Week 2, Saturday Post-Trial - Sandalphon

[fragileprophet]

[This time it really is one last gay for the road. With his own fate unknown, there are a lot of people who have stopped by to talk to them. But, eventually, the night wears on. Ion can't sleep. He has one thing on his mind. So, in the dark, dead hours of the night, a visitor enters the dungeon. When Ion reaches Sandalphon's cell, he's carrying a cup of coffee, balancing it carefully.]

I brought you something...I made it myself.

Comments

[fragileprophet]

But you need to hear it! I won't let you die for me and think that it means nothing!

[His hands clench so tightly around the bars.]

I can't take it--I can't take this anymore!

[melancoffeea]

Stop!

[He brings his hands up to his ears. There's a flash of light that fades as soon as it comes, leaving behind six radiant wings of white that sprout from Sandalphon's back to curl around his body like a shield.

His eyes are wide, unfocused. The wings are still, but he continues to shake.]

[fragileprophet]

No!

[He's never had to say no to someone like this. Never had to shoot someone down. Ion winces from the light, but though his feet stumble backward his hands keep him planted where he is. He blink past tears, persisting.]

I care about you!

[melancoffeea]

[Despite having just sprung to his feet, Sandalphon drops to his knees. His hands slide from his ears to cover his face as tears well in his widened eyes.]

Ah . . .

[This can't be real. He has to be hallucinating.]

[fragileprophet]

[Ion slides down to meet him on his level. He realizes suddenly that he's exhausted--this is exhausting. And he feels as guilty as he does righteous, because he isn't blind to the way that Sandalphon is taking this. How his shouting has turned to pleading has turned to wretched silence.

It makes him want to apologize, but he knows that he has to stop that. He pauses, and then speaks more softly. He's not even sure what he's trying to say anymore, so the words come out unbidden.]

I just wanted you to stay for a little while longer.

[melancoffeea]

[Someone wants him to stay, his mind repeats in an agonizing chant. Someone wants him to stay. Someone wants him to stay.

And he failed them, like he always does.

A sob escapes him, followed by another. By then, he's regulated his breathing enough to rasp out a few words.]

I . . . I can't. I can't . . .

[fragileprophet]

[Ion closes his eyes, pressing his forehead forward against the cool metal.]

It's okay. You don't have to do everything.

[Some things are impossible. Some things you want so badly, but just wanting isn't enough. Some things can't ever chance.]

It isn't your fault...and I'm so thankful for how long you were able to give me.

[melancoffeea]

[He gasps out a shuddering breath, willing his body to stop shaking so uncontrollably. In tandem with his efforts, the wings on his back draw back just enough to provide a clearer view of his face.

He's quiet, afraid.]

What if it doesn't work . . . ? What if my actions condemned you to an early death?

[fragileprophet]

I don't know.

[Because he doesn't. He has no comforting words. Ion smiles sadly.]

I'm afraid...but I trust you, and no matter what, I'll be right there with you.

[melancoffeea]

[His hands fall from his face to seek out the floor, his fingers clawing at nothing as they curl in to make fists. He bows his head, prostrating himself before Ion.

He doesn't deserve such compassion.]

. . . I'm sorry.

[Nor does he deserve forgiveness, but the mere privilege of being able to apologize instills in him a strange feeling.]

[fragileprophet]

[There are so many different things he could say. Normally, he'd tell Sandalphon that he doesn't have to apologize. That no harm was done, in the end. Nothing was meant. But...it would only be so sincere. Because discovering Natsuo dead, it did hurt. And right now, he is afraid. Afraid for himself, afraid for Sandalphon.

Ion reaches his hands out through the bars, but he can't reach him.

It's lonely.]

Thank you so much.

[For the apology, for all that he's done, for all that he's still trying to do. For listening. For being here. For inspiring him. For protecting him. For keeping his promises, even if they were ones Ion never asked for. For doing the right thing--for speaking up, for using his power to bring back the one he killed. There's so much to thank him for.]

[melancoffeea]

[With his head bowed, Sandalphon doesn't see the hands that reach out to him. His vision blurs, and he sheds silent tears that drop onto the floor beneath him.

He's happy. He's so happy that it hurts, renders him speechless—makes him more accepting of his impending execution but so afraid of losing Ion, who believes that he's worth something.]

[fragileprophet]

[At the moment, there isn't anything more to be said. Ion stays where he is, leaning as close as he can, eyes half-lidded but never straying from where Sandalphon stoops so prone. He'll stay there as long as he can--all night. He has another gift he'll have to leave to get him, but it can wait, at least, until Sandalphon's tears ebb.

For now, he's here. He's right here.]

[melancoffeea]

[How strange. Before the castle, the person in front of him walked away or shooed him off every time he teared up; yet Ion is still here when he wipes his eyes and lifts his head. The worst of the crying spell has passed, and he finds his words.]

You don't have to stay the night. It might be uncomfortable.

[fragileprophet]

I could never be uncomfortable with such good company.

[He straightens slightly, his stance easy.]

And besides, I want to. You don't mind, do you?

[melancoffeea]

. . . No.

[He sits up, blinking at a wing. It's white—spotless.

Then his gaze drifts to the fallen cup and the puddle of coffee. He sighs. The wings blink out of existence and he rights the cup. There's nothing to be done about the mess.]

[fragileprophet]

[It's Sandalphon's gesture with the coffee cup that draws his attention back to his gift. He blinks, standing suddenly.]

Oh! I almost forgot! I had something else to bring you, but I only had enough hands to bring one at a time, so I thought the coffee would be best first...I'll be right back!

[He doesn't want to go, but he leaves his staff behind as he darts off, so it's clear enough that he doesn't intend to be gone for very long. He's to the kitchen and back rather quickly...so of course, he already looks incredibly breathless from his haste. He's holding...two parfaits with spoons stuck into them! He passes one through the bars.]

I made it by myself...I've never done anything like it before, but Sanji showed me how to hold the knife and everything. I hope you like it--we promised to both try each others' favorite things, and so...

[He made it with love. :( ]

[melancoffeea]

[For once, Sandalphon doesn't doubt someone's intentions for leaving. The staff is there, and Ion assured him that he mattered. Ion will be back, so he doesn't say anything.

Very soon, he accepts the proffered parfait. It doesn't escape his notice how exhausted Ion must be.]

You didn't have to overexert yourself for this.

[At any rate, he turns his attention to the homemade (if it can be called that) parfait. Gingerly, he picks the spoon up and takes a small bite, savoring the taste.]

[fragileprophet]

But...

[He sits down carefully, but a little heavily.]

It's important. Sanji said that you can express your feelings with food.

[The homemade parfait that he gave Sandalphon is a bit more ragged around the edges, the layers hardly even, but it's obvious he did his best. It's also the yogurt kind and not the...ice cream kind, since I think all of us were absolutely confused about there being multiple kinds of parfaits.]

Does it taste okay?

[melancoffeea]

[Sanji is probably correct, he thinks. Food and drink are unnecessary for primals—yet Sandalphon and Lucifer had indulged countless times on the latter, double-edged though those memories may be now. Must have something to do with sentimentality.

Setting the spoon down, Sandalphon smiles. The appearance of the dessert doesn't bother him, especially when it's clear how much effort Ion put into making it.]

It's sweet . . . and refreshing. Just like you said.

[fragileprophet]

[Despite everything, Ion's face lights up.]

But not too sweet, right? The fruit makes it just sweet enough!

[melancoffeea]

Seems so. Though I must be too used to the bitter taste of coffee . . . Still, it isn't overpowering. Well done.

[fragileprophet]

[The praise, so simple but so meaningful, fills Ion's heart. He holds tightly onto his own parfait--but how can he possibly eat it, right now?]

Oh...I'm so happy. I'm so glad you like it.

[He can't stop smiling. It feels like his heart is going to burst. He can't stop smiling...so why is he crying again? This isn't at all like any of the other times he's felt the urge to cry.]

I was truly, truly hoping you would.

[melancoffeea]

[Sandalphon's expression falls. Ion sounds like he's happy, but tears tend to indicate otherwise.]

Why are you crying?

[fragileprophet]

I'm not.

[He feels his throat seize, and he shifts the glass to one hand to brush his cheeks. This situation is so, so familiar.]

--Ah, I am. I'm sorry. I don't know, these feelings are confusing. I'm...just so incredibly sad. I didn't know...a person can be so happy and so sad at the same time.