Pairing: None. But, to be fair, there is a very subtle suggestion of Luke+Guy if you pay attention to the subtext.
When: Post-game.
Rating: G.
Genre: General.
Words: 453.
Spoilers: Takes place at the very, very end of the game. As in... during the ending. So unless you've beaten the game, I would not recommend reading it.
Notes: Okay! So I set out to write a Guy/Luke and ended up writing a prequel vignette to 'Coming Home'. I'm hoping this means my muses will stop being unhelpful and will finally let me write another oneshot in that line. Preferably one that includes less talking and more bed-tackling. So, here you have it. Luke's point of view.
He's walking.
And he's been doing it for so long, it's almost like he doesn't remember how to stop anymore. A part of him -the part that forgot everything, the one that recalls just enough to know that remembering would be more painful- keeps encouraging him to try. After all, why keep walking if he doesn't know where he's going? What he's searching for?
... ke. How you've changed.
Words come to him sometimes. They aren't his, and that is about the only thing he's certain of. He can't pin a face to them, let alone a name, but he knows them; knows the words, the voices, and that's enough. He keeps on walking.
But... I have to have you come back alive.
He walks and he climbs, and his body grows tired. But he doesn't stop, can't bring himself to halt one foot and then the other. He has to wonder sometimes whether the voices have anything to do with it. Every time he's close to stopping, they come back. And it's like the first time he remembered them all over again. He keeps on walking.
... Not to protect Kimlasca. To live your life, understand?
Not all words are the same. Some fill him with pride, others with joy, expectation, hope and others with resolve. He wants to find them, these voices, he can admit that to himself. The revelation fills him with renewed energy. He has a purpose. He keeps on walking.
... ster!
He's not sure how long it has been. He can't even remember how this all started. Flashes of green and light and fire and nothing sometimes tease the edge of his mind,
but as with all other things except for his words, they fly away at the faintest promise of a breeze. Time passes and no time passes at all. He keeps on walking.
You have to come home! You have to! I'll be waiting... always.
It'd be easier, that part of him insists, so much easier just to let go. To stop at the edge of this foreign yet familiar clearing, not to take another step forward. To just stop. But the voices pull him, so much clearer now. He can't stop just yet. Not yet. He keeps on walking.
So hurry back home. I'll never forgive you if you just disappear.
And then he stops. One by one the voices become familiar again. Known. Faces, people, places merge with them and his eyes aren't as glazed anymore. Green meets sky blue across the glowing field, and he doesn't need to walk anymore. Not because he's tired. Not because of the pain. He doesn't need to walk anymore because he's home.
He kept his promise.