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The structure of the titles for this blog's post is:
:[Series acronym/abbreviation]: [Fic acronym if applicable followed by --]Story/Chapter name
Title: Your Own Pace
Rating: T
Characters/Pairing: Touma/Haruka
Spoilers: None
Words: 1,088
Summary: Touma lets Haruka take their relationship as he does everything else--at his own pace.
A/N: I had this thought last night as I was trying to sleep, and this morning it was still around in my head so I did what any sensible person does: I wrote it lol. Unbeta’d, so mistakes are my own. I love...this ship so much....I’m sad they don’t get many fics but I’m glad I can contribute even a little bit. Also ngl there was a little bit of projection in here.
Title: Memories Like a Mountain
Rating: G
Character/Pairing: Edna, Eizen, some OCs, Eizen & Edna
Spoilers: Spoilers for both games, though mainly Zestiria.
Words: 7,711
Summary: “Earth malakhim,” Eizen had once said, “have memories as strong as mountains. Where the winds of time chip away at and rob humans and malakhim alike of their memories, we’re blessed with the ability to remember everything. No matter how much time has passed.”
AN: This is the full, uncut version of the fic I wrote for @zinestiria many months ago! I’ve been dying to share it, and now I finally can~!
The main inspiration for this fic really was comparing how it felt for me to “lose” my brother after he left home for college. I imagine Edna probably felt the same, so I wanted to explore it and try to convey those feelings. It also helps that Eizen’s a total chatterbox about Edna in Berseria. Most of the major memories here were taken straight from ones he either recounted or hinted to have happened. I placed them as chronologically as I could figure them from his vague indications. Some aren’t completely accurate to what Eizen says happened, but....such is the price of writing on a time limit with minimal planning lol.
Please enjoy! Thank you to everyone in the zine who helped me cut down to what it needed to be for the zine version and thank you to my friends who beta’d the full version in preparation for today. Thank you also to @mez-zo for creating beautiful page border art to go with the fic in the zine.
AO3 | FFN | Here...
“Earth malakhim,” Eizen had once said, “have memories as strong as mountains. Where the winds of time chip away at and rob humans and malakhim alike of their memories, we’re blessed with the ability to remember everything. No matter how much time has passed.”
Blessed. Is that what it could really be called? True, the fact she could remember so much did come in handy. Like putting Meebo in his place, piquing Sorey’s interest, or filling in the gaps of Lailah’s own memory. She wouldn’t call those blessings, though. If anything, they were perks. A big difference. Outside of those perks, her memories only served as painful reminders of things she used to have—things she’ll never have again. What purpose did that serve except to capitalize on her loneliness?
Her limited understanding of the humans Eizen loved so much told her that most human memories start when they’re about four years old. For her, though, her memories start from the moment she opened her eyes after materializing from the earthpulse. Seraphim—or malakhim as they’d called themselves back then—aren’t normally born as babies, but she was a rare case—or so she’d been told. She hadn’t been a baby baby like Meebo had been, but she was small enough and close enough in age that she might as well have been one. She didn’t cry like a human baby, nor did she move much from where she formed, but her presence had been felt in the small seraphim village nearby. For a little while her vision had just been full of the blue sky above her, but then it was obscured by a face—Eizen’s face.
They blinked at each other, mutually curious about the unfamiliar sight. When he picked her up to look at her more closely, his hands had been bare and she can still remember the warmth that radiated from his palms. She’d felt the connection being drawn between them from the moment their eyes had met. As she reached out her stubby hand to childishly grab at his dumb nose the connection grew stronger and then it solidified. This smiling idiot was her brother, and though she was still new to the world at the time the realization of that bond made one thing clear to her: she wasn’t alone.
Many seraphim began learning to refine their artes very early on in life. For Edna, she started using artes subconsciously at an earlier age than most seraphim and it was only when a rock almost fell on her that Eizen began to properly teach her. Well, as best as he could, given their different fighting styles. She was a smart girl, though, so even with Eizen’s bumbling teaching methods she grasped how to control them quickly enough.
From there, it was just a matter of refinement. That happened over the course of several years, on and off. A new arte here, a different technique there, and though it was pointless to consider, she couldn’t help but compare herself to him in terms of their ability. He’d lived longer than her, so of course he knew more artes than her and could perform more powerful feats with his than she could. That didn’t stop her from trying to emulate him anyway, and every time the miscalculation of power came back to bite her. One time when trying to mimic one of the ice spells she saw him use, the arte came out too big and the backlash caused frostbite over both of her hands and forearms. Eizen’s mother hen tendencies got worse after that. Despite the lectures she’d get, his worried admonishment always came with the added assurance, “You’re fine as you are, don’t push or overwork yourself like that.”
Her first experience with a thunderstorm was a particularly strong memory. It was a warm Summer day in their tiny mountain village. At first there was just a light drizzle and Edna—age 7—stood under the awning of the simple house they lived in, watching the rain fall while staying dry. She hated the sensation of getting wet, but the sound of rain was nice. Calming. At least it was until the rain began to fall harder, chasing any remaining seraphim—except the weirdo water types—under shelter. As soon as she’d adjusted to the changed rhythm of the rain a bright flash of light and a loud BOOM that shook the ground beneath her feet had her shrieking and running into the house. Eizen, who’d been reading a book, barely had time to react before Edna crawled into his lap and clung tightly to him, hiding her face in his shoulder.
“Edna, what’s—” Eizen started, but was cut off when another clap of thunder resounded from outside.
It wasn’t as earth shaking as the first, but still powerful and loud and Edna’s shoulders tensed with the hitch of her breath.
“Ah,” he’d said, shifting only to mark his place and put the book down so he could gently pat Edna’s back in comfort, “we don’t normally get thunderstorms up at this altitude. This is the first one we’ve had in a while.”
“It’s loud,” she said, muffled slightly by his shoulder, “I don’t like it. Make it—eek!” Another thunderclap and she began to tremble, “Make it stop!”
Eizen chuckled before wrapping both arms around her, placing his other hand on the back of her head and petting her hair.
“That’s unfortunately not in my power to do, but it’ll go away on its own in a few minutes.”
Nonsense, she thought. Eizen was dumb, but he was bigger than her and stronger too.
“Yes you can, just punch it like you do everything else!”
Eizen laughed again, this time louder.
“I can’t punch the rain, Edna.”
“Not the rain, dumbo, the loud boomy thing!”
“The thunder,” he corrected her, “is just the sound of competing currents of electricity in the air. It can’t hurt you. Listen, the storm’s already passing.”
She did and he was right. The rain had gone back to its gentle drizzle and the latest clap of thunder was faint compared to the previous ones. This realization made her relax and lean back, though the ‘I told you so’ look on Eizen’s face made her harrumph and puff her cheeks out in annoyance.
“Whatever. You could’ve taken it.”
She left him with that as she ran to her room, Eizen’s boisterous laugh behind her.
Part of her had always known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that something was wrong with Eizen. A faint darkness always surrounded him, but he didn’t seem to mind it so neither did she. True, it did seem at the time like she got hurt or sick more often whenever Eizen was around, but those were nothing. Minor, annoying inconveniences if anything. Eizen, at the time, had also been making more and more trips down the mountain to the nearest human village. To get supplies, or so he’d always tell her. Every time he returned, the cloud was a little more visible.
Convinced the humans must be doing something to him, she tried to get him to stop going.
“Eizen, you should stop visiting those humans,” she’d said one evening.
She didn’t consider herself particularly close to any of the other seraphim in the village at the time. She didn’t need to be in order to find things out about the world she lived in. She’d overheard murmurs that most seraphim by then had adopted vagabond lifestyles—that seraphic villages like theirs were pretty much a relic of a dead era long before she was born. But the most important thing she’d overheard was whispers of judgement directed at Eizen, because while most of them did live in house-like structures Eizen was the only seraph in the village to fully adopt living like a human, even the unnecessary parts like eating. It worried her, for various reasons.
“Hm? Why?” He’d asked, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.
She’d clicked her tongue. She knew this topic wouldn’t be easy, but Eizen’s stubbornness was another beast entirely.
“People are talking.”
“So?”
“They’re saying mean things about you!”
“And?”
“So you should stop hanging around earth-dwellers so much.”
“No.”
“Eizen!”
“What?!”
She narrowed her eyes into a glare, intending to be intimidating, but the effect wasn’t as potent as she wanted it to be. But she tried. Eizen was unaffected and just kept his arms crossed.
“Don’t you care about what the others think and say?” She finally asked after a few moments of a glaring contest between them.
“Not particularly. Never have. Do you?”
She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again without a word, frowning instead. Idly, her fingers clenched around the handle of her closed umbrella—a gift Eizen had brought from the village a few weeks ago—and twisted it where it lay against her shoulder. Thinking on his question, there wasn’t really any reason for her to care what other seraphim thought, was there? It irritated her, sure, but it wasn’t the real issue. The real issue, she realized, was humans. Humans with their poisonous clouds of darkness, latching carelessly to Eizen and infecting him, draining him slowly of his essence. The closer they got to him, the more distant he felt to her. She didn’t understand it. The umbrella’s weight on her shoulder grounded her where she was. It really was a nice umbrella…
“No,” she finally answered, then changed the topic slightly, “but I want to meet these humans.”
It took some convincing and a lot of arguing, but finally Eizen caved and the next morning they both walked down the mountain towards the human village. On the way Eizen began to ramble about the history of the village. Edna feigned disinterest but didn’t actively try and stop him. The village, it turned out, was a proper, bustling town in the foothills of their mountain, though when Eizen had been younger—before she was born—the town had been a small hamlet coinciding with their own seraphic village. Many people at the time had lost their resonance, but there remained a few who could at least see Eizen when he visited, though the numbers steadily became smaller as time went on. Edna wondered why, then, Eizen bothered coming so much if most people couldn’t see him.
It turned out that, of the few people who could see him, this included a family of merchants who ran the town’s tavern. When she and Eizen entered there were only a few patrons in the main sitting area who wasted no time in complaining about the magically opening door. They barked their complaints then returned quietly to their drinks and their own conversations. The barkeeper, though, had the light of recognition in his eyes as he looked up and saw them before subtly motioning them over to a secluded part of the tavern where talking to oneself didn’t seem suspicious at all. He, Edna learned, was the great-great-something grandson of the human Eizen first met and resonance ran strong in their bloodline. He greeted her with a smile, but all she did was nod in acknowledgement. Then he and Eizen talked and clapped each other on the shoulder before Eizen ordered drinks for them both—beer for himself and hot chocolate for her. She watched these happenings unfold with only a little boredom, clutching her umbrella tightly against her shoulder. So far her impression of humanity was that they were loud and rude. Nothing about them seemed interesting enough to take her brother away.
When the barkeeper returned with their drinks he also set a small plate down in front of Edna. She stared at the flaky, vaguely heart shaped pastry in confusion before directing the look at him instead. It was something called a palmier, apparently. At Eizen’s encouragement she took a tiny bite out of it, expecting it to taste terrible. Instead, the sweetest taste she’d ever tasted flooded her mouth and before she could stop herself, the pastry was gone. Okay, so maybe humans could do some things alright.
After that, whenever Eizen went down to the village he’d always bring back a small box of palmiers for her. She didn’t know why, but something about them was just…calming. They made a decent comfort food. Maybe humans had artes they used to make their sweets addictive. She didn’t know and frankly she didn’t care. They helped calm her nerves and that’s all that mattered. Eventually Eizen had gotten them so much that the barkeeper gave him the recipe.
Seraphim don’t have birthdays, but Eizen had made their birthdays traditions in their household—yet another human trait he’d adopted over the years. Hers was coming up soon, so one evening he shooed her out of the house with the errand of collecting firewood for them. She protested, because why do they need firewood when there are fire seraphim nearby, but she gave in and wandered around the outskirts of the village. When she returned hours later with a small bundle of twigs and sticks in her arms the smell of palmiers hit her as she approached, her pace picking up a little. Eizen, predictably, was in the kitchen and told her to put the wood she’d gathered in the fire under their oven. She did, but the moment the wood touched the small flame it grew in size with a roar and surged outward from the opening. It happened faster than she could react and the next thing she knew the side of most of her right leg had a nasty burn along it. Her screams had Eizen by her side in seconds, mother hen mode in full force. Despite her protests he took time to treat the burn. Consequently, the palmiers he’d been making for her came out more like charcoal than the proper pastry she knew. It was upsetting, but more upsetting was the pained expression on Eizen’s face as he helped her to bed, the burnt treats forgotten on the kitchen counter.
“Eizen,” she’d said, “it’s fine. I’m fine. I still want to eat them.”
But her assurance and insistence were only met with Eizen’s frown deepening, a shake of his head and a pat to the top of her own before he left to clean up. Her leg hurt, but watching his back as he left the room made her heart hurt even more, seized with an anxiousness that she couldn’t yet understand.
A few days after that incident, Eizen declared that from that day onward it would be safer for Edna to do the cooking for them. She didn’t understand the logic there, considering she was the one who got burnt, so wouldn’t it make more sense to keep her away from fires? But Eizen had made a decision and, like a mountain in a hurricane, he refused to yield, so Edna agreed to it. Despite the bad burn, fire didn’t bother her and if it made Eizen feel more at ease then she figured it was fine.
Despite the switch they’d made, Edna wasn’t any less prone to injury. Several times she’d stub her toe or fall. It wasn’t anything serious—not like the burn she received before—but ever since then Eizen had seemed to worry more and fret over even the tiniest injury, so she began to try and hide any new injuries from him. She didn’t want him to worry. When he worried, he would go to the village. And when he did that the cloud at his back only grew darker and bigger.
It didn’t really seem like that big of a deal until a Fall day when she was 8. She was outside, stoking the beginnings of a fire in their make-shift pit; because after the burn incident Eizen figured it’d be safer for her to work with an open fire instead of their oven. Dinner was going to be whatever Eizen and Joel—another seraph from their village—brought back from hunting in the nearby woods.
Things were going well, until the sky opened abruptly with rain, dousing her fire and ruining the wood she’d spent all morning gathering. It was unfortunate, but just as she’d turned to run for cover a painful stabbing sensation filled her chest and made breathing feel as if her lungs were full of rocks. A domain had appeared. A powerful, malevolent domain. The other seraphim that were out of their homes were similarly frozen in place, fear on their faces as this kind of domain meant only one thing.
Weakly, she turned her head in the direction of the woods, the trees appearing darker through the purple haze of the domain. It…It wasn’t possible, was it? He couldn’t have…
“Ei—”
But just as she began to speak a large shadow crashed through the trees and flew with impressive speed straight for her. She had no time to react, barely any time to scream, and the next thing she knew she was high in the air, trapped in the talons of a dragon.
The beast let out an angry roar as it flew higher above the clouds. For a moment she was afraid it was going to drop her from this height, but as it reached its apex it dove straight back to the ground, the dive punctuated by a shrill scream from her. Like when it left the woods it raced down the mountainside on the wind, heading straight for and into the human town. The next moments were fuzzy, the constant jerking around by the dragon causing her to go in and out of consciousness. She remembered screaming. From her and the multitude of humans being attacked by it. She remembered fire and blood, death and destruction.
Eizen, stop! She’d thought at one point, fearfully convinced of who this dragon was.
When she regained consciousness again the wind was once more in her hair as the dragon flew back up the mountain. Behind them, from what she could see, was nothing but smoke and ruined buildings.
He’d…He’d destroyed the town he loved…killed the humans he loved…and now he was going to kill their fellow seraphim too… No. No no no no no NO!
“EIZEN!!!”
But before the dragon could make it to their village something stopped it with powerful force and it shrieked in pain, loosening its grip on her. She pinched her eyes shut with a squeal, bracing for impact that never came, partly because someone caught her before she hit the ground and partly because she fainted again after barely registering that fact.
When her eyes opened once more it was to the sight of the dragon dissolving into light. Standing over it, with his back to her, was Eizen. As he turned to walk over to where she was resting against a rock her eyes sweltered with heat before overflowing with equally hot tears. From fear or relief, she didn’t know.
Eizen knelt to her eye level when he was close enough, his smile strained as he reached out to pet her head and brush a tear away with his thumb.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he’d said.
Such reassurance should’ve relieved her, but it only served to make her cry more.
“Eizen,” she’d managed to say through her tears, weakly reaching out to clasp his sleeves tightly in her small fists, making sure he was real. “Eizen. Eizen.”
She had no idea what she was trying to say. All she could think to say right now was his name, whenever the flow of her tears allowed her to speak. Eizen hadn’t been the dragon. He wasn’t a dragon. He hadn’t become a dragon. He was here, he was still here. The fabric of his jacket was rough against her fingers. He was real. This was real.
Whatever she’d been trying to say, Eizen understood. Carefully, he scooped her up again into his arms and she wasted no time in burying her face against his shoulder, muffling the rest of her crying there as she clung to him. By the time they reached their village, her tears had mostly all been cried out. Now she was just tired. And sore. Ugh.
Rather than head straight for their house, though, Eizen paused as they crossed the threshold into the village.
“Eizen,” said someone with a deep voice, “who was that?”
She lifted her head from where it was perched to look over her shoulder. Almost all of the seraphim in the village were gathered in the center, most of them looking apprehensively at Eizen. The one who’d spoken was the elder, who stood in front of the rest. Though he was the oldest in the village, he didn’t actually look all that old. But his face was hardened with a stern expression that made Edna anxious.
“Joel,” Eizen answered simply.
Joel. The seraph who went hunting with Eizen. She hadn't known him that well, but she knew he strongly disapproved of Eizen's interest and exposure to humanity.
“We were hunting together when he started up an argument with me. I tried to defuse it, but he just got angrier. Then he turned into that,” Eizen continued.
“I see,” said the elder, his arms crossed and eyes closed, “This has been on our minds for some time now, but, with recent events being what they are…we think it’s best that you leave. The sooner the better.”
A low murmur of agreement rippled through the assembled crowd of seraphim. She’d feared this outcome, but hadn’t expected it to happen like this or this quickly. Though this was shocking to her, she strangely felt numb to it. Perhaps due to the overwhelming emotions from earlier.
Eizen scoffed, “What, am I dangerous now? I neutralized the dragon for you.”
“Be that as it may, it’s become clear now that your very presence puts all of us in danger,” the elder’s gaze shifted to her and she reflexively clung tighter to Eizen, “Especially to the little one. I think it’s best that she stays with us, but you need to—”
“NO!” The cry left her lips before she could think to stop it, her arms around Eizen’s neck in a vice grip as she furiously shook her head against his shoulder. The gentle pressure of Eizen’s hand on the back of her head made her stop flailing, but the thought of separation had her crying into his jacket once more.
“She refuses,” Eizen said.
She heard the elder sigh deeply through his nose and imagined he still had his arms crossed and eyes closed.
“Very well,” he said, “It appears you’ve already poisoned her anyway.”
The crowd dispersed after that, a few whispering to each other as they went to their own houses. They were expected to leave by morning. Although there hadn’t been more than light structural damage in their village, the human town wasn’t as fortunate. It was completely destroyed and not a single human survived. Consequently, the area had been soaked in malevolence. It didn’t pose them any immediate threat, but there was a worry that given time it would eventually drift upwards into the village. Many of the seraphim expressed apprehension at that, some murmuring suggestions that they just abandon the place, adopt vagabond lifestyles like the rest of the world’s seraphim had already done.
She didn’t care about that now, though. She was being kicked out of the only home she’d ever known, and it was likely that in a few years it wouldn’t be there anymore anyway. But that was fine, she told herself. She’d only really been connected to the village because Eizen was there anyway. So, as long as she was where Eizen was, she’d never really be homeless. Eizen was her home. As she lay on her bed after packing up what meager possessions she could think to take with her she turned her gaze to the window. The rain that had started from the dragon’s appearance was no longer falling, but the sky remained dark with clouds.
When they left the next morning, no one saw them off. She didn’t know how long they wandered for, only that it had been many days and nights of walking or getting carried when she was too tired to walk anymore. Finally, they stopped as they approached the peak of another mountain. There was no one around—human or seraphim—and the air was clean. Eizen deemed the place good enough to settle. It wasn’t a bad place, she thought.
Since there wasn’t any seraphic village here nor were any of the human villages in reasonable walking distance, there wasn’t much of a point in building a house here too. They didn’t need to either, since there was a small enclosure of rock carved into the mountain that would give them suitable shelter. Even so, it wasn’t as comfortable as the bed she’d always had. She didn’t complain, though. She wouldn’t! Past comforts meant nothing anymore. All that mattered was that she still had Eizen and now…now there was no way anything else bad could happen. Nothing else could push him away. No humans would take him from her now.
Or so she’d believed until one day, after they’d been settled into their new home for a while, Eizen made a sudden announcement.
“Edna, I’ve decided to go on a journey.”
It was late and they were eating dinner—a light vegetable soup. The sudden declaration made her pause in her eating, though she resumed shortly after the initial shock had passed.
“Okay, when are we leaving?” Because of course he’d take her with him, right? A glance up to his face revealed a frown and his eyes hidden behind his stupid hair. …Right? “Eizen?”
“I meant alone, Edna. You’ll be staying here.”
Her bowl clattered to the ground as she jumped to her feet, soup forgotten.
“No I’m not!”
“Yes, you are. I have to go alone.”
“No you don’t! I can go with you!”
“It’s too dangerous! You’ll be safer here.”
“Is this because of what they said before? I thought you didn’t care about that!”
“I don’t, but they were right. I’ve let this curse hurt you for too long already.”
“You’re not the one hurting me! Take me with you, I can help!”
“No, I’ve made up my mind.”
“But—”
“Edna! You’re staying and that’s final!”
She ground her teeth and clenched her hands into fists as she glared at him. This didn’t make sense! Where had she gone wrong?! Why wasn’t he letting her go with him?! He’d set his own bowl aside when he started talking, so now his arms were crossed over his chest and his mouth was drawn in a frown. His typical stance that told her no further arguing would make him budge. She felt tears forming at the corner of her eyes, but before they could fall she turned quickly on her heel and ran outside, further up the mountain. He didn’t chase after her.
Later when she returned to their makeshift home, Eizen was already asleep and the mess she’d made earlier had been cleaned up. She stayed where she was at the entrance for a moment before grabbing her small cot and dragging it over to be next to Eizen’s, flopping down on it so her back was pressed to his. A simple comfort to tell her he was still there. Seraphim didn’t need to sleep anyway. She fully intended to stay awake until Eizen got up. If he was so intent on leaving her, then she just wouldn’t let him! Or so she stubbornly thought, not realizing when her eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep anyway.
In the morning, the first thing she noticed was the lack of warmth at her back. The realization had her sitting up quickly, heart seized in panic as she frantically looked around. He was gone. Did he really just leave without so much as a word to her? Was she too harsh last night? These panicked thoughts raced through her mind as she got up to investigate, but just as she was about to move Eizen appeared at the entrance. He had a dead bird in hand. Adrenaline left her in a relieved sigh as she slumped back down onto her cot.
As she made breakfast for them he told her that he wasn’t going to leave immediately, but it would be within the next day or two. He wouldn’t be gone forever, only until he found a cure for his curse. And most importantly, he’d keep in touch through letters. That was all fine, she supposed, but she still felt bitter that he was leaving her and not even giving her the option of going with him.
For the rest of the day she secluded herself on top of their rocky home, scribbling away with paper and pen she’d borrowed from their belongings. When she finally came back down the sun was low in the sky and Eizen was reading one of his books by firelight. Without any preamble she marched over and held what she’d spent all day working on in front of his face. A small self-portrait of her that barely took up a corner of the page.
“So you won’t forget what I look like,” she’d said.
Eizen blinked curiously at the paper before setting his book down and taking it in hand instead. He smiled at the childish scribble, a genuinely happy and amused smile that Edna hadn’t seen him do in a while. Then he took one of the pieces of paper and pens and scribbled for a few moments before presenting her with an equally bad self-portrait of himself.
“Seems only fair you have one too,” he’d said, “but they’ll get ruined if they stay exposed like this.”
Then something seemed to dawn on him and he got up to rummage through one of their packs. She watched him curiously and when he finally found what he was looking for he came back to her side. In his hands were two lockets—one on a long chain and the other on a short band of ribbon.
“If we do it like this,” he explained while gently tearing around the edges of both of their drawings, making them small enough that they could fit inside the lockets, “then we’ll always be close to each other, no matter how far away I am.”
In the long chained locket, he put her self-portrait then put it around his neck. He did the same with his in the smaller locket and then reached out to put it around her neck. She brought her hand up to gently touch the smooth stone of the locket and the simple action had tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Eizen’s hand was heavy on top of her head as he ruffled her hair gently.
“Don’t cry, Edna. I told you this morning, didn’t I? I won’t be gone forever. I’ll be back, I promise.”
They went to bed after that. When she next woke up, the cot beside her was cold and a note had been placed under her arm. It had instructions for how to send a letter, an apology, and a repeat of the promise spoken last night. Edna read it, crumpled it up and tossed it aside, then rolled over onto Eizen’s abandoned cot and went back to sleep.
Seraphim, as should be expected, don’t have a writing system. Most didn’t write at all or even know how to write using the human’s script. It changed so much, most of them never bothered with it. However, years before they were kicked out of the village, Eizen had thought it a good idea to teach her how to write. She never used it or had a need to back then, but he made her practice anyway. Now, in hindsight, perhaps his plan to leave her had been in the works longer than she’d suspected.
It was only a few moon cycles after Eizen left that she received a letter—her first letter. At first she didn’t know what to do about it, until the Turtlez who delivered it suggested writing a reply before wandering off to give her time to write one. But that was the problem. All Eizen’s letter consisted of was an apology for abruptly leaving, some descriptions of what he’d seen so far, and a few crude drawings. She simultaneously had a lot she could say—that she wanted to say—and not much to say at all.
By the time evening had fallen and the Turtlez had come back to check on her, she’d filled at least 5 sheets of crumpled up paper with crossed out starts and sentences. This was annoying, she decided. Why did she need to only keep in touch with him this way? There wouldn’t be a need for any of this if he’d just taken her with him to begin with! Stupid curse! Stupid Eizen!!
In the end, there was only one thing she could think to say in response to his apology—to his letter in general. She wrote it quickly, folded and sealed it the way his instructions had said, and sent it off with the Turtlez. In the middle of the paper, in handwriting that was out of practice and childishly big, there was only a single sentence:
I don’t care if it’s dangerous, I want to be with you!
- Hephsin Yulind
Despite various attempts she made in her letters since then, Eizen didn’t come home and always replied with more apologies and promises that he’d be back. Eventually, she gave up trying to persuade him. For a while after their first letter exchange she’d write short letters in response, but lately she had stopped writing them. It just became too bothersome. After all, unlike wherever Eizen was now, nothing changed about her life on the mountain. She maintained a sleep schedule out of habit, practiced her artes at the summit, sometimes ate, and sometimes read. Day in, day out. Nothing special to report usually. Besides, even with her lack of response Eizen continued to send letters and gifts.
It was because of one of those letters that she was sitting on a rock at the top of the path that led down the mountain. Her umbrella was open and resting on her shoulder as she twirled it subconsciously, her eyes scanning the path below. The letter she had gotten a few days before was Eizen telling her that he was coming home. For how long wasn’t said. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but hope that it was forever.
She had been 10 years old when Eizen left. Though she had tried at first, she quickly lost track of how long it had been. At least 200 years, she thought. There was a point where she had noticed herself visibly aging and panicked a little about it. So she stopped aging quite as noticeably. It wouldn’t be good if she looked nothing like what Eizen remembered when he came home, she reasoned. If it at least looked like no time had passed at all, then…then maybe they could pretend that no time had actually passed. It may’ve been wishful thinking, but wish for it she did.
She was brought out of her thoughts when she noticed movement at the bottom of the path. Her eyes widened as she jumped up from her perch, the familiar bright yellow of Eizen’s hair unmistakable against the dull brown of the mountain path. The umbrella was no longer spinning, but the handle was clenched tightly in her hands as she watched him slowly come into focus.
When he was close enough that she could see his face more clearly he smiled and waved and suddenly the weight of 200 years of loneliness crashed down upon her heart.
“Eizen!” She called, her voice cracking as tears formed in her eyes.
200 years was a long time, she decided. 200 years too many. And now, finally, it was over. Finally, they could be a family again. Finally, time could move on as it was meant to. Even the dark cloud—which had only grown bigger and darker since he left—wasn’t going to take this away from her.
She closed her umbrella before taking an unthinking step forward, intending to run the rest of the way down to meet him since he was being a slowpoke. That had been the intent, but…
As soon as she took more than two steps forward an inhuman screech resounded above her. Looking up revealed a hoard of six Garuda hellions descending right for her. She hadn’t been prepared, so instead of using an arte to fend them off she helplessly waved her umbrella around at them; trying to knock them away and step away from them. It seemed to work a little, however she hadn’t been watching where her feet were going and didn’t hear Eizen’s warning until it was too late. Her foot met open air instead of solid ground. She screeched as her body became weightless, falling over the open side of the cliff. It didn’t last long though, as she immediately heard the sound of an arte going off, the Garuda hellion’s painful death cries and Eizen’s arms catching her out of mid-air and returning to the top of the path.
Her eyes had pinched shut when she began falling, but now they opened. She smiled, but when she found Eizen’s face it immediately fell. Eizen was frowning, his teeth gritted and eyes hidden by his bangs. It reminded her of how he looked when he’d saved her from the dragon all those years ago, and before that when she was bedridden with a burn. This realization took any relief she had been feeling and replaced it with newfound fear. He wasn’t—
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here. I thought it would work this time, but…”
He was.
She tried to get his attention, pull him from those annoying thoughts he was muttering under his breath. That train of thought he was on only led to one destination and she wouldn’t let it get there. She’d waited long enough already! But despite her attempts, even when she desperately reached out to grab at his coat sleeves, he continued to mutter about failed methods and danger.
“Eizen!”
But even calling his name and reassuring him she was okay wasn’t getting through. It was just a small hellion attack! It was purely coincidental! So what if before that moment there had never been any hellions this high up on the mountain?! It didn’t mean anything; it definitely didn’t mean that he needed to leave again!
Yet he set her down anyway with another apology before he turned to walk back down the path.
“Wait!” She cried, reaching out to grab the back of his coat, missing by mere centimeters. He paused anyway, so she didn’t waste the opportunity, “Don’t go! You only just got here! At least stay one night?”
It was the desperate pleas of a lonely little girl, and though Eizen had looked like he was considering it he still shook his head.
“It’s too dangerous still. I need to try something else,” he said before looking over his shoulder at her. He was smiling in a way that was supposed to be comforting, but she knew better than that, “I’ll be back, I promise.”
And for the second time in her life, she could only watch helplessly as he walked with his back to her, growing smaller and smaller the further he became. If she reached out, she could grab him, but her hand would only find empty air.
Her legs shook before she collapsed to her knees, her vision swimming with built up tears. Eizen wasn’t in sight anymore, so she dropped her hands to the ground, clenching her fists and disturbing the soil as she did.
Why? Why why why why why WHY?! He’d been so close to being home! If those stupid Garuda… If she had just…
A drop of water on the ground between her hands that wasn’t rain. It felt hard to breathe, like a hand had plunged into her chest and was now squeezing around her heart. Her eyes were burning, more droplets joining the first, and all she could think to do now was scream. A sharp, mournful scream. He still didn’t come back.
She received another letter soon after that. Another useless apology, another meaningless promise. Unlike before, she didn’t answer the first letter. Or the second, or the third, or the fortieth. Gifts came every few letters, some interesting, some weird. Though she accepted them and created a small pile of them, she saw them for what they were—an extension of his apologies that would accompany them. When the letter confirming what she suspected deep down came to her, she finally replied. She supposed she’d have to since Eizen no longer intended to come home again.
The letters and gifts continued for many centuries. Eizen didn’t apologize as much as he did before, and when reading his letters, he sounded happy to her. The realization was bittersweet—that her brother was happier among humans than he’d ever been around her, though she supposed it had always been the case. She just hadn’t wanted to see it.
Since Eizen no longer planned to come home, she supposed she wasn’t really bound to the mountain anymore like she had been, yet she stayed anyway. No matter how boring it was, it felt like she needed to be there.
As time went on, she noticed, Eizen’s letters became less lengthy, and then less frequent—a development that began to concern her when she received a single glove as a gift from one letter, then his boots several letters later. He’d explained that he bought a new pair, so he felt like she should have his old ones instead. A simple, logical explanation that she would’ve bought…if he hadn’t sounded like he was planning on dying.
The last letter she received was delivered to her on a summer day. It didn’t have a gift, but it was an activity report. Something or someone was bothering Maotelus’ domain, he’d said in the letter. So he was going to investigate and take care of the problem. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, a typical Eizen letter at that point. Except for the way it ended:
Remember that it’s harmful to hold on to the past. Let it go and keep facing forward. Always keep in mind that you steer your own ship.
- Uzfmiwuw Uexuv
It was philosophical nonsense that Eizen often wrote about in his letters. He’d never said them to her like that, though. Reading the words, a pit of anxiety formed in her stomach and remained there into the next day. Something was wrong, and she feared she knew what.
She was forcefully awoken several nights later by the weight of a domain, the likes of which she hadn’t felt in 1,000 years. It was suffocating, each painful breath she tried to take making her choke on the malevolent air. A brief flash of memory to the purple haze of a forest and she was on her feet quickly to look for the domain’s source. The malevolence here was thicker and more oppressive than the domain she remembered. What that meant, she didn’t know.
Stumbling outside, she was greeted by the sight of a familiar black shape against the purple hued sky, the sound of its roar—its scream—making her fall to her knees as she helplessly watched it fly around the peak. All of a sudden, she was 8 years old again, kidnapped by a dragon that had spontaneously transformed. The dragon back then hadn’t been Eizen, but this one…
“Eizen…” She said, her voice small and strained with tears that were beginning to fall down her cheeks.
Eizen finally came home, but he wasn’t Eizen anymore.
And so, what was the point of this trip down memory lane? Being able to remember so much in such detail was probably useful for some, she supposed, but it was utterly useless to her. She envied Lailah for being older than her and only barely remembering her own earliest memories, Zaveid for being third oldest and also only remembering bits and pieces, and Meebo who was too much of a baby to even have many memories to count yet.
These three seraphim, and even the humans she’d begrudgingly agreed to travel with, were far more blessed than she was. Blessed with the ability to forget. She wished she could forget, even a little bit.
“It’s harmful to hold on to the past,” had been Eizen’s last written words to her.
“You may not have journeyed together, but with this you can share the memories,” Rose had said as they all looked upon Eizen’s grave.
Such contradicting sentiments. Memories weren’t blessings to be passed around like stories at a campfire. Memories, especially for earth seraphim like her, were a curse. She was cursed with the weight of her whole lifetime of memories, and many more to come in the future. She always would be. Much like Eizen had been cursed from birth, perhaps this too was her own kind of curse. A curse she didn’t start feeling until he came home as a dragon—and again as she helped to bring 200 years of his suffering to an end.
Mountains are strong. They endure no matter what disasters are thrown at them. If the oceans rise, they become islands. If the earth shakes, they grow taller. If the wind erodes them, they only grow rounder. If a fire wipes away all life on its surface, the mountain beneath stands strong in the end. Eizen’s love of humanity and the journey he went on had given him many mountains of memories. If she continued her own journeys and made more memories, would she suffer the same fate as Eizen?
Title: Growing Pains
Rating: G
Character/Pairing: Sorey, Mikleo, Sorey/Mikleo
Spoilers: None, set pre-game.
Words: 2,050
Summary: First he was tall. Then they were even. Now, he is small.
A/N: I brought Starbucks. This is my Day 2 entry for Sormik Week that I teased yesterday~! It took me all day to write (I also kept getting distracted).
Thank you to @fortunesrevolver, @twilight-symphony, and @nelfes for the beta reads~!
AO3 | FF.Net | And here...
Day 2 – Growth
Anxious, violet eyes watched closely as his hair was pressed down, allowing the brief shocks of lightning from the finger of their caretaker to safely make it to the wood above his head. Sorey held his breath, daring himself not to move as he let Gramps do his work.
This was one of the many traditions he and Mikleo had together. Another form of competition between them besides the various ones they came up with while exploring ruins. Unlike those competitions, though, Sorey was determined not to lose this one!
“All done,” said Gramps, prompting Sorey to quickly move away from the door frame so he could turn and look at where he had been.
“Yes!!” he shouted triumphantly, both fists going into the air when he saw how tall he was in comparison to Mikleo.
The water seraph’s face was anything but joyous.
“Wha—no fair!! Gramps you didn’t measure close enough to his head!”
The older seraph simply chortled softly and pet Mikleo’s head, assuring that he’d measured accurately and fairly. A pout formed on the water seraph’s face as he crossed his arms, which Sorey responded to with a beaming smile as he bounded closer to the other.
“A whooole inch~!” he sang-song, placing his hands behind his back, smile still plastered to his face and probably not leaving any time soon, “Mikleo, you know what that means, riiiiight~?”
For a moment they simply stared at each other, Sorey with his beaming face of sunshine and joy and Mikleo with his pouting face of dark annoyance. Finally, the water seraph breathed a resigned sigh, uncrossing his arms before turning on his heel to walk towards the door.
“Fine. Come on.”
Sorey made a happy sound as he went to follow the other young boy, throwing a quick thanks to Gramps over his shoulder as they left the house. He quickly caught up to Mikleo and walked in step next to him as they made the trek down the hill to the house they shared.
“Vanilla, right?” Mikleo asked without actually looking at him.
“Mhmm!” he hummed as he bounced happily next to the other, oblivious to his friend’s mood.
The tradition had always been like this, ever since they were three years old. Gramps would measure their heights and whoever was the tallest had to do something for the other. For a little while it’d been Mikleo who won these competitions, but the past few years had been going to Sorey. When Mikleo won, he’d ask for small, simple things. Like the Celestial Record or a certain kind of flower or new clothes. But when Sorey won there was only one thing to ask for, of course. Vanilla ice cream! Mikleo made the best, so what else would he ever ask for?
By the time they approached the small house, Sorey had come down from his victory high for the most part and was finally taking notice of the sour mood his friend had been in since they left Gramps’ house. Sorey frowned in thought as he took to observing his friend, sitting in the middle of the main room while watching Mikleo flit about. From the outside he probably didn’t seem any different than usual, but Sorey knew better. He could tell by the way the water seraph’s shoulders were tensed up as he set everything out and began making the ice cream. Normally his movements in this process were fluid—or at least as fluid as they could get with them being so young—but right now his movements were rigid. Sorey was confused.
“What’s wrong?” He finally asked, the question being the only thing said since they got to the house.
“Nothing.” Was the only response he got, but he could tell immediately it was a lie born of the other boy’s stubbornness, especially because he began pointedly stirring the sloshy mixture as soon as he said it.
Sorey’s frown deepened. Of the two of them, he was the worst liar by far, but Mikleo wasn’t that great at it either. With Mikleo’s back to him he shifted so he could stand up again.
“Come oooon,” he cooed, crossing the distance to the other boy and draping himself over Mikleo’s back, “you’re a bad liar and you know it.”
He wasn’t tall enough to properly rest his chin on Mikleo’s head, so he settled for resting it on one of the other boy’s shoulders. He got no response from the seraph, but he did notice Mikleo’s stirring become even more pointed, angry almost.
“Are you…are you really mad about me being taller than you again?” He blinked curiously as the thought came to him, shifting his gaze to the side so he can observe his face, noting the pout that had returned.
“No.”
By which he meant, yes.
Sorey’s frown remained. Why was Mikleo so adamant on lying? It wasn’t like this was a big deal, was it? Well, it was a competition, so he could understand Mikleo being upset about losing but…he never got upset like this the very rare times he’d win a ruin competition. Why now? Why this?
“I’m sorry,” he breathes it out in a tiny whisper, turning his face down to nuzzle into Mikleo’s shoulder like an apologetic puppy as he tightened his arms in a more proper hug around the smaller boy.
He both heard and felt a heavy sigh shake through the slightly smaller frame, prompting him to lift his head again in curiosity. The pout was now replaced with a regretful frown. Sorey wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
“It’s fine. It’s not like you can help it.” Which was true, but still…
“But it upsets you…why?” His voice is smaller than he means it to sound, but he honestly just wants the other boy to be honest with him. They always were, usually.
Mikleo sighed again and paused his ice cream making to set the mixing bowl down, prompting Sorey to unlink his arms from around the other, though he didn’t step away too far. The seraph turned to face him now, expression twisted in such a way that made a pang of guilt hit Sorey in the chest.
“I’m not…It’s just…” A frustrated sigh as Mikleo tries to find words, “It’s just, this is the third, maybe fourth year in a row, right? I was taller than you for a long time, and then one year we were almost the same height, and now you’re taller than me! And you keep being taller than me! How am I supposed to catch up or be taller again if you—if you keep growing like this?!”
Sorey brought a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck, not sure what to say to that.
“Well, yeah, but…Gramps said this is normal, didn’t he? We’re both growing up, and didn’t he say something about humans and seraphim growing at diff—”
“That’s not the point!”
Sorey jumped with a start at how loud Mikleo had shouted, his eyes wide and mouth slightly hung open mid-sentence. Mikleo’s eyebrows were scrunched in anger, his teeth showing from how much his jaw was clenched and his hands were curled into tiny fists.
He’d barely recovered before Mikleo continued his tirade.
“I’m older. I’m supposed to protect you. I’m supposed to be bigger. How can I protect you if I’m not taller than you?” And like water breaking through a dam, the tension that had been in his body from anger suddenly flowed out of him all at once, and with it his voice became quieter, but Sorey could still hear him, “How am I supposed to do the only thing I’m good for if I…if I’m not…”
He didn’t get to finish because his voice cracked around a choked sob and it was only now that Sorey noticed the tears that had formed at the corner of Mikleo’s beautiful eyes. The sight of them made him forget any momentary shock he felt and immediately spring into action.
“Mik. Hey. Mikleo…” he whispered softly, as if afraid that speaking louder than that would shatter the fragile air between them.
He stepped closer to the smaller boy once more, quickly enveloping Mikleo in a tight hug and holding him to his chest. Mikleo didn’t fight, he merely grabbed two fistfuls of the back of Sorey’s shirt and cried quietly into his chest.
Mikleo never got this openly emotional, especially around him. Usually Mikleo was the picture of strength, grace, and beauty—as far as Sorey was concerned. That’s exactly why he sobered up so quickly to treat this as seriously as he is, because if Mikleo was being this emotional, it meant the issue was serious.
For the moment he just stood still and held Mikleo to him, one hand smoothing through silky white hair while the other one ran up and down the other’s back in a soothing gesture. The ice cream was all but forgotten.
When it finally feels like Mikleo’s calmed down enough he dares to speak, “Are you okay?” It’s the first question he thinks to ask, because that’s what’s most important right now.
He doesn’t get a verbal response, but the feeling of Mikleo nodding is answer enough.
“Good. It’s my turn to talk now.”
Carefully, he releases Mikleo from the hug, though he keeps his hands gently on his shoulders as he holds the other boy at arm’s length. He wants to be able to see Mikleo’s face before he continues talking.
“Who said you had to be tall to protect someone? Who said you had to stop doing that after a certain height, anyway?” It was Sorey’s turn to pout now, mostly at the unknown people who’d put these ideas into the seraph’s head, “You’re so strong, and cool, and beautiful, and perfect. It doesn’t matter if you’re tall or not. Protecting each other doesn’t have to be a competition, does it? I’ll protect you whether you’re shorter or taller than me, and you’ll protect me regardless too, right?”
His lips curve into a warm, kind smile as he moves one of his hands to gently tuck some of Mikleo’s hair behind his ear. The seraph’s face was stunned, but the tears had at least seemed to stop for now.
“I’m sorry if it feels like I took something away from you. You still have it, and you always will. As long as you want to have it!”
Mikleo’s stunned expression melted away into a more contemplative one. A soft hum was all he got in the way of a verbal response before Mikleo decided to speak, “It’s okay, you’re right. I was being stupid.” As he made this comment he turned his head away a bit, his cheeks warm with a faint blush.
Sorey’s smile grew and he shook his head.
“You weren’t.” Because it was the truth, after all.
The mixture in the bowl had since melted again into liquid, but right now the boys’ focus still remained on each other. Sorey made a thoughtful sound as he slid his hands down Mikleo’s arms to hold the water seraph’s hands instead.
“Hey. You may be shorter now, but your height is good for one thing, Mikleo.”
The other boy’s brows furrowed in confusion at the statement, silently asking for explanation.
“It means I can do this now~!”
And without another word, Sorey leaned forward, tilting his head up only just enough to press his lips gingerly to Mikleo’s forehead. He held it for only a short moment before leaning back to beam down at Mikleo.
“See? You’re the perfect height for that now. That’s something, right?”
For the second time that night Mikleo was struck speechless, his cheeks steadily growing warmer as the kiss finally dawns on him. He ducks his head, largely to hide how red his face is, but he also can’t disagree with the statement.
“Hm…I suppose I can live with that.”
The victory ice cream was left forgotten as the two boys decided to head to bed, curled up together like usual. They were young, so they still had a lot of growing left to do. How much, only time would tell. But Mikleo was alright with that, at least for now.
Title: The World Will Heal
Rating: G
Character/Pairing: Sorey, Maotelus, very light implied Sorey/Mikleo
Spoilers: End-Game Spoilers
Words: 825
Summary: As he gets ready for his long nap with Maotelus, Sorey takes a moment to reflect and dream on the world to come.
A/N: I’m sorry to inform you that this isn’t the next chapter of Stolen Kisses. That update will be coming soon though!! I promise!! I just....gotta....stop feeling inadequate ; v ;.
This is instead my entry for Day One of Sormik Week. I used the prompt “healing” and as you can see, it’s very Sormik Lite because of how I decided to take the prompt. The rest of my week entries will be much more heavily Sormik I promise. This one also makes use of my not-yet-published “Always a Dragon” theory.
AO3 | FF.Net or click below to read here~!
Day 1 – Healing
In the wake of the final battle—when the resounding thud of Heldalf’s back against the stone throne reached his ears—Sorey allowed himself a moment of relief. It was over. It was finally over. They’d achieved the hardest part of what they’d set out to accomplish, but now a new task lay ahead of him.
The moment the dragon appeared, momentarily blinding him with his light, Sorey knew that the pure being hovering just above the now-human man was Maotelus. Their missing Maotelus. By now he’d met a number of dragons on his journey, so he knew the feeling associated with witnessing the pain and suffering of a fallen seraph.
But this time…this time felt different. He wasn’t able to dwell on it much as he made his slow walk towards Heldalf, ending his long, tortured life with a single, decisive thrust of the sword Rose left him. Nor was he able to dwell on it in the moment when his chest swelled with relief at the sight of the spirits of his friends he’d been unsure would survive. The cool caress of Mikleo’s light against his cheek before he watched them fly up to rejoin Rose was the only good night kiss he was going to get for the next who-knows-how-many-long years.
He was only really able to study and dwell when his attention was finally on the great dragon, floating before him now. Despite the overwhelming malevolence that surrounded them like a cage, there was none being emitted from the white dragon. Unlike Tiamat, unlike Eizen, this seraph did not cast a malevolent domain. If anything, all he cast was an aura of purifying light that warmed Sorey as he drew closer to Maotelus, reaching out to press his hand gently against the large snout.
Even in appearance there was nothing malevolent about this dragon. Where Eizen and Tiamat had had sharp spikes and horns, this dragon’s horns were blunted and smooth. Incapable of hurting someone. Even the spikes that were along his arms—while they looked sharp—were not nearly as pointed as the spikes he remembered from Tiamat or Eizen, or even the hellionized Maotelus they’d fought just a while ago. Maotelus’ wings were also much different from the wings he’d seen before, and the wings the other dragons had. Covered in scales, but much more feather-like now in shape. Overall the dragon before him was softer and purer than any dragon he’d fought before.
So this is how you’ve always been… he thought, certain that the seraph could hear him.
If he thought back far enough, he could remember an old man in the Shrinechurch saying that Maotelus was said to always appear as a sacred creature of light. He hadn’t considered what that meant at the time, but looking at the pure dragon now, it made sense. This whole time he’d thought that Maotelus, along with the land, would need to be healed. But now that he’s seen the seraph’s true form, it was clear the only thing in need of healing was the land itself.
That was the main goal here, and he closed his eyes as he felt the seraph's warm purification begin to surround him with his hand still resting on the dragon's snout. It was time for him to sleep, like he’d told Mikleo not too long ago on that Lastonbell balcony. As long as he was here, the malevolence of this place and the world wouldn’t be allowed to touch Maotelus ever again.
The dragon stirred beneath his hand, but only to briefly open his eyes before closing them again, disappearing in a familiar flash of light before Sorey felt his presence settle in alongside his own. He welcomed it, holding his arms to his chest as if he were holding something precious. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel a cocoon of warm light forming around them, keeping them aloft in the air.
As he begins to feel the weight of sleep on his mind he can’t help but think about the world he hopes to wake up to see. A world with little to no malevolence. A world with no war. A world where seraphim and humans live together again, in harmony. A world that’s healed from the sins of his distant forebear. Maotelus shows him what that kind of world used to be like, thousands of years ago. He remains confident that humanity has since learned and will continue to learn. He must, for the sake of the future he wants to build.
When he finally succumbs to sleep, the last remnants of his conscious thought are on his water seraph. The one who will be most affected by his absence. It’ll be hard, and he’ll have a lot of apologizing to do when he wakes up, but Mikleo is strong. He’s always been strong.
The world will heal, just like he knows Mikleo will too.
Title: Water is Wet
Rating: PG
Character/Pairing: Sorey/Mikleo
Spoilers: None in this chapter, set very early in the game after Alisha leaves the village
Words: ~1,755
Summary (for the whole fic): Sorey and Mikleo aren’t usually big on PDA, especially once their party of two begins to grow into a family of nosy seraphim and humans. But like a tea pot on a stove, you can’t hold back passion and affection that has always been freely given. This is a chronicle of all the times on their journey when Sorey--and sometimes Mikleo--sneak in a little affection.
A/N: SO I PROMISED MYSELF THAT I WOULD NOT START WRITING ANY OF THE ACCUMULATED SORMIK IDEAS UNTIL I’D BEATEN THE GAME. Well friends that’s partially a lie because I’m only somewhat near the final boss. But these ideas were beginning to gnaw and claw at my brain so I figured whatever I’ll at least write these up until the point where I need to wait to have completed the game.
So as the summary implies, this fic has a similar sort of concept to LFM in that it’s a collection of one shots related to a specific topic. In this case, I really wanted to write all the times in the game I could see the two of them sneaking in some smooches. Mikleo’s canonically more private about their relationship so he’s the one that mostly shies away from PDA which is why this fic is called “Stolen Kisses” because Sorey had to get creative lmao.
This is also the first time I’ve written either of them and this chapter is written from Sorey’s perspective. Let me tell you, I have respect for everyone ever that RPs Sorey because holy shit. I won’t spend a lot of time explaining how my writing character pieces goes for fear of sounding crazy, but basically--syncing with Sorey is inviting horrible amounts of purple prose into your head. I didn’t fully sync with him until about 800 words into this and let me tell you. You can see it. You can see the exact moment he fully took over.
Enjoy my first contribution to the English-release Sormik fic pile. And don’t worry, there’s plenty more where this came from. 13 more chapters to be specific. Special thanks to @nelfes and @cherrim for being my awesome betas!
Also, one more note, this whole fic is Established Relationship because honestly, anything BUT already established feels wrong with how they act in canon.
AO3 | FF.Net | And here:
Mikleo is beautiful. He’s beautiful in the same way water is wet and the sky is blue. This was a truth of the world Sorey had always known and always asserted and it continued to be true even with Elysia at their backs.
The air gets cold around the mountaintop at this time of night and it shows in the small puffs of warm air leaving his mouth as he walks in step behind the water Seraph. The soft crunch of the grass beneath both their feet promises frost in the morning.
Despite the urgency behind their departure and the fact it was Sorey’s own decision, he can’t help but let his eyes wander their surroundings. He’s not sure when they’ll be back, so he wants to savor what he can of his home. This clean air, the bright canopy of stars hanging above their heads and the peaceful feeling of knowing they can walk like this without a Hellion attacking them. He brings his gaze back down from the stars to the distant barrier of clouds that shield Elysia from the world. His eyes only linger a moment before shifting to his best friend again, still walking a few paces in front of him. Even though there was urgency, Mikleo wasn’t walking fast either.
“I think we’re about halfway down the mountain by now.” Mikleo read his mind, like always. “We’ll get there in time, so don’t worry about it.”
A smile tugs at his lips at his friend’s poorly concealed concern, the knowledge of it warming his heart. He picks his pace up a bit so he can walk in step alongside the other boy, beaming a teasing smile at the Seraph.
“Aw, so you do care!” He quickly side steps the half-hearted punch that he gets in response with an amused laugh.
Despite the darkness around them, the moon is bright enough to reveal the cute dusting of a blush on Mikleo’s cheeks.
“S-Shut up! I only said anything because I can practically hear you worrying. It’s annoying,” or so his friend claims even though the words lack the bite they would have if he actually meant it.
“Mhmm,” is all he responds with in a tone that conveys that he doesn’t believe Mikleo for a second.
Sure, Sorey knows he himself is a terrible liar and Mikleo knows it too. But the water seraph was just as terrible of a liar as he was, in his opinion.
“Thanks, Mikleo.”
“Don’t thank me.”
They continue to walk quietly side-by-side, Sorey’s hand eventually gravitating towards Mikleo’s as it’s naturally wont to do. The water seraph seems to anticipate it, because about halfway there his hand reaches out too and they wordlessly intertwine their fingers. It’s familiar and comfortable, just like Mikleo.
He lifts his gaze to the stars above them again, slightly dimmer than they’d been moments before.
“The stars are beautiful tonight, don’t you think?”
From the corner of his eye he can see the water Seraph look up as well with a thoughtful hum.
“So they are,” he agrees, the smile he allows only when they’re alone gracing his features, “You know, if the lower world’s Malevolence is really as bad as Alisha made it sound…they might not see quite as many stars as we can here.”
He responds in turn with his own thoughtful hum of agreement. He hadn’t thought about that part. Stargazing was something he and Mikleo often did in Elysia on nights when the Celestial Record had been read at least eight times and neither of them could get to sleep. But, he thinks, even if the stars won’t be as bright in the lower lands it’ll be okay because—
“’It’s okay Mikleo, because in losing the stars we’ll gain a whole world of ruins!’, am I right?”
A soft laugh bubbles up from his chest at how accurate the impression was and he gently squeezes where their hands are connected as he answers, “Exactly!”
Ahead of them a ways he notices a small rock outcropping along the mountainside, the fog of the clouds they were walking through seeming to fade near it. He tugs gently on their linked hands to catch his friend’s attention, guiding them both through the fog and toward the cliff. Passing through the barrier of the clouds that concealed Elysia’s existence was something neither of them had done before. With the way the fog started to thin gradually into a fine mist, he feels that just a little beyond it, they could both see the whole world. He squeezes Mikleo’s hand in his own to silently convey his excitement, receiving an equal squeeze in return.
With each step forward the mist grew thinner and thinner and Sorey could feel his heart beginning to beat loudly in his ears in a way it had only done so a few times before, a thrum of excitement radiating out from his heart and bursting into a wide grin on his face.
“Mikleo, look!” he exclaims, unlinking their hands to allow himself to burst through the last threads of mist and run towards the cliff.
He stops a safe distance from the edge, gazing out toward the view of the world below with wide-eyed wonder. Far in the distance on the horizon that he vows to someday reach, the sun is beginning to rise with its first rays bathing the world in a pale yellow light and creating a gradient of blacks and purples across the sky. He feels almost breathless at the sight.
“This is our world,” he states, voice light and airy in a reflection of the wonder he feels.
Reluctantly, he averts his gaze from the gorgeous view to turn and observe Mikleo’s reaction. Once again, the air leaves his lungs and gets caught in his throat at the sight he sees instead.
Much like his own, the seraph’s eyes are wide and shimmering a bit in what Sorey recognizes to be Mikleo’s own version of excitement. The morning light bathes them both in soft hues of yellow, pink and purple, but the colors dance against his friend’s features like a shimmering symphony of incandescence. The soft hues of pink swirl and mix into the purple of his eyes, making them stand out more brilliantly than they normally do. The pale yellows waltz across the white and aquamarine of his hair, making it seem to Sorey as if Mikleo has a halo of multi-colored light. It reminds him all at once just how beautiful, just how amazing this boy really is.
He forgets to breathe. He doesn’t even realize his mouth was hanging open until Mikleo’s gaze shifts to him, confusion and concern replacing the previous wonder.
“What’s wrong?” Mikleo’s head is tilted now slightly, in a way that shifts his bangs just slightly and allowing the light of the sun to catch the gold of his circlet.
A sudden inhale as the memory of breathing returns to him and he closes his mouth once he takes a few deep breaths in order to offer the other boy a reassuring smile. He can feel his heart beating loud and rhythmic against the bones of his ribcage and in his ears still, but for an entirely different reason now.
“Nothing,” he answers finally, truthfully, because in all actuality everything feels right in this moment.
He holds his hand out wordlessly to Mikleo, his expression as soft and warm as his beating heart, “C’mere.”
The concern has since left the other boy’s eyes, but a hint of confusion still remains. Despite that, their hands find each other again and Sorey gently pulls Mikleo closer to him, leaning down to press their lips together. His friend is only startled for a moment before he feels the other leaning into it as well.
They linger like this for who knows how long, the world having dissolved into a condensed bubble where only he and Mikleo reside. For just a moment, all worries of Alisha being in danger have left him. For just this moment, he can pretend that they’re setting out on the world-wide adventure they always dreamed about, instead of racing against an unknown clock to protect a new friend.
He doesn’t break the kiss and right himself until his lungs begin to scream for air, though he keeps his eyes fixed on Mikleo’s face, still admiring the beauty of this boy he’s lucky to have. Mikleo is slower to react, still recovering from the unexpectedness of the kiss. Their hands still linked palm-to-palm, the seraph averts his gaze shyly, Sorey now noticing the new shade of pink being added to his friend’s cheeks.
A comfortable silence hangs between them, Sorey’s eyes wandering still over the sight of the other boy’s face, wanting to savor it before the sun rises too high and loses this kaleidoscope of colors.
Finally, Mikleo lifts his gaze to Sorey again, though the tinge of pink remains on his cheeks. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak before closing it again, pausing for only a moment before giving it another try,
“W-What was that for?”
The question only makes the grin from before return. When he answers, his voice is soft and gentle, achingly honest in a way only Mikleo ever gets to hear it,
“Because you’re beautiful. And…” he trails off as he shifts his gaze back out over the cliff, the hills below becoming more visible as the sun draws higher, “we’re finally seeing the world below the mountain. So, I wanted the first thing we share together in this world to be a kiss.”
Mikleo listens attentively, as usual, his face growing visibly redder as Sorey goes on. He casts his gaze to the side again shyly, but makes no move to disagree. Instead he hums in a way that’s both acknowledgement and agreement and for Sorey, that’s all the answer he needs.
“Let’s go,” he says softly, though his voice is beginning to go back to his earlier excitement.
Mikleo nods with verbal agreement and together they return to their walk down the mountain. Keeping one hand intertwined with the other’s, they make their way down the slope to the forest at the mountain’s base.
Sorey decides as their hands gently swing between them that no matter what happens with Alisha or with anything else that may occur in this new world of theirs, none of it will be a problem because he has Mikleo with him.
Because water is wet, the sky is blue, and Mikleo is beautiful.
Title: A Side Effect of Friendship
Rating: G
Pairing/Character: Lambda, Sophie
Spoilers: Post-game, so...
Words: ~2,500
Summary: Sophie and Lambda have some unfinished business at the tree that’s a few hundred years late.
A/N: This is all entirely the fault of this image:
Because of how new Lambda’s name looks in comparison to everyone else’s.
FF.Net | AO3 | or here
Now though, he's being led back to that tree. Or rather, he's being dragged there. He only came along because it'll be dark in an hour or so and he doubts Sophie will want to miss crablette night at the manor. Yeah, that's totally why he accepted her offer to go to the tree with her.
He finally tears his gaze up from the ground, his lips tugged down into a frown as he surveys their current location. They're almost to the hill, the one that Sophie's taken to using as her garden these days. The smaller girl is still there in front of him, her hair swaying as she walks. She's started experimenting more with her hair in recent years, having worn it down for so long and only occasionally wearing it in her familiar pigtails. The experimenting was mostly brought on by the current Lord's twin daughters who apparently decided today was a braided ponytail day. It's observations like this that remind him he made the right choice in having the Amarcian make his hair short.
"We're almost there!" he hears from farther in front of him than before, and he grunts in a rudimentary reply before picking up his own pace. When in the Hell she had gotten that far ahead of him, he will never know.
It occurs to him, then, that he'd forgotten to ask a vital question before they left—why were they going to Lhant Hill? He'd assumed his sister needed help with something that she was either too weak or too short to handle (though her small stature was fact, her being weak was not, as their monthly sparring matches prove to everyone). He should've grown suspicious when she'd failed to invite the Lhant children as she often did.
"Sophie," he calls as he closes the distance a bit more between them, noticing they're almost at the top of the hill, "what, pray tell, are we doing here exactly? This is unusual, even for you."
Sophie doesn't pause at all in her step, but she does turn a bit to look back at him with a face so innocent that he almost feels like vomiting into the nearest bush.
"Isn't it obvious? To make a friendship pact!" She replies as they reach the crest of the hill, her eyes upturned from the strength of her smile.
The statement perplexes him, his eyebrows furrowing as he follows her out into the field of flowers, just barely watching where he's stepping to avoid her precious sopherias.
The surge of eleth gathered here hits him like a wall he has to pass through, and he inhales before continuing to follow Sophie, his sister having stopped to do the same. As disgustingly colorful as this place is with all the flowers living here, he has to begrudgingly admit that there is a certain calm here that he's never found anywhere else.
"Why?" he finally thinks to ask as they approach the old, weathered tree, its bark a dull brownish-gold and its leaves a dark green. "This tree was already used by them and you. Is it not the tradition to use clean trees?"
Not to mention, do they really need one? Their friendship was pretty much sealed and sworn the day that Fool decided to adopt him and coaxed their growing sibling bond into existence. This would just be redundant, wouldn't it? He frowns curiously at her back, waiting to be enlightened as to the purpose of this visit.
She doesn't answer him immediately, instead stepping closer to the tree and placing her hands over the worn names of their adoptive fathers. Her fingertips trace the outline of each letter of their names as if trying to memorize them. He hears her inhale a bit shakily before she finally answers, "It was something they wanted to do after we renewed ours. Richard proposed it and Asbel thought it'd be a good idea but wanted to wait until you were able to write your name yourself. He knew it wouldn't happen for a long while, so he said we'd do it later, when you wanted to and were able to…" she trails off, her hands lowering back to her sides.
He doesn't remember having heard any of this and figures it must've happened while he was sleeping. He breathes a hum to show he's listening.
"But then…Richard got ill, and he wouldn't get better. And then he died and part of Asbel did too…remember?" she looks back over her shoulder at him, her eyes shining just a little from having to recall these memories.
That, of course, is something he remembers quite clearly. It had been decades since they settled things with Fodra, and the children of their friends had all grown and were starting to have their own families when Richard's health began to fail. It wasn't poison, but the doctors had said they suspected it was a result of his compromised immune system due to a childhood full of poisoning attempts. Everyone had expected that old pervert to go first, but even at almost eighty he was still as lively as when he was forty.
He remembers Cheria, Hubert, and Sophie trying to heal the monarch, but whatever disease he'd contracted had already taken hold of him. The helplessness and frustration permeating their shared world at the time was so acute he had sworn he could almost feel it himself. In the end, Richard became the first of their friends to perish. Sophie had been distraught of course, they all had, but he keenly remembers something within Asbel changing the day Richard died. It was like a light had gone out on his side of the inner world. Cheria had helped him where she could, but he supposes losing the person he spent so much time trying to save and had devoted his life to protecting took its own unique toll on their father.
He nods quickly in answer to his sister's question, having almost forgotten to do so. Her attention turns back to the tree and their carved names.
"After that, Asbel never brought it up again. I don't think he forgot. I think his grief was clouding him too much. And then everyone else left…and then so did he. In the end we still didn't add you to our friendship pact like we'd agreed upon," she continues, lifting an arm to wipe at her eyes, no doubt shedding full tears now despite her back being to him.
He shuffles a little awkwardly where he stands. Consoling his sister when she gets like this is still something he's not good at—and will probably never be good at—but if there's one thing he's learned in the decades of being the only ones left, it's that his presence seems to at least have some kind of positive effect. So he simply remains where he's planted, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his pants for lack of anything better to do.
When it seems her emotions have calmed he finally deems it safe enough to speak,
"I see…unfortunately, neither of them are here. So, if you insist on making one, it would only be between us and not the four of us, I'm afraid."
It might be a little harsh, but it's the truth. He's sure she stopped grieving herself some time ago, but every once in a while she'd do something that made him question just how far into grief she was in.
"You're wrong, Lambda. They are here."
One of those times would be now, apparently.
He breathes a long-suffering sigh as he removes a hand from one pocket and lifts it to cradle his forehead, his gaze subsequently turning to the ground, "They're not."
She whirls around on her heel to face him just as he lifts his own head, her eyebrows pointed down and her cheeks puffed the way they usually are when she's being stubborn or mad—a trait she picked up from Cheria. He crosses his arms over his chest in response to the expression, quirking an eyebrow at her as if daring her to prove him wrong. This move appears to startle her, the pout disappearing and her eyebrows lifting up in favor of mild surprise before she quickly turns away, her own arms coming up to mimic his current stance.
"The tree. I know they're not with us physically anymore…but their names are here. They carved their names here themselves when they were just boys. So, a part of them still exists within this tree, I think," she explains, glancing over her shoulder at him briefly before looking back up at the tree, "So, if we make a Friendship Pact here, then…in a way it'll be as if we're making it with them too. Right?"
She uncrosses her arms and turns to face him again, her expression soft and imploring. It makes him have to avert his gaze for a moment, staring out at the nearby ocean instead and the way the low-hanging sun dances across its surface. After a moment he returns his gaze to Sophie, the girl's expression unchanged and he breathes a defeated sigh before uncrossing his arms as well. "I suppose."
Her expression brightens immediately into a smile and he blinks only once before he's suddenly being pulled by an overzealous little sister to stand closer to the tree. She stands an arm's length to his side, bouncing slightly on her toes with an almost annoying, patient smile adorning her face. As if waiting for him to mimic her position. He furrows his brow before turning a little awkwardly to face her, his arms remaining stiffly at his sides as he frowns down at her.
This is stupid. Absolutely stupid. Ridiculous. Asinine. But for all the silliness of this little ritual, it does seem to make her happy and he supposes he prefers that over any of her other emotions, even if it is a little annoying.
She gives a brief, satisfied nod of her head.
"Like this," she says as she reaches out for his hand that's facing the field, lifting it and holding it palm up before placing her own hand over his so that the palms of both hands were facing each other. She then raises her free hand and places it on the tree's trunk, right over where Richard's name is carved. She glances between his free hand and the tree, indicating for him to do the same.
He grumbles incoherently under his breath which causes her to quirk her own eyebrow almost threateningly and he quickly lifts his own free hand to mimic hers, placing his fingers over Asbel's name. She smiles pleasantly at that and gives another nod before taking a deep breath.
"Lambda Lhant," the sudden use of his full name startles him a bit and forces him to focus on his sister, "though we've known each other for a long time, many of those years were spent on negative emotions and misunderstandings."
She smiles a bit then, almost fondly.
"And while we've been friends for a long time already, let's stay this way for twice as long or longer than the time we spent as enemies. This is my vow of friendship to you," she finishes, turning her head up to look at him expectantly. "Your turn!"
He'd been listening to her speech attentively the whole time, but the sudden return to him has him caught off guard, a feeling he doesn't like. He tenses as a result before quickly relaxing again, though he's unsure what to say. Sophie doesn't appear to be in the mood to supply him with anything either, her gaze still upturned and expectant on him, her wide eyes blinking slowly as she waits. He considers for a moment before finally deciding on the words.
"I've been your friend for a long time, but it was The Fool who swore me to this life. So, I accept," he deadpans, fighting really hard to keep his lips from twitching into a smirk at the pout his sister stares him down with. "Not everyone's suitable for flowery language, flower girl."
Her pout grows deeper and she lightly smacks at his hand with her own, the smirk finally showing through and a low, amused laughter actually escaping him.
"You're mean," she whines, as if she expected something different.
"And you're a brat," he retorts, though his voice is light and joking.
Her pout remains the same though she rolls her eyes a bit, lowering her hands—prompting him to do the same—and kneeling to pick up a nearby rock, holding it out to him.
"The pact's not finished until you write your name. Write it wherever you want."
He accepts the small stone and turns to face the tree, frowning up at it and surveying it. There is a lot of blank space, but he supposes the point would be for his name to be near theirs, wouldn't it?
"Here," he says, picking a spot a little under where Sophie's worn name is.
He sets about carving his name into the tree, having learned how to write from the many times he watched Asbel do it. His hand writing is by no means neat, but he figures as long as it's readable, it counts. Letting the stone drop back against the roots, he leans back to survey their four names on the trunk, turning his gaze after a moment to the girl, "Satisfied?"
She nods with a happy hum, her grin wide and beaming. The reaction makes him snort as he turns to begin to the trek back to the manor. They've been here long enough and it'll be dark sooner rather than later. When he doesn't hear his sister's softer footsteps behind him he pauses to peer back over his shoulder at her. Of course she didn't follow, because she's too busy still staring at their names. He almost considers just shrugging and leaving. Almost.
"Nora's making your favorite kind of crablettes tonight. Let's go home so they're still hot when we get there. Sophie?" He raises an eyebrow a bit as he watches her, waiting for her to come join him, but she remains in front of the tree.
"More for me, then," he mumbles, loud enough for her to hear as he turns to continue walking back the way they came.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" She shouts from behind him as she rushes up to walk at his side, a small giggle shaking her frame.
"What is it?" He asks, not turning to look at her and instead keeping his gaze ahead of them, occasionally scanning the nearby brush for lurking monsters.
She giggles again at his side, "Nothing. I'm just happy. Their wish was able to be fulfilled even after all this time, so…thank you."
He hums softly in acknowledgement. Her happiness was apparently infectious because he, too, can feel it.
But he supposes that's just a side effect of friendship.
Title: Insufferable Sisters
Rating: G
Pairing/Character: Lambda, Sophie
Spoilers: Nothing specifically, but it is post-game.
Words: ~1,176
Summary: Being Lambda is suffering.
A/N: I was suddenly hit by this last night while talking in a Skype chat with some friends. I can never deny the opportunity to fill the world with more cute sibling shenanigans, so here we are. This is cavity inducing in how cute it is, be warned. Also it sucks to be Lambda. Thank you to the lovely Bele for betaing this for me U vU.
FF.Net | AO3 or here...
"Sophie. Sophie, wake up!"
He stared down at her, her body almost hidden in the massive field of purple flowers. It'd been getting late—in fact, it was night now—and she hadn't come home. At the insistence of the current Lhant family, he went to go find her. He thought it was rather stupid, really, it wasn't like she couldn't take care of herself if a monster or something happened to attack her. He should've known she'd just simply be here. Again.
"This is the fifth time this week, Sophie. I'm not going to carry you back this time," he crossed his arms, still staring down at her.
She remained unresponsive and unmoving, though. The only sign of her still being alive was the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He fought the very, very strong urge to stomp a foot into the ground.
"Sophie!" he tried again, still to no avail.
How this girl managed to fall asleep so deeply without any concern for possible danger was beyond him. Usually she only came here with the Lhant children during the day, but sometimes she'd come to the hill by herself and fall asleep in the field, much like she was now.
Arms still crossed, he glared down at her sleeping form, lips turning into a frown. He carefully went through various options in his mind. If simply calling her name wouldn't wake her up, maybe another approach would? A glance to a nearby flower gave him the perfect idea.
"If you don't wake up right now, I'll swap out your soil stock for a variety that kills flowers instantly and neglect to tell you about it."
The only response was her continuous, even breathing. His shoulders heaved as he released an exasperated puff of air.
Really, this girl was far more trouble than she was worth. But he supposed in a way this was a challenge and, well, who was he to back down from a challenge?
"I brought Ashley with me and she's armed with a marker. She'll write over every patch of your skin and dress!" He hadn't brought anyone with him, but sleeping girls didn't need to know that.
The response this time was a bit of a noise, but otherwise she remained asleep. Well, it was progress.
He considered a few other options to try but none of them were much different than what he'd already tried. He uncrossed his arms and returned them to his sides, lightly clenching his fists instead. Damn this girl.
"I really will just leave you here this time. You'll wake up all alone, maybe with a monster sniffing at you. It serves you right," he stated, lightly kicking at her foot to see if that would wake her up. It didn't. Nor did his words.
He released a frustrated growl before moving a hand to rub at his forehead briefly, sliding it back through his unruly green hair. He really should just leave. Go back home. There was food waiting at home and he could just eat her portion for her, since she was too busy sleeping. He really wanted to just turn around and walk back.
However, as much as he wanted to do just that, he remained rooted to his place. He really had grown far too soft, hadn't he? This was all The Fool's fault.
He turned his glare from Sophie up to the tree behind her where the carved, though faded, names still remained. Yes. Everything about this situation was nothing less than That Fool's fault, even if it had been over a century.
Another frustrated sigh and he was back to staring at his sister, who was still blissfully unaware of everything around her. He stayed like that for a moment longer before releasing what almost would pass for an annoyed whine.
"You owe me for this. I swear I won't do this anymore if you do it again!" he grumbled as he kneeled down to pick her up.
Trying to maneuver her onto his back was too much of a hassle and he really didn't want to have to bother with it. He was taller than her by a head anyway and unlike a certain Fool, he could carry her weight easily enough using only his arms.
Carefully—although he did entertain the thought of not being gentle in order to wake her up—he shifted her around so her body didn't look or feel quite as awkward, her head rolling lazily against his shoulder. If he wasn't so annoyed, he'd almost find it cute.
"You're insufferable, I hope you're well aware of that," he mumbled under his breath, beginning the walk back to Lhant with her in his arms.
Sophie only mumbled a bit in her sleep, too softly for him to really hear what she might have said. Not that it really mattered to him at all.
When they returned to Lhant, she was still fast asleep. He didn't recall her doing anything particularly exhausting earlier that day, so there was really no reason she would be in such a deep sleep. Maybe he'd question her about it later, if he still cared.
After entering her room, he felt a very strong urge to drop her unceremoniously onto her bed and leave. However, had he done that, he could just hear the admonishment The Fool would have given him if he were still able to. He really had grown much too soft. It was getting ridiculous.
Instead of dropping her, he gently set her down on her bed on top of the sheets. If she was cold, she could simply wake up and tuck herself in or something. Better yet, she could just not fall asleep in a field of flowers, thus forcing him to go get her. Once was one thing, but five times was just absurd!
He glared down at her again once he'd righted himself. Her arms were folded lazily over her stomach and her head was rolled lightly to one side on her pillow. Crossing his arms, he kept glaring at her sleeping face, as if it would wake her up with the force of it.
It didn't, though, so he closed his eyes and heaved a resigned sigh, his features softening slightly. For some stupid reason, he found it more and more difficult to stay mad at her over things like this. It was truly frustrating.
Turning on his heel, he began to walk back to the open door, pausing just before passing through it. Maybe he should have covered her up…at least with a blanket…no! No, if he did that she wouldn't learn! He shook his head quickly to dispel the stupidly soft thoughts.
"You are, without a doubt, the most insufferable sister to ever exist," he mumbled, finally leaving her room and closing the door behind him.
Food was waiting in the dining room for them, and he was serious about eating both his and her portions. It only served her right!
Title: Insomnia
Rating: T
Pairing/Character: Richard, Lambda, Asbel, hints of RichAss
Spoilers: F-Arc spoilers.
Words: ~2,322
Summary: If sleep had a face, he might punch it.
A/N: I'M SORRY FOR THE LAMBDA-CENTRIC STUFF LATELY. His POV is really fun to write from, he's just so angry at everything like a tsundere jerkass. Anyway, this was an idea I got a while ago and really really wanted to write it so I finally did. I hope I did ok with both of them...many thanks to lenienna for betaing for me~!
FF.Net | AO3 or here...
It was one of those nights again, it seemed. Even though their agreement was very clear and they always followed it, sometimes Asbel…did weird things in his sleep. Like subconsciously push him forward into having unintentional control of their body. He supposed that had they not been sharing a body, this might be equivalent to kicking someone out of bed in one's sleep. Really, The Fool should consider himself lucky that Lambda was no longer the same. Such a habit would've been fatal just a little over a year ago.
Normally, though these occurrences were exceptionally rare, he'd just close his eyes and go back to sleep. Asbel would wake up in the morning and not remember his odd sleeping habits or that Lambda temporarily had control. Tonight, however, was not one of those nights.
For some reason he couldn't go back to sleep. Not that he needed to anyway, being an eternal and ethereal being, but sleeping was…an oddly enjoyable activity. He could almost see why Protos Heis herself would partake in it despite being in the same boat as him. Sleeping did at least help keep him from being bored.
He felt Asbel shift a bit inside and thought he might wake up, but he remained asleep. Just wonderful. Then again, this Fool did have the tendency to sleep heavily. "Like a log," one might say.
The ceiling above them was high and immaculately decorated—as expected from a castle interior. Richard had summoned Asbel to Barona for some political business of some sort which turned into Asbel staying over for the night. They did this sometimes; it was almost like a ritual between them. Sometimes Asbel stayed at the castle, sometimes Richard would stay in the manor. Sometimes it was business, sometimes they were more…personal visits.
This visit, for example, started as business and ended as personal. This is why Lambda couldn't utilize any other methods of distraction except for staring aimlessly at the ceiling. After all, it wouldn't do for the Lord of Lhant to be seen parading around their king's castle naked. Although the idea of Asbel's reaction was quite entertaining, the equally prominent image of Asbel scolding him…was unpleasant, to say the least. Plus, even if he'd decided to do that, there was another factor to consider that was impeding him. That being, Richard was right there. Asleep, granted, but Lambda knew from experience that Richard had never been a particularly heavy sleeper. Trying to sneak out of bed without alerting him would be next to impossible, even for him.
So he continued to lie there, staring at the ceiling, running his purple eyes over the many patterns and lines. Counting them, rolling his eyes along them in various motions, anything that could possibly bore him enough to sleep. He closed his eyes occasionally to try and force sleep, but still it refused to come. He released a closed breath of frustration after the third attempt.
He felt shifting movement next to him and thought maybe Richard was just moving in his sleep until,
"Asbel?" came the sleepy, but very much awake, voice.
Great. The Fool's boyfriend was awake now and Lambda was still very much not asleep. No one had ever been around when something like this happened.
He could feel Richard moving to sit up a split second before the blonde's face appeared in front of his eyes. Concern was written there before it melted into surprise at the sight of his two purple eyes.
"Lambda?" he asked, sitting back and thus removing his face from his sight.
"Yes," he answered, since there'd be no way to hide now. And no point for that matter.
"Where is Asbel?" came the tentative question, concern and distrust laced lightly within his voice.
How laughable. He'd helped calm Fodra and didn't do anything more than what he'd said he'd do with Asbel's body and still the blonde carried distrust for him. He supposed it was only natural, given their history and the circumstances. Admittedly, the rest of their friends' feelings towards him were improving. Cheria no longer looked at Asbel like she was afraid he'd disappear and Hubert and Malik no longer looked at him with guarded, wary expressions hidden behind their eyes. Even the Amarcian seemed more lax around him now that Fodra was calm. But even after all these months, there were still thinly veiled notions of distrust towards him, mainly from Richard and Protos Heis. Although she, too, was improving slightly—perhaps because of The Fool's sudden announcement to her that she now had a brother. That left only Richard, who even now would still occasionally look at Asbel's one purple eye with the briefest glances filled with wariness and distrust. He supposed he could give Richard credit for trying to hide it.
"Asleep," was the answer he finally gave, "currently having some…inane dream about curry chasing crablettes. Ridiculous, really."
Richard's features relaxed at those words, almost looking as if he'd sighed in relief though there had been no audible sigh. Lambda almost found it touching.
"I see," he said, a hint of a laugh trailing afterwards, "that sounds like an interesting dream."
He said nothing, only moving his eyes away from the king to resume his staring at the ceiling. He did this until another question forced him to avert his eyes again,
"So then…why are you up Lambda? If Asbel is asleep, shouldn't you be as well? He'd be worried if he knew you weren't sleeping properly."
He snorted at that. The Fool had started trying to make sleeping into a habit for Lambda a few months ago after they were done with Fodra. He'd insisted that it would be pointless for him to "sleep" as humans do because he is, in fact, not human and therefore wouldn't require sleep. But The Fool was having none of that and insisted with equal strength that "no child of his was going to be treated as non-human". Lambda had mixed feelings about that but eventually gave in to the demand.
"Perhaps I would be if this Fool had better sleeping habits. You know, sharing a body with him sometimes feels like what it must be like to share a bed with a child who kicks in his sleep. You should consider yourself lucky that he doesn't do that outside our shared space," he released a bit of a laugh as he spoke.
Richard apparently found his quip humorous as well, because he chuckled.
"I suppose so," he said afterwards, "but you mean to tell me you've never once pretended to sleep and let Asbel think you did?" his mouth upturned into the hint of a smirk. Damn this other Fool.
Lambda had, in fact, done just that the first few times of Asbel insisting that he try to sleep like a human does. Mostly out of defiance…but he wasn't about to let Richard know that.
"No…and to answer your earlier question—insomnia, apparently."
Richard's eyebrows knitted together in concern at that. How curious, showing distrust one moment and being concerned for him the next.
"Are you alright? Is there something bothering you? Should I summon a maid to get you tea?"
Curious and ridiculous, apparently. This Fool consorted with a lot of those types of people.
"Hmph. I'm fine. Trivial reasons such as that don't affect my sleeping habits like they might for you. Why are you awake, then? This Fool would be just as ridiculously concerned for you as he would for me," he bit back, pursing his lips slightly into what was most definitely not a pout!
Richard didn't immediately respond, only averted his gaze to the sheets where his hand fiddled delicately with the loose fabrics. Lambda didn't particularly care for the answer, but it wasn't as if he had anything better to do at the moment. Perhaps idle conversation would be dull enough to allow for sleep.
"I was…having a dream. A nightmare, to be precise. I thought I'd tell Asbel about it, but there's no need to wake him for it."
A nightmare? He didn't seem to be having one just a bit ago. Then again, Lambda didn't recall the blonde having too many dreams or nightmares so frequently when they'd been sharing a body. Although, he'd been preoccupied at the time, so maybe he just wasn't remembering it. Or maybe…
An odd tightening in his chest suddenly hit him. It was mildly painful, but nothing seemed wrong with Asbel's body. He waved it off.
"I see. Well, The Fool may not be awake, but I am and I've nothing better to do, as you know."
Because surely, if a dream was good enough to tell Asbel, then there should be no reason he couldn't be told either. At the very least, it would fill this gap of boredom.
However, Richard just averted his eyes again, the expression on his face becoming closed, guarded.
"Ah, that's…complicated…"
And then it made sense.
"Was it about me?"
Richard startled at the sudden question, but nodded his head after a moment's hesitation, still keeping his gaze averted. The pang returned to his chest and stayed there this time.
"Was it…my fault that you're having these dreams so frequently?" he asked, quieter than he'd intended.
Richard looked up suddenly at that,
"I—no! No of course it…that is…maybe…maybe a little…"
Lambda frowned. Trying to spare his feelings was a useless effort. Yet still the pang persisted. It was beginning to get rather troublesome. Although, he couldn't really blame Richard for how he felt. The ordeal he put his body through against his will would traumatize anyone, even those with the strongest of minds. His actions at the time were necessary to him and the results and consequences were not something he particularly gave much consideration to—especially now that there would be no need for him to run or hide anymore. So why then…did he feel as if he did something wrong? The pang only grew a little more painful.
"Hmm. It's rather pointless and won't really do anything for you now, but…I suppose I should apologize."
Richard smiled softly, almost sheepishly. It curiously made him look a few years younger than he actually was.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was almost guilt I'm hearing from you, Lambda."
Guilt? Perhaps that's what this emotion was. He'd felt many strange things since Fodra, perhaps as a result of his actions there. Protos Heis underwent many changes as a result of merging with a Little Queen, and he himself had, in a way, merged with their unified form. Perhaps similar effects were happening to him, too. Perhaps, like Protos Heis, he was also becoming human in some small way…what a foolish notion.
Rather than answering, he simply turned his head away, releasing a small huff. He felt Richard shifting on the big bed they occupied. It seemed he'd returned to lying down next to him.
"It's not your fault, though, Lambda. I…I shoulder some of that blame as well."
Odd, he didn't remember confirming or denying his claim of guilt. Not that he was far off the mark, probably. Lambda turned his head again so that he could look at Richard, who was indeed lying down now, facing him.
"You're being rather presumptuous, don't you think?" he huffed mockingly, "Though you shouldn't blame yourself either. Those were my actions…done of my own will. You played little part in them, so I see no reason for you to blame yourself for the matter."
Richard frowned slightly and shook his head, which just buried it a little more in his pillow.
"No…had I been stronger and not so easily swayed…had I had the conviction and strength that Asbel has, maybe I…maybe I could've prevented it…"
Lambda snorted at the thought without meaning to.
"I doubt that. Besides…" he turned away again to face the ceiling, attempting to hide the trace of a smile that was forming, "you and this Fool are both equally strong. It's meaningless to contemplate on what ifs in this case. Even had you been like this Fool, I doubt the outcome would've been much different. So…you don't share any of the blame."
Silence fell between them. For a moment, he thought perhaps Richard had fallen back asleep. He could feel the edges of sleep starting to return to him too.
"Be that as it may, both of us have grown and learned, have we not? So…it's alright. Thank you…Lambda."
He hummed in response, the pang of guilt significantly lessened now. He supposed this meant his apology had been accepted.
"I know this Fool does all he can to help, but…I'm here as well."
He turned on his side facing away from Richard, that sleepy feeling growing stronger. Perhaps he could finally get some sleep. He heard Richard breathe a laugh, but the thread of conversation effectively ended. Within minutes he heard Richard's breathing even out and soon afterwards he followed. Asbel remained obliviously asleep.
In the morning, Richard awoke first feeling oddly more refreshed than usual. He was up and dressed, mulling about his room after telling a servant to start making breakfast for them, a smile on his face and a bit of a spring in his step.
That was how Asbel found him when he woke up half an hour later. He observed his boyfriend for a moment, still blinking the sleep out of his heterochromatic eyes before smiling fondly.
"You seem happy," he said with a yawn, "Did you sleep well?"
Richard turned to face him with a fond smile of his own.
"Oh, yes, La—I mean…it was a very peaceful and deep sleep. In fact, probably the best I've slept in a while."
Asbel's brows furrowed briefly before relaxing back into a soft expression, a laugh escaping him.
"Glad to hear it!"
Within the back of the mind space, Lambda was also humming happily.
Title: When Eight Becomes Two
Rating: T because mentions of death
Pairing/Character: Sophie, Lambda
Spoilers: End game spoilers galore
Words: ~2,095
Summary: Dealing with emotional responses was never his forte. Consoling crying girls was especially high on the list of things that were not his forte.
Author's Note: SO I FINALLY WROTE THAT SAD IDEA WITH SOPHIE AND LAMBDA. Naturally, it's part of Lhant Family Moments, so this can be considered chapter 2 of sorts even though LFM is just a collection of stories involving the Lhant Family as a whole. So this part is loosely related to this one, though this can be read as a stand alone one shot. I should also warn that this part is kind of Hurt/Comfort as it involves sad things but it's also kind of cute, so hopefully that makes up for the sads. Hope everyone enjoys it either way! May this encourage more people to write/draw them with this kind of relationship because my heart needs it...
FF.Net | AO3 | DA or here...
She knew it had to happen someday. It was only logical, after all. Humans weren’t like them. They were weak, fragile, subject to breaking down with age. Of course they would reach a point where they’d simply stop moving altogether.
She knew that, and yet here she was before him, crying like it had been unexpected when the truth of the matter was that both of them knew it for quite some time. Then again, perhaps, he should’ve expected this as well. She was always the more emotional one. She cried at the funerals and passings of everyone else that they knew, why then would The Fool’s death result in a different reaction?
No, he supposed, it made sense when he thought of it like that—not that it helped him understand any better. Despite all these years of living with and amongst them there were still some things about humans that just…completely eluded him.
He scoffed mentally to himself. If The Fool was going to up and die so suddenly in his sleep, the least he could’ve done was teach him what you’re supposed to do with crying girls. Normally, or at least had he been asked ages ago, he wouldn’t care at all. What business was it of his to care about the emotional responses of those around him? Let alone someone like Protos Heis? It wasn’t any of his business nor something he’d particularly care about.
However, nowadays he supposed such a reaction wouldn’t have been very “brotherly” of him, now would it? He would’ve deigned to smirk, but instead he just frowned. Honestly, what was that Fool thinking, making them siblings of all things? The idea was preposterous then and it still baffled him now. Plus, he left without properly telling him what to do in this situation. When the others had died, The Fool was always there to dry her tears and console her, always going on to him about how he and Protos Heis were siblings now and how this was why they were supposed to take care of each other. All good and nice in theory—except for the part where he’d neglected to tell him how he was supposed to do that.
At some point unbeknownst to him—really when did he actually become so lax around her? Ridiculous—she’d moved and was now hugging him, rather tightly by the glance he was able to get of her hands in the poor excuse of a shirt he wore. And still crying. Always crying. But now it was into his chest and he didn’t necessarily have to look at her, which was nice—but he could still hear her.
Honestly, the Amarcian and her twin halflings had done an impressive job. The thought had never occurred to him that he could even have his own body again. It’d been eons since he was alone in a body all his own, not a shared or stolen one. In one thousand years he’d gotten accustomed to being either bodyless or stealing the bodies of other living beings. To have one that was entirely his again after so long still admittedly felt strange and foreign…but not entirely unpleasant. This was a parting gift from The Fool, he supposed.
It’d been a foolish and unprompted suggestion. Well, maybe not entirely unprompted. It’d only been suggested when the Amarcian had sent a mass message to everyone rambling on about how she’d figured out the missing pieces of the lost art of humanoid making. That was when The Fool suggested the mere idea of him having a new body made for him. She hadn’t even built a proto-type, but The Fool had asked her anyway after getting a rather nonchalant answer out of him. That was about thirty years ago. Still, despite that, this body was suitable. Nostalgic, really. These humans were strange and amusing with their ideas, giving him a new body that looked like an aged up version of the one he had long, long ago. Sometimes it was almost too much for even him to truly comprehend.
He was startled out of his reverie by hearing his name come from the girl. Ah, that’s right. He still had a crying…sister to deal with.
“Pro—,” he bit his lip. He’d tried to stop referring to her as that when The Fool had reprimanded him about it one day. “She’s your sister now,” he’d said, “so you need to start calling her by her actual name!” but some habits die hard, as they say.
“Sophie,” he tried again, “it’s been months. Why are you still crying about this?”
Indeed, it’d been about three months now since The Fool had passed away. He’d been in this new body for a little less than that too, since The Fool had requested it be done as soon as possible after his eventual death. The twin halflings had arrived to facilitate it a week or so later. The funeral had been about a month ago, so really the reason for Sophie’s continued tears was completely eluding him.
The response to his question came in the form of a head shaking negatively, though still against his chest, and a muffled “I’m…I’m not crying about that…”
This surprised him, since lately the only things she cried about anymore were memories of their friends or when one or more of her flowers died unexpectedly. He glanced at the window in his room and remembered suddenly that it was late at night, not that he’d been sleeping really.
He gave a mildly exasperated sigh before asking,
“I see. Was it a dream, then?”
A nod this time and a slightly tightened grip on his shirt. Good grief, this girl…how The Fool even dealt with this for all the decades he did was truly commendable. Or even that other Fool, Richard, since he vaguely recalled times when Sophie would run crying to him instead of The Fool who was their “father”.
“You…You left. You, and Aslyn, Michael, Alex, Camellia, Stewart…everyone left…a-and I was alone and it was dark and lonely and—,” a sob cut her off, but she didn’t continue speaking anyway.
He hummed in acknowledgement, honestly not sure what to say to that. She used to do this to The Fool all the time, he recalled. She’d come into the bedroom and quietly wake him up to tell him about a dream she had if she didn’t do it at breakfast the next morning. Usually her dreams were silly or happy…she rarely, if ever, had dreams of that nature that left her, well, like this. He searched his memories but honestly couldn’t recall any time from before that was like this one. If they happened, he must’ve been truly asleep when they occurred.
“Well,” he started finally, “as you can see, I’m clearly still here. So what is the immediate problem?” She was still crying, after all. Surely she shouldn’t still be crying if his presence or lack thereof was the concern.
“You are,” she agreed, sniffling before moving her head now to look up at him, “but for how much longer, Lambda?”
Well, he certainly hadn’t expected that. This night was shaping up to be quite an interesting one with many surprises.
“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”
Because really, he’d still been here for those nearly three months, hadn’t he? And it’s not like he had anywhere else to go or the desire to go anywhere else at the moment. He’ll have to go by The Fool’s grave later and admonish him for leaving him ill-equipped for these situations—wait, that would be just as foolish. He’d be talking to a slab of stone with names on it.
Her features changed into that of a pout, tears still brimming at the edges of her eyes.
“I mean…you weren’t always that particularly happy about being in this family, so…” she tilted her head a bit to the side, a frown and worried eyebrows returning to her face, “So now that Asbel’s…gone…there’s not really anything to keep you here…right?”
Ah, so that was it. She worried about the silliest of things, though he supposed her concern was valid. After all, he hadn’t exactly been the most enthusiastic participant of this family of theirs. It seemed even that she spent far too much time around The Fool.
“Hmph…it seems his foolishness somehow rubbed off on you. So it was contagious…” he quipped, getting a startled “Hey!” as a response which produced a light chuckle out of him.
She’d gone back to hiding her face against his chest, mumbling “You’re mean,” loud enough for him to hear.
He chuckled again before finally answering, “It is true what you said, but your logic has a flaw. As I recall, that Fool tasked me with making sure you weren’t left alone, always worrying and doting on you as he did. So, I’m afraid, even if I wanted to I can’t exactly leave. Nor do I really care to at the moment,”
He paused, unsure what else to do or say. She wasn’t exactly crying anymore, though he could still hear the occasional sniffle coming from her, and her face was still hiding in his chest. Vaguely, he recalled a time when Aslyn—the Fool’s brat—had fallen from a tree and scraped both of his knees. He’d cried and whined even after Cheria had healed his small wounds with her artes, but he’d stopped when she hugged him and pet his hair. Perhaps that was the secret key. Did it work as well on girls as it did young boys?
“Besides,” he added, lifting his hands now to mimic the motion he remembered and smiling when Sophie jumped a bit in his arms, “we made that Friendship Pact after Fodra, did we not? It won’t get any easier, since they’re only humans and will have to eventually die as well. And their children too. You know this as well. Still…even if I do end up physically leaving one day, it won’t be permanent.”
He turned his head away, though still kept his arms around her and absentmindedly stroked the back of her head as Cheria had with Aslyn.
“The Fool assigned me the role of your big brother, after all. It would be unwise if I ignored his order. In fact, that Fool was so insistent on it, I have no problem imagining that if he could, he would manifest himself just to admonish me. It’d be rather unpleasant, to say the least,” he smiled despite himself.
He was only half kidding, honestly. For all his centuries of hatred, being forced to live with her and be around her constantly without having to fear for his life made her start to grow on him. Life, he admitted, would be rather dull without her. Good thing they’ll both live forever, then.
Her head moved which prompted him to remove his hand and look back at her.
“So…you won’t leave? Even if…when everyone else does?” she was staring up at him, her eyes shimmering with either more unshed tears or hope, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.
“Yes.”
She smiled then and released one hand from his shirt to wipe at her eyes.
“That’s good then. I…I feel better now, so I should go back. Thank you, Lambda,” she removed her hand from her face and continued to smile at him which only made him turn away and mumble under his breath.
She giggled while removing herself from him before heading towards the door that had been left open from when she ran in here.
“Sorry for disturbing you like that. Good night, Lambda,” she said over her shoulder.
“Mm, next time you have a nightmare, do try to knock, will you? Surely The Fool taught you better than that.”
She only giggled again before closing the door back and leaving him in silence once more. He lied back on the bed, despite the fact sleep wasn’t exactly a necessity to him, even after all these years. As ill equipped as he was, he supposed he handled that well enough. At least she stopped crying. He could just hear that Fool praising him.
Staring up at the wooden ceiling, the thought of visiting Asbel’s grave crossed his mind again. On second thought, maybe he will admonish that stone, foolishness be damned. He never did finish telling him just how much of a Fool he had been.
Yes, he thought while closing his eyes, he’ll do that tomorrow…after shopping for better clothes with Sophie.
Title: Hollow Home
Rating: G
Pairing/Character: Pascal
Spoilers: Nothing in particular
Words: ~2,078
Status: Complete
Summary: Home is where your heart is, but not anymore.
More headcanon oneshot goodness! This was inspired by a conversation I had with my friends. It's set in my Graces Family Headcanon and involves one of Hubert and Pascal's kids from that HC. Some of my theories and other headcanons are also hinted at, but it should mostly be easy to understand.
Much thanks to Welkikitty and Hikari for betaing!
Read at FF.Net, AO3 or here:
~Hollow Home~
It was really useful, her ability to notice the little things other people didn't. It helped her a lot in various ways, like letting her know the general idea of how another person was feeling or things in the environment that her comrades may have missed. It was just one of her many talents that came in great use during all the trouble with Lambda and Fodra.
But there were times when it was more a curse than a blessing. She'd learned that when she was younger, when the teenagers and young adults in the Enclave refused to play with her or only went to her when they wanted her to do something for them. There were the jealous glances in their direction, the way people usually brushed off her opinions, even how her own sister would ignore her sometimes. She always pretended she never noticed the odd looks she received, or the looks of pity aimed at Fourier for having to raise someone like her on her own, or the whispering people did the moment she turned her back, but she did. She always noticed it.
However, there was no point in her life where she hated this "talent" as much as she did right now. She stood just outside the entrance teleporter to the Enclave, looking at it as if she couldn't decide what it was or how it worked. It had been a very long time since she had last been to the Enclave. Many years, and this was her first time back.
Stewart had asked if he could go see her home. He'd never been to it before—none of their children had, really—and he babbled incessantly to Hubert about wanting to see the architecture of his mom's side of the family. Hubert was usually the one who entertained his obsessive need to look at and examine architecture, taking him to Barona and Grayleside and all the cities in Strahta dozens of times. But never once had he been to the Enclave and he kept bringing it up so much and making so many puppy eyes that they finally conceded. Pascal elected to take him since she knew the area better.
In truth, though, that wasn't the whole reason she'd offered to be the one to bring him. It was a little more complicated than that, and it brought her back to the reasons she hated her talent for noticing the little things. Stewart tugged at her hand and looked up at her curiously. Evidently he'd gotten bored of gazing in awe at the fairly simple, though weather-worn, arch above the teleporter. Well, it was better to get this over with, and she couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her youngest when they'd made it this far.
The Enclave was, unsurprisingly, just like she remembered it being all those years ago. It was worn-down, dilapidated (yet still functioning, at least) and had a population of about twenty. Stewart was immediately awestruck at the actual entrance just past the inner-teleporter, spinning around as much as he could with his hand held and looking at the designs on the worn-out floor like he'd just discovered the world's greatest treasure. It made her smile to see him happy, easing some of the worry and dread that was resting uncomfortably in her chest.
"Now, Stew, ya gotta stay with me, kay?"
"Kay," was his simple reply while he went back to examining the entry archway, taking a moment to wonder at the statues of her people's symbol.
Gently tugging on his arm so he'd follow her, she led him past the entrance and deeper into the Enclave and therein spawned the reason she had never hated her ability to notice little things more than she did right now.
Immediately upon setting foot into the actual Enclave, they were noticed by two Amarcians that stood near the central greeting statue. Stewart didn't seem to notice them, as he was too busy examining the stonework on the bridge and the diamond designs on the floor. But she did. She especially noticed when one turned to the other and began whispering, darting glances every so often in their direction.
Of course, they immediately stopped when they grew nearer and more within ear shot. Stewart briefly looked up from following the design lines with his feet to look at them and beamed and greeted them. He didn't seem at all fazed when they smiled back, one even waving slightly at him. But she knew better. She recognized those smiles as being the tense, 'we're only tolerating you right now because we know you'll leave soon' smiles that some of her people were fond of using, particularly whenever there were non-Amarcians in the Enclave. Or, as it was in this case, half-Amarcian.
She wondered briefly if Fourier was here. They were only part way into the Enclave and she already felt that she needed a distraction. But she brushed off the thought as soon as it came. No, if Fourier was anywhere, it would be her lab, as always. And even if she was here, it would only make the whispers and the glances worse. It was one thing with just her and Stewart, but adding Fourier would add pity glances aimed at her sister and whispers about how unfortunate it was for her, being one of the last hopes of the Enclave. No, it was better if it was just them.
If it was just them, then the majority of whispers would be aimed at her and the glances would be at him. She almost envied her son's seemingly inability to notice the atmosphere around him. Then again, his brain was too full of architecture babble to even notice much of anything if he could. He got that trait from her and she was almost grateful for it.
She decided to show him the fountain, figuring it would be something he'd like. Thankfully he did, and she allowed him to walk around the fountain unaccompanied by her. He kneeled down by it to examine the stonework better, walked around the circumference of the base a few times and even politely asked the lady that usually stood near it if he could try the chocolate. Pascal watched carefully as she helped her son reach a reusable cup underneath a chocolate fall, not missing at all the highly disapproving glare that was sent her way when his back was turned.
There were some small blessings, at least.
"Oh my! Pascal, is this your son?" asked a middle-aged woman as she walked over to them.
"Well, he's one of 'em, yeah." She answered, lightly tugging on her son's arm to coax him from where he fled behind her.
"Oh gracious, he's so cute!" she cooed, petting the child's head and returning his greeting.
An elderly man wandered over as well, "How old ye be, boy?"
"I'm eight years old, sir."
"Hooh! Such politeness and eloquence for someone so young! You must make your mother proud." Stewart blushed at this praise, not used to having this much attention showered on him.
She liked these people, because she could always tell they were being genuine. But even their brief moments of generosity wasn't enough to completely erase the negative feelings brought on by the younger people in the Enclave. Fortunately, Stewart continued to remain oblivious to it all.
As they continued to walk around the Enclave—Stewart stopping sometimes to poke around the bases of the central statues—she began to understand Fermat more than she had previously. It had always confused her, back then, why Fermat left and never came back. Though her reasons were sound—it is kind of a headache to have to hike up and down a mountain to get to work every day—Fendel's working conditions weren't so harsh that there was never time to visit the Enclave. But she never came home. Not on weekends or holidays or…ever. Even when she got married and had her baby, she never once came to the Enclave, nor did she ever bring Sagan. Pascal hadn't even known about Sagan until she visited her friend one day out of the blue. She never understood why she refused to come back at the time, but she was beginning to now.
She loved her people and she loved her origins, but sadly there were wounds that were so many generations old that they were impossible to heal. Even now, while they walked toward the Overseer's Chamber, she could feel all the glares on her back. If she listened closely, she could almost swear she heard the constant whispering of betrayal and disappointment. It was quite ridiculous, really. It was as if she'd killed somebody! Then again…in a way, maybe she did. They were dying. All of them, living, dead and unborn. The amount of fertile females with the minute possibility of successfully conceiving and delivering could be counted on one hand, and she and Fermat had gone and subtracted it by two.
It didn't matter that they had had kids at all. It didn't matter that their kids were at least half-Amarcian. No, it only would've mattered if they had been 'pure'. Purity was all they cared about as a dying culture anymore and she and Fermat had tainted it. Nothing could ever really be done to change that. Not anymore. She was certain that, if Fermat had ever come back, she would've been treated the same way.
Stewart was especially ecstatic at seeing the Overseer's Chamber. Poisson had since taken over the position of Overseer and had grown into a strong and respected young adult. She knew the child, since she had occasionally visited the Oswell home. Upon seeing them both for the first time in a while, she patted the boy's head delightedly and let him wander around the room, periodically explaining one feature or another to him. Pascal smiled at the sight of her youngest hanging on every word of one of her oldest friends.
When he had his fill of the architecture in this room, they said their goodbyes; though Pascal caught the sympathetic smile Poisson gave her as the transporter moved away.
The stares and whispering returned once again, yet Stewart still didn't notice it. Pascal thought of swinging by her old house, but there was really nothing of interest for them there. House structures in the Enclave were all the same and the thought of staying longer than she had to didn't sit well with her. It was almost funny how she couldn't recall a single time in her life when she'd been this eager to leave the Enclave. Stewart took a few more moments to examine the side of a bridge before they were finally off to return home.
Leaving the Enclave, Pascal couldn't help but feel a little bit sad. For all the good and bad memories there, the Enclave had always been her home. And yet, with this recent trip, it hadn't felt at all like home. Sure, it had been a little awkward when she had first brought her friends there all those years ago and people had been a little wary of the outsiders, but it wasn't as bad as this. It was never as bad as this until more started showing up.
Truthfully, she hadn't known what to expect. When she had the twins, Fermat had warned her about going to the Enclave. Word travels fast on Ephinea, and even faster in the Enclave. What she found there was worse than anything she had expected from her own people. It was a good thing she hadn't let Hubert come alone with Stewart. Hubert was, in his own way, just as observant as she was and likely would've noticed the same things she did. And that, she reasoned, was something he didn't really need to see or know about.
On the shuttle ride home, Stewart babbled incessantly about all he had observed about the architecture in the Enclave and rattled off different facts and figures on the age and stability of the stone types and the craftsmanship of the designs and stonework. She smiled and nodded, not really understanding what he was saying, but he sounded happy. And as long as he was happy, she figured that was worth any feelings of rejection and disappointment. Yes, she decided, it was even worth the feeling that she had, in a way, been exiled from the one place she used to call home.
Title: Silent Words
Rating: T
Pairing/Character: Huscal
Spoilers: Nothing in particular
Words: 1,431
Status: Complete
Summary: The curious, and honestly the most interesting, thing about Hubert was that he didn't really speak in words. Some of the best things he ever says are, actually, silent.
Author’s Note: Written with Dubu and I's Hubert and Pascal in mind, but I tried to keep it relatively IC (which isn't too hard considering we RP that way anyway). I lost sleep for this because it just WOULD NOT leave me alone to sleep in peace X_X.
I'm happy with it, though. Also somewhat part of my Graces Family Headcanon because this is what I imagine their married life is kind of like for the first few years before having kids.
FF.Net | AO3 | DA
And here:
Silent Words
Most people wouldn’t be able to guess it from first meeting her, but Pascal is a pretty observant person. Exceptionally observant, though of the little things. Certain things like dates and exact names are big things she tends to forget, but the little, almost inconsequential details of a situation or a person rarely escape her notice.
This observational quality tends to manifest most with people she likes, mostly her friends but namely Hubert.
It wasn’t apparently well-known (or, at least, no one else in their little motley crew had ever seemed to pick it up), but Hubert never really spoke. Or…he did, quite often and loudly in fact, but that wasn’t really talking, most of the time. Hubert was, by nature, a reserved and quiet person and the majority of anything he ever really said wasn’t spoken in words, but in actions. It had, admittedly, taken her the many months of travel and the time since their more personal relationship began to really start noticing them. But, when she found one, she soon found another and another until she could probably name off a whole list of wordless vocabulary. It was, frankly, quite fascinating, and just one of the many things that made Hubert, well…Hubert.
The first thing she’d noticed had actually taken two occasions to understand. They both worked regularly at home and away and sometimes there was stuff that came up at the Enclave or somewhere in Fendel that required her to zip on over there to try and fix it. Hubert generally had to stay behind because of his own work, but when she did arrive home after days or a week-and-a-half, he always greeted her with a long kiss at the door before running off back to his work. It had surprised her the first time, but the second time she began to hear it, and each subsequent time the message became clearer. When Hubert did that, he was effectively saying “Welcome home, I missed you,” without actually saying it. It wasn’t long after she understood the message that she began returning it for those times when he came home after a long while away on business. He seemed to understand.
After that, she noticed there were actually multiple different kisses he gave her, each with their own meaning. A kiss to her forehead when they woke up was his “Good morning,” and a peck on the lips before bed was “Good night.” Though she wasn’t sure how he knew, whenever she felt upset about something he would generally wrap his arms around her mid-section as a way of asking “Are you okay?” An affirmative answer usually got a quick kiss on her shoulder before he went back to whatever he was doing.
Normally, when they slept, his arms were a natural weight around her waist. But there were times when he’d fully wrap both arms around her and hold her closer to him. This wasn’t that abnormal, but when he held her like that she could always tell when something was upsetting him because of how tightly he was holding her. When that happened she usually tried to coax him into actually talking. Sometimes he would, sometimes he’d deny anything was wrong. Typical Hubert.
These words and messages weren’t just in kisses, though. Most of them weren’t even in physical messages. Hubert was never really a touch-y kind of guy, and that fact barely changed when they began this relationship (though she considers him actively communicating through little touches like kisses to be some progress. Very nice progress). Most of Hubert’s clearest messages, she found, came from the little things he did.
Like on those long nights, sometimes, where research kept her up way past the point where she would’ve normally gone to bed, Hubert would bring hot cocoa up to her office area. It didn’t mean anything in particular, but it was his way of showing concern and a suggestion to take a break. She wasn’t one for taking breaks, though, but answering this gesture with an update of her progress seemed to satisfy him before he’d leave her to her work. Perhaps the gesture doubled as encouragement, because he recognized the importance of her research and work. Concern or encouragement, she appreciated it nonetheless (and, hey, chocolate was really the best cure for research-related exhaustion).
There were other things too. She could always tell when he was over-thinking something because the deepness of the furrow of his eyebrows was directly proportional to how much he was worried or concerned over some internal matter. Talking or giving him a quick peck on the lips generally snapped him out of it.
When he read, he always read sitting up. A book in his lap meant he was open to being interrupted, but if he was clenching a book in both hands interrupting was the furthest from a good idea you could get.
He crossed his arms when he was angry (or being serious, depending on who he was talking to and the set of his shoulders), laced or steepled his fingers when he was brooding on something important, and he pushed his glasses up much more frequently when he was nervous.
If there was a night where she’d fallen asleep at her desk, she normally awoke to find whatever she’d been working on moved slightly out of her way and a blanket tucked around her shoulders.
When they were away from each other, they always kept in touch with the communicator. Even there, where they actually had to use words, these unspoken messages existed, mainly in the length of his messages. One word answers meant something was bothering him or otherwise wrong, two to ten words was normal and long, lengthy messages generally meant he was worried about her. She responded accordingly when she could.
He compulsively cleaned when he was anxious (like when he was waiting to hear back from the President for word on a promotion), sat close to her when relaxed (and conversely would sit far away when not) and would sometimes, unexpectedly, fix her with a certain look that effectively said “Come to bed,” with the inference that it was more a suggestion and not a command (unless he was in a particularly bossy mood that day).
Hubert didn’t normally smile. At least, if he did, he almost always did so outside of her view (he seemed to like keeping up the Stoicface McStoicer expression even when at home). However, the very few smiles he did display, even if only for a few seconds, held small messages too. A smile where both ends of his mouth were slightly upturned was the general happy smile that gave away that he was, to some kind of degree, happy and at ease with whatever made him smile. The left side of his lip curling up meant he felt smug about something; the right side doing the same was reserved for moments of amusement where he might’ve said “You dork,” or some other kind of chide remark of affection. There were smiles made only when he was looking at her, smiles for his brother, small and impartial smiles for official people, and there was a very special smile that usually accompanied the sparkle of his eyes when he spotted something Sunscreen Rangers related. It became something of a game to her to see how often she could get his more happy smiles to appear.
It had taken a lot of time and trial and error, yet there were many other words in this strange language that utilized his whole body that she was still trying to learn. But she found, with the ones she had learned, that he was a lot easier to understand than he had been before, like when they were all traveling together.
Some things, though, she just couldn’t quite figure out the meaning behind, no matter how often they happened. Like why he would randomly decide to hold her hand when they were out of the house somewhere, but would object to any other displays of public affection (well, unless they were 99.9% alone in public, then he would accept small kisses). Maybe it had no real meaning and was just something unique to Hubert.
Most other people would probably have been annoyed or driven crazy by all the silent talking he did, and normally Pascal would’ve been. However, this silent language of his was part of what made him interesting and, to her, made him seem like that much more of a puzzle to solve.
Properly posting this now, here on my fanfic Tumblr.
Title: Lhant Family Moments
Rating: T
Pairing/Character: Richard/Asbel, Asbel/Cheria (very light), Sophie, Lambda, other characters
Spoilers: Yes. Heavy spoilers. Spoilers are fucking EVERYWHERE. Through the whole game, F Arc included.
Words: 1052
Status: In-Progress
Summary: Small, fleeting moments in the strange, shared lives of Richard, Asbel, Sophie, Lambda and sometimes Cheria.
Author's Note: You're not getting an AN here because everything that needs to be said about this has already been said everywhere I've posted this =P.
AO3 | FF.Net
Alternatively, it's also under this Read More.
~Lambda Lhant~
It had been a hectic few days. Months, really. Between all the fighting, traveling and long nights in many inns, it was a miracle the party had managed to keep it all together.
But afterwards, after saving the Lastalia, after calming Fodra, when peace had been relatively restored to both worlds (aside from the few remaining Lambda-born and Fodra-born monsters) did the party truly get to rest.
Though they’d all mostly gone their separate ways, most temporarily, they still kept in touch. Asbel made a point to write Richard letters every week, even if there was nothing of interest happening. He wrote letters to Cheria, too, though they were infrequent due to her constant traveling. Most of the time it was her who sent him letters keeping him updated on her travels and well-being. He didn’t mind them, he kind of liked being able to know what was going on in various parts of the world.
Hubert wrote letters, too, though they were almost always short and abrupt. But Asbel didn’t mind. That was just how Hubert was, and sometimes the younger Lhant (because he would always be a Lhant in his heart) would drop by in lieu of writing a letter. More to visit their mother than him, but hey, they’d spent the better part of a year constantly together during the whole escapade with Lambda, so a little bit of distance was preferable.
Sophie remained at the manor to keep Asbel company while awaiting Cheria’s return (or visits from Richard, whichever came first). Despite the sudden change in appearance, the people of Lhant seemed to take her return very well.
Pascal and Malik didn’t keep in touch nearly as much as the others, but he figured that was a given. Both were really busy with their new jobs as the three nations worked to make a peace treaty. Though, Hubert had insinuated that Pascal did keep in touch with him, though he never divulged the conversations. Asbel figured it was some kind of progress, though, even if only a little bit.
It was all kind of surreal, really. The events that transpired to lead to these circumstances and their lives as they were now felt like they had only recently happened despite having occurred months, almost a year ago.
Lambda had surprisingly settled into shared life with relative ease, though very little about their situation had changed. Unlike those first six months, he did talk on occasion. Mostly it was off-hand comments or musings or, if curiosity struck him hard enough, a question. Asbel didn’t mind it at all. It was oddly comforting, in a way. Richard and Sophie and everyone had ceased their worrying about the age-old entity and now he was just…allowed to exist.
Sharing a body made for unique circumstances and perspectives for both parties involved. After the events on Fodra, the two had figured out a system of compromise. Asbel would have full control of his body at all times. In turn, Lambda was allowed to link himself with Asbel’s senses so that he could experience the world without compromising Asbel’s body or mind. Lambda, of course, had brought up the thought that he could take control whenever he wished when Asbel was asleep and helpless, but Asbel just laughed and mentally pat the entity’s head. At the accusation of being mocked, Asbel simply and confidently stated that he trusted Lambda. And though he didn’t admit it, he felt more than saw the entity become flustered.
Another part of their agreement was more a thing of privacy. Just because they were sharing a body and mindspace didn’t mean they couldn’t each have their own private thoughts. Lambda was his own person, after all, and Asbel was…well…Asbel. So they each agreed to never invade on the other’s private thoughts unless invited, nor would they breach a mental wall (in case there were something happening that was meant for Asbel and only Asbel or vice versa) unless it was deemed necessary.
Sometimes he thought of the humanoid boy he’d seen in the flashbacks. Lambda never used that form anymore; that he was aware of at least. Usually when they were both in their shared mindspace, Lambda appeared as the ball of energy that was his weakened true form. But sometimes Asbel couldn’t help but remember the body that was apparently his first. The one they had found at that crash site. It was…kind of sad, really. Though his voice and most of his attitude didn’t suggest it, sometimes Asbel felt that maybe Lambda identified most with that body. That maybe, despite being thousands of years old like Sophie, when he thought of himself he saw the humanoid body of a child.
It was admittedly a little odd, imagining a thousand-year-old entity as a ten-year-old boy. But in a way, Sophie was too, wasn’t she? An ancient being stuck in the body and mindset of what would amount to a child by human standards. It made him think on the future, on the family he would eventually have to start when Cheria got back. Sophie was already their family—had been, really, since they’d found her as kids. But it reminded him, too, about her concerns before they stopped Fodra, about when he’d officially given her his last name to call her own as his adopted daughter. Someday, all she’d have besides his descendants would be Lambda. Just like how Hubert and he would be all they had left once Kerri died. Wouldn’t that technically make Sophie and Lambda…siblings?
It was a strange thought, he’d admit, but it did make sense. When he died, Lambda would have to find another body. And with Sophie living in the manor and Lambda being tied to him…they were all a family already by most standards. And Lambda was their friend, so it’s not like much would change.
The more he thought on it, the more he grew to like the idea, until,
“Hey, Lambda, how would you like to be an official Lhant?”
The entity in question had instantly thrown up a mental wall in retaliation, but just before it went up Asbel felt a mix of embarrassment, confusion, happiness and if the entity had been showing a face, he swears it would’ve been blushing. Asbel took that as a yes.
I haven't written poetry in years. Let alone a fan poem.
But I was incredibly inspired by this picture on DA the other night and this just kept itching at me to write it.
So, here is is =3.
----
The first symptoms are benign,
Rashes, itching, puffy red eyes,
Hay fever, you'd think,
Or allergies, maybe,
But that's just the first few days.
Then come the chills,
The night sweats,
The dreams,
It makes sleeping hard,
Insomnia, you believe
But then a week's passed,
And you start to hear them,
Their cries, their memories,
All from the tower, it seems,
They whisper and cry every day and every night
You see them next, when more days have gone,
Shadows in the corner,
Smiles in the mirror,
They're everywhere and nowhere
Everywhere, everywhere
It gets worse,
So much worse,
Soon they begin to touch you,
Hypnotize, lead you places
You remember none of it until it's too late
The next day, you don't wake,
Healthy and young,
Passed in your sleep, they said,
No cause,
If only they knew, the curse of the town.
Title: Silent Birthday
Rating: T
Pairing/Character: Yoiharu, Miharu
Spoilers: Alllllll the way until the end of the series
Words: 1010
Status: Complete
Summary: They're meant to be happy, aren't they?
Author's Note: Another old oneshot. Wrote this last October for Miharu's birthday (I'm a cruel person). This is like the most angsty oneshot I have ever written.
Today was special, even though he barely acknowledged it. Many people at school would pause at various points during the day to give him best wishes.
He would simply smile and thank them, but his acknowledgement of their existence stopped there.
Afterschool he would walk home, Raimei tagging along behind him, talking animatedly (and perhaps a bit absentmindedly) about something regarding her teachers and girls at lunch. He ignored her for the most part, but let her talk. After all, she also lost something precious that day.
Later on during the evening, everyone gathered at the Rokujou household. Tobari, Hana, Raikou and Gau, Raimei, Kazuho and Yukimi, even Juuji came out for the occasion. They were all there to celebrate with him and his grandmother. He smiled as they gave a unified cheer for him. He appreciated it, really, he did. But in his heart he knew it wasn't enough.
He forwent dinner that night, telling his concerned grandmother that he wasn't feeling well enough to eat.
He laid face-up on his bed, staring absently at the ceiling. Somewhere around nine he heard his grandmother shuffling to her own room. He waited for an hour after that, to ensure she was asleep.
Slipping off the warm sheets silently, he carefully grabbed a tan hat from underneath his pillow. He cradled it against his small chest, as if it was a precious artifact he didn't want to ruin.
Swift and silent like the ninja he had been trained to be, he slipped out of his bedroom and slinked downstairs into the dark kitchen.
It was the weekend, so he felt no need to rush (his grandmother was a very heavy sleeper).
Gently, he placed the large hat on one side of the small dining table that was reserved for private use separate from the rest of the Okonomiyaki shop. He smiled, almost shyly at it, then turned to busy himself with the kitchen, careful of making too much noise lest his grandmother was not as deep in sleep as he thought.
Gingerly but efficiently, he laid out the ingredients for Okonomiyaki. It would be a special kind he'd make himself on this specific day.
He worked for a few minutes, mixing and adding as needed. Apart from the sounds of his bustling, the smaller kitchen was silent, almost deafening.
He smiled suddenly, as if reacting to something funny.
"No, silly, you can't have any. This is mine." He said to the aching silence.
"Oh, don't make that face. I have something for you too. I'm not that much of a glutton." The silence was all that prevailed, but still he smiled, this time lovingly.
"Yes, yes, of course." He replied somewhat jokingly, as if his silent conversational partner had said something unbelievable.
After a few minutes of more silence his special Okonomiyaki was done and on a plate. Giving it a chance to cool, he rummaged briefly through a cabinet no one else used, producing a packaged piece of vanilla cake, complete with a small strawberry on top.
Carefully, he carried both the cake slice, his Okonomiyaki and the required utensils to the small table. He placed the cake slice, on a plate, in front of the hat before sitting at the other side.
"It's not Gau's kind, unfortunately. And I didn't have time to make one myself. But store bought cake is just as good! Try it, you'll like it. No fork, because I figured you wouldn't want one…unless you wanted me to get you one?" He looked expectantly at the hat.
A few moments passed before he nodded as if he had received an answer. He then began eating his special food slowly, with small bites.
Briefly he glanced up and then smiled at the hat, "See? I told you it was good! Still, I'll try next time to make a homemade cake in time. That way you'll have lots of it to eat whenever you want!"
The cake slice was still there, untouched.
He continued to eat but then stopped briefly as if he had just been spoken to.
"School?" He asked, chewing slowly, "It's ok. Same as ever, really. Boring people, boring classes…Raimei talks a lot on our walks home. I think she's just lonely without Kouichi here. Sometimes she looks all distant-y and occasionally looks at me like she pities me. I don't understand why…"
More eating.
"Huh?" He looked slightly surprised, "Me? I'm not lonely. You're here, so why would I be?"
He smiled again, a slightly broken one this time.
He slowly continued eating the crispy meal, chatting randomly to the hat and untouched vanilla cake until he was down to one last bite. He smiled, a broken, sad smile at the two objects before lifting his chopsticks with the last piece of his meal.
"Happy birthday, Miharu." He smiled again, brokenly happy as if it wasn't him who said that, before eating the last piece of Okonomiyaki.
Silent now, he got up and washed the dishes quickly (the cake went down the drain too, as if it wasn't there and still good), then went back and retrieved the hat, clutching it tightly over his heart as he retreated to the silent confines of his lonely bedroom, twin streams of liquid crystal making their way down his cheeks.
Title: What Will (Never) Be
Rating: T
Pairing/Character: Yoiharu, Yoite, Miharu (some small mentions of others)
Spoilers: Alllllll the way until the end of the series
Words: 837
Status: Complete
Summary: There is a line between dreams and reality.
Author's Note: Going to be a while before I get new things up here, so I figured I'd post some of my better Nabari oneshots here for you Tumblr users. You may or may not have already seen this on FF.Net. This particular oneshot was inspired by a picture I saw on Pixiv.
It always started the same way. A hillside, a large tree, the two of them sitting side-by-side beneath the giant oak, hands intertwined.
It was in that moment there would be talk, of many things. Of secrets, of feelings, of regrets, but the moment was always special because it was the first exchange of three words neither ever thought they would say to anyone.
The scenery would then change, like water rippling in a sea of memories. It would be fall in the nearby park, where they walked along a beaten path, hands still intertwined, shoulders touching. All around them was a whirlwind of vibrant warm colors, and it was there, amidst a circle of maples and oaks shedding red, orange and yellow that they shared their first kiss.
Next would come an unwelcome scene, but he supposed it would be necessary. After all, his teacher wasn't the most…accepting of people, even though he means well. He imagines Kouichi and Raimei taking it well; Raimei would especially be happy for him. The Wakachi were also likely to be both happy and accepting, given their similar circumstances. Perhaps the most accepting—he hopes—would be his grandmother and Hana.
In another ripple, he's at his graduation ceremony. To everyone else, it's a time of celebration and finally being out in the real world. But for him, it's a celebration because he can finally live alone with his love and both can start new lives.
After the ceremony, they would walk together to their personal hangout, which had become more overgrown and rustic with the years that had passed. But none of that mattered, because it was theirs, and they were alone, away from judging eyes. It was here that he received the best gift he could ever be given: his first time.
They spent many hours together looking for the right apartment. It was only temporary, until they both could afford a house on a cliff side that he would always imagine. Even though both knew that they could be homeless and still have a home together.
He would always be annoyed at his country's ideals and society. He wants to have a special ring on his finger and his love's finger, but it would probably never happen in their lifetimes, because despite the other boy's medical condition, they were both male.
Still, despite that, they would frequently talk about having a family, together, if they could. Talking about it was better than keeping silent, after all. They would muse about possible options (no, Raimei can't surrogate, Kouichi would never let her), the number, the names. Sometimes at night he would dream about a child that was a perfect combination of her parents.
More ripples and more memories would dance through the water. He would envision the many times he'd cook for them, how safe and warm his arms felt, the way he looked when he slept after special nights together. But most of all, it was the happiness he felt. The sheer, warm glow that would surround and engulf his heart every time he thought of his love, or saw him, felt him, kissed him. Everyone was happy, everything was perfect…
And then, like a diver needing oxygen, the surface of the water would break as he startled awake. And it was during this that his mind would wake up and reality would crash down on his heart and skull.
This was not a one-bedroom apartment outside of Tokyo and this was not a shared double bed. This was his bedroom above an Okonomiyaki restaurant, in the little village of Banten. And this was his single twin bed, only big enough for his small person. And the one person he loves, his soul mate and other half…
…was dead.
Never to be seen again except for in the afterlife. Remembering that fact made the dream all the more bittersweet, but all he could ever do was clutch the large hat—the one belonging he could keep—and cry bitter, painful tears into his pillow.
He did this every time, for every dream. Dreams of what would never be.
