Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over 'Fairy Tail' nor am I profiting from this.
I am not that overall happy with this piece. I have been struggling in my personal life and getting these characters into their appropriate emotional spaces is even harder. I won't upset anyone with a thousand details, but here are the broad strokes: three deaths (two being suicides), bad anniversies casually piling atop each other, water leakage, close friends splitting up, friends in crisis, new dog, family problems, and brother moving away for college.
Everyone wakes up sore, limbs tossed in every direction, seeking comfort. Every blind and curtain has been drawn; a merciful act which provides temporary solace from the world. With a deep breath, he rises, withholding the pained hiss and groan as he tiptoes towards the window. Lucy sniffles and raises her swollen face with mild interest before pressing her face back into the carpet.
Everyone else's windows are darkened. A lone streetlight performs a couple of hopeful blinks before turning off.
"I'd prefer the sunrise," he grumbles. "It feels like someone came through and just turned everything off."
Mira begins carefully rolling her neck back and forth, grimacing with every crack and pop. "We haven't slept enough for the sunrise. I always wake up anytime we share a room because you snore so hard it causes the floor to vibrate."
"I've just got a manly snore." His laugh is hollow. "You've done more than enough. Please go and try to get some sleep."
Her pained expression becomes relaxed and grateful. Her legs are shaky but she manages to stand and wobble over a hug.
"I've got something for Lucy," she whispers. "I should've given it to her last night, but our minds were scattered. I'll run and get it now."
Her 'running' is careful tiptoeing as she approaches the still indifferent Lucy. Her movements remain cautious, slow as she extends the wallet towards her. Mira swallows hard and clears her throat before speaking.
"You might not remember this right now. You might prefer forgetting things right now, huh? Sometimes, things that belonged to the people we love can bring us comfort. Lisanna's clothes don't smell like her anymore but I still keep a shirt under my pillow."
Lucy nods and clutches it against her chest. Her expression remains blank even as she traces the creases and moves around the stains. Her pinky does connect the stains while her thumb and forefinger crawl from one crease to the next. As much entertainment as it provides for her, watching her and the dead street provides him with nothing. He joins her with a grunt, lacing his fingers together over his stomach,
"I'll bet that you could mimic anything with enough practice. Mimicking people gets things. People will give you attention and when you're lucky, it gets rewards. You aren't learning, though. Sure, someone will give attention or food, but can always change their mind later."
Her tracing pauses. He laces his fingers tighter, gritting his teeth and listens for any sounds other than steady breathing from his sister's room. Everyone knows about his public ugly crying sessions following Lisanna's death, but no one witnesses his eventual coping mechanism. Their grief might be shared and understood over and over, but he can't — won't share this part.
Lucy watches as he raises his hands towards his chest and lowers his voice. "I'm a real man and haven't been purposely avoiding this conversation. You're probably irritated that we didn't donate more clothes. We needed something more than a gravestone and Natsu wouldn't share Happy."
His voice cracks as he mentions the dragon slayer. His massive chest heaves, threatening fresh tears before he regains control and continues.
Lucy mashes her lips together and opens the wallet. Mommy isn't coming back. Her dreams keep showing her swatting someone, wheezing and begging for them to leave her. Their guards' don't play along with her game. Mommy isn't coming back, but something in her fuzzy brain insists that she search harder. Her dreams won't be like this forever, right? What's she meant to dig through?
Her thumb grazes the silver key. Her fuzziness doesn't magically disappear, nor does anything appear. Lucy wiggles it free, squeezing it tightly in her hand and presses both wallet and key against her chest.
"I don't know much about celestial wizards," he whispers. "Loke won't speak about his experience with them. I always considered him some coward, because he runs from the fear. I can't do that anymore, huh? I'm not much better."
Lucy presses the warming key between her palms and considers her recent dreams. Her guards don't seem magical with their armor, shields, and swords. Their skill levels don't matter, because everyone continues winding up scattered and broken. Her mother screams over their orders and jams her golden key into a growing puddle. Sticking it in the water gives her the mermaid woman, and her mother has never allowed her to dangle from her tail before, but her dream says differently.
Her mermaid woman has a name. Her guards have names. Her, friend, the man with the heaving chest and cracking voice has a name.
Her fingers graze his cheek with the delicacy someone would reserve for a newborn kitten, but it still causes him to flinch away. Her voice is slow and scratchy.
"Mm…m…fr—frand," she croaks. "Mm…m…fr—frand…"
He doesn't give her a chance to continue. He flees the apartment, ragged panicked breaths echoing off the darkened streets.
Atonement is cruel.