A/N: So this is what it's come to. I paused editing the 17th chapter of my current novel, and now I'm writing fucking fanfic for ZeXal in 2022 to take the edge off. This wasn't a sober decision.
Y'know, I used to write DextraxKite on my old account back in 2014, so you know I'm an expert (tm) in this crap. Why is this ship named after mental illness anyway
One more time for old times' sake, Anxietyshipping is present. No, it's a feature. Enjoy?
[AU where Kite remained dead after the moon fiasco.]
She thought he was gone for good.
At the end of the aisle he stood, watching the distance, expression blank. She hadn't expected to see him there. It had been so long — what about the moon? — and she had learned to live with his absence.
The name drifted on her lips, unspoken for no less than a year. Was it summer already? The sun outside the store and the hum of the air conditioner evidenced the passage of time. Had he somehow returned after so long?
Dextra stepped forward gingerly.
"Kite," she breathed. "Kite? You've returned?"
He watched her; she knew it. Dextra expected to see Hart beside him, but he visited the shop alone. What an odd place for him to be on his own. He never seemed like one for the whimsical, but then, maybe he was searching for a gift for his brother. It had been a while since Dextra had seen Hart as well. She wasn't supposed to see him, they said. She wouldn't be a good influence after what happened to his older brother. What was that supposed to mean?
The fluorescent lights of the store illuminated Kite like a manuscript. She committed those details to memory, the memory she swore she wouldn't lose again. She'd never forget him. She'd never let him go ever again.
Dextra rushed down the aisle. "Kite," she called. "Kite, it's me, Dextra."
Kite didn't leave the aisle — a good sign.
She embraced him. Why was he so stiff? She supposed he wasn't used to having such close contact. Maybe the moon did something to his body. There was astronaut's anemia, so maybe something happened to his bones too. Dextra had never known too much about space travel; Neither Faker nor Heartland funded that sort of research to her knowledge, and if they did, she wasn't privy to it.
He warmed to her. She held him carefully, afraid to tear his delicate flesh or pull at his dangling hair.
She would have never done such a thing in the old days. Perhaps she would have watched him from the end of the aisle, making sure he made it out into the parking lot safely, and pondering the encounter in her mind for the next week. She never would have embraced him without warning in the old days.
The old days were dead, just as she thought Kite had been.
Running her fingers through his ribbon-like hair, feeling its silky texture, she clutched Kite close to her. "I missed you so much," she exclaimed. "I didn't think you'd make it back from the moon."
Kite remained silent. Of course he did. How could he find a reply to that? She realised he hadn't spoken the whole time. Maybe he couldn't speak anymore. She could hardly remember how his voice used to sound.
He was always the quiet type.
The air conditioning cut out, the air stale and dead still. It was no matter. Nistro told her, didn't he, that getting out for a trip to the shops would help her feel better? He was right. Holding Kite, Dextra knew he was right.
She'd never have to grieve again. She'd never have to spend sleepless nights turning over their old memories in her mind, the meager memories she had, including the ones she had lost. She swore they never ever came back right. They came back, she insisted, but not quite right.
They could have new memories.
She held Kite until she could no longer feel her arms to tell that he didn't move. It didn't matter if he moved. Maybe he didn't want the moment to end either. Maybe he didn't turn out quite right after coming back from the moon. It was the moon, after all. She didn't care if he came back quite right. He was back. That had to count for something.
A woman with a child interrupted their reunion. "Ma'am, are you planning to buy that?" the mother inquired. "You've been looking at it for a half hour."
"I can't part with Kite," she hissed.
"Then please excuse us so we may look at the others."
The child shook his head, pointing to that which Dextra held. "No, Ma, I want that one."
Dextra handed the kite to the child, an action performed by a shell of a woman. The child hurried off to the cash register with the kite, its golden form trailing its blue ribbons out to her.
She dragged herself out of the toy store, lethargy making its impression on her posture. "I'll be back to visit you tomorrow, dear Kite," she murmured, knowing but not allowing herself to realise that when she went back, Kite wouldn't be there.
She'd find him again someday.
Dextra resolved to keep the details of the meeting to herself. One more incident like the last one, they always said, and… and what? She kept incidents to herself those days.
She'd keep Kite to herself, yes, just like she always wanted to.
Abandoning the route to her car, she followed the mother and her son in the glaring sunlight as they carried Kite away.
A/N: Short and relieving like a good shit.
The most concise piece I've written in a hot minute. 1000 words compared to 95K… quite the difference.
This could have had a K rating if I didn't have to say no-no words. Isn't that cool.
