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Can I get a connection?

Twelve Kingdoms (Juuni Kokki) | Taiki, Youko, Enki Oneshot, gen, 2.1k words, complete.

Based on this very wholesome selfie art.

-

They had found it among the Tai Taiho’s personal effects from Hourai: slim and lightweight with a dark, mirror-like surface on one side and a thick ring on the other. The sages had almost dropped it when the mirror lit up with small Kaikyaku text that blinked several times before darkening once more. Out of extreme caution (or maybe out of terrified deference to the Taiho after all he’d gone through), they decided to seal it away for the time being until he returned to retrieve it someday.

Youka brought it up in passing to the En Taiho on one of his visits to Mt. Hou, briefly wondering if there was a way to make sense of this strange thing that had been in their care for months now. "The shrill sound it makes on occasion scares us to this day, and we haven’t figured out how to make them stop," she added defeatedly, having been its most recent surprise victim last week.

Enki was mildly amused as he fiddled with the device with relative ease. "People in Hourai use these for communication nowadays," he grinned, holding up the lit-up surface to Youka. The mirror contained different words and shapes now, rather than the simple picture that accompanied the sound that disappears after a short while. While it did answer a lingering question in the minds of most of the sages, they would sooner return it to its original owner, if only for their collective peace of mind than anything.

"Fine, I’ll see what I can do," Enki reassured Youka, pocketing the item as he got up to leave. “Maybe The Royal Kei will be able to help. I think she used to have one of these things herself.”

-

"I didn't think these phones would get any lighter, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised." Youko considered the weight and feel of Taiki's phone in her hand, while holding her old one in the other. The model she had was not really much older in comparison, but it was much less durable and sadly hadn't survived the trip. Youko squashed the growing twinge of jealousy she felt, avoiding Keiki's wary gaze the entire time.

"For now, the people at Houro Palace just want it silenced," Enki passed on the concern, peering over her shoulder as she unlocked the phone; luckily it did not have a passcode. "They didn't mind holding onto it if needed, of course, but..."

"I understand where the sages are coming from. Even my grandmother did not like the whole idea of cell phones everywhere." Youko became a little wistful at the memory, which she also promptly removed from her mind as she curiously swiped through the phone's contents.

It was actually pretty empty, with only the basic apps like Clock and Calculator on the home screen. Only Taiki's family members (or so they presumed) were on the Contacts list. No messages in the Inbox. As for the Photo Gallery:

"Whoa! The pipsqueak drew these?!" Enki exclaimed as he leaned in to take a closer look. Youko slid the phone over to Enki as he browsed the rest of the folder's contents. The paintings all had dark, supernatural motifs—is what she would probably have said, had she not encountered every single one of them herself in the years she had been in this world so far. Instead, the drawings carried a feeling of terrible suffering and isolation, as well as a longing for a homeland he couldn't remember no matter how hard he tried.

Youko shook her head. That was all in the past; all that mattered was that Taiki was safe, and that everything was all right now.

Her gaze briefly flitted over to Keiki's. The Kei Taiho’s expression was unchanged, but the flash of reassurance in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I guess that's everything in it." Enki withdrew from the table and crossed his arms. If Youko had to guess, they were probably thinking of the same thing right now. "Do you think he'll want it back?"

Despite being Taika contemporaries, Youko could not completely say she understood Taiki. While she still held some degree of fondness for Hourai, it was only because she had a typical, uneventful childhood, as empty and uninspiring as it had been. Her phone contained the usual photos of things she liked, as well as of various milestones and memories, and she was a little saddened when it was ultimately broken.

Taiki must have left his behind for a reason.

Then again, they never really knew that for sure.

Youko chose to be truthful. "... I can't really say. It wasn't really something that had come up the few times we had talked about Hourai." Not that they both even wanted to think about their old world, either, when there were so many other things to do. Tai was still barely recovering from the long civil war it had suffered, and Kei was not really doing much better, either. The road to recovery for both their nations was still long and far, far ahead.

"I guess so." Enki accepted both Youko's answer and the phone she handed back to him. "I'll be holding onto this, then. They'll be coming to next month's summit, right?"

"They've confirmed their attendance, yes." Both of them stood up to leave, Youko motioning for Keiki to join them. "See you next month, then?"

"Got it." Enki went out ahead of them, striking up a conversation with the guardsman stationed at the corner. Youko stopped at the doorway, still deep in thought. Keiki dutifully stood behind her, ever watchful over his liege. At that moment, it felt as if she were only Nakajima Youko once more instead of the Royal Kei, uncertain of many things and her own capacity to make sense of what mattered. "What do you think, Keiki?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, Your Majesty."

His smiles were as rare as they came, and that assured Youko she was on the right track.

-

The old phone contained literally nothing, and was therefore of no value to Taiki.

He still remembered to detail all the paintings he'd taken pictures of. Those were supposedly for his portfolio for when he applied to art college in his senior year, on his club adviser's insistence—not that he needed it anymore, though. In hindsight, it was probably for the best that he didn't bring all that baggage with him to Tai, especially now that his country needed him and his king more than ever.

To say he was pleasantly surprised, of all things, when the En Taiho and the Royal Kei brought out his phone some hours after the summit had ended, was an understatement. "I... I thought it had been lost in the Void Sea."

"Apparently this is the only thing that washed up with you that day." Enki gently pushed the phone into his hands. It lit up at once, and he unlocked it on instinct. Everything was the way he remembered it, but the battery was about to give out—permanently, now that he had nowhere to charge it.

It should still last a while longer, though, since there was nothing that would sorely drain it. 

Just a little while longer.

Taiki held the phone close to his chest. "I see. Thank you for bringing it back."

"You're welcome," the Royal Kei answered. "Shall we rejoin the others?"

The small banquet was still in full swing when they had returned; the Royal Han and the Royal En were still arguing about their usual things, with the Royal Ren playing mediator. Hanrin and Sourin were in a similarly eager discussion, with Renrin nodding along. Keiki sat across Gyousou, both of them silent as they nursed their respective drinks.

It was a sight that reminded Taiki of one time in his childhood, when eight of the twelve Taiho had gathered on Mount Hou at the behest of the Lady Genkun, to cultivate their bonds with each other as fellow kirin. A couple of arguments had almost broken out then, but it was afterward that they were reminded of their siblinghood, connected through their shared divine nature and mission in this world and to their respective nations and kings. One of the few memories that had brought him much joy, he recalled with a smile as he took a candid photo of the scene before him now.

The loud click of the shutter stunned everyone into silence, Hanrin turning visibly pale as she held onto Renrin. Enki tried not to burst into laughter, while Gyousou looked bemused as he studied the phone, and then him.

Taiki audibly gulped, feeling his face flush in earnest. His king's piercing gaze still unnerved him sometimes. "I-It's... I did it on reflex..."

The whole table laughed, the tension dissipating at once.

Everyone soon gathered around him, asking to see his phone. Of course, they were most intrigued by the camera; there was nothing else in it. Soon, his gallery was filled with different shakily-taken pictures of everyone at the banquet, with Enki gleefully enabling the group and the Royal Kei helpfully explaining where she could. 

At one point, someone had accidentally toggled the front camera, and dozens of selfies joined the previous pictures that had been taken. Some time later, Taiki himself was immediately dragged into a selfie with a grinning Enki and a confused Keiki. That was probably the first time he had done a peace sign for a picture, with Keiki awkwardly copying him.

It was the clearest of the selfies in the gallery folder so far, Taiki smiled to himself in relief. It wasn't like he would see any of these photos again when the phone died for real, but he would always remember each and every one for the rest of his life.

-

When the banquet finally ended a few hours later, Taiki walked behind his king on the way back to their guest chambers. They had chosen to take the long way back, admiring the gardens at night as they strolled.

Taiki took a picture of the garden, followed by closeups of a couple of flower arrangements. Gyousou was watching him the whole time, smiling contentedly. After everything they had gone through, apart, they had survived and managed to find each other.

Connection really was a surreal thing.

"Master Gyousou," Taiki began, and he shyly held up his phone. His king understood at once.

The battery was about to die, but it should hold out for one last photo. Taiki managed to snap it and show Gyousou for a split second before the phone screen blacked out forever.

Later in their pavilion, Taiki did not take his tea, instead turning his phone over in his hands absentmindedly. It was now nothing more than a common paperweight, like the Royal Kei had referred to hers. Still, it was something he still called his own, empty as it had been. 

Perhaps he was mourning, just a little. 

"I apologize for today, Master Gyousou." Taiki looked into his king's eyes, basking in the wordless consolation he was already offering. "I was never really this sentimental, but..."

Gyousou gently put down his teacup. "There is nothing to apologize for, Kouri. Everyone desires to have a connection, a bond. It is in our very nature, you could say.

"That... device you hold in your hands. You may not be able to see what is inside anymore, but that does not mean they aren't there anymore. It is the same with life, I suppose. With memories and forged bonds. I am certain the others think the same, as well."

His king looked far into the distance as he said this; perhaps he, too, was thinking of people he had known before. Of one, in particular, whom he killed with his own hand.

Their friendship had been real—even if it had ended the way it did. But they did what they had to do. For Tai.

Taiki released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding all this time. He could still not make full sense of how exactly he felt. Bitter experiences he barely survived. Conflicting thoughts of Hourai. Things he thought no longer mattered. Things he'd been wrong about. Everything that connected to him, and connected him to everyone. 

He probably wouldn't have realized and pondered on all these things had today not happened. 

It made him grateful for the closure, in a way.

Taiki put the phone down on his lap, its light weight a reassuring anchor as he breathed in the air of this world once more and let himself move on. “Thank you.”

[fifteenleads]

In which Seitaku hand-feeds Renrin apple slices.

-

Renrin refused at first, curling up further underneath her blanket. She could not keep anything down for most of the day because of an unusual stomach ailment that had developed overnight. It was practically unheard-of for a kirin to fall ill, but the court physician had merely attributed it to a minor infection she must have gotten from the field a few days back. "Nothing to worry about," he had reassured her and left medicine to keep the nausea at bay.

That parting statement did nothing at all to improve Renrin's mood, however; that heartless person simply did not understand. The medicine was more bitter than she ever remembered, and the cold, already-stale tea she took it with was equally as awful.

Most of all, she absolutely hated for her lord to see her in such a pitiful state. 

Just her luck he chose to dismiss morning court early today—to attend to the ill Taiho, of all things. Of course, they all readily agreed.

And right now, it was just the two of them in her pavilion, the maidservants sent away for the time being while her lord himself coaxed her to eat something.

"You need a little sugar in you to get your body to heal," Seitaku insisted, employing that gentle lilting tone he always used whenever he tried to get her to agree to whatever whimsical ideas he came up with—this usually involved his fields, but it sometimes extended to kingdom-related matters, too. Renrin had mostly tuned her lord's words out whenever he was like this, but today she was practically defenseless.

And admittedly, the sweet smell of the chilled apples tempted her so much. Her own stomach weakly growled in agreement, much to her great embarrassment. Renrin peeked out of her blanket, her watering mouth betraying the hunger she felt. 

Seitaku cleared his throat not so discreetly, holding up a thin apple slice on a thin stick. "Here you go, just one," he said. "See if you can keep it down first. There's no hurry."

The fruit he held out was peeled only partway through, the remaining skin shaped like two pointed peaks. It was apparently a practice in Hourai to make "bunny-shaped" apple slices for sick people; Renrin could definitely see why, as her imagination took over and brought a small smile to her lips.

She let her lord feed her the apple slice, experimentally sucking on the thin fruit with her teeth. The sweet but tart juice all but brought her to tears—her first intake of solid food in many hours.

Renrin took her time to chew, savoring the freshness and the flavor for a while longer before slowly swallowing. She waited for a few moments; no more stomach cramps came after. At this, she finally brought the blanket down and looked at her lord expectantly, short of outright opening her mouth altogether because proper ladies don’t do that last she had been taught, much less the Taiho, of all beings.

Seitaku merely laughed before offering her another slice.

[fifteenleads]

Hanna had expected the lunchtime commute would be a lot more quiet. The university's supposed to be on holiday for some religious festivity.

She grunted in annoyance as a gaggle of noisy students cut their way ahead of the line to enter the train first and claim the whole row of seats for themselves. One of them even accidentally elbowed her in the chest, and she got pushed back further to the back.

Oh, Founder. If they were going to play dirty then so would she, but Hanna decided otherwise at the last minute as the train car quickly filled to bursting and the staff signaled for the doors to close.

She took a step back, and accidentally collided with the person next in line. "Sorry, Sir. I—"

"Hanna Campbell?"

She blinked in confusion, before her eyes crinkled in recognition. "Elwin Rosfield! It's been a while!"

"The students get more and more unruly with each year. I've half a mind to report them to the discipline board, but..." Elwin trailed off as he watched the train depart, before looking back at Hanna. "Anyway, I didn't know you worked in the area. How have you been?"

Hanna smiled; Elwin had always been protective of her since they were young teenagers. That was over fifteen years ago, now. "I'm doing great, thank you. I was supposed to meet one of my professors here for my dissertation, but..."

"Ah, yes. Founder's Day. Sorry to hear that." Even the way he frowned was as endearing as ever. She shook her head to hide the chuckle that escaped her lips. "It's all right. I can come back another time."

That said, she wouldn't be able to come back until next month, she thought to herself. She had to file a leave from the office to attend this meeting, so today was pretty much wasted already. Hanna felt her disappointment return with a vengeance, and it wasn't just because of her cancelled errand.

Elwin had sensed it, too, of course; they did know each other too well at some point. He stepped forward, their knuckles brushing as he stood beside her in the line. "Let me accompany you home today. Where do you get off?"

"I—" Hanna was caught off-guard when the next train arrived. More passengers spilled out and rushed in once the doors opened, and all the jostling pushed Hanna closer into Elwin's personal space. He protectively put an arm around her as they weaved their way through the crowd, until they finally got inside.

They were still holding onto each other when the train began to move, but then again there wasn't any space—very strange for a lunchtime commute. Not that she was complaining, Hanna thought to herself as she turned away from Elwin's chest, broad and warm as she remembered it all those years ago. Today is not the time, she chided herself.

"Well?" Elwin prompted her, and she looked up at him on instinct. Age seemed to have treated him well; he looked even better than she remembered, even with the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. In her eyes he was gallant as ever—even more so than before, now looking more like the knight he had fancied himself to be when they played all those make-believe games before.

Hanna was embarrassed at the crimson blush that must now have crept onto her face, but she had nowhere to hide except in Elwin's chest, and there was no way she was going to do that. "I, um... Yeah. I get off at Central Station."

"Great!" Elwin's face brightened considerably at her response. "There's actually a coffee shop a few blocks away from it. My daughter-in-law runs it. Would you like to come?" The arm he held around her now felt warm and comforting—and familiar—and the tension Hanna felt until then evaporated all at once. Well, that was quickly resolved, but she expected no less, of course.

Hanna nodded at him. "Of course, Elwin. We have a lot to catch up on—fifteen years of it."

"That we do," he intoned gravely as if it were a mission of utmost importance, mimicking the make-believe knight once more before breaking into a soft laugh. And Hanna laughed along with him, letting the moving train rock them back and forth until her face was close to Elwin's chest once more, and everything felt all right.

.

.

For Yna.

[fifteenleads]

The Proposition

Based on this tweet by Stewart Clarke.

Prequel side story to Happier Ever After.

-

“Unco Dion, faster, faster!”

“Kihel wants to go faster?” Dion doesn’t wait for Kihel’s reply before pushing the stroller a little more forcefully, lengthening his strides as he did. They don’t really speed up but it‘s enough for Kihel to feel the wind on her face, giggling as she did.

Dion smiles. In truth, taking care of Kihel’s a rare treat he gets to do on his days off work. His housekeeper Ethel would sometimes leave her granddaughter in his care when she had to visit her doctor, apologizing profusely every time as she did. She never really needs to; it‘s a small thing compared to all she‘s done for him and his family to this day.

She would often ask Dion when he’d finally settle down. “I’m not growing any younger, my boy. I need to see you and Terence kiss on the altar before I die.”

“Please don’t joke like that, Aunt Ethel. You and Kihel will be invited for sure when it happens.” They’ve had this conversation at least once a month now, it’s making Dion consider if he should make the first move instead.

Dion’s phone vibrates in his pocket, at the same time his wireless headset informs him of an incoming call. He slows down and parks the stroller beside an empty driveway. “Hey, Phoenix. What’s up?”

“Shin Kamen Rider Day!” Joshua’s definitely jumping around somewhere, if all that stomping accompanying his excitement is of any indication. There are also kids squealing the same thing in the background, so he probably found out about it from his students after class. The two of them have been following tokusatsu shows since they were children, an interest they picked up from Joshua’s dad, Elwin.

Apparently Prime Video’s picking up this season, and it was coming out today. Dion had forgotten. “Nice! Are you watching tonight?”

“Sadly not,” Joshua’s mood immediately deflates at the question. “There’s a faculty meeting tonight for the school sportsfest. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I see. Good luck with that,” Dion says. They catch up on a few more things before Joshua excuses himself for his next class. Kihel’s getting antsy from waiting, so Dion quickly dials another number before getting back on the roadside.

Terence picks up after a couple of rings. “Hello, love. You rarely call during work hours.”

“I’m off today, silly. Are you on break?”

“Just for a few minutes. What is it?”

Dion proceeds to tell Terence about what he’d learned from Joshua. “I’m thinking we should sit down and watch Kamen Rider on Prime Video tonight,” he offers earnestly, speeding up a little again. “Joshua said we could watch ahead of him, but no spoilers in the group chat.”

“Oh, okay,” Terence agrees. “Can’t help it if he has work. I’m free tonight, actually. Does seven PM work for you?”

“Sure, Ethel’s already picked up Kihel by then.” Dion thinks to himself for a while then adds, “You could bring refreshments.”

Terence immediately chokes on whatever he’s drinking at Dion’s statement, and if he guessed right, would also be blushing to the tips of his ears in full view of his officemates. Bingo.

“R-Right, I’ll take care of that. See you?” There’s a hint of breathlessness now in Terence’s voice, and Dion knows his boyfriend totally gets it. “Yeah. See you.”

The call ends right then, and Dion grins to himself excitedly. Kihel is giggling again, none the wiser to the proposition that had just happened. Oh, to be young and wild and happy—and hopefully engaged by the end of tonight, if he had anything to say about it.

[fifteenleads]

A Life Well-Loved

Final Fantasy XVI | 1.6k words | Onehsot, complete. Dion Lesage & Harpocrates | Post-canon. Minor character death. Grief and mourning.

[AO3]

-

The service they held for Master Harpocrates was a celebration as much as it was a memorial. Many of the Hideaway’s former residents had returned to the town now called Windbloom to pay tribute to the great scholar and loresman who befriended all who came to visit the library and learn together with him. Various stories were shared, from the notable to the sentimental, even to the lighthearted and the hilarious, all underscored by great fondness, admiration, respect and love for one of their own.

Dion, too, shared his own tale to the large gathering, which was beset with various states of mourning. He sometimes envied them—ashamedly so—who had come to know his former tutor in the years following his untimely dismissal from the Imperial Court and subsequent banishment from Oriflamme. Dion remembered clearly the day his studies were unceremoniously ended by his father, followed by his immediate enlistment with the Holy Order of Dragoons that same week. It had been a jarring experience that left a hole in his young heart, one that grew with worry and festered with sadness, guilt and regret through the years.

It was with those same burdening feelings that Dion had ended up facing Harpocrates once more, at Ifrit’s insistence, before they departed for the final battle with Ultima. Back then, he could not—dared not—imagine what his tutor must have thought of him: a wayward student who threw away his lessons for the battlefield, becoming more and more steeped in the blood of his enemies until he became nothing but a mindless monster. The shame of it all had simply been too much for Dion’s broken heart to bear.

But then he had been given the most unexpected thing: with the single wild wyvern tail came an earnest desire to reconnect, to befriend and to support—all feelings Dion did not let himself accept. The memory brought a small pang of regret now; in hindsight, his main reason back then—to keep intact his own resolve to atone for his crimes and fulfill his duty—had been nothing but a cowardly excuse, one that both Harpocrates and Ifrit must have clearly seen through at once.

Then he had survived after it all. Lived to see the new Valisthea and helped rebuild his homeland. Learned to accept that death is no atonement and that here, at the helm of the new Sanbreque, was where he was meant to be, and how he ought to fulfill his duty. To this day, Dion still wondered whether he was indeed worthy of having this chance at a second life and realizing a new purpose in a new world; this was a concern he had shared with Harpocrates when they had met again, when he found himself unsure and close to a breaking point once more.

“You are not defined by your past alone, nor by your mistakes,” his tutor had gently advised once again. “Look into the eyes of your people and those whom you cherish, and within them you will find all the other good things, too—the things that matter most of all.” So Dion had dared to look into Harpocrates’ eyes, and saw himself, plain and clear and true.

He had finally accepted the wild wyvern tail this time, tears of relief streaming down his face as he held the bloom close to himself, along with everything it symbolized and everything that mattered most. It had been, in many ways, the salvation he needed all along.

“I am eternally grateful to Master Harpocrates, not only for his tutelage but also for his friendship, a sentiment I am certain everyone in this gathering shares. His life was well-lived and well-loved, and for this reason we celebrate him today and all the days to come,” Dion closed his speech then, finding a good number of wet eyes as he scanned the room. “May Greagor, in Her infinite mercy, grant his soul, and those of all the faithful departed, eternal rest and joy in Her loving embrace.”

“Amen,” the crowd murmured with bowed heads in response to the prayer. The moment of silence was followed by tearful applause as Dion stepped away from the front and rejoined Terence and Kihel in their seats. It was only after the next person had begun their speech that Dion finally let himself sob quietly, Kihel joining him while Terence gently rubbed both their shoulders in comfort and reassurance.

Later that night, Dion remained alone on the small hill overlooking the field of wild wyvern tails. Those same purple blooms also adorned the single headstone in front of him now, which bore the wise words of the great man buried underneath it. “I’m glad I was not too late,” Dion murmured both to himself and his tutor, his hand slowly tracing over the simple engraving with much fondness. Harpocrates had never cared for the lavish and luxurious, instead preferring the simple yet meaningful. “The finer things in life, Your Radiance,” he had joked over a half-filled goblet of red wine, the first from the fruits they had harvested from the new soil.

Heavy, quiet footsteps slowly approached, and Dion looked up to Ifrit— Clive, who shrugged at him with a smile before inviting himself to the space beside him. He brought with him a couple of filled wineskins from the town’s alehouse, one of which he wordlessly offered to Dion. He gratefully accepted it, meeting Clive’s eyes before they both nodded and drank together. “To Master Harpocrates,” Dion toasted.

“To Loresman Harpocrates,” Clive echoed. They both continued nursing their drinks at their own pace, taking advantage of the clear skies that night: it would not be long before the rainy season was upon them. For now, the moon and stars shone a faint light over the field of purple flowers, and the warm, gentle breeze carried its faint scent to where they sat.

“Your Radiance… Do you… still regret anything?” Clive broke the silence after a while, hesitant yet earnest with his question. Like everyone from the Hideaway, Clive also had the honor of having learned from Harpocrates, his extensive knowledge greatly contributing to his journey and eventual purpose to save Valisthea and usher in a new age where people lived on their own terms. In a way, maybe Clive also asked this of himself, especially after everything he had given and sacrificed, but Dion did not wish to learn his answer—not yet.

So he gave his own answer for now, rueful as it was: “Not directly, I would like to believe. I’ve set out to fulfill the great task before me—to atone for my sins, as it were, or die trying. But I lived, and I realized it wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be. Every day became both a blessing and a curse. For a while, I felt lost through it all, but deep inside I did not want to give up—not after I have been given this second chance. Master Harpocrates had set me straight then.”

Clive hummed in agreement; he had an idea of Dion’s struggles from the letters penned to Joshua during those days. He and the Rosfield brothers somewhat shared the same sentiment as they worked to rebuild Rosaria from the ground up after formally regaining independence from Imperial occupation. Almost no one had held the sins of the past Sanbreque against Dion, instead openly coming together to work for the good of the new Valisthea and bring the realm towards its future. “So you finally accepted Loresman’s gift, then?”

“Yes. It blooms in a small field in the palace gardens, along with newer ones. Our daughter tends to them daily, along with the medicinal herbs she grows for her poultices.”

“That’s nice. She’s headed to Kanver for further studies soon, right? Tarja told me earlier.”

“In a few days, actually. It will be quieter back home.” Dion was wistful at the thought, already missing Kihel even though she was still back in their lodgings, probably catching up with Clive and Shiva’s—Jill’s—children. Terence would often tease him for his attachment, but they both knew who would be lonelier once Kihel actually left. At some point, Dion had begun to understand how a mother bird with an empty nest felt, and he realized that he mourned the passage of time as it slowly but surely crept on them, facial wrinkles and quieter homes alike.

Harpocrates’ passing was also the same: a stark reminder that they, too, were growing older, as various figures from their youth faded away one by one—even those whom they thought would live forever. “It felt as if a part of me also died with him,” Dion reflected, gazing at the headstone once more. “Master Harpocrates was more than a significant influence on me in my formative years, though I had sadly failed to realize it at that time. I only truly understood when he was already gone.

“I am glad he found himself in better company afterward, though I found myself a little jealous at times. I am certain he felt the same way towards everyone here, as I also have when I joined you after the end.” He finished the rest of his wine and stood up, Clive doing the same.

“Thank you, Clive,” Dion smiled, not missing the way Clive’s eyes slightly widened as he was finally called by his name. He extended his right hand for a handshake. “Master Harpocrates was truly blessed to have all of you by his side.”

“He’s proud of you, too,” Clive replied, returning the gesture. “Never forget that, Dion.”

And Dion let himself accept it, without regrets. “I know.”

[fifteenleads]

Stew and Ale (part 2 of 2)

Prompt: “There’s something beautiful about Terence finding his way to becoming Dion’s right-hand man.” (Stewart Clarke, GameRant interview 230716 - Question #8)

Final Fantasy XVI | Dion Lesage/Terence | Pre-canon, Fluff and Silliness

Story Note: Terence's surname in this oneshot (Poirier) is a loving nod to @asamis-jodhpurs' fic, Blossoms Waiting to Rise.

[Part 1 here]

-

Of all the stories that circulated among the members of the Imperial Dragoons, the rapid rise of one Sir Terence Poirier through the ranks was one of the best and most widely-told, probably second only to the great feats of their Lord Commander and Warden of Light, Prince Dion the Bold himself. And indeed, Sir Terence had achieved so much in his many years of service to the Empire, that he more than deserved to be called a living legend in his own right.

Many had wondered how Terence had come to attain his exalted status: some said he had slain an army of monsters alone, others said he had bested his fellow soldiers in successive single combat, until none dared to challenge him out of respect and awe. These and many other tales filled the drinking halls of the Sanbrequois Dragoons’ encampment on many occasions, each one grander, wilder and more far-fetched than the last.

The truth, if it could be called that, was much simpler, though no less amusing: he won a drinking contest.

It was a surprising development that had happened in Dion’s temporary absence from the barracks to attend to certain royal duties back home. Terence had not accompanied him on this particular trip owing to some pressing issues among the troops that needed immediate attention, which warranted someone high enough on the chain of command to sort things out. Dion was admittedly a little lonely and longing while they were apart, but he fully trusted Terence to hold the fort well until his return.

A week later, the scene he arrived at was this: all his top-ranking commanders sprawled on the floor of the drinking hall, in various states of undress and inebriation, while the lower-ranking soldiers cheered and jeered from both sides. At the center of the table was none other than Terence himself, waving an empty tankard with his hand as he smugly scanned his opponents for any resistance. “Do you all yield?!”

None of the others were conscious enough to challenge him. The jeering continued. Seeing that he had clearly won, Terence set down the tankard with a large thunk that visibly shook the table. “If I hear any of you slandering my prince again, I’ll make you regret it. Do you hear me?!”

Dion’s entire face immediately flamed at the threat he’d just heard; perhaps it was the open use of their private terms of endearment, or the aggressive way he forced his opponents into submission. Or the fact that this whole thing ever happened because Terence had taken it upon himself to protect his prince��s honor, even at the cost of his own. Or maybe it was a combination of all three, and then more.

Oh, how he loved Terence. Dion willed his heart to not jump out of his chest, before gathering the courage to enter the hall.

A sudden, tense silence enveloped the hall. Everyone who was still conscious scrambled into formation and saluted their Lord Commander, trembling and quaking in their boots as they awaited the inevitable dressing down that would happen. Dion strode further inside with heavy, measured steps, meeting the eyes of those who didn’t dare look away out of shame with a stern, disapproving glare; those men eventually looked down, too, in embarrassment.

Dion stopped at the center of the table, where Terence stood in full attention, a complete opposite of his unruly behavior just earlier. He, too, had the decency to appear contrite for his and the others’ misconduct, his own gray eyes clouded over with remorse even as they met Dion’s own gaze head-on.

It made Dion sad to see Terence dejected like this. He sighed, half in frustration and half in defeat. There will be a severe reprimand tomorrow for all involved, but that wasn’t important right now. “Clean all this up and return to your posts,” he said in a low voice. “Everyone will assemble in the courtyard tomorrow at the first bell, no exceptions. Terence, with me.”

Dion left the hall in a sweeping motion, his strides getting longer as his pace quickened. Terence kept up as he meekly followed his liege back to their tent. As soon as Dion undid the flaps that held the entrance open, Terence immediately slumped onto him, his drunkenness finally catching up to him.

“Oh, Terence,” Dion exclaimed softly, supporting both their weight until they reached the bed. He was firmly pinned under his lover’s full weight, and could not move both his legs. Dion peered closely into Terence’s sleeping face, mentally tracing the dark circles and the lines of exhaustion around his eyes. He raised his free arm and gently stroked Terence’s back, easing him into a deeper, more forgiving rest for the night.

The promised reprimand happened the next morning, with Dion firmly outlining the specific rules of conduct all Imperial Dragoons ought to keep and obey at all times, under threat of major sanction and punishment for anyone who breaks them for any reason henceforth. Throughout the assembly, a different sort of silence emerged: one of awe and respect among the soldiers, all directed at Terence.

Since then, everyone treated their Lord Second-in-Command with an even higher regard than they already have, the looks of admiration evident in their eyes as they passed through the barracks at various points in time. The new recruits, especially, seemed to have been told an embellished version of that night’s drunken events, and soon Terence became an icon all the dragoons looked up to, almost greater than Dion himself.

On certain days, Terence would ask to be excused at the end of their work, citing meetings with different groups who wished to have a meal or a drink with him. Dion would allow him to do so, for camaraderie was essential for those who lived on the front lines and fought for a common purpose. Those days, Terence would return late into the night when Dion was already asleep, easily slotting himself into the space beside him and holding him tight. On rare occasions, he would not return at all, and Dion would spend the night cold and alone, longing for the warm presence that filled his bed on most nights.

It was on one of those rare nights that Dion decided enough was enough. Terence hadn’t returned to his side for three nights in a row now, and he found himself lonely and pitying himself more than usual. It was quite inappropriate for him, considering who he was and what he was to his men, but underneath all that was but a human being who greatly missed the one he loved.

So he dressed once more and headed to the drinking hall, intent on drowning his sorrows with cheap ale imported from the local tavern. The Waloeders had called it ‘disgusting piss,’ but it more than served the purpose for tonight.

No one noticed when Dion entered this time, tonight’s revelry apparently in full swing as badly-slurred drinking songs echoed throughout the hall. He sat alone at the bar, his head bowed as he mumbled his order to the unsuspecting bar master.

Beside him, two of his senior captains were engaged in a serious discussion of sorts; Dion couldn’t help but listen in. “—telling you, ‘tis not fair!”

“Damn brat needs ta learn ���is place. Second-in-command, me ass!”

“Ya reckon he’s a special ‘un ta our prince, eh? Can’t imagine any otha reason for it.”

“Imagine? He’s only from House Poirier. I know those lowborns, they’re—”

Dion angrily banged his half-empty tankard onto the bar counter, some of the cold drink spilling out onto his hands and onto the floor. The same tension from that night returned with a vengeance, and everyone was too stunned to react this time. Still holding his tankard, Dion leveled a cold glare at the two objects of his ire, who both promptly backed away and saluted when they realized who exactly was seated beside them. “How dare you speak such slander about my Second-in-Command?”

No answer. Dion gripped the handle of his tankard tighter, all but snapping it into two. “I asked you two a question.”

“N-No, milord, we did not mean—”

“I challenge you both. Man to man. Right here, right now. ” He downed the rest of his ale and banged the tankard onto the counter once more. “I challenge all of you, who dare harbor any envy and resentment towards my knight! Let us settle this once and for all!”

Normally, no one would have deigned to even go against their Lord Commander even when he was not in his proper mind, but because tonight was one of those rare nights, someone from the back threw something hard in his direction, screaming: “Bottoms up!” The rest of the unruly gathering immediately followed suit.

Soon, Dion found himself downing tankard after tankard of increasingly horrible brews of ale, at a faster rate than what he was used to. His first two opponents lay dead drunk at some dark corner of the hall and were being tended to by their fellow squadron members. The line of challengers extended to the other end of the hall, each one aiming to drink their commander under the table, but they would fall one after the other after more or less three rounds—not surprising at all, considering all the alcohol they had already imbibed earlier before he crashed their gathering.

So he pressed on, ignoring the way his throat burned and his abdomen threatened to burst, sheer willpower being the only thing that kept him focused on his simple goal: to defend Terence’s honor at all costs. He was down to the last three men, and was so close to winning. Just a little more, he told himself each time. Just one more.

After his last drink, Dion quickly turned his head to scan the hall; good, no one was left standing now. However, the sudden forceful moment caused him to lose his balance, and he fell forward onto the bar counter with a loud thud. Some people were cheering—jeering. Laughing. Whatever. Did he win? Where was Terence? Did he watch?

Dion woke up to gentle sunlight streaming through the flaps of his tent, and to a very disapproving Terence. “Please do not rise, my prince. You are not well enough.”

He blinked, still confused. “... How long… has it been?”

“Two days. We were all afraid you wouldn’t wake after what happened the other night.”

It turned out Terence hadn’t been in the drinking hall that night, and was instead in town with a couple of the younger recruits to explore the food stalls. He had only learned of what happened when the frantic bar master met them at the entrance of the encampment, detailing with great panic what his liege had done and the state he was in. It was more than enough to send Terence into overdrive, rushing into the hall and spiriting an unconscious Dion away from the gathering at once.

Dion felt a dull ache in his hand; Terence had gripped it tightly with both of his, holding it up to his tired face, as if in fervent prayer. “Do not do that again, Dion. Do not scare me like that. Do not…”

Terence was lost for words as he held back his tears, but Dion understood anyway. It was reckless of him, really, to have worried his love to death like that. It was hardly the first time, after everything they had been through, and it wouldn’t be the last. And he was sorry for it every time, every moment. He wanted to pour out his heart, say with his body what words cannot. But alas, he still lacked the strength to do as he wished.

So he reached out his arm, caressing Terence’s careworn face with his aching hand. “I’m sorry, my knight.” He didn’t promise anything, however. And Terence understood this, as he smiled and leaned into Dion’s open hand, cradling it with both his hands. “I know, my prince.”

There will be time to make up in the evening. To enjoy each other’s company. To kiss each other like there was no tomorrow. To join their bodies, hearts and souls together like it was the end of the world. But none of those times were now; this, just like this, was enough.

“Just… Promise to not drink like that ever again,” Terence implored once more. “Or at least take me with you. Like back then.”

Dion smiled, relenting. “That much I will do. I’d rather not experience this horrible headache again.”

“Glad to hear it. Now take your medicine, my prince. I still have a lot to scold you about.”

[fifteenleads]

Stew and Ale (part 1 of 2)

Prompt: "When you realize the lasagna you had for lunch was still around your mouth."

Final Fantasy XVI | Dion Lesage/Terence | Pre-canon, Fluff and Silliness

[Part 2 here]

-

It was their first time back home after a long time on the front lines. Dion wanted to commemorate the occasion by spending the day alone with Terence, of which he was only too happy to oblige.

Terence had gotten better at cooking since the day he made Dion soup two summers ago. Marié had been a firm taskmaster, but his efforts had borne the sweetest fruit, when Dion had partaken of his first homemade pot-au-feu with a smile and asked for seconds. He remembered his prince being so genuinely excited at that time, he’d forgotten to rinse off his mouth after the meal; thankfully, no one had so much as noticed nor spoken of it.

It had happened again a second time, after they shared a meal in their private tent in the encampment, a more flavorful vegetable stew chock-full of ripe tomatoes. They had been heartily discussing the soldiers’ drinking contest that had happened a few days back, and how silly everyone had all been in hindsight. Terence had stopped short on seeing Dion’s smile then, which had quickly turned into a concerned frown at his sudden silence. “What is it, Terence?”

There it was again: a streak of red above his lips and on his teeth, and his prince was too close.

Before Terence had known what he was doing, he’d quickly put his lips over Dion’s, gently licking away the sauce that had been there before withdrawing to drink a glass of water. Either it had tasted better than he remembered, or he was already drunk. “I-I couldn’t find the table napkin,” he’d stammered his poor excuse while groping around his side of the table blindly. 

Dion’s cheeks had been equally red, even as he smiled in amusement while putting a hand over his kissed lips. “I see.”

Looking back, his prince had probably set it all up, the sneaky, magnificent bastard.

Then it happened a third time, then a fourth, then Greagor knew how many more. Terence already prepared a couple of extra napkins with him since then, so he would never be unprepared for any more surprises. Dion would fortunately(? wisely?) relent on their busier days, but would otherwise act uncharacteristically petulant on seeing the napkin, either staring Terence down until he relented or outright grabbing the cloth from his hand and hiding it behind his back. Those days would end up with heated kisses, mussed hair and bruised necks, and food spilled everywhere else. (“I thought the idea was to make you presentable in a manner of your choosing, my prince?”

“It was, indeed. And I am now presentable,” Dion had smirked, his cheeks a healthy glow from the making out they had just done earlier. The commanders had seemed pleased at how well their liege appeared that day, so Terence had to concede.)

All these thoughts crossed Terence’s mind now as he spread out on the blanket several containers of food he had packed for today’s outing: hard-boiled chicken eggs, several loaves of bread, summer sausages, an assortment of dried fruits and nuts, and a hearty beef stew with carrots and potatoes. The last of these was clearly a bad idea and was difficult to prepare, but Dion had insisted on it. (And Terence should have known to refuse, really, but he was not in a position to disobey his liege. Really, he wasn’t.)

For now, he set those thoughts aside to partake of their late lunch after hours of riding. Dion, as always, was all smiles tasting Terence’s cooking. “Marié has been teaching you well, I see.”

“She is very… particular about following recipes. I do appreciate the strictness all the same.” Terence dipped a slice of bread into his stew and bit into it. The flavor of this one thankfully kept throughout their journey, unlike the other choices he had considered before Marié had whacked him over the head and told him everything wrong about said choices.

Dion merely laughed at the story, the loudest Terence had ever seen him do so in weeks.

They forgot the time as they ate, talking about everything under the sun, everything they had missed out on while they were busy and exhausted with their work. They were always happy to make the most out of these days of respite, few and far between as they were. Life was too short to spend brooding over unfortunate possibilities and events that have yet to pass, after all.

It was only when they had packed up and loaded everything back on their horses that Terence noticed a large drop of thick sauce that started from the corner of Dion’s lip and threatened to drip down the angle of his jaw onto the white collar of his shirt. Before Terence knew it, he immediately stepped close to his prince, napkin at the ready. “You missed this spot, my prince.”

To this, Dion merely smiled knowingly, wiping away the sauce that threatened to fall while ignoring the thin trail it had left on his chin. Good Greagor, he should have known. “You’ve been doing this on purpose, haven’t you?” Terence let his annoyance slip out before he could stop himself, but he couldn’t care less at the moment.

For a while, a contrite frown appeared on Dion’s face at seeing his lover cross at him, but this immediately transformed into a more wistful one as he explained himself. “It was the only way I could get you to lighten up, my knight. I apologize for committing all that subterfuge.”

Terence wanted nothing more than to laugh at himself. Or beat himself up. Do both at the same time. He ended up doing the first, as he put down the empty containers down to the side and cupped Dion’s face with his hands. “You didn’t have to do all that, my prince. You can always be open with me. I will always listen to you.”

They had both always known that, deep down; perhaps it was but a matter of affirmation on Dion’s part, as more and more of himself had worn away over time and over life. And Terence was the person who could give him that affirmation, an honor and responsibility he was glad to bear for the rest of his years, for as long as Dion would have him.

The same Dion now looked at him lovingly, just like the day they had first bared their feelings to each other, and all the days since then. “Thank you, Terence.” He then leaned up into Terence’s lips to capture a quick kiss, then cocked his head to a side invitingly. “I let you know what I want, my knight. Now tell me what you want in return.”

Terence did not voice his reply anymore, claiming Dion’s lips once more in a deeper kiss, licking off the trail of sauce around his mouth while he was at it. Dion hummed in approval as he responded in kind, circling his arms around Terence’s neck and running his gloved fingers through his hair. It was a good thing that they had nothing to do for the rest of the day, because they certainly wouldn’t be going home anytime soon.

All things considered, everything was still as it should be, for better or worse. And for it, Terence decided to forgive his sneaky prince for now, and maybe for everything else after that, should something like this happen again. It was what he wanted, too, after all.

[fifteenleads]

Made With Love

Final Fantasy XVI | 1.7k words | Onehsot, complete. Dion Lesage/Terence | Pre-canon, sickfic, fluff.

-

The cook had called in sick that morning. Terence and the two maids ended up breaking last night’s bread for their first meal of the day. Prince Dion still took to his bed, sick with grippe for more than a week now, though fortunately recovering well enough to take in bites of food in between his rest. 

Lucy grumbled about how unfair it was for the prince to be sent away during this moment of illness, but His Radiance’s orders were clear: the infant Prince Olivier’s health and safety came first and foremost. So they complied with the Imperial Word, and temporarily stayed at a summer resthouse behind Whitewyrm Castle to wait out the end of Dion’s contagion. While it was no doubt a sound decision by all means, Terence couldn’t help but agree with Lucy’s sentiment.

“What do we do? The kitchen staff’s hands are tied, with the upcoming banquet and all,” Marié huffed, rummaging the cupboards for any ingredients they could use for a hot meal. “Maybe I should go to the market again? They’ll probably have some ingredients to spare.”

“Please do so,” Terence agreed. “Lucy, please fetch some more water from the well. I’ll go check on His Highness.”

“Yes, sir.” After they both left, the house was quiet once more. Terence lined up what they had just gathered from the mostly-empty pantry: half a jar of water, an almost-empty bottle of ale, a couple of potatoes, half a turnip and some leeks. Not enough to make a decent stew. He’d have to wait for Marié’s return to even start cooking.

Just then, he heard the clanging of a couple of pots followed by a soft thud. Dion was on his knees, holding onto the door frame as he slowly caught his breath. He wore his bedclothes in disarray, and his cheeks were still bright red with the fever that had returned just last night. “Your Highness!” Terence ran over, just in time to stop his prince from falling over. “You shouldn’t be up and about yet.”

“... ‘m hungry,” Dion mumbled, still fighting the breathlessness. “‘Tis quite late in the day…”

Terence smiled, despite himself. At least Dion could already walk, though clearly still too weak to do so. He hoisted Dion up by his arm over his shoulder, walking back to the dining table. “Have a seat for now, Your Highness. I shall bring you some water.”

Dion nodded wordlessly, before being consumed by a coughing fit. Terence poured the half of the remaining water into a new cup and brought it before Dion to drink. “Have you taken your medicine?” Dion shook his head. “Hungry,” he repeated.

Terence bit back his growing sigh, his eyes flitting over the meager stocks on the pantry, then back to his prince. Dion was struggling to remain focused despite looking like he’d almost lose consciousness at any moment. “I shall try to cook something, Your Highness. Would you like to return to your room in the meantime?”

To this, Dion shook his head again. “Want to stay here...” He let out a small smile, the first in weeks since he’d fallen ill. Thank Greagor for small mercies, Terence thought to himself.

“All right, then.” Terence rose and returned to the kitchen, but not before taking one more glance at Dion. He’d fallen asleep on the table immediately, small wisps of blond hair sticking all over his sweaty face. Dion letting his guard down around Terence had quickly become a habit, though Terence restrained himself from doing the same; it would be highly improper to do so.

He sighed for real this time. Time to get to work.

Upon checking the smaller cupboards for any last things he could use, a small amount of olive oil, as well as a handful of mixed herbs and ground pepper, joined the paltry spread of ingredients on the table. Only a cup of water was left in the jar; hopefully Lucy will be back soon. Maybe he could manage a simple soup with these ingredients, just a little something to fill his prince in the meantime before Marié returns.

Terence heated up the oil in the pot, then proceeded to dice the potatoes and turnips into small cubes, adding them in just in time as the oil was ready. After stirring for around ten minutes, he adjusted the fire before adding the water, ground pepper and mixed herbs. It was not at all how his mother had prepared it, and he was pretty certain the taste would not amount to anything palatable, but it was probably better than nothing.

He transferred the soup into a wooden bowl once it was done, tasting the small amount that remained in the pot. It was too thin and bland, as he’d expected. Maybe he should have waited for Marié, after all. At least the vegetables would be enough sustenance for a few hours while the real meal was being prepared.

“Your Highness,” Terence gently shook Dion’s shoulder, taking a seat beside him. “I have prepared soup. You should eat it while it’s hot, so you can take your medicine after.”

Dion stirred after a few moments, squinting at Terence as his eyes refocused. “... Too bright…” It left him a little lost for words, as the house was mostly dark, save for the sunlight streaming in from the window on the front porch. “It is a good day, isn’t it?” He settled for agreeing with Dion in the end, hoping his confusion wouldn’t be perceived by his prince.

He lifted a spoonful of soup between them, blowing gently a couple of times. “Is this all right?” Dion opened his mouth in response. Terence then fed him the soup, letting him take his time to sip from the spoon until it was emptied. Dion blinked twice, as if considering the taste of the soup, before swallowing.

Terence gulped nervously, his heart beating fast as his body began to break into an odd sort of cold sweat. Why did he even think this was a good idea? He really should have just waited for Lucy and Marié instead, and now he probably just messed up badly—before his prince, no less.

Then Dion smiled. Still a small one, just like earlier, but clearly directed at him. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” And just like that, Terence’s nervousness went away, completely replaced by joy and relief. How and why that had even happened, he couldn’t understand himself, but that was not important right now. “Do you think you can finish it?”

Dion considered the bowl in Terence’s hand, then looked up at him. He nodded. “If you feed me.”

Well, he supposed he could indulge in his prince just this once. Terence added some vegetables into the next spoonful before offering it to Dion. “Be careful, Your Highness.” The next few minutes were spent in a somewhat blissful silence, save for the quiet blowing and chewing sounds. Terence’s cheeks and lips hadn’t hurt from smiling this much since they were both children; it felt as if they had returned to those times, even but for a brief moment.

Lucy returned just as Dion had swallowed the last spoonful of soup. “Oh, Your Highness is awake. I see you’ve had something to eat?”

“Yes, Lucy. Terence made it.” Dion’s eyes shone a little more now than earlier as he faced Terence once more. “It was delicious.”

“I… Thank you…” Terence fumbled for words at the unexpected praise, willing away the way his heart fluttered at Dion’s words. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“If you’re both quite done, Sir Terence can bring His Highness back to his room and give him his medicine. I’ll need help back here once Marié gets back from the market.” Lucy raised an impatient eyebrow at Terence despite the patient instruction she’d given them. That was more than enough for them both to rise immediately and do as she told them.

Once Terence had gotten Dion settled back in his bed and given him his medicine, he sat down on the lone stool by the nightstand and considered the morning’s events. It was nothing but an act of devotion, a moment brought about by a squire’s concern for his liege. He repeated this to himself until his heart rate had slowed down once more. Nothing more than that.

He waited until Dion’s breathing had evened out before quietly making for the door. That was quite enough excitement for one day, and he wouldn’t have his prince think anything more of it, lest he suspect he was being taken advantage of in any way. Terence was certain this moment would remain in his own memory for quite a while, for better or worse. This was enough for now. He would never act upon it, nor do anything his prince wouldn’t wish for.

“Terence?” Dion’s whisper came clearly before Terence could turn the doorknob. There it was again. He slowly let go and turned back. “What is it, Your Highness?”

A smile, so vulnerable yet so full of love. “Thank you. For today.”

There was probably more Dion had wanted to say, but he didn’t have the strength to speak any longer than that, so he made up for it with the way his eyes crinkled in affection and his lips silently mouthed Terence’s name, even as he slowly extended one arm, as if asking him to stay instead. It was a plea Terence couldn’t resist, despite the vow he had made to himself. To see his prince suffer alone was something he could most certainly not bear, no matter what.

So he rushed back to Dion’s side once more, clasping the hand that had reached out for him with both of his own. “You’re most welcome, Your Highness.”

They stayed that way for many moments, with Terence kneeling beside Dion, waiting for him to fall asleep. He did not yet know nor understand where his own feelings lay at this moment, but none of that mattered now to him. “My prince,” he whispered into his and Dion’s joined hands, as if in prayer, “I will always be by your side, for as long as you would have me do so.

“This I promise in Greagor’s name,” he amended his vow, blinking back the tears that had threatened to fall from his eyes. “And may She bless you and keep you in Her grace forever.”

[fifteenleads]

Alliance in Pink

Based on the FF16 German VAs' Barbie skit.

-

Clive knew he had much better things to do than this.

No, really, he did. It’s just that his brother rarely told him anything about himself these days that Clive had to take it upon himself to find out if he should have anything to worry about. Because the last time Joshua came home to visit, he brought a girlfriend.  

Or at least, that’s what their mother assumed. Wouldn’t let the poor boy get a word in as she lectured him endlessly about not whiling away his college days because life was already hard enough as it was, and his transcript needed to be perfect if he wanted to land a lucrative career. Never mind that her older son already failed her on that aspect—not that she ever had any high expectations of Clive to begin with, but Joshua was different.

Jote was just a friend, Joshua had insisted. Someone he had shared some classes at college with. Nothing more than that. The insistent way he had made his point, however, made Clive all the more suspicious.

Which led to today—Joshua and his “friend” going out early to catch an afternoon movie, and Clive discreetly tailing them. Well, as discreetly as he could, of course, because his figure didn’t exactly scream discreet, what with his imposing figure and his “prominent pecs,” as Gav called them. He even shaved and bought a new polo shirt for the occasion.

Even Jill thought this was a bad idea, and she was usually supportive of him and his dumb antics. Well, too late for that now.

Clive hid behind one of the electronic displays as he watched Joshua and Jote buy their tickets, following the two with his gaze until they entered their designated theater. “Cinema 1,” he took note as he came out of hiding and lined up at the counter. All he had to do now was get a seat with a good vantage point of the two, and his job was (mostly) done. Joshua said he’d be home by five, after all, which would be around the time the movie ended.

He finally reached the front of the ticket booth. “Let’s see, Cinema 1… Miss, I’d like one ticket to whatever’s playing there, please.”

The girl took one look at him and continued chewing her gum. “You sure, Mister? Wouldn’t expect a hunk like you to watch Barbee, but okay.”

“Barbee?! Wait, I didn’t—”

“Are you buying or not? I don’t got all day, Mister.”

“I—” If this was Clive’s punishment for committing the sin of stalking his own brother (for pure purposes, he swore), then he… had no choice but to accept it willingly. He was already too far in the game to back out, after all. A small part of him wished he had listened to Jill, but there’s no point in regretting that anymore.

But the more important mission of finding out about Joshua and Jote was way more important than his silly pride! Clive’s conscience couldn’t let him watch his brother fall from grace before their mother. (He was overreacting, of course.) A certain manga he had read had the older brother main character do all sorts of shady things just to protect his twin sister, and he was called a siscon for it. Hell if he didn’t understand how that felt now.

To hell with it. Swallow his pride it is, then. “Yes. One ticket to—”

“—Barbee, please. And make that two.”

Clive yelped at the unexpected interruption, instantly turning to the source of the voice. Dion Lesage nodded at him amusedly, then smoothly handed over his card to the ticket girl, who immediately swooned as she swiped it and printed their tickets. “T-Thank you, sirs. Enjoy your show.”

He was still dumbstruck when Dion gently pulled him along away from the booth. What in the Founder’s name was Joshua’s other friend doing here? (He’d also denied any romantic attraction towards Dion exactly the way he did towards Jote now, so maybe Clive was right to be suspicious, after all.) “I’ve been watching the three of you since half an hour ago, and I must say your tailing skills still leave a lot to be desired,” Dion remarked dryly, handing Clive a pair of thick glasses. “Non-prescription. They’re Terence’s. Don’t break them.”

Clive looked around him, and spied Dion’s boyfriend seated on one of the benches. He looked up from whatever he was reading and waved. Clive sighed. “So I was too conspicuous, huh.”

“Very much so, I’m afraid. Now let’s get popcorn before they close the doors on us. You also owe me dinner after this.”

“I didn’t ask—” Clive started, but was silenced at once by Dion’s withering glare. “Fine. Two buckets of salted caramel popcorn, plus dinner. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Dion finally smirked, satisfied with his win. “In exchange, I’ll teach you how to tail people without getting spotted. You’ll be getting your money’s worth, I assure you.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Clive huffed to himself, shaking his head at the unexpected turn of events. Perhaps this was for the best, though. This… alliance, if he could call it that, certainly had its merits, and he felt he was going to come out of it a better man. Probably, if Jill and Gav didn’t find out about today, of course.

[fifteenleads]

As far as Dion was concerned, he’d always loved Terence since they were children.

It wasn’t his place to stand up to bullies—“Such troubles are much beneath you, Your Highness”—but Dion always believed in doing the right thing. Terence himself would scold him later for being too headstrong, but he would help out first. He always had.

The troublemakers certainly hadn’t expected their prince to step in between them and the unfortunate target of their ire, but it did little to deter them from their heckling, because “You’re nothing without your father.” And Dion had carelessly let that little remark get under his skin, despite his tutor’s constant warnings against the contrary.

A pebble flung from the other side of the riverbank fortunately saved him from committing that blunder. Terence already had another one in his hand, and was already aiming for his second shot. At the distraction, Dion took the child’s hand and pulled them along across the shallow water, thanking Greagor for the still currents that ran today.

Still, they were being pursued not far behind. Persistent rabble-rousers. Then he made the mistake of looking back—and lost his balance, the coarse gravel of the riverbed skinning both his knees as he fell.

“Duck!”

The second pebble flew right over them, missing Dion’s forehead by a few centimeters. His heart beat wildly in his chest after it all—probably from the rush of adrenaline, but he’d already known by then, he was certain of it.

The rest of that day had been a blur, but Dion was pretty sure it had gone something like tonight, as Terence dressed his wounds yet again in the privacy of the commander’s tent. “These are no longer mere scrapes unlike last time, my prince,” he frowned as he tied the last of the bandages together. They had requested for more supplies from the capital, but there hasn’t been any word since a week ago.

“I am fine, Terence,” Dion assured—insisted, because they both knew it wasn’t true at all. Still, the tight criss-cross pattern the bandages made over his arm were always a sight for sore eyes and a little joy that balmed his heart. For a while, he wondered how the child they had saved was doing now; hopefully they were living peacefully and in the infinite grace of Greagor.

It was for people like them and so much more, that he and Terence and everyone who believed in their cause, are now putting their lives on the line. Their adversaries were no mere courtyard bullies this time; many great things were at stake in this war. Still:

“You mustn’t push yourself like this,” Terence implored, kneeling at Dion’s feet and looking up with so much worry it would break his heart many times over. Both their hearts. It had always been like this between them: as far as they were concerned, they’d always loved each other since they were children. And for them, that meant setting aside that same love for doing what they must—what was right.

So Dion smiled back, the sadness in Terence’s eyes reflected in his own. “I know.” A fallen tear. “I’m sorry.” Then another.

Terence took a deep breath, shaking his sobs away before facing Dion once more. “You always were too headstrong for your own good, my prince.”

“Maybe I am, but so are you, my love.” This time, they both laughed to themselves—a little brokenly, but better than more tears, at least. “Fifteen years. I’m surprised we haven’t tired of each other yet, after so long.”

“Never, my prince.” A soft kiss. “I’ll always stay by your side.” Then another.

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Peppermint and Chocolate Chip

Final Fantasy XVI | 4.4k words | Onehsot, complete. Benedikta Harman-centric | Modern/Actors AU, Slice of life.

-

Benedikta Harman off-camera was an entirely different woman.

To those who only know of her from the movies and series she starred in, she was the ideal actress whose performances drove ratings and reviews through the roof. On set she was versatile and captivating, during interviews she was candid and professional. She was also known for having a well-guarded private life; it was perhaps for this reason that she sometimes came off as aloof to the people around her, but no one could fault her for it.

In truth, Benna, as she went by to those close to her, was a shy, awkward bean.

-

Benedikta Harman off-camera was an entirely different woman.

To those who only know of her from the movies and series she starred in, she was the ideal actress whose performances drove ratings and reviews through the roof. On set she was versatile and captivating, during interviews she was candid and professional. She was also known for having a well-guarded private life; it was perhaps for this reason that she sometimes came off as aloof to the people around her, but no one could fault her for it.

In truth, Benna, as she went by to those close to her, was a shy, awkward bean.

-

Jella’s one of two baristas assigned to the cafe’s sunrise shift. There wasn’t really much to do in general except prepare for the morning rush an hour from opening, plus deal with the occasional extra-early customers. She used to hate her shift assignment to death, until the day she met her fateful first crush since high school.

She was probably in her mid-twenties, of medium height and probably a svelte figure underneath her windbreaker and jogger pants. She wore her blond hair in a stylish bob cut; a shame she always wore a cap over it. Her brown eyes were the most beautiful pair Jella has ever seen; sometimes she wore glasses over them, especially during windy days and pollen season. She always wore a white surgical mask, but Jella caught the occasional moments when she’d take it down to sip her drink.

She’d always order the same thing: a small flat white and a peppermint chocolate chip cookie to-go, and she was called Benna.

Since then, Jella would report for work with small barrettes in her hair and an extra spring in her step. Her outlook in life was said to have changed so drastically for the better, she was awarded employee of the month for it. Most of all, the morning customers loved her so much they dubbed her “The Maiden”, earning her a status akin to that of a minor local celebrity.

Today, Jella came in early as usual, albeit a little deflated for a while now. It was raining hard that day, and they had to flood-proof the cafe in addition to the usual morning prep work. Benna hadn’t dropped by in over a week now; the absence made Jella’s heart fonder and fonder for her life’s inspiration, as if she were nothing without it. It was an exaggeration and she knew it, but such was her love for her Benna she’d justify it all the same.

No sooner after those thoughts had crossed her mind than a well-dressed lady soaked to her skin burst through the doors of the cafe, shivering in her dress and heels as it were. Jella put aside her idle thoughts and immediately attended to the customer in need, quickly ushering her to a nearby seat and covering her with a thick towel. Her coworker came over with a basin of warm water to soak her feet in. As they assisted the lady, Jella couldn’t help but wonder where she’d met her before— maybe just a previous customer, but she got a feeling it was way, way more than that.

“Thank you, Jella,” the lady thanked her in between shallow breaths. “I’m so relieved you’re open early as usual today. I wouldn’t know what I would have done if you weren’t.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Ma’am,” Jella beamed. “Glad to help anytime.”

It was when the lady looked up to meet her eyes that Jella recognized who exactly she was speaking with. She herself had known of her for years— everyone did. She was on TV, movies, and almost every billboard in town. Her coworker smothered a shriek with her free hand. Jella’s lower lip trembled visibly and her voice shook. “B-B-Bene—“

Benedikta Harman wordlessly put a finger up to shush them, her eyes darting around the cafe and outside it. When she was certain that no one else was around, she let out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she repeated, her voice softer and more uncertain than Jella had ever heard her speak in public. “Only Benna, please.”

This time it was Jella who couldn’t suppress her shriek—more out of delight than out of disbelief this time. “Ohmygosh, you’re Benna ? Small, flat white and peppermint choco chip cookie to go?”

Benna���s ears turned red at the full recitation of her usual order, but she nodded nonetheless. “I’m glad you remembered.” Her eyes crinkled ever so slightly when she smiled, and Jella fell a little more in love. “But I think I’ll have a cup of tea for today instead, to stave off the cold. What would you recommend, Jella?”

Jella beamed at once, and launched into the most memorable conversation she had in her entire life.

-

“You’ve been sniffing your fingers for a while now, Benna. Care to share?”

Benna looked up at Garuda, biting back a frown. Her manager had just finished mopping under the kitchen counter, and was currently squeezing out the dirty liquid from it into the receptacle. The whole flat smelled like the coffee that had been spilled earlier; luckily, it had no creamer or sugar in it yet.

To say that she was rightfully upset at the blunder she made was an understatement; just her luck that she’d pressed the wrong button on her new capsule coffee machine and the resulting brew had overflowed from the small cup she’d put underneath it. She hoped the machine wasn’t broken; Jella would be sad otherwise.

For now, Benna took comfort in sniffing the peppermint chocolate chip flavor off her fingertips; she’d taken the liberty to order an entire box on her next visit to the cafe after being outed as Benedikta, the actress. Thankfully neither Jella nor her partner had brought up that fact ever again, treating her the same as before, although she might have imagined the lilt in Jella’s voice whenever she called her name for her order. Nah, that can’t be.

“Benna!” Garuda called out again, her pointed finger tapping impatiently on the counter. Benna yelped in surprise, which only earned an unimpressed frown from Garuda. “If you’re not gonna help out, at least come wash your hands. The way you’ve been smelling your fingers honestly creeps me out.”

Well, there went her small comfort for the day. Benna grumpily stood up and headed towards the sink, lathering a handful of rose-scented liquid soap over her hands. When she was done, no trace of the cookie’s scent remained. Benna pouted her lips at Garuda, who hummed in approval as she put the mop away in the shed.

Half an hour later, they sat in the living room watching television, Garuda idly flipping through the channels. Today was one of Benna’s rare days off from her seemingly unending stream of celebrity engagements; just their luck it was raining again and they couldn’t go out. At least she was able to sleep in for the first time in a while.

Garuda seemed to have stopped at a channel; it was currently playing a commercial, but the title of the show on the upper right of the screen caught her friend’s attention. “Hey, Benna, Oppen Heimer’s on Cinema Beta right now.”

That caught Benna’s attention at once; Oppen Heimer was one of the movies she’d written an analysis of back in film appreciation class in college. Its overall themes had made a deep impression on her, back when she was finding herself as a rookie actress. To say that she owed a huge part of her acting and character development now to this film was probably accurate to say the least. Benna smiled at the memory; she’d spoken of it in a couple of interviews when they’d ask her about her theatrical inspirations, and those had sparked among the readers a short-lived interest in the film itself.

“Oh, it’s back on.” Garuda put down the remote; she didn’t really care for dark works in general, but she knew how much her friend loved Oppen Heimer. “You good, Benna?”

“Mm-hmm,” Benna hummed, absorbing herself in the movie now. She was really thankful for her day off now more than ever. Everything else could wait.

-

Deafening silence pervaded in today’s shoot, the air filled with tension so thick and dense it could be cut with a knife.

“This wretched world… It all deserves to die!... Die, die, die!” 

Benedikta exhaled one last time, her throat raw and dry while her lungs burned out of breath. She didn’t realize that angry tears had already streamed down her face when the director called it a wrap, not even hearing that because of how badly her ears rang. She wasn’t one to go overboard on emotional acting in normal circumstances, but this particular role proved to be so intense and challenging that she had to dig deeper within her mental and emotional reserves to deliver a good performance.

She only snapped out of it when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Cidolfus, her co-star, was concerned as ever; he hadn’t seemed to mind when she’d injured his face in a previous action scene they had done just a while back. Behind him was Clive, the main character, and Chirada, her assistant, with a bottle of cold water. Benedikta immediately reached for the bottle and took several gulps to relieve her parched throat, careful not to ruin her makeup in the process.

“Thanks, Cidolfus,” she murmured weakly, nodding with a tired smile. “You, too, Clive. Good luck with your scenes.”

Her two co-stars nodded back reassuringly before taking their leave, leaving her alone with Chirada. “Hey, Benna. You okay?”

“I’d like to say I’ve never been better, but my body’s telling me otherwise,” Benna sighed, feeling herself shed off the skin of Benedikta for a while—just for a few minutes while she recharged. She’s already filmed most of her scenes by now, but she knew she was far from done; there’s some possible re-shoots, post-production matters, then pre-release events and activities, all before the movie premiere. Nothing she wasn’t used to by this time, but thinking of all the upcoming hustle and bustle she would have to deal with always gave her a headache.

“Tylenol?” Chirada offered, standing up to leave, but Benna waved a no. “I’ll be fine. Let’s just go to the back.”

Benna and Chirada sat together at the foot of her trailer, where they had a decent vantage point of the shooting of the next scene. Clive was braving the blasts of wind from multiple industrial fans, demanding who the mysterious hooded man was. They could hardly hear what exactly was being said from where they were, but Benna knew the script by heart; the story was dark and heartbreaking yet compelling enough to keep her hooked.

A set of approaching footsteps broke her concentration. Jote padded towards them in muddy boots, her hands clasped shyly behind her. “Hello, Miss Harman. I was wondering if I could watch with you from here?”

“Absolutely,” Benna brightened at once, she and Chirada scooting over to a side to give Jote space. Jote gratefully sat beside Benna, smiling thinly before directing her attention toward the ongoing scene. The way she acted now reminded Benna of what she herself was like back when she first started out: a little eager yet also unsure of where and how to grow in her craft. The truth was, one never really outgrew that feeling for life, and it was that same uncertainty that actually kept them grounded to reality and drove them to move onward, wherever the road for them led.

It was Cidolfus who had taught her that back then, and Benna had indeed grown in more ways than one. In a way, she missed some parts of her old self, but she couldn’t really say she regretted the kind of person she became now, if it meant having all these meaningful encounters and realizations along the way.

Benna smiled to herself, a little content for now. Jote looked up at her questioningly. “What is it, Miss Harman?”

“It’s nothing. Have you had your shoulder looked at?”

“I have, thank you. The doctor said it was only a little sore and that I just needed rest.”

“Then rest as much as you need,” Benna patted Jote’s good shoulder encouragingly. “You still have scenes with Margrace, don’t you? Any physical ones?”

Chirada snorted into her water first before Jote could answer. Jote quickly shook her head, perhaps a little more forcefully than she had intended. Her cheeks and ears were a light shade of pink, and Benna laughed softly, realizing the probable double-meaning her question carried. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But I do mean what I said earlier.

“This… career we chose, it has its ups and downs. We know the best and worst of both worlds, and we often find ourselves at different kinds of crossroads.” Benna considered her words a little more, resisting the urge to dial back like the old her would, but shook her head lightly. “I guess all I’m saying is, trust in the process? Also, never hesitate to ask for help when you need it.”

“Just lean on your co-stars,” Cidolfus had told her once. “You’ve got each other’s backs.”

The fire in Jote’s eyes burned a little brighter after Benna had said her piece—it was as if she was seeing a Phoenix itself come to life before her. A great metaphor for Jote’s debut film role, if she could say so herself, but that would only break the sentimental moment they had going now.

“Thank you, Miss Harman,” Jote nodded, just as the director called “Cut” from afar. The three of them stood up at once to prepare to rejoin the rest of the group on set. “I’ll definitely keep your advice to heart. You’re very kind.”

Benna stopped short at the remark, all while Jote nodded farewell and went on ahead of them. Chirada was slyly fanning a cardboard folder into Benna’s face, giggling in amusement.. “The lady killer strikes again, I see. How many fangirls have you collected now, again?”

“Quiet, you,” Benedikta muttered, becoming the actress once again. She still kept a smile to herself, though, happy for smaller moments like these in between the big and emotional ones. They always kept her going, for better or worse.

-

Today was yet another day off, and Benna decided to get some writing done while she had time and was in the right headspace. She’d had this novella ongoing since she started shooting for this project, getting inspiration from some aspects of its story to incorporate in her own plot. It was just a little passion project, really, but Benna liked to work on it whenever she could to take her mind off things.

Each of the cast members processed their feelings after shooting their parts in different ways. Most went home to spend time with their loved ones; others went partying or on vacation. Even the writers and other staff were planning to not touch this project for a long while after it’s finally released. At this point, everyone pretty much agreed that the film had taken a huge toll on most of their mental health in one way or another, as amazing of a project as it had been.

In any case, today was not suited for such drab thoughts. She was going to get these late-night scribbles down on a document after today, and just the thought was exciting enough to recharge her at once. Suparna was already excited to read the new chapters, and had been pestering her repeatedly on Discorde for a while now to do beta work and get her thoughts in as soon as she could. Benna really lucked out having been assigned such a passionate and amazing partner for that Big Bang event from God knows how long now; they’ve remained in constant communication since then, even after having grown out of writing fan fiction and venturing into their own separate life paths.

Suparna was one of the few people in her life Benna had revealed her real identity to; she was not the kind of person who’d use the information inappropriately for her own gain at all. Occasionally she’d get links to articles reviewing her film and TV projects in her DMs, followed by an assortment of emoji that reflected Suparna’s own thoughts on the matter. Sometimes it was Suparna herself who’d written some of those reviews; she’d gotten a job as an entertainment column writer some months back, and was always honest and transparent in sharing her thoughts on a work, which both Benna and Benedikta always appreciated and took to heart.

Jella called out Benna’s name just then. “Peppermint tea and a double chocolate chip cookie,” she repeated the order, gently pushing forward the tray towards her. “Enjoy your day, Benna.” 

“Thank you always, Jella.” It had been months since that rainy morning, yet Jella seemed to have been taking it all in stride, hiding whatever fangirlish feelings she probably had beneath a casual facade, unlike her previous coworker, who had apparently been reassigned to the evening shift. “Word was that she got a crush on two guys who ordered from her when she covered the dinner shift once,” Jella had related conspiratorially then. “She didn’t care that they were actually boyfriends, just that they were impressive enough eye candy for her to leave the sunrise shift and me behind.”

Benna had half a mind to feel sorry for Jella’s apparent misfortune, but the girl in question didn’t actually seem to mind despite her complaining. If anything, she now had Benedikta—no, Benna —all to herself, so it was actually a win for her, more than anything. It wasn’t like anything was going to come out of it even if either of them tried anything at this point, so best to leave it at that. They both had more important things to focus on, after all.

Like writing, Benna decided with a determined sigh. She took a sip of her freshly brewed tea and gently cracked her fingers. Time to get typing.

Around two-thirds of the chapter had been drafted by the time Benna finished her first cup of tea. She went back to the counter to ask for hot water to steep her tea bag in, as well as for a paper towel to clean up the crumbs of cookies that had fallen off the plate.

She ended up in line behind an older guy, waiting for Jella to finish taking their orders. Benna couldn’t help but notice how familiar he looked. She just knew she’d seen him somewhere before, but just couldn’t put her finger into it.

“Here’s your card back,” Jella said brightly, her small barrettes bobbing over her hair as she nodded. “We’ll call you when your order’s ready. Thank you for your patience.”

The customer nodded curtly and left the line. His eyes briefly met Benna’s as he did, and that instantly jogged her memory at once. “Barnabas?! What are you doing here?”

Barnabas Tharmr, A-list actor and most eligible celebrity bachelor of the decade, blinked back at  the mention of his name, before recognizing the voice that had uttered it. “Oh, Benedikta. Surprised to see you here, too. How are you?”

More like, how was she not , after how their most recent project together—yes, that one—had put them both in that kind of scene at a pivotal moment in the story. While they had both played their parts professionally, of course, the media circus that was sure to hound them once it’s fully revealed will add to a growing pile of headaches for her. Rumors of possible romances did not really affect Barnabas, who probably enjoyed them with a cup of coffee over breakfast, but Benedikta couldn’t possibly deal with those kinds of things at this point in her career. Not now yet, at least.

Benna was not about to let her mask slip, though; he was still technically her senior at work, so she had to be nice, and definitely not nervous at all. “I’ve been great, thank you. What about you?”

“Recuperating, as it were,” Barnabas shrugged casually, relaxing a little more at the mention of R&R. “I didn’t know you lived around here.”

“Sort of. I come here often on my early morning jogs. They serve good coffee.”

“So I heard.” Barnabas looked around the cafe’s interior, pleasantly impressed at the simple, rustic decor and the overall ambiance it held. “Sleipnir had been here once, and had always wanted to come back, but he’s been busy.”

“I see.” Benna discreetly studied Barnabas while he turned back toward the counter, watching as Jella prepared his order. He, too, disguised himself today, wearing a pair of tinted glasses, a dark brown blazer over a white round neck shirt, fitted dark jeans and loafers. He had a noticeable stubble and overly-mussed hair that he probably hadn’t combed in days. The overall sight almost made Benna laugh, had she not caught herself in time, but Barnabas had noticed anyway and questioned her with a raised eyebrow. Benna shook her head in response, smiling.

Now there’s a feeling she found interesting. She wouldn’t call it a crush like everyone else, but there was definitely something nice about it that she was willing to keep around for a while. Life was too short to stay serious all the time, after all.

“Double espresso to go for Harvey,” Jella called out as she brought Barnabas’ order to the counter. She hadn’t seemed to hear Benna call Barnabas by his real name, which was a good thing. “Oh, Benna. I didn’t know you and him knew each other.”

“From work, yes,” Benna answered for both of them. No need to let slip anything else from their corner of the world. She turned to Barnabas, offering an outstretched hand. “It was nice seeing you around, Harvey . Send your partner my regards.”

“Will do. Same for you.” Barnabas shook her hand gently, his own lingering a moment longer than Benna had expected before it was promptly withdrawn. He took his coffee from Jella, nodding in thanks as he opened the cup slightly and took a deep inhale. “This smells heavenly. I’ll be sure to come back.”

Jella beamed at the praise, bowing repeatedly as Barnabas left the cafe. Benna watched the eager display with amusement, wondering if maybe he and Jella made a better pair after all. When that was over, Benna proceeded to get the hot water and towel she came to the counter for, and returned to her table.

Suparna was already online when Benna checked her laptop. “This looks great so far. Can’t wait for the rest.” Benna smiled at the feedback, but her mind was already elsewhere. She saved her open document file and exited the program, switching back to her Discorde window.

“ About that, I have a new idea I’d like to run by you. A romcom. I know you don’t read them as much as Chirada, but hear me out on this one.”

If the barrage of all caps and multiple exclamation points were of any indication, Benna was certain that she had successfully gotten Suparna hooked and on board. Time to write a new story.

-

A collective ‘Ooooh!’ echoed in the movie theater after the flashy battle between Bahamut and Ifrit Risen, some even bursting into short applause. Everyone savored the victorious moment after that scene, no doubt impressed by the elaborate CGI that had gone into it.

Benedikta marveled at the entire production, as well. It always felt amazing to see all the individual parts they had worked on over many months come together and become this beautiful work of art, and to witness firsthand people’s reactions as it unfolded before their eyes. This was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with acting and filmmaking as an art, as well as a life path.

Beside her, Cidolfus merely smirked to himself, as if he had expected this much. He had been heavily involved with production matters behind the scenes as soon as he’d finished filming his parts. No doubt people would be talking about how he had managed both acting and directing at the same time, but then again, he was Cidolfus . What could he not do?

Barnabas was a little more stoic, no doubt controlling himself for the sake of public image more than anything else. Benedikta felt a little sorry for him, to be honest; it must be hard being so visible , it left almost no room to breathe. She could only imagine how relieved he must probably have been that day they met at the cafe, when they had spoken as Harvey and Benna. She had only realized it later on, but the sly bastard had actually gone and used Sleipnir’s name when he ordered his coffee. And he definitely knew that she knew.

Benna softly hummed to herself; she now had blackmail material on him, not that she was going to abuse it for what it was worth. She was a good friend, after all.

On screen, Jote silently wept as she wished Margrace a safe journey, having been left behind at the makeshift Hideaway where the main characters set up their home base. Her cheeks were a light shade of red, and probably not just from the crying. Benna wondered to herself if there had been any sort of development between those two after she and Jote had previously spoken. A shame Benedikta’s scenes were finished first before the rest, so she had no chance of finding out. She decided to ask Jote about it later after the film.

They were going to have a cast and crew party later after the premiere, so Benedikta would still have to go around and greet people for a few more hours. More of the usual. That in itself wasn’t so bad, since she would have a chance to catch up with her other co-stars outside the constrained setting of filming and production. She was definitely looking forward to going home and sleeping for a full day or two after this, though. Benna earned her rest, and she sure as heck more than deserved it.

-

Story Notes:

This was originally an "if FF16 were a show and the characters were actors in it" fic. I'd posted a barrage of headcanons over at the Dion-cord a long while back, but the one I made for Benedikta stuck with me the most, and that became this fic. (What do you mean there are only 42 Benedikta fics on AO3 as of posting? Huhu.)

Also, this is a small tribute to Nina Yndis for her wonderful work as Benedikta's English voice, as well as her insights on her character in various interviews, some of which I've used for this fic. Going into FF16 I totally expected Benedikta to be my favorite character alongside Clive, before Dion swooped in and stole my heart. Basically this is just me returning to my roots, so to speak

Also I guess I just want to see Benedikta happy. I associate Hwasa's "Maria" with her, especially for these lines:

What do I do about being lonely? I’ve even swallowed the hate I don’t even have the strength to be angry There’s no reason either

I really had fun writing this story so much. Hope you enjoyed it!

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Happier Ever After

"I think Dion and Terence would make wonderful fathers and in an ideal world they’d be incredibly lucky to have someone as endlessly kind and resourceful as Medicine Girl (Kihel) as their daughter!" —Stewart Clarke (GameRant Interview)

Summary: Five of Kihel Lesage’s fondest memories of her parents, and one more she wasn’t awake for.

Final Fantasy XVI | 4.5k words | Modern AU, Family | Complete Characters: Kihel (Medicine Girl), Dion Lesage, Terence Pairing: Dion/Terence (FlareKnight, TeDi, Teredio)

-

Kihel remembered picking a scab on her elbow after her grandmother’s death. 

She got the wound while playing in the park, then hid it from everyone until the blood dried. It was pretty fun; it gave her something to do while the grown-ups were busy, and Nana wasn’t there to scold her. 

But playtime ended and dinnertime passed, and Nana never came. Worried that maybe she was still doing house chores late at night, she asked Dion where her Nana was.

“Nana’s not coming back?”

“... No, Kihel. She’s not coming back.”

“Not even to get angry at my booboo?” She showed him the injury on her elbow, smudged with dried blood and dirt.

A tight hug and something wet dripping onto her shoulder. “No… I’m sorry.”

She was still picking the scab by the third day, when the three of them went out to church. There, Nana was sleeping inside a box while everyone prayed and sang. “Why is everyone wearing black today, Uncle Terence?”

Terence merely held her hand quietly. He had dark circles under his eyes like Dion. “They are saying goodbye to Nana… to Aunt Ethel today.”

They went back home after the church people took Nana away, and she started picking at her scab again. The wound bled after a few minutes and her elbow started to hurt. Dion and Terence immediately came to her room when they heard her cry. 

“Nanaaa! It hurts!”

In hindsight, Kihel probably already realized it deep down in her heart, but just didn’t know it yet. Such was the mind of a child.

Dion and Terence both embraced her; it was the first time she saw grown-ups cry. Then Terence stood up and got medicine and a kitty band-aid from her dresser. “Can you bring up your arm like this?”

Terence quietly cleaned her wound and put the kitty band-aid over it. Then Dion asked her a question. “Kihel, I… Do you… want to stay here?… With us?”

He sounded strange when he said that. Stay with them? She never lived with anyone but Nana before, but they said Nana wasn’t coming back. She didn’t know anyone else. “I will live... with Uncle Dion and Uncle Terence?”

Dion’s eyes were shiny and sad when she asked him that, but he was trying his best to smile. “Yes, Kihel.” He sounded braver now. “With us. Do you want to?”

Nana wasn’t coming back. And Kihel didn’t know anyone else. “... I want to.”

Dion hugged her again, Terence did the same. And she felt happy.

After that, Kihel stayed with a lady called Tarja for a few days while Dion and Terence went out to do important stuff. “We will come back, we promise.”

“Okay, Uncle Dion, Uncle Terence.”

Those three days couldn’t have passed quickly enough. Tarja was very nice and cooked delicious food, but Kihel missed Dion and Terence. All she could remember was not letting Tarja remove her kitty band-aid from her elbow.

When the three of them went home again, Kihel saw her new room: it was light pink and blue and green, with a soft bed and toys and books. Her clothes from her and Nana’s old home were in the closet, and there were new dresses, too. “Do you like it?” Terence asked.

Kihel looked up to Terence’s face; there were smudges of pink and green paint on his cheek. There were also small paint marks on Dion’s fingers. She giggled. “Yes, I like it!”

They hugged her again, one after the other. “We’re so happy! Welcome home, Kihel.”

She let go of her elbow with the kitty band-aid and hugged them back. “I’m home!”

-

Art classes started as early as first grade, and their teacher asked them to draw their families for their first project.

Kihel wasn’t an exceptional artist—even now, she never held such delusions, but she liked to believe she’d become better since then. But she wasn’t thinking of such things at that time, and only wanted to talk about her family.

She was still working on her drawing after dinnertime, scribbling away in the living room while Dion washed the dishes. Terence will be back home from work soon, and she hoped to show them her finished project before they went to bed.

In the end, Terence came home later than expected, so Dion had to tuck her to bed so she wouldn’t wake up late for school the next morning. Her drawing remained on her desk so they’d see it in the morning when they came to wake her up.

Terence drove Kihel to school the next morning. He was smiling the whole time. “Have fun today, Kihel,” he sent her off with a gentle pat on the head. Kihel dodged it, giggling at how his fingers tickled her scalp.

She couldn’t wait to show her uncles her drawing at dinner tonight. It’s okay even if it’s late.

In art class, each student came to the front to present their drawing. When it was her turn, Kihel proudly stood up and showed hers to everyone. “This is my family. I’m in the middle. On the left is Uncle Dion, and on the right is Uncle Terence. They are very, very kind.

“My uncles always came to play whenever Nana had to go to work. I also stayed at their house whenever Nana went to the doctor. Then Nana died last year, and I now live with my uncles. This is our happy family picture. Thank you.”

Kihel was beaming when she finished, but no one clapped for her.

Marcus stood up and pointed at her picture. “Where’s your mommy and daddy?”

She didn’t know the answer to that. Was Nana mommy? What about daddy - was it Uncle Dion or Uncle Terence? Kihel was very confused, and her cheeks were red and puffy. “I… I…”

Then suddenly, Mr. Rosfield clapped his hands. Was he crying? Her other classmates started clapping, too. It was only then that Kihel began to cry for real.

At the end of art class, Mr. Rosfield said something that would stay with her for many years: “Remember, class: there are many kinds of families. Not everyone has a mommy or daddy or Nana or aunt or uncle, but everyone has someone who loves them.”

Kihel was the last to leave school that day. Mr. Rosfield sat quietly with her at the steps of the building. She was still holding onto her drawing.

Terence’s car pulled into the driveway a few minutes later, and both her uncles quickly came out of the car. “Kihel! Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Yes, Uncle Dion, Uncle Terence.”

Mr. Rosfield immediately stood up and greeted her uncles. “Flare, Knight. Good to see you both again.” They hugged each other briefly before Mr. Rosfield beckoned Kihel to come closer. “It’s time to go home?” she asked.

“Yes, it’s time to go home.” Kihel held Terence’s outstretched hand as they walked back to the car. Dion stayed a little longer to talk to Mr. Rosfield. “Thank you, Phoenix. I… We owe you one.”

“It’s nothing. Kihel is my student; I only did what any teacher would do.” Mr. Rosfield firmly pat Dion’s shoulder. “Go on, they’re waiting for you.”

The drive home was quiet even though the three of them were in the car. Maybe her uncles were tired from work, but Dion definitely didn’t show it. He sat in the back with her instead of the seat beside Uncle Terence, and held her hand while looking out the window.

Why were they sad, Kihel wondered. Would her drawing make them smile again?

Terence and Dion were still preparing dinner when Kihel finished her bath. She swallowed the ball of air in her mouth, holding her drawing in her hands. 

She will show it to them, Kihel decided. She will make them smile.

Dion stopped setting the plates when he heard Kihel’s footsteps approach. Terence was also watching her closely. It felt like art class again, except Mr. Rosfield wasn’t there to clap for her.

She breathed in deeply. “Um, can I show you my drawing?”

Dion’s face softened as he knelt before her. Terence did the same. “Yes, my dear. Can we see it?”

Kihel brightened at once, bringing up her family picture. She repeated the same speech she made during art class, growing more and more confident with each statement. She remembered Mr. Rosfield’s words, and the pat he gave Dion before they went home.

‘Everyone has someone who loves them.’ Kihel stopped short before the last part. “Then… Then Nana died, and…”

Terence looked alarmed and reached out to her, but Dion held his hand to stop him. He became quiet once more. Kihel found her voice again.

“And… I now live with my new dads. This is our happy family picture.” She smiled at the end. This time she knew she was crying properly.

Dion reached out to hug her first. He was crying, too. Terence embraced both of them at once. They stayed like that for a very long time.

“Thank you for your picture,” Dion said softly. “We love you, always.”

Kihel sniffled happily. “I love you both, too.”

They ate dinner late that night, and she had ice cream before bedtime. For the first time, Kihel knew for sure that she was home, and she was loved.

-

Growing up, Kihel wouldn’t really describe herself as a problem child. Her parents pretty much agreed with her on that in general, having never been called in for low grades or not behaving in school. She was generally a good student for the most part all throughout grade school and middle school.

It wasn’t to say she and her dads never had any disagreements through the years. Kihel was growing and learning, so she was bound to develop her own opinions and ideas that may or may not clash with those around her. It was a normal part of life.

Of all the times Kihel had fought with her parents, prom night during senior year of high school was probably the worst one to date, to her at least.

Someone—Marcus, if she recalled correctly—sneaked alcohol into the school gymnasium. How he easily got past security with that unusually heavy bag was a puzzlement, but it made everyone excited nonetheless. There was a happy sort of buzzing energy all around, as the bottles were secretly passed around among the students, each one taking a curious sip then giggling to their friends after. For some, it was probably their first taste of alcohol, and thus a celebration of small wins that seemed big to them at that time.

Kihel blanched when a half-empty bottle was suddenly shoved into her hands. “Your turn, Lesage.”

She quickly glanced around, looking for some form of protest or escape. “Be careful, Kihel,” Terence had warned her earlier before dropping her off at school, and she had dismissed it easily, self assured that her parents were being worrywarts, as usual.

As it turned out, they had legitimate cause to be concerned, after all, and Kihel was this close to making it real as her hand trembled around the bottle she held, and her classmates cheered her name louder and louder. It was like a repeat of art class in first grade again, but worse.

No, Kihel thought defiantly. She was better than that. Her dads raised her well, and she was going to make them proud of her.

“I’m not drinking,” she firmly refused, handing back the bottle to the one standing next to her. “We shouldn’t be. It was in the rules.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Lesage,” Marcus’ friend jeered at her, the condescending tone he used making her want to claw at something in irritation. “Whose rules, the teachers’? They’re not even here!” Everyone laughed.

They actually were, Kihel thought darkly, but probably were too afraid to break up the growing disturbance like the old cowards they were. Her grade school teachers were better. Her dads—

“Or was it your dads who told you ‘no’?” Marcus chimed in. “You poor goody-two-shoes, acting all that just to make up for not having real pare—”

Kihel didn’t let him finish that sentence. 

Everything else after was a blur, but she remembered her arms hurting all over, and her knuckles and fingernails burning. By the time she regained her senses, she felt weak and limp in the arms of a couple of friends who seemed to have been holding her back the whole time.

In the end, both she and Marcus were punished with a week-long suspension each. As much as her homeroom teacher fervently took her side, she couldn’t defend a student’s blatant display of violence in campus before the disciplinary committee, no matter what the circumstances that led to it. That said, the committee at least gave Kihel credit for speaking out against the rulebreakers, as well as for standing up to the slander against her parents.

“She’s a brave child, but she’s still young,” one teacher told her parents when they came to pick her up after the punishment was decided. “I believe that with time and enough guidance, she’ll be able to temper that energy and channel it to where it’s needed the most.”

The ride home was eerily quiet. Kihel was still sullen when they finally pulled into their driveway, refusing to get out of the car even after Dion had left. “I’m not sorry.”

Terence said nothing, his glance lingering briefly at her through the rearview mirror before following Dion into the house. It was a whole different kind of fight, one she was very unfamiliar and uncomfortable with. She couldn’t reason or argue or scream her way out, lest she drowns in the ringing silence and the pain that spread from her gut down to the very ends of her fingers and toes.

She didn’t know how she ended up in her room after that, but Dion was asleep at her bedside when she woke up. Terence was just opening the door with a tray of food in his hands when he yelped in joy in her direction. He immediately set the tray down on her desk and crushed her in a tight hug. 

“Don’t make us worry like that again,” he voice broke as he scolded her, warm hands balling into fists as he shuddered. Oh, it’s like when Nana died all over again.

The commotion had awoken Dion, and he cleared his throat to get their attention. “Terence couldn’t sleep for the past two nights, you know,” he said to her nonchalantly, but couldn’t betray the similar emotion that filled his voice. Her dads would probably be fighting over who was more worried in more lighthearted times, but such thoughts were not suited at all for tonight.

It was the first time in a while since Kihel properly observed her parents’ faces up close, and she could see how much raising a family had aged them so. They were actually still young, having only been in their mid-twenties when they adopted her. They were still growing, too, Kihel realized, but they couldn’t show her their weaknesses—simply because they were her parents.

But they were also people, weren’t they? Everyone made mistakes. What was so strange about that?

Kihel shuddered in Terence’s arms, releasing the breath she didn’t know she held in until now. Why did their most important memories make them cry every time?

“This is so stupid,” Kihel whined after telling them as much, and the three of them laughed softly, having reached an unspoken understanding of sorts. They’ll weather through it somehow, together.

-

“I can’t do this.”

“You can, love. This is the last one.”

Kihel merely laughed from the sidelines as she watched Terence coax Dion into rehearsing his speech one more time. It had become like a comedy routine of theirs for the past month now, amid the rest of the wedding preparations they had to take care of. The great Dion Lesage getting stage fright was simply unthinkable.

The invitation from the Lesage family had been an unexpected but nonetheless welcome surprise. Dion had merely dropped the envelope in shock as he and Terence exchanged confused looks. “I thought you’ve been disowned?”

“Apparently not,” Dion muttered. Kihel picked up the fallen paper to read its contents. “... requesting the honor of your presence at the wedding of Anne-Marie Dubois and Olivier Lesage… Your brother wants you as his best man, Dad?”

“No one else probably wanted to do it,” Terence sighed, waving his hand. The Lesages were probably getting desperate, if they were going so far as to contact a family member they’d previously cut off, so they could keep up appearances. “What will you do, Dion?”

Kihel could tell how much of a tight spot this had put Dion in, if the way his eyebrows deeply furrowed was of any indication. If she could have her way, she’d summarily decline the invitation and any future attempts of the Lesage family to contact her dad, but she’d learned to control herself and pick her battles ever since high school. It was still hard, though, especially when family was concerned.

In the end, familial ties had won out and Dion responded ‘yes’ to the invitation. He believed this a good opportunity to reconnect at the very least, despite having nonexistent fraternal feelings for the groom. He and Olivier’s mother, Annabella, have always had a frosty relationship at best, with frequent bouts of aggression from his stepmother’s end. How Dion could even think of being cordial with her confounded both Terence and Kihel, but they respected his wishes all the same.

Another thing that probably helped the situation was the same Annabella apparently being the biological mother of Mr. Rosfield, her art teacher from grade school. Kihel had been genuinely surprised upon finding out that Dion and Mr. Rosfield were even related at all, but in hindsight, that probably explained why they were such good friends since she was a child. 

Mr. Rosfield had called earlier to say that he and his brother were also attending the wedding, as a sign of goodwill towards their estranged mother. At least Dion will have someone he trusts with him there, since she and Terence weren’t invited. A shame, though, since she’d only gotten to meet Mr. Rosfield a handful of times since graduating from grade school.

Terence was still coaching Dion when Kihel broke out of her reverie. Looking at the way they lightly teased each other like this, it seemed like the two of them were practicing their vows for their own wedding instead. They never got to officially tie the knot, however, because raising Kihel had taken priority at that time, until all notions of holding a wedding had fallen to the wayside over time.

Yet they still endured together all the same, through all those years. Seeing her dads wear their engagement rings as she grew up left a deep impression on her, kindling in her so much warmth and a desire to someday find the one she would spend the rest of her life with.

What a sorry bunch of romantics they were, but Kihel wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Did you say something, Kihel?”

Whoops. “Just talking to myself.” Kihel smiled. “I’ll go back to studying now. Good night, dads.”

“Good night,” her parents said in unison. They’ll probably bring out the wine now that she’s gone and end up sleeping together on the couch until the next morning, but no matter. It was her turn to make breakfast tomorrow anyway.

-

“Cheers! ”

The shuttering of multiple cameras accompanied the clinking of champagne flutes as the group toasted to Kihel, who was grinning as she downed her own glass. It wasn’t everyday that she graduated from college, and she was going to savor every bit of triumph after years of hard work.

Kihel had initially wanted to pursue a business-related degree to follow in Dion’s footsteps, but something had been pulling her to go into Pharmacy instead. Meeting Tarja again after many years at a volunteering activity had sealed the deal, when her heart was moved by all the people who needed help. It vaguely reminded her of a far-away memory she couldn’t quite place, but she decided not to think deeply into it.

“So, what’s next for you, Kihel?” Mr. Rosfield—Joshua—asked her. It felt strange to be calling her former teacher by his first name after all this time, but Joshua’s older brother Clive and his wife Jill were also present tonight, and it would definitely be confusing to tell who she was referring to at any given moment.

“Probably a community-based clinic for now? It’s where all the patients are,” Kihel mused. “I don’t think I’ll do med school. My parents are not getting any younger, and I’d like to spend as much time as I can at home.”

Dion’s outraged “We’re not that old yet!” and Terence’s protesting “Couldn’t you just say you missed us?!” both came out at the same time, which had the whole table laughing again. Kihel’s laugh was the loudest of them all, even as her ears were a vivid shade of red, and not just from the alcohol. She did miss her parents a lot; college was the first time she’d been away for so long. But she wasn’t going to say that outright until all their guests left.

As the small party finally wound down, Joshua discreetly called Kihel’s attention. “It’s happening tonight,” he told her knowingly, looking fondly towards the kitchen, where her parents were busy cleaning up.

Kihel smothered a squeak with her palm. “Oh! Finally! Dad Dion told you?”

“Yesterday, through text. But I imagine you’ve also noticed some things here and there over the past weeks, haven’t you?”

She actually had, a little, but didn’t want to presume. Maybe they’d just been waiting for her to finish with school before pushing through with their wedding plans. Terence had even hinted at it during one of their regular calls in her last semester. Still, Kihel was quite excited at the prospect of her parents finally officially getting married after more than twenty years.

Back in the kitchen, Terence passed a cleaned dish to Dion, who dried it with a worn dishcloth. Their fingers briefly touched and lingered for the longest few seconds only two people who loved each other would know, and shared the most beautiful, intimate smiles they reserved only for when they were alone together. Kihel put a hand over her heart at this sight, trying not to cry, lest she give away the fact that she already knew. 

Joshua patted her shoulder encouragingly. “Everyone’s happy and excited for them. Those two more than deserve it, really.” And maybe there was something in Joshua’s voice that made her think he knew more than he let on, but she was probably just imagining it. “Thank you for being with them, Kihel.”

Oh, no. Why did she have to cry now? Every. Single. Time!

“Phoenix! ” Her dads hollered in unison at Joshua, who was soothingly rubbing her back as she sniffled back her tears. “How dare you make our daughter cry!”

Joshua merely shrugged, not even defending himself. Clive and Jill were both watching with amusement. And just like that, Kihel began to laugh again, albeit in small hiccups this time. “I’m alright, dads. Joshua and I were just catching up.”

“Hmm, if you say so.” Dion looked over Kihel one more time, then briefly sent Joshua a threatening glare before returning to the kitchen. Terence gently smoothed over her hair before kissing the top of her head, to which she looked up and beamed.

Everyone had someone who loved them and whom they loved with all their heart. This, Kihel realized over time, was what family meant. There were many kinds of families out there, and this was hers, where she was home and she was loved.

-

(+1)

By the time their guests left, Kihel had already fallen asleep, curled up on the couch. It had been a long, busy day, from the graduation ceremony in the morning to their small dinner party that lasted until shortly before midnight. No wonder the lady of the hour was beyond exhausted at the end of it all.

Dion spread a blanket over his daughter, remembering the many times he’d done so over the years: first as her babysitter when Ethel was still alive, then later as her father. At the same time, he was probably the stricter parent between him and Terence, who was overall gentler and indulged her more as she grew up.

He felt a pair of arms snake around his waist, pulling him back to rest on a broad chest. Dion relaxed into Terence’s embrace, turning his head slightly to meet his lover’s lips in a slow kiss. Moments like these were always precious to them even after all these years, when they could just enjoy the peace and quiet and each other.

The past twenty years since Kihel came into their lives have been a whirlwind in more ways than one. Suddenly becoming parents at a young age certainly wasn’t in their plans when they were first building their lives together, but Dion could not be more grateful that it all ended up the way it did, and he was sure Terence felt the same way. “It all went by so fast, didn’t it?”

“I wish it didn’t, actually. It feels like such a waste when you say it that way.” Terence rested his head into the crook of Dion’s neck, the arms around his waist tightening as they gently swayed to the chirping of cicadas outside. “So many things happened. I want to cherish them all, savor each moment to the fullest.

“We’ve changed so much since then. When I look back, I’m surprised at how far we’ve come. But we’ve done it, haven’t we?”

Even as Terence voiced his question, he carried himself with so much more conviction now. It wasn’t to say that they had no moments of weakness or doubt, but time and experience have made them into who they’ve become today—hopefully better people than before, and better fathers to Kihel.

“We have, indeed.” They looked upon their sleeping daughter once more with so much love, more than their hearts combined could ever contain. “And I love the people we’ve become, more than anything.”

Dion knelt beside the couch, Terence beside him. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind Kihel’s ear, tears filling his eyes. “With each passing day, I could only love more and more. How lucky I am to have been born in this life. To have a family. A daughter to cherish.” He turned to face Terence. “A husband to spend forever with.”

Terence chuckled at that, gently bumping his forehead against Dion’s while threading their fingers together. “You’ve been saying that for twenty years now, love. I bet Aunt Ethel’s already rolling in her grave in frustration because of how slow you are.”

“Oh, she’d understand. Would you rather she haunted us instead if something had happened to Kihel?”

“Point taken.” Terence relaxed once more before catching Dion’s lips in another kiss. “When do we start planning our wedding?”

“Tomorrow.” Dion answered, certain. “After we tell Kihel.”

[fifteenleads]

An Evening Lark

Final Fantasy XVI | Dion Lesage/Terence | 1.9k | Gen | Complete

Dion spends his nights of respite away from Oriflamme on occasion, escaping incognito to a tavern located on its outskirts to drink alone. Terence goes with him one of those nights.

All I can say is, thank you for the amazing food, Mr. Clarke. The entire FlareKnight / TeDi fandom loves you.

-

Contrary to popular belief, there were days when Whitewyrm castle was quiet in the evenings: no galas, no balls, no parties to be had. Even the powerful needed their rest, as they said.

Dion spent his nights of respite away from Oriflamme, so to speak, occasionally escaping incognito to a tavern located on its outskirts. As much as he enjoyed his days away from the battlefield at home or in the company of his men, there were times when he wished to be by himself, somewhere no one recognized him. These instances have only grown in number since his father remarried the former duchess of Rosaria and sired his younger brother, Olivier.

This particular tavern served good alcohol for a fair price. The first time Dion was here, he’d taken a way too huge swig of ale than he’d been used to and choked on it—hardly his proudest moment, but no one he knew had been there to see it. He’d ended up only drinking water for the rest of that night. Even to this day, one of the older servers still remembered it, setting a cup of water beside his usual order of alcohol whenever he went to visit.

Dion did get better at drinking with time. If anything, these occasional larks had probably contributed to his now-stronger tolerance to alcohol. It helped him with his official appearances at events in the castle, as back then he couldn’t drink as much as he did now, lest he get caught doing things a prince shouldn’t do—not that it could ever happen, as Terence was usually there to cover him at all times.

Tonight was yet another of those nights. Dion feigned tiredness at family supper to escape the Empress’ biting remarks, which had been growing worse as Olivier grew older. He prepared to leave the castle again, clad in a nondescript modest attire and his hair undone. A passing guardsman looked the other way; he probably understood his lord’s intentions despite their eyes never having met. Then after, getting past Terence’s room was easy.

But Terence, on his way back to his quarters, caught Dion red-handed. “Where are you going, Your Highness?”

“Just to the balcony, to get some fresh air. It has been a long day.”

“There is one in your room,” Terence pointed out. “Also if I may be so bold, milord, you seem to be dressed as if you are headed somewhere and wish for no one to find out.”

Dion should have known his fib wouldn’t get through. Terence clearly knew Dion better than he gave him credit for, after having served as his squire for all these years now. “And I would have you look the other way, too, for this night and all others I shall do the same. You are dismissed, Terence.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” With that, Terence finally retired to his room, and Dion heaved a small sigh of relief. Certain that no one else would stop him from leaving now, he turned the corner toward the next hallway leading to the side gate. The guardsmen there usually left their post at this time of evening to dine with the chambermaids.

No sooner had these thoughts crossed his mind than a thick, dark cloth was thrown over him from behind, obscuring his vision. Dion whirled back at his assailant, ready to strike, and was only met with a frowning Terence, wearing a similarly-colored cloak over earthen-colored clothes and boots. The first thing that crossed his confused mind was how handsome his squire was.

“Your outfit gives too much of you away,” Terence didn’t give Dion a chance to protest. “Keep that on at all times; it will help with the cold.”

Dion could merely stare dumbfoundedly as Terence counted the change in his purse. He was still staring by the time Terence was done. “What is it, Your Highness?”

“You were dismissed, Terence.”

“I was. My liege gave me leave to do as I wished for the rest of the night, so I have merely done so.”

The realization hit Dion like a speeding carriage before it dawned on him. “You mean…”

“Think nothing of it, milord. I merely feel like drinking, too.”

With a friend, Terence clearly didn’t say. That was when Dion knew he’d lost this particular battle. His squire really knew him too well, so to allow his company simply became the best course of action for them both.

-

Dion remained deep in thought as he followed Terence from behind. He found the frankness Terence had displayed earlier oddly refreshing, unlike his usual modest, respectful demeanor while he was on the job. Even his manner of speaking had changed entirely, if their short banter while crossing through Oriflamme’s night market was of any indication. It seemed like Terence was truly making good of acting “as a friend;” if anything, it will help keep up the charade better.

The coat Dion wore now was a little bigger than his usual size; Terence’s growth spurt had been kinder to him than it had been to Dion, a fact he secretly resented back when they were youths who had yet to come of age. He still thought about it now, he realized, as his gaze lingered upon Terence’s broad shoulders longer than it should have. Dion hid the blush that crept up his face by pulling the hood of his coat lower.

If Terence had noticed the unusual way Dion oddly shuffled along, he made no mention of it at all. So Dion let himself indulge a little more, studying intently the way Terence walked, his strides longer and more confident than Dion had first remembered. The curve of his shoulder blades, the arch of his back. The way his muscled form filled out his shirt to almost-bursting. Since when has he grown up like this, Dion wondered to himself.

And Dion hadn't know it yet, but this was the moment he fell in love.

They ended up at an alehouse even further than Dion’s usual haunt. Terence had heard that this particular place carried really good ale known far and wide, and if the rumors are true, a particularly-special brew that was only served once in a blue moon would be available only for tonight.

“Well, yer in luck,” the house master smirked at them as they took their seats at the bar, putting before them two cold tankards of fresh ale. “Here’s the last of it. Enjoy, lads.”

“Thank you, sir,” Terence spoke on their behalf, leaving a handful of gil on the counter in exchange for their drinks. The look on Terence’s face as he took his first swig of the drink was undeniably of utter delight, a carefree moan escaping from him as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Oooh, this is the stuff! Nothing like the swill they serve back at the barracks, that’s for sure.” The house master merely grinned from behind the counter in reply.

Dion wasn’t used to this Terence at all. The one he’s always known was stern and serious to a fault, even during the times Dion himself tried to get him to open up. Mayhap he’d always had his walls up the entire time, given their different stations in life. Their fates and the resulting relationship they would have with each other had already been decided upon their births. ‘A humble, loyal servant’, Terence had introduced himself then, and Dion could do naught but nod in acknowledgement.

The memory of it hurt Dion now, more than he’d expected it to. While he highly appreciated Terence’s undivided loyalty, he also desired his friendship. He found that he loved this Terence before him: one without worry and without care, with his guard down, and simply enjoying this moment. Enjoying simpler times in between the difficult ones, now growing fewer and farther in between as war loomed on the horizon.

Dion looked down into his tankard, the cool ale reflecting his downcast eyes. He firmly shook his head; now was not the time for such sad thoughts, he decided, taking a huge swig out of his own drink. “Damn, this is good,” he let himself exclaim, after the alcohol smoothly went down his gullet. He felt Terence’s warm eyes on him, no doubt happy for his liege—friend. Whatever Dion was to him at the moment, since he’s already been dismissed for the night.

The ale was gone too quickly after that, and they ended up ordering several more tankards of a weaker brew in order to stay longer. This particular brew was free-flowing from the tap for a set fee, and they would enjoy it for all they could for however long they were allowed. The rest of the alehouse’s patrons also remained for the same purpose, it seemed, so ultimately there was still profit to be had.

Right now, said patrons were drunkenly singing songs of the sea and sky, all of which were familiar to Dion’s ears from his times at the encampment. After a while, Terence also softly sang along— this one was about “Dion the Bold”, made popular by a traveling bard who hailed from Lostwing. The first time he’d heard it at one of his previous escapades, Dion’s ears had immediately burned and he’d returned home earlier than usual, immediately burying his face into his pillow to suppress a scream of embarrassment.

Dion turned to Terence, undoubtedly even more mortified this time. Luckily, the hood hid the worst of the confusion and panic reflected in his eyes, but Terence merely faced him with a reassuring smile, as the song and the noise and the entire alehouse faded away all around them, and all Dion could register was the way his heart beat faster than it ever had.

“It’s all true, though, my prince,” Terence gently affirmed, clearly not as drunk as Dion initially thought he was. “You ought to give yourself more credit for all that you’ve done for the Empire. For your people.”

Dion gulped audibly at that, choking a sob that threatened to rise from his throat. All the empty praises and grand adulations that brought him no joy for the longest time, instantly swept away by a casual remark from one so close to him. The reassurance he didn’t know he needed to hear until now, he realized, as his eyes welled with tears unbidden and his hands trembled around the tankard he held.

Oh, his inebriation finally caught up to him, Dion thought absently. Immediately he felt soft lips briefly trace over the wet track his tears had left over his face—one side, then the other. “It’s all right, Dion,” Terence said softly, placing a gentle hand over his shoulder. “I’m here.”

Dion looked up into Terence’s steel-gray eyes, the flickering candlelight from the center of the hall reflected in them. He thought he felt those same soft lips cover his own, but he probably couldn’t have, because Terence’s shadow over him was gone the next moment and he’s back to nursing his own tankard.

He’s not going to talk about it in the morning, Dion mused ruefully. Probably chalk it all up to bravado brought about by inebriation. A shame, really, but that’s how it all ought to be between them. He was happy for now, though, having discovered more sides of his beloved squire outside of their official positions during the day.

Dion smiled to himself at the thought as he downed the rest of his ale. Terence was similarly grinning into his, too, face flushed from his own drunkenness, and hopefully other thoughts. Perhaps he felt the same way but doesn’t yet have the courage to say so, if Dion may be so bold to hope for such, and he swore to make it a reality someday.

[fifteenleads]

Longing for Home

In Dion’s next life, he searches for the next ruler of his kingdom. But his heart yearns for only one person. A Juuni Kokki (Twelve Kingdoms) x Reincarnation AU.

Final Fantasy XVI | Dion Lesage/Terence | 2.5k | Gen | Complete

-

Part 1: Yearning

-

Dion's next life granted him a divine mission and an uncanny abhorrence of bloodshed.

The day his memories fully returned, his guts violently emptied themselves, and he refused to eat anything for days. The sages were all concerned, weeping silently as they entreated him day and night to no avail. Lady Genkun believed his sudden deterioration ominous for the new land he was to call home: the Kingdom of Ryuu was quickly reaching its last stages of destruction.

They couldn't be further from the truth, Dion thought, his now-frail constitution fiercely rejecting all the sins he had committed in his previous life. A kirin is a symbol of all that is pure and good, representing the hope of its kingdom for peace and prosperity for eons. Dion knows—remembers now— that he is anything but, as old blood weighs him down once more and whispers only he can hear drive him to madness.

Kinslayer, they called him. Destroyer of Twinside. Unclean. Unworthy.

Dion was no land's hope bearer. Ryuu's doom was more than certain.

Yet he refused to submit to the darkness that threatened to devour him. Such was the nature of the kirin, a being of light through which Heaven revealed its mandate to the people. So he clung to that same beacon, scattered prayers coalescing like fireflies until he recognized the one his heart yearned for, and the memory of a gentle voice broke the fever that had consumed him for days.

“Would that you were my master, but alas...”

“I will always be your loyal servant.”

Terence, the name left Dion's lips, I will find you again.

-

Calamity after calamity, yet life went on. The people of Ryuu endured, praying for salvation that may or may not come.

Terence was a soldier in this life, as well. He was the only one with memories of a past life, of wars and crystals and extinguished lives. It was all the same in his new reality, in a nation that has been kingless for decades. The Royal Ryuu had strayed from The Way, and the kirin was sacrificed for his lord's greatest folly. And Ryuu continued to pay the price to this day, as monsters ravaged the land in droves, emptying whole cities and driving people from their homes.

Last night, he had managed to let his parents escape on the last ship bound for neighboring En. They would at least be spared the memory of their son's inevitable death in the line of sworn duty to his country—a vow he knows all too well two realities over.

A new kirin inhabits Mout Hou, the hopeful rumors abounded. Ryuu's deliverance was finally at hand, at long last.

How ironic this all was, Terence thought, after they had fought for a world where no gods decided man's fate. Where mankind could live on their own terms.

Yet he'd do it all over again, if only to achieve once more the dream he and his liege shared, that fateful night at Twinside and beyond. Terence blinked back his tears, willing away fond memories of a prince he had loved and served long, long ago.

"Know that I do not ask this lightly."

"And know that I will do it."

Dion, the wind carried Terence's whisper, I will carry our hopes in this new land.

-

Part 2: Searching

-

Everyone in Houro Palace rejoiced the day Dion recovered.

Only barely, but it was as good a start as any if he was to properly seek out the one he yearned for. He was still too weak to leave Mount Hou; staying on his feet for extended hours still sapped him of what little strength his current body had.

It was on days like these that Dion sorely missed the weight of armor on his back, of his trusty lance in his hands. Kirin were forbidden from wielding weapons and engaging in combat, lest they are poisoned by malice and bloodshed. Another nation’s kirin disobeyed this natural instinct in order to save their king, only to nearly die afterward.

Dion was no ordinary kirin, however, and he was only determined to prove it—for himself, if not anyone else. He’d always risen to the challenge, no matter how insurmountable.

Many had come and gone in Dion’s first lifetime, who had served as the wind beneath Bahamut’s wings and brought him far to reach where he stood now. One in particular became a forceful gale near and dear to his own heart, and it pained him so much to have let go, to have forgotten all this time.

Now, that desire to see his beloved again grew stronger day by day, fueling him with the strength he needed to carry on.

Dion bided his time for the next few weeks, conserving his energy for what he anticipated to be a long, harsh journey ahead. He made his preparations with utmost urgency and discretion, all while avoiding the sages’ watchful gazes. He had to leave by the winter solstice, when the Reigon Gate opened for the annual pilgrimage.

In his many years on Mount Hou, Dion had never sensed the next King of Ryuu among the pilgrims. He had not understood the reason for Heaven’s silence back then, even as hundreds sought to ascend the throne and failed. Even as Ryuu fell further into darkness, its people crying in anguish to the gods that had forsaken them.

It only became clear the day he remembered his past, and he knew at once where—to whom—he must go. He could only hope Terence was well, wherever he was.

They will definitely meet again, Dion was certain of that.

-

On the day of the winter solstice, Terence embarked on the pilgrimage to Mount Hou.

Hundreds of caravans still crossed the Yellow Sea after all these years, the rough terrain steeped in dark miasma and teeming with wild beasts even more ferocious than those that crawled Ryuu’s borders. In his years as a soldier of Ryuu, Terence had received many offers to accompany those who wished to ascend the holy mountain, but he’d always refused every time, having no desire for the throne. Many of the pilgrims had made the journey more than once by now, fueled by ambition for honor and glory, among many other things.

Terence only wished salvation for his broken land. Nothing more than that.

It was all far from simple, however.

Would that he could return to his prince's side once more, Terence found himself thinking at times, when his fellow countrymen began to look to him for guidance and inspiration, the way he'd look to his own liege for the same a lifetime ago. He was no stranger to leadership at all, having served as captain of his troops in both of his lives, but the weight of the people’s hopes and expectations slowly wore him from the inside.

It made Terence understand the burden Dion carried a little more—and that it was not enough.

Perhaps this second life was indeed a means to redemption, to carry out a noble legacy that had abruptly ended before being fully realized. This new purpose filled Terence with a sense of pride and responsibility he was only too familiar with, giving him the strength and the will to carry on this uncertain path, and culminating in this journey he took now—for himself, if not anyone else.

Terence looked up to the sky, blue and red meeting gently as day slowly broke. He thought he saw the figure of Bahamut at a distance, as if his prince imparted his blessing from across worlds.

A smile crept up his lips for the first time in a long while. They will meet again someday, no matter how many lifetimes it would take.

-

Part 3: Coming Home

-

Dion ran.

He’d always preferred his real form—a single-horned golden steed—over his human one. Transforming came naturally to him, as did the gracefulness with which he raced away from Mount Hou, above and beyond the Cloud Sea, where there was no pollution, no suffering.

Where he was free.

His thoughts drifted to Terence once more, fondly recalling an afternoon from their youth as knights-in-training. Dion had yet to fully master his control over Bahamut when Terence wondered what it was like to fly.

Bahamut may not have had the capacity to scream, but the sheer exhilaration in Terence’s own voice more than made up for it. Dion reveled in his beloved’s joy, savoring the warm wind that filled his lungs and rushed beneath his wings as he sped up, all while Terence’s firm grip on his back tightened.

The memory filled Dion with renewed vigor that spread from his core down to his legs. He continued to run, galloping through an endless stretch of sky and sea. His heart swelled in anticipation; he was close—so close.

Dion plunged into the Cloud Sea, finally descending upon human land. Several caravans lined the dirt road in the direction from which he’d come. The travelers were no doubt flabbergasted at the sight of him galloping past them from above, but none of them held his interest save for one.

Ah… his eyes are as beautiful as Dion remembered, even as they widened in shock and awe and a myriad of emotions that filled his heart because—

“Terence,” Dion breathed out, “it’s me.” 

-

The group was only halfway across the Yellow Sea when pandemonium almost broke out.

“The Lord of Mount Hou?! There’s no way!”

“It’s the kirin! Ryuuki is here!”

“What if the new king is among us?”

“Finally, after so long! Ryuu is saved!”

Terence could only look to the skyline in the direction of the rising sun, as a magnificent unicorn bathed in pure light came into view. He’d never seen a kirin up close until now; it was indeed as beautiful and radiant as the legends have described.

That presence he’d felt… he didn’t imagine it, after all. Terence’s heart raced at the mere possibility. Could he really be…?

The kirin slowed down as it reached the ground, yet marched on with its head high in a straight path—towards him.

Heavy silence engulfed the entire camp at once. Everyone prostrated themselves on the ground, not daring to lay their eyes on such a holy creature. Though many of them embarked on the pilgrimage desiring the throne of Ryuu, they all knew at this very moment that the kirin had finally chosen its master.

“Terence,” it addressed him in Valisthean, “it’s me.”

A plethora of emotions flooded Terence’s heart at once—shock, confusion and awe, among many others—as he fell to his knees, looking into the kindest, warmest eyes that had long filled his memories and dreams from a lifetime ago.

“My prince,” his voice cracked as he greeted his liege, tears welling up in his own eyes. “It has been so long.”

Dion moved in closer, nuzzling against Terence’s neck. He’d always loved to do that when they were alone, their closeness greatly comforting after a long day in the field or in the war room. Dion’s long mane brushed against a sensitive spot beneath Terence’s chin, and he couldn’t resist the tremble that overcame him.

A warm chuckle came over his beloved. “My apologies,” Dion mumbled, the warmth in his voice exactly as Terence remembered it. “You were always ticklish there, weren’t you.”

Dion’s kirin form dissolved in a flood of light, leaving in its place a thin, golden-haired man in white and black robes. The gaunt, weakened form did him no justice at all, but Terence immediately understood: his prince had suffered much in this world.

He immediately caught Dion in his arms. “You should rest, my prince.”

“I will, later.” Determination filled his liege’s eyes, even as he struggled to hold himself upright in Terence’s arms. “But I must say this to you first.”

Dion locks his gaze with Terence’s, his hold on Terence’s shoulders firmer. Let me do this, Dion seemed to say, his eyes filled with the same purpose that earned him the loyalty of so many through the years. Terence nodded and slowly let go.

Terence would remember the next moment for the rest of his life—his prince and commander, and the love of his very life, bowing to him reverently as he recited the sacred oath of the kirin: "I bestow upon thee the crown by the will of the Heavens. I swear never to desert my post before thy throne, I swear never to disobey thy orders. I pledge to thee my loyalty and protection and the promise of the Heavens."

Dion looked up after uttering these words, radiating warmth and joy and hope. Terence remembered his prince’s wistful wish from a lifetime ago. It was not a mere desire to yield or give up, but a deep, earnest longing for someone to stay by his side. For someone to be himself with, to be free to live and love with for the rest of their days.

There could only be one answer: “I accept.”

With that, the pact had been made, and Terence became the new King of Ryuu.

-

The size of Tankei Palace rivaled that of Whitewyrm Castle, but its design reflected a serene simplicity that was vastly different from the conventions of their old world. Dion found that he liked the scenery here, the gentle changing of the seasons calming his heart the way Oriflamme never did.

He had confided as much to Terence, his king, who was currently fussing over him in the privacy of their own pavilion overlooking the Cloud Sea. It had been all too easy for them to fall back into old habits, even after all this time. Way too easy.

Dion stifled a soft laugh at the thought, prompting Terence to look up from his teacup, “Is something wrong, my prince?”

“Only Dion, please,” he reminded his king yet again. “We are no longer in Valisthea. You are my master now in this world.”

Terence’s face immediately flushed at that statement. The effect had been more than what Dion had intended, but he would not content himself with that just yet. “I am serious, Your Majesty. It would be best for you to get used to your new position now before we receive the Divine Mandate. The denizens of this world take hierarchy and protocol more seriously than back in Sanbreque.”

They both knew well how the twelve kingdoms worked, having already lived enough of their lives in this second reality granted them. Even after everything that had happened and all the things they had done, they had found each other, despite all the odds and misfortunes and sins that tore them apart. 

It was more than enough to be grateful for.

Terence had finished considering Dion’s words, huffing in reluctant agreement. “I understand, Dion. I should listen to my Taiho’s counsel from here on out.”

“That you should,” Dion nodded wisely. “And in turn, I will always be by your side to support you.” A tender smile graced his lips. “Like I always have.”

“Like we both always have,” Terence corrected, gently kissing Dion’s forehead.

-

THE END

Overview of The Twelve Kingdoms

Kirin, as depicted in 12K

The pilgrimage (Shouzan)

About the series (Please please please read/watch it! You won't regret it, I promise!

[fifteenleads]

LONG LIVE - Post-script.

An extra conversation after they make up. [PhoenixFlare]

Dion’s doing physical rehab now. He wears an arm sling most of the time, but left it at home the night of the dinner because he didn’t want Joshua to pity him. Or laugh at him. Whatever. Joshua merely laughs at Dion for it.

He has a crush on his therapist. Typical boy-next-door type, patient and understanding even when Dion's being a huge pain during rehab. Lean and muscular in all the right places. Played basketball in college. Gives amazing massages.

"Sounds like an incredible guy," Joshua remarks. "When do I meet him?" Gotcha, he thinks slyly when Dion blushes at the question.

"I... haven’t asked him out yet." Joshua snorts on his coffee. "What?! Why? You’re being so slow, ugh. Give me your phone."

Dion awkwardly fumbles into his pockets with his good arm and drops his phone on the floor. Joshua quickly snatches it up before Dion could get it back.

"Oh, so he’s called Terence, huh. He’s cute." And Dion can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the possibility of his now step-brother crushing on his crush.

Joshua proceeds to fiddle with Dion’s phone, and he keeps trying to get it back but Joshua’s reflexes are faster now. "You were so slow before, what happened?" Joshua smirks. "You did."

Dion is stunned for a while, ears red. Joshua finishes what he’s typing and slides Dion’s phone across the table back to him. On the screen is a new chat thread, a simple "Hello" sent from Dion’s phone to an unknown number. "That's my new number," Joshua explains. "You’d better keep in touch this time."

Well. That was unexpected. But he should have expected as much from Joshua. "At least you didn’t message Terence like I feared you would. I almost got a heart attack."

"Glad you didn’t then," Joshua teases. "Because we still have so much to talk about. You owe me so many stories."

Dion smiles as he sips the last of his hot chocolate. "Same goes for you, Joshua. Another round of drinks? My treat."

"I’ll have yours this time," Joshua agrees. "Come on," he pulls Dion with him to order at the counter.

[fifteenleads]

LONG LIVE

Long live the walls we crashed through How the kingdom lights shined just for me and you I was screaming, "Long live all the magic we made" And bring on all the pretenders One day we will be remembered —Long Live (Taylor’s Version), Taylor Swift

In which Joshua and Dion were high school sweethearts.

Joshua and Dion used to be high school sweethearts. Joshua was a straight-A student, Dion was a varsity swimmer.

Dion was older than Joshua but they’re in the same year level due to Dion missing classes for competitions.

They fell in love over freshman year summer break, when Joshua was assigned to tutor Dion over catch-up lessons. Dion was an eager learner, Joshua was a patient teacher.

They went out to the beach once on their first date, getting sand in their sandals with gentle waves lapping over their bare legs.

They kissed for the first under a mistletoe that Christmas. They didn’t know it but Clive happened to catch them in the act, but didn’t say anything.

Soon, Dion went higher up the competition ranks. He may even represent the national team at this point. He had to take another leave of absence from school to prioritize his training.

This ended up with him dropping out of high school altogether and moving states to where the training camp was. Dion and Joshua promised to keep in touch.

They didn’t.

Life got busier and busier for Joshua, but also more troublesome. On his junior year, the Rosfields planned to get a divorce, and Joshua had to figure out what to do with his life. Clive was away at college, and last Joshua heard, wasn’t exactly having a good time there either. He didn’t want to worry his brother.

Clive found out about the divorce a little too late, and this caused a temporary rift between the brothers. Joshua was all alone. He wanted to call Dion, find comfort and support. But Dion was preparing for an international competition. Joshua didn’t want to disrupt Dion’s concentration, and so he didn't call.

This was how they began to drift apart.

Dion did eventually find out when he came home to visit one time during Joshua’s senior year. They fought for the first time, not in shouts but in silence. Dion was angry , hurt that Joshua didn’t confide in him. "Is that how little you think of me," was his armor-piercing question. "Am I not even friend enough for you to lean on me?"

They decided to give each other space indefinitely. Joshua cried for the first time in a while since his parents’ divorce.

Clive regretted not having been there for Joshua when all this happened. He was graduating in a semester, and went home on some weekends to help the family (Elwin, Joshua) adjust. Sometimes Jill came along.

Clive met Jill, a freshman student librarian at college at that time, during his junior year when he was failing most of his courses. She was a huge help to him at that time, becoming his rock and moral support while he found his focus again. Clive was able to process his parents’ divorce a little better because Jill was there. They got together during Clive’s senior year.

Joshua graduated from high school. He attended a state university on a scholarship to help with the family finances. The GPA requirement was ridiculous but given his grades in high school, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Clive also moved back home for work, and things were okay for a while.

Annabella invited the Rosfields to dinner a year after the divorce. There they got a huge surprise: she revealed she remarried and was expecting. She brought her new husband and stepson.

It’s Dion. Joshua turned pale and breaks into a cold sweat. It’s him it’shimit’shim—

He asked to use the restroom, and Clive followed him. Annabella scoffed at the rejection. Dion was clearly uncomfortable.

Joshua excused himself for the rest of the night and sneaked out alone to a coffee shop still open at midnight. Lots of students were pulling all-nighters, it was a good distraction as any. He ordered a cup of hot coffee—Dion’s favorite roast. He tried hard not to cry.

At 1AM someone asks to share his table. Joshua looked up. "Hello," Dion awkwardly waved.

Dion ordered Joshua’s favorite drink—a hot chocolate drink. They sat in silence for half an hour, not daring to look at each other.

To this day, Joshua didn’t know who between them was hurt more when they broke up. But it wasn't right to compare, is it? Each person’s pain is different. He never even asked Dion how he was doing, so what right did he have to complain?

At 2AM they both blurt out at the same time, "I’m sorry." Dion backed off, letting Joshua explain himself first. "It’s all right, I won’t get mad."

So Joshua poured his heart out, at how so many things overwhelmed him, how much he missed Dion, how he regretted not keeping in touch, for presuming. He realized that he’s changed so much and that Dion must probably hate him as he was now.

"I could never," Dion said softly. "And you’re still the same Joshua I know. Stubborn as ever, but earnest and kind. The one I fell in love with."

If anything, Dion’s the one who’s sorry for not keeping in touch. He didn’t want to be seen as clingy, needy. During his time away he became homesick, and the pressures of winning and excelling at competitions ate away at him. His father became stricter and stricter, and Dion wished it would all end.

Then suddenly one day it all did. He gravely injured his shoulder due to overuse. The damage was so severe that he might need surgery. They have the means for it, but it would also mean that he would miss this berth to qualify for the World Championships. But not getting it fixed would mean a life of chronic pain and possible disuse of his arm. He had to choose.

Dion chose to give up swimming. It was a painful decision. He didn’t leave his room for days until his scheduled shoulder surgery. After that was done, he was all on his own. His father didn’t care anymore. No matter—Dion had the means to support himself for now anyway.

Soon Sylvester remarried to Annabella, to Dion’s greatest surprise. "Oh, aren’t you the boy my son was tutoring back then?" Dion could only nod numbly.

Truth be told, he’d been dreading this dinner as well. Dion never called Joshua all this time, never told him what was going on, never asked for help when he needed it the most, since he didn’t want to worry Joshua. Damn if that didn’t sound suspiciously familiar, Joshua thought, finally laughing brokenly.

They were both thinking the same thing after all. Like two peas in a pod. They really were idiots. Dion concurs with a rueful smile.

All that was finally cleared up, and they hold hands again for the first time in a while. "So where do we go from here?"

"We’re now legally relatives so that puts a wrench into things," but more than that, Dion thinks he’s changed, too. More than he'd realized. He never really thought about it seriously, though, until Joshua had opened up.

"We’ve become two different people, but I’ve never regretted being with you. Loving you." A tear fell from Joshua’s eye, and Dion found it beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. "I had the time of my life with you, Dion. The moments we shared, the magic we made together—all of it."

Dion brought a hand close to Joshua’s face, catching the fallen tear on the edge of his finger before cupping his cheek. "Who would’ve thought we’d connected the way we did? All the walls we’ve crashed through, all the mountains we've moved?"

"I love you, Joshua," Dion said, softly kissing Joshua's hand. "You’ll always have a special place in my heart."

And Joshua knew it isn’t the kind of love they once had for each other, but it was still love all the same. "I know, Dion. I love you, too."

[fifteenleads]

where happiness lies

Bungou Stray Dogs | Miyazawa Kenji | Pre-canon | Character Study

-

No one in the Armed Detective Agency knows about Kenji’s coconut plantation.

Its existence is a puzzlement to the few who’ve heard of it in passing, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders at the nigh-impossible endeavor of growing tropical plants in temperate, volcanic soil— out in the nowhere of Ihatovo, no less. Yet it still grows and thrives, a couple dozen tall trees with long palm branches that bow to the weight of the sweet, white fruit.

To the even fewer who know of it, it’s a miracle that stands the test of time and a memento of a friendship that lives forever.

Kenji had never presumed himself more than an applauding audience to this brotherhood of old, yet bore witness to it he has, and the sacred duty of honoring its legacy has fallen on his young shoulders. It is a task he willingly undertakes with delight and reverence, every minute in the sun and every bead of trickling sweat a testament to this undying labor of love.

When night falls, he rests under the shade of the biggest tree, losing himself in pleasant musings not unlike the gentle swaying of the low-lying branches. The golden yellow flowers will be bearing fruit soon, and there will again be a plentiful harvest. This humble patch of sloped land has seen its fair share of disasters since its soil was first tilled, yet the trees grow back again the next spring, resilient as the Mother Nature that had warmly accepted them.

A fond smile crosses Kenji’s lips at the thought. “It’s just as you said, Mister Juan.”

.

They had met four summers ago, when the rice paddies were still young and green and everything was still right with the world. During those days, every able-bodied villager would rise at dawn, share breakfast over tea, and pray together for a good harvest before setting off to the fields. Sometimes the women would bake bread, and everyone would savor the soft, chewy treat with fresh milk and boiled eggs, or pack it in their lunches instead so they wouldn't be late for the sunrise.

Kenji also helped out however he could, a mere youth of ten years already a powerhouse with his uncanny strength of ten men. Back then, he had no concept of the wide world beyond the borders of his small village, where the only truths were the circle of life, the changing of seasons, and the sense of common identity and belonging to which everyone ascribed.

He had been guiding a small herd of cattle across the shallow riverbank, staying with the youngest calf that had lagged behind due to a prior hind leg injury it sustained at birth. “Just a little more,” he coaxed the animal, taking a few steps forward before motioning it to do the same. Patience is a good thing, Mother says, so no one ever gets left behind.

They were almost at the other side when a worn, bloodied scarf got caught in his leg. Kenji regarded it with concern, wondering if anyone from upstream had gotten hurt while crossing the river themselves. He untangled the wet cloth and wrung it dry, then left his herd to go check the situation for himself, just for a little while.

From far away, he spied an old man beside an overturned cart of fruit, nursing what seemed to be an injured ankle by the riverside. Immediately he made his way through the rocky path, climbing over some of the larger boulders as he did. “Hello, Sir! Do you need help?”

The old man grunted in response, slowly craning his neck in Kenji’s direction. “Never mind me! Can ya fix my cart an’ put back the coconuts innit? There should be thirty of ‘em.” He then pointed with his nose and lips towards the mess of plywood and round green fruit, some of which had begun to roll downstream towards the river. 

“Got it!” Kenji grinned, then quickly caught up to the couple of runaway fruit, scooping them up one at a time with his free arm before they got swept away by the current. He then set them down by the old man’s feet before working on the wooden cart. It wasn’t too badly damaged, all things considered, save for a side wheel that had come loose after the impact. Most of the fruit that had been trapped underneath were likewise still fine, sustaining only light scratches on the outside thanks to their sturdy wooden husks.

“... Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Kenji triumphantly called out as he returned the last of the coconuts into the cart. Beside him, the old man sighed in relief, hobbling towards his restored fruit cart on his injured leg before falling forward into Kenji’s arms. “Please don’t force yourself, Sir!”

“Ah, ‘s fine,” the old man mumbled, waving him off and reaching for the handles to use as a support to right himself. “‘Twas a close one. Thank you, boy.”

“You’re welcome! You’re also headed this way, right?” Kenji then went over to the front side of the cart, lifting it up only ever-so-slightly, enough to help the old man push it along the riverbank. “Us men of the field are always proud to pull our own weight,” his own grandfather had once said, even after already injuring his back multiple times during past harvests.

The old man bared a toothless smile at him in silent gratitude. “Aye, boy. Let’s go there.”

.

“Say, you’re not from around here, are you?” Kenji asked between mouthfuls of coconut meat, watching intently as the old man slurped down the clear juice like he would a bowl of cool water. The fruit was perfectly ripe, with just the right amount of freshness and sweetness that hit the spot for parched throats and sore muscles on a hot summer afternoon.

They had taken up shade under a nearby cherry tree overlooking the rice fields while the small herd of cattle grazed nearby. The green stalks had almost reached their full height, though they had yet to begin to flower. The young farm hands still remain under the sun to tend to them; now is the most crucial time to ensure a good harvest.

“Hmm. I live along the border on the other side of the village, actually,” the old man answered thoughtfully, setting down his emptied coconut husk and wiping the juice that had dribbled down his chin. “I jus’ don’t come down the mountain often. Been busy growin’ these little ‘uns, ya see.” He then gestured towards his cart sitting nearby, the coconuts in it seeming to glow in response as they basked in the afternoon sunlight filtered by the yellow-green leaves.

“—Though, methinks that wasn’t the answer ya were lookin’ for, huh.” He then propped his elbows over his crossed legs and laced his bony fingers while staring intently. The sudden seriousness with which he said this line took Kenji by surprise, and he likewise set down his half-eaten coconut on his lap, rubbing his index finger along the rough edge of the husk along which it had been cut in half.

“Yer called Kenji, right?” He asked gruffly, doing the lip-pointing thing again. “Listen carefully, boy. This probably the first an’ last time you’ll hear it.”

Kenji gulped audibly at this, nodding and leaning in to hear more. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” There was that toothless smile again. “Name’s Juan. I grow coconuts. And I wasn’t born here, no.”

.

Ihatovo, he said. And he sent a photograph of him with coconut trees. Can you believe it? Grew ‘em bukos all by himself! There was no mistakin’ it, I would know those bright eyes anywhere, despite everything else of ‘im grown old an’ all wrinkled up. 

“So I packed my bags and moved here— all the way to Japan, to Ihatovo. And we hugged when we met, cried many, many tears ‘til they all be dried an’ gone. I couldn’t believe it. My best friend was alive. My best friend was here. And we were together again.

“Livin’ here was like a different world altogether. Didn’t know no Nippongo an’ all. But I was excited. It was like school all over again, and I was a young boy all over again. Kampanito felt the same. He and I would talk about all sorts o’ things, from our good ol’ school days to grown-up things. He did become a doctor, but only for a while. He didn’t want to talk ‘bout what happened after that, though. It didn’t matter anymore, I said. All that mattered was that I was with my friend again, ya know? And he said yes.

“We split a coconut between us for our first dinner together, a fruit he grew an’ harvested himself. Can you believe it, Juan? He said. This small patch of foreign soil on a sloped hill managed ta bear fruit that reminds us of home. It’s amazing! Still don’t know how it happened. It must be a miracle.

“I agreed with him with tears in my eyes. An’ the North Star shone brightly over us, remindin’ us that no matter where we are, or however long has passed, wherever we are happy is home. ‘Tis true even now, boy. Here— Ihatovo— is home.”

.

Kenji didn’t realize that tears had fallen from his eyes until Mister Juan gently wiped them with his thumb. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he stammered as he pulled back in surprise. He really enjoyed hearing the old man talk about his life, both heartwarming and heartrending at the same time. Moreover, he found himself identifying with him a lot more than he had expected.

“Nah, ‘s all good,” Mister Juan only laughed heartily, grabbing the other coconut he had set aside and cracking it open in one fell swoop. “Here, have some more buko.” Kenji accepted the proffered fruit, appreciating its weight in his hands. He bit off a small part of the thinned-out fruit on the top, before sipping the juice in it. For some reason it tasted a little different now— of youth and friendship. Of life, love, and of home.

“This is really delicious, Sir,” Kenji said after finishing off the rest of the fruit.

“‘Course it is,” Mister Juan bragged. “I grew it myself.”

It was already sunset by the time they finished talking and eating, and it was time to go home. Kenji offered his hand to Juan once more, leading him back to his cart. “Are you sure you don’t need me to carry you back?”

“Bah, us men of the field can pull our own weight ‘round here. I’ll be fine,” Mister Juan waved him off dismissively, despite limping on his good leg. “You go home, boy. Yer mom’s gonna scold ya if the cattle ain’t home by sundown, yeah?”

Kenji chuckled to himself at that; he was absolutely right, of course. “Can we meet again tomorrow afternoon? There’s a lot of things I’d like to ask you.”

Mister Juan only bared a toothless grin in response. “Well, who knows?”

.

No one in the Armed Detective Agency knows about Kenji’s coconut plantation.

It has already been four years since Mister Juan had passed, and apparently eight years since Kampanito had before him. Even the village elders had found Mister Juan’s last will strange, indeed: a single coconut fruit, completely emptied out except for the seed inside it. So Kenji planted it, just as Mister Juan had taught him to, dutifully tended to it, watched it grow alongside the others, and harvested its fruit every year. And just like that, the circle of life continued amidst the change of seasons, and the buko fruits remained to be part of him— of Ihatovo.

He returns to Yokohama today, having tended to the flowering trees on the small patch of sloped land after paying his respects to his friend. Everyone is surprised at the haul of tropical fruit stacked on his desk, with Ranpo begging Mister Fukuzawa to slice one up for him with his blade. Kunikida tries to get everyone to settle down while preparing the kitchen for the surprise afternoon refreshment.

“Mmm, I must say, this goes perfectly well as a cocktail,” Yosano remarks while sipping the juice directly from the fruit with a straw. “Something light for a summer afternoon, perhaps.”

“You drink too much,” Tanizaki grumbles from beside her, while Naomi adds condensed milk to her bowl of shredded coconut. “And that’s way too much sugar already!” As if in response, Kyouka holds out her bowl to Naomi, as well, who gladly drizzles more milk into it.

Kenji watches the daily squabble unfold with much amusement. He has to admit, their motley bunch of misfits work really well together, despite all the odds. It has barely been a year since he has joined the Agency, but he already feels comfortable with everyone. He has always made friends easily, after all, whether within his village or outside of it.

He walks over to the window overlooking the street, and offers Atsushi an opened-up fruit, a small metal spoon in it. “Where’s Dazai?”

“Dazai will be back in the evening, I think,” Atsushi says, gratefully accepting the fruit. “Said he had something to take care of earlier.” His grip on the fruit tightens as he looks downcast. “Truth be told, I can’t help but worry about him sometimes, especially when he takes off so suddenly like that.”

“Hmm.” Kenji sets down his coconut on the desk and leans back on the windowsill, feeling the draft of warm wind blow into his hair. “Dazai will be all right. He probably just needs a little thinking space for himself is all. Don’t we all?”

“... I guess you’re right.” Atsushi carves out a small portion of fruit for himself. “I mean, we all consider this place home, one way or another.”

“Yup, that we do,” Kenji agrees. “No matter where we are, or however long has passed, wherever we are happy is home.”

Just as Mister Juan said.

“Eh, did you say something? I don’t think I caught that,” Atsushi suddenly asks. For some reason, everyone else turns to Kenji, too, probably expecting some form of explanation, as well.

He merely laughs at that. “Oh, it’s all right. Just a long story, if you all want to hear it.”

-

END

-

Some references used in the story: 1. Night on the Galactic Railroad by (IRL) Miyazawa Kenji 2. The legend of Daragang Magayon (Filipino folk story)

Dedicated to my friends at the Buko Stray Dogs Discord server. Miss you all!