Rayne Drops (FFXV)

LIII) Opening Eyes

            The first stir of Ignis's shoulder against my temple breaks me through the surface of sleep. Nothing follows for a few comfortable minutes and I wait patiently for the waves of blissful unconsciousness to pull me under once more. Just as my fingers skim the surface, another shift of his body pulls me back from the edge. I suppose I don't mind laying here for a few minutes with my eyes shut, reveling in the comfort of the warm bodies of my family and pretending there's nothing else in the universe. This mattress is our own planet, drifting along in a warm sea of peaceful freedom.

I don't stir when cold fingers brush against my forehead, combing ever so gently through the blonde hair strewn across my face. I'll let him craft his own world too, a world where he can have nothing but fair treatment and love piled generously at his feet. Where he can see the messy hair he runs his fingers through and the assortment of warm, dormant bodies around him and whip up the finest of "recipehs" fit only for the gods. A world where he gets all the good he deserves because in no universe does Ignis deserve the living hell Eos hurled him into.

I'm broken from my miserable reflections when he sighs, moving to sit up on the edge of the bed. Afraid that I might scare him off by triggering his natural overthinking, I don't move a muscle. Instead, I blindly listen to him pad around the room carefully, pacing back and forth for an eternity. Marking out the room and learning the layout, most likely. In his mind, he's only a burden we should toss to the side. The more he maneuvers on his own, the less of his weight we have to lug around. The more he learns, the more he can lug around ours. The more he changes, the more of him I lose.

Prompto stirs next, groaning in protest to waking up at all. I feel him roll up more tightly into the blankets. He wiggles around with a huff. Suddenly, there's a small cry and the blankets are gone right before a soft thump hits the floor. I can't help it; I snicker, struggling to push myself up on one hand. The blonde whines his protests as the pile of fabric on the floor squirms around. Gladio grumbles something under his breath and hugs a pillow to his chest. Finally, a messy, static-charged head of hair emerges from under the covers.

"Not a good time," he mumbles, shaking his head wildly to get the hair out of his face. "Hey, what time is it?"

"Likely late in the morning," Ignis replies, still pacing the room, but much slower than before. I reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone and reading off the time.

"One in the afternoon. Not exactly wrong, Iggy," I offer. He says nothing.

"One?" Gladio repeats tiredly, sitting up. Prompto raises an eyebrow.

"Where'd your shirt go, big guy?"

"Threw it off somewhere," Gladio shrugs. "I got hot." He stretches his arms over his head and yawns before forcing himself to stand.

"Afternoon," Ignis muses under his breath. "Curious."

"What's that?" Gladio frowns, rubbing his face.

"If there's no sun, is there really ever morning or afternoon?" Prompto asks, frowning as he leans back against the bed frame.

"It's better than saying 'get up o'clock'," I mutter, standing up and walking to the window. It's still pitch black dark outside, aside from the lights of other homes and businesses that remain lit thanks to the power of the Disc. A sudden thought strikes me as I watch a woman shout at a pair of trembling children. "Do you guys... Remember the first time you killed someone?" There's a dead, chilling silence in the room as my question resonates through their minds.

"Rayne?" Prompto calls, a look of concern overtaking his face. I shake my head, sitting on the edge of the bed we didn't use.

"I was just thinking... Those men accused us of being Imperials, didn't they?" I stare down at my lap, watching my left hand pull and twist the black material of my pants. "When we think of the Imperials, we think of the Emperor or Ardyn or MTs. But there are people there too. They can't help where they were born; most of them probably disagree with the actions of their leaders.