Cephy (cephy) wrote in fictunes, @ 2008-03-27 22:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | characters: luke, fandom: tales of the abyss, month: mar 08, writer: cephy |
[Tales of the Abyss] "Just Another Day", Luke, worksafe
Title: Just Another Day
Fandom: Tales of the Abyss
Character/Pairing: Luke
Rating: worksafe
Warnings: Spoilery for the Tower of Rem. Also, I kind of rambled. >.>
Music: Andrew Bird - "Opposite Day"
Summary: Life goes on.
He wakes in an inn, not so different from all the inns before it, and blinks at a bland, unfamiliar ceiling while the sun from the window stings his eyes. For the moment when everything is still hazy with sleep, he stretches in the warmth and sinks back-- then starts, remembering. Has to hold his breath as he looks down at himself and can't help but feel a little weak with relief when he sees himself whole. It's surprising, really, that he hasn't had nightmares, hasn't relived in his dreams the moment when he saw through his own flesh, saw his hand fade to nothing-- because he certainly can't think about it without shivering while awake.
He stands, flexes his feet against the floor. Holds his hands up before his face and stares at them for a while-- just in case.
It's with a sense somewhat like cheating that he pulls on his coat, leaves the room, finds his companions waiting for him and puts on a smile-- he's supposed to be dead, after all, and he still isn't entirely sure why he's not. Not that he's complaining about that, even if no one can tell him how long it will last-- but he had tried to prepare himself for it, had expected it, had put his friends through hell saying he was going to do it, so there's still a certain disconcerting sense that he's getting away with something.
It's a sense that grows as time passes, when they accept his story with relieved looks and smiles-- everyone but Jade, anyway, but he just seems to know everything-- and things simply go on. Everything that should have been different is still the same, which is odd since there should have been some way to tell, really-- something hanging from his neck, hovering over his head, because just like that he's dying and how can they not sense something like that?
He can almost resent them for it. Almost, if only because he can't go two minutes without being reminded that this may be the last time he does this, or eats that, or talks to so-and-so in such-and-such a place. Colours seem sharper, tastes more distinct; the world around him is suddenly a whole lot busier, a whole lot fuller, as he tries to take it all in at once.
And sometimes it seems unbearable, when he's lying awake shivering and trying not to let it show, trying not to look out into the darkness where it seems to loom so very large. When he has to clench his hands to keep from reaching out to shake Guy awake, has to bite his lips closed to keep from opening them and telling it all. It would be easy to do-- would be a kind of relief to have them all know, because then they would give this thing looming over him the attention it deserves.
But he doesn't want their pity.
So he wakes each morning in the anonymous inn rooms and plants his feet, stretches his fingers, looks out the window at the sun that still shines. Dresses himself and opens the door and complains about Anise's cooking like he has every time before. Keeps his secret heavy and thick behind his teeth when he smiles, and sets out on yet another day.