Fic or Treat 2011, fic 1.

[merikuru]

Ah, fuck me running.

I swore I'd never write these two unless I actually did end up playing the game, but littlecaity SOMEHOW planted a plotbunny on my Fic or Treat post. So much for that, I guess? :D;

(Goddammit plotbunny.)

Title: The Way Out
Author: K.Y. Lowell / merikuru
Rating: PG
Fandom: Atelier Iris 2: The Azoth of Destiny
Pairing: Implied Chaos/Felt post-game squishiness
Warnings: Rie babbles on quite a bit at the beginning. It was necessary, I swear. And obviously, spoilers if you haven't played far enough in.
Summary: The obvious has been right in front of Chaos' eyes this whole time, and he's never quite noticed.


He's been having dreams lately, and he isn't sure what to make of them.

Maybe it's his mind's way of telling him he will never forget - a stern and uncaring reminder that when the day is done and he can no longer bury himself in menial tasks, memory will creep up on him silent as a wraith and take him in its icy grasp. Maybe he's just been working too hard, and the hazy grey scenes that play through his dreams over and over again are trying to tell him that. Or maybe, just maybe, some part of his soul that he keeps locked tightly away from even his own conscious self is lonely and crying and longing for the days gone by that can never return.

But whatever the reason, he dreams, as he's doing now.

It's not a bad dream, not really. Any dream with her in it can't be bad, not even the ones where he desperately holds her and pleads with her to wake but she simply lays unmoving in his arms and he can feel nothing from her frozen form - even those memories are somehow precious, and he has to admit that in some twisted way, they calm and relieve him just as much as the better dreams, the ones where he simply sits and talks with her and it's like she never left. (Perhaps, he thinks, he ought to consider those the bad dreams - at least the ones where she is gone are the truth, as opposed to the idealistic lie that is the flow of conversation between them - but can he really dishonor her memory like that, pursuing the nightmares and shying away from the kinder visions? The thought makes him almost sick.)

It's one of the better-worse-better ones now anyway, and his dreaming mind is wrapped in peace and warmth because of it. It's a replay of a conversation they had some time before she died, something boring and trivial about her needing to do a bit of shopping and a rude man she'd met at the market the previous weekend and things like that, familiar and comfortable like a well-worn glove and he's just starting to relax into it when suddenly she turns to him, touches his shoulder and her words come quick and uncertain. "Are you," she starts, flushes briefly in embarrassment at her own forward presumptuousness but goes on anyway, "are you alright? You look so distant today. Is something the matter?"

He doesn't remember her saying that to him; it jolts him enough he can't be anything but honest. "I'm - thinking," he says, slow to her fast, and looks away from her concerned face. "That's all."

She moves into his line of sight again, smiles sympathetically. "Thinking too hard," she corrects him, and now her voice flows more easily, more smoothly. "It's going to be all right. You aren't lost, you know - the way out is right by your side. You just haven't realized it yet."

It's his first instinct to open his mouth and protest he isn't lost, protest he's just fine, but he finds himself looking more closely at her and somehow she seems suddenly indistinct and the fear that wells up in him chokes off the words before they can reach his tongue. "Rie," he says instead, hoarsely, reaching out to seize her hand and feeling an icy tremble run up his spine when his own passes right through. "Rie. What are you saying?"

She only smiles, places one hand - one fragile, trembling, pale hand - slowly and deliberately atop his for a moment and then draws away; he can hardly see her for the scenery now and she looks so ill, and the chill grows stronger. "Don't give up. You'll be all right. I know it's hard, but you aren't alone."

"No, Rie," he whispers, nearly choking on the words, and then he's on his feet, reaching for her but finding nothing but air. "This isn't how it's supposed to go. This isn't how it happens - you don't go like this! This isn't right, what's going on?!"

"You're right--" He thinks she's embracing him, but by now he can't even see her, and the most he can feel is what might or might not be a barely-tangible warmth about his shoulders. "But if it's not right, then why haven't you woken up already?"

He has just enough time to think that's a very good question before he is awake, thrown from the sunlit field into a dark and simple room, lit only by the last vestiges of a dying fire in the hearth. "A dream," he says out loud, disbelieving, and then shakes his head, burying his face in his hands and trying not to feel like he might be sick. "How pitiful of me. Only a dream."

A stirring from beside him reminds him he isn't alone in the bed, and he looks guiltily over to see guileless blue eyes staring half-lidded at him, still glazed with sleep and confusion, and words tumble from his bedmate's lips on a wide and slurring yawn. "Chaos? 's the matter?"

"Nothing," he responds shortly, immediately feels bad for it and tries to moderate his tone into something a little less exasperated. "It's nothing, Felt. Go back to sleep."

"Hnnn. Another dream?" Felt has never been much for obeying orders, and now is no different. He chooses to sit up, instead, the blankets falling to his waist, and his bare chest is warm as he wraps his arms around Chaos' waist and leans comfortingly into him. "You sure you're alright? You seem, I dunno," he pauses as he casts about for the words, "really distant this time, I guess?"

Chaos tenses, fighting back the urge to curse - both at himself for his reaction, and at Felt for being much too damned observant than anyone so obviously half-asleep should ever be. I told you it's nothing, he tries to say, he wants to say, but he feels just too cold and drained and sick to his stomach to make the lie convincing and instead what spills out is the truth, the conversation and the strangeness and he can't help but be just a little relieved that Felt is still holding him reassuringly by the time the flow of words trickles off to a halt. Bringing his dream out into the real world has him dizzied enough with confusion that he almost thinks he might tumble away otherwise. "...I don't understand," he finally admits when it's had the time to sink in a little, making a face like he's tasted something sour and turning his face away from that sympathetic stare. "What was she trying to tell me?"

"Well--" Felt considers it for a moment, then he laughs, a bright clear sound like a small bell or a music box that just seems so out of place and yet so very fitting. "Well, she was right, wasn't she? You're not alone. You just think you are."

"Felt." It's not quite a growl, but it would be if he had the strength for it. "I don't have the patience for any mindgames tonight."

Felt rolls his eyes tolerantly, smiles and puts a hand up, brushing Chaos' cheek with his fingertips, gently urging his head to turn until their eyes meet - and how can his gaze be so piercing and deep like that, an ocean of vivid blue enough to drown in and Chaos is suddenly, very irrationally unsure that he'd ever quite want to come up for air if he did begin to sink into it - and smiling widely, the I-know-something-you-don't expression that he usually reserves for those moments when his rival-turned-lover is being especially idiotic. "No, Chaos, don't you see? This isn't a mindgame. Think about it, Rie told you the answer. The way out is right by your side. You're not alone."

"I don't," Chaos begins automatically, but then he blinks, slow and puzzled, and suddenly he's looking at Felt - really looking - and it's somewhere in between the second blink and the third that it hits him like a Puni to the head. He does know, he does, and he opens his mouth to say something but no words come out and all he can do is flush brilliantly red, suddenly feeling distinctly vulnerable under Felt's all-too-knowing stare and not quite able to be sure if he minds it at all.

Another laugh escapes Felt and his arms move upward, wrapping themselves comfortably around Chaos' neck instead, and he leans up until their noses are almost touching and grins one of those annoyingly cheerful little grins of his in pleased amusement. "Can I call you an idiot? Because sometimes you really are one."

Chaos huffs and does his best to look properly angry, but at this point it's a lost cause, especially with Felt's mouth right there and his body so warm and close. "No, you may not."

"Too bad. Idiot." Then Felt kisses him, and as they fall back to the bed, Chaos has the fleeting thought that just maybe this is one of those times the two of them will actually agree on that.