unpocoloco | Daybreak IC Inbox

The children are gone--vanished back into whatever part of their hearts or souls or memories that they spawned from. Imelda's not quite sure how that magic worked, but she can't deny the pang of sadness at watching her younger self disappear--at least until the memories appear. It's a slow filtering of thoughts and feelings that she doesn't remember having or being a part of, and yet... There they are.

Running about with Teto, meeting Mav and Shuuya, and all the problems she caused for Héctor. And there, towards the end of it all... That promise. To try and fix things, to make things better. To be happier. How simple it all seemed back then. How much she missed all of that...

It's that feeling that leads her to the third floor of Aube one night, not long after the children were gone. It's still a little early for their nightly meeting, and that had always been in her dorm, not his. But on this night, she has a little something different in mind.

There's a moment of hesitance as she reaches Héctor's door, stopping to listen for any noises inside... But a few seconds later she gives a small knock against the frame.

When she shows up, he's a little disheveled. Whether due to rising from death or through trying to process the memories-- the joys and reopened wounds alike-- he's not about to say, though the fact there's less frost in his hair than usual does hint. He opens the door with a look of surprise, followed by the faintest of smiles, pained around the edges.

Perhaps in a little while, once Teto's settled more to the background of his consciousness, this won't all feel like it's fresh again.

"Imelda. It's good to see you," He says, and he's glad he manages not to sound choked as he feels. "What do you need? Is something up?"

He can't honestly think what she would be here for. If something was wrong there'd be more urgency to her. Right?

He's not the only one affected when the door opens and they're standing face to face. Her stomach does something of a flip inside her, and for a moment she forgets why she's standing on his doorstep. Her attention is caught on that smile and the feeling of wanting to be close to him. A comfort in his presence that she hasn't felt in a long while.

"No, nothing is up," she answers after a moment, shifting her attention down and away from his face. "I thought we could talk in your room tonight." It's a little more private, since he doesn't have a roommate. And she doesn't have to abide by the rules she laid out for Lumière's third floor.

"Do you mind?"

He blinks, surprised all over again. Last time she'd come to him it was to help him readjust to his own form, summon his own power. He doesn't think this is that.

"No! Not at all! Come in!" He steps aside in a hurry, like if he doesn't she might change her mind. There isn't a chance in the world he'd ever shoo her away.

It doesn't help his confusion though. "I really should look to getting some food in this place, huh? Just so I have something to offer." He laughs nervously. "Have a seat... anywhere you like, I suppose."

She enters the room at his request, smiling a little more at his nervous laughter. "It's fine. I didn't come here to eat." Though she doesn't exactly expand on why she did come here.

But she takes a seat at the empty desk when it's offered, turning the chair out to face him. Her hands settle in her lap, the only sign of nervousness that she shows is the way she twists her fingers together, fidgeting just a little.

She doesn't mean to, but her gaze happens to land on the guitars nearby, and she looks down thoughtfully. "I assume that Teto... went back to where he should be?" A part of Héctor's memories, a piece of his soul. Something like that, she thinks. That's how it felt to her, when her younger self had disappeared. Less like she was gone, and more like she'd come home.

His own nervous blooms like brighter and brighter flame. It consumes with no offering of escape. She doesn't explain and so his mind is left to come up with a hundred different scenarios, most of them involving being told to stay far away from her.

He seats himself on the edge of the bed and angles her way. He waits for a verdict of some kind or other.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. He's- he's here." He pats at his heart a moment before letting his hand fall back to his knees. "Would be pretty sad if he stayed and everyone else was just gone." If little Imelda was gone and not him...

"Yes, you're right. That would be sad." She'd be so upset for that child--for that younger piece of her husband, if he was left all alone like that. And it's difficult for her to tell which part of her that upset comes from--the older or younger version. ..Or maybe it's simply just both.

"I'd forgotten how much of a handful you were at that age..." She pauses, and then gives a small laugh. "How much of a handful we both were. I think I lost track of who was enabling who..." Which plans were Teto's and which were hers? It all started to blur together after a while.

There's a sheepish and hesitant smile on him, one that desperately fights to grow wider. It's a little funny, now that he doesn't have to deal with the fallout of all that.

"...We did that. Back in our teens. Climbing rooftops and getting into messes. Only when I did any of that with you, we never got caught somehow. I think all of that was our first time." Caught by their own selves.

It's a rare bit of nostalgia that he can actually share. It's a nice feeling. Thanks for that, Teto.

"Well, your fosters didn't have a tracking chimera," she points out casually. "And my parents trusted me too much." A trust that she honestly doesn't feel bad for using... just a little. They were never up to anything too terrible. Just having fun and enjoying each other's company.

Like they are right now. Her gaze drifts over to the guitars again, a thoughtful look on her face. "...Are you planning on giving that guitar back? The one Teto was using?"

He laughs. Her parents did trust her too much. He probably felt worse about it than she did, but even he can't say he felt all that bad. He was too fixed on her, too in love to see anything else.

Even now he can't help but stare, put to memory the look of her with that smile on. He's only distracted into looking away when she points out the guitars.

"Ahah, I probably should. The school will be wanting for it, I'm sure. And there's not really sense in me hanging on to it. I guess I'm just waiting for the nostalgia to calm a little."

"I doubt they'll be wanting for it that much." After all, this school had the funds. They could buy twenty new guitars if they really wanted to. She doubts they'll miss just one.

That said, she looks down again, focusing on the hands in her lap. "But speaking of that... Do you mind if I ask a favor of you?" She already knows what the answer will be. He's always quick to do anything for her, but she feels the need to warn him, "It's a little selfish."

He opens his mouth but quickly closes it. He laughs softly. He can't really argue that. And he... is sort of fond of that guitar now that he's managed to hold onto it for this long.

But his face soon falls. It's just a split second before he's putting a smile back up, but it doesn't have the same ease to it at all. This is it, he can't help thinking, heart sinking down. This is where the bad part comes in, the catch.

He bobs his head. "It's no problem. What's on your mind?"

She's not looking up at him, so she doesn't see the change in his expression. If she was and if she did, perhaps she might have done something to ease that. But as it stands, her gaze is still lowered, and she only hears his voice and the answer he gives.

Her own response is harder to voice this time, but after a few seconds, she manages. "...Could you play something for me?"

"...What?"

His voice all but cracks with surprise. Of all things he could've imagined, this wasn't even close to being on the list. He stares at her, stunned, waiting for something to say that this is all just a joke.

"I... you want me to play for you...?" He doesn't dream. This has to be real. It doesn't feel real. His eyes go to that guitar and he exhales heavy before getting up and reaching out. He swallows as his fingers close around the guitar neck, bringing the thing back with him to the bed. It feels both foreign in his hands and like an extension of himself.

"Was there anything in particular you wanted to hear?" He asks, like he still can't believe it. "Are you... sure you want to hear something?"

Edited 2019-05-13 15:07 (UTC)

Between the exhale and the hesitance in his voice, there's a pang of guilt in her heart. She feels like such a hypocrite in that moment, and there's obviously something that weighs on him there.

She tries to smile, but it comes out a little rueful. "I told you it was selfish." Even after all the grief she's given him over his music, she still wants to hear it. She misses it, more deeply than she knows what to do with it. Her younger self had loved Teto's music, and with her return, all those feelings had come flooding back.

Maybe this is a little too cruel. She doesn't even know that this will help anything, and he sounds reluctant to her. So when he asks if there's anything she wants to hear--and if she's sure that she wants to hear anything, her hands tighten a little in her lap, squeezing her fingers. "Anything you want to. If you want to. I would understand if you didn't, but... I do want to hear you play again."

Anything he wants to. He doesn't know what he wants to. Well, he wants to do a lot of things but he doesn't know if those are things he can let himself do.

"That's not selfish," He corrects. "It's just... surprising." Overwhelming. There's the irrational sense that the moment his fingers move over the strings something terrible will happen.

He takes another breath and says to her, "If it's too much, just stop me, okay?"

And with that done, his fingers fall gently upon the strings. He hardly needs to look, eyes closing as the song comes simply through memory. He doesn't drift off the same way he used to but it's still all too easy to do so.

Edited 2019-05-13 23:51 (UTC)

She recognizes the song from the first few notes. How couldn't she? He's played this one song for her a countless number of times. She knew it by memory. It was all but written on her heart.

As he plays, her fingers relax from their grip, her tension easing just a little. She lifts her gaze to look at him again, her expression softening as she watches his eyes close and his fingers skip over the strings with practiced ease. He makes it look as easy as breathing--he always did. Like the music was simply a part of him, a different kind of blood that ran through his veins.

And as she listens to that soft melody, tears begin forming in the corners of her eyes. She makes an effort to blink them back, to keep her breathing steady--but to no avail. They continue to come, and so without a sound, she ducks her head to rests her eyes behind her cupped hand.

He makes it more than half way. With his eyes closed, of course he doesn't see the way it affects her. But she's too quiet. Eventually he has to wonder, and the moment he steals a glance his fingers falter, slow, and stop.

"Imelda? Are you alright?" She's evidently not. Stupid. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-- I'm stopping, okay? I'm stopping."

His heart aches. Usually he doesn't get to see the way it hurts her, only know that it does.

She didn't want him to see her cry like this. She promised. And this feels like breaking it, but she doesn't know what else to do. She thought that maybe now, missing it as much as she did--missing him as much as she did, it would be okay. But she was wrong. It still feels so terribly sad. The tears won't stop, even though the music does.

She shakes her head, but words and beyond her for a moment. What does she say? That she doesn't really know why she's crying? That there's just a sadness built up in her after so many years that's always been some constant nameless presence? She's not sure that she knows how to describe what she's feeling, but after all of this, she has to try...

"It's not... this. It's not the music." Her other hand--the one not trying desperately to shield her eyes--curls itself into a tight fist. "It's just... I spent so long, pushing all of this away. It hurt so much, I didn't even want to think of it. I wanted to forget. Everything. But you... You didn't forget. About us. You were really trying to come home."

Edited 2019-05-14 01:27 (UTC)

She doesn't say what's wrong but the guitar is set aside now. He shifts to the bed's very end and edge, reaching out to her but not touching. At least until that fist forms. He settles his own hand gently on top. And then he's the one not lifting his eyes.

"I couldn't forget you two. You're my family. You're everything to me." His world, though to say as much would be on the nose.

"I'm sorry. For all the hurt. All of it."

There's a silence that falls over her, broken only by a few shaky breaths. She's still trying to force it all back down, but it's proving more and more that it might be a futile effort.

She feels his hand over hers, and she's caught between an urge to pull away and an equal urge to hold on tight. He's so gentle with her that it's painful. In the end, she pulls her hand away, only so she can wrap her arms around herself.

She doesn't know what to say to his apology. It's not his fault... but if not his, then whose? Who can she blame for all of this suffering? For his and hers and their daughter's?

"Why couldn't you have just-- made it home?" Her voice is strained, trying desperately to find a steadiness that isn't there at the moment. "Why you? Why us? If you had just made it home... All of these years would have been so different."

He's never seen her like this. Never. She always held strong, no matter what, even that day she and her parents fought about him, even with everything that's happened here.

He feels useless. When she pulls away his own hands entangle and he watches on unhappily.

Her words bring his breath to catch. This isn't the usual accusation. It doesn't take long to work out the difference and he feels his heart drop.

She's mourning him.

He's had all those thoughts, and so many times, twisting him up. Hesitant or not, he has to reach out. He has to take her in his arms and do the one thing every dead man dreams of. He holds her tight, close to his chest, one hand tracing through her hair.

"I know. I know... it's not fair. But death just happens, mi amor. It's just bad luck. You take what you can of life and that's all you can do. You try to make it worth it."

He sinks down, better to look at her and see her face. Even with tears pricking in his own eyes. "I wanted it to be worth it. For you and me. I wanted to make you happy. No matter how short the time. You made me happy. So, so happy. You know that now, right?"

As he holds her, she doesn't pull away or protest. If anything, she finds herself leaning into him, accepting the comfort that he's offering in that moment. Her arms release from their place around herself, reaching out to cling to him instead. Her body trembles against his as she buries her face against his shoulder and lets the tears come as they will.

She does know it now, that she made him happy. It took a long time to remember, but it's something she knows to hold on to now. He never left because he was tired of them, or of their small town life in Santa Cecilia. He didn't have any other family or lovers. The fame hadn't gone to his head.

He had simply died. It was the most painful outcome, but it was still the truth just the same.

"I was happy with you," she responds in a quiet voice that cracks a little as she speaks. "That was all I wanted."

Edited 2019-05-14 05:54 (UTC)

He laughs softly, oh so quiet, as a small smile starts to form. He feels those tears spill and he doesn't stop them.

"I'm glad. I'm so happy to hear that." It's a rush of relief, breaking his heart and bringing it to swell at once.

"We... we have time, you know? It's not those years. I know that can't change. But we've got a little more time. For whatever. Who ever gets so lucky? If you can't take that time, it's okay. But we have it. I'm here now."

He hopes that sounds like reassurance, not a curse.

"I... I love you, Imelda. So much." It might be too much. He doesn't imagine she'll say back. But he's not saying it for that purpose.

They have time... They really do, and she's so glad for that. The thought that is could have been worse is at the same time horrifying and a small measure of gratefulness. She might not have ever seen him again. She might have lived and died thinking that he never loved them.

Even hearing those words spoken to her, she has such a range of feelings. She doesn't know that she can say them back in this moment, but it's the first time he's said he loves her that she hasn't dismissed the thought outright. Instead, she keeps her head against his shoulder, letting the last of her tears work their way out. She can't remember if she's ever cried so much in her life, but... She does feel a little better for it. Or maybe that's still just him, being so close to her.

"Thank you for being here," she says after a few more seconds of silence between them. There's a million ways to interpret those words, and she means them in a million different ways.

Beginning of May-ish

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject