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kumeko · 1 year

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A/N: For the Checkmate zine! Originally this was going to be a story about strip chess but I am not sexy or flirty enough to pull that off XD So I’ll leave that game to your imagination and I’ll give you the build up to it.

…

The library was a great place to hide. At least, it was a great place to hide for anyone named Sylvain. No one expected to find him there, whether it was the disapproving Ingrid, the exasperated Dimitri, or the countless angry significant others who caught him in bed with their lovers.

To be honest, privately Sylvain had to agree with his friends. He might have been biting off more than he could chew these days. Point in case: today was a beautiful day and he was spending it lurking between the bookshelves, hoping that a man with an axe didn’t stop by for a visit.

A hand tapped his shoulder and he jumped. As he spun around, he found Claude hiding a laugh behind a hand. No that it mattered, his mirthful eyes and shaking shoulders gave the game away. “Twitchy, huh? Girl problems?”

Sylvain sighed, relieved. A little embarrassed, he rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Guy troubles this time. But they’re really the same.”

The afternoon sun shone through the windows, leaving a dappled pattern on Claude as he didn’t bother to hide his amusement this time. For a house head, he carried none of the stiffness nor formality that Dimitri and Edelgard did. “Maybe try picking a single person next time?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Sylvain joked lightly, watching the library entrance from the corner of his eye. Up on the second floor, he had a commanding view of students entering and leaving. “Besides, it’s not like I find them, they come to me.”

Claude raised a brow, not buying it in the least. Sylvain had received the same look from his childhood friends whenever he gave that excuse and he wasn’t sure if he was just that bad at lying or if it was just that obvious. Still, unlike Dimitri and Ingrid, Claude dropped the matter with a careless shrug. “Must be hard, being so popular.”

“A real burden.” Sylvain relaxed slightly, following Claude as he moved through the shelves, picking up a book here and there. “As I’m sure you already know—you’re pretty popular yourself.” He winked roguishly.

Claude laughed and Sylvain was mildly insulted that his flirt bounced off as though there was a ward in place. “I’m nowhere near your level.”

“No one’s at my level.” Sylvain couldn’t help himself. The opening was right there.

“I think we’d die if we tried.” Claude stopped by a small sunlit alcove. Several books were stacked around it, bookmarks sticking out randomly like small daggers. A chessboard sat in a corner of the alcove, partially through a game.

Sylvain studied the board. Only a few pieces were missing but judging by the thorough mixing of the black and white pieces, it was a long game. “Who’s your opponent?”

“Myself.” Claude replied lightly, setting down his newly acquired texts. “I’m harder than I expected.”

Sylvain laughed before cutting himself off. “Seriously? Isn’t it a little…boring?”

“Not really.” Claude shrugged, sitting down. “It’s a good way to think. Or test strategies.”

Privately, Sylvain disagreed. There were far better ways to fill time than sitting in a darkened corner of the library, playing chess against yourself. “If you say so.”

Claude studied him, something sharp in his gaze. For a moment, Sylvain thought he’d insulted him. Ingrid would kill him if he got the entire Leicester Alliance on his case. Then Claude smiled and asked, “You’re right. It is kinda dull playing myself. Why don’t you play?”

Sylvain suppressed a shiver. He knew a fake smile when he saw one. Even most of their conversation so far had been superfluous. Forcing his own smile, he held up his hands. “Me? I’m terrible, ask anyone.”

“That’s fine.” Claude was already putting the pieces back, setting the black set on his side. Sylvain wasn’t surprised—Claude looked like the kind of man who liked reacting instead of taking the first move. That was more Dimitri’s or Edelgard’s kind of thing. “It’s just a game.”

They were already playing a different one, though Sylvain wasn’t sure just what the rules were. He doubted this was just a whim; he’d seen enough strategists to recognize when something was being set up. Yet, one look at Claude told Sylvain there was no point in asking; he wouldn’t find out no matter how many questions he asked. Part of him was worried, a bigger part intrigued.

He had some time to kill anyways. Why not see where this led?

Wetting his lips nervously, he sat down in the free spot. “Don’t complain if you’re bored.”

Claude smiled mysteriously. “I doubt that’ll happen.”

ii.

There was exhaustion and then there was exhaustion. Sylvain slumped on a chair in the academy’s gardens, worn to the bone. He just wanted to sleep. Alone, even.

“You look dead,” Claude commented.

Sylvain could barely keep his eyes open now. Slowly, he turned his head and spotted Claude two tables down. In front of him was a chess board. His brown skin looked bronze in the sunlight. Dryly, he asked, “Do you only play chess?”

“I sometimes play other games. And this isn’t chess.” Claude moved a piece. Now that Sylvain was paying attention, he noticed it didn’t look like a bishop but more like an elephant. And the board wasn’t covered in the familiar black and white checkers.

“Oh.”

Claude laughed. “Oh indeed. Training was rough today?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Sylvain groaned, leaning back into his seat. He closed his eyes. “You could have gone a little easier on us, you know. It was just a mock battle.”

There was a soft tap as another piece moved across the board. “You were really tough. We got lucky.”

Sylvain snorted. “There was nothing lucky about it.”

It would have been one thing if the battle had felt close. Instead, the Golden Deer had steamrolled the other two houses. Dimitri had taken it hard. Sylvain understood self-loathing, but he wished Dimitri wasn’t so intent to take them all down with him. With all the extra training sessions, they’d all be dead by the end of the month.

“Well, maybe a little bit of scheming was involved,” Claude admitted, moving another piece. Clack. “But the tide could have easily turned.”

“You’re just saying that.” A cool breeze tousled Sylvain’s hair and he sighed.

“Maybe.” Claude teased. “Though, seriously, it was a hard fight. The other houses were strong. You’re a lot better than I expected.”

Sylvain cracked an eye open but Claude didn’t look like he was joking. It didn’t feel like a compliment, nor was it clearly an insult. “Thanks?”

Claude watched him over his pieces. “You know, our house is always open if you want to join.”

Sylvain slowly processed the offer before jolting upright, ignoring his aching bones. When Claude didn’t react, merely continued to play his inane game, Sylvain laughed weakly. “Don’t you wait till a second date before asking that?”

“Isn’t it a second date?” Claude played along.

Technically. Sylvain rubbed his nose, perplexed. “You’re kidding, right? Why would you want me?”

“Well, our last game was interesting and I’d like a rematch.” Claude shrugged, leaning back into his seat. Despite how relaxed he looked, Sylvain had a feeling he was studying, assessing. His mind was always going in a hundred different directions at once. “And like I said, during the mock battle, you were strong. Not just with your lance, but…strategic. Grouping Ingrid and Felix with you at the hill was a good move.”

“You still rammed straight through to Dimitri,” Sylvain pointed out.

“I said you were good, not perfect.” Claude winked. “Just think about it.”

iii.

While it wasn’t forbidden, there was something taboo about going into another house’s classroom. Sylvain crossed the threshold into the Golden Deer’s room anyways. His eyes darted around the nearly empty room before they landed on Claude. As usual, the guy was alone, plotting some nefarious prank.

He didn’t think twice before making a beeline to the man. Vaulting over the table as Claude looked up, Sylvain hastily whispered, “Act natural,” before ducking under the table.

“So, I take it you want to join my house?” Claude teased, leaning forward on the table.

“Still thinking about it.” With his large frame, it was a cramped hiding spot. Still, it was better than nowhere, and Sylvain hunched over as he adjusted his position. The table pressed against his back and Claude’s legs hemmed him in. Suddenly, he understood how a stable felt. “Do I need to say yes to stay?”

“No, but this does mean you owe me a favour.” Claude chuckled.

While he was certain it wouldn’t be anything too nefarious, it wasn’t an ideal trade off. Claude seemed like the kind of guy who collected favours until he used them for something big. Still, fair was fair. “Deal.”

“Boy troubles?” Claude guessed, his fingers softly drumming on the table.

“Girl,” he corrected. From above, Sylvain could hear the soft clack as something moved. “Are you playing chess again?”

“A variant I learned from Shamir.” Claude’s legs shifted, brushing against Sylvain. “I’m not sure which is more impressive, that you find the time for all of these affairs, or that there’s still people out there who haven’t heard of your reputation.”

“I think half of my troubles are because they know my reputation.” Sylvain stiffened as Claude’s foot rested on his thigh. Everything about his position felt oddly intimate.

“I gotta say, I don’t see the fun in it.” There was another soft thud as the chess game continued. Claude hummed softly as he considered his next move. “Unless you like the chase.”

“Only if I’m the one chasing,” Sylvain quipped glibly, raking a hand through his hair. Reluctantly, he had to admit, “It isn’t all it used to be.”

“Was it ever?” Claude challenged.

That was a question Sylvain didn’t know the answer to. “Is it really all that fun playing chess by yourself?”

“I’d prefer to play you. The coast is clear.” Claude poked his head down and grinned. “Now, this is a nice view.”

Sylvain recognized the innuendo immediately. He’d used it himself before. That didn’t stop the hot blush creeping up his neck as he scrambled outside.

iv.

There was something oddly public about sitting in front of Claude in the lunch hall. It was just lunch. Byleth invited them together every now and then. Sylvain had friends in the other houses. It wasn’t entirely unusual for him to eat with someone else than his usual Blue Lion friends.

Yet, Claude was a house head. Somehow, that made sitting with him feel like a statement. Sylvain wasn’t sure if he was ready for it, whatever it meant.

Looking up from his lunch, a bemused Claude peeked around Sylvain before asking, “So, who’re you hiding from now?”

Sylvian chuckled. “What, I can’t sit with a friend without an ulterior motive?”

Claude raised a brow.

He held out his hands in front of him and smiled innocently. “I’m not hiding, really. I might join your house, so I figure I should have a somewhat good reputation or you’ll just kick me out.”

Claude burst into laughter. “It might be too late for that.”

“Ouch.” Sylvain clutched his chest. “You wound me, sire.”

“Sounds serious.” Claude peered at Sylvain’s chest, squinting as though he was trying to find the wound. “The good news, I think you just might live.”

“Are you certain?” Sylvain lowered his hands. “My heart still aches.”

“Well, I’m not a doctor, but…I think the odds are high.” Claude thatched his fingers and rested his chin on them. “So, what really brings you here?

You, but Sylvain didn’t say that. There was a strange sort of gravity around Claude, one that dragged him closer and closer with every orbit. Maybe it was the myriad of masks Claude wore, the way he smiled without giving anything away. Maybe it was how fast his mind worked, pulling apart puzzles even as they talked.

You would have been the honest answer, but Sylvain has lied for too long to start telling the truth now.

“You promised me a rematch,” Sylvain said instead.

iv.

Claude sat next to Sylvain, slipping in as naturally as though they came to the church together often. It was the first time the younger man had sought him out and in other circumstances, he would have teased Claude about it. Sylvian might have even felt pleased over it.

Now, though, it was barely a blip on his radar. Sylvain clasped his hands together, his knuckles whitening as his grip grew tighter and tighter. Sunlight streamed through the glass mosaics, casting soft patterns on the ground.

Sylvain would have preferred rain. Or wind. Or something wilder than the clear skies today. Not even nature wanted to mark his brother’s passing.

Claude squeezed his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Sylvain laughed dryly. It had been his choice to join the Golden Deer on this mission, his choice to follow the bandits that led to his brother. He wasn’t sure if it was better to see what had happened, or to hear it second hand.

Either way, he couldn’t erase the memories now. Sylvain shrugged. “Miklan made his choices.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.” Claude’s hand stayed on his arm, warm and heavy and grounding. He didn’t look at Sylvain as he added, “I can’t say I’ve experienced anything like this but…I know complicated feelings.”

“Do you?” Sylvain watched him now, the way Claude’s jaw tightened, the way his smile dropped ever so slightly. Miniscule things that told him for once, his companion was being entirely honest with him.

“Yeah.” Claude dropped his hand now. “It’s not like I appeared out of thin air. It might not be as permanent as yours, but…I’ve said more than my share of goodbyes.”

It was obvious what he meant. Little was known of Claude’s past outside of the rumours—his mother eloped with a commoner, or his mother ran to hide an unwanted pregnancy. Some sort of scandal that happened every other day amongst the nobles.

It must have been hard to return to his grandfather a year ago. It must have been hard to put himself back out there, despite the gossip and hate.

Claude gripped his thigh. “It’s hard, even when you hate the person.”

“I don’t know if I hated him,” Sylvain finally replied, his voice cracking as he tried to find the words. “Miklan had been kind, once. When I was really little. I can’t even remember it now, just…a feeling. An imprint. His hand on my hair.”

Claude didn’t say anything, his hand reaching down to tangle with Sylvain’s. He squeezed softly.

Encouraged, Sylvain kept talking, the words escaping as though they were overflowing. “The worst part is that…I’m not sad. My dad’s definitely not sad. I don’t think anyone is. Miklan died and no one’s crying over him. What…what kind of legacy is that?”

Even now, he couldn’t cry. A dull ache filled his chest.

vi.

Sylvain bit his lip as he stared at the pieces in front of him. He was going to lose today. He knew that in his gut, had known that even as he’d moved his first piece: today, he wasn’t going to beat Claude. To be fair, he didn’t beat Claude all that often. His victories were inconsistent and sparse, feeling more like a fluke than something he’d earned.

Claude leaned back in his seat, utterly relaxed. They were outside and the warm, summer air was enough to make one feel sluggish. “So, figured it out yet?”

“I’m still thinking,” Sylvain lied, unable to throw in the hat yet. He loosened his collar slightly. ”It’s boiling today, I should just take it off.”

“Now that’s an idea.” Claude perked up, leaning forward. “Strip chess. We should do that next time.”

Despite himself, Sylvain glanced at Claude’s collar, at the smooth expanse of his skin. Strip poker.

It was the kind of game that he felt he’d lose no matter the outcome.

vii.

The world was at war. Houses burned, people died, maps were redrawn. Sylvain did not think of chess, did not think of tawny skin or sharp eyes, did not think of a cocky smirk and a confident voice.

He thought of nothing but the path ahead of him.

viii.

In five years, Sylvain had not expected to return to the academy, let alone as a Golden Deer. It was a ruined place, filled with ruined dreams, yet there was something utterly nostalgic about walking through its halls.

Even more so, walking through the dusty library. Everything had started here, all those years ago. Sylvain gazed upon the shelves fondly, remembering running and hiding amongst the novels.

Remembered finding Claude in the alcove, playing chess.

Claude was here now too, standing next to the familiar spot, thinking the same thoughts. He reached down to an abandoned chessboard, wiping the dust off the king. He glanced back at Sylvain and smirked. “Fancy a game?”

Something about it felt like a homecoming. Sylvain smirked. “Maybe we can try strip chess this time.”

#claudevain #sylvain jose gautier #claude von riegan #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fanfic

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miss-tc-nova · 3 years

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Events Unchanged - Xehanort x Eraqus

So THIS is my final piece for the @checkmate-zine. I had a blast writing it and it’s probably one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever written. Please check out the other creators on this project because they are all absolutely amazing.

Music Inspiration: End In Tragedy and MIssing You by Set It Off

Art by my queen @kingdomcarrots

~~~~~

The castle looms over the young man. This being his first stop, he’s not entirely sure he’s in the right place, or rather, the right time. The description of the place matches up, but he could be anywhere from minutes to decades off with no idea how to tell. Additionally, if he’s jumped even a minute too far, that complicates the whole plan.

With really no other choice, he climbs the steps to the front door, letting himself in. He’d heard a little of this place, seen a few paragraphs in books, but the Land of Departure is such a small world compared to Scala Ad Caelum. However, this is very obviously an off-shoot of the Scala training school; the only real difference lies in the missing inhabitants. Such spacious halls lack the chatter of students and staff despite the well-kept appearance.

“Identify yourself.”

He stops. That gruff voice rumbles with the faintest hint of familiarity. Curiosity piqued, the young man turns back.

It has to be him; it couldn’t be anyone else. Aside from that traditional style and the Master’s Defender prepared to strike, Xehanort could never mistake those eyes and no amount of hostility could mislead him. There’s no doubt now that Xehanort is far into the future, not while he stares at the aged face of the man Eraqus is to become.

He looks worn, as if the years have been long and hard and those scars prove nearly as much. That welcoming cheer from their very first meeting has been replaced by sheer apprehension, likely caused by his arduous life. It seems he’s become the soldier his parents always pushed him to be; and yet, surely, he can’t have forgotten his beloved.

Cautious hands lift to push the hood back and reveal the face hiding beneath.

Shock takes over the old warrior’s expression. “Xehanort?!”

“Eraqus.” It’s all Xehanort can come up with in his uncertainty.

“How is this possible?!” Resumed suspicion reaffirms that fighting stance.

First and foremost, Xehanort has a mission, one that could potentially fix everything that went wrong in their lives. They could have everything they lost, including the happiness stripped from them far too soon. Additionally, this is Eraqus, the one who saved Xehanort from self-destruction and gave him the motivation to do all these incredible things. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure Eraqus’s happiness. However, the stubborn blueblood often disapproved of Xehanort’s methods as of late and perhaps that’s only gotten worse as the years passed—perhaps plans should be kept quite even from one’s most precious. Having been caught here in the future, Young Xehanort must pick carefully which truths to divulge.

A soft exhale calms the nerves. “I’m from the past,” the traveler confesses. “Brought here by the version of me from this time.”

“How? What for?” Eraqus demands. “What proof do you have for any of this?”

“I can’t say how or why but…”

A well-seasoned Master Eraqus is probably not a fight Xehanort wants to pick, but he’ll need something personal to convince this man of the truth. He knows just the memory, but it’s not pleasant.

Xehanort’s gaze drops to the floor. “You once caught me on the roof of the citadel. You told me…that if I couldn’t find a reason not to step off, then you would make one.”

Eraqus’s mouth presses into a thin line; they never told anyone of that incident.

“So what are you doing here?”

Shaking off morbid memories, Xehanort replies, “Like I said, I can’t tell you that, but I need to find myself from this time. Is he here?”

Eraqus wears a heavy pity that agitates Xehanort—he may still be young with much to learn, but he’s never taken kindly to pity.

“You don’t know anything. You just left, didn’t you…”

“I left Scala several hours ago,” the youth says. That empathy grows. “Why?”

“You…Your older self doesn’t come by often.”

This is unexpected. Even as he left, Xehanort fully intended to visit his significant other once he got things set in motion. Besides, Xehanort is greedy—he knows it. He’s got only the sparsest restraint when it comes to indulging in his partner’s presence, so this statement by the man at the heart of that avarice makes no sense.

“Why not?” Xehanort is not going to remain calm if that look of condolence continues. “When does he come by?”

There’s a solemn shake of the old man’s head. “He doesn’t.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t?!” Xehanort barks, leather creaking with tightened fists. “He has to come visit you! He wouldn’t leave forever—not when you’re the person most important to him!”

The outburst does nothing against Eraqus’s empathy. “I’m sorry. Once you left, we started to view things differently. There were things we simply couldn’t agree on.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?!”

“Nothing I said would’ve convinced you to stay.”

“No!” he shouts. “There’s no excuse! You should have stopped me! If me leaving made you so miserable, you shouldn’t have let me go! You should have cried or begged or even beat me over the head—whatever it took to make me stay!”

Tears form in the man’s eyes and that unwanted compassion pushes Xehanort past his threshold. With renewed determination, he stalks past the elder to resume the search for his future self.

A strong fist catches around the young man’s wrist. “Where are you going?”

His answer is short, sharp. “To do what I came here to do.”

For the third time, Eraqus presses, “And what would that be?”

Xehanort glowers. With a vague restraint in his voice, he spits, “I’m a time traveler; what do you think I’m doing here?”

“You can’t do that! There must be consequences to meddling with the timeline!” protests the elder.

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?!” the young man roars. “YOU THINK THIS IS JUST SOME STROLL IN THE PARK FOR ME?! OF COURSE I’M TRYING TO CHANGE WHAT HAPPENED AND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT IT COSTS! IT COULD COST MY LIFE AND I WOULDN’T GIVE A DAMN! THEY DESERVED BETTER! YOU—” Fury falters as the words catch in his throat and the edges of his vision blurs. “You deserve better.”

Guilt resonates on that marred face; this is why Xehanort never told him. Eraqus had said a million times over that what happened wasn’t Xehanort’s fault, but a deep sadness settled in Eraqus’s heart that was clear to the Seeker. For Xehanort, the loss of his friends was already unbearable enough, but to have the love of his life stuffing down his turmoil behind a flighty façade tipped the scales. So now he’s here.

With a look of defeat, Eraqus pleads, “Don’t do this. Please.”

“I’m doing this for you.” Again, the older master begins to argue, but the younger has had enough and pulls away. “You couldn’t stop me then, and based on what I’ve seen today, you can’t stop me now. Take care of yourself.”

With that, Xehanort leaves.

It’s been a few hours since the confrontation, but Xehanort still hasn’t found a single clue to the whereabouts of his present self. He’s hopped a few worlds and even double checked those he’d been drawn to in the past, but nothing comes up. Worst of all, something is pulling him back to the Land of Departure. He can’t shake the feeling that, no matter what Eraqus says, Xehanort would return to him eventually. They must still love each other or else he wouldn’t be here.

His arrival is noiseless and unnoticed, but with each step closer to the castle, he hears the escalating sounds of a battle. Peering around a pillar across from the castle steps, Xehanort sees Eraqus squaring off with a young, brunette man.

As he watches, Xehanort notices enough between the two to speculate that there’s a clearly straining relationship. Considering the use of darkness by the younger man and Eraqus’s violent abhorrence of it, Xehanort assumes that’s the cause of the clash. The winner would be an easy call if it were a simple fight, but that boost of darkness significantly closes the gap; so it comes as a surprise when the younger warrior rushes past Eraqus, causing him to stumble. It takes every bit of self-control Xehanort has not to act on protective urges as the Master’s Defender falls from its wielder’s hand.

Terra, as named by Eraqus, is upset with his success. He cries over it, but his master is the one to apologize, admitting that his own heart is full of darkness. That declaration plays in the gray area of Xehanort’s mind. He already knows Eraqus is a good man with his heart bound to the light. What he doesn’t understand is that light, too, can make mistakes—mistakes which may beget darkness. Xehanort has tried explaining this before, but the noble would have none of it.

A dark figure at the top of the stairs catches Young Xehanort’s eye too late. A blaring ring fills his ears seeing that man aim a familiar weapon. There’s no time to react; he’s too far away to do anything. Before Xehanort’s very eyes, the man he loves, and should have always loved, fades.

With the reality of what happened beginning to sink in, his eyes focus on the man strolling down the steps. Anger ignites in his heart until he hears Terra question the stranger.

“Master Xehanort! Why?”

Master Xehanort—that man, the very person who killed his beloved Eraqus, is Xehanort himself.

A dark storm swallows the sky, mirroring the wrath churning in the young man’s chest. With nothing but that rage guiding him, he rushes after the assassin into the dark portal. This new land is empty and barren save the mass of foreboding keyblades strewn about, but Xehanort has other concerns right now. Waiting just outside his attack range is the murderer.

That man’s voice is filled with the gravel of age, but no remorse can be detected. “I wondered when you would arrive.”

“You killed Eraqus.” Fists tremble at the young man’s sides, that quivering creeping into his chest.

“I did.” Only a man scorned like Young Xehanort could withstand those chilling yellow eyes.

�� Furious, he yells back, “That’s it?! That’s all you have to say?! How could you?! He was the only reason I didn’t throw myself off the citadel! HE’S THE REASON YOU STILL EXIST!”

“Ah, the foolishness of my youth.” His casual dismissal drives the young Seeker’s heart rate up. “It’s true he’s the reason I exist today, but Eraqus’s departure was necessary. You know firsthand how loyal his heart is to the light.”

The response tears from his throat. “AND THAT’S JUSTIFICATION TO MURDER HIM?!”

“He just didn’t understand that this is all for him, to create the life that he should’ve had. You knew there were consequences to meddling with time.”

With no comeback, the young adult sneers, but the old master has one last remark that cuts to the quick.

“As you said: they deserved better—he deserves better.”

The words spoken just hours ago, shoved back in his face, incite the anguish burning in his heart. Rationality devolves and Young Xehanort charges his future self.

All his life, Xehanort let his mind dictate his path. Moves were not made without thought to the consequences, but this—this is something beyond even the purpose of this mission and everything in him is screaming for revenge. Grief and anger cloud his judgement and spur attacks too straightforward to connect, however, that sloppiness doesn’t discourage him.

Old Xehanort swipes, successfully disarming his younger self, and with the same ruthlessness shown to his former love, he eliminates the man from the past.

Golden eyes meet gold; even as he’s being dragged back into his own time, the young man emanates his fury.

Unbothered by the turn of events, the victor simply states, “One day, you will understand.”

~~~~~

The elder watches his past self disappear among the shadows. It’s unfortunate how naïve he was, but this was to be expected—he and Eraqus had been so in love. Xehanort still possesses those feelings, which is why the decision had been so difficult. There’s a hole in his heart but he understands that sometimes things must be broken for them to become better and that’s the sort of thing the Seeker is betting on.

In lieu of these unfortunate circumstances, he’s going to have to prepare a backup—to persuade his young self into venturing into the future a second time.

As the thought occurs, darkness flares from the ground, creating a portal from which steps the young man that just tried to smite him. He’s more prepared than he gave himself credit for. He beckons the young man to follow to discuss the details of their plan. Even as they speak, the senior can see a spark in the new master’s eyes. There’s a curiosity that he will no doubt seek answers for.

“How is Eraqus?”

He should’ve known.

Enacting his hard-earned skill of smothering his emotions, the old man answers, “Eraqus is dead.”

The youth freezes, clearly distraught. “How?”

A deep breath conveys true sorrow while concealing the lie. “The same as the others.”

Hard determination grows on the young man’s face. Knowing that look and knowing himself, old Master Xehanort has ensured his ignorant self’s unquestionable devotion to the mission.

~~~~~

Despair shakes his heart, waking the young man. Opening heavy eyelids, Young Xehanort finds a room illuminated with soft moonlight. Although this is not his room, it’s still familiar. Normally this place would bring him some solace but the discomfort he feels is intense.

Whatever this is, it’s akin to a nightmare, slipping from his grasp as he tries to remember; it’s confusing and upsetting and damn near painful. Xehanort has had days where getting up for training was hard, he’s been injured so badly he’s been unable to stand, and he’s suffered unending fatigue at the hands of depression; but none of that compares to the sheer heartache of this moment and he doesn’t even understand why.

Gentle humming draws his gaze lower and he immediately chokes down a whimper. Pressed flush against him is the love of his life, peacefully snoring away. Even with his messy hair and a little drool, he’s absolutely beautiful. No sight could be more stunning and yet, it’s also the most painful. Whatever vice is clenching down on Xehanort’s heart has to do with Eraqus.

Of course, Xehanort’s always had those fears that maybe he can’t make Eraqus happy or that maybe he’s not good enough—as quoted by the noble’s parents—but even those feel so trivial compared to this dread. It breaks him more than anything ever has.

His quivering is impossible to stifle and sniffles begin sneaking past his defense. To make matters worse, his sleeping partner stirs.

“Xehanort?” Such a sweet sound worsens the turmoil. “Xe, what’s wrong?”

There it is: the first hiccup that destroys the weary dam holding everything in and he breaks down right there.

Eraqus doesn’t press for an answer but instead holds his sweetheart tightly. With the unknown sorrow flooding his system, Xehanort sobs into his boyfriend’s chest, desperately hoping to get this misery under control before he has to say goodbye to Eraqus in the morning.

#xehanort #eraqus #young xehanort #xehaqus #checkmate-zine #kh zine

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