqo'te forces the bags into Zenos' hands. "You should be grateful," he reprimands, eyes never meeting the taller man's gaze. "They could have denied you one. Resources are scarce currently, after all."
Against his better judgement, Zenos finds himself rolling his eyes as he slings the bags over his shoulder. "You say as such," he comments lowly, "but do the people here not worship you as their saviour?" When the Miqo'te raises a wary brow in alarm, he adds, reaching out to the other man, "Those comrades of yours… they call you their 'champion', do they not?"
His heart squeezes. He does not quite like this feeling, he thinks, watching the Miqo'te flinch and step away from his touch. "I suppose so." Striding past Zenos, the shorter commands without sparing another glance his way, "Follow me."
His heart squeezes again. Why run? You are running, are you not? He dares not ask the question, however. Why, he does not know. Yet, he does not blame the other man, backing down in order to allow the Eorzean champion some peace as they finalise their affairs. There is something going on in the Miqo'te's heart- Zenos can sense it. That fact makes him grind his teeth in irritation, but there is little he can do but follow the Miqo'te in line. Before you, I have never felt like such a fool.
He wants to know, more than anything. He just does not know how to find out.