there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly
It’s been calm. Serene, almost. A late afternoon spent wandering the markets of Haulani, hand in hand, a parcel of fruit and sugar and special rum hanging from Nate’s shoulder as they make the trek back up along the hills, the ocean on one side and the jungle on the other. An evening that promises to be just as warm, just as serene, now that things have finally started to settle.
Nate is halfway through some forgettable anecdote about his grandmother when he stops. Cocks his head. There’s a ghost on the winds, the sound of his name, of Sunjata’s name, drifting towards them in a familiar voice. His first thought, after Leafchange, is that he’s not doing this again. He’s not chasing phantoms, not rushing after a figure that he won’t be able to catch. He can’t, they can’t. The story is gone, but he recovers, brushing off his distraction with a shrug, a laugh.
And then it comes again, bringing with it the realization that Leafchange is long over, that all these ghosts have faded, been explained by other things.
Did you... hear that? Silently said, though his steps have only barely slowed, just enough to be quieter as they wander closer and closer to home. Whether he notices it or not, Nate steps in front of Sunjata, just a little bit, unease and worry clenching his chest, trying to stifle the stupid scrap of hope.
Atlas comes into view first, grown so much that’s he’s almost completely unfamiliar, but there’s no time to really dwell on it. Because there, dirty and bedraggled and screaming, is another figure, so painfully familiar that Nate almost wishes his heart could beat, so at least he could feel it bruising the inside of his chest.
For a long moment, he’s silent, confusion and pain stealing the silver away from his tongue, tripping him up when he finally manages a single, quiet word. ”Hotaru?”
Nate is halfway through some forgettable anecdote about his grandmother when he stops. Cocks his head. There’s a ghost on the winds, the sound of his name, of Sunjata’s name, drifting towards them in a familiar voice. His first thought, after Leafchange, is that he’s not doing this again. He’s not chasing phantoms, not rushing after a figure that he won’t be able to catch. He can’t, they can’t. The story is gone, but he recovers, brushing off his distraction with a shrug, a laugh.
And then it comes again, bringing with it the realization that Leafchange is long over, that all these ghosts have faded, been explained by other things.
Did you... hear that? Silently said, though his steps have only barely slowed, just enough to be quieter as they wander closer and closer to home. Whether he notices it or not, Nate steps in front of Sunjata, just a little bit, unease and worry clenching his chest, trying to stifle the stupid scrap of hope.
Atlas comes into view first, grown so much that’s he’s almost completely unfamiliar, but there’s no time to really dwell on it. Because there, dirty and bedraggled and screaming, is another figure, so painfully familiar that Nate almost wishes his heart could beat, so at least he could feel it bruising the inside of his chest.
For a long moment, he’s silent, confusion and pain stealing the silver away from his tongue, tripping him up when he finally manages a single, quiet word. ”Hotaru?”
NATE
