The letter sat on the desk, an innocent square of paper with Isaaru's name scrawled on the outside. Baralai hung back in the doorway as Isaaru walked into his office and picked up the note. He unfolded the sheet of paper, then read with a smile that was first thoughtful, then wistful. Once he had finished, he looked up and waved Baralai into the room.

"How goes the restoration of the Crusaders?" Baralai asked as he approached.

"Quite well, it seems." Isaaru scanned the letter again. "The ranks are growing much faster than Nooj had expected. Fortunately, most are former Crusaders, so they only need to relearn discipline; Lucil isn't training raw recruits from scratch. And her ability to impose order sounds quite impressive." He set the sheet of paper down, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned, looking out the window. "They’ve come a long way from the wreckage of Operation Mi'ihen, and that is good news for Spira."

Baralai stood behind Isaaru and laid a hand on each shoulder. "You miss him."

Isaaru took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling under Baralai's palms. "He is where he belongs. As is Pacce. I can't begrudge them that."

Baralai tightened his grip. "Still, it's not wrong for you to miss them." He brushed his lips against Isaaru's temple; the other man's left hand crept up to grasp his fingers. They stood like that for a long time: Baralai's chest pressed into Isaaru's warm back, hands interlocked, the two of them breathing together.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway floated through the open door; Isaaru cleared his throat and turned to face Baralai while stepping away. "I should write him back."

"Of course." Baralai took a step backwards as well. "Will you join me for dinner?"

Isaaru nodded, and then Baralai left him, giving him some time alone with his brother.