[ she hears it but says nothing. she isn't all too surprised. at some point in a career like theirs, they lose sight of what's important. it's normal. what matters is who else becomes involved.

she'll come back to it eventually.

is it? she wonders. every bad joke he's making makes her want to laugh—but she doesn't. his questions grounds her, and she feels as heavy as she did the moment she landed on the shores of valhalla.

lightning stalls a minute or two (she can't count time anymore), traces the stark outline of his uniform, the frivolous curves of his hair, pinpoints the coordinates of his beauty mark. (yes, she does have an eye for detail, thanks.)

what is happiness to her? winning the war? seeing everyone safe? she'd felt that, she'd touched it, that day they awoke upon pulse after cocoon nearly collapsed, but—

how can she protect when all she knows to do is destroy? ]

I remember it. It's everyone else that has forgotten—everyone but my sister. Serah... [ she looks down, turning away. her pain is obvious. ] Again. I've let her down again. And this time...

[ stop. a wry smile wrinkles pinches her eyes, and for the first time ever she exposes a fragment of perdition to someone else. ]

Look at you, getting me to talk.

[ still, lightning is nothing but dignified, and she straightens, folding her arms again and raises a brow cheekily at shouta. ]

Is it your turn yet?