[It's only at the end of the day that Luke finally moves out of his hiding spot—despondent as he was, he still wanted a bed, and something to eat.
Making his way to the West wing's neighborhood, he sits in the common area's dining room late at night, idly picking at a couple of sandwiches he must have obtained at one of the little shops in the wing. There's no joy to it, and even less interest in the sandwiches themselves. It's clear to the only other person to witness him that this act of eating is only because he has to.
He barely looks up from fiddling with the sandwich when Ion comes in—and doesn't actually notice who it is, properly, until he sits down next to him.
Ion.
For the first time, there's a flicker of something on his face—but it's genuinely hard to place what it is he's struggling to express. So much for being an open book. For a moment, he seems to debate a greeting—but instead, just shakes his head, pushing the sandwiches to the side.]
[As the silent stretches on, even Ion finds his resolve cracking. Desperately, he tries to keep himself composed, and knows he has to be the first to say something.]
Luke...
[But what can he say? How could he possibly salvage any of this? Without meaning to, he falls back to old habits.]
[His face stays impassive, something angry and stubborn digging its heels in behind his eyes. Any other week, seeing Ion like this would have destroyed him utterly. But here and now...
It wasn't enough.]
Why'd you bring us here.
[The words drop like leaden weights, heavy and cold.]
[He supposes he should have expected the coldness, the accusation. It hits home all the same, and Ion smiles at Luke, an expression pained beyond measure.]
[He shakes his head, brow furrowing at the lack of answer, unhindered by the emotion behind it.]
Then who? Why me? Why us? [Him and Guy.]
Just to screw with our heads? Torture us? [The cold starts to melt, giving way to an intensity and heat in each word.] I hate this place. I hate the whole damn competition! I hate that we're supposed to fight for our stupid wishes and killing isn't just okay, it's part of the game, and I hate that Guy got pulled into it because of me!
[He balls up his left hand, striking the table with the bottom of his fist.]
I hate it all! [he locks eyes with Ion, face twisting with fury and despair.] And I hate that you're a part of it!
[Their green eyes meet and Ion flinches backward, his already pale face draining further of color. He always expected Luke to be emotional, maybe even to lash out to an extent, but the anger, the anger at him, the declared hatred, causes his own resolve to stumble.]
Luke, please...you know I'd...I'd never...
[He stands, backing away, unsure of himself more acutely than he can remember ever having been before.]
I didn't want this. Not for anyone, not for Guy, and especially not for you.
[The flinch gets a reaction—Luke exhales through his nose, as if taking a hit, and jerks his head away, staring at the opposite wall, the flare momentarily subsiding.]
...I... I know.
[Fist still on the table, his knuckles whiten as he struggles to contain his anger.]
But I don't know what to do.
[...]
I don't want to play anymore. I wish I'd died in the first week instead of Shiki.
[He shouts it at the wall, pitching higher even in rage, cloudy and keening with anguish.]
I was supposed to die at the Tower of Rem, but I got a few more weeks because of Asch—that ran out on Eldrant! We died, Ion! I was fading like you were! Every day I could feel my body coming apart even more, and the doctors told me how much time I had left! Even if I win, what am I going to look like? A bunch of random fonons dissolving in the air?
[His shoulders hunch in pain, volatile and disillusioned.]
I'm going to give you your life back, Luke! Just trust me, please, trust me! If you don't believe in me...if you...
[If you go behind my back like Guy, he almost says.]
I know it looks hopeless, but I'm doing everything in my power for you. To ensure that you go home. You'll be healthy, and happy, and you'll be reunited with everyone, and you'll live a long...long life.
He holds still, listening as Ion talks—and turns, slowly, face a blotchy mess, expression nearly back to a cold, dispassionate stare.
For a long moment, he looks at Ion, surveying his face. Where were they, two, three weeks ago? On the beach, when Ion had shown him the full Daathic Fonic Arte. It seemed forever ago, a different lifetime. It had reminded him of--
He abruptly turns away from the memory, walling it off, willing himself not to care. Not now.
[He could talk about the game. He could talk about how the actions involved in bringing about a conclusion would shape the world that they create. But in the moment, regardless of the weight of the bigger picture...it felt somehow shallow. Because the way that Luke was feeling, it didn't have to do with Gods or Worlds or Responsibilities. It was about hurt, betrayal, loss.
So he stops thinking about all of that. He just looks at Luke.]
[It's such an abrupt, painful change of topics that it sidelines him, even in his aggressive dispassion, picking at an old scar—as if he hadn't done so, moments before.]
No.
[Yes. Or at least, he had an idea of it. Because Ion was... Ion was...
...]
Does it matter?
[He hates himself, regrets it as soon as he's said it, throwing it like a rock at the person he cares about most, away, away from his own glass heart. But so what? So what? What did matter?]
[Although his brows knit in pain at the question, Ion powers through. This is important.]
...I was scared. When I read that final score, I tried to find any justification to ease it. That I'd done what I could for Tear, that I could be replaced...but there you were, telling me I was wrong, and I...
[There's a knot in his throat. He gulps.]
I thought about all the things I'd never known, would never know. I'd only just learned how it felt to experience a loss that cut you so deeply all you could do was cry. How many other things had I missed, would always miss? It wasn't until just then, looking at you, that it hit me how badly I wanted all of it. I wanted the good and the bad as long as it was all life, all with you.
[Ion looks at his hands, fingers trembling as they come together and squeeze fiercely.]
And then, after that, after there wasn't anything left to grasp on to, as I turned to fonons, dispersed into nothing, I thought of all the good you would do for Auldrant, for everyone.
[His hands come to rest over his heart as he bows his head.]
I was so...hopeful. You changed my life, Luke. I didn't know how to live until the day that I met you. You were going to change everything. I believed in that, in you, so deeply...that I woke up here.
[To say it's not what he expects would be a gross understatement. If he'd felt disoriented at the track switch on their train of thought, this threw the whole thing into a black hole, swallowing up any residual anger in the vacuum.
What had he thought he'd known?
Ion had always been so casual with his compliments, passing them to Luke in a way that no one ever had before. It was what had charmed him from the start. He spoke easily and freely with his feelings, showering him in merits for actions no one else had every noticed—or had actively criticized. To Ion, all his negative traits seemed to flip on their head. He wasn't rash, he was brave. Not cowardly, but kind-hearted. Ion seemed to see a version of Luke that he himself couldn't—but every time he heard about it, wanted to try for it a little harder. Hell, maybe it'd make him smile even if he screwed it up.
What was he doing?
Watching Ion clasp his hands together, shaking, Luke inhales, head spinning. Well, Ion wasn't smiling now. He was here, bearing the brunt of his directionless fury as a part of the god's competition. Hurt and betrayed, he'd lashed out furiously at Ion as representative of everything was frustrated with, hating. Guy, the weekly trials and murders, the setup, the follow-through, everything, everything...
...Because he knew Ion would take it.
The realization hits like an iron bar, and he sways, grief and shame filling the empty space left by evaporated rage. He wilts, shoulders and head falling, eyes closing. If anyone had the right to feel betrayed, it was Ion. His promises to Piety, to Ion, the trust, the memories... so much paper, shredded and burned, as he'd spit in the face of him even deigning to visit him.
And here was Ion, standing bravely in front of him nonetheless, baring his soul, his most intimate feelings and truths in reply.
For a long, long moment after Ion finishes, he's silent. It was suddenly hard to find the courage to reply, when he barely felt he had the right to share the same room, hear his praise. Hear...
He swallows drily, pushing himself shakily out of the chair.]
...Piety...
[He hadn't even known what it meant, before arriving here. But it felt right, when he chose it from the three that were offered before him. Beauty, no. That was past. Fortune, no. He could make his own. But the third option...
When they'd first met, Ion, still hidden behind his mask, had laughed, surprised that he'd picked without knowing, and explained it. What it technically meant. What it could mean.
[It's all he can do not to rush immediately forward and try and brace Luke, to lend him whatever strength he has, though there's hardly much of it even now, as a god. He waits, lets Luke work through the things he's working through, watches the different emotions pass across his face.]
...you wanted to know what brought you here.
[Finally, he steps forward...and places one of his hands gently on Luke's own heart. Through his fingertips, their hearts connected.]
["Divine Intervention", Ion had called it, in their first meeting. Divine intervention.
It's altogether too much.
Stepping forward, he pushes into Ion's hand—and wraps his arms around his friend, his whole body shaking like a leaf.
What was he doing? He didn't even have the right to touch Ion, not anymore. Not after how he'd acted. He should be on his knees, apologizing, begging for his forgiveness—and maybe, in a minute, he would. But for now...
...For right now...
Regret washing off him in waves, he holds on to Ion for dear life.]
[Ion wants to apologize. No matter what the truth is, there's still so much guilt wracking every fiber of his being, screaming at him that he's put his friends in pain. His fault, his fault, his fault.
Nothing comes out.
Instead, all at once, it feels like the strength to keep himself steady, to carry the weight of all that emotion, leaves him, and as Luke holds tightly onto him he melts back into the embrace, all but falling into him, hands clutching at his shirt.]
[He can feel Ion start to crumble, and panics. Holding him tighter, dropping to one knee as Ion's own knees fold, clutching him to his chest.]
Ion! Hey!
[He moves one hand down, one hand up, cradling the small of his back, the back of his head, and sits down on the floor heavily, Ion still tucked safely into his embrace.]
When he swallows to find his voice again, his throat is dry, mouth abruptly full of sandpaper. This was his fault—all of it. When he goes to speak, his tone is low, rasping over his remorse.]
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ion. I just... [Had he ever backslid that hard before? Someone had always been there to shake him out of it—so maybe he’d never had the chance, held in place by the supports all around him.]
...I don’t have any excuse at all. I-I was angry, but I didn’t have any right to... not at you …I was just... I-I’m...!
[He drops his voice to nearly a whisper, voice trailing off, the keen regret of a child bubbling out in each shameful word.]
[He wipes at his eyes, trying hard to compose himself, before finally looking up at his face. He brings his hands up to cup Luke's face.]
I understand, I do. You deserve all of that anger...every piece of it, and I wish with all my heart that I wasn't in any way involved. But, I am, even if I never meant to be. I just want you to know that I'm always, always on your side.
I know. I know you're always there for me, and I... I knew, but I still went and... I don't have any right to...!
[Every part of this hurt. As if language wasn't enough anymore. Like there wasn't enough, the right words, to express just how much he did have to apologize, and how he was in the wrong here, and how Ion had to know, had to know how much he...
How much he...?
Still fumbling for the right things to say, he pulls Ion closer, simultaneously apologetic and protective, his motives clashing mentally, the cross purposes maelstroming.]
Ion... I wish we weren't here. I wish we were anywhere else but this place! I just want to spend time with you, like we did at the beach, and when we had dinner! I don't want this to come between us... we don't... we don't...
[his voice chokes, breaks. He tries, fails, to pull his blotching face out of Ion's hands, embarrassed by his own awkward emotions, wishing Ion couldn't see him like this, over, and over...]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Making his way to the West wing's neighborhood, he sits in the common area's dining room late at night, idly picking at a couple of sandwiches he must have obtained at one of the little shops in the wing. There's no joy to it, and even less interest in the sandwiches themselves. It's clear to the only other person to witness him that this act of eating is only because he has to.
He barely looks up from fiddling with the sandwich when Ion comes in—and doesn't actually notice who it is, properly, until he sits down next to him.
Ion.
For the first time, there's a flicker of something on his face—but it's genuinely hard to place what it is he's struggling to express. So much for being an open book. For a moment, he seems to debate a greeting—but instead, just shakes his head, pushing the sandwiches to the side.]
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Luke...
[But what can he say? How could he possibly salvage any of this? Without meaning to, he falls back to old habits.]
I'm so sorry.
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It wasn't enough.]
Why'd you bring us here.
[The words drop like leaden weights, heavy and cold.]
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I didn't. I never would have.
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Then who? Why me? Why us? [Him and Guy.]
Just to screw with our heads? Torture us? [The cold starts to melt, giving way to an intensity and heat in each word.] I hate this place. I hate the whole damn competition! I hate that we're supposed to fight for our stupid wishes and killing isn't just okay, it's part of the game, and I hate that Guy got pulled into it because of me!
[He balls up his left hand, striking the table with the bottom of his fist.]
I hate it all! [he locks eyes with Ion, face twisting with fury and despair.] And I hate that you're a part of it!
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Luke, please...you know I'd...I'd never...
[He stands, backing away, unsure of himself more acutely than he can remember ever having been before.]
I didn't want this. Not for anyone, not for Guy, and especially not for you.
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...I... I know.
[Fist still on the table, his knuckles whiten as he struggles to contain his anger.]
But I don't know what to do.
[...]
I don't want to play anymore. I wish I'd died in the first week instead of Shiki.
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[Although his voice starts small, Ion's resolve seems to rise as he wipes away wetness forming on his lashes.]
Even if you don't really mean it, even if it's only temporary...you have to live. Your life is the greatest thing that you have.
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[He shouts it at the wall, pitching higher even in rage, cloudy and keening with anguish.]
I was supposed to die at the Tower of Rem, but I got a few more weeks because of Asch—that ran out on Eldrant! We died, Ion! I was fading like you were! Every day I could feel my body coming apart even more, and the doctors told me how much time I had left! Even if I win, what am I going to look like? A bunch of random fonons dissolving in the air?
[His shoulders hunch in pain, volatile and disillusioned.]
What am I living for?!
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[If you go behind my back like Guy, he almost says.]
I know it looks hopeless, but I'm doing everything in my power for you. To ensure that you go home. You'll be healthy, and happy, and you'll be reunited with everyone, and you'll live a long...long life.
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He holds still, listening as Ion talks—and turns, slowly, face a blotchy mess, expression nearly back to a cold, dispassionate stare.
For a long moment, he looks at Ion, surveying his face. Where were they, two, three weeks ago? On the beach, when Ion had shown him the full Daathic Fonic Arte. It seemed forever ago, a different lifetime. It had reminded him of--
He abruptly turns away from the memory, walling it off, willing himself not to care. Not now.
...]
Then it doesn't matter what I do anymore.
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[He stares, pinning Ion to the spot with his gaze.]
How does it matter?
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[He could talk about the game. He could talk about how the actions involved in bringing about a conclusion would shape the world that they create. But in the moment, regardless of the weight of the bigger picture...it felt somehow shallow. Because the way that Luke was feeling, it didn't have to do with Gods or Worlds or Responsibilities. It was about hurt, betrayal, loss.
So he stops thinking about all of that. He just looks at Luke.]
When I died...do you know what I was feeling?
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No.
[Yes. Or at least, he had an idea of it. Because Ion was... Ion was...
...]
Does it matter?
[He hates himself, regrets it as soon as he's said it, throwing it like a rock at the person he cares about most, away, away from his own glass heart. But so what? So what? What did matter?]
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...I was scared. When I read that final score, I tried to find any justification to ease it. That I'd done what I could for Tear, that I could be replaced...but there you were, telling me I was wrong, and I...
[There's a knot in his throat. He gulps.]
I thought about all the things I'd never known, would never know. I'd only just learned how it felt to experience a loss that cut you so deeply all you could do was cry. How many other things had I missed, would always miss? It wasn't until just then, looking at you, that it hit me how badly I wanted all of it. I wanted the good and the bad as long as it was all life, all with you.
[Ion looks at his hands, fingers trembling as they come together and squeeze fiercely.]
And then, after that, after there wasn't anything left to grasp on to, as I turned to fonons, dispersed into nothing, I thought of all the good you would do for Auldrant, for everyone.
[His hands come to rest over his heart as he bows his head.]
I was so...hopeful. You changed my life, Luke. I didn't know how to live until the day that I met you. You were going to change everything. I believed in that, in you, so deeply...that I woke up here.
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What had he thought he'd known?
Ion had always been so casual with his compliments, passing them to Luke in a way that no one ever had before. It was what had charmed him from the start. He spoke easily and freely with his feelings, showering him in merits for actions no one else had every noticed—or had actively criticized. To Ion, all his negative traits seemed to flip on their head. He wasn't rash, he was brave. Not cowardly, but kind-hearted. Ion seemed to see a version of Luke that he himself couldn't—but every time he heard about it, wanted to try for it a little harder. Hell, maybe it'd make him smile even if he screwed it up.
What was he doing?
Watching Ion clasp his hands together, shaking, Luke inhales, head spinning. Well, Ion wasn't smiling now. He was here, bearing the brunt of his directionless fury as a part of the god's competition. Hurt and betrayed, he'd lashed out furiously at Ion as representative of everything was frustrated with, hating. Guy, the weekly trials and murders, the setup, the follow-through, everything, everything...
...Because he knew Ion would take it.
The realization hits like an iron bar, and he sways, grief and shame filling the empty space left by evaporated rage. He wilts, shoulders and head falling, eyes closing. If anyone had the right to feel betrayed, it was Ion. His promises to Piety, to Ion, the trust, the memories... so much paper, shredded and burned, as he'd spit in the face of him even deigning to visit him.
And here was Ion, standing bravely in front of him nonetheless, baring his soul, his most intimate feelings and truths in reply.
For a long, long moment after Ion finishes, he's silent. It was suddenly hard to find the courage to reply, when he barely felt he had the right to share the same room, hear his praise. Hear...
He swallows drily, pushing himself shakily out of the chair.]
...Piety...
[He hadn't even known what it meant, before arriving here. But it felt right, when he chose it from the three that were offered before him. Beauty, no. That was past. Fortune, no. He could make his own. But the third option...
When they'd first met, Ion, still hidden behind his mask, had laughed, surprised that he'd picked without knowing, and explained it. What it technically meant. What it could mean.
And what he took it to mean.]
To...
...me?
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...you wanted to know what brought you here.
[Finally, he steps forward...and places one of his hands gently on Luke's own heart. Through his fingertips, their hearts connected.]
It was this.
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It's altogether too much.
Stepping forward, he pushes into Ion's hand—and wraps his arms around his friend, his whole body shaking like a leaf.
What was he doing? He didn't even have the right to touch Ion, not anymore. Not after how he'd acted. He should be on his knees, apologizing, begging for his forgiveness—and maybe, in a minute, he would. But for now...
...For right now...
Regret washing off him in waves, he holds on to Ion for dear life.]
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Nothing comes out.
Instead, all at once, it feels like the strength to keep himself steady, to carry the weight of all that emotion, leaves him, and as Luke holds tightly onto him he melts back into the embrace, all but falling into him, hands clutching at his shirt.]
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[He can feel Ion start to crumble, and panics. Holding him tighter, dropping to one knee as Ion's own knees fold, clutching him to his chest.]
Ion! Hey!
[He moves one hand down, one hand up, cradling the small of his back, the back of his head, and sits down on the floor heavily, Ion still tucked safely into his embrace.]
Are you okay?
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[He takes a deep breath, his brow furrowing as he lets Luke support him.]
I was just so afraid I'd lost you.
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When he swallows to find his voice again, his throat is dry, mouth abruptly full of sandpaper. This was his fault—all of it. When he goes to speak, his tone is low, rasping over his remorse.]
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ion. I just... [Had he ever backslid that hard before? Someone had always been there to shake him out of it—so maybe he’d never had the chance, held in place by the supports all around him.]
...I don’t have any excuse at all. I-I was angry, but I didn’t have any right to... not at you …I was just... I-I’m...!
[He drops his voice to nearly a whisper, voice trailing off, the keen regret of a child bubbling out in each shameful word.]
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[He wipes at his eyes, trying hard to compose himself, before finally looking up at his face. He brings his hands up to cup Luke's face.]
I understand, I do. You deserve all of that anger...every piece of it, and I wish with all my heart that I wasn't in any way involved. But, I am, even if I never meant to be. I just want you to know that I'm always, always on your side.
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[Every part of this hurt. As if language wasn't enough anymore. Like there wasn't enough, the right words, to express just how much he did have to apologize, and how he was in the wrong here, and how Ion had to know, had to know how much he...
How much he...?
Still fumbling for the right things to say, he pulls Ion closer, simultaneously apologetic and protective, his motives clashing mentally, the cross purposes maelstroming.]
Ion... I wish we weren't here. I wish we were anywhere else but this place! I just want to spend time with you, like we did at the beach, and when we had dinner! I don't want this to come between us... we don't... we don't...
[his voice chokes, breaks. He tries, fails, to pull his blotching face out of Ion's hands, embarrassed by his own awkward emotions, wishing Ion couldn't see him like this, over, and over...]
...We don't enough time!
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