dreamcrystals | dream recording 🔸 gifts

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dream recording 🔸 gifts

[A boy sits in a comfortable chair in some manner of quiet lounge; the enormous glass windows he's facing show an impressive cityscape at sunset, placing him at least two dozen floors above the ground. He doesn't appear to be enthralled by the view, though; rather, he appears to be nodding off, arms folded on an armrest as he leans his head against them. About the fourth time he closes his eyes, however—]

Ferran!

[A cheerful voice interrupts his doze, and he jolts up immediately to turn towards his father—a businessman with glasses and dark hair, and eyes the same shade of brown as the boy's. He all but jumps to his feet and runs over to the man; thankfully, the room's other occupants are sparse, and he doesn't have to bother worrying whether it's rude to rush past anyone.]

Dad!

Hey, kiddo. [The man ruffles his son's hair as he finds himself the recipient of a hug around the middle.] Sorry our meeting took so long, but a lot happened during our trip, as it turns out. Anyway—are you ready to get home and have a proper meal?

Yeah, definitely. [The boy looks around, curious, but almost a little dismayed.] Where's Mom?

Oh, don't worry, [the man replies before leaning in conspiratorially.] She's just picking up a little something for somebody who's turning thirteen next month...

[Though the boy can't help but grin, the worry isn't completely gone from his eyes, and his father picks up on that easily enough, adding:]

She's not far behind, I promise.

[With a much less enthusiastic okay, the young Ferran steps back to let his father take the lead. Instead of immediately heading towards the exit, however, the man looks out the windows that make up the wall, out into the distance. Ferran follows his gaze.]

Not a bad view, huh? [He raises his eyebrows, glancing at his son.] Lots of architecture to look at from here...

[A favorite topic of Ferran's. But somehow... somehow he can't find the enthusiasm he would have usually responded with.]

I guess so.

[The view is—tainted, somehow. He's seen it so many times, but from a different angle... there have been times where he's looked out over it, wind in his hair, and wondered if it would be better if—]

I'm sorry we couldn't stay for longer.

[Ferran's thoughts are interrupted by the somber voice of his father, and he turns to look at him with some surprise. Yet... he understands. It's not just a reference to their next trip; he knows exactly what it means, and even the next out-of-place statements that come out of his father's mouth don't faze him.]

I know you wanted to take that trip for your graduation... we were all looking forward to it.

[A look of distant grief comes to the boy's eyes. His shoulders fall, hands in loose fists at his sides.]

Yeah. [But unlike all those business trips, this final absence wasn't their choice—not that he'd ever held the former against them in the first place.] ... It's not your fault.

[With a soft smile, his father places a hand on Ferran's shoulder, his voice echoing through the dream, unreal but too important to dismiss as fantasy.]

I'll tell your mother you love her.

[The dream fades before the boy's first tears can fall.]

—

[Well, it's certainly a better dream than the last time; Ferran only ends up lying awake and staring gloomily at his ceiling, rather than being in active distress, until he gets to any messages that come his way.]

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[ If there were a list of the types of dreams that one least likes having shared, this particular variety might not be at the top, but it's certainly on there somewhere. It feels like quite the intrusion to bear witness to it at all, and Naminé spends some time on her own side of things regarding the ceiling with an unfamiliar ache in her chest.

She's never had parents to lose. Does that make her more helpful in this situation, or less? Although she thinks it's the latter, sitting idly by has never suited her. So she keeps it brief, when she writes to him; as lacking in insistence as possible. ]

Would you like to talk?

[ They're both awake now, after all - or so she feels comfortable assuming. ]

[His response comes only after a few minutes; it turns out that the ceiling is only so interesting. He had an inkling that one was a bit closer to the surface than most of his dreams, but whenever he wakes up from one in the middle of the night he tends to check his journal just in case he might get sent some worried message or another.

This time it turns out to be true, including a name he's always glad to see, even if he's not in the best of moods.]

Sure.

[It's out there, now; no point trying to brush it off, even if he were inclined to with Naminé.]

I don't really know what to say, though. You saw my dream?

[ Though the delay might give her cause to wonder if she'd guessed wrongly about either his state of consciousness or his willingness to talk, Naminé's well enough aware that these incidents can take time to resolve themselves. She's patient as she blinks sleepily at her journal from time to time, eventually with her chin propped in a hand.

It pays off, in the end. ]

I did.

[ She has the privilege of not needing to distract herself, and so her response is provided without delay. ]

That makes two of us, I suppose.
I'm not sure what I should say either.

[ Only that something needs saying, perhaps. Or rather, that something might need hearing. ]

But I do want to make sure that you aren't all alone, if you don't want to be.

Sorry about waking you, but thank you. That means a lot.

[... and maybe the offer would even be enough, on its own. They could exchange a few messages back and forth, long enough for the ache to fade so he could find some other way to pass the time or let sleep take him again.

But he's tired of enough. He's been running on enough for years at this point.]

Would it be okay? If I came over. I don't want you to feel like you need to do anything special.

There's no need to apologize. You couldn't help it.
Besides, I don't mind.

[ And... maybe part of her is glad to have witnessed some of the caring and love he experienced from his family, as a shade of the past or not. They say it's better to lose it than to never have had it at all, and Naminé is of a mind to agree with that statement. Still, she hesitates to say as much, lest the hurt yet feel too fresh for Ferran.

His request isn't one she expected, necessarily, but it's not at all off the beaten track, either. Her surprise is only momentary, her answer natural; ]

Of course it would. Keeping you company's the least I can do.

[ Whether that takes the form of writing or being in each other's more direct presence. She does briefly consider insisting on going to him instead, but... no, she'll leave it to him to decide what's best for him, no matter her anxious considerations. ]

Thank you. It'll just be a second this time.

[He's remembered he has a magic gem with teleportation magic, and has hardly let it leave his person since that disaster of a blizzard, lest he get caught up in a stupid idea with too much static in his head to think it through again.

A part of him wants to bring her something, but after expressing that he didn't want her to try to play as a host, the most he settles on is an extra blanket. When he knocks on her door indeed just a few seconds later, one of them is settled around his shoulders, and the other under his arm. Tonight, he only looks about as tired as one would expect from someone roused in the middle of the night, and the mild redness to his eyes from a brief tear shed has already faded at this point.]

[ It feels as though she's only just set aside her writing utensil before the knock at the door reaches Naminé's ears. She freezes midway through pulling a robe on over her pajamas, only to redouble the speed of her efforts thereafter. Bemusedly, she calls an, ]

I'll be right there...!

[ ... which might only barely reach the door. Her delicate footsteps follow as she hurries down the stairs - scuffs the heel of one foot for her trouble - and makes her way to the front of the treehouse. Her features are pinched in perplexed awe as she opens the door, as if to say, 'Wow...! It really is you, and so quickly, too.' They ease into what she hopes is a comforting smile of greeting as she exhales, very slightly out of breath. ]

You really meant it, [ she comments; it took him no time at all to get there. Too little time, perhaps, considering she looks just a touch disheveled. Still, the blonde won't hesitate to step out of the way to let him in. ]

[Ferran waits patiently at the door, and would have even if he hadn't heard her call. He's mid-yawn when she does get to it, and he takes a second to finish and blinks at her tiredly before realizing just how hurried she looks. Oops.]

S-sorry. Too soon?

[He steps inside, regardless, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand sheepishly and keeping his eyes on her.]

I really didn't mean for you to rush. I could have landed inside, but I didn't want to be rude...

[ Despite her state and the sleepiness lingering around her eyes, Naminé is quick to shake her head. ]

It's no trouble. Only - I didn't have time to start making tea before you got here.

[ Closing the door behind him, she returns his gaze with a faintly apologetic one of her own that grows amused at his words. Thereafter she drifts toward the kitchen, perhaps to go about the tea process in question, but her attention remains on Ferran. ]

It's-- probably better that you didn't. Not unless you were hoping to see me jump ten feet in the air, that is...!

[When Ferran processes that, he opens his mouth to protest... but he'd be making tea for himself, anyway, so he guesses he'll let it go without comment for the moment, watching her turn.]

Y-yeah, that was part of it, too. [He follows vaguely in her direction, a few steps behind, dropping the extra blanket on whatever seat he passes by on the way; he really doesn't want this to be any kind of formal guest-host exchange.] Can I help, maybe?

[ With her focus temporarily elsewhere, Naminé doesn't catch Ferran's initial reluctance. It's not until his offer to help that she finally pauses with one hand on a cupboard door, brow starting to scrunch in late-night confusion at the suggestion. She'd been about to reassure him that it's a one-person job, but...

Looking at him a moment, she seems to pick up on his undercurrent of unease. Consequently, after only a single beat of consideration, she shifts gears. ]

... You can fill the kettle, if you'd like.

[ Gently, she'll set the container in question on the counter for him to take. ]

[Good. He would definitely say something if she hadn't let him do something, however small.]

Sure.

[He steps over to do as she suggests, but he's also ready to step away once that's done and he's placed it on whatever manner of heating she's getting ready. Unlike him, she probably isn't nearly as dedicated to finding local magic-powered trinkets and gadgets that allow a kitchen to function without fire, and he'd really rather not trigger any of his own anxieties in someone else's house.

He suppresses a yawn, just barely.]

Ugh, I don't think I'll ever get used to how cold it can get here... I barely ever saw snow before I started getting thrown into other worlds.

[ Perhaps she could sense the necessity of appeasing him in such a fashion - but whatever the case, she'll take over after he's set the kettle on the stove with a soft, ]

Thank you.

[ The tea bags and mugs and such are already neatly arranged by now, waiting for the water to heat. She'll set about starting the stove soon enough, but for now he has time to find some excuse to back away, because she pauses to glance over her shoulder at him with kind, sleepy eyes, looking close to yawning herself. ]

Me neither. That is - I'd never been out in the snow before I left my worlds. But the cold...

[ That, at least, had been familiar before her unintentional departure. Run-down mansions didn't leave much in the way of insulation intact, and no one in Castle Oblivion had ever fret much over her comfort. Thin white sundresses aren't exactly the single most versatile outfits where temperature control is concerned.

She shakes her head, rather than saying any of that aloud, and offers a gently wry, ]

At least there's no blizzard, this time?

[Ferran turns his gaze to her when she replies, and a moment of internally acknowledging how she's only just stepped out of bed gives him the faint idea of brushing her hair... which he quickly tucks away so he can let her get to heating the kettle.

He moves just outside the kitchen, leaning against a wall just in view but where his eyes are turned away. It'll do for now. Hopefully he's too tired to focus on the thought of fire, so he does his best to try for a normal conversation. He lets out a quick huff, trying to act more put out than he feels for the sake of lightening the atmosphere a little. Even if his visit tonight has been spurred on by grief, the entire time doesn't have to be spent in a somber mood.]

Thank god for that. I don't hate cold for the most part, but there's a point where it just gets unreasonable...

[ Her hair could do with a brushing at the moment, as a matter of fact. She's never been too restless a sleeper, but the silvery gold strands in question are still looking more rumpled than usual, their subtle wave far easier to detect in this state.

That's neither here nor there, anyhow, as she finishes putting the kettle on and leaves it to heat, more invested in Ferran's well-being than the stove's. She perks slightly in surprise upon realizing how far he's wandered, yet that doesn't stop her from trailing partway after him. Lingering by her kitchen island, she regards him but doesn't ask questions. Instead, there's the gentle offer, ]

I've still got plenty of blankets, if you'd like one. Or two, for that matter...?

I brought one with me, too, [he admits, turning his head just enough to put her in his peripheral. The blanket he's left on the way to the kitchen, dark green with geometric patterns and not the most worn of what he has, isn't probably far out of view.] I'm starting to get the idea that you can never have too many, you know?

[But after only another moment, the more lighthearted mood he's attempted to add to the start of their conversation fades from his face, and he lets out a quiet sigh.

Having his own place, learning these things—it was all supposed to be so different. How many conversations will he never get to have? How much advice will he never hear? Even if the worst of his grief has faded, more reminders make themselves obvious with every mundane experience he has.]

[ A cursory search of the room at his admission provides her with the blanket's location; she'd been too surprised at his quick arrival and hadn't noticed it between that and the haze of her interrupted sleep. It becomes obvious now, however, in light of her keen memory for how the space ought to look. ]

I've been starting to think so too, lately.

[ After the blizzard incident, certainly. Smiling kindly at Ferran as she is, Naminé doesn't miss when his expression slips. She lets her own mouth fade down toward thoughtful neutrality as she takes note. After a brief pause with one hand still lingering on the kitchen island, she finally elects to follow a few more steps of the path he took. Not enough to intrude on his personal space, but-- to be present on the edge of it, at least. ]

Maybe we've both still got some things to learn, [ she adds, quietly and a few beats late. Although she doesn't know the contents or the specifics of his state of mind, it's hard for her own thoughts not to drift toward what he's lost. (What she never had, by contrast, but knows the absence of just the same.) ]

Edited 2024-03-24 23:20 (UTC)

[His voice and volume are lower; drained, more in an emotional way than out of physical exhaustion, even with the late hour. The idea that Naminé might share in that lack somehow doesn't bring him any real comfort, either.]

... yeah.

[He runs a hand through his hair, gaze moving to the floor as his shoulders draw up almost automatically, his typical response to dealing with his problems manifesting in some way even when he fully intends to express his emotions.]

I guess... even thinking I might learn them is a step forward.

[Ferran spent so long thinking he should have stayed in that house with them as it came down. But now, he knows survivor's guilt is a thing, and that it's never really warranted—even if he's had opinions about that in the recent past. That doesn't make the feeling go away, though.]

[ Hearing him say that, Naminé suddenly becomes aware of a cold feeling in her chest - a sort of retroactive dread. If he didn't believe he would learn before... then in the context of what she learned about his past and potential future in the aftermath of the battle against the Story Eater, it's not too hard to fill in the blanks.

Curling a hand against her ribs, Naminé has to bite back quite a few fretful words before finding some that are less likely to sound like scolding. ]

It must be, if you didn't think so before.

[ Her voice is more melancholy than she'd like for it to be; she takes a breath to regroup, though her arms still stay close to her body, as if she can physically hold in her worry and press it back down somewhere. ]

Perhaps we can help each other. If I learn something new, or you do, we could always share it.

[ It might not be anything like a proper upbringing, but she doesn't know what else to offer, what else might provide any sort of comfort without addressing the elephant in the room. ]

[The offer means more to him than he can probably express. He hopes at least part of that gratitude comes through with his quiet response as he meets her eye:]

I'd like that. A lot, I think.

[But he finds that he can't hold her gaze for too long, and his eyes find a nondescript spot on the dark floor as his thoughts are drawn back to his dream. He can't help it—after a moment, he sniffs then rubs his hand over his face, eyes too bright when his arm drops back to his side.]

Ugh, sorry. Just—

[He pointedly looks straight up at the ceiling; he doesn't want to shed any more tears than he has already over this. It almost feels embarrassing, how long he's let his grief control him. His voice is strained, too, but at least he's not in danger of sobbing—he doesn't think.]

I really wanted to... do so much more with them, you know?

[His hands are in fists as he tries to keep himself together.]

[ Her fragile but warming smile in response to his initial words suggests she believes he means them sincerely. ]

It's a deal, then.

[ That seems a safe pronouncement to make, in light of Ferran's answer. Still, her relief is short-lived as she recognizes the change in his demeanor. Her own face falling, Naminé instinctively leans in just slightly, not meaning to peer at him so openly but with an unmistakable dismay on her face that gives her away just the same. Only a beat late does she catch herself enough to pull back again, though her expression remains pinched. ]

Of course...! No one should have to be left alone so early in life.

[ The mere thought of anyone losing their parents at that age breaks her poor heart, such as it is. With a shake of her head, ]

Missing them isn't anything to be ashamed of.

[Given the entire reason he's here, it's not a surprise that she'd be trying to watch him and see how he was doing, so her attention is left largely unacknowledged. He ends up trying to not look at her, though, which is probably another clear indication that he's still shaken up.]

Well... [He sniffs, partly to grant himself a moment.] Even if the dream was from back when I was almost 13, they... were killed when I was 17.

[Still early, of course. Far too early. The details probably don't matter all that much, in the end, but it's easier to talk about than his feelings. He's not necessarily ashamed of them, but he doesn't like making his friends worry like this, either.]

Maybe... maybe the dream was me trying to remind myself of the times I did have with them. I don't know.

Four years can be a long time, [ she admits, especially because she's only lived a few of them herself, ] ... but in this case, that seems like hardly any time at all.

[ Her tone is gentle, sympathetic; 13 or 17, either's too young for such a terrible loss. Still, details aside, ]

That could be. Did something happen that made you think--

[ -- Right at that moment, the kettle starts to whistle. Naminé jumps; she'd been so focused on Ferran, she'd nearly forgotten it. Her eyes flicker between him and the kitchen until, ]

I'll-- be right back.

[ Perhaps he'll benefit from a moment to compose himself, anyhow. ]

[Ah, a distraction. And it'll be good to get something to drink, if just to stave off the inevitable headache... He doesn't follow her with his gaze as she leaves, though; fragile as he's feeling, it's better to not have any further reminders of his phobia.

He'll wait to respond until she seems on the tail end of her preparations, thinking in the meantime and rubbing his face to clear away some of the dampness and comfort himself somewhat. He's managed to even his breathing again by that point, thankfully.]

Well... my birthday was this month, I guess. [It was nicer than he expected, this year; more than just the reminder of the day he came to this place and the state he was in at the time. He brings his hand over his ever-present necklace, fingers curling around the silver pendant.]

My present that year, the one my dad mentioned... kind of set off all the change, even if it didn't come until that fire.

[ Naminé seems to respect his silence, bustling industriously about the kitchen as she takes the kettle off, douses the fire and continues with her preparations. About the time she turns back toward him with two cups of steeping tea in hand, she perks slightly at his delayed response. ]

Happy birthday, [ she offers kindly as she holds out his cup, only for her shoulders to jump with a bashful embarrassment as she realizes-- ] Not that this is your present from me, of course.

[ No matter the unfortunate timing of the phrase; it doesn't feel like the right moment to make a joke of that nature. Tilting her head a little, the lass considers the rest of his answer; it's not hard to spot the way Ferran clutches his necklace. It's not the first time she's seen that, most likely, nor will it be the last. ]

All that, because of one gift... [ Considering what she's aware of about Ferran's past, she can connect some of the dots. But those still beg the question, ] Did they know that it would, back then?

[Ferran shakes his head faintly and takes the tea carefully in his hands, grateful that at least he's not in a state where he'd risk dropping the cup. He'll take a night of pensive mourning over unstable panic any time.]

No. I'm sure it never even occurred to them. [He takes a moment to blow gently on the drink, though he doesn't try for a sip just yet.] Where I'm from... nobody knows that magic even exists unless they have it. They wouldn't have had any reason to think a piece of jewelry could make someone try to kill us...

[He raises his eyes to her, a faint glimmer of something more pleasant than the topic of conversation. Just simple gratitude for a normal gesture.]

Thanks, though.

[ Naminé nods her understanding, her eyes almost mournful in their own way. For her part, she cradles her cup carefully, but doesn't pay it much attention; her mind seems to be on the conversation, and her own considerations thereof. ]

So your world is one of those, then. No matter what kind of power there is or how secret it is, it seems like there's always someone who craves it enough to hurt others to take it...

[ Even so, she still has warmth to put into her gentle smile in response to his thanks, when it comes. ]

You're welcome, [ she answers in the tone of an, 'of course' that sounds as if it really were a matter of course. This whole thing is, truthfully; she's always prepared to help look after him, day or night. ] It's the least I can do.

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dream recording 🔸 gifts

Sender: Naminé

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