Setting: FFX, on the Airship after being picked up in Zanarkand
Theme + Number: Breathing, #2
Warnings: More fuzzies.
Summary: Lulu treasuring one of their few quiet times together before the end.
Auron sleeps so seldom. At first I did not think he slept at all. It was one of those tiny clues that began to pique my suspicions.
We have so little time on this journey, and should be giving it to Yuna. Our time is not our own. Guard our Summoner. Or rest, so that we will be strong for what tomorrow holds. Wakka curses the Al Bhed and their inns, their ships. I cannot thank them enough, even if the bunks are narrow. Four walls, a locked door, and we need not worry about guarding Yuna for this one precious night.
The bed is cramped and I wake near dawn. A pale blue light spills in through the glass portal, painting my skin silver. The ship hums beneath us. I hold my breath, trying not to stir as I awaken, although my shoulder is stiff from six hours in one position. Auron is such a light sleeper.
His chest rises and falls against mine, and the heavy arm cast carelessly over my shoulders is relaxed. By day I will watch him rip the life from the fiends we face with its strength. For now he is a maelstrom at rest, and his breath floats against my skin.
Still breathing, ten years dead. I can destroy a basilisk, take down a Marlboro in a few frenzied strikes if the fury is on me, char to ash any ordinary fiend we face. Death, all my skill is with death.
No Summoner healed him. No Fayth took pity on him. Whatever power holds him in my arms is all his own, to spite a world that betrayed him. That soft even breath against my cheek is a greater magic than anything I can weave. He breathes out. I breathe in.