Room 206, Late Friday Night, on Into the Wee Hours of Saturday Morning
Prom had been... tiring. Not unpleasant, admittedly, but going out and putting on another face over all of his usual masks for the evening had left Valentine more than willing to get back to their room. And once he was there, he could shoo the cat off of his half of the bed, chase the book off of his pillow, and he could grab Naminé's pillow, wrap his arms around it and bury his face in it and smell her and pretend that she was there, and he could escape away to sleep.
It was the Dreamlands. Valentine knew them well enough even at a glance, the moment he had drifted away to sleep. It was difficult not to know a place made up of dreams and wishes and half-creations, especially when it had been just another part of the geography nearly one's entire life.
Over there, that was a birch tree which appeared to be going to seed and dropping small puffs of cotton-candy lightbulbs. And that over there was most certainly a pogo-stick, bouncing on its own in place through a soupy mess of plush sea cucumbers and what could very well have been flyers for a garage sale in Tibet, though Valentine's Tibetan was rusty and he wasn't entirely certain what a Tibet was anyhow. Everything that was floating around was both the natural way of things in this area, and entirely unfamiliar.
Except for that fountain, there. More of a pond, really. A fountain typically required fountainy-things in order to be classified as a fountain, didn't it? Valentine knew that fountain-pond well enough. If he sat on the edge of it and skipped a stone across the water, then the ripples would stop before they hit the middle, and the rock would hit a dome, and if he looked even more closely, he could even see the dome. Right there, how could he have missed it before? And the little pathway that led up to it, as well.
He could walk up that little pathway, and he could push open the door, and inside he would find a room of white. With crayon drawings on the wall, and--
It wasn't the white room that he had been thinking he'd find at all, with keys and a small window and everything made of blinding whitewash. It was Naminé's White Room, with those crayon drawings and a table here and a nicer window over there. He'd been there before, but never suspected he'd return. But he should have known better to suspect anything. He was in the Dream Lands, after all. And this was, in fact, a dream.
Kairi was in a room, and she was drawing.
Sora was sleeping underground and growing himself back together.
Riku wore a new face. It was a Halloween mask for scaring the younger kids. That was why Wakka and Tidus had run away.
Naminé was in her White Room, and she was drawing.
She had to fix Sora before he woke up. He set his alarm but what if he slept through it?
She was sorry, for what they did to Roxas. But he knew his fate, just as she had always known hers.
She was in the White Room, both herself and Other, and She was drawing.
"Naminé?" Valentine didn't know how he had missed her there a moment before, though he suspected that she hadn't ever not been there at all. And the Other, Kairi, the both of them drawing. He could see both their faces at once, there, distinct and separate and the same face all at once, like a mask wearing a mask made of gauze and flesh and Naminé.
He was moving toward her before he was even aware that his legs were moving. Perhaps they weren't moving at all. This was a dream, of course.
"I can't talk now," Kairi said calmly. "If I don't finish this drawing, we'll never make it in time."
She had to go home. Kairi would be incomplete without her.
"In time?" He looked carefully at Kairi-at-Naminé, then stepped forward again, looking downward in an attempt to see what she was drawing. "In time for what?"
"I'll be whole again," Naminé said. "When Roxas finds Sora."
Only if she finished the drawings in time.
Kairi was drawing as fast as she could.
"Will the drawings help him to do that?" The room seemed splintered to Valentine's eyes, and for a moment, he could swear that he was able to take it all in at once, dozens of drawings here and there, a large window with a view of the oddities laying outside, and Naminé. Kairi. The both of them. She had gone back, after all.
And then it was pinholes again, looking at her face, trying to pick one apart from the other.
He reached a hand toward her. It would have been a shame to stand so close without brushing fingers over her lips.
"I miss you."
She kissed his fingers, lightly, then shook her head. "Not here. She'll see."
Some things were secret and her own. Even from Kairi.
Her lips were as real and warm as they'd ever been against Valentine's fingers. It made Valentine take pause, his hand lingering near her face for a moment before he could bring himself to pull it back again.
"Where?"
If not here?
"I haven't told her," Naminé said, and it was Naminé, for those few seconds, clear and not shifting in the least. "If I tell her ..."
Her hair phased to red again, and there were two faces, mingling, blurring into one.
"Then you become hers," Kairi finished.
"I won't ever be hers," Valentine replied, shaking his head slightly. "I'll be yours. Naminé."
She was his world, after all, flickering and blurring and always so very upside-down.
"Naminé isn't here," Naminé said calmly. "We're Kairi now. You can't be mine if I'm hers."
Kairi looked down at the drawing again. "It'll never be finished in time. I'll have to pay the late fine."
Valentine's insides felt like they were falling out. It was difficult to tell, in dreams, if they really were or not. Perhaps that was his heart spinning around his head right now, or perhaps he was ... seeing things. Indeed. The heart was a mask was a key was a sandcastle with two small stones sitting on it, and his insides were just fine as it all flickered away.
"The late fine?"
He didn't suppose he had enough spare change on him to cover the fee?
"Too little, too late," Kairi said. "Time ran out. You need to turn the hourglass over. Or you'll never get home."
"The hourglass?" He looked around the room, taking in the whole room at once all over again.
Not an hourglass to be seen.
"Where is the hourglass?"
"I can only show you," Naminé said. "Give me your hand."
Her lips and her throat pronounced it heart.
He heard it, under that other word.
And he handed both to her, his hand reaching for hers and his heart floating around the room, lingering just out of the reach of his fingers, but right there in her hand if she ever thought to reach for it.
"Yes, show me," he agreed. His heart was right there, pinned to his sleeve. She ought to take it with her.
Her hand closed around his, and the crayon drawings in the room shifted. A blonde girl and a masked boy, standing on a beach with a sandcastle. The girl wearing a mask and a long purple dress. The boy proudly showing off his tower.
"There are two sides to a reflection. Everything is entangled. Go back to the beginning. Only once you've come full circle, will --"
She looked up, startled, as if she'd heard a loud noise.
A moment later, the White Room was empty.
"Naminé?"
It was all whiteness again, fractured and empty and just him once more.
He waited there, hoping she'd return. Back to the beginning. Full circle. Everything was entangled, because his head was tying itself into knots. His heart was, too, but he'd given it to her for safekeeping. He trusted that she'd disentangle it.
Another moment of waiting amongst the knots. And then he turned, headed for the door again, and woke up.
[Preplayed with and coded by the indomitable palestshadow. Establishy like an establishy thing.]
It was the Dreamlands. Valentine knew them well enough even at a glance, the moment he had drifted away to sleep. It was difficult not to know a place made up of dreams and wishes and half-creations, especially when it had been just another part of the geography nearly one's entire life.
Over there, that was a birch tree which appeared to be going to seed and dropping small puffs of cotton-candy lightbulbs. And that over there was most certainly a pogo-stick, bouncing on its own in place through a soupy mess of plush sea cucumbers and what could very well have been flyers for a garage sale in Tibet, though Valentine's Tibetan was rusty and he wasn't entirely certain what a Tibet was anyhow. Everything that was floating around was both the natural way of things in this area, and entirely unfamiliar.
Except for that fountain, there. More of a pond, really. A fountain typically required fountainy-things in order to be classified as a fountain, didn't it? Valentine knew that fountain-pond well enough. If he sat on the edge of it and skipped a stone across the water, then the ripples would stop before they hit the middle, and the rock would hit a dome, and if he looked even more closely, he could even see the dome. Right there, how could he have missed it before? And the little pathway that led up to it, as well.
He could walk up that little pathway, and he could push open the door, and inside he would find a room of white. With crayon drawings on the wall, and--
It wasn't the white room that he had been thinking he'd find at all, with keys and a small window and everything made of blinding whitewash. It was Naminé's White Room, with those crayon drawings and a table here and a nicer window over there. He'd been there before, but never suspected he'd return. But he should have known better to suspect anything. He was in the Dream Lands, after all. And this was, in fact, a dream.
Kairi was in a room, and she was drawing.
Sora was sleeping underground and growing himself back together.
Riku wore a new face. It was a Halloween mask for scaring the younger kids. That was why Wakka and Tidus had run away.
Naminé was in her White Room, and she was drawing.
She had to fix Sora before he woke up. He set his alarm but what if he slept through it?
She was sorry, for what they did to Roxas. But he knew his fate, just as she had always known hers.
She was in the White Room, both herself and Other, and She was drawing.
"Naminé?" Valentine didn't know how he had missed her there a moment before, though he suspected that she hadn't ever not been there at all. And the Other, Kairi, the both of them drawing. He could see both their faces at once, there, distinct and separate and the same face all at once, like a mask wearing a mask made of gauze and flesh and Naminé.
He was moving toward her before he was even aware that his legs were moving. Perhaps they weren't moving at all. This was a dream, of course.
"I can't talk now," Kairi said calmly. "If I don't finish this drawing, we'll never make it in time."
She had to go home. Kairi would be incomplete without her.
"In time?" He looked carefully at Kairi-at-Naminé, then stepped forward again, looking downward in an attempt to see what she was drawing. "In time for what?"
"I'll be whole again," Naminé said. "When Roxas finds Sora."
Only if she finished the drawings in time.
Kairi was drawing as fast as she could.
"Will the drawings help him to do that?" The room seemed splintered to Valentine's eyes, and for a moment, he could swear that he was able to take it all in at once, dozens of drawings here and there, a large window with a view of the oddities laying outside, and Naminé. Kairi. The both of them. She had gone back, after all.
And then it was pinholes again, looking at her face, trying to pick one apart from the other.
He reached a hand toward her. It would have been a shame to stand so close without brushing fingers over her lips.
"I miss you."
She kissed his fingers, lightly, then shook her head. "Not here. She'll see."
Some things were secret and her own. Even from Kairi.
Her lips were as real and warm as they'd ever been against Valentine's fingers. It made Valentine take pause, his hand lingering near her face for a moment before he could bring himself to pull it back again.
"Where?"
If not here?
"I haven't told her," Naminé said, and it was Naminé, for those few seconds, clear and not shifting in the least. "If I tell her ..."
Her hair phased to red again, and there were two faces, mingling, blurring into one.
"Then you become hers," Kairi finished.
"I won't ever be hers," Valentine replied, shaking his head slightly. "I'll be yours. Naminé."
She was his world, after all, flickering and blurring and always so very upside-down.
"Naminé isn't here," Naminé said calmly. "We're Kairi now. You can't be mine if I'm hers."
Kairi looked down at the drawing again. "It'll never be finished in time. I'll have to pay the late fine."
Valentine's insides felt like they were falling out. It was difficult to tell, in dreams, if they really were or not. Perhaps that was his heart spinning around his head right now, or perhaps he was ... seeing things. Indeed. The heart was a mask was a key was a sandcastle with two small stones sitting on it, and his insides were just fine as it all flickered away.
"The late fine?"
He didn't suppose he had enough spare change on him to cover the fee?
"Too little, too late," Kairi said. "Time ran out. You need to turn the hourglass over. Or you'll never get home."
"The hourglass?" He looked around the room, taking in the whole room at once all over again.
Not an hourglass to be seen.
"Where is the hourglass?"
"I can only show you," Naminé said. "Give me your hand."
Her lips and her throat pronounced it heart.
He heard it, under that other word.
And he handed both to her, his hand reaching for hers and his heart floating around the room, lingering just out of the reach of his fingers, but right there in her hand if she ever thought to reach for it.
"Yes, show me," he agreed. His heart was right there, pinned to his sleeve. She ought to take it with her.
Her hand closed around his, and the crayon drawings in the room shifted. A blonde girl and a masked boy, standing on a beach with a sandcastle. The girl wearing a mask and a long purple dress. The boy proudly showing off his tower.
"There are two sides to a reflection. Everything is entangled. Go back to the beginning. Only once you've come full circle, will --"
She looked up, startled, as if she'd heard a loud noise.
A moment later, the White Room was empty.
"Naminé?"
It was all whiteness again, fractured and empty and just him once more.
He waited there, hoping she'd return. Back to the beginning. Full circle. Everything was entangled, because his head was tying itself into knots. His heart was, too, but he'd given it to her for safekeeping. He trusted that she'd disentangle it.
Another moment of waiting amongst the knots. And then he turned, headed for the door again, and woke up.
[Preplayed with and coded by the indomitable palestshadow. Establishy like an establishy thing.]