He's supposed to be happy. He's supposed to enjoy the city, enjoy the noise and the people and the lights after dark, the cries of children and the choking smell of smoke and exhaust. It's everything he's ever wanted. It's everything he hates.

The journey's over, the heroes has won, the girl is saved and brought back home. But home is not the rush of Acadamia, or the gentle splashes of New Bodhum, it's the utter silence and blinding paleness of a cold, dead world. It's the sight of dark blood on his hands, the joyful smile of a steel haired girl, and the stoic silence of a man driven mad.

"I miss it," he tells Serah, over cups of cold tea and dry biscuits. She merely smiles.

"What's there to miss?" She asks, drowning in her own happiness, wedding ring fastened on her finger.

When he comes home, it's not the warm welcome given by a bitterly naive young girl or the acknowledging nod of a dark-stained guardian, it's silence. Utter silence.

Of course. What did I expect?

They have their own pasts to live. Their own families to live for. What does he have? He has the blood of a man he loved stained in his hands and the memories of a dying girl.

"You can live with me," Hope offers, eyes devoid of emotion. They aren't friends. They never were.

"Thank you," he replies. It's a gesture, nothing more.

He thinks he can forget it all. They've certainly forgotten about him- Serah's messages are short and sweet, Snow doesn't bother.

"Snow and I,.." she starts. He doesn't listen.

"Now that Lightning's back, I'm thinking of going to college." He nods and smiles, and she's too happy to even notice he's not there.

The clock glows in the moonlight. Three o'clock, it reads. Hope's not home. Neither is he.

"I'm thinking of going back," he says, he confesses, to the person only person whose eyes haven't grown vacant with happiness. On the contrary, really-Hope's eyes are lined with ever present black circles, laptop tucked under his arm and skin translucent.

"I'm sorry," Noel adds. Hope barely passes a grimace for a smile.

"For what?" He bares his teeth in a smile.

"Start living for yourself," she says. "Start over. Start forgetting before you kill yourself."

He almost laughs.

"Say, Lightning," he asks. "Have you seen Hope recently?"

A thousand, a million, a billion people still aren't enough to fill the hole in his chest. He doesn't thing anything will ever be enough. Noel doesn't turn around when he hears Hope's soft footsteps behind him.

"What's killing you?" He asks casually, as if they were discussing tea or the weather.

"Memories of things I can't change."

"Huh." Hope snorts. "Don't live in the past. It won't change a goddamn thing, no matter how hard you try."

Some days it's almost enough. To wake up and smell whatever Hope left him a plate of on the table. To see the bright green of grass and hear the laughter of children, and know that people are happy, that she would be happy, that he should be happy.

Some days, but not today, he thinks, as he grabs his blades from the back of the closet.