“Sounds nice,” he laid his head on top of Aza’s. “I’m a mess. I’m sorry, darling,” he wrapped his arms around his shorter partner, rocking him. “Do you know what I miss perhaps the most?”

He released Aza, gathering his clothes and toiletries for the bath. “Dancing. I miss dancing, and no one dances like they do in Ishgard here. ‘Tis all for spectacle, watching women dance to unfamiliar music. You know that one two-stringed instrument? Terrible.”

Aymeric felt guilt about complaining about the culture shock, but he would feel worse complaining to anyone else. He was supposed to be a diplomat, after all. He figured it was about time to give up and go make nice with Hancock.

“Although... seeing you in the nude will lighten my spirits considerably. I should have a painting done of you to hang by my bedside.”