𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳 @onegil ,
the years for him have passed in the blink of an eye , and while he can't say for certain , he's sure that living through them has proven no easy feat ; not for the girl who lays before him , unconscious , waiting . eighty - nine letters , he reminds himself , and his heart lurches . she never got to know he was okay , she never knew that he was on his way to see her before . . . b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ . . . ? ? ?
his head hurts . dammit . and he clutches it , shaking his chin as if to dismiss himself of his own pain , but , like usual , it doesn't work . elmyra's concern washes over her face , and he can tell where aerith gets her expressiveness ; even some of her usual expressions . he offers her a careful smile and assures her of his safety . with cloud and aerith on their hands , she has enough to worry about . the familiar scent of mushroom soup dances along the kitchen , entering the hall , and he stirs it gently , dipping a small spoon in it to allow himself a ‘ tester sip ’ . a smile crosses his cheeks and he nods to the mother figure before him , announcing , ‘ that’s it ! '
despite the confusion behind his existence that plagues him , he finds comfort in a meal like his own mother used to make . like a hug , wrapped around his heart . he could cry if he let himself . . . about everything , he thinks . but he's to hold it together in this realm of make - believe come - to - life .
pouring the hot liquid into a bowl , he places a wooden spoon inside and heads up the stairs . cloud and aerith need to eat , too . and he'll make sure they do . carefully , he makes his way skyward , clumsy booted feet doing their best not to trip or make too much noise . he opens the door while balancing the meal in his right hand , aware of the heat that is radiating beneath his palm and about how much time he left before it starts to burn . fortunately , it doesn't get the chance , because as he opens the door , brilliant emerald irises reveal themselves to him , and he feels like he's been transported back in time . to when things were simpler . easier . he wishes he could tell his old self how easy he had it back then . . . and yet , for him , it feels like no time has passed at all . but everything has changed .
still , when they lock eyes , it's like nothing bad ever happened , but the years they've spent apart sit with the weight of five years' sorrow between them . her dinner is now splattered against the floor and his shoes , the sound of a big clang striking the floorboards followed by the roll of fallen dishware . his lips part to speak , but he can't say anything . what if she's not even awake ? what if this isn't real ?
what if reality is toying with him again ?
