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Gold.
This is no sun. It is an unholy flame that flickers wildly, tempered by no man’s plea and extinguished by no mortal wind.
He’s standing tall, shoulders squared against the onset of night. How amusing...and yet tiresome, to subscribe to the conventions of such meaningless concepts as ‘night’ and ‘day’.
...humans need natural sunlight to live, and a stable circadian rhythm to function properly. He learned this in school. It is not hard information, but how pitiable are the turn of events in which it becomes more meaningless than the barks of a dog, or the soft sounds of a cat.
No need to play at such niceties anymore. A relief, after years of holding up the facade of humanity.
The steady thrumming in his chest is no consolation. Heartless...in both deed and being, and yet the organ in his chest drums onward. A tiresome rhythm, serving only to keep him alive, in this feeble dance of undeath that drones on.
These are the facts as he is aware of them. And yet...their edges are blurry, muddled around the edges, and bleeding into each other.
Saïx does not move, does not speak, and does not feel the need to breathe. Perhaps he has forgotten how at this point. It is silent within the gloom, and yet the echoes of emptiness are louder than anything.
Night continues, as it ever does.
Suddenly, where there was one there are now two, and he towers over the being that lies at his feet. Axel’s body lays curled into an unnatural position, gangly limbs arranged into some parody of grace. The assassin’s eyes are closed, and his chest does not move from where he is splayed on the floor.
...surely this can’t be right. Axel is supposed to be full of life, so vibrant he seems to be almost an anomaly in the harsh and grey reality they have built for themselves. It simply can’t be right that he’s laying so still; his hair spilling out from his face like the petals of a red flower.
He must be made to wake up.
Gold...gold floods everything, replacing the grey with a new horror. One not mindless and colorless, but burning with all the rage of oblivion. A thoughtless madness from which there is nowhere to run.
The claymore comes to his hand when called.
You.
With a slight prod from his foot, Axel’s slender frame gives way, and his eyes fall open, unseeing.
You were my everything.
A child is not logical. It is in the process of learning to be, but in such a process, lessons newly learned may falter, and the comfortable and familiar wildness of the whims of a young heart break through.
I was such a child.
You had many friends. I had but one. A pattern that persisted, no matter our age, no matter that we continued to grow taller and somewhat wiser. You were the warm light of a candle, and people flocked to you.
I was the shadow of that flame. An invisible accompaniment, perhaps only ever truly existing in theory, which vanishes when the flame goes out. You were well-liked, tolerated in your brashness, even. I only ever held such virtue thanks to you.
Thanks to you…until…
I know it was your idea to begin with. That we had to rescue our new friend. That all our pursuits from that point on were in service of that aim.
Saïx stares down at the body before him, and does not blink.
It’s useless to pretend that didn’t fade away, in both our minds. You made new friends. And I…
I watched from the sidelines, and became embroiled by a white hot rage from which there was no salvation. There was no longer any question of whether our paths were meant to find that missing friend. There was no longer any question of who you would choose; the old friends, or the new.
And as for myself, I could only hope that the return of my heart, at whatever cost, could finally end this eternal pain.
You.
You made a mockery of me. Everything that we wanted, all the reasons that we dared to commit an act so unholy as to unshackle ourselves from our hearts…
They held no weight in your eyes, by the end. Not compared to the meaningless camaraderie you chose to perform, aided by that useless boy and the broken doll.
Was it worth so little…? That my companionship...and your deep fire to help our friend...could be so easily replaced by a charade behind which was pure nothingness…?
What happened? That man that lies before me is not my Lea. My Lea would never do such a thing. He would never forget who his real friends were.
Then that means this is a fake. And I will destroy the useless; the lifeless parade of automatons meant only to deceive and replace.
Nothing could ever replace him.
It is with a squelching and cracking noise that the broad end of the claymore enters Axel’s chest. The man’s eyes are open, staring blank emerald at the ceiling.
Again.
The noise of the claymore returning through the assassin’s torso is almost worse, and it is painted now in a fey scarlet, dripping over the floor.
Again.
Axel’s slack face is speckled with blood from the spray, expression uncomprehending, as his limbs hang limp at his sides. The blood itself is dull in comparison to the man’s hair. A crimson wash now spreading over the floor in increasing intensity; escaping a broken and empty body.
Again.
With a sickening crack , the man’s rib cage loses most of its structural integrity. The claymore twists, and if the assassin wasn’t physically dead before, he certainly is now. His spine is completely shattered, and Saïx can see the bones peaking up pale white through the broken and gory mess that is now what remains of Axel’s chest.
...silence reigns, for the most part. He can hear himself breathing hard, despite the empty calm in his mind.
Perhaps there is someone watching him, from behind. Tilting his head slightly, he can’t quite see them, or perhaps they flicker out of view to hide from his gaze.
He doesn’t know how he knows, but he can’t shake the distinct impression that there is a crying child behind him. Whether that child’s eyes are green, or blue, or gold, or whether the child is dressed in blue, or black, or white, it does not matter.
The sobs echoed through the empty hall, and Saïx turns his gaze back to the mangled corpse in front of him. The torso is crushed beyond recognition, but the face and head are still intact.
...that should change. There should be nothing left of the man who betrayed them, who betrayed him . No one will remember him, the elusive flame who flickered too fast in the wind and went out.
Something falters in his chest. His lips part of their own accord.
“...Lea?”
There is, as might be expected, no response.
A river crashes over him, one carrying in it fire and brimstone, and the sensation of rocks battering against him drives him to his knees. Something is torn from him in that chaos, in that deluge of both everything and nothing, and it goes so fast that Saïx can’t even think to tell what it was.
He’s leaning over the body now, straddling it, practically nose to nose with the dead man. Something horrid is dripping from his eyes, and as he reaches a hand up to brush it away from his own face, Saïx notes his tears are falling onto Axel’s cheeks.
Plain, ordinary, salty tears. As they drip onto the other’s face, they dissolve the marks that decorate the skin beneath his eyes. Tears washing away tears, in the cyclical history of the pain that brands humanity.
“Lea.” He can barely force the murmured name out from between gritted teeth, and the tears are suddenly clouding his vision until he can’t even see Axel’s face. Colors flicker, the blood covering the floor mixing and distorting with the grey-white walls, until nothing makes sense and all has been dissolved into meaningless swirls.
Blinking hard, he fights away the onset of tears, and stares down at the face before him.
Where once emerald lay unseeing, eyes of pure gold now regard him coldly. “As if you were any better.”
Saïx fights for breath, and stares at the man beneath him. Axel’s lips twist into a cruel smirk, and he can’t for the un-life of him look away from the gold where it doesn’t belong. “You didn’t know what to do anymore. You knew we’d failed from the moment we began. That’s why you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to me, even as the years passed and we sunk deeper and deeper into depravity.”
He knows that voice so well. Has heard it loudly in a classroom, hushed behind the bushes of the castle gardens, rough with sleep, and smooth with anticipation. It lingers in the corners of his mind, taunting him with that playful cadence, even as he knows that it’s all a front by now.
“How dull of you. You did the very thing you hated me for doing.” Axel’s voice grows hushed, and the lilt to his tone is unmistakable. “You gave up.”
He shouldn’t be speaking. There’s no way he should be able to talk after Saïx destroyed his body six ways from Sunday. He shouldn’t be talking, when Saïx can see his goddamn mangled and squelched up heart from here.
(It’s always been unclear as to what the true nature of the connection between the ever present physical organ and the one they so severely lack actually is. The deep thrumming that remains in his pulse does not fade. But something deeper does. Perhaps ‘fade’ is the wrong term...the severance is instantaneous after all.)
Still, he cannot make himself look away from that face, peering up at him from amongst the torn shreds of Axel’s body. It’s all wrong, nothing here makes sense, the face that’s looking at him so coldly shouldn’t be free of those violet marks .
Lea stares him down, with an unreadable expression. “Cat got your tongue? Or did Xemnas take that too?”
The old scar between his eyes itches suddenly.
“Ehhh...I suppose it doesn’t matter. You never were very eloquent.” Lea’s golden eyes twinkle, even as his tone turns disparaging.
Something is caught in his throat, and Saïx doubts he would be able to make a sound even if he wanted to.
Lea-no, that can’t be right, this couldn’t possibly be Lea-lifts a bony hand and boops him on the nose with a wolfish grin. “Didn’t your daddy ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
He feels his teeth grit together.
The man’s head tilts to the side, and he shouldn’t be able to look so infuriatingly smug when his ribcage and the contents therein are splattered across the walls, and yet he manages. “You’re wondering why you can’t feel anything right now, aren’t you?”
It’s as if some magnet keeps his gaze locked with the matching golden eyes that stare back at him. Saïx hears himself exhale harshly, as if from far away.
Can’t-Possibly-Be-Lea hums contemplatively, and regards him calmly. “Don’t you see? It’s your own fault really.”
That’s not possible. If I had a heart, I would be able to feel. That’s just how it works.
“Because-” and incredibly, the being in front of him leans up and closer to his face, despite the lack of a functioning spine, “-you never let yourself have a heart. Oh, the irony.”
Something snaps internally, in multiple places.
Almost before he can stop himself, Saïx has his hands around the neck of whatever being would dare to taunt him so while wearing this face. Pressing down is easy enough, when the other man has no traction with which to fight back with.
The body is already cold. Cold as if it had been already lying there dead for sometime, not as if that face was brightly mocking him only seconds ago.
In unnatural jubilance, the golden eyes do not falter, nor do they even blink. Even as Saïx wrings the life out of the thing, Lea’s face continues to gloat up at him, frozen in place. The arms which had been hanging limp at the Thing’s sides jerk violently once, and then not again.
Something snaps externally , and the neck of the man before him lolls unnaturally to one side, expression contorted.
Saïx sits back on his heels and can only stare at the mangled corpse before him.
What...what just happened…?
What...did I do?
I...Lea…
The floor, which has run red and muddy with blood and offal, was pale grey to begin with. Now...something flickers beneath, interfering with the dullness and sparking it into a kaleidoscope of glimmering glass, impaling him with blues and greens and reds.
Brilliant yellow strikes it’s way into his chest. The floor shatters beneath him and Saïx-
Isa jerks awake, breathing hard and trembling, and jolts upright in bed.
His fists tighten around the sheets, white-knuckled.
I...
...it was nothing. Just a bad dream.
His room is cool and quiet, but the blankets have become stifling. He kicks them off, and lumbers mindlessly into the hall.
A bad dream. A nightmare.
Isa sighs heavily, and ducks into the bathroom. It takes a long moment to adjust after flicking the lights on, but when he can finally stand to squint at his reflection in the mirror-
Tired green eyes look back at him, out of a drawn and scarred face. His face, and no one else’s. Isa’s face.
It seems too trite to attempt at an actual smile, so he settles for not-glaring at the reflection. His long hair is a mess, frizzy and unkempt. He must’ve tossed and turned at some point, to get it so unruly.
After a long moment, he turns away from the image in the mirror. Perhaps he’s dehydrated. Perhaps that’s why his sleep was so troubled. Perhaps...it is something so kind and simple as that.
The images from the dream replay in his mind, repainted in blurrier strokes as they begin to slip out of his memory. The sheer disparity of the bright red splayed across the cold floors doesn’t fade, and it’s that stark contrast that drapes itself over his shoulders even as he wanders into the kitchen.
It doesn’t take long to fill a glass of water, but Isa takes a long moment staring into nothingness before he raises it to his lips.
It’s no less than I deserve.
The water is sweet in its tastelessness.
Really, I deserve worse. Forgiveness from unpardonable sins in exchange for a few nightmares? I got off light.
His stomach has twisted itself into knots. Suddenly, the water is too cold.
Isa gulps, in the silence of the darkened kitchen. His chest is roiling with emotion, most of which he has no name or descriptor for.
It’s still too cold. He feels sick to his stomach; vaguely nauseous.
Too light. This can’t be right. I...I shouldn’t be here.
Lea’s apartment is large, for what it is. Four bedroom, three bath, happily funded by a small king. Certainly large enough to house the odd little family of four they’ve settled into. They get along...well enough, for the moment at least.
Even still, even if he’s still in sleep pants and a tank top, barefoot, the hallway down to the door beckons warmly, offering escape and avoidance.
Just a moment to breath.
He’s only taken a single step in that direction before wiry arms snake their way around his waist, and suddenly there is a warm presence at his back.
“Going somewhere?” Lea’s voice is rough with sleep, but even so, Isa can hear the seriousness behind the query. The arms around his waist are firm, and he stills, keeping his face turned away from Lea.
“Did I wake you?”
“Nah.” Lea yawns, and pillows his face on Isa’s bare shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep. Nightmares, y’know.”
Something tightens in Isa’s chest, and he’s not quite sure if it’s fear or amusement. “...I know.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
It’s...hearing that voice, so quiet and sleep muddled, after having it ricocheting around between his ears in a very different tone, that finally settles him. “I am. Back to bed, as you should too.” Isa chances a glance at the clock on the microwave. “It’s barely three.”
Lea makes a noise of great displeasure as Isa attempts to unentangle himself from his arms. “You’re warm.”
Nothing can stop the huff of laughter that wells up at that. “Says the human space heater.” It’s true; Isa has to wonder how cold everyone else probably feels to Lea, who even on a normal day has a skin temperature of near-feverish.
That only provokes another groan. “You’re the one who always wants the thermostat lowered.” He sounds marginally more awake now.
Isa rolls his eyes, even if Lea can’t see him. “It’s as I said. We hardly need central heating when we have you.” He accompanies this with a light jab to Lea’s arm.
Lea drops his arms away as if to spite him, and it’s with a slight lump in his throat that Isa realises he does actually miss the pseudo-embrace. “Yeah? And what about next Summer when you don’t need heating? What then? You’re just gonna drop me on the beach and leave me?”
“Of course not.” Isa lets the silence hang for a moment. “We’ll take you to Arendelle, where you’ll actually be useful .”
He earns a light punch to the shoulder for that one, but it’s worth it to see Lea with a flushed face, trying to hold back a smile. “You’re lucky I like you.” The snark carries with it a yawn at the tail end, and Lea curls in on himself in reflex, blinking tiredly.
Isa reaches out to steer him back down the hall. “Don’t let me keep you up any longer.”
A tired noise like a sigh. “And you?”
Isa waves away the concern. “It’s fine. I think I’m up for the day now.” When Lea tilts his head at that, he can’t help but elaborate. “You know. Nightmares.”
A hand latches around his wrist, and Isa finds himself being propelled down the hall and into the bedroom that Lea’s using before he can complain or attempt otherwise. “Cool. If you can’t sleep, then come watch my gorgeous face while I do.”
It serves to startle a laugh out of him, but the feeling bubbling in his chest is more similar to panic than anything else. “I’m sorry?”
It’s in the same vein of the teasing and irreverent demeanour that Lea carries with him through all parts of his life. But something about this feels...different.
Lea gently shoves him down onto the bed, and crawls in next to him in a manner more reminiscent of something they might have done in elementary school. “You heard me. I’m not just gonna let you sit on the couch and think sad thoughts while everyone else sleeps.” Isa opens his mouth to raise an objection but Lea is pointing an accusatory finger at him before he can say anything in his defense. “And don’t tell me that’s not what you were gonna do, Mister ‘I don’t brood, he said with a broody face’.”
Blinking, Isa attempts to come up with a comeback for that. “I...don’t brood .”
Lea levels him with a hard look. “Uh huh. And I don’t have red hair.” With that, he plops down, and tugs the covers over the two of them.
Attempting to ignore where he can feel Lea’s legs brushing against his, Isa sighs, and closes his eyes. This might as well happen. He’s too tired to fight it, or even to think too hard about the potential awkwardness of the situation now that they’re not nine anymore, so he might as well try to get some sleep here instead.
It’s not hard to feel Lea’s eyes on him even after he’s shut his eyes. He cracks one open to look over at the man. “...what is it.”
Those green eyes could pierce through metal and bone. Right now, they’re studying him with something between curiosity and blatant confusion. “Nothin’.”
Isa opens his other eye and gives him an unimpressed look. “Lea, what is it.”
Lea continues to study him, even as it’s clear his face is drooping with sleep. “Your hair is a mess.”
“...was that it?”
“Yeah.” And with that, Lea burrows his face in his pillow, and throws an arm haphazardly over Isa’s shoulders.
Isa tenses, but only for a moment, relaxing into the position. There is something pale and young, dancing around in his chest, unheeding of the remnants of agony still swirling in the back of his mind.
He really is quite warm.