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...

[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.]