[It's hard to tell if anything's changed with Ardyn recently. He shows up for his lectures, of course, just like before. He's theatrical and eccentric as always, he's informative and strict with his students -- to the random passerby, perhaps nothing's changed at all.

And yet, sometimes a patronizing smile lingers a moment too long. Sometimes there's something sharp in his gaze, sometimes he laughs to himself at a joke that no one else knows, something ironic and almost bitter. Something jaded, poignant in its tiredness. His eyes (a bright gold now, thanks to Retrospec) always betray that there's something always churning in his mind, unseen and intangible. He'll not say what it is, except only to those closest to him. Once upon a time, Noctis might've slotted into that category; these days, Ardyn seems to have pulled away from their usual banter and familiarity. It still exists, but mangled with tension that no one can quite understand.

That no one will quite say why it's that way.

Ardyn is shuffling a paper or two from behind the lecturn. He's not even looking at Noctis, but the boy's presence burns brightly in his periphery. A moment or two of silence passes, weighty, before he speaks. His voice seems to slice through the quiet with abandon.]

Feeling guilty about your performance in class, Noctis? If you want to speak to me about it, you only need say something.