victory_road | Great googly moogly, it's all gone to [extremely loud incorrect buzzer]

"Mm..." Scar is staring into the distance, arms folded, frowning in thought as if Henry has just proclaimed a profound truth of the universe.

He's starting to feel... less Girl On The Floor. It isn't much better, but the sharpest peak has eased.

Envy can't help snickering along with Heather. It's not quite the hysterics of earlier, but it is genuine.

This is great. He can almost forget that he has no idea what's going to happen when the other member of the household arrives. Right now they can laugh and talk about hair or lack thereof, and remember good times. Or at least times that are funny in hindsight. He perks up a little when Heather shows off her own new haircut.

"It's hot!"

His name isn't Henry and he's definitely already told her this multiple times before tonight but they all got to talk about his sister being pretty it's his turn.

"Oh...oh yeah! I thought something was different." Henry gives her a smile and lifts his cup as though he were going to toast her. "I thought maybe you had gotten taller. It's cool, Heather."

He turns to Envy and there is a small glimmer of mischief in his eye. Something that took years and years to bring out. He delivers the line in that same quiet matter-of-fact Henry tone.

"You haven't gotten any taller though."

"Thanks, butthead," is her loving response to Envy's compliment.

To Henry, she gives a punch on the shoulder. It's not very hard.

God, she missed him.

"Not taller, but I can still kick your ass."

Yes! The glint! Envy is, as always, very proud of Henry whenever he actually engages in teasing.

He tosses his hair with one hand, maybe not as fluidly as he normally would, "Ha, you know it! Makes me faster."

He then joins Heather immediately in punching Henry's other shoulder. Time for the little gremlins to beat up on the scarecrow. This is so great. Who knows what's going to happen in about half an hour, but right now, things are good. This is better than finding out which ending the movie was going to have.

"Ah! Haha, ow! Ow!" Henry holds his arms over his head, which does nothing to save him from the punches. His shoulders are shaking and he's snickering. And maybe his eyes are a little wet.

He's home, he's homme!

"I'm being attacked by little children!"

Scar has all but faded out of the conversation, by now. The more time goes by, the more the awful floating in his head eases, and the more it's replaced with the looming dread that could be outside the door at any minute.

It's getting late. There's less and less foot traffic in this little residential street of Goldenrod, and sparser footsteps mean that every set is suspect.

His ears are trained for the front door. If anyone has anything to say to him, it goes straight over his head.

True to her very brief words, Lust immediately clocked out of work and threw herself into the quickest shower she's likely ever taken. It would hardly do to come home in a cloak of perspiration and club smells. And all of her makeup...

It's an hour to get back to the house. An hour to collect her thoughts and determine her feelings. God, that's not going to be enough. How can he be here? It's been so long...do people ever come back after so long? Obviously they do, as Scar is back at the house. Against all odds. Of course she's had silly daydreams and late night fantasies. That stupid little hope that was always dismissed by her rational mind. They were just that, fantasies. Emotional imaginings to temporarily soothe old sorrows.

Her heart is beginning to quicken in her chest and she feels oddly light and empty. Almost outside of herself as she pulls on her workout leggings and an oversized white crop shirt. There's no time to go home and change into something else. There's no time for anything. It's been so long, another half an hour shouldn't matter, and yet...

Seven years. One would think feelings would fade after so long. And while they had in a way faded to the background, they'd never gone. He was burned into her soul and would be for all her mortal existence. After a time she'd accepted that he was gone and what they'd had would be all they'd ever have. They'd had their second chance. How in the hell had they managed a third?

It feels as though she can't walk fast enough. The center feels too far away. None of this feels real at all. She's back in Goldenrod before her hair's even dry, traces of shimmery makeup still on her face. The closer the house draws the more her stomach drops, the more she feels as though she's shaking. Is she shaking? She hasn't even laid eyes on him yet and already she's coming undone.

Her hands are shaking as she reaches for the knob of the front door. By now her heart is in her throat and she feels as though in a dream as she opens it.

How can Scar possibly be here?

In the moments before a tidal wave, the ocean disappears.

The birds vanish inland. The air gets a little too quiet. The smell of the ocean floor is unbearable, if the wind is right, the rancid underbelly of the unknown exposed to the open air for a breathless minute before all crashes back to shore.

My good dude, the birds were out of here ten minutes ago. Seek higher ground and hold onto your neighbor :) You will surely be fine :) Their body count is only 7,000.

:)

The door opens, and Scar’s heart stops. He’s looking down the hall, but not… directly. More at the floor in the hall. He’s never been so anxious about something that isn’t a matter of life and death.

The Piano Cometh.

Envy's all but forgotten about the passage of time, on his third slice of pizza and not paying attention to the Signs. Scar's so quiet that even with his looming figure, it's easy enough to just enjoy the reunion they're getting to have and he thought they never would.

The door creaks open, and he remembers the passage of time very abruptly.

As if in slow motion, he lowers his pizza slice as he turns to face the hall. Whatever he does, he knows he does not want to get in the middle of whatever's about to happen between these two.

And honestly, he can't help but wonder if they're actually going to find out anything about what the hell even is between them.

At some point between fake-beating-up Henry and the piano sting, Heather had actually drifted off, still leaning on him. One of the reasons she doesn't usually partake in the Tea (tm) is because she's just not really a fan of being disoriented and vulnerable around other people-- even ones she trusts.

But after the initial chaos, sitting peacefully with two of the individuals she loves most in the world (one of them she'd thought, less than two hours ago, that she'd never see again), the tension had floated away and she forgot, however briefly, about the very real possibility that something Super Fucking Awkward (The Unpleasant Kind) might be about to unfold.

The sound of the door snaps her out of sleep and back to reality, and she jerks back upright, rubbing one eye and following everyone else's gaze to the hall.

Ohhh. Oh yeah.

Henry has just been chowing down on pizza because he has been undernourished for three days. His tea cup is empty and he's telling Envy about his plans for the Gym Challenge.

Then the door opens. He leans up and turns his head. Oh, Lust! His muddled memories present a story of an unfolding friendship between two very different people.

"I'm in here!" He calls to her.

Yes, Lust, come faster.

Unfortunately for Henry, Lust barely registers him calling to her. There is one thing on her mind at the moment to the exclusion of all else.

Scar is here. Just down that hallway. It's real.

Only it doesn't actually hit until she comes down that hallway, slowly as she feels unsteady with each step. It's a clear struggle to keep her expression calm and there's a ridiculous urge to run down the hallway as though she's in some silly romantic comedy. She doesn't run. And when she sees him she halts and all the strength goes out of her.

All she can do at first is just look at him. Her legs wouldn't move if she willed them to and her voice dies in her throat. Words leave her mind.

There he is. Right there, in the flesh, in her home....

....in his winter coat?

She'll deal with that later.

She appears in the doorway, framed in haphazardly pinned hair and comfortable clothes, and the room vanishes. Scar’s hand lifts slowly, the back of his knuckles pressing to his lips.

"Thank you, God, that it was me." The words erupt from Scar’s lips in a mangled blend of Ishbalan and whatever common tongue is in this world. We can call it Ishbommon.

The mist in his eyes that Scar has tenuously leashed since Route 29, since Violet, since sitting here in torturous wait, spills shamelessly over his cheeks. Beholding the face of a woman he hasn’t seen age a day in twenty years, at long last a little bit older, a little bit more lived, robs his lungs of air, his legs of strength, and his mouth of any other words.

"Thank you, God, that it was me."

Under normal circumstances, Lust keeps her emotional responses well in check. They're private things that very few people see. And between her and Scar...they'd kept every scrap of their shared life to themselves. It was something precious and theirs alone.

These are not normal circumstances. She doesn't entirely understand what he's saying, but the sound of his voice breaks the paralysis on her. She crosses the room and her sneakers make a soft sound on the floor. Her eyes are locked on him, taking in every line and angle of his face. Comparing it to her memory, refreshed often by what photos she had.

She only stops when she's in front of him, her breathing very quick and low. He hasn't changed at all. It's as though he's stepped out of one of those photos and into life.

Her hand lifts, cautious, reaching for him. She speaks without thinking, her own voice low and ragged.

"It's alright. You're home."

"I'm…"

Home has been a hollow word for... longer than he can bear to linger on. They had a place, in Violet, where they had been comfortable. But home would always be Ishbal. And what remained of Ishbal was...

"You’re beautiful." Words Lust has heard a thousand times, from a thousand voices, rasped through Scar’s swollen throat as if for the first time. He begs that she understands, that she knows what it means to him, that the most familiar face in this world and the last has changed. Naturally.

His tears don’t stop. She's so, so close, and he still can't move.

Lust's hand rises, reaching to brush away the tears on his cheeks with shaking fingers. Her own eyes are bright. All she can do is nod, not trusting her own voice. What can she possibly say? What words exist to express all that she's feeling, all that she wants to say?

But she understands what Scar's trying to say. The brief words say so much more than they would from anyone else.

Later, she'll be embarrassed. She'll remember they have an audience and feel foolish for not suggesting they go somewhere private, or ask the others to clear the room. For now she just steps into him, close enough to breathe the familiar scent of him. Her other hand rests on his chest, against the wool of his heavy winter coat.

"I thought I'd lost you. Again."

Her cool fingers on his overheated cheeks spur him back to life. Scar folds himself to her as if they were clay, molds away the gaps between them, clutches her back and shoulders and waist like they’re all that could hope to hold him together. Latent consciousness of his strength, of their difference in size, is forgotten for a moment. Scar's frame engulfs Lust's like if they tried hard enough, they might sink into each other.

She came back.

Thank you, God, that it was me.

The legs which have heroically carried Scar to this finish line finally give up. There's no reason to stand, anymore. He sinks and takes her with him, back sliding down the wall all the way to the living room floor.

"You kept my things…"

Scar was supposed to fade unnoticed. He left no trace, but for the bodies in his wake. He was an idea. A conduit. A shell that was once human, walking and talking passed its expiration date, marching toward inevitable oblivion.

Until she had stayed with him. Decided that he ought to have had a name.

"You kept our home."

His voice breaks, on that last word.

When he finally takes her in his arms the spell breaks. That dreamlike feeling falls away, that strange sense of being somehow outside of time and reality. His arms are solid and strong and she presses herself into him gratefully. There's no protest when he slides to the floor, taking her right along with him. Her own legs are tired, she's been dancing all night then power walked all the way here.

Her face stays buried in his chest, the wool of his coat rough and warm against her cheeks. Part of her desperately wants to laugh but she knows if she does it will turn hysterical and uncontrolled. She just sinks down with him, curled into him, holding him back.

"Of course I did." Her words are somewhat muffled. She pulls back from his wool covered chest, looking up with wetly bright eyes. "They were what I had left of you."

Scar has to force himself to breathe. He lifts her closer when her head picks up, resting the side of his forehead against hers so he can see her face. He pries one hand from the curve of her back to find the tie in her hair, slips his fingers delicately under it, draws it looser until her hair (still damp) falls free. It's slow and unhurried, his fingers careful not to tug as he combs it apart. Scar buries his face in the dark curtain he’s just loosed, and breathes deep.

There’s something different, in her smell, but she’s still her. Dry sunshine, the lunch table set for three, the last comfort as he marched to his death, the last sensation before falling safely asleep. Scar's lips part as if he might be able to taste her in the air.

"I'm sorry," he breathes. For not wanting to live enough. For everything that had brought with it. He can't help but connect that to his disappearance.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

Lust thinks that she could just stay this way indefinitely. Every little touch of his hands is a small miracle, something she'd never thought she'd feel again. All of the years seem to just melt away, as though there's no seven year gap between them.

But practicality and reality can only be held at bay for so long. They're in an undignified heap on the floor, Scar's in a winter coat of all things and very likely needs to shower and put on something clean....

And they have an audience.

She clears her throat and draws back just a little, fixing her face back into something more controlled.

"I have some of your clothes in my room. You can use the upstairs bathroom to get clean and changed into something....more seasonally appropriate."

Why are you wearing a winter coat, Scar?

Scar swallows another half-sob when she mentions that she has a change of his clothes in her room. He hadn't even noticed that they were missing from Violet. Scar's facades aren't quite like Lust's. When they're gone, they're gone, dignity be damned. If Lust's insecurities project outward, Scar's point inward. He couldn't care less about her roommates on the couch. They're still an abstract concept, and they can leave if they so desire.

In complete honesty, he hasn't actively thought about the absurdity of The Coat until this second.

"I don't need it now..." he mutters, his hands numbly easing away from her so he can let the coat fall off his shoulders. He is. Unbelievably sweaty. But he isn't making a move to get up. She's still here, after all.

They certainly do have an audience.

And honestly, it's not exactly easy to watch the two of them be just. Unbearably intimate. But it feels impossible to look away at the same time.

So instead he's been glancing rapidly back and forth between the deeply emotional scene playing out and frantic 'can you believe this shit' eye contact with Heather, and at some point he'd noticed Henry opening his mouth to say something and just. Put his hand over it, shaking his head sharply. Do Not get in the middle of immovable wall meets unstoppable object, friend.

So many missing puzzle pieces are falling into place.

Because honestly, last time Scar was here, it had been completely unclear if they even liked each other, much less...this. He can't help but think back to what had happened after Liore. How he still doesn't know what happened there, really, barely knows what happened between the last time they'd actually spoken beforehand and witnessing her death in the warehouse.

But if this was what she'd lost? With only their world left to her?

He can understand that now. Too well.

He didn't think that seeing Scar crying was going to happen...well, ever, either.

It's sort of a relief when Lust finally seems to remember where they are, and pointedly looks not directly at them (anymore), giving her at least some semblance of privacy to recover.

One of Heather's first actions-- once she was sure it wouldn't somehow disrupt the unfolding reunion before them, anyway-- was to grab what was left of her stone-cold tea and chug some more of it.

Which, as it turns out... wasn't necessary.

Or maybe it was necessary, but not for all the same reasons that Heather had been anticipating.

A few of Envy's glances are caught and exchanged, but when the pair collapse to the floor... Witnessing this feels like she's breaking some kind of rule, but she can't pull her eyes away. Somehow, despite knowing Lust for years, the past 60 seconds have taught her more about her friend-- and about Scar-- than the past seven-plus years combined.

It feels like it's forbidden knowledge, knowledge that she isn't supposed to have.

But well. It's not like she can... stop them.

Shit, is she crying?

Heather discreetly swipes a hand against one eye and whispers out of the side of her mouth to Envy and Henry, "Maybe we should go in the kitchen so they can have some space."

She knows it's WAY too late for that, but BETTER LATE THAN NEVER...?

Henry has been very good (except for the point where Envy had to cover his mouth for him) watching all this. He's a little puzzled at first, but he's good enough at context clues to guess why Scar was so tense. It even explained the winter coat a little.

He's also only seventy two hours away from having watched an undead serial killer digging around in a ten foot tall corpse's womb in an abandoned hospital full of wheelchairs that chased him down and ran over his fingers so...Scar and Lust's display might not be as awkward and weird to Henry as it might be to others. Also he's a film student.

When Heather eeks out her plan, Henry nods quietly and rises to his feet.

"I'm going to make more Tea," he announces.

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

no subject