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

[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.

[melancoffeea]

[Given that he wept for essentially the same reasons just earlier, Sandalphon empathizes. He reaches out, past the bars, to wipe away the tears gathered in one eye with his finger.]

Emotions are complicated. It's natural to be confused by them.

[fragileprophet]

[Ion opens his mouth to give a reasonable answer but it just comes out as a choked sob. This is so exhausting--this back and forth, this mixture of so many different things. The fear for tomorrow, the fear of the loneliness, of not having Sandalphon, of everything being different now, of living only to die but not wanting to die.

Before he can pull his hand back, Ion reaches up and holds his hand where it is, his body hunching, coiling, wanting to keep that closeness for as long as he can.]

Why does it always have to hurt?

[melancoffeea]

[Although he doesn't expect the touch, he keeps his hand in place.]

I don't know. [No, that's a lie. He revises his answer, his lips spreading into a faint smile.] No, not always. When you're truly happy, the joy you feel is like none other . . . Do you remember the first dream that you had this week?

[Sandalphon doesn't like to revisit his old memories. They're bittersweet, tender, and painful. But he knows that, back then, he was overflowing with happiness that he no longer feels—happiness that Ion felt, that night. If that old joy will be of comfort to Ion in this trying time, then his own discomfort and sadness are nothing in comparison.]

[fragileprophet]

With Lucifer in the garden?

[He nods slightly, latched on, his eyes squeezing shut.]

Yes...of course I remember.

[melancoffeea]

[Yes. With Lucifer. His chest tightens, but he doesn't show it.]

If it isn't too much to ask, remember that feeling. When the sadness starts to grow unbearable, that garden will be a place of happiness for you . . . until you create such a memory for yourself. Is this all right?

[It's all he can offer. He has nothing else to give.]