[Joshua selects only a few books - one of them the book of folktales Clive gave him. He leaves the erotica, as curious as he is. He expects it'll be more silly than spicy, but better to read it in private, just in case.]
I really ought to give some of these back to Harpocrates. But your quarters are closer, so that's progress, right?
[Though he's unwilling to make Clive carry too much when he has all that armor to worry about too, Joshua still can't quite turn him down. Is it selfish of him to enjoy when Clive does these small things for him? He can't help feeling happy, even if it is. In the end, he only gives Clive two books to carry, and takes the rest of his small stack himself.
He also takes the cookies. He hasn't forgotten about them - though he does intend to talk Clive into eating at least one.]
It'll be nice to spend some time out of the infirmary.
[ He's been deprived of the chance to mother hen (brother chicken???) Joshua for the past eighteen years― like he'd said before, Clive would be hurt if Joshua deprived him of the opportunity now.
Armor and books in hand, Clive readies them to leave. Not without a brief, almost mischievous hike of his brow first, however. ]
Hm. [ Leaning in, he sniffs at Joshua's collar. ] ―It'll do you good. Stay here any longer, and you'll have the scent of poultice on you permanently.
[ No disrespect meant to Tarja's ointments, which constantly save lives. A wink later, and Clive is heading out of the infirmary, gesturing for Joshua to follow him out and across the length of the Hideaway, past Otto and Vivian and the rest. More than a few curious eyes track their journey, but he pays them no mind. ]
[Laughing, he waves Clive off a little - hopefully he doesn't smell like anything, but he has spent nearly all his time in the infirmary since he arrived. It'll change, he tells himself, now that he's feeling better.
He walks with Clive, aware of the attention they get. Joshua likes seeing the place Clive's made for himself, the people who respect and love him, the safety and happiness here despite everything. He had hoped for something like this for Clive, who deserves all the love the world could possibly give him.]
Hmm, they might be a bit jealous I'm taking so much of your time.
[Said lightly, but not without a touch of real concern. He'd thought before that he should let Clive work - well, this is a bit of progress, isn't it?]
You ought to hear them talk about you when you're not here. They adore you.
[ A light puff of laughter, and then: ] You've always tried to convince me of my popularity, even when we were children.
[ In hindsight, Clive wonders if he'd invited it: did he truly seem so in need of his brother's affirmations? He knows that Joshua gripped his small hands tight whenever they were both in the presence of their mother, and that his young age didn't preclude him from hearing the gossip among castle walls. It breaks his heart to think of Joshua simply not knowing what to do with the information of his failed elder sibling, and doing what he could to reassure Clive that he was wanted.
Still, he's not so uncouth as to dismiss kindness from his brother, so: ]
But, yes. I do like to think that they tolerate me. [ A small smile, as he steps out of the way of the twins chasing Torgal across the walkways. ] Though I doubt they're jealous, and only curious to know more about you.
[ The Phoenix, and the rightful heir to Rosaria's throne. The bard must be hard at work composing sonnets about him. ]
[Of course he heard the whispers - how could he not? And he heard the things their mother said about Clive, especially since she was sometimes saying them directly to Joshua. She never liked how much Joshua admired him, but none of her subtle or not-so-subtle remarks made a dent in Joshua's feelings. They only confused him, and when he was old enough to understand a little better, they made him worry.
He didn't understand why she didn't love Clive. To Joshua, everything about Clive is so obviously worth loving. He worried about that - that Clive would not know he was loved, that he might think everyone felt the same way about him that Anabella did. He was too young to do more than small, childish things. But he tried the best he could.]
There isn't much to tell. Lost royalty that turns out to have been alive the whole time is a very romantic thought, but mostly I just traveled dusty roads and read dusty books. They'll be very bored once they learn the truth.
[He has done more than that... but mostly those are the stories he doesn't want to tell. Great victories over eldritch horrors are all well and good until they're stuck in your chest slowly destroying you.]
[ Gentle, lionhearted Joshua. Clive knows that he simply wouldn't be the person he is now were it not for Joshua lighting his way in every dark situation, being the bolster and catalyst for every trial he's ever had to face.
So he pauses when his brother mentions that anything about what he's been doing for the past eighteen years could ever be boring. Joshua could have been collecting mud samples in Rosarian marshes all that time, and Clive would have happily given anything in the world to have been waist-deep in sludge with him. ]
You're a marvel, Joshua. [ Chiding, but warmly. ] And if anyone complains to you about being bored, come tell your stories to me.
[ Clive wants to hear every single one. A gentle nudge, elbow to elbow, and he starts walking again, nodding at Goetz and Charon as they make their way towards his quarters (the former waves emphatically at the both of them for a moment, then gasps and quickly turns to the latter with a sheepish "oh no! Nan, is it bad manners to wave at royalty?"). ]
[Quietly delighted, Joshua can't help waving back. It's odd but pleasant to be somewhere where people know who he is - for years, the only time that's happened has been in the presence of the Undying. Which is an entirely different, sometimes odd experience. He's not really Joshua Rosfield to them, either, but rather the vessel of the Phoenix.]
I want to hear your stories as well. Everything I've missed.
[He knows some of them, from afar, but he's certain Clive's stories will tell him much more. And he wants to know more than the obvious heroics - he wants to know the little things. How Clive spends his days between world-changing missions, what sort of friends he's made in his travels across Storm.
Joshua wishes he had been there. He's done important work meanwhile - quietly, in the shadows, in archives and ruins and whispers. But now that he's by Clive's side again, it's impossible not to wish that he'd been there the whole time. Clive looks after everyone else, including Joshua. Joshua ought to have been here to look after him in return.
[ (Goetz, delighted by Joshua's delight, raises his hand to do another waveback, but winds up knocking down a basket full of coiled steelsilk in the process. "Careful, you clumsy lump!" Charon grouses, with more affection than anger.)
Just another day in the Hideaway, speaking of silly things. Clive smiles about it, happy to see his brother being woven into the fabric of the everyday; it's more than he could ever have asked for.
They keep moving, past two women who start murmuring animatedly to each other when they get a glimpse of Joshua― Clive can make out "so handsome!" among the chatter― and a day-drunk Cursebreaker (Otto is going to give him hell about it later). ]
I can think of more than a few. [ Like the time he journeyed halfway across the continent to pick flowers for a stew that he's too scared to try, still. ] But I should tell you about how I reunited with a certain white-feathered chocobo, first. She'll be keen to see you again.
[ Up the stairs leading to Clive's room they go; he opens the door for Joshua with a flourish. ]
Ambrosia? [He can't quite believe it, and he smiles, impossibly pleased by the thought.] I can't wait to see her again. She used to put up with me bothering her all the time - she was such a lovely creature.
[Patient, too. Joshua will have to find some treats before they meet, so he can win her affection again.
He enters Clive's rooms. He's struck first by the space, but then, Clive is their leader here. He's earned it. Even so, it's - oddly cozy. Clearly a place for someone to live, not just work. A desk, a sofa, a bed. Far less books than Joshua would have in his own room, of course, but one can't have everything.
His eyes are quickly drawn to the table opposite the door, against the wall, and the objects scattered on it. He can't see what they all are from here, and it's a trial to suppress his curiosity. Joshua instantly wants to poke around, learn everything he can, marvel over the life Clive has made for himself. He refrains, because Clive deserves some privacy.]
It's not at all what I expected. You've so much room! You'll hardly notice me taking up space at all.
[ Clive makes a mental note to take Joshua out to see Ambrosia as one of their first promised outings. Something benign, where Joshua can enjoy himself rather than feel obligated to help with menial tasks. His brother deserves a bit of levity after so much toiling.
Sweeping through his quarters with practiced ease, Clive lays his pieces of armor on one of the chairs next to his desk, then moves to set Joshua's books on his bed; an executive decision to relinquish the most comfortable piece of furniture in the room to his brother and his endearing, wide-eyed commentary. ]
Right. So now you have no excuse for not using the space when you need it.
[ A quick little ruffle to blond hair, and Clive relents. ]
There are spare clothes in the dresser if you're in need of any, and spare potions in some of the boxes. The wine on the desk is sour, but feel free to sample it if you dare.
[Joshua sets his books down as well. He’s conflicted about taking Clive’s bed, though Clive seems to have already decided on it - what if Clive needs an afternoon nap while he’s hard at work?
That isn’t the real reason, of course. It’s that it feels intimate in a way that Joshua knows it shouldn’t. The same way that the idea of wearing Clive’s clothes feels - something that appeals to him in ways he knows it shouldn’t. It’s only being practical. It’s only sharing a little space. It doesn’t mean anything but that.]
I’ll leave the wine to you. If I have much at all, I really will fall asleep.
[One of the unfortunate perils of having a delicate constitution is that Joshua really can’t hold his alcohol that well. At least he’s never truly made a fool of himself - he mostly just gets sleepy.]
You - don’t mind if I use your bed? I could surely sit on the sofa instead.
[He wants to, very much, and because of that he knows he shouldn’t. It’s not innocent, that desire. What is wrong with him?]
[ A misstep? Perhaps. Clive still holds on to childhood memories of Joshua crawling into his bed on particularly difficult nights, and realizes the mistake, now, of expecting the same when they're grown men; the birdlike titter of the women out in the hall comes back to the forefront of Clive's mind, and he recalls their flushed faces and their use of the word handsome.
There's an obvious pause, as he considers－ struggles with, more like－ that unseemly part of him that assumes so much about Joshua being by his side. He knows that it's wicked to think so deeply about what is ostensibly just an offer for Joshua to make himself at home; he should not be entertaining any untowards implications about Joshua being in his bed.
The silence lingers for longer than necessary, before Clive finally opens his mouth again. ]
―The bed is more comfortable. [ Softly, as if to convince himself in the process of trying to convince Joshua. ] I've made the mistake of falling asleep on that couch a few times, and I won't let you suffer it if I can.
[ That explanation will have to suffice. (Though Clive knows that if Joshua fell asleep on the couch, he would pick him up and carry him to the bed anyway.) ]
[Clive is silent for a little too long, long enough that Joshua begins to fear that he knows what was in Joshua's thoughts, in his heart. That he guessed it.
Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. He did treat Clive's bed as if he was welcome in it, once upon a time - knowing without having to learn by experience that Anabella would not be pleased if he came to her after a nightmare. He'd loved their father, but had never even considered imposing on him, either. It had always been Clive he'd run to, Clive he'd woken in the dark of night. And Clive had never been angry. He'd let Joshua stay, and just his presence had made it better. Joshua had known that he was safe there.
But it's different now. It shouldn't be, not really, but it is. When Joshua thinks of being in Clive's bed now, it's not comfort he thinks of - or not only that.
Does Clive know? He can't possibly.]
I won't refuse, then. [Joshua smiles, though it's just a bit shakier than he'd like.] You really do still spoil me.
[He should not love it as much as he does. He's a grown man. But - Clive caring for him still, even now, means the world.]
[ There's a thin sliver in Clive's foundations; thin enough only for the shape of Joshua's flame to flicker through, to run warm and pleasant in Clive's blood. There have been nights since their reunion at Drake's Tail where he'd snapped awake, sweat-drenched, with the sense memory of Joshua's face cradled between his palms, of Joshua's lashes wet with tears, of their breaths mingling.
He can't think of it. He stills the tremor threatening to run down his arm, furling and unfurling the fingers of his right hand with the casual ease of a man uncoiling stiffness from armor-tired limbs. ]
It's my duty, [ he huffs warmly, seeing the slight trepidation in Joshua's expression (why? what for?), wanting to dispel any discomfort. ] And my right, as your brother.
[ He could never hurt Joshua. He would rather die before he gave Joshua a cause to mistrust him, to doubt that he has Joshua's best interests at heart. ]
―Come on, sit. I could bring Torgal if you'd like to lean against him.
[Joshua sits, setting the small package of cookies aside and making himself comfortable. Not wanting to get Clive’s bed dirty, he bends over to take off his boots.]
No need for that, he looked to be having fun out there. When he gets tired, he can come here and I’ll tell him what a good dog he is.
[Joshua has a lot of that to do, because Torgal truly has been the best dog.
He looks at Clive, and says the next with a smile, making it a joke:]
I’d rather lean on you. [The truth, but - too close to that other truth.] You smell better. But judging by that pile of paper on your desk, you’ve got quite a bit of work to do. If there’s anything I can help with, you know I’ll gladly do so.
[Anything too specific, he probably can’t do - but Joshua was learning how to rule when their lives fell apart, and he’s spent the time since learning how to be a decent scholar. Writing diplomatic responses to letters is well within his abilities.]
[ "You smell better". Founder help him. Clive knows, academically and objectively, that Joshua only means to say that Clive smells better than a dog (not actually true on some days), but it still makes his face go slightly hot.
Clearing his throat (and tactically turning away from Joshua, letting his brother see him and his slight flush only in profile), he steps away and towards the desk, which does, in fact, have a stack of missives on it demanding his immediate attention. ]
I'd have you write some of these letters in my stead. You always had better penmanship.
[ Another thing Anabella could needle him about. Joshua took to court-related duties with far more finesse than Clive did at his age; it was often the case that Clive would steal off to the rookery after a particularly harsh reminder of being inept, knees pulled up and Torgal whining at his side.
A sigh, and Clive sits down and picks up a letter. From Martha, judging by the handwriting. ]
[There are few things that Joshua really thinks he's better at than Clive, but he supposes penmanship might be one of them. He always worked hard at the sorts of things he could do, since there was so much he couldn't, or wasn't allowed to. So he isn't going to disagree with Clive, though he does think -]
Your penmanship has always been perfectly fine. If you need any fancy flourishes, though, bring your letters over here.
[And Joshua makes himself comfortable, curling up on Clive's bed, picking up one of the books. It's easy to let it fall open, giving him the appearance of reading, while his thoughts are elsewhere. And they're - all over the place, really.
Was Clive blushing for a moment, there? Or did he imagine it? If he was, what could it mean? Nothing, he's sure. And why was he fool enough to take Clive's bed, when it - it smells like him. It's neat and tidy, of course, Clive's been away for awhile, but the pillow still smells a bit like him. It's distracting.
No matter what direction his thoughts go, it's difficult to focus. His gaze strays to Clive. And why shouldn't it? He hasn't had a moment like this in years, not since he was a little boy slipping away from lessons to watch his older brother practice. He loved doing that, loved seeing how skilled Clive was. He likes this, too - seeing how far his brother has come, this incredible place he's built, all the people who trust and rely on him.
He also just - wants to look at Clive. For a moment, Joshua gives in, lets himself appreciate how handsome Clive is. Lets his thoughts wander down that path, where he knows they shouldn't. How solid Clive felt when they hugged, the warmth of his arms around Joshua. How it might feel to brush his fingers across Clive's skin.
[ The room falls into a pleasant silence, broken only by the rustling of parchment and the gentle scratching of quill against paper. Responding to reports about Akashic sightings in Greensheaves and bandit sightings across the Velkroy are distracting enough that Clive's pulse resumes its more regular rhythm in his chest; he never forgets that Joshua is in the room with him, but it's easier to set you smell better aside with the perils of the world demanding his vigilance again.
It's only after signing a letter to Byron that Clive allows himself to glance up from his desk and towards his brother, and note that he's being watched. His traitorous heart skips a beat in his chest, but he manages not to let his expression move beyond fond neutral. ]
Was I making a strange face?
[ He makes a show of furrowing his brows, the way he sometimes does when he's concentrating especially hard; he relaxes it a second later, and gets up with parchment and quill still in hand. Easy strides take him to the foot of the bed, where he perches on the edge near Joshua's feet.
He really is the most beautiful thing Clive's ever seen. For better or for worse. ]
I just finished writing a letter to our Uncle. I haven't told him that I've found you― I thought it'd be best for him to find out in person.
[Joshua laughs at that face, and the truth almost slips out - I just like looking at you. He catches it just in time. Clive probably wouldn't take it poorly, but Joshua knows it would be an odd thing to say.
He sets the neglected book aside and moves down the bed to Clive, so that he can look at the letter.]
Uncle Byron... I'll be happy to see him again. I've missed him.
[He always had such a boisterous, caring presence. Joshua knows he's alive, but beyond that - and a few bits of information from Cyril, since the Undying keep an eye on anyone connected to the Phoenix - he doesn't know anything about how his uncle's life has been. Joshua has missed so much.
He was doing what he had to, he tells himself, and it was worth it. But that can't erase those years where he didn't know where Clive was, or if he was all right. Almost as bad were the years he did know, and couldn't go to him. He doesn't know, either, how long the Undying knew and chose not to tell him. Or if they could have done anything to spare Clive from the life he'd been forced into.
Perhaps there was nothing to be done. But Joshua will never know for sure.]
I've missed you, too. [And, quietly.] I'm so sorry, Clive.
[ Joshua should never have missed anyone. Joshua, who was burdened by fate from the moment he was born. He should have been protected, and cared for, and loved.
Which is why Clive can feel his entire body reject the sound of that soft apology－ shoulders tensing, breath catching, head shaking. No, he says without words, every inch of him radiating that single statement with obstinate vehemence. ]
You have nothing to apologize for. [ The letter gets set aside on top of the bedside dresser. With his hands now free, Clive presses the flat of his palm against Joshua's face, tilting it so that they're looking eye-to-eye. ] I took eighteen years from you, Joshua. I did.
[ He'd knelt in front of his memory of his younger brother, clung to him and sobbed at his feet for failing him, for lying to himself about the failure for so long. By all rights, Joshua should hate him. Close his eyes and think back, and Clive can still feel feathers caught between Ifrit's fingers, ripped out of the firebird's broken chest.
Clive shudders at the memory of it, and shakes his head again. ]
How you can still stand to look at me－ [ he starts, then stops. No, he thinks. Too self-pitying. He walks it back, brows furrowed but steadier. ] －The fact that you're here with me now is more than I could ever have asked for. You must know that.
[Clive's touch is - a distraction, but one that Joshua doesn't allow himself to give in to. He knows that Clive must have blamed himself for Phoenix Gate, because he knows Clive, his loyal heart and his devotion. But hearing it is something else, and Joshua too feels that immediate disagreement, that desire to reject those awful words.
He reaches up, covers Clive's hand with his own (to keep his attention, that's all, that's surely enough reason). His voice is steady.]
You didn't. You can't be held responsible for something that happened when you had no control of yourself, before you even knew of Ifrit's existence.
[He remembers the shock of it, when Cyril told him that the Undying had reason to believe that Clive held Ifrit, that Clive had been responsible for the damage that Joshua survived only through the Phoenix's power. He remembers too, the moment afterward, when Cyril told him that they intended to send assassins after him. That he was a threat who needed to be eliminated. Joshua hadn't even thought about his response, had only refused, had ordered them not to. He'd used every bit of what authority he had. In the end, he thinks it was only his tears that had convinced Cyril to obey.
He had been acting on instinct, on his bone-deep certainty that Clive would never hurt him. That there must have been something else going on. And everything he's learned since then has only convinced him of that truth.]
I've never blamed you. I wanted to be by your side - I've wanted it all along.
[ The hand over his is a welcome affirmation, but it's wholly unnecessary if its intention is to hold Clive's attention: Joshua will always have it, in every context and for any reason at all. Clive smooths his thumb just under one of Joshua's frost-blue eyes, along his cheekbone and up to his temple, framing that beautiful face with his sword-callused fingers. ]
I hurt you, [ he protests quietly, though he relinquishes that line of thought a moment later. It's not his intention to make his brother defend him, and he doesn't care to make Joshua do such a thing. What he can do, however, is offer the same promise he'd made back in the infirmary: ] Never again.
[ His touch travels to Joshua's perfect ear, and to the matching cuff that sits pretty on it. Clive had fought tooth and nail to keep his, especially when he was a Bearer with no rights to call his own. ]
―If what you want is to be by my side, then we shall face our fates together. You needn't ever ask if you're entitled to me. I was born for you.
[ It matters so little that he came into this world first. Everything he's ever been, it'd always been for Joshua. ]
[It's almost too much, Clive touching him like that. Like he's something precious, something Clive wants to touch. Despite the emotional weight of Clive's words, Joshua still feels a thrill at his touch, still can't control the way he feels. Which is - unfair, especially when Clive is being so kind, so devoted. If he knew, surely he wouldn't say those things.
It's that guilt that forces Joshua's honesty.]
Don't say that. You deserve to have your own life. You - wouldn't say that if you knew the sort of person I can be.
[How could he? Swearing his loyalty while Joshua has these awful thoughts about him, while Joshua looks at him and wants him. His own brother. Touching him so easily, and not knowing the effect of that touch. Joshua might have been lying to himself this whole time, but his lies to Clive have been a thousand times worse.
He regrets saying it once he's said it. He knows Clive will have questions, and he doesn't know if he can be honest. He doesn't want to lose this, doesn't want Clive to look at him with disgust or horror. He just wants to stay by Clive's side, to help him and keep him safe however he can.]
[ Those words feel like a rejection. For a second, Clive stares at Joshua, uncomprehending, before he reasserts his stance on the matter－ that full-bodied no again, head moving from side to side, his shoulders tense. ]
Why... [ "...would you say that", is the rest, which he swallows. ] ...Joshua. None of us have lived these past years without dirtying our hands.
[ Which is what Clive assumes Joshua is talking about, and if so, Clive is the most guilty of killing countless to save a handful. His hands are bloodstained, and yet he still has the audacity to touch his brother with them; worse yet, he wants to touch Joshua with them. ]
Nothing could ever make me want to leave your side. How could you even think it?
[How could Clive not want to leave his side? He would stay, though, because he's vowed to, and the thought of that is more awful than anything. But Joshua's come too far now. He takes a breath, suddenly afraid he might cry. Feeling the pressure behind his eyes, trying to steady himself.]
Now that I've found you, I don't want to lose you again.
[It would be so easy to explain it away. Clive's prepared a ready excuse for him, even. But how could it ring true? Joshua is not so tender-hearted as to feel overly guilty about the lives he's taken, most of them done in defense of his own life. It was never easy, but he doesn't carry them with him, either. And Clive deserves better than a lie.
But how can he even explain this? What can he say?]
I love you dearly, Clive. More than I should. [A correction, because there's no point in not being clear, even if his voice shakes, even if he can't meet Clive's eyes.] More than a brother should.
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I really ought to give some of these back to Harpocrates. But your quarters are closer, so that's progress, right?
[Though he's unwilling to make Clive carry too much when he has all that armor to worry about too, Joshua still can't quite turn him down. Is it selfish of him to enjoy when Clive does these small things for him? He can't help feeling happy, even if it is. In the end, he only gives Clive two books to carry, and takes the rest of his small stack himself.
He also takes the cookies. He hasn't forgotten about them - though he does intend to talk Clive into eating at least one.]
It'll be nice to spend some time out of the infirmary.
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Armor and books in hand, Clive readies them to leave. Not without a brief, almost mischievous hike of his brow first, however. ]
Hm. [ Leaning in, he sniffs at Joshua's collar. ] ―It'll do you good. Stay here any longer, and you'll have the scent of poultice on you permanently.
[ No disrespect meant to Tarja's ointments, which constantly save lives. A wink later, and Clive is heading out of the infirmary, gesturing for Joshua to follow him out and across the length of the Hideaway, past Otto and Vivian and the rest. More than a few curious eyes track their journey, but he pays them no mind. ]
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He walks with Clive, aware of the attention they get. Joshua likes seeing the place Clive's made for himself, the people who respect and love him, the safety and happiness here despite everything. He had hoped for something like this for Clive, who deserves all the love the world could possibly give him.]
Hmm, they might be a bit jealous I'm taking so much of your time.
[Said lightly, but not without a touch of real concern. He'd thought before that he should let Clive work - well, this is a bit of progress, isn't it?]
You ought to hear them talk about you when you're not here. They adore you.
[A very relatable feeling.]
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[ In hindsight, Clive wonders if he'd invited it: did he truly seem so in need of his brother's affirmations? He knows that Joshua gripped his small hands tight whenever they were both in the presence of their mother, and that his young age didn't preclude him from hearing the gossip among castle walls. It breaks his heart to think of Joshua simply not knowing what to do with the information of his failed elder sibling, and doing what he could to reassure Clive that he was wanted.
Still, he's not so uncouth as to dismiss kindness from his brother, so: ]
But, yes. I do like to think that they tolerate me. [ A small smile, as he steps out of the way of the twins chasing Torgal across the walkways. ] Though I doubt they're jealous, and only curious to know more about you.
[ The Phoenix, and the rightful heir to Rosaria's throne. The bard must be hard at work composing sonnets about him. ]
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[Of course he heard the whispers - how could he not? And he heard the things their mother said about Clive, especially since she was sometimes saying them directly to Joshua. She never liked how much Joshua admired him, but none of her subtle or not-so-subtle remarks made a dent in Joshua's feelings. They only confused him, and when he was old enough to understand a little better, they made him worry.
He didn't understand why she didn't love Clive. To Joshua, everything about Clive is so obviously worth loving. He worried about that - that Clive would not know he was loved, that he might think everyone felt the same way about him that Anabella did. He was too young to do more than small, childish things. But he tried the best he could.]
There isn't much to tell. Lost royalty that turns out to have been alive the whole time is a very romantic thought, but mostly I just traveled dusty roads and read dusty books. They'll be very bored once they learn the truth.
[He has done more than that... but mostly those are the stories he doesn't want to tell. Great victories over eldritch horrors are all well and good until they're stuck in your chest slowly destroying you.]
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So he pauses when his brother mentions that anything about what he's been doing for the past eighteen years could ever be boring. Joshua could have been collecting mud samples in Rosarian marshes all that time, and Clive would have happily given anything in the world to have been waist-deep in sludge with him. ]
You're a marvel, Joshua. [ Chiding, but warmly. ] And if anyone complains to you about being bored, come tell your stories to me.
[ Clive wants to hear every single one. A gentle nudge, elbow to elbow, and he starts walking again, nodding at Goetz and Charon as they make their way towards his quarters (the former waves emphatically at the both of them for a moment, then gasps and quickly turns to the latter with a sheepish "oh no! Nan, is it bad manners to wave at royalty?"). ]
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I want to hear your stories as well. Everything I've missed.
[He knows some of them, from afar, but he's certain Clive's stories will tell him much more. And he wants to know more than the obvious heroics - he wants to know the little things. How Clive spends his days between world-changing missions, what sort of friends he's made in his travels across Storm.
Joshua wishes he had been there. He's done important work meanwhile - quietly, in the shadows, in archives and ruins and whispers. But now that he's by Clive's side again, it's impossible not to wish that he'd been there the whole time. Clive looks after everyone else, including Joshua. Joshua ought to have been here to look after him in return.
He'll do it now.]
Even the silly things. Especially those.
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Just another day in the Hideaway, speaking of silly things. Clive smiles about it, happy to see his brother being woven into the fabric of the everyday; it's more than he could ever have asked for.
They keep moving, past two women who start murmuring animatedly to each other when they get a glimpse of Joshua― Clive can make out "so handsome!" among the chatter― and a day-drunk Cursebreaker (Otto is going to give him hell about it later). ]
I can think of more than a few. [ Like the time he journeyed halfway across the continent to pick flowers for a stew that he's too scared to try, still. ] But I should tell you about how I reunited with a certain white-feathered chocobo, first. She'll be keen to see you again.
[ Up the stairs leading to Clive's room they go; he opens the door for Joshua with a flourish. ]
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[Patient, too. Joshua will have to find some treats before they meet, so he can win her affection again.
He enters Clive's rooms. He's struck first by the space, but then, Clive is their leader here. He's earned it. Even so, it's - oddly cozy. Clearly a place for someone to live, not just work. A desk, a sofa, a bed. Far less books than Joshua would have in his own room, of course, but one can't have everything.
His eyes are quickly drawn to the table opposite the door, against the wall, and the objects scattered on it. He can't see what they all are from here, and it's a trial to suppress his curiosity. Joshua instantly wants to poke around, learn everything he can, marvel over the life Clive has made for himself. He refrains, because Clive deserves some privacy.]
It's not at all what I expected. You've so much room! You'll hardly notice me taking up space at all.
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Sweeping through his quarters with practiced ease, Clive lays his pieces of armor on one of the chairs next to his desk, then moves to set Joshua's books on his bed; an executive decision to relinquish the most comfortable piece of furniture in the room to his brother and his endearing, wide-eyed commentary. ]
Right. So now you have no excuse for not using the space when you need it.
[ A quick little ruffle to blond hair, and Clive relents. ]
There are spare clothes in the dresser if you're in need of any, and spare potions in some of the boxes. The wine on the desk is sour, but feel free to sample it if you dare.
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That isn’t the real reason, of course. It’s that it feels intimate in a way that Joshua knows it shouldn’t. The same way that the idea of wearing Clive’s clothes feels - something that appeals to him in ways he knows it shouldn’t. It’s only being practical. It’s only sharing a little space. It doesn’t mean anything but that.]
I’ll leave the wine to you. If I have much at all, I really will fall asleep.
[One of the unfortunate perils of having a delicate constitution is that Joshua really can’t hold his alcohol that well. At least he’s never truly made a fool of himself - he mostly just gets sleepy.]
You - don’t mind if I use your bed? I could surely sit on the sofa instead.
[He wants to, very much, and because of that he knows he shouldn’t. It’s not innocent, that desire. What is wrong with him?]
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There's an obvious pause, as he considers－ struggles with, more like－ that unseemly part of him that assumes so much about Joshua being by his side. He knows that it's wicked to think so deeply about what is ostensibly just an offer for Joshua to make himself at home; he should not be entertaining any untowards implications about Joshua being in his bed.
The silence lingers for longer than necessary, before Clive finally opens his mouth again. ]
―The bed is more comfortable. [ Softly, as if to convince himself in the process of trying to convince Joshua. ] I've made the mistake of falling asleep on that couch a few times, and I won't let you suffer it if I can.
[ That explanation will have to suffice. (Though Clive knows that if Joshua fell asleep on the couch, he would pick him up and carry him to the bed anyway.) ]
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Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. He did treat Clive's bed as if he was welcome in it, once upon a time - knowing without having to learn by experience that Anabella would not be pleased if he came to her after a nightmare. He'd loved their father, but had never even considered imposing on him, either. It had always been Clive he'd run to, Clive he'd woken in the dark of night. And Clive had never been angry. He'd let Joshua stay, and just his presence had made it better. Joshua had known that he was safe there.
But it's different now. It shouldn't be, not really, but it is. When Joshua thinks of being in Clive's bed now, it's not comfort he thinks of - or not only that.
Does Clive know? He can't possibly.]
I won't refuse, then. [Joshua smiles, though it's just a bit shakier than he'd like.] You really do still spoil me.
[He should not love it as much as he does. He's a grown man. But - Clive caring for him still, even now, means the world.]
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He can't think of it. He stills the tremor threatening to run down his arm, furling and unfurling the fingers of his right hand with the casual ease of a man uncoiling stiffness from armor-tired limbs. ]
It's my duty, [ he huffs warmly, seeing the slight trepidation in Joshua's expression (why? what for?), wanting to dispel any discomfort. ] And my right, as your brother.
[ He could never hurt Joshua. He would rather die before he gave Joshua a cause to mistrust him, to doubt that he has Joshua's best interests at heart. ]
―Come on, sit. I could bring Torgal if you'd like to lean against him.
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No need for that, he looked to be having fun out there. When he gets tired, he can come here and I’ll tell him what a good dog he is.
[Joshua has a lot of that to do, because Torgal truly has been the best dog.
He looks at Clive, and says the next with a smile, making it a joke:]
I’d rather lean on you. [The truth, but - too close to that other truth.] You smell better. But judging by that pile of paper on your desk, you’ve got quite a bit of work to do. If there’s anything I can help with, you know I’ll gladly do so.
[Anything too specific, he probably can’t do - but Joshua was learning how to rule when their lives fell apart, and he’s spent the time since learning how to be a decent scholar. Writing diplomatic responses to letters is well within his abilities.]
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Clearing his throat (and tactically turning away from Joshua, letting his brother see him and his slight flush only in profile), he steps away and towards the desk, which does, in fact, have a stack of missives on it demanding his immediate attention. ]
I'd have you write some of these letters in my stead. You always had better penmanship.
[ Another thing Anabella could needle him about. Joshua took to court-related duties with far more finesse than Clive did at his age; it was often the case that Clive would steal off to the rookery after a particularly harsh reminder of being inept, knees pulled up and Torgal whining at his side.
A sigh, and Clive sits down and picks up a letter. From Martha, judging by the handwriting. ]
―Don't worry about me. Enjoy your books.
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Your penmanship has always been perfectly fine. If you need any fancy flourishes, though, bring your letters over here.
[And Joshua makes himself comfortable, curling up on Clive's bed, picking up one of the books. It's easy to let it fall open, giving him the appearance of reading, while his thoughts are elsewhere. And they're - all over the place, really.
Was Clive blushing for a moment, there? Or did he imagine it? If he was, what could it mean? Nothing, he's sure. And why was he fool enough to take Clive's bed, when it - it smells like him. It's neat and tidy, of course, Clive's been away for awhile, but the pillow still smells a bit like him. It's distracting.
No matter what direction his thoughts go, it's difficult to focus. His gaze strays to Clive. And why shouldn't it? He hasn't had a moment like this in years, not since he was a little boy slipping away from lessons to watch his older brother practice. He loved doing that, loved seeing how skilled Clive was. He likes this, too - seeing how far his brother has come, this incredible place he's built, all the people who trust and rely on him.
He also just - wants to look at Clive. For a moment, Joshua gives in, lets himself appreciate how handsome Clive is. Lets his thoughts wander down that path, where he knows they shouldn't. How solid Clive felt when they hugged, the warmth of his arms around Joshua. How it might feel to brush his fingers across Clive's skin.
The book goes sorely unread.]
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It's only after signing a letter to Byron that Clive allows himself to glance up from his desk and towards his brother, and note that he's being watched. His traitorous heart skips a beat in his chest, but he manages not to let his expression move beyond fond neutral. ]
Was I making a strange face?
[ He makes a show of furrowing his brows, the way he sometimes does when he's concentrating especially hard; he relaxes it a second later, and gets up with parchment and quill still in hand. Easy strides take him to the foot of the bed, where he perches on the edge near Joshua's feet.
He really is the most beautiful thing Clive's ever seen. For better or for worse. ]
I just finished writing a letter to our Uncle. I haven't told him that I've found you― I thought it'd be best for him to find out in person.
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He sets the neglected book aside and moves down the bed to Clive, so that he can look at the letter.]
Uncle Byron... I'll be happy to see him again. I've missed him.
[He always had such a boisterous, caring presence. Joshua knows he's alive, but beyond that - and a few bits of information from Cyril, since the Undying keep an eye on anyone connected to the Phoenix - he doesn't know anything about how his uncle's life has been. Joshua has missed so much.
He was doing what he had to, he tells himself, and it was worth it. But that can't erase those years where he didn't know where Clive was, or if he was all right. Almost as bad were the years he did know, and couldn't go to him. He doesn't know, either, how long the Undying knew and chose not to tell him. Or if they could have done anything to spare Clive from the life he'd been forced into.
Perhaps there was nothing to be done. But Joshua will never know for sure.]
I've missed you, too. [And, quietly.] I'm so sorry, Clive.
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Which is why Clive can feel his entire body reject the sound of that soft apology－ shoulders tensing, breath catching, head shaking. No, he says without words, every inch of him radiating that single statement with obstinate vehemence. ]
You have nothing to apologize for. [ The letter gets set aside on top of the bedside dresser. With his hands now free, Clive presses the flat of his palm against Joshua's face, tilting it so that they're looking eye-to-eye. ] I took eighteen years from you, Joshua. I did.
[ He'd knelt in front of his memory of his younger brother, clung to him and sobbed at his feet for failing him, for lying to himself about the failure for so long. By all rights, Joshua should hate him. Close his eyes and think back, and Clive can still feel feathers caught between Ifrit's fingers, ripped out of the firebird's broken chest.
Clive shudders at the memory of it, and shakes his head again. ]
How you can still stand to look at me－ [ he starts, then stops. No, he thinks. Too self-pitying. He walks it back, brows furrowed but steadier. ] －The fact that you're here with me now is more than I could ever have asked for. You must know that.
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He reaches up, covers Clive's hand with his own (to keep his attention, that's all, that's surely enough reason). His voice is steady.]
You didn't. You can't be held responsible for something that happened when you had no control of yourself, before you even knew of Ifrit's existence.
[He remembers the shock of it, when Cyril told him that the Undying had reason to believe that Clive held Ifrit, that Clive had been responsible for the damage that Joshua survived only through the Phoenix's power. He remembers too, the moment afterward, when Cyril told him that they intended to send assassins after him. That he was a threat who needed to be eliminated. Joshua hadn't even thought about his response, had only refused, had ordered them not to. He'd used every bit of what authority he had. In the end, he thinks it was only his tears that had convinced Cyril to obey.
He had been acting on instinct, on his bone-deep certainty that Clive would never hurt him. That there must have been something else going on. And everything he's learned since then has only convinced him of that truth.]
I've never blamed you. I wanted to be by your side - I've wanted it all along.
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I hurt you, [ he protests quietly, though he relinquishes that line of thought a moment later. It's not his intention to make his brother defend him, and he doesn't care to make Joshua do such a thing. What he can do, however, is offer the same promise he'd made back in the infirmary: ] Never again.
[ His touch travels to Joshua's perfect ear, and to the matching cuff that sits pretty on it. Clive had fought tooth and nail to keep his, especially when he was a Bearer with no rights to call his own. ]
―If what you want is to be by my side, then we shall face our fates together. You needn't ever ask if you're entitled to me. I was born for you.
[ It matters so little that he came into this world first. Everything he's ever been, it'd always been for Joshua. ]
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It's that guilt that forces Joshua's honesty.]
Don't say that. You deserve to have your own life. You - wouldn't say that if you knew the sort of person I can be.
[How could he? Swearing his loyalty while Joshua has these awful thoughts about him, while Joshua looks at him and wants him. His own brother. Touching him so easily, and not knowing the effect of that touch. Joshua might have been lying to himself this whole time, but his lies to Clive have been a thousand times worse.
He regrets saying it once he's said it. He knows Clive will have questions, and he doesn't know if he can be honest. He doesn't want to lose this, doesn't want Clive to look at him with disgust or horror. He just wants to stay by Clive's side, to help him and keep him safe however he can.]
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Why... [ "...would you say that", is the rest, which he swallows. ] ...Joshua. None of us have lived these past years without dirtying our hands.
[ Which is what Clive assumes Joshua is talking about, and if so, Clive is the most guilty of killing countless to save a handful. His hands are bloodstained, and yet he still has the audacity to touch his brother with them; worse yet, he wants to touch Joshua with them. ]
Nothing could ever make me want to leave your side. How could you even think it?
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Now that I've found you, I don't want to lose you again.
[It would be so easy to explain it away. Clive's prepared a ready excuse for him, even. But how could it ring true? Joshua is not so tender-hearted as to feel overly guilty about the lives he's taken, most of them done in defense of his own life. It was never easy, but he doesn't carry them with him, either. And Clive deserves better than a lie.
But how can he even explain this? What can he say?]
I love you dearly, Clive. More than I should. [A correction, because there's no point in not being clear, even if his voice shakes, even if he can't meet Clive's eyes.] More than a brother should.
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