Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its properties.
Notes: This was written forever ago and posted to Tumblr. In an attempt to update this account with some things, I decided to post it here. This fic contains both an established, three-way relationship between Lloyd, Colette, and Zelos, as well as a trigger warning for self-harm and mentions of suicide.
Giving this a title was hard ages ago when I wrote this, and it's not any easier now, so the title stays.
Arranged Marriages, Emotional Crises, and the Promise of Forever
It was always the tiniest, most harmless thing that triggered it.
An innocent word from Princess Hilda here, a "knowing" look from a noble there. Something to remind him that no matter how much he tried to turn his eyes away from the truth, it would always be there, ready to stare him in the face the second he dared to glance back. It was why he tried never to attend Meltokio noble events, if he could; he never enjoyed himself, with how stifling the falsified pleasantries could be, and they were never good for his mental health or emotional state of well-being. Of course, he never said as much to Hilda or anyone else—how could he, when he was the highest ranked noble in all of Tethe'alla?—but it was true nonetheless, and usually, it was enough to send Seles in his place. She was always more than happy to go, given that she'd spent most of her life cooped in the abbey, though he could tell that even she was beginning to tire of the frivolous parties and plastic smiles. After all, having spent her entire life in the South-East Abbey, Seles had no experience in caking so much make-up on her face that her lips could be frozen into an empty smile for the entire evening, much less experience in having to deal with all of the vapid smiles turned in her direction the second she walked through the doors.
Still, usually she went in his place, to represent House Wilder while he skipped out under pretense of having business to do elsewhere—a meeting with Regal of the Lezareno company here, a meeting with Sheena of Mizuho there, an evening spent doing charity work in Ozette under the watchful gaze of Presea Combatir over yonder. His excuses were many and never-ending, and usually—usually—it was enough to get him out of whatever pretentious gathering had requested his presence for the evening.
Usually, but not this time.
This time, Hilda sent a messenger to the Wilder estate to specifically request his presence. "Request" was a bit generous, really; when it came to the princess, "request" meant "demand" meant "if you do not show up, I will find a way to hold you personally accountable and see to it that you are either locked up in the Meltokio dungeons, forced to compete in the Meltokio coliseum, or dragged by your hair kicking and screaming to the formal event where you will thereafter be tied to a chair and forced to entertain an unending night of mindless noble babble with a pleasant smile on your face, under threat of excruciating death." While she had never used those words specifically, Zelos had known Hilda for enough years to know the underlying threat that came with each and every one of her requests. She could appear as cool as a frozen sea when in front of people she did not know (out of a court setting, of course), but he knew she had a temper hot enough to rival Sheena summoning Efreet when she wanted to. Ex-Chosen or not, he had to comply with her "requests" when she made them, especially when the formal event in question was thrown specifically for him.
Well, him and his fiancée.
Zelos ignored Sebastian when he returned home, heading straight for the bar in his living room and grabbing the strongest bottle of alcohol he could from the small storage rack beneath it. In lieu of pouring a glass, he turned and stalked up the grand staircase, gripping the alcohol bottle tightly by the neck in one hand as he used his other to loosen the tie around his neck. Tossing the tie carelessly into a potted plant in the hallway, Zelos entered one of the needlessly large bathrooms near the guest quarters and kicked the door shut behind him, locking it before he leaned against it and shut his eyes.
He should have known. He really should have known.
Why else would Hilda have "requested" his presence? Why else would she have added in the request that Seles should be present as well? Why else would she have scheduled this formal event two months before his twenty-fourth birthday? Zelos pushed off the door, pulled the cork out of the alcohol bottle, and started to pace as he took a swig, the liquid burning his throat. Meltokio noble events in general were poison, but this . . . this was toxic, and the worst bit was that it stupidly took him by surprise. There hadn't been a hint of it in the letter, but did there need to be? Did he really need a hint when he was about to be twenty-four? Did he really need a hint when he'd been engaged since before he could talk?
Zelos snorted, and took another drink, squeezing the neck of the bottle so hard he almost thought he'd break it.
He was stupid. He was so obscenely stupid it hurt. Whatever sarcastic comments he'd made about Sheena or Lloyd's intelligence in the past held no weight in comparison to his own brilliance. Realizing that the event was organized to get him and his fiancée in the same room so they could pick a date and make formal announcements aside, the fact that he'd actually allowed himself to believe, even for one second, that he was finally free, that he could lead the life he wanted to, with the people he wanted to, was . . . was . . .
He threaded his fingers through his long hair and pulled, more out of frustration than anything, though the little pains along his scalp were somehow satisfying.
The entire night had been something out of the deepest pits of Niflheim. The second he'd walked through the doors he'd been escorted to where his fiancée—Elysia, he corrected himself with a grimace—had stood, and was informed that he needed to accompany her for the evening, as per the royal family's wishes. That alone had been enough to tip off the warning sirens in his head, for he knew full well who she was, even if he had willfully forgotten (or at the very least ignored) their engagement until that moment. Still, he'd put on his best noble-pleasing smile and spun her around the dance floor as requested, until Hilda had joined them and asked them if they'd settled the matter of their wedding date yet, as the deadline was fast approaching.
That was when Zelos' mind froze with all the speed of Lloyd slamming the brakes on his Rheaird in a futile attempt to stop himself from crashing, and the night took a downward spiral quite like the burning wreckage of Lloyd's many aircrafts.
There was no way out of it, of course. While Zelos had at least managed to avoid picking a date, both Elysia and Hilda were quite adamant that the wedding was happening. It didn't matter that the engagement was originally decided upon due to Elysia fitting the Church of Martel's requirements for a continued mana lineage; the fact of the matter was, both Zelos and Elysia were high ranking nobles (with Elysia's family only just below the Wilder line in status and wealth), and as a result, the arranged marriage could and would continue without a hitch. Elysia was quite determined to be married to the Chosen One, after all. Or, ex-Chosen, really. Insignificant little details like that didn't matter to her, as long as she had the ring on her finger and the upgraded status that came with it.
Hours later, still pacing in his bathroom as he ripped off his suit jacket and dress shirt and tossed them into the tub, Zelos laughed bitterly.
It was fitting. That was all it was, wasn't it? A game of prestige, of power, of presence. For all that Tethe'allans loved talking down on Sylvarant, it could never be said that the Sylvaranti judged people based on what they owned rather than who they were. In Meltokio, it was the exact opposite. It didn't matter what you did, only what you were. It shouldn't have been surprising that Elysia wanted to go through with the marriage. In fact, it wasn't. When it came to the nobility meat market, he was the highest quality money could buy. He'd known that when he was ten and his father died, and he received false notes of sympathy from those looking to gain his favor through the convenient opportunity awarded them by his grief, and again months later when his mother was murdered. Elysia didn't care about him, just as he didn't care about her. But while he had much to lose by this marriage, she stood to gain, and after all, in her eyes, she wouldn't have to sacrifice anything—not when she could have as many lovers on the side as she wanted, just like his mother had when his parents had wed.
Zelos stopped pacing, and looked at his reflection in the large mirror that took up the entire left wall. His hair was the same color, his eyes the same shade . . .
The loveless marriage would seal the deal. He was becoming exactly like his father.
Just as it had so many times in his past, the impulse seized him with both hands and refused to let go. He curled the fingers of his free hand into a fist that he brought up and slammed into the mirror, right in the center of his reflection. This mirror was reinforced to be a bit more sturdy than his past mirrors, after Sebastian grew weary of sweeping up broken glass and bandaging cut flesh, so instead of shattering on first impact it merely spider-cracked, splintering his reflection instead of breaking it. Zelos didn't care; he dropped the alcohol bottle in the nearby sink and brought his other fist back, slamming that into the mirror instead. A few more spider-cracks, a few more splinters . . . and on the third strike it shattered, broken glass spraying outwards and down, slicing against his his knuckles, hand, and some on his wrist, one stray shard smacking against his cheek before it fell to the floor. But it wasn't enough; the mirror was vast, stretching the length of the wall. Zelos hit it again, and again, scraping his fists against the broken pieces, not caring how quickly his knuckles began screaming in pain, not caring about the blood that smeared against what remained in the mirror frame, not caring how his breathing had turned to ragged panting with the effort he was exerting in beating the hell out of the mirror on the wall.
He didn't care, because it was worth it. Worth it to not have to look at himself, and he didn't have his baseball bat handy.
But he couldn't break the entire thing. He didn't make it very far before the fight drained out of him, along with most of his energy. What use was it? He could destroy his reflection, but he was still here. Still in the manor, which was still in Meltokio, which was still going to make him follow through with an arranged marriage, because who he was didn't matter—never had, never would. Whether he was counted as a Chosen or a noble, he was a puppet made to dance along to the role he was given, never questioning orders, never straying too far away from the hands of the puppet master. No matter what he did, that would never change, and it had been infuriatingly stupid of him to think—to hope—otherwise.
He, Zelos Wilder, was worth nothing more than another shiny cog in the machine. He would only have what his title dictated he have. And the sooner he accepted that—the sooner he drowned thoughts of happy endings and love and light with plenty of alcohol and heaps of denial so they couldn't taunt him anymore—the better off everyone else in Meltokio would be.
Zelos stumbled back over to the sink, and picked up the bottle of alcohol with a bloodied hand, before he walked over to the bathtub and sank down against it. His hands and wrists were a mess. There was so much blood it was hard to tell where it all came from, and in some places, little pieces of mirror glass were still stuck in his skin. He could—and should—heal it with First Aid, he knew, but . . .
He took another deep drink of the alcohol, and tilted his head back against the side of the tub with a sigh.
It could wait.
Zelos didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, or if he really had fallen asleep, and if he had (or even if he hadn't) how much time had passed between sitting down at the bathtub and the pounding at the bathroom door.
What he did know, as he lifted his head up and dully noticed that, at some point, his bottle had tipped over and spilled alcohol onto the bathroom tile, was that there was pounding at the bathroom door.
"Dammit, Zelos, open up!" The muffled voice was Lloyd's, and the door handle jiggled again. "If you don't open the door in the next two seconds, I'm kicking it down!"
Well, that's stupid, Zelos thought, in lieu of expending the energy to open his mouth and answer verbally. The hinges are reinforced. You might kick the door open, but not down.
Lloyd, it seemed, didn't care about the semantics. His firm belief in Dwarven Vow Number Eleven led him to carry through on his threat, and after three solid blows to the bathroom door, the lock shattered, and the door banged up against the wall. Lloyd spent half a second examining his handiwork (and Zelos allowed himself a private told you so) before he looked over and saw Zelos slumped against the bathtub, his brown eyes widening until they seemed to take up half his face.
Lloyd's face was always so expressive. It was one of the things Zelos had privately mocked him for, back when they first met.
"Zelos! What the hell happened?!" Either Lloyd was faster than Zelos remembered, or Zelos' private musings about Lloyd's face distracted him, but it seemed like Lloyd had crossed the bathroom in a second to crouch down by Zelos' side, his knees crunching down shards of broken glass, his fingers reaching toward Zelos' bloodied hands before he drew them back, as if unsure what to do. "Did a monster get loose in here or something?!"
That finally got Zelos to spend the energy to talk. "Why would a monster be in my bathroom?"
"How am I supposed to know? When Colette and me showed up, Sebastian just said that you were having "an episode" and locked yourself in the bathroom. He said it was because of something that happened at Princess Hilda's party." It was only then that Zelos noticed Colette lingering just behind Lloyd, examining the carnage with an inscrutable look on her face. Unlike Lloyd, Colette was never free with her thoughts. It was one of the first things that made Zelos feel closer to her, back when they first met. "But whatever, we have to do something about this. Colette, can you—can you go get some gels or something?"
"No, that won't help right now." Lloyd directly addressing her seemed to snap Colette out of her stupor, and she walked over to begin untying the long strips of white cloth that Lloyd had fastened to the collar of his red jacket. "Right now we need to focus on stopping the bleeding. These will probably be ruined by the blood, but . . . I'm sorry, Lloyd. You'll have to get new ones."
"It's fine, my dad can make more," Lloyd said, and he reached up to help Colette finish untying them. Once they were free, Colette circled around him to sit by Zelos, and gently took his wrist in her own before she paused.
"Lloyd, could you please get a wash cloth from one of the cabinets, and put some soap and water on it? I think it's best if we clean the cuts first." As Lloyd got up to follow through on her request, Colette's eyes met Zelos'. "I'm sorry, Zelos, but I think it's probably going to sting a little."
"S'fine," he slurred, and gave a half-hearted shrug for emphasis. "I'm used to it." She pursed her lips but said nothing, her eyes holding his for a long moment before Lloyd returned with the soapy wash cloth.
"Here. Need anything else?"
"Nothing right now. Thank you." She gave him a small smile before she set to work, carefully removing shards of glass that were still embedded in Zelos' skin as she cleaned the cuts, only wrapping the makeshift bandages around his skin once most of the blood and broken glass was wiped away. The three of them were silent as she worked, but once she'd bandaged his right arm and looped around to clean and bandage his left, Lloyd spoke again.
"So, what happened? How'd you get all banged up like this?" After a moment without an answer, Lloyd said in a firmer voice, "Zelos."
"You know, this . . . that . . ." Zelos lifted his right arm and waved it through the air, motioning to the mirrors, and Lloyd gave him a look that clearly said it wasn't a satisfactory answer. "I just . . . had a bad moment."
"A bad moment."
"I lost my temper."
"Lost your—Zelos, you broke practically every mirror in this bathroom. With your hands." Lloyd motioned to the wrist Colette was still cleaning as Zelos gave him a dull look.
"Thanks, bud. I hadn't noticed." Lloyd made a face.
"Don't be a jerk, you know what I mean. I want to know why. And don't just say you 'lost your temper,' because that isn't like you, Zelos. You're not the type of person to just lose control and do something stupid like that."
"And what would you know about the type of person I am, Lloyd?" Zelos asked, raising both eyebrows. Lloyd stared steadily back, his confidence not ruffled in the slightest, and Zelos wished that the alcohol hadn't spilled all onto the bathroom floor. "Maybe you know everything about our sweet little angel, or Sheena, or the brat, but you really can't say the same about me."
"Then why don't you fill me in?" Lloyd challenged. "Why did you do this, Zelos? Just shut up and give me a straight answer."
"Do you want me to shut up or give you an answer?"
"Zelos." Lloyd's response was a growl, but far from being intimidated, Zelos simply stared at him. Lloyd finally sighed, his expression shifting from frustrated to worried, and in that second Zelos knew that he was done for. "What's so bad that you can't tell me? Can't tell us? Why can't you trust us?"
For all that his academic brilliance wasn't up to speed, for all that he was an open book who would spill his soul to any hapless traveler that wandered by his front door, there were times when Zelos would swear up and down that Lloyd Irving was a master of manipulation. This was one of those times. For if there was any one word in any language that could get Zelos to open up, trust was it, and even if Lloyd denied it, Zelos would swear that he was fully aware of it. He leaned his head back against the tub.
"Of course I trust you," he muttered. "Both of you. You're the only ones I do trust, with everything." Well, besides Sebastian, perhaps, but he was a special case and they all knew it. Colette finished bandaging his left wrist and sat back, her arms wrapped around her knees, and Lloyd pressed the advantage he knew he had.
"Then tell us. We can't help if you don't tell us."
Zelos was quiet a moment, staring up at the ceiling of his bathroom, taking in the sensation of Lloyd's intently focused stare, and Colette gently tracing circles into his hand with her fingers. "I . . ." He wanted to tell them. There was a part of him that was dying to tell them, to let them share the burden with him. But as he opened his mouth to tell them, he found that he couldn't get the words out. Finally, he closed his mouth, opened it again, and managed, "I . . . no. It's nothing."
"Nothing?" Colette asked, and he didn't have to look at her to see the confusion he knew would be written over her face. He nodded once, without removing his eyes from the ceiling.
"Yeah. Nothing," he said. "It doesn't matter."
"It sure as hell does matter," Lloyd said, and like with Colette, Zelos didn't have to look to see that the frustration would have returned to Lloyd's expression. "You hurt yourself badly, Zelos. Who knows what would have happened if me and Colette hadn't shown up. Whatever happened to make you freak out like this had to be bad, and me and Colette need to know about it."
"Why?" Zelos finally looked down at Lloyd, and took a glance over at Colette to see that she was watching him, too. "Why does it matter?" Lloyd gave him an incredulous look.
"Are you seriously asking that? It matters because you matter, Zelos. To both of us." Zelos couldn't help it; he started laughing, as much cynicism as he could muster in his exhausted state in every breath. Lloyd made a face. "Why are you laughing?"
"I matter? That's rich." Zelos pushed himself to his feet, both Lloyd and Colette reaching out to help him steady his balance, though he shrugged their hands off. "Even after all these years, it's like you're still new here, bud. You really don't have any idea of how this works."
"You're not making any sense," Lloyd argued, and Colette—who, up until that point, seemed content to observe and silently take in the situation—spoke up, too.
"Zelos . . . this is about something that happened at Princess Hilda's party, isn't it? With the nobles?" Zelos didn't answer, and Colette added, "Is it, um . . ." Lloyd looked over at her.
"Colette?"
"Well, I was just thinking . . ." She twisted her fingers together, chewing the inside of her lip as if she didn't want to say it. Finally, she looked back up at Zelos, steel in her gaze, as if she thought she might back down if she didn't first muster up the right amount of courage. "It's something to do with . . . being the Chosen, right?" Still, Zelos did nothing, and after giving Colette a baffled look, Lloyd turned back to Zelos.
"Is that it? But you're not the Chosen anymore. You shouldn't have to worry about that stuff." Zelos rolled his eyes, and walked past Lloyd to head toward the bathroom door. He may have wasted the last of his previous alcohol bottle, but there was more where it came from down at the bar.
"Being a sacrifice isn't all the Chosen entailed, bud. Not in Tethe'alla, anyway, and it wouldn't have been in Sylvarant if they'd thought Colette would live past sixteen." Crunching glass and boots on tile behind him told him that Lloyd and Colette were following, and both jogged a little to catch up to him in the expansive hallway.
"What are you talking about?" Lloyd demanded, but before Zelos could answer, Colette did.
"Are you talking about the mana lineage, Zelos?" Zelos supposed Lloyd gave her a questioning look, for she continued, "Before the Chosen system was abolished, the Church of Martel had arranged marriages to keep the mana lineage going. To, um, make sure that a new Chosen would be born, if the previous Chosen failed . . . or succeeded, too, I guess, in the world regeneration, even if he or she failed as Martel's vessel." She was quiet a moment as they reached the stairs, but then added in a tiny voice, "Not that the Church as a whole knew about that last part. I mean, we all knew that becoming an angel meant . . . meant, well, dying, but, well . . ."
"Yeah, I got it." The upset in Lloyd's voice told Zelos that he still didn't like thinking back to that day, and to be honest, Zelos couldn't blame him. As they descended the spiral staircase, he asked, "But what's that got to do with anything? You're not the Chosen anymore, Zelos. The mana whatever shouldn't matter anymore."
"Well, it does," Zelos said breezily, and he skipped the last couple of steps to land gracefully on the floor, heading straight for the bar. Mercifully, neither Sebastian nor Seles were in the main sitting room, and so there was no one there to question the bandages on his wrists or his need for another bottle of alcohol. "Mana lineage or no mana lineage, arranged marriages are the way of Meltokio society, and I've been engaged since the day I was born." He selected a bottle of scotch off the bottom rack, and after popping the cork, turned to face them both, pointing the bottle at Colette. "Like I said, Colette would have been, too, if they'd banked on her living past sixteen. And let me fill you in on a little secret, bud," he leaned closer, cupping one hand around his mouth, "they would have never, ever let her even consider having a relationship with the adopted son of a dwarf." He leaned back and took a drink, and Lloyd rolled his eyes as Colette looked away.
"I don't care about that," he said flatly. "She's not engaged, so it doesn't matter, and you shouldn't be engaged, either."
"Well, I am."
"Well, you shouldn't be!" Lloyd thumped his fist against his leg. "You're not the Chosen anymore, so—"
"It has nothing to do with being the Chosen," Zelos interrupted loudly. "It used to, but it's more than that. I'm still a noble. This is how noble society works."
"Well, it's stupid," Lloyd retorted hotly. "You should be allowed to marry whoever you want, to be happy. Why don't you just tell Princess Hilda you don't want to marry whoever it is anymore?"
"It doesn't work like that," Zelos said, and Lloyd glared at him.
"Says who?"
"Says . . ." Zelos waved a hand in the direction of the manor wall. "Them. Everyone. Society. This is the world I was born into, Lloyd. This is the role I have to play. What I want, what I need—none of that matters. I'm just here to play a part."
"Bullshit!" Lloyd snapped, and Zelos raised an eyebrow, taking another swig. "That's not true and you—!"
"Lloyd!" Colette put her hands on Lloyd's shoulder, forcing him to shift his attention to her. "Calm down. Yelling at Zelos isn't going to solve anything." He gave her a frustrated look.
"But—!"
"Calm down," she insisted, her blue eyes holding his steady. Lloyd continued to give her a frustrated glare for a moment before he took a deep breath and released it, and Colette gave him a tiny smile, and his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you." He nodded.
"You're welcome," he muttered, seemingly more out of reflex than anything. "But—" She took his hand and extended his pointer finger, thereafter placing it against his lips.
"Keep your finger on your lips for a moment, okay?" He did as she requested, looking baffled as he did so, and she gave him a playful smile with her tongue poking out a bit. "Thank you." She then looked back to Zelos, who met her gaze evenly.
"Zelos, I'm sorry that Lloyd shouted at you, and I know that all of this seems very sudden—I mean, that our presence here is very sudden," she said, as Lloyd gave her an affronted look for her apology on his behalf. "And I know, too, that we don't really know how things work in Tethe'allan high society. I know some of the things, because you're right—they would have set up a marriage for me if they thought I'd live to preserve the mana lineage, just like they did for my mother and father. But even with that, I know it's not exactly the same." She took a deep breath, and twisted her fingers together as she held his gaze. "But all the same, I also know that part of what we all fought so hard for was the right to live our lives the way we wanted—the right to be able to live, and not make any big sacrifices like that. I know that Lloyd and I aren't experts on Tethe'allan society. But if you don't want to marry who they told you to marry—if you don't want to spend the rest of your life with that person, then . . . then I think you're making a pretty big sacrifice. Just like you would if you went through with world regeneration."
"Exactly," Lloyd said. "That's what I'm—"
"Lloyd," Colette interrupted. "Finger on lips, remember?" He gave her a disgruntled frown but complied, and she smiled sweetly at him. "Thanks."
She turned back to Zelos, and he took a deep breath before releasing it, knowing that she wanted him to say something, but not knowing what it was that he should say. He understood the point she was making—hell, he even agreed with it, to an extent—but there was a big difference between understanding the point and accepting it as a universal truth that would make everything okay again. Besides, to accept the truth wholly, he had to accept that he was more than the part he was born to play—that he was worth more than the part he was born to play, that he deserved to have more than what he was born to accept, and that . . . that was easily said by others, but nearly impossible for him to do. He scrubbed a hand down his face.
"Look, I . . . I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't do this with you right now." He took another swig of the scotch before he replaced the cork, and set the bottle on top of the bar. Night had already fallen when he'd returned from Hilda's party, and a glance at the windows told him that the sun hadn't deigned to rise during the time he'd been lying on the bathroom floor. "I think I just want to go to bed. Are you guys . . . staying the night?"
"That was what we were planning on doing. Right, Lloyd?" Both Colette and Zelos turned to look at him, and he raised his eyebrows. Colette giggled. "You can take your finger off your lips now. I don't think there's anymore reason for you to shout." He pulled his hand away, and gave Colette a dry smile.
"Gee, thanks Colette." Colette smiled back, her tongue poking out from the front of her teeth. Lloyd grinned back, and nodded. "Yeah, of course we're spending the night. Even if we weren't planning to before, you really think we'd leave you now?" Lloyd lightly punched Zelos in the arm, but Zelos couldn't bring himself to do more than give a shadow of a smile in return. "C'mon, let's head up."
After the angel transformation, Lloyd, Zelos, and Colette slept far less often than they used to. Despite the fact that the transformation wasn't complete due to their Key Crests, they could still make it by on just a few hours of sleep each night without feeling exhausted the next day. Even so, if a day they had was particularly strenuous, sometimes they needed to sleep, to let their minds recover even if their bodies didn't need to. For this reason, when the three of them climbed into Zelos' giant bed—with Lloyd on the left, Zelos in the middle, and Colette on the right—Lloyd and Colette fell asleep almost instantly, even as Zelos lay there awake.
It was always when he was mentally and emotionally weary that his insomnia was at its worst.
He waited an hour and a half before he carefully extricated himself from Lloyd's limbs and unfolded himself from around Colette, and slipped off the end of the bed, grabbing his dressing robe before he headed for his balcony. In early spring, the night air was still cool, and although the gas lamps on the city streets blocked out most of the starlight (despite the fact that his balcony overlooked his manor's back yard), the moon was full and bright in the sky above him. Zelos dropped down onto the cushioned bench swing positioned in the dead center of his balcony, kept there for nights exactly like this one, when his mind was too full and the cool air felt like heaven against his skin.
It took only five minutes for someone to sit down next to him.
"Sorry," he said quietly, looking over at Colette with a small, genuinely apologetic smile. "Did I wake you?" She returned his smile and shook her head, sinking back against the cushions as Zelos gently swung the swing back and forth by pushing his foot against the balcony floor.
"No. I was already awake. Lloyd's still asleep, though; I think all of that excitement earlier wore him out."
Zelos laughed quietly, tilting his head back to look up at the moon. "Yeah. That'll do it."
The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a bit, Zelos still gently moving the swing, Colette leaning her head back to look at the moon with him. Finally—and even as self-aware as he was, he couldn't say what made him do it—he asked, "Say, Colette. How did you know what to do back there, anyway?"
"Huh?" He turned to look at her, catching her questioning gaze.
"In the bathroom. You knew exactly what to do about this." He held up his right wrist for her to see, and understanding dawned in her eyes. "How? Did Raine teach you?" Colette shook her head, and leaned back against the swing again, twisting her fingers in her lap.
"No. Well, sometimes the Professor did . . . but mostly it was Grandmother, although . . ."
"Although?"
"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it 'teaching.'"
Silence fell again, interrupted only by the squeak of the swing. Finally, Colette took a deep breath and continued.
"You know how I'm really clumsy, right? How I trip a lot?"
"It's kind of hard not to notice."
A small smile twitched at Colette's lips, but didn't make it completely to her face. "Well, I've always tripped a lot, and so I always got a lot of scrapes and bruises, but . . ."
"But?" Zelos would have let the story end there. Colette's clumsiness was no secret—was more of a legend, really—and so that alone would have been enough to explain the situation. Colette, however, continued to twist her fingers in her lap, chewing the inside of her lip as she stumbled over her words.
"But sometimes . . . sometimes, I . . . sometimes I tripped on purpose."
". . . Come again?"
"It wasn't on purpose at first." She was still twisting her fingers, but now that she'd made the confession, her words started coming out more calmly. "When I was really little, it was always an accident. But at some point—I guess when I was around seven, or maybe eight—I noticed that Grandmother seemed really worried about me whenever I'd trip and hurt myself. Father, too, and Professor Sage and Lloyd and everyone else. I know that some of them were only worried because they didn't want me to die, because I needed to regenerate the world, but . . . it never felt that way when it happened. When I'd fall and cut my hand, or scrape my knees, they seemed to be really worried about me. They seemed to really care about me. And even if that wasn't the case—and I learned that as I got older—I could still pretend that it was, just for a little while. Especially with Grandmother." Colette smiled softly. "When I was little, she'd kiss the bandaged cuts to make them feel better. It didn't actually do anything, but it . . . it still made me feel special, in the good way. The Not-Chosen, but Just-Colette way."
"So you . . . tripped on purpose." Zelos turned halfway to face her, placing his arm on the back of the swing. Colette nodded.
"Yup, I did. First it was just little things, like I'd trip when I saw a sharp rock so I could cut my hand on it. Or this one time, when I was ten, I tripped on top of a hill and then rolled extra so that I hit my head on a rock at the bottom." She pushed her hair back, and pointed to a tiny white scar above her eye, barely visible in the moonlight. "See that? I got a scar. I felt bad, because everyone blamed Lloyd for it—Grandmother said he was a bad influence, and some of the meaner kids in the village tried to say he pushed me—but all of the extra fussing Grandmother did kind of made it worth it, and I made sure that he didn't really get in trouble, anyway."
"Wow," Zelos said softly, partly in disbelief. Colette looked back at her hands.
"Like I said, it started small. But as I got older, I . . . not all of it was on purpose, sometimes I was—and still am, I haven't done it on purpose in a long time—really clumsy, but . . . as I got older, I started getting purposefully clumsy in bigger ways."
"Like?"
"Like . . . Like, one time, when I was fourteen, I tripped while carrying some glasses. Some months later, I did the same thing when carrying plates. And when I was fifteen, I tripped so that I fell through a window." It clicked in Zelos' head, then, just how Colette knew how to deal with glass, and she seemed to understand that he'd realized it in the same moment. "I know that it was wrong of me—I knew it then, too—but I . . . I needed it. I needed to feel that, sometimes, people were really worried about me, not just about the world regeneration. And no one ever noticed that it was on purpose. Not even Lloyd."
"Really?" Zelos looked back at his balcony doors, watching Lloyd sleep through the glass. Colette nodded.
"Really. It . . . always bothered me a little, that he could never tell, but I could never bring myself to tell him, either. I figured that if I told him that, then I would have to tell him everything else, too—about being the Chosen, and what it really meant, and all of that. And I couldn't. Not just because it would burden him, but also because, well . . . I didn't think he'd understand." Colette brought her knees up to her chest, and laughed a bit ruefully. "Some friend I was, right?"
"Nah, I wouldn't say that. Lloyd's kind of . . . well, he's Lloyd. Even now, I don't think he really gets the whole 'Chosen' thing, but then, no one but us really does." Without really thinking about it, Zelos looped his arm around Colette's shoulders, and tugged her over into a hug. She snuggled against his side. "I probably would have done the same thing in your place. Well, maybe I wouldn't have been as coy about it. You saw how I handle things. I've always been a bit . . . dramatic." He jerked his head back toward the manor, indicating the bathroom, and she nodded, understanding without him having to say it. Once more, comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the creaking of the swing. Finally, he chuckled a bit ruefully himself, and said, "Man, but would you take a look at us? We've got you tripping on purpose, and me smashing every mirror I can find . . . each of us is a mess."
"That's true," Colette agreed, and she shifted so that his arm was around her waist instead of her shoulders, so that she could thread her fingers through his. "But we're here together, so we can be messes together, right?"
Zelos returned her smile with one of his own. "Yeah. It's a good thing we've got each other."
"And Lloyd, too," Colette said, squeezing Zelos' hand gently. "Because we're both such big messes that I think we need him to keep us . . . um, to keep us . . ."
"Sane?" Zelos supplied. "Keep us from killing ourselves, maybe?" He could have been imagining it, but he thought he saw Colette flinch a little before she nodded.
"Yes," she agreed. "To both of those. Even if he doesn't know everything all the time, we need Lloyd to . . . to keep us sane, and balance us out. And stop us from making any really bad, permanent decisions." She rubbed her thumb over the bandage on his hand and wrist, and he asked quietly:
"Did you ever . . . think about it?"
". . . Sometimes, a long time ago," she said after a moment, her voice more of a whisper. "But I always thought . . . well, I thought it didn't matter since I was going to die, anyway. I thought that, since I was going to die, that I should just . . . save it, so that it could be more meaningful for everyone else. So I could be useful, at least for that." She continued to rub circles around his bandaged knuckles as she asked—hesitantly, like she was afraid of the answer—"What about you?"
"All the time. For as long as I can remember, practically." He blew a strand of long red hair out of his face, looking back up at the moon. "My old man offing himself was what first gave me the idea. I was ten. Then when my mom was murdered, and Seles was sent to the abbey . . . and pretty much every day after that. I don't know why I never did, though I guess you could say my excessive drinking and history of breaking mirrors with my fists line up more than one attempt." Colette said nothing, just continued tracing circles into his bandages. "Even tonight. After all that bullshit at Hilda's party, I didn't see a point to keep living if I . . ." His eyes strayed back to her and he swallowed, forcing his gaze back to the sky. "Doesn't matter. Point is, I had no plans of moving, and I don't think Sebastian or Seles would have kicked in the door. It's why I locked it. I never used to. If you and Lloyd hadn't shown up—"
"Don't say that," Colette said, her voice more harsh than it had been up until that point—than it usually ever was. He looked over at her, and felt his heart skip a beat as he saw tears gathering in her eyes. She blinked them away. "Don't—don't say things like that, Zelos. Please. Not that I don't want you to be honest, but . . . I don't want to think about . . ."
"Me dying?" Zelos suggested, and he tried to make his voice a bit lighter—to try and play at a joke, for her sake. She didn't take him up on the offer.
"I don't want to think about this world if you're not in it."
Zelos opened his mouth to reply, but no words seemed to suffice. Instead of waiting, Colette scooted closer and wrapped both of her arms around his middle, squeezing him tightly. Without thinking about it, Zelos wrapped his arms around her as well, finally settling for pulling her up and onto his lap. Colette shifted so that she could place her head against his heart.
"You know that Lloyd and I love you, right?" she said softly, after a couple of his heartbeats. "We love you so, so much, Zelos. Lloyd and I . . . we couldn't handle it if we lost you. Neither of us could."
"I know," he said, just as softly. "And I love you both, too—more than anyone. But . . ."
"But?"
"It doesn't matter." He swallowed around the lump in his throat, and Colette waited for him to continue. "I can't be with you guys. Not really. In the end, you're going to lose me anyway."
"Because of the engagement?"
"You got it."
". . . We can find a way around that." Zelos opened his mouth to protest, but Colette sat up and looked him square in the eye. "No, we can. We just have to take it one step at a time, and start with what we can do now. And . . . even if we can't . . ."
"Even if we can't?"
"Even if we can't . . ." Colette reached down to pick up one of his hands again, entwining their fingers. "We have forever, right? And forever is a very long time."
It wasn't the best promise he could have heard—because even if none of them would age, fifty or sixty years was still fifty or sixty years too long—but it could be enough for right then, right there on the balcony swing, with Colette on his lap, and Lloyd back in his bed. It could be enough, at least, to relax for the rest of the night.
"Yeah," he said, and he squeezed her hand back. "We do have forever." Colette smiled, and leaned forward to place a soft, lasting kiss against his lips, before she leaned her head against his chest again.
An hour later, he carried her—fast asleep—back to bed. The second he laid her back down and settled in himself, Lloyd rolled over onto him again, wrapping his arms and legs around Zelos, snuggling his face into Zelos' shoulder. Zelos kissed Lloyd's forehead, and with Colette curled up against his other side, finally managed to fall asleep himself.