#i was going to just bring Sol over and continue the MSQ as her but I wanted a chance to experience ARR without my roommate forcing me to

[ubejamjar]

Just a quick gpose of Sol and Ajisai :D Her name is Solrun Steelweaver and her personality is 'Best Blacksmith'. If memory serves, she's a level 40-something black mage on the cusp of meeting Haurchefant for the first time. I shipped her with Merlwyb and my partner's Roe-- Meri.

[fistsoflightning]

6: for you the flowers bloom

prompt: free day ⮞ vernalization || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 2224

Even if spring meets summer only once a year, A’dewah will keep coming back to Doma just to see Haruki smile. (Or; some flowers need the cold to bloom in spring.)

Post 5.3 MSQ; contains spoilers for after the last (scion-related) cutscene!! This got... incredibly gay. And soft. Thank you @to-the-voiceless​ for reaching through your computer screen and whacking me into writing fluff, and also for letting me steal Haruki yet again >:3

The dawn on the day Krile let A’dewah more than five steps out of the Dawn’s Respite came with a steady peace, Revenant’s Toll not yet awake to greet the rising sun in its unfiltered brilliance. Mor Dhona’s usual smog of corrupted aether hadn’t come back in nearly a week, now, and the air had been all the better for it, a summer breeze sweet on the horizon as A’dewah had taken in the emptiness of the Toll. He’d even made it all the way to the rooftop garden before his quiet view of the Singing Shards, glimmering like Zaya’s aquamarines in the daybreak, was interrupted—and not even by someone finding him.

In the pocket of the coat Lunya and Syhrwyda had practically smothered him in when he’d asked to step out of the Rising Stones, the light ring of a linkpearl catches his attention, singing of river water and spring. Warmth, among the morning chill, overly familiar.

His heart leaps into his throat. No, it couldn’t be, he’d forgot the linkpearl somewhere in Sweetsieve when he’d caught wind of Thancred’s collapse—

When he finally fishes the linkpearl from his pocket to find the same earring he’d resigned himself to never seeing again, A’dewah makes a mental note to thank Lunya when he has the chance to; she must have found it in her final journey across Norvrandt, G’raha in tow… sort of.

Either way, it’s simply another debt he figures he owes to her.

He scrambles to thumb the connection on, nearly fumbling and dropping the earring off the side of the Stones when his fingers stiffen and lock, barely lucky enough for the pearl to simply drop into the palm of his hand instead of down three flights of stairs.

“Hey,” Haruki’s voice rings clear—clearer than it did all the way from the First, at any rate—almost muted in comparison to his usual cheery tone, exhaustion seeping in where Dewah would usually find refreshing cheer. Rustling leaves fill the quiet lull between his words,  “Hope it’s not too early, where you are?”

He huffs; since that one call back in the Pendants, he hadn’t stayed up that early, and he wasn’t about to break that streak while he was still recovering, the dull, empty ache of missing aether enough to keep him bedridden most of the time. 

“Isn’t it later than you usually call in Doma?” Dewah tries to do the math in his head, but Haruki’s almost loopy shhh is enough for him to get his answer. “I mean… not too early? The sun’s still rising over Mor Dhona.”

That seems to wake Haruki up enough, a second wind to his voice as he excitedly asks dozens of questions—when did you get back, how are you feeling, did Hanami manage to get that tailfeather from Suzaku to you—and he tends to the garden while he talks; somehow, he gets from their newest Scions’ return (“L-look, it’s not—! G’raha still has his archer muscles, you know I get flustered!” “Mmm, maybe I’ll pick up archery…” “Please don’t for my own sanity��s sake.” ) to the rumors of a shark infestation at Costa del Sol having something to do with this year’s Moonfire Faire while Haruki drowsily comments here and there.

“Dewah,” Haruki mumbles, after Dewah’s finished recounting just how horrified Duscha and Syhrwyda were when Tataru came in with that odd-smelling bread, and he can faintly hear a muffled yawn. “When d’you think you’ll come back home and visit? I wanna—” Haruki pauses, and Dewah can hardly hear the groan he makes when he stretches over the thrum of his own damned heartbeat. “—wanna hold you again. Miss seeing you flustered.”

For a moment, Dewah’s heart stays stuck in his throat, somehow still unused to being wanted so earnestly even by Haruki, who would want probably want him to come home even if he’d didn’t come out all the same after the events on the First. Who had been so happy to see A’dewah in the House of the Fierce after years of nothing, even as horribly bent out of shape as he was over the stress of coming back to Yanxia with all of his allies’ eyes on him; who had been there when he’d been at his worst, who had loved him even when he had chosen to keep him an arm’s length away—

“Soon,” A’dewah promises, even while he thinks of how his aether had weakened from returning the part of his soul that, apparently, was Zaya’s, and of how he’d been destabilizing at around the same rate as Thancred had despite being called around the time of Urianger and Y’shtola. His free hand brushes over the petals of an iris, just about ready to bloom. “And this time, I won’t run away out of the blue.”

Haruki stifles a laugh—in his pillow, or sleeve, probably; A’dewah can hear fabric rustling about on Haruki’s end. “Yeah, because you’ll, hopefully, be stuck in a hug for as long as I can manage.”

A’dewah’s following laugh, echoing off the walls of the Rising Stones, is the first sound that brings Revenant’s Toll to life as dawn gives way to another bright day.

…

Two weeks after, A’dewah makes a very inadvisable choice for the sake of his heart.

After scarfing down about two and a half slices of Archon loaf—ew, gods, how did the other Scions eat this in Sharlayan daily, is this why Syhrwyda is so adamant about her cooking, is this why Duscha fed his slice of loaf the other day to Miloh—he practically wheedles Krile into letting him teleport, briefly peeking into the infirmary to grab his satchel and is almost out of the Rising Stones when—

“A’dewah Tia,” Hanami says, her voice sending chills down A’dewah’s back even though it really shouldn’t, by this point in time. “Where are you going.”

“A-ah, well…” He stammers, hands reaching to fiddle with the leather strap of his bag even as he (somehow) keeps his head held high, a bubbling nervousness in the pit of his stomach even though he finds no reason to feel ashamed. 

There is no reason to lie, either, he thinks, even if it will send her on his trail eventually, when Krile realizes what he has done for love.

“Home.”

He turns tail the moment Hanami’s brow furrows—he might have a burst of bravery, but there is no way he can handle her coldfire stare—already two steps out the door when he hears an almost exasperated sigh from Hanami—but no footsteps following after him, thank the Matron for that. A’dewah might really have fainted, then, regardless of the ether Krile made him drink earlier.

When he finally steps up to the aetheryte, it’s easier than ever to find the tailwind that leads him home and let it sweep him away.

…

The Doman Enclave is nearly the same as he remembers it, if not more festive; perhaps for a hanabi festival, considering the bright lanterns and stalls lining the streets that A’dewah did not remember being there before, vendors carrying crates of vibrant goods and patterned fabrics. He passes by Alianne, giving a light greeting before practically stumbling away to prevent her asking after his health, and then several of the children from the Doman Adventurer’s Guild rush past him, paper lanterns in hand and excitedly chattering.

He’s not sure he’s ever seen the Enclave more alive than now.

In his daze, he nearly runs into two Au’ra—both much shorter than him, even compared to Hanami or Zaya—and he nearly brushes it off with a quick apology before he catches just who he’d bumped into next.

“K-Kotone!?” He sputters; even though he’d known he’d be coming back to Doma he hadn’t quite expected her to be around, a loss of words for why he might be here, so soon after arriving home from the First. Honoka levels him with a sharpened glare—presumably relating to the origami knife (of which he’d nearly given himself a very large papercut on the edge of) he’d received from the post moogle after the entire debacle with G’raha’s new appearance and A’dewah’s very unwanted reaction—but Kotone’s shy smile never falters as she urges her sister to continue walking. For a moment, he expects some sort of verbal flaying, so uncharacteristic of his fellow wallflower, but why else would she make Honoka go before her—

But instead of asking anything of him, of why did you leave so quickly so long ago or did you know you nearly broke his heart she simply looks over her shoulder to the One Garden, letting Dewah’s gaze follow to a flash of teal walking past, bright in the afternoon sun.

“The morning glories you brought us,” she says, her voice a quiet autumn wind. “He’s taken to caring for them, when he can.”

Thank you, he mouths as Kotone smiles sweetly at him, walking briskly to catch up to her sister as he almost sprints to the One Garden before rethinking himself and merely speed walking instead. His heart beats in time with his steps, singing with anticipation as he turns the corner and sees that familiar, horrible peacock teal.

(He’d heard from thinly veiled conversations, back before he was taken away to the First on accident, about how Haruki had stopped keeping up with his usually strenuous ritual of horribly bright hair dye after he’d left; he remembers just how guilty he’d felt, and how scared he was of ever showing his face back in the Doman Enclave afterwards. He’d been so adamant on not even letting his roots show for a week, so for it to be noticable….)

A light tap on Haruki’s shoulder has him curiously turning around, though, breaking his gentle but distant stare into the garden pond. “Hi,” A’dewah says like he hasn’t just shown up after a good year and at least two tall tales worth of adventures, smiling when Haruki’s expression shifts to that of shock, then of barely concealed joy. 

“Hey,” Haruki replies, failing to swallow his smile before it brightens into a grin that Dewah never wants to see fall again. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“I teleported here as soon as Krile cleared me to teleport—to Limsa Lominsa,” he confesses, bringing a hand up and scratching nervously at the back of his neck. Not the most well-thought out of his plans, now that he thinks about it. “B-but I think Hanami is going to be coming after me soon; she caught me leaving and if Krile asks she’ll probably, er, rat me out, and they’ll probably drag me back to get an earful—”

“But you’re here now. I think,” he says, reaching his hand out to gently brush at A’dewah’s torn ear, touch just soft and familiar enough that he snaps out of his worrying with ease. “that matters more than Hana-chan probably coming to kick your ass.” A’dewah snickers; he’s probably right, anyhow, and just maybe if Hanami does come knocking he can gently toss Haruki under the bus for how he refuses to call Hanami anything else but the nickname she hates when talking to him.

Haruki walks over to the railing of the bridge, after a moment, and pats the railing next to him; a seat so that Dewah isn’t craning his neck up all the time, probably, like he used to offer the last time he was here. Always somewhere sunsoaked and low to the ground, even when he’d taken Dewah on a trip across Yanxia, because for all his excitement when they were younger he’d always noticed just how he’d balked at heights.

Instead of taking a seat, he quietly pulls a flower out from his bag and holds it out to Haruki when he walks over.

“One of the flowers someone planted in Mor Dhona,” he explains, after a moment of stunned silence, idly fiddling with one of the flower’s leaves. “I didn’t have the time to, er, stop by my garden, so no brightlilies, but this was already in the Stones’ garden and—uh.”

A’dewah stutters to a stop when Haruki pries the iris from his hands, gently twining his creaky, stiff fingers into his own. Purple, unfortunately, isn’t Haruki’s color—it’s always been Munehise’s, actually, and Dewah’s not quite sure what is Haruki’s, too used to seeing him in eye-searingly bright teal to think of anything else—but he smiles fondly at the iris anyways, sunlight skipping across his scales and turning them pure white.

“Sunshine, it’s perfect.” Haruki leans over, lightly kissing his forehead; cool against A’dewah’s flush that could rival the summer heat at this point. “Thank you.”

And A’dewah doesn’t know what he could say to that, spring’s warmth blooming in his chest as everything he’s wanted to say in his one (four?) year absence bubbles up at once, so instead he steps forward and pulls him into a hug instead, sighing a summer breeze full of promise and withheld adoration into Haruki’s arms. The Doman sunlight seeps into the dark leather of his coat comfortably around the cooler touch of Haruki’s hands splayed across his back, and A’dewah could melt if his bones weren’t complaining.

Of course, he thinks, letting his fingers curl into the fabric of Haruki’s shirt as he finds himself lovingly trapped in Haruki’s embrace. What else would I have done?