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Lloyd is gentle with Sora in a way her parents never were. Where they were brash and loud and snappish, Lloyd is a breath of fresh air: he’s patient and understanding. He looks at her the way the parents at the science fairs she’d participated in looked at their kids – Sora would know. She’s burned the image in the back of her mind; she feels the sting of the empty space next to her designated project table every time she thinks about it.
During training, Lloyd doesn’t get frustrated with her. Sora thinks it would be easier if he did – she knows how to handle that. She can stand up for herself, she can run away, she can do a lot of things – but she can’t handle his overwhelming kindness. It’s different from Arin’s affection; it’s more parental. He treats her like what she imagines a daughter with a parent who loves her would be treated like. It’s not transactional, he doesn’t have expectations for her in order to love her. He just does.
It’s another day and another failed attempt at Spinjitzu in the courtyard. Arin’s baking her a pie he promised Sora he would after he lost their headstand bet, and Lloyd’s sitting on the steps, head in his chin, watching her intently. His tea sits beside him, cold. “Try again,” he encourages.
Sora steels her nerves, drawing a deep breath in. “Okay, Sora, you got this,” she mumbles to herself. She squeezes her eyes tight, clenching her fists before loosening up and jumping. Her kick that follows is weak. The spin is stronger than her last try, but she can’t stop herself before she spins into the training dummy. She winces as she falls over, and Lloyd rushes over to help her.
So, okay, she doesn’t got this.
“Ow,” she mutters, hugging her arm to her chest. There’s a wooden splinter closer to the top of her upper arm, and Sora already knows the bruise is going to be nasty. The bleeding is stopped by the wood, and it’s not too bad, but by the First Master, it hurts.
“That’s enough training,” Lloyd says, helping her up with her good arm. “Sit on the stairs, I’ll help you clean it up.”
There’s a first aid kit always on standby, which Lloyd brings over to her.
“I’m sorry,” she says lamely. Her cheeks are flushed with color from both exertion and embarrassment. “You don’t have to do this, I can clean it up –”
Lloyd furrows his brows, face set into a frown. “What are you talking about? Of course I’ll help you, it’s not a big deal –”
Sora shakes her head, attempting to pull her arm out of his grasp and failing. “Really, Lloyd, it’s fine, I got it.” He’s already wasted enough time on her, he really doesn’t need to waste any more of it – besides, he’s probably got more important things to do as Keeper of the Monastery.
His grip on her arm slackens, and Sora pulls her arm to her chest, cradling it precariously. She hisses in pain when she touches it gingerly, prodding at the splinter.
“Sora,” Lloyd starts. She resolutely stares at the ground, observing a crack in the second step. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, it’s just a small woodchip –”
“Not your wound,” Lloyd interrupts. “You’re… you seem on edge,” he supplies. She can feel his gaze on her, and she looks up tentatively. She pushes back her bangs behind her ears, a nervous habit. “Is something wrong? Did I do something?” He looks distressed now, and Sora feels the guilt eating at her intestines. “Am I pushing you too hard? I’m sorry –”
“No!” she exclaims, cutting him off. “No, it’s not you, I just…” Sora trails off. “I understand you’re really busy as Keeper, and I’m sure you have something to attend to, so you really don’t have to spend any more time with me. I’m sorry today was so unsuccessful.”
Lloyd is genuinely taken aback, which surprises Sora. “What? No,” he denies, far more vehement than she usually sees him. “You did great today,” he says, and Sora gives him a look. “Okay, maybe the last three weren’t your best, but you mastered the jump and kick motions! I’m impressed, really.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not,” Lloyd says. “Really, I mean it.” He motions for her hand, which she gives him, albeit reluctantly. He takes out the tweezers from the box first, plucking out the splinter. She shudders, and he apologizes. “Sorry.” The pain dissipates for the briefest second before she feels again, the blood beading up at the source. “You don’t have to ever say sorry for struggling during training. That’s what all of this is for, anyway. You fail now so you know what not to do when we’re really in a fight.”
“What if I don’t know what to do? What if I never get any better?”
“That’s not happening.” Sora doesn’t like how sure he sounds.
He’s painstakingly tender with her wound, wiping off the blood and dirt on her arm. He wipes off the dirt on her face, noticing a small bump on her forehead from her crash. Sora had felt the mild throb after the initial impact, but even she hadn’t noticed the injury. (Her parents wouldn’t have, either.) “I know how you feel. I was really bad at all this ninja stuff, too. I know it may be hard to believe –”
“Hard is an understatement,” Sora scoffs, but he’s unfazed.
“But it’s true. I used to wonder how I could ever be the green ninja – this big fated hero – if I was so pathetically bad at everything I tried.”
“I hate to say it, but I’m going to let you down.” Sora sinks into herself, shoulders hunched. Lloyd hums thoughtfully. Sora takes it as her sign to keep talking. “It’s just… back at Imperium, I was really good at one thing – tech. Knowing it came naturally to me was comforting. But now I know that it’s an elemental power. And maybe I’m not as good as I think I am at it. It’s just something I have. I’m not really naturally good at anything at all, then.” She looks at him, and he looks terribly empathetic in a way only Arin looks at her.
“Those are still your powers, Sora. They aren’t Riyu’s, even if you think they are. You honed them. You got good at it. Maybe you have an advantage, but you don’t get good at anything without practice. Not even elemental powers you’re born with.” He finishes wrapping the gauze around her humerus, and leans back to observe. Sora can’t stop the burning tears from spilling by looking overhead. She sniffles. “Can I hug you?”
Sora just nods and sinks into the easy embrace. He’s warm and smells like dirt and air freshener, but it’s a familiar sort of homey scent that she appreciates. She feels the rise and fall of his chest. Sora wonders if Arin misses hugging his parents like this. But Lloyd isn’t your dad, her mind supplies unhelpfully.
Maybe not, she thinks dully. But he cares in a way no one has in a long time, in a different way than Arin does or her parents did. So she lets herself have this, just this once. She’ll resent herself for letting him in so easily tomorrow, because she’s certain to know her more means to love her less, and maybe Lloyd will eventually pull away from her like everyone has, but today, she takes it in stride.