Grazing The Sky

Zidane nodded. "I'm pretty sure I mentioned it before. It deals with emotions; the more positive the feeling, the brighter the eyes get."

"Right." Lance lifted his head to the ceiling, stretching out his neck and hearing it quietly pop. "Have my eyes been doing that?"

The question was mostly sarcastic but soon he saw a flash of light coming towards him. A hand mirror being tossed, the speed slow enough for him to reach out and catch it.

"See for yourself."

Giving Zidane a look, Lance turned the mirror to himself and looked down into it. He looked awful, but not as bad as he remembered himself looking a few months ago. The tired lines and purple streaks that been haunting his eyes were gone. His hair was completely messed up, though. He almost raised a hand to fix it when Zidane's voice reached him, speaking from the other side of the room.

"You remember that thing you couldn't explain, right?"

His stomach snarled with discomfort. Way to make things awkward...

"Can you focus on that feeling again?"

Lance was almost tempted to deny it. The edge of his teeth clamped down on his tongue, forcing the words not to escape.

"And now you're quiet," Zidane murmured. He looked back to Lance, eyes fl.i.c.k.i.n.g down as if urging him to look back in the mirror.

A photo had been placed in between the reflective glass and frame. Though they were closed, her eyes caught Lance's focus immediately. That bolt of warmth came down again, cracking into his very being like lightning screaming across the sky. He couldn't really breathe; he couldn't really feel his heart beating, either. His entire existence was captured by the sight of her and this incredible warmth blossoming from his c.h.e.s.t. The snapshot was instantly memorized; how her head was turned away, wind sweeping tendrils of medium brown hair past the features of her face. How Zidane was in the photo as well, his face hidden in the crook of her neck, arms wrapping around her waist, gently holding her hands in his.

Lance could finally place a face to that name...

One corner of the picture suddenly lifted out of the mirror. Another corner lifted, and as if a sudden wind blew, the photo fluttered to the floor. Lance stopped himself from grabbing it, the muscles in his arm tensing. He relaxed, watching the photo disappear into the kitchen tile, and tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment.

His hand raised to his hair as he looked away, sweeping his fingers into it.

"Why'd you show me that?"

"Look back to the mirror."

Lance looked to Zidane instead, raising one eyebrow. The expression instantly faltered, noticing a look of surprise come to the crossbreed as their eyes met.

Confused, Lance looked down to the mirror, finding himself shocked as well.

His eyes were much brighter than before, now only a few shades shy of medium brown. That feeling was still inside him, too. What was it?

"Can't explain it, right?" A small smile was in Zidane's voice, a joke underneath his words.

Lance gritted his teeth, watching the brightness of his own eyes quickly fade, the glow in his c.h.e.s.t disappearing as well.

"Change of light," he said.

"When the sun's setting?"

"You did it!"

Zidane just shrugged, hands in his pockets again. "Not sure why I would do that. But you're admitting I'm real, then?" He moved his weight over to one side, continuing on. "Okay, let's take it a step further. Considering all of this is possible"—His hand left his pocket, the coffee table behind the couch suddenly levitating, the TV turning on, and Lance's body suddenly being unable to move—"How far of a 'leap' is it to say that those cells are, in fact, injected in you?"

The pressure released, the furniture resuming its normal position again and the TV shutting off.

"But I can't do that stuff, right?" Lance asked.

Zidane nodded. "Right. Spiros are different and they can't. But you see my point, don't you?"

Lance looked away, finding himself in a corner with a position he couldn't defend. He shook his head. "Why? Why would someone do this?"

"Guess we'll have to find that out, too."

"So—" His anger flared, momentarily making him at a loss for words. "You just show up and expect to me to let you help with this?"

"I'd like to," Zidane replied kindly. "It'd be better than the alternative."

Lance raised one eyebrow. "Which is what?"

"The group that passed by us earlier." Zidane said. "Those were Spiros. They disguise themselves as human, and if they find you, I can guarantee that they will brutally kill you."

Lance tried to find his voice. He watched Zidane's eyes become nearly black.

"W-what? How... Why would they even..."

"A human mixed with Spiro"—There was a hint of a question in the crossbreed's voice; more of a lead-in to the topic at hand—"There's absolutely no way they'd let you live. That's probably what they were searching for when they passed by."

"You're saying they were looking for me?"

Zidane shrugged, way too casual for Lance's comfort. "Either that or they probably got wind of my scent. That'd make more sense, actually. I deal with that sort of stuff a lot."

"Because you're a mixed or whatever."

The crossbreed nodded. "Yeah." He raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck, eyes closing for a moment. "I try to avoid populated areas; those confrontations tend to get a bit violent."

Lance looked away, trying to think of something that actually made sense. He waited for a moment, seeing if maybe he would wake up. Be back in his own bed, only worrying about the remaining days until he moved out of his house, away from his mom.

He shoved Lisa's scared face out of his mind, forcing his memories to reach back further. Back to the hospital, back to a face he'd been warned about.

"That guy... Thing or whatever," he began, looking back to Zidane. "The one who kidnapped me. He mentioned my dad was injected with this."

Eyebrows rose. "The cells?"