Days 4-6
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In the end, Lightning had been right and Hope escaped from the merriment not thirty minutes in, exhausted. Just trying to smile and talk to people was far more strenuous than the physical therapy he had undergone the past few days, and his brain felt like it would soon melt and then slip from his skull. Lebreau really had cooked up a veritable feast, and while Hope made his way attempting to sample everything out of courtesy, his stomach just couldn't handle all of that.
It all felt like a blur of faces and voices soon enough, almost as it had nearly a week ago. He felt bad that he still couldn't recall the Team NORA members, especially since they seemed so nice. Too much information and too much confusion prompted him to slip away from the establishment and out onto the beach where he made his way over to the pier, where he sat down on the uneven wood and watched the sunlight reflecting off waves rolling toward shore.
There, all he could hear were the sounds of water and distant birds. It was as if he left the hectic world behind, even if it was only a few dozen meters away.
There was too much he didn't understand, that he didn't yet have the brainpower to comprehend. As much as he wanted to smile and assure others that he was recovering just fine, he didn't feel fine. Too many holes in his memory. Too many gaps in his thought process.
He wasn't surprised to hear the footsteps approach.
"Had a feeling you'd be out here."
Hope tilted his head to greet Sazh, who made a groaning sound as he sat down as well on the edge of the pier.
"Here," the older man offered, fitting a hat over Hope's hair and pulling it down enough that Hope made a noise in protest and had to reach up to readjust it. "Compliments of our very old soldier-girl. Gunna have to get used to her mother-henning for a while, odd as it might seem. Can't say I blame her, though."
Hope didn't know what to say in response, and continued to stare down at the water.
Luckily, Sazh didn't take that as dismissal. The older man fell silent as well, watching the waves lap against the wooden pier. They sat there for several minutes until the heat of the sun started to prickle at Hope's skin, irritating and itching rather than warming.
"How are you feeling, Hope?" Sazh's voice was gentle as Hope started to squirm under the light. He stopped at the question, thinking about it. Sazh's presence felt more comforting here, warm and adult and it didn't feel like Hope needed to smile in reassurance or pretend that everything was better than projected.
Hope looked back down at the water and dug his fingers into the crevices of the worn wood in thought, feeling the rough texture under his skin and the coarse grains of sand left behind by those who stepped there from the sandy beach. He took a deep breath of the ocean air, the salt and wind and ocean smells more potent here than it had been in Palumpolum or even back in Bodhum. Cocoon just didn't have the same feel that Gran Pulse did; didn't have the same smells. Everything was wilder and brighter here, even the tamed sandy beaches of New Bodhum.
"Tired." He admitted, word slurred from his lack of energy put into the enunciation. No matter what the others might think, he still had a ways to go in speech therapy apparently. It took conscious effort still to speak in a manner where the others wouldn't look at him with such disappointment in their eyes. Maybe the doctors had been right. Maybe he should have stayed the whole two weeks. "...Confused. I dunno. Everything's blurry."
"Blurry?" And here Sazh sounded more alarmed, but the acknowledgement meant exhaustion was finally kicking in once more and Hope couldn't be bothered to placate him. He couldn't barely manage a nod, chin falling to almost touch his chest as he allowed himself to rest here on the pier. It was comforting.
It was a calming moment where he almost allowed himself to drift off, lulled by the sunshine and the sparkling waves and smell of the ocean air the coarse wood underneath him. He had an epiphany there while scraping his fingertips against the pier underneath him, probably getting sand stuck under his nails.
He doesn't remember the accident. Doesn't remember the earthquake everyone talked about, or the great fall he must have experienced. He can only imagine how Vanille must have felt to see him fall and to catch him in the only way she could — a catch which resulted in enough injuries for a three week hospital stay. He can see see her green, green eyes in his mind — pained and guilty and he just wants to tell her that it's not her fault because she saved his life.
That's the story he's trying to reconcile with himself.
Instead of the earthquake, Hope almost remembers the chill of rain soaking his clothes. He remembers another fall, but there was someone else there. Someone who fell with him. He doesn't remember being caught up be wires; he remembers hitting the ground. He remembers the cold.
Or at least… he thinks he recalls that.
Maybe it was all just a dream.
"Okay," Sazh finally said after assessing the situation enough to ensure Hope wasn't actually about to keel over. "How about we get you inside for a nap, then? So you won't be tired anymore."
Hope shook his head quickly. He didn't want to go back inside into the mess of confusion and cacophonous noise. He didn't have the energy to deal with the worry and disappointment and guilt when people looked at him and then not be able to stop wondering why. Sure, he had been badly injured, but he was healing, right?
Wasn't he?
Hope scooted away from the edge of the pier and curled up, arms around his legs as he pressed his cheek against his knees and sighed, closing his eyes. Maybe Sazh was right. Just a little nap…
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Rain.
There was the soft patter of rain all around him hitting the ground. The smell was warm, like the first rainfall on asphalt after the summer, a warmth that would soon give way to the coolness of autumn and chill winds. It was warm around him, or it should have been, except the rain was actually cold. It soaked through his clothes and coated his skin until he was shivering involuntarily in the warm air. He was on the ground somewhere, and it was dark and hard and all he knew was the rain.
Rain and pain.
There was someone calling his name, but all Hope could think of were regrets and the cold, cold rain. There was so much he had left to do. So much unfinished. So much time he just… wasted when he could have been more productive.
The pain was overwhelming. His chest hurt badly. He couldn't breathe. He was —
Dying.
He was dying in the rain and there was someone screaming and —
"—okay! It's okay! Shh. Shh, just — it's just a bad dream. It's just a nightmare. That's right — c'mon, Hope, you just need to wake up, it's just a bad dream and you're okay, I promise you're okay—"
The screaming, he realized sharply, was him. His eyes hurt when he opened them, light assaulting his pupils and his skin felt taut and dry and painful but he could breathe again and he hadn't known air was such a blessing until now. There were hands holding him down, holding down his arms and another pressed against his forehead to control his thrashing.
His blurred vision made out Lightning holding him down, expression stern even as Serah sat next to him, her fingers softly carding through his soaked hair and murmuring reassurances to him. Saying everything was going to be okay.
It's not, Hope wanted to tell her in his fevered state. He was going to die and there was still so much work to be done.
Serah drew back sharply for a moment, and when she spoke again, she sounded so so sad. "You're not going to die. You're not. It's all just a bad dream. Just a dream." Her touch was feather-light through his hair. "Just… go back to sleep, Hope. I promise. You're okay now. You're going to be just fine."
He was so very tired. It felt like he had just run an entire marathon, like he had been trying to escape Behemoths on foot and failing half the time. His entire body felt sore and bruised, and he didn't want to die but he supposed it would be okay so long as someone caught the people who shot him.
"Shot? Hope, I promise you're okay. I'm — we'll stay right here. We'll be right here. Okay?"
The grip on his arms lessoned, and against his better judgement, Hope found himself closing his eyes again, his breathing evening out as he focused on the warm hand along his scalp. He drifted back into darkness, but this one warm and comforting rather than cold and wet.
Soon enough, and it could have been minutes or hours or day, the hand stopped its movements but Hope found himself too far in to protest.
"He remembers."
"He doesn't." That was Lightning's voice, just as far away. He wondered why she sounded so upset. She was usually a pillar of strength, and Hope almost wished he were awake enough to comfort her. "He was never shot. One of us would have remembered."
"He might have been." Serah's voice was just as far away, just as upset. "Claire…"
"No. He doesn't need to know."
Serah's response was lost to him as Hope faded completely into sleep.
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It was late at night when Bartholomew Estheim finally appeared, looking tired and frazzled from Hope's viewpoint on the couch.
"Dude, you're missing the best scene!" Maqui complained, drawing Hope's attention back to the movie in front of him. "You need to pay close attention to this part, there are some vital clues for what happens at the end."
Hope looked back to the characters on the holo-screen and then to the older blond teenager. "It was the neighbour, right?"
"What? Wait, how did you know that?"
Instead of answering Maqui's shocked questions, Hope shuffled further up the couch to turn his attention to the quiet conversation by the door. He didn't think he was eavesdropping per say, seeing as he wasn't exactly being subtle about listening in. If other people assumed that he was paying attention to Maqui and the movie, then that would be their own assumption.
"I don't think going back up to Cocoon at the time is the best idea." Serah was trying to reason, responding to whatever Bartholomew must have said. "He's no trouble. He could stay with us. There's always someone here to watch over him."
"I've imposed upon your family far too much." Bartholomew insisted. "I'll be taking more time off work and enrolling Hope in the local schools once he's well enough again."
"But what about until then?" Serah tried again. "New Bodhum is a good place—"
"I don't doubt it." His father interjected. "But I want to provide my son with a stable environment. The — the earthquake may force us to start over again, but having him move from one place to the next is not something I can approve of if I can provide better. There's a new settlement out in the wildlands that has been developing at a rapid pace. It's got hospitals and schools… the best this new world can provide. More than that, the Sanctum has no hold over that settlement."
Hope slowly ducked his head behind the back of the couch until he could barely see them. Somehow… somehow he had known that would be his father's decision.
"Mr. Estheim—"
His father shook his head.
It was a good decision, Hope thought. A good settlement on Gran Pulse central to all the other settlements with stable buildings and good technology, populated by those untouched by the Sanctum or Psicom. It was the best decision his father could have made in this situation. Except…
Except everyone else had settled close to New Bodhum. The wildlands was nearly two hours away thanks to the lack of rapid transit. Maybe once a stable train system was established, transit times would be drastically cut down, but that would take… years, at the least. The restoration would focus more on shelter and essentials before road construction could be given any attention.
He grasped tightly at the couch. He could see it in his father's view, but… he didn't want to leave the others.
"Perhaps I'm being selfish here as well." Bartholomew admitted. "But after the Purge… after the earthquake, I want Hope with me in the safest environment I can provide for him."
"I…" Serah looked like she wanted to argue more, looked fierce and disapproving, but bit down on her words. "You're always more than welcome here. I know my sister would say the same: Hope is family. He'd be safe here as well."
"Thank you." Bartholomew's words were quiet, awed. But all Hope could think about was when he and Serah had gotten to know each other well enough for her to say such a thing with such conviction.
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The day after Hope had been released from the hospital, and he and his father were on their way to the wildlands, a large part of which had been cleared out to support a bustling settlement with a small handful of buildings starting to shape into something with a semblance of civilization. While New Bodhum had been small and filled with buildings shaped like boxes, mostly residential, this new settlement was preparing itself to soon become a bustling city. There were roads and gleaming steel beams and military droids repurposed for building. The air was lively and filled with smaller airships and aerial machines with arms carrying different metals.
"It's going to be better here." Bartholomew told him, standing behind Hope with his hands on his shoulders in a supportive grasp. "A fresh start."
For a moment Hope was reminded of the times his mom would throw her arms around him and lean her head down against his, laughing at his complaints about how he was too old for hugs like that now. She would hum and dismiss all his whining cheerfully until he stopped squirming and finally admitted defeat to her.
Don't worry, she used to say against his hair, pulling him up close until he complained about suffocation, Things will turn out better.
And for a long aching moment, Hope missed his mother enough that he could cry.
He was lead to a small two bedroom apartment in one of the temporary housing facilities. The space was narrow and filled with boxes of his stuff from the previous location, some dusty and dirty from having been recovered from the destroyed building.
"It may take them another half year to finish the permanent housing." His father told him as Hope sat gingerly on the unadorned cot in the room designated as his. "The architects want to make sure the land and structures will be secure. No more disasters."
"...Okay." Hope responded. He didn't mind the small apartment. It was as different as could be to his old home, and right now, that was a good thing.
"They've got a good hospital." Bartholomew continued to extol. "Dr. Clive sent a list of physicians who can help you here. And… it's not a lot, but there are classrooms being set up for high school classes. They've got clubs and activities for the kids, too…"
"That sounds good, dad."
His father paused, shoulders slumping slightly. "Listen, Hope. I know this may not be what you would have chosen. New Bodhum was my second choice, but… That would be a short-term plan. New Bodhum is a beautiful place…"
"But it's hiding." Hope completed for him, seeing his father struggle with the words. He was starting to grasp onto things again. He thought about the nurse at the hospital, about how he had been discharged immediately after. "Because everyone still fears l'Cie."
Even if he wasn't one anymore. Even if none of them were l'Cie anymore.
If they all stayed together in one spot, then the people of New Bodhum might get used to them, but no one else would. It would be a secluded place that others refuse to go because of their reputation. The Purge happened because of fear of l'Cie, and everything that followed as well. With it being merely months after the fall, despite the correct information circling around now, not everyone wanted to hear it. Not everyone wanted to believe that the monsters they blamed for the loss of their homes and loved ones weren't monsters at all.
It was going to take time, Hope understood. A lot of time and patience and showing people that the ex-l'Cie were just normal, everyday people.
"It's not that." Bartholomew denied. "Although… yes. A part of the reason is that I want to give you a better future. I can't just think about now, Hope. What happens in five years? Ten? This won't blow over if we don't face it head-on. In ten, twenty, years… I want to make sure that no one will try to hurt you. That no one will—"
"Throw me out of the hospital because I'm a threat to the other kids?"
Bartholomew sighed and rubbed at the skin between his eyes underneath his glasses. "...Too smart for your own good."
Hope didn't think so. If the vehemence and glaring didn't clue someone in, then maybe they were luckier than he was. It wasn't hard to notice when he wasn't wanted in an area. But even so, Hope couldn't figure a good solution to the problem.
"What do I do?" He asked, because it was one thing to understand that it would take time and effort to change the minds of people, but it was another thing entirely when he tried to think of the situation in small-scale. What were the steps necessary in order to spread the truth that the l'Cie weren't monsters, but only whatever the fal'Cie made them out to be? Logically speaking, everyone should already know that. Realistically speaking, no one wanted to acknowledge it.
His father startled at the question, and then knelt in front of him, putting them closer to eye level from where Hope sat on the bed.
"Nothing." His dad said simply. "You just focus on what's in front of you, be in school or making friends or growing up. Let me take care of it. Give me a few years and I'll change everything around. Promise."
There was an unexpected but overwhelming surge of… gratitude? Relief? He wasn't sure why, but suddenly Hope missed his father as well. Missed that very same intense look which delivered promises other people wouldn't be able to carry through. Except his dad was right in front of him, so he wasn't sure how he could miss him.
"I know things seem bad now." The words were hushed, prompting Hope to strain to hear despite the stillness of the room. "But I will make everything okay again."
The words were flat, almost stern, and had it only been a few years ago, Hope might have flinched away at the tone without realizing the words spoken, but now it only prompted a small but genuine smile. Rather than disapproval, it sounded like a fact. It didn't feel like there was much to smile about in this situation, but at least his dad was still the same.
"I believe you."
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Surprisingly, or perhaps not so, the days passed quickly after the move. Hope found himself with a schedule quickly enough to settle into his days. He had multiple appointments throughout a day ranging from speech and physical therapy to virtual tutoring sessions from various programs his father installed after they got the computers up and running. Vanille called daily for nearly an hour at a time, usually when the two of them were busy with other things as well so she didn't mind if he was just quiet on the line while she chatted about what she and Fang were up to.
It was nice, he thought. It made the quiet bearable knowing that she was listening and would respond if he said something. Furthermore, Lightning required a daily update from him as well, and Snow usually sent the regards of Serah, Sazh, and Dajh through the same call.
What busied him the most, strangely enough, were the amount of introductions he made through those weeks. Pulse was a wild and dangerous place, with without the help of Psicom, the Guardian Corps had settled in to protect the settlement. Rydgea was the head of that particular branch and often came by to check up on him while Bartholomew was hard at work, bringing various other soldiers with him. Hope wasn't sure if that was because the man wanted to show the soldiers what an ex-l'Cie looked like (short and scrawny still, either too pale or with large red patches of sunburns across exposed skin), or because he genuinely thought that Hope would need to know the entire garrison someday.
When his physical therapy sessions dwindled off, his father proposed the idea of enrolling at the local academy.
"Since it's been several months since most children have gone to any more than basic lessons, they have an assessment exam to determine your placement level. I can schedule you in for one of those next week, and then you'll have plenty to do."
"He said that like I don't already have plenty to do." Hope complained over the phone to Vanille that day. "I was just starting to get a break!"
She giggled over the line. "I'm sure he means well. But if you're going to be tied down soon, why not come for a visit? Or maybe we can head there instead?"
He perked up at the idea, but then glanced around the tiny room he was in. The temporary apartment was alright for two people, especially since Hope hadn't bothered to unpack most of his items, but it would be cramped with any more than that. "...I'll ask if I can visit New Bodhum."
"I would suggest we go swimming, but I suppose it's officially too cold here now." She laughed lightly. "We got our first snowfall of the year today. It's a little bit crazy here. You Cocoon people really don't know how to deal with the weather!"
"Snow?" Hope had to reroute the word in his brain, having acclimated himself to associating the word as a name rather than a descriptor. "You mean like — real snow?"
Had it gotten that cold already? Sure, everyone was wearing a lot more than before and complaining about the temperature, and he could see his breath in front of him whenever he went outside, but actual snow? It never snowed on Cocoon, not unless it was for special occasions. Holidays and the such, when the fal'Cie would listen to the whims of the people and generate light snowfall for select days, all to be melted away without a mess the very next day. Eden had certain parks that used to boast about their snow, becoming busy tourist attractions on certain days of the year. Nautilus used to have special attractions during the winter that would be frozen over into ice.
Hope had forgotten entirely that ice and snow were meant to be actual phenomena rather than controlled spectacles.
"You'll have to dress warm." She told him. "It's colder in New Bodhum than it is down in the wildlands. Serah's been locking people inside if they don't wear enough, so be careful!"
"I still have to ask my dad." Hope reminded her, but couldn't see a reason why his father would say no. "Do you think it'll all melt by the time I get there?"
"Not if you come soon!" She prompted. "Oh, and Lightning's probably going to tell you this later today but Serah took one look today and declared that this is the backdrop she wants to be married in."
"Wait, does that mean — soon? Or next year?" Because the two of them had been engaged for months but never set a date. Hope had never thought to ask about it, either, seeing as if felt like an inevitable flow that Snow and Serah would just eventually get married.
"From the way it sounded, she means soon. And the surprising thing is, Lightning's not saying no."
"Wow. That's just… wow."
"It's all very exciting." Vanille said. "So make sure you came soon, okay? I don't even know if they're going to just wake up tomorrow morning and decide that they're going to get married that day. I never took Serah to like sudden things, but I guess a lot can change."
A lot can change. Hope stared blankly down at his computer, feeling a flash of recognition. It felt like Vanille had cut herself off there from saying more. A lot can change… what? To a person? He shouldn't be questioning it, not when it was such an innocuous statement, but lately little things like that — like Vanille cutting herself off from saying something, or Lightning's insistent questions — they all felt very… odd.
"I'll send dad a message." Hope promised. He looked up, feeling lost all of a sudden. He wondered why. "I'll call you again first thing."
"Okay." Vanille responded brightly. "I'll tell Lightning, then!"
He hung up after their usual goodbyes, feeling quite odd. Hope rubbed at the back of his head, where there was a patch of hair still shorter than the rest and a bump of scar tissue slowly fading away. It was an odd sensation, reminding him of when he actually browsed through the medical files on his dad's computer. Most of the words felt like medical jargon to him, but the notes had been quite clear.
Acute subdural hematoma. A massive bleed within his skull. According to the chances of survival, Hope was very lucky to be alive, much less without permanent damage. An injury of that scale, along with the coma, was bound to cause some… changes.
Nightmares, Hope thought faintly.
He had done his best to ignore them, as they weren't too frequent, but there was a quality about the dreams that felt just as real than his waking hours. And it was strange. He would dream of cities he was certain didn't exist, of towering architecture and computers constructed of ores he had never seen before designed in shapes he had never imagined.
He struggled at first to discern reality, sometimes calling his therapists by the wrong name or confusing himself about where he was and what he was doing. Things got better as time went on, and everyone assumed he was confused because of his injury anyway. Maybe he was. Maybe all his paranoia and oddness came from that.
Hope sent off a quick message asking his father if he could visit New Bodhum before his examination, and then lingered on the computer. He had searched up a few terms on whim before in the past several weeks, but none of them had yielded any results.
He clicks through sites that he's already navigated, news on what's happening in the world around them, rumor sites, and the official news on how Lake Bresha had been closed off to the public to dedicate as a memorial for the Purge victims. They were building a monument with the names of every person who died there on that day.
Hope hesitated, eyes scanning the article. It had taken a while, but all the names had been gathered in one place and were to be carved into a gravestone within the crystalline waves of Lake Bresha. The list on the site invited everyone to contribute in case they missed someone.
And there, amidst the hundreds of other names, was Nora Estheim.
It was a very long list, and Hope made sure to read each and every name, even if he wouldn't be able to memorize everything. They all deserved a moment of his recognition, at the very least. There was a tightness in his chest — had he met any of them? Had he run past one of those names before, had he breezed by them and would have seen their faces if only he had taken the time to turn his head?
At the very end of the list, he stopped and stared.
Alyssa Zaidelle.
The name brought a shiver, but he shook it away. It couldn't be. He was just imagining things, that was all. It was probably just another name he heard before from somewhere else, maybe someone else. He…
There was a list of comments under the article, mostly from people still mourning or adding names, or from those demanding more than just a memorial to honor the dead. Even as he scrolled down to avoid the so familiar name, Hope's attention was caught by something else on the site.
Hope.
When you see this and you believe they exist.
Come find me.
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New Bodhum was a sea of white, the beach itself pockmarked with footprints of children who had already run up and down the entire length of the beach in their excitement, contrasted with the brilliant white-blue of the ocean beyond, looking just as it did the last time Hope had been there. There were still thick white flakes falling from the sky, making the entire scene look quite magical.
Vanille's outfit had been new to him as well, thick material sewn with beading covering every inch of her skin besides her face, a woolen hat pulled over her head and ears and warm fur lining her neck and gloves and now much higher boots and a new, darker fur skirt brushing her legs. There were leather knots interlacing her top as an accent, the same color as her gloves and boots.
"Do you like it?" She exclaimed, twirling in a circle for him. "Serah got me the fabric, and Fang got all the leather."
"Did you do the beading?" Hope admired. "It looks really good."
Sazh had offered to bring him in an airship the night prior after Bartholomew agreed to the trip. When updated with the impending wedding, his father agreed to try his best to be there on the condition that he was given three days' advance notice. He wouldn't be able to stay an entire day, but for the several hours needed, he might wheedle some time off work or bring his work with him.
It was the best that Bartholomew could promise, and Hope knew enough to appreciate the offer.
"I did." She confirmed, beaming. "I could make you an outfit, too."
"I'm good, but thanks." He declined, raising mittened hands in defeat. "I've got too many clothes already."
That was mostly thanks to an impromptu online shopping session the night before which resulted in the outfit he was wearing and the two more he brought along with him. It had always been his mother who picked out clothes for him since Hope's only stipulations were that they were comfortable and that he wouldn't be ostracized by the other kids for them.
That meant the result of his shopping (thanks to the funds his father transferred to him for whatever he would need) consisted of mostly bland and pale colors that he would be able to coordinate with every outfit. Other than simple black boots and dark pants, Hope had decided on white and yellow jacket paired with a long pale blue scarf which he had wrapped several times around his throat and covered the bottom half of his face as well. On a whim, he had also decided on a handful of large sweaters and cardigans to grow into, seeing as the cold was starting to reach the settlement as well.
Vanille was sighing in front of him, her gloved hands raised to his cheeks. "You look so mature like this, Hope. Cheer up! We're still young, we're supposed to take advantage of being silly and play around. You shouldn't frown so much." She paused, giving him a critical eye before smiling again. "At least you're still smaller than me."
He made a noise of protest, but didn't pull away as she laughed. Eventually her hands found his and she tugged him along, slinging one of his bags over her shoulder even as Sazh waved them away with a smile and a murmured protest about kids.
"Everyone's been waiting for you." She said as she pulled him along the track between the hanger for the airships and the housing area. Hope looked down at the snow as he stepped along, marvelling in the crunching noises under his feet and the crisp feel of everything. "I don't think anyone's very happy about the fact that you're so far away. It doesn't help that, well, Lightning's been out a lot too lately…"
"Even though Serah said she wants to get married?"
"Well not now. She's back here now. Everyone's back here now just waiting for the two of them to decide on the big day! Lebreau's been running around trying to find things for a wedding, and Serah's been dress shopping except Lightning keeps turning down her choices… oops." She threw a guilty grin his way. "Not sure I was supposed to say that."
"Sounds really busy." Hope sympathized with her, rather than bringing up her mistake. He smiled, and curled his hand around hers. "Now I feel like I'm the one who's been slacking."
"That's not true!" They stepped past a frozen over garden with the beginnings of a fence and perhaps a roof being built over it. "You were busy getting better and settling into your new home, right? It must be hard."
Hope shrugged, but didn't respond as they were greeted by Snow, dressed up to the brim and almost resembling a marshmallow in his thick grey coat.
"You're here!" The man greeted Hope, taking both his bag and the one Vanille was holding onto in one fell swoop despite Vanille's squeak of protest. "Good. You can help out with the preparations."
"Right now?" Vanille protested. "He hasn't even gotten settled in yet! Don't you need to show him his room and let him put everything down first?"
"Ahh…" Snow wilted under Vanille's disapproving posture, bringing a hand to rub at the back of his head. "Alright, alright. We'll get to that afterward. But the decorations will have to go up soon, so I'll need the both of you to help out after that."
"That's fine." Hope told him, and Vanille nodded in assent. "What's going on, though? You guys aren't having the wedding today, are you?"
Snow laughed, and walked along with them to the front door, which took some struggle to open as a wave of heat was blasted in their faces. They entered the housing complex quickly, and pulled the squeaky door shut tightly behind them before any of the snow could drift in. "Of course not. But a wedding takes preparation, you know? And Serah wants to do this soon, so… we're going to have to start as soon as possible."
"Impatient." Vanille teased, pulling off her hat to throw over on the couch as they went along. The housing area had been transformed as well, painted in warm colors with plenty of lighting and blankets tossed all around the area. Hope glanced around as they made their way down a hallway, the walls covered with drawing by children as well as shelves and other storage areas.
"Where did the drawings come from?"
"Oh, those?" It was Snow who answered. "Serah's been teaching the kids around town. Pretty popular with them, too. Heh. Who would have thought, right?"
Hope glanced from the drawings over to them just in time to catch Vanille's smile dim just a little.
"Right. Who would have thought." She agreed, still smiling, but it felt subdued.
He decided that they should probably change subjects, not wanting to see her upset. "And all the blankets?"
"Ha! Those?" At that, Snow glanced around and grinned, proudly jabbing a thumb at himself. "That's all me! Took up knitting. What do you think? They look good, don't they?"
Hope gaped, and looked back toward the entry room for a moment before staring at Snow. "No way. You? That's… there must have been a dozen blankets there. Knit?"
"Isn't it surprising?" Vanille elbowed him lightly. "Apparently Snow's very good at it, and very fast. He's been at it every time he sits down, and… well. He's going to have to start a store soon. Or start giving them away."
"I have my talents." Snow preened, and raised a fist to knock on the wooden door before them with the back of his knuckles. "And here we go. Your room!"
The door opened with only the slightest creak, revealing a small room (only slightly larger than his own back home) painted in a warm brown with a simple desk and chair alongside a single bed and dresser. There were several shoves above the desk and bed, and while it was mostly empty, there were a few stuffed animals and knitted blankets and books to keep it from looking entirely barren.
"We got you your own room." Vanille told him. "So you can come back any time at all, and you'll have a place here."
Hope stepped inside, his bag slipping from mittened fingers as he gazed at the simple desk, the dark green blankets and pillows, and felt a warmth knotting itself into his chest.
"Officially," Snow insisted, "it's a guest room. Unofficially, it's your room any time you want it. And if you do ever end up back here, then it would officially be your room."
"Oh, alright, officially. But that just doesn't sound as nice, does it?"
Hope stepped in a circle before dropping down heavily onto the bed, feeling himself bounce slightly on it. He took off his mittens and unwrapped his scarf, breathing easier now that he wasn't overly warm, and leaned back just slightly to run his fingers down the soft blankets. There was a desk light and even a string of smaller lights running its way around the circumference of the ceiling, giving the room a cozy glow.
He had to swallow once, twice, in order to find his voice again. "...Thanks."
Snow's grin softened into a smile to match Vanille's. "No problem, kid. But! Don't forget, you're helping me with the decorations after you put everything away!"
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Most of the supposed decorations were really just directing people around and trying to find what flowers grew in the cold weather as well as what flowers could be imported to New Bodhum at this time of year. Snow snuck away several times on 'business' but tended to come back fairly quickly with pockets filled with snacks with he would empty into Hope's pockets whenever Lebreau started shouting about someone stealing her food.
He ran into Fang just once and only briefly as the woman swooped down upon him to tousle his hair, laughing as he dropped the box he was carrying in surprise, before Vanille called her away.
"Well, don't you look the little grown up?" Fang laughed, standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders. "Don't try too hard now, or Vanille might just put ribbons in your hair!"
Hope patted down his hair as she went on her way, now feeling a little self-conscious about his clothes. What was wrong with them?
"Don't worry about it." Snow told him as the carted more boxes into different areas. At the point, Hope had stopped wondering just what was inside the boxes and just went onto the next task with the impression that he might find out what he was actually doing after he was done. "You just look a lot more mature. It's not a bad thing."
"Okay, now I know it's an issue if you're going to talk about it, too." Hope said flatly, and glared openly at the next mirror they passed. He was fairly dressed down with his dark pants and white buttoned down shirt covered with a pale yellow cardigan. "What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing! You just — well, like I said, you look more mature. Not that the shorts and sneakers weren't cute before. I guess we were expecting something more like that."
"It's winter. It's snowing outside."
"Overall, it may have been a dumb assumption." Snow admitted.
Hope rolled his eyes, and decided that he should just ignore the topic. It was far too easy to point out that his mother picked his clothes and fashion before, and that he couldn't bring himself up to care enough about what he looked like any more. It wasn't as if kids, or anyone at all, were going to look at what he was wearing and decide whether he was cool or not. Now all they would see when they looked at him would probably be l'Cie rather than kid. It didn't feel right to concentrate on fashion now. Clothing was useful for warmth and to convey meaning, but Hope didn't have the energy to expend to fashion.
"Where's Lightning, anyway?" He asked instead, looking around as they walked. "Or Serah?"
Snow gave an exaggerated sigh as they reached the storage room, and he set the box he was carrying down with a heavy clatter, rolling his shoulders afterwards. Hope had a nagging suspicion he had been given the much lighter box, especially as he managed to drop his on the desk as well and it barely made the lightest of thumping noises.
"Wouldn't know." The blond admitted. "Sis has been all hush-hush lately. I'm surprised she hasn't shown herself yet. Your room was her idea, you know. Not that she'd ever admit it. Serah, though, she's probably in her room working on her sewing. I'm not allowed in 'cause I can't see the dress or something."
Snow grinned to himself. "Not that the dress matters. Serah's beautiful no matter what she wears. Doesn't matter if she wants to wear a paper bag over her head."
"I think it matters to her," Hope pointed out. He stretched his arms above his head for a few seconds. While his boxes hadn't been heavy, the size of them tended to cramp up his arms after some time because it was a strain just to get his arms around those things. "Dad said he'd try to attend if you tell him three days in advance."
"Then you might want to just call him down now." Snow told him, but then paused. "Or not. I don't know when Serah's going to be finished. Sewing takes a while, right?"
"If it takes too long, maybe you can knit her a dress." Hope suggested.
"Yeah, ha ha. Getting a straight pattern out is a lot different than making a dress, kid!"
The left the room just as Vanille called out, "Hope! I need your help here!"
"Better go see what's up, kid." Snow suggested, tilting his head in the direction of the call. "I'll get the rest of those boxes."
Snow gave a wave and tousled Hope's hair for a moment before he left, and Hope worked his way over to where he had heard Vanille calling out. It was a different side of the house, so he made sure to step extra carefully and knock at the closed door, which was opened promptly.
"Oh good," Vanille chirped at him, pulling him inside. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her, then."
"Wait, what—"
"Serah wants to get married while there's still snow out, but now she wants to wait and everyone's already half prepared already!" Vanille huffed, hands on her hips as she stared accusingly at the pink-haired woman sitting at the desk, wincing at her words. "No one's going to mind if you wait, but you need to at least give us a reason! It doesn't even have to be a good one. Anything I could tell the others."
"I'm not actually cancelling," Serah protested from where she was sitting at her desk, a heavy sewing machine laid out along with bolts of fabric across the room. There were little pieces of cut cloth all around her, beautifully white. "It was just — I thought maybe waiting a little longer would be the best idea."
Vanille didn't even dignify that with a response, instead whirling to face Hope. "See what I mean?"
Serah seemed to wilt a bit in her seat, although her expression remained as determined. "I'm just nervous, Vanille. That's all. I'm — I'm sure I'll feel better when Lightning comes back."
"Um…" Hope shifted from foot to foot where he stood, and cringed back slightly both of them shifted their attention to him. This wasn't exactly an argument he could take a side on. "What exactly did you need me to do, then?"
"Oh!" Vanille thumped one fist into her other hand in remembrance. "I just needed you to cut out some fabric for me while I go fetch more materials from Lebreau. We're on a tight schedule here, so every little bit helps!"
She gestured to where the bed in the center of the room had been covered with a thick wooden board with measurements, and a large piece of shining white material was sitting at the center, outlined in dark chalk. "You need to cut a little outside the line, but don't worry if you actually hit the measurement's meant to be a little big so we can fix anything we do wrong. Here."
"Uhh." Hope accepted the scissors gingerly, surprised by just how large and heavy the object was. It felt a little more like a hand-held garden sheer than scissors. "Okay?"
Vanille beamed at him and made an aborted action to pull him into an embrace before remembering that he was still holding onto a dangerous object. "Thanks so much. I'll be back in a jiffy, then! And see if you can talk to Serah about those insecurities of hers. Can't have it build up to explode on the big day, after all."
She bounded out in a hurry, closing the door softly behind herself, and Hope felt a moment of awkwardness as he turned back toward the material on the bed. Serah seemed suspiciously silent, probably from embarrassment considering the topic he had walked in on.
"I, uh," he flailed mentally for something to diffuse the heavy atmosphere. "I hope you've got more fabric just in case I mess up here. I've never actually used scissors like this before."
Serah turned in her chair to look at him, almost staring through him for a moment before she focused. "Oh. Oh, Hope, you don't have to do that if you don't want to. Fabric scissors can really hurt someone."
"No, I can do it." He reassured her. "I'm just warning you in case I mess up." And he leant down to pose the scissors at the edge of the fabric, hesitating only slightly before sliding it up, the fabric giving way like butter under a hot knife.
Serah stayed silent for another few moments, her hands wringing the white material she was holding. "...I'm sorry you had to hear that. I want to get married, I do. I love Snow and he's my hero and there's nothing more I want to marry him."
Hope merely nodded, paying close attention to his task at hand and not daring to look up in case it someone discouraged Serah from continuing.
"It's just…" And here she huffed, exasperated with herself. "It's just silly, I suppose. Me. I guess I'm just waiting."
"Waiting?"
She paused, and then shook her head. "Nothing. See? Just me being silly. I'm not cancelling."
They returned to their work after that, and Hope snipped carefully outside the chalked lines on the fabric, the scissors sliding through with a slick sounding snip each time.
"Are you waiting for someone to show up?" He asked quietly.
"Well, there's your dad." Serah tried to joke. "And Lightning seems gone more often than not."
"Are you…" Hope made one last snip and set down the scissors carefully as the fabric gave way. "Are you waiting for Noel to show up?"
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The writing might have gotten hectic and weirdly prose-y toward the end since I've been trying to pad my wordcount up and went in for a few wordwars. Unsurprisingly, wordwars don't exactly make for great writing on my part, but at least they get done! Six days into NaNo now - get ready, guys, we're going for gold!