| The Thirtieth Aura • Text | Offline |
[ - Back Dated To Dawn | Partially Filtered To Sango - ]
[Four o'clock in the morning probably wasn't the best time to be sending a text message, but to one resident of Adstringendum, it really doesn't matter. He had much more important things to worry about.]
I have a surprise for you. Meet me on the roof of the safe house at dawn.
[Dawn. His ( Read more... )
[Four o'clock in the morning probably wasn't the best time to be sending a text message, but to one resident of Adstringendum, it really doesn't matter. He had much more important things to worry about.]
I have a surprise for you. Meet me on the roof of the safe house at dawn.
[Dawn. His ( Read more... )
And destiny didn't matter, as much as he believed in it, as much as he was it, it didn't matter. Only the next moment mattered, the next blink of an eye or the next beat of a heart.
But the words finally broke through the haze, through the fog, and slipped into his consciousness and made sense. Bright green eyes fluttered open as he broke the soft kiss, lips hovering over hers, warmth breath breezing over her face. Just close enough to be tangible but just far enough away to be maddening.]
Fine. I hoped. That better?
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[She won't stand for being lied to, Riku, not even for the sake of him saving face. They're beyond that, aren't they? Such childish games. (Or so she'd like to think.)]
[She shifts back a little, against the door, the lilies still in her arms and yet as forgotten as the card on the floor and the necklace now tangled in her fingers. Said fingers that drift to her lips, just-kissed lips, with a mixture of surprise and fluster and wonder. Not that she's going to tell him she's never been kissed (verbally), but still.]
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His eyes drift to her lips, the bright green flashing as the memory of his own being pressed against them came into his mind. Had he known, for sure, what he already expected, he would have pressed forward, intent on giving her a proper first kiss, one that she would always remember.
But instead his fingers went to the necklace, allowing the pendant to lay against the pads of them.]
May I?
[It would be the mark that she his. Not fully, not completely, but still his.]
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[But she doesn't have bliss, she's not made for it--not meant for it, if destiny means anything.]
[Someday, she will ask. And she will watch him lie. The question is: will she be strong enough to call the bluff?]
[But she's not thinking about that--how could she be? Instead she's trying and failing to stifle an admittedly giddy smile.]
[In answer, she hooks the chain over his fingers and sweeps her ponytail over one shoulder--out of the way.]
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A small smile cross his lips as he takes the chain, thumb nail pressing against the clasp and slipping it open.
Moving around her, he allowed the cold metal to rest against her skin, re-closing the clasp and letting it fall where it may. Leaning down, his lips press against the back of her neck softly, before his arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her against him, the hold tight and comforting, something he knew they both needed in that moment.]
It looks good on you.
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[Not that the lack of a slap means she's comfortable. She wasn't expecting the hug or the kiss or the anything, except maybe the necklace--]
[But he gets away with it anyway.]
...thanks. [She reaches to look at the necklace better.] ...how did you even find something like this?
[ghkslfaslhdf Riku come on, she doesn't need cavities, really. 8|]
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And something within him aches because he had always been able to hold Sora, to bring him close. To press his lips against his skin and --
He had to stop thinking like that. This was different. She was different. And she was everything he wanted.
Which was why he moved back, placing his hands on her hips softly, gentle enough so that she could move away if she truly wished to do so.]
When I was looking for word for this place. I found it under a pile of rubble. I already had the chain and I just... thought it would be perfect for you.
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[If she notices his hands, she pretends not to. Instead she focuses on the silver, turning it over in her fingers.]
It's beautiful.
[But there's no "you're right, it is perfect for me," because it isn't. Too perfect. Not perfect for her--just perfect, which in itself makes it imperfect for her because no, she's not flawless, she's not unbroken, she's not whole and the pendant is.]
[But she loves it anyway. Because it is from him, and because it's a memory, a symbol of something she once was--something she, in another life, could've been. Repaired.]
[(She's made her choice.)]
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He hears the unspoken words behind the ones that are. It's perfect, and neither of them are. But he had no need, no want or desire for something perfect. He doesn't like perfect things, perfect people, because they don't understand, don't get it. And she does. Because she's not perfect, because she is broken. And whatever she could have been in another life, he wouldn't have wanted it. Because what's standing right in front of him was something they could never be. Someone broken, someone strong, someone shattered, someone amazing. And that was what he wanted. What he had wished for.
He would trade all of the perfection in the world for that understanding. Because in another life he could have been light, airy, strong and unbroken. He could have been the keyblade master, he could never have lost that power, that strength. He could never have had to fight and claw his way out of the darkness, coming out on the other side so damaged and broken that there were barely enough recognizable pieces to even try and put them back together.
The pendant was a symbol of that. A symbol of the pieces they were taking from each other form and create one whole. They couldn't be whole separately, but maybe, together, they could form one whole heart. One that was strong and beautiful and imperfect. Because perfection didn't suit either of them.
So when his arms wrapped around her once more, his face burying it's self in her neck, in her dark hair, he knew, somehow, once and for all, that this was what he had wished for all of those years. Strength, solid and real and tangible, and he had found it in the most imperfect source. But he understood those imperfects and loves them, because they made her who she was.]
So are you.
[Not only on the outside, not only on the inside. Her, all of her, was beautiful. Beautifully imperfect.]
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[She really needs to stop doing that.]
[She lets go of the necklace, letting it drop to settle against her collar bone. Not all that surprisingly, it brushes, cold, on a faded scar. Even physically she is an example of being broken and imperfect, if the scars (most faded, all reminders) are anything to go by.]
[No--nothing is perfect. It's a concept that, in and of itself, is imperfect because of its unattainability. Sango doesn't believe in perfect, even as an idea; not anymore, if she ever did. But... relatively speaking...]
[Even in relativity, she is far from (almost) perfect. Sometimes she doesn't mind--others she is acutely aware of it.]
[But she's known for a long while now that it's not going to change, and that it's the same for so many around her.]
[Sango didn't grow up wishing for something broken, either. At first she didn't even think anything of being strong--not until after her frail mother died. Until Kohaku became her responsibility. Until she really paid attention to her father working his way through crises, until she finally noticed the deep, abiding will to live and survive and thrive in everyone around her.]
[She wasn't always a fighter. But she chose to be one; she chose to be strong. She adopted the dreams and aspirations of a culture and somewhere along the way, they became hers--they became her--so that it seemed things had always been that way.]
[In a way, those aspirations are of so very few artifacts from her home, her people. Even if they weren't a part of her, even if she had any regrets about becoming what she is and the price she's paid for it, she couldn't have just let them go. They are precious.]
[Even if it took losing everything to learn the true meaning of strength.]
[Because she would rather be broken and strong than whole and fragile. At least this way she's not so vulnerable, not so breakable. At least this way she has already gotten all the shattering out of the way.]
[There is something both comforting and saddening in knowing that someone understands. Because on one hand--she's not alone. And on the other...]
[Well, if it takes one to know one, it means that the only one who can understand is one who's been broken, too.]
[Perhaps they could be one whole heart, if they tried. They are similar enough, they are broken enough, and they are strong enough to survive being pieced back together again only to break more. But even that one, whole heart could not be without its scars. Because what would be the point of hurting if no lesson is learned, if no memory is retained? They may not make the wisest decisions, but they are not fools--they know better than to refuse lessons of heartache.]
[She doesn't want to stand alone, and she doesn't want to be broken. But she doesn't want to be unbroken, either. She doesn't want to have to pick and choose pieces of herself to form something else. She is her and no one else.]
[And she, Sango, that beautiful imperfection, doesn't quite know how to respond.]
[So she doesn't. She doesn't say anything, just bites her tongue to keep from protesting because bickering would be ruinous right now. Hesitant, she leans into him ever so slightly and closes her eyes.]
[And after a long moment--]
We're really in for it, aren't we.
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His lips pressed against her skin once more, arms tightening as she leaned back into him. He could still feel the slightly discomfort, the way she hesitated before doing so. And for a moment, he was tempted to back off, to back away as he had done before. But he stopped himself, the moment she leaned back into him, he stopped, his heat skipping a beat at her words.]
Yeah. We are. [Another chuckle.] Why, are you worried?
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I'm always worried.
[And since talking makes her feel considerably less awkward...]
It was just an observation.
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For the last time, Sango, there's nothing to worryd about. Who's to say they'll even know we're together?
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I worry anyway. You know that.
[LOL irony it is fun.]
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