Twelfth Shell || Video/Action for Olivine back-dated to a decent hour--

[pluckycharm]

[ Kairi may have only just woken up yesterday, but she really doesn't look any better right now. Her eyes are dark and she seems to be having a hard time focusing on the camera. Finally, she speaks. ]

Sora went back home.

[ there's a lot of emotion in that single sentence. "Why did you leave?" "Why are your best friends still here?" "When will

Comments

1/2 Kia I'm sorry, you don't need to read this tl;dr

[usedroar]

[ On his lap is a book. It's thick, leather-bound, the kind of serious book that serious men use to write their serious thoughts in. This one is full mostly of strange drawings and notes scrawled in green and purple pencil, or highlighter, because that's all you ever find when you desperately need to write. He bends over it carefully, reverently, not really seeing the words but watching the morning light's hazy crawl across the paper. From page fifty four to sixty two is a long list of food. The first is a recipe for casserole, calling for a kind of fish called ahi that Leon's never heard of before. He supposes it wouldn't hurt to learn. He breathes in the scent of plaster, thickened in the salty ocean air.

For a split second, he contemplates giving up on the house. It's dumb, of course, he never just gives up on a project like that, but for that single, painful moment it feels like the house will never be full, not really. There'll be shadows in it that light will never touch, because no one's else's light reaches that far. There'll be small corners that will never hear laughter, because no one else's laughter is as infectious. He looks at the house's skeleton around him and wonders, when the walls are all up and the roof is properly tiled and the windows are set against the grey winter chill, if it will still be a skeleton.

Something wet falls on the page. Damn, he thinks, I thought I fixed that leak. He closes the book and leans back, shoves the heels of his hands angrily into his eyes, as if he could obliterate his own weakness. He's got a lot of experience trying, he's spent a decade trying and has done nothing but fail so far but hey, a guy can hope. He sets the book down, next to his pokegear which he can't bring himself to look at nor turn off. It's still frozen on the last shot of her face, dark and pale and red around her eyes like she'd been slapped. He doesn't want to go see her. He doesn't want to comfort her. He feels horrible for not wanting it. He wants someone to prop him up, knock some sense into him, tell him to man up and shut up and deal with it, because what else was he expecting to happen? Can't have your cake and eat it too, Leonhart. He knows what kind of place this is, he knows he could be gone tomorrow, and he wants to know why he bothers, if every time this happens all he can do is fold in on himself and crumble. Sora isn't dead, you idiot. Sora could be back tomorrow. Sora will probably not remember a thing. Sora will probably not remember his name, not the whole thing, only a flash or an idea of it from a half-heard conversation with Yuffie.

Selfishly, he wishes she were here to piss him off, to give him something else to think about than the pain. Or maybe Aerith, who'd run her fingers through his hair and let him lay his head down for a minute and not complain if it becomes two, or five.

But they're not here, and Kairi is, and she needs more than what his heart can give her. So he takes his heart, and tucks it away, and straightens himself properly. It's a short walk to the beach. He can make it. ]

2/2 [action]

[usedroar]

[ She's easy to spot, the sun cresting in her hair like fire. He moves to where she is, bare feet in the wet sand, nothing but a t-shirt and sweatpants for armor.

He says nothing, just lays a hand on her shoulder. The pad of his thumb makes a circle against her salty skin. ]