feed your soul (and mine with it)
He knows it is not proper- not for his role, nor his rank. He does not care, however, and steps towards the Miqo'te- thankfully dressed appropriately for the weather, rather than the silly mining outfit rampant in Aymeric's delusions- who exits the airship landing platform. Aymeric's arms open wide without a second thought.
To his utter delight, the Miqo'te responds in kind. Before anyone watching can blink, Aymeric finds the Warrior of Light returning his embrace, a muscular frame folding against his chest with fervour and relief. Instantly, the scent of wind-aspected aether and jasmine flowers rise into Aymeric's nose from hair that is looser and longer than before. His hair is so unlike the slick-back coiffure Aymeric remembers; he breathes deep before he can register just how oddly personal and inappropriate the gesture may seem.
His friend does not pull away, however. Instead, there is an urgency in this embrace, Aymeric finds. While he has certainly held his friend before, he feels strong arms gripping on just a touch longer than in his memory. It is strange- almost alarming, pulling at Aymeric's sinking gut.
Still, it is not right for them to embrace upon the landing like this. Stepping apart, Aymeric allows his relief to shine through despite the impropriety. "It is truly a pleasure and a relief to see you again, my friend. We have missed you greatly." I have missed you, he longs to say.
The Miqo'te laughs, eyes creased into crescent moons shining up at him. "Likewise, Ser Aymeric."
His heart sings. Perhaps it is naught but fantasy, but something in the other man's eyes whispers that he feels the same.
It does not take long for the two of them to set forth. The Miqo'te has, as usual, a laundry list of people to meet and things to do. "It seems you truly never want for work," the Elezen laughs as he listens to his friend's current plan. "You know, you are permitted to slow down."
"Alisaie said the same thing," the adventurer responds lightly. "She is insisting I take a vacation of sorts. I shall be meeting back up with a few of the Scions- sorry, former Scions," he corrects with a cheeky grin, "soon for that very reason- there are just a few things I would like to take care of."
Aymeric's heart is light until he glances around. Already, the two have found themselves moved from the upper levels of the city to the aetheryte located upon the foundation, where he had apparently promised to meet an old friend in the Miner's Guild of Ul'dah. However, as no one is in sight, the Elezen says, "There is simply too much to catch up on, and Sharlayan has yet to send out official reports of what has transpired."
The other man laughs, his voice a brilliant tenor. It dances into Aymeric's ears, just as he had remembered it. "I would be happy to come to your office to chat, my Lord Commander," the man offers, teasing and coy. "Would you like a personal report, like those of the Dragonsong War?"
Aymeric gulps, palms suddenly sweating in his gloves despite the frigid chill of the early morn. "If you will remain in Ishgard for your duties here," he murmurs, shyness striking most inopportunely, "then I would be happy to host you. In the Borel manor, rather." That flush, that same damned flush that always arises around the other man, creeps up once more.
A strange quiet settles over his companion.
"We have not yet been able to enjoy another meal together, so I thought…"
Silence.
The knight's spirit aches, listening to the wind blow through the parapet.
"Thank you, my friend. I just…"
The hesitation in emerald eyes is so clear and concise that it seems almost oxymoronic to Aymeric's own jubilant enthusiasm. Never before has the Elezen's heart been so firmly stamped down.
He says goodbye for now, and the Warrior of Light responds in kind, and Aymeric is left to want on his own once again.