Work Text:
￮
d é calcomanie.
The moon shined down on the road like an illusionary dream.
Amidst the weaving and winding grass, a lone girl raised her head. The dirt path stretched out before her, far into the night where rows and floes of clouds roamed and eclipsed the stars. What a lonely world, she thought. If only the stars would shine.
But the clouds only seemed to block the moon. They cast shadows and mirrors on its light, and submerged the world in darkness. It was like breaking a spell that’d long since lost its charm, to lift a veil only for it to reveal a lie. So time slowed in its passage, quiet save for the breeze and rustling sea of grass, and the girl waited. She waited until her heart grew cold and at last she turned away, forgetting why she ever came in the first place.
Perhaps that next moment was a trick of fate or destiny, or simply a chance encounter. Even now, she still doesn’t know. All she knows is that a tinkling sound, so reminiscent of bells, was calling to her. How in that pitch black darkness, she turned around just to find a crystalline heart fluttering before her. Dusted in a rose-colored glow, dancing in shards of light—beautiful, and so terribly lonely.
“Are you lost?” the girl asked, reaching a hand out. As if beckoned, the lingering heart drew closer, just the tiniest bit. But she must have understood somehow, for her eyes softened. A lovely smile bloomed across her face, wistful and sweet, as she leaned into its warmth.
“I’m lost too,” she whispered.
For a long time afterward, that same warmth would guide her like a beacon of light in the darkness, like the scent of flowers after a morning rain. It will grant her courage, and it will give her strength.
Forever, without changing. 𝄐
.
.
𝄆
🄰
𝄓 sunset ; sea-salt ; memories ; illusions ; change 𝄓
“It’s nice, how the sunset never changes in this world.”
Roxas pauses, ice cream cold against his lips, as he glances over. Wisps of golden hair flowing in the wind, an ocean of blue eyes searching the clouds’ horizon—the twilight dyes her in its evening glow and he knows she’s painting a world inside her heart again, in a faraway place that only she can see.
“It changes,” he says. “When I’m with you, the sunset… it changes.”
Just like the colors of a rainbow, blending inside her sketchbook. The flutter of curtains, as white as her dress, swaying in the breeze. Flowers veiled in dew; rays of sunlight peeking between the leaves.
He doesn’t say anything more though. It’s enough, for now, to just savor the familiar tang of sea salt like this. The trains rumble steadily on the mountain tracks, smoke waving high up into the air from the chimney tops. Naminé just watches him quietly as her own ice cream melts; waits till he’s blinking down at his popsicle stick before she smiles.
“Then, I like how the sunset always stays so warm and kind, even when it does change.”
But that’s only because you haven't been to those other worlds yet, he thinks. For someone like Naminé, she’d be able to find them—those special people and special things. And perhaps she’ll fall out of love with this never-changing twilit world then, or even become disillusioned with him and his ordinary-ness someday.
“Don’t you wanna go and see the outside world?”
Her smile falters; gentle, distant. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m happy just being here with you like this.”
The clock tower begins to chime. Each ring of the twin bells is deep and harmonious and sinks into the setting sun. He studies the ‘winner’ scrawled neatly on cheap wood, at the little black crown winking beside it. A symbol of luck, he realizes, but it feels bittersweet somehow. Like the brine of sea salt he can still taste so clearly.
“You really don’t play fair,” he murmurs with a thread of a smile. Beads of water trickle and glimmer in the sunset before falling away.
.
.
🄱
𝄓 love ; friendship ; dreams ; fairytales ; real 𝄓
Naminé asked him once if he knew what love was.
What it was like to have friends: to love and be loved in return, and to laugh. His memories of them; the treasures inside his heart.
Roxas thinks about that now, as she leans against him—a dizzying featherlight weight that grounds him to earth, to sanctuary. Dappled sunlight that falls between the trees, street lamps illuminating shadows on the lazy afternoon streets.
“I’ve never said the words ‘I love you’ out loud before,” he begins quietly. “Does that make it any less real?”
He doesn’t even know what the shape of love is. Whether it’s something you can touch, or hold in your hands. What it feels like, what it means. And how can he explain, that sometimes these dreams feel more real to him than when he’s awake? Because he’s with her. And the time they spend together fills him with what-ifs and possibilities that he knows can’t be fulfilled. But to call each other friends or to say they loved each other, it wasn’t that simple—to try to pin their relationship down with words like that was too frivolous.
Naminé smiles; flower petals dance lullabies as their hands weave together, intertwined.
“I used to think love was like stars in the sky, like a merry-go-round or fairytale—a feeling that’s bright and sparkling and beautiful. Something warm and kind that can save you, or make you feel like you’re worth something in the world. Like splashing colors on a page, and breathing life into those shapes.” Naminé laughs, gently. “But it’s not that simple, is it?”
“My name is Naminé.”
The girl holds a small hand out, smiling. Her eyes shimmer like the moon—waves pulled by the ocean tide, stars gravitating to her in the midsummer nights. She smiles at him like he’s the sunset himself though. As if he’s the one with light who shines.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
When he looks up at the sky, ice cream castles are floating in the air. Illusions in the twilight, set adrift.
“Roxas,” she whispers. Her eyes sparkle like lanterns at dusk, like there’s magic in sea-salt ice cream and wishes to be found. “It’s salty… but sweet.”
He sucks in a breath—fireworks lighting inside his heart, ready to burst—before a laugh tumbles out of him. Naminé turns to him, surprised, but Roxas just shakes his head.
“I really don’t know love at all,” he finally says, at peace with just that.
It’s as much a revelation as it is a confession, a little secret between them that isn’t a secret at all—just a truth that everyone encounters one day and acknowledges, accepts. As the ferris wheel and carousel slow to a halt, a show that inevitably ends just to circle around again for another waltz. And maybe everyone believes that the world is beautiful at one point of their lives, that the world is theirs to behold. But in fact it isn’t—we just feel the warmth of a hand in our own like this and want to believe. And with that hope alone, we can be saved.
.
.
🄲
𝄓 life ; fate ; destiny ; chance ; memory ; truth 𝄓
Roxas knows that forevers don’t always last forever.
He knows this, too, in this final hour as they walk together hand-in-hand. No destination in sight, but still walking together all the same. The train tracks wind farther and farther away from the town until the clock tower is just a distant mark, until even the mountains are trailing behind. And maybe life is like this too, not knowing where it all leads—what fate or destiny has in store for you, walking until you reach a crossroads and deciding from there.
“It’s beautiful,” Naminé breathes, clear and bright, as the sunset opens up before them. A fiery rainbow blazes across the sky; the clouds setting sail at night. And it’s like they’re standing at the edge of the universe, the future and its limitless possibilities right before them. The world in the palm of their hands, ready to be changed. But in reality, they’ve always been a part of the world, and the world has never really changed. No, Roxas thinks, the ones who changed were them.
We're the ones who changed.
“Naminé, it’s okay—even if you do forget.”
Her hand tightens firm around his. I won’t forget, her eyes tell him, and Roxas smiles.
“Did you know? Whenever I see sunlight falling through the leaves, or curtains fluttering in the wind, I think of you. Sometimes when I walk down the streets in the morning, I see these potted flowers, and think about how much you’d like drawing them in color. I always remember. I’m always wishing...”
Everything precious that exists in this world can be found there. It’s because his heart remembers that Roxas can embrace it all—because he knows, because he will always wish for her happiness—that alone will always be true. That alone will never change.
“So, I’ll be okay now.”
Naminé looks up. The sunset bathes him in its warm evening glow, and she can see the way his smile softens at her, the way her reflection glimmers in his eyes like shooting stars.
“But if you think of me every now and then, if you don’t forget about me—you might see the sunset and remember this sleepy little town. Maybe you’ll come visit, and you might find me again, just like you did before. We’d eat sea-salt ice cream on the clock tower, walk around the street fair... My friends would be waiting to meet you at our usual spot, and we’d hit the beach before summer vacation ends, laughing. We’ll talk about everything. We could see the sunset together again, just like this…”
He steps back; finally, slowly, letting go of her hand. And it’s in that fleeting moment when her fingers slip away that Roxas can understand: this is his way of love—this is how he shows it. He can’t promise her they’ll be together forever, or that they’ll ever meet again. All he can give her is this truth.
“I’ll see myself the way you remember me, so.… Do you think you can see yourself like that, too? The way I remember you.”
In the distance, the twin bells of the clock tower begin to chime. Naminé reaches up, slowly and gently, her fingertips brushing soft against his cheek. It’s soothing, just like wind chimes on a summer day, and Roxas leans into that touch. His eyes shimmer.
A treasure of memories, full of laughter and smiles. They're silver lines in twilight, but the words fall away into the sunset—into a warm and lovely and golden light.
“You don’t play fair either, Roxas.”
𝄇
.
.
𝄌
kadenz.
The sun illuminated the path in light when she woke up again.
A feather canyon of clouds roamed all above her in the blue sky. The earth was warm, and a pillow of grass tickled her cheeks. The girl blinked as the breeze filled the air with a sweet birdsong, the tinkling sound of bells. And then, like glass, she hears it—
“Naminé, look!”
The drum of a heartbeat, dancing.
“You can see the entire town from up here, right?” He glances back at her, laughing brightly. “It’s a special place to me. This is my home—my world.”
Tears glisten in her eyes; like dewdrops on a bud, they slip away.
“Salty, but sweet…” He repeats the words slowly, happily. “No, it’s just—I said the exact same thing my first time. But I’m glad… I’m so glad you like it.”
She thinks of sunsets and sea-salt ice cream. She thinks of a boy wrapped in golden light and the warmth of a hand, soft in her own.
“Do you think you can see yourself like that, too? The way I remember you.”
And she rises up now—all with her own strength. The wind blows: it tells her she is alive, and breathing. Like a seed that sprouts from spring water, all the shapes and colors of the world blooming—her heart sparkles with light. And there she stands again on that open, open road; she gazes out at the clouds and rolling grass hills and flowers that unfurl before her.
“I’m Roxas.” A boy who’s uncertain and unsure of his place in the world—yet earnest too, with a pool of deep blue that reflects the sky—seeking unanswerable truths, even though he already has all the answers borne inside him. But he smiles anyway, just for her. “Nice to meet you too.”
So the girl begins walking forward. One step against the ground, then another and another—weaving threads of sunlight into constellations, into lanes.
“That’s right…” the girl laughs now, a smile blossoming across her face, “the sun is also a star.”
But in all the meetings and partings she will have on her journey, in all her travels through the worlds and stars thereafter—she’ll remember.
She will always remember.
𝄋
.
.
fine