She should've known
"That's why… I won't remember you. Because… We're never really apart…"
It's dusty, the fresh rain lifting small choking clouds of dust into the air. Then again…it's always smelled like that. Dust…and sweat, smoke, the few lingering wisps of food vendors…smelled like the slums…and some of him.
Sweat mostly.
Him.
Hair gel, and…some odd cologne that he probably only put on because she said she liked it.
It smelled…old.
Different.
After five years of waiting, and then, looking up at the rain and saying goodbye, it smelled…lonely. That's what she decided. Even though the flowers were still there, the remains of a rugged broken cart lying dejectedly in the corner, the ancient form on the pillar, the familiar patch of gray light filtering from the gaping hole.
Him…
It was like…
Without him, the smile, the tears, both of them sprawled on benches, her head cradled in his lap, his hands slowly sifting through her hair, lingering almost painfully on the dusty pink ribbon.
It was lonely.
Him…
She remembered another one falling through, her startled gasp, and then, the fervent prayer…that it could've been him, playing a joke…
She should've known better.
Played her cards right…
Begged him to stay…
Then, she wouldn't have been praying that the blonde haired soldier with his sword strapped to his back would actually be him, coming back to her.
She should've known.
That it wouldn't be him.
Only but…
A remnant….
A memory, long stored inside eighty Nine letters…
It was difficult to breathe, she reasoned.
In the dusty quiet air of the temple. It was almost a suffocating heat…
Her friends…
Family…
Him…
She could feel the steel, slowly pressing in from the dip of her back, to the indent of her belly button. She remembered smiling slowly.
It's…okay…
Blood bubbling at the corners of her mouth.
She should've known.
And…
She did.
She remembered being in his arms.
Little remnant. Little memory.
A little bit of him and someone else all together.
She could remember…going black, feeling the rain against her, a feather falling to the ground.
And…
A hand, tough and calloused, fingernails cracked from battle, scrapes from falling…
Scars…
Reaching out to her…
She should've known.
Him…
His hand, reaching out to her…
And then…
She didn't need a ninetieth letter… She never really needed to say goodbye.
It was always "See you later…"
And he'd reply with a cocky backhanding wave.
It was enough to know that he cared.
She should've known.
As she left, bleeding.
Dead…
That…
It wouldn't ever be just a memory.
It smelled like dust.
The church did.
But, everything was alive. And as she saw even the life in the leaves quivering, the planks of wood dripping small drops of residue rain from earlier…
The hole in the ceiling growing larger…
He…
Stood by her, black glove against white skin, lips whispering against the shell of her ear…
He smelled like something else.
Like dust, and memories, and blood…
That familiar leather scent…
So…
She really was dead then.
Because he was there, whispering slowly into her ear.
Him….
No remnant.
Just him…
"Aren't you glad that you never said 'goodbye'?"
A/N
Just a drabble. I just finished the game. Ugh. And, I just got the whole soundtrack. I've splurged. I bought the Crisis Core soundtrack, and the piano collection.
I just adore this music.
I wrote this to Aerith's Theme in Crisis Core. I little bit of Sadness, and a little bit of hope.
Just my view on things Before and After Aerith died.
TMoh