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It had been a week. A week, since Stiix, since the battle with the preeminent, since his death, since Lloyd's father – nope, not going there. Lloyd had escaped relatively unscathed, for being possessed for weeks. Some minor battle injuries, cuts and bruises ect cetera, his largest problem being the malnourishment. While possessed, he tended to forget that Lloyd needed to eat until his body almost collapsed from exhaustion.
His vision swam, head spinning from the lack of oxygen. He had to calm down. He wasn't here. Lloyd was alone in the bathroom, in control of his own body; he didn't need to be afraid of his own mind. This had been happening more than he would like recently, seeing shadows move and jumping out of his skin, or being reduced to tears by gusts of wind outside.
He'd got better at hiding it, suppressing flinches and remembering to look at Cole's new ghostly form. That actually bothered him less than he thought; he guessed the difference between his brother and the other ghosts was more obvious than expected. Lloyd dragged in a breath through his nose, painstakingly slowing his heartrate. If he passed out on the bathroom floor at three AM, the others would never leave him alone again.
Unclenching his hands from the sink, he shakily turned on the tap, the hissing stream of water flowing over his frigid fingers. It brought him back to himself slightly more, Ghosts couldn't touch water, so if he was then it was only him in his body. Not Mor—him.
He drew a deep breath, chest aching, both from the hyperventilation and also from the dull pain behind it that hadn't left since he watched the preeminent drown, taking the cursed realm, and his father, with her. Lloyd closed his eyes as his face fell, trying not to cry. The water continued to run softly over his hands.
It hurt more than he expected, seeing his father again. He knew he was gone, had accepted it that day in the Corridor of Elders when he read the spell to send him there. But now he was gone. Not just banished, not just on the opposite side to him. Lloyd was no stranger to his father's absence, just like his mother's, but never so permanent.
Damp hands twisted off the tap, and raised to his face, pressing cool water into his hot eyes. Blinking water off his eyelashes, he turned to the door, taking care not to look in the mirror, and stepped out into the dark corridor of the Bounty. Lloyd crept quietly back into the shared quarters of the ninja, casting his eyes over their sleeping forms.
He slid back into his bed, piling on blankets that never seemed to warm him, and closed his eyes. Lloyd didn't expect to sleep, but his hand drifted beneath his pillow to grasp the two pictures there – one of him and his father, the other of the ninja team – he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. And there he lay at three in the morning, cold to his bones, clutch scraps of paper and listening to the sounds of his family sleeping around him.