The Citadel was quiet that evening, the corridors bathed in the soft amber glow of the lanterns. Noctis had slipped away from his study hours ago, abandoning a pile of royal briefings for the sanctuary of his room. When you entered, finding him lying on his stomach, shirt gone, face buried in his arms, shoulders tense.

You padded over, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. “Rough day?”

He grunted, muffled. “You could say that…”

Your gaze softened as it drifted over his back. The familiar scar cut down from his shoulder blade to his lower back—an old wound, carved into him since childhood. Most avoided even brushing against it, and he’d grown into the habit of not letting anyone get too close to it. But you… You'd had always been the exception.

“Sit up a little,” you whispered.

He tilted his head at you but obeyed, letting you ease him forward so you could sit behind him. Your hands hovered for a moment before finally pressing into his back with slow, gentle motions. Noctis exhaled, his shoulders sinking as if a weight he carried all day melted beneath your touch.

“You’re the only one I let do this, you know,” he murmured, his voice low and unguarded.

You smiled softly, fingertips tracing around the scar, never pressing too hard, just enough to soothe the ache beneath his skin. “I know. I’ll be careful.”

He closed his eyes, the tension in his body unraveling. What was once a source of pain, of bitter memory, now became something grounding. Your touch didn’t burn or sting—it calmed. He felt safe.

“Funny,” he said after a while, voice heavy with drowsiness, “everyone else… it just feels wrong. But you… it’s like…” He trailed off, struggling with words.

“Like home?” you offered. "Or is that too sappy?"

Noctis tilted his head just enough to catch your eyes over his shoulder. There was the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

Your hands stilled for a moment, pressing flat over the scar, holding him steady. “Then I’ll keep being your home, Noct.”

His cheeks warmed, and he turned his face forward again quickly, though he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned back ever so slightly into your touch, as though anchoring himself there.

For once, the scar on his back didn’t feel like a reminder of that pain, from his childhood. It felt like a reminder of you.