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manysad · 2 days ago

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Words Fail.

Okay so this is just a snippet of a longer story I will eventually post (it hasn't decided if it's gonna be 15k or 30k yet lol) but after speaking with @dearlybelovedterra about certain things I figure I'm just gonna share this as a drabble here too.

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There’s a plan waiting for him after breakfast that Ventus had completely forgotten about.

He might’ve forgotten on purpose. Admittedly, he’s just…kind of tired, now. Now, when he has to actually be awake and do stuff. Most of his focus goes into staring down at his food, trying not to let himself fall face first into it.

Aqua and Terra take his silence differently. Usually, he’s the loud one during breakfast, pulling the table into conversation before anyone else has had a chance to even sip their tea. He supposes… it’s probably better that they mistake the reason for him being so quiet.

Ven isn’t trying to make sure he eats his food, instead of wearing it. He’s just being…solemn.

“I think it’s time.” Aqua says, and that jolts Ventus into the present quicksharp. Aqua is already collecting up their plates, blinking rapidly as she focuses on the task she’s set for herself. Terra’s– not here right now. Not really. There’s a shadow in his eyes as he stares at the window, seemingly unaware that he’s got a fork held in his fist.

The fork is bent.

Right. Right, they’d promised– they’d said they would do this today. They’d said they were gonna, give themselves an evening to reorientate themselves, recover from the road, and then–

Ven swallows roughly, jumping up from his seat to help with the dishes. It’s not helping him delay a thing, but it does mean he can stop thinking, for a minute. Sort of. As it is, his mindset is– staticy. Overtired. He finds himself jumping from the dishes to what comes after the dishes to everything that came before and–

And then the dishes are done. He follows Aqua back into the dining room. Terra hasn’t moved an inch. One of them must make a noise– a scuff of a shoe on the marble floor, or, a cleared throat– because he suddenly looks to them both, expression falling into a mask of– something.

They walk out together, into the sunlight. By some sort of silent agreement, they let Aqua walk in the middle, head high. She looks–

They both look like they’re walking to their graves. Maybe that’s apt.

They are walking to a grave. It just isn’t there yet.

On the second night of their impromptu jet set around the universe, they’d settled around the campfire and spoken about… less nice things. Less nice things being their Master. Not– not that they’d talked about him like he was less nice, or anything! Less nice things, like– what were they supposed to do, when there wasn’t a body to bury? How could they remember him?

Terra wanted a place that overlooked the castle. It wasn’t like Eraqus could actually look out over the valley again, but it was the sentiment of it. That in some way, shape, or form, the memory of him would be able to linger in that tall, remote place, watching over them.

Suggesting that one spot, where they used to watch the stars? Felt a bit like pulling teeth. But Terra had smiled so gratefully, Ventus couldn’t regret it. He still– he thinks he doesn’t regret it even now, staring not at the view, but the spot they’ve chosen. A little patch of dirt, right by the broken wall.

Almost exactly where he last remembers watching the meteor shower, both weeks and an entire decade ago.

Aqua wanted to use Master’s Defender as a marker. Now, as he watches her prepare to sink the teeth of it into the ground, Ventus wonders if that’s…wise. What’s she going to do if she needs it again? If she needs to defend this world? Would she have to pull it back out, or– has that protective magic been transferred to Rainfell, like it’s Master before it?

When she raises it over her head, he flinches. Terra doesn’t miss that, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. A solid, comforting weight. Ven wonders if he’s doing it because he thinks that Ventus is upset, seeing the Master’s Keyblade being slammed into the dirt like a common gardening utensil, or if he also remembers the last time Ven had seen that blade raised in the air.

It’s Ven’s idea to leave the flowers. Snow White had shown him how to weave the little stalks together, as thanks for helping guide her through the forest. He’s not great at it, but Aqua picks it up with the ease of someone used to spending a lot of time on crafts with tiny, finicky details. So he helps Terra gather them, from the ground and the bushes and the trees, until she tells them she has enough.

They sit and watch her work, silently. When she’s done, they stand.

Terra puts a hand on his back, nudging him forwards.

“I think Ven should do it.” He says– and. The flowers were his idea, so Ven supposes he should. Aqua offers him a thin smile, which is only thin because she’s sad, not because she begrudges seeing him handling the fruits of her labor. Almost robotically, he accepts the delicate wreath of pretty whites and purples, stepping closer to Master’s Defender as his friends watch on.

For a moment, just– it’s just a moment. He wants to pitch the flowers over the edge of the cliff. He wants to throw them away, turn on his heel, and run.

But that’s just a moment. Gingerly, he hooks the wreath on the edge of the weapon’s handle, as carefully as he can. Adjusting it until it sits properly, until he can let go. Take several hasty steps back, until he’s back in line with Terra.

Aqua kneels before she cries. Terra– doesn’t kneel, but his eyes are also wet. Staring steadfastly ahead as trails make their way down his cheeks unacknowledged.

Ven doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t cry. He watches them cry, and wonders.

Why isn’t he crying?

“I still,” Aqua murmurs. Her voice is thick with tears, but he can hear the smile in her words. “Remember the first time Ven got on the roof. I thought you were going to pull your hair out.”

She sobs out a laugh, reaching up with both hands to rub at her face.

“You made so many orders that day! Stay right there, Aqua! No, go stand over there! Terra, watch him. Should he fall, shout. Be prepared to catch him should I not be fast enough.” Her shoulders shake. It’s hard to tell with what– more grief? Or laughter? “You played it so cool most of the time, but at the end of the day, I don’t think you were ever ready for the trouble we could get up to. And when we did get up to mischief, your first worry was always… if we’d hurt ourselves, somehow.”

She tips her head up, taking a breath. Eyes red-rimmed, smiling all the same.

“Thank you, for that. For caring.”

“I, um,” Terra falters, clearing his throat. He looks so stiff, holding himself in that tight, uncomfortable way he used to, whenever the Master called them to attention. Ven knows that’s how he stands when he’s uncomfortable. Trying to rein himself in. “I remember the first week I got here.”

Ventus glances up at him, when no words follow that up. There’s a twitch in Terra’s jaw, something altogether– uncontrolled, even though he’s trying his best to be. A few deep breaths later, he opens his mouth again.

“I got homesick pretty quickly. Departure was pretty different from what I was used to.” All at once, there’s a different twitch. A softening of tension that releases itself in a small, lopsided smile. “You brought me into the kitchen and showed me all the tea you’d bought in my village. Then we figured out how to make it together.”

A huff. It’s not really a laugh.

“Pretty sure we never actually made it right. But we tried.” He shifts, a little. Almost digging the toes of his shoes into the dirt. Looks down again. “Thank you, for always trying.”

It takes a few moments before Ven realizes– he should say something too. Except, when he opens his mouth–

Nothing comes out.

There’s plenty that should. He remembers Eraqus’ hands gently guiding his arms through his first kata, still using the wooden practice blade Terra had gifted him. A lot of lectures, whenever he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. The Master had always tried to be stern, but when Ven smiled up at him, entirely unrepentant– he’d seen those little moments where the amusement had shone through.

Plenty. There’s plenty. There’s the nights when Ven had woken up distressed over things he couldn’t even remember, where Eraqus had been the first to get to his room. Late night hot chocolates, consoling words. There was praise for his triumphs and encouragement when he failed. There were afternoons spent pouring over old star charts the Master dug up, just for him, pointing out all the corners of the universe and explaining to an overly fascinated fourteen year old just how these maps had come to be.

Except.

There’s also questions.

Ven opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. It’s not because there’s nothing to say. It’s– because he finds himself on the verge of saying the entirely wrong thing. Not happy memories; not a little story that makes him laugh.

He wants to ask, just for the sake of asking. Did he really care about me? Did any of that mean anything? Did guidance and lectures, and– hot chocolates mean anything, at all? What was the point of showing him star charts, when his Master had never actually intended to let him chart his own?

Did he? Did he always try?

Is– that what trying was supposed to look like? Was he trying, when he summoned his Keyblade? Was he trying, when he told Ventus that he couldn’t exist anymore? Was that trying?

Was it caring, when he didn’t pause? Was it caring, when he didn’t cry?

He cried for Terra.

None of that is– Ventus can’t say that. He doesn’t want to say that. Eyes flicking from Aqua to Terra, he realizes he’s been quiet for too long. They’re both looking at him.

“I–” His voice is. Thin. “I don’t know what to say.”

Sorry. Not sorry. He doesn’t know what to say. Aqua stands, wincing as she goes. He thinks her legs might’ve been asleep. So Terra gets to him first, gently ruffling his hair before he’s pulled into Aqua’s arms, a tight hug that–

Oh. He doesn’t deserve this one, does he?

“It’s okay,” Terra tells him kindly. “Sometimes, words just don’t feel right.”

They really don’t.

#chefs kiss

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