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When Terra stirred, the bed was empty, the sun hadn’t risen yet, and the bedroom door was open. It took him all of three seconds to process the scene around him before he jumped out of bed, fully awake. This wasn’t an unusual scene—it happened at least once a week—and by now he knew the drill. He grabbed the blanket, groped around for a pair of socks, and then quickly headed out of the castle.
These days, there were very few people in the castle, fewer still at night. Ventus had always been a deep sleeper, and his years unconscious had only made it worse. It was hard to wake him sometimes, and the army of alarm clocks in his room weren’t so much comical as they were tragic. Peeking briefly in his friend’s room, Terra watched as Ventus frowned in his sleep.
In a sense, he shared the same fear Ventus did, the fear of never waking up, of losing time.
Terra swallowed down the terror that rose with that thought. Today, at least, that fear wouldn’t be true. Today he had woken up. Today would not be missed.
Forcing his feet to move, Terra left the room, continuing his path to the front of the castle. His footsteps softly echoed through the halls. It was eerie. Part of him felt like a ghost haunting his old home. In many ways, he might as well be.
A familiar shock of blue at the castle entrance calmed him. He paused for a moment at the top, taking in the way Aqua sat on the front steps, her fingers lightly pressed against a steaming hot mug as she studied the sky. There was something lonesome about the way she sat there, alone and quiet, something that made his heart ache in ways he couldn’t explain.
“You don’t have to do this every time, you know,” Aqua murmured, sensing his stare. She didn’t look back, her eyes glued on the horizon.
Quietly, Terra padded down to her. “I know. And I do.”
As he sat down, he spread the blanket evenly over both of them. Their shoulders bumped as Aqua shifted closer. She held out her mug to him. “Thanks.”
“You’ll catch a cold,” he muttered, taking a small sip. The hot chocolate carved a path down his throat, the heat seeping into his bones. Even then, Terra still felt fatigued. Early mornings were not his thing.
Her fingers brushed his as he gave back her cup. As usual, her skin was cold and clammy, and Terra wondered if that was because of all her time in the shadows. In a world with no sun, no heat, maybe her body had forgotten how to be warm.
“Hopefully not.” Aqua took another sip and smiled. “The drink should keep me safe at least.”
“You put mint in it.” Terra swallowed thickly, forcing out the next words with a casualness he didn’t feel. “Master Eraqus’s recipe?”
Even now, it was hard to say his name. Terra still couldn’t walk past the places his master, his father, liked to linger. He could see him sometimes, a book in hand, his brow furrowed as he considered a difficult phrase. Could almost hear him look up and call his name, his smile soft, his eyes warm.
Eyes that closed for a last time in the grassy knoll before them. Terra’s eyes flicked to the exact spot—even without a marker, it was impossible for him to mistake it for anything else—before he firmly tore his gaze up to the sky.
“Yeah.” Aqua cradled her mug fondly. “Just felt like it this morning. We used to do this together, remember?”
He did. Oh, he did. Sometimes, Terra didn’t know how he had forgotten any of it, whether it was falling for Xenahort’s lies or just allowing his mind to fade into nothing during his possession.
“Every new year’s,” Terra choked out, forcing his heavy tongue to move.
Aqua breathed in sharply. Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it tight, her nails digging into his palm. “That wasn’t your fault.”
Of course she knew what he was thinking of. Sometimes, Terra thought Aqua knew him better than he knew himself. Only, in this one thing, she was utterly wrong. “It was.”
Her grip loosened slightly, unable to refute that. “Fine. But it wasn’t only your fault.” After setting aside the mug, Aqua reached up, cupping his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “Ventus should have listened to you. I should have trusted you. We all could have talked it out, fixed it somehow.”
He reached up, covered her hand with his. Even now, her skin felt cold, too cold, and Terra was reminded of sleeping princesses and lost hearts. Aqua would never lose hers, he was certain, but her body still felt like it was wasting away. “It’s not like I would have listened.”
As much as it hurt him, Eraqus had been right all those years ago. He hadn’t been ready for the keyblade back then. The way he had tumbled from world to world, the way he had pushed aside friends and accidentally aided foes; none of those were a sign of mastery. No, Terra had just been foolish and headstrong, acting first and thinking later.
There were so many things he would have done differently. Should have done differently. All of that pain, all of that suffering—none of it had to happen. Eraqus had lost his life and they had lost all of those years, and all of it had been for nothing.
“We all made mistakes then.” Aqua pulled back, her hand slipping out of his. She glanced over her shoulder. “Ven didn’t come today.”
“You know how hard it is for him to wake up.” Terra cracked a smile. “He needs his beauty sleep.”
It was a terrible joke and Aqua only looked even more worried. “Maybe he’s still suffering from the aftereffects from putting his heart back together. Or…” She bit her lip, staring up at the castle. “When I left him here…maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”
Terra squeezed her shoulder and shook his head. “You did the best you could.”
“I’m not sure if that makes it better.” Her shoulders dropped and Aqua picked up her mug once more.
There wasn’t anything he could say against that. They had all done their best back then, and not only had they destroyed their own lives, but they had left fingerprints in so many others. Worlds had been destroyed. People altered. Others had to clean up their mess.
Terra peeked at Aqua, watching her from the corner of his eye. Even she had been changed by it all. Despite how much time had passed, she had never really told them what had happened on her journey. For Terra and Ventus, the decade had been a blink of the eye, but for Aqua…
She had never said and he had never asked. Not that he needed to; he could guess. Like footprints in the snow, her time apart had left marks all over her. Aqua barely slept through the night these days, always waking up early. The dark bothered her more than she’d ever admit. And by the way she hovered over them, she didn’t like to be alone.
“I was serious, though,” Aqua finally said, breaking the silence. She stared into her mug, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to do this every time. I know how hard it is for you. I could sleep in my own bed instead, if it’s bothering you.”
“It’s not,” he immediately replied. “It’s not.”
Despite what Aqua said, it was mostly his fault. There were many times Terra could have turned back, many helping hands he could have accepted. His friends had forgiven him as easily as breathing, but that only made regret gnaw in him like hunger. How could he atone? How could he fix things?
If all Aqua really needed was a companion when she woke up early, then that was an easy price to pay. Even if it meant pretending that he couldn’t see that single, grassy patch or trying not to hear Eraqus’s rattling breath as he died.
“It’s for me too,” Terra admitted. Aqua had never done things for herself, but she wouldn’t deny a favour if it helped someone else.
It wasn’t like it was a lie either. Terra liked pressing her close to him as he fell asleep, secure in the knowledge that nothing could happen without alerting him. He liked the firm expanses of her skin, the way her breath ghosted on his nape, the way these little things told him he was here, he was real.
“When you’re there, I’m a little less scared.”
“I feel that way too,” Aqua murmured, leaning against him. Her head fit just right in the crook of his neck.
“What are you scared of?” Terra finally asked, wrapping an arm around her and keeping her close.
“It was dark in there. Dark and cold and empty.” Her voice was barely audible. It was impossible to see her from this angle. “Sometimes I wasn’t sure if anything was real, even me. If we actually had met, or if I was just in one long dream.” Her hand reached up, curling into his chest. “Once, I thought I was dead.”
He tightened his grip. “I’m sorry.”
“It was my decision,” Aqua rebuked firmly.
“I know.” Terra closed his eyes. “I’m still sorry.”
“Me too. Me too.” Her breath hitched as the sun rose. “You know, sometimes I’m afraid it won’t come up.”
Terra had loved Aqua for years now, long before his ego and his pride shoved a wedge between them. He loved her even more now, as their scars connected them in ways that he had thought impossible before. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss in her hair.
“It’ll rise,” he promised. “It’ll always rise.”
And come what may, he’d always sit here beside her, keeping the shadows at bay until it did.