#(ooc: well this ended up being longer than I expected skfndjjfndkfj)

[a-gilded-imprisonment]

A luxury of few~

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Aventurine is quiet as he stands on one of the lower balconies in Golden Hour, overlooking the streets below, bustling and filled with people.

The gambler supposes Golden Hour may be his favourite dreamscape in Penacony, as many others would agree. It feels warm here, and the abundant festivities almost always find a way to distract the blonde from whatever is troubling his thoughts.

Almost. Almost, because dreams are meant for the lucky few who have the luxury of being able to escape reality. Although Aventurine would argue himself lucky indeed, such a trivial luxury is unfortunately not one he has the possibility of partaking in.

Even in a place like Golden Hour, the gambler can never escape what he truly is, nor the past that haunts him. He will never be simply “Aventurine”, for erasing a part of oneself is quite a difficult task indeed.

His eyes skate across the scenery in a meek attempt to distract himself, to allow himself to get swept away by the hustle and bustle of the place, to lose himself in the music and parties and neon lights.

His gaze rests on a young couple of women, one about a foot shorter than the other. The taller one must make some sort of joke, because the shorter woman’s face twists up into a smile and Aventurine swears he can hear the echo of soft laughter.

He can’t explain the feeling he gets while he watches the couple, the shorter woman pulling in the other for a kiss, and he would chastise himself for intruding on such a private moment— but the pull of pure joy emanating from the couple is far too tempting.

The taller woman pulls the shorter woman into her arms, and they stand together, swaying softly from side to side.

Something about the gesture makes Aventurine’s breath hitch, and his chest constrict. He looks away immediately, fixing his eyes on the slot machines not much further away.

The gambler can’t help but reassure himself that he must be familiar with the gesture, and that it must remind him of someone… but in the end, it seems to be quite the opposite.

As much as the blonde would love to say that he can relate to the feeling of pure, unadulterated love shared between two people, just as the two women share bliss in each other’s company, the truth would be far from the illusion.

It’s been so long since Aventurine has last been held that the memory of such a sensation has long since faded away… but he yearns for it nonetheless, wants so badly—

There’s a hole in Aventurine’s heart, and the grand spectacles in Golden Hour and endless thrills of Penacony can only do so much to fill it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───