#keyfade

   Lauriam knew this. And he realized sitting in the chair of the table absently listening to Ventus, Skuld, and Blaine talk among each other, that his initial statement/observation might have been too harsh. Glancing towards the door which Ephemera ran out of, wondering how the other was fairing. Eating away at him, mind not quite connecting to the task at hand.

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light hearted.  /  accepting.  /  @keyfade

Things have been….good.

No tragedies.  No new hurts.  The memories are still pressing at her skull and the nightmares persist, but in the day the time is good, and the sun is bright, and he has been spending time with her.  As much as he can.  Days together.  It’s been nice, and sweet, and here they are now —— her nursing fewer bruises than she normally does after a day full of solo battles (  but not so solo anymore, is she?  the thought is warm  ) and he smiling, the circles beneath his eyes (  she sees them, of course she does; she studies his eyes too much  ) lessened by his smile.

Things have been good.  This are rarely good for long.  She almost doesn’t trust it.

She’s leaning against his shoulder, now, the both of them sitting on the cobblestone in front of the fountain, the using said fountain as a backrest.  The sound of running water is gentle; she hears wind chimes from the distance. Blue eyes lazy and untroubled, gazing down at their hands.  They’re very close.  It would be easy to take his hand in hers, she thinks with a blush.  Her fingers twitch towards his minutely — but then he breaks the gentle silence with speech.

“You…make me feel loved in my unlovable moments,” he starts, voice deliberate.  Like he’s picking the words carefully.  “And beautiful even in my ugliest ones.”

For a moment she is struck — with love and with sadness and with the desperate desire to take his hurt away.  To bury his suffering in her own chest and let it fester, if only it will lighten his burden minutely.  That he thinks there are any moments where he does not deserve love — any moments where he is not beautiful — makes her heart ache in the worst way.

“Ephemer…” Her voice is soft and sad and quiet.  She sits up so see him better, to catch the eyes he’s lowered.  What can she say to him?  How can she convince him that he’s never unlovable?  That he’s never ugly?  Not to her.

She tangles their fingers.  Squeezes his hand, once.

“I love you.  Every single second.”  It’s strange to say and natural to say all at once.  Of course she loves him.  Of course.  “And I think you’re beautiful every single second, too.”  That brings a flush to her cheeks, but she doesn’t break eye contact.

A sleepover!  A sleepover!  Hana’s never had one before, but when the night drug on and neither wanted to part, it had seemed natural that they ought to share a space for rest.  Her home is over - large for just one, anyway; father’s room left empty in his absence, a home built or bought for three housing merely one.  She is safe, there, and yet it hadn’t ever felt like a home until he stepped past the doorway.  Her bed is large enough for both, but with some blushing he’d insisted on the floor, and with some blushing she’d agreed.

But she is a different girl these days.  She didn’t have nightmares, before.  Yet tonight she wakes up screaming, keyblade appearing in her hand (  self - preservation!!  ) and the words “STOP IT!” on her lips.  The memory / nightmare is unforgiving and loud but fading quickly; in a few moments, she won’t remember the sensation of Ira’s blade tearing a new scar in her gut and sending her broken flying across the badlands and skidding against the earth.  As quickly as the memory fades she realizes where she is; her bedroom.  She realizes, too, that she’s woken Ephemer --- he’s close, looking at her with an expression that she can identify as panicked even in the dim light of the moon.

@keyfade

She has been dozing; it’s not a bad thing, necessarily.  She’s ALWAYS tired but rarely feels truly safe, and that makes it harder to catch snatches of sleep.  But being around him feels safe, so as they sit together on one of Daybreak Town’s many roofs, watching the stars, she’d found herself slipping in and out of a gentle kind of half - sleep.

Blonde eyelashes had been fluttering closed when he knocks playfully against her nose; dark eyes open wide at the contact, though, and she peers at him with equal parts curiosity and amusement.  The dark circles are perpetual, but the smile on her face is is far fairer.

“Are you dozing off, Hana?”

@keyfade

The stakes are too high.

She witnessed a war and a world coming undone once.  She isn’t sure that it was right, only that it was unavoidable (  and what heroes are all of they?  to follow orders and abandon the world so that some elite members can survive?  better to stay and fight, she thinks — though their friend that did that is doing no better than any of the leaders  ) and that is little comfort.  Mostly, she swallows her hurt and the dead she carries in her chest and shaking hands; she has a duty to perform, and one that leaves precious little room for weakness.  She trusts too much in rules because she feels herself too weak to protect or make the right choices all on her own.

He’s kind and he tries to comfort her, but she is angry and miserable, and he speaks and she shakes her head and shoves past him.  DON’T SNAP AT HIM.  DON’T BE CRUEL.  BE GOOD.  BE BETTER.  BE GOOD BE BETTER DON’T FEEL WHAT’S SICK.

“Thanks.”  The word sounds sharp, even to her.  A sigh, heavy, in her mouth.  “Sorry.  I’m…I’m trying to remember.  But’s it not my bad days I’m worried about.”

If she makes a mistake, the world falls, and they all die.  (  and she dies all over again.  skuld can’t subject her to that twice.  )  Her good days are meaningless, and her bad days are, too.  BUT IF SHE MAKES A MISTAKE, THEN ———

Failing everyone, twice.

hold me.  /  accepting.  /  @keyfade

“None of this is —— real?”

Her voice is smaller than she thinks she’s ever heard it; fragile like glass or tissue paper, perched like an injury on her lips.  Like the holograms, rendering her hard - won friendships to nothing.  This is worse.  This is worse.  Her heart feels perilously close to collapse.  Small hands, always bruised, grasp at her chest.

“You lied to me,” she says, voice desperate and hard enough to cut the tissue - paper that is currently making up her composure.  The nightmares, the strange half - memories, the days where she cannot remember her name ——— those were because of him.  Those are because of him.

This world isn’t real.  Everyone else died, and she died, too, and he took away the memories.  She is sick with rage and sick with guilt, furious at him for lying and at herself for living when everyone else DIED.  Sick with broken promises and more lies and the ache is physical; her chest hurts and her stomach twists and she curls just slightly into herself, a quiet whimper passing her split lip.

“You lied to me,” she gasps again, shoulders trembling, memories flooding back — her mind and heart overflowing, poured into.  Aced at the fountain.  Ira on the battlefield.  And where was he while she hurt!!  He left her and then he stole the memories of the betrayal and —  “You lied to me!!  None of this is real!!  None of this is ——”

But she goes soft with a gasp when suddenly there are arms around, pulling her into a hug, and despite her anger she forgets, for just a moment — his arms feel like the only safe place.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and that’s enough to bring her fury back; she pushes him away from her, eyes red and still leaking, expression twisted into a pained snarl.  It feels wrong to be angry.  SHE LOVES HIM.  SHE LOVES HIM.  SHE DOESN’T WANT TO FEEL LIKE THIS.

“It wasn’t all a lie,” he insists, hands out; is he crying, too?  Her heart sinks.

“What?!”

“This was real,” he insists, taking a hesitant step closer.  “You really are —— my best friend.”  Her eyes go wide, a sob catching in her throat and choking her with a whimper.  Some of the rage goes out of her face.  “I never lied about that.”

She doesn’t know if that makes up for it.  She wants it to.  And she can’t stop her feet when they pull her nearer and back into his arms, nor her hands when they wrap tightly around his back, holding on tight.  He goes surprised and stiff but then returns the embrace with only a moment’s pause, one hand on her back and the other gentle within her hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice low.  “I know I haven’t been a very good friend.”

“You haven’t been,” she whimpers into his shoulder, but that doesn’t stop her from nuzzling nearer with a sob.  “Don’t lie to me ever again.  Don’t leave me ever again.”  Hana manages a slow, shuddering inhale, but her voice is as thin and afraid as it has ever been.

She knows she’s not the only one hurting.

He is, too, and she can tell, even if he’s just as good at hiding it as she is (  they mask the ache in different ways, but they hide all the same  ).  They’ve lifted a heavy burden; remembering so they Dandelions don’t have to, leading in the stead of Foretellers that failed.  He’s her friend ------ an old one, and she cares for him still.  The girl approaches him, dark eyes playful but not without concern.