Grazing The Sky

__________________________

Lance slid against the alleyway's wall, pushing his legs out as he felt the sun gently warming his skin, his clothes. He wanted to close his eyes, enjoy it for a moment, but the strange thought of how the warmth wasn't real took his focus elsewhere. Was the warmth something his own mind was creating, or was it another detail Zidane had put in?

He looked ahead, where Zidane and Mungslev sat across from him. They were nearly immersed in shadow, the darkness cutting across the ground and Lance's outstretched leg at an angle. Despite the contrast in light, Lance could see them. He could see the two bags beside Zidane, another in his l.a.p, its plastic bustling about as Zidane's hand dug around inside. He soon pulled out a small bag of nuts and his face fell in something of disgust and disappointment. Lance nearly let out a laugh, knowing the memory of unshelling so many was replaying in his head. He kept the amus.e.m.e.nt in, knowing there was something different about this memory. A peacefulness he didn't dare interrupt.

Mungslev reached out, snatching the bag from him. "Hey, those are good!"

Zidane didn't protest, watching as Mungslev tore open the top of the re-sealable bag and opened it up. Lance watched as the crossbreed turn back to his plastic bag, picking out a can. His face fell with subtle disappointment; the memory of living in the alley, learning he couldn't digest metals flashed into Lance's thoughts.

"Here." In a way that seemed softer than before Mungslev reached out, taking the can from Zidane's hold.

One leg stretched out, allowing him to take the knife from his pocket. He laid the can on its side, placed the blade near the edge of the lid, and began sawing. The knife was sharper than Lance expected, but then again he'd never expected a seven-year-old to be carrying around a knife at all. He looked up to Mungslev's face, studying the slight concentration in his features, and wondered how he got here.

It was a thought Zidane didn't answer; the can was sawed into halfway without interruption and Mungslev immediately tilted it upright. He used the knife again, moving it into the can and prying the newly formed lid up and away.

His stare remained completely turned away as his arm stretched out to Zidane, silently offering the can back. The lid bounced at the motion, thin metal hanging on to the rest of the can by no less than an inch. A silence overtook them both, Zidane's stare going from Mungslev to the can. Mungslev didn't move, every strain of his focus on the ground beside him. Eventually, Zidane took the can with both hands, bringing it towards him and staring down at it. His fingers fished around inside for a moment, thumb and forefinger only coming up for air to meet one another, thin syrup exchanging between each kiss of the skin.

When Zidane began pulling out the thin slices of peaches, when a few more moments of silence passed, Lance heard Mungslev speak again. Ever since the can was offered, an emotion had been planted in the air. Slowly, it had spread, and upon hearing Mungslev's voice, Lance became settled into its presence.

"You got lucky back there, you know."

Zidane turned to him, one cheek puffed with food and lips spotted with syrup. Mungslev glanced in his direction, dark eyes switching to something of a deeper plum color. He shook his head.

"That guy could'a had one of those boom... things." He made a gun with his hand, firing it soundlessly before shaking his head. His hand dropped down to his l.a.p. "I don't know what they're called; I just know they hurt."

They stayed in silence, all three of them, until Mungslev looked back down to the bag of mixed nuts. He put a hand in, a one that Lance painfully realized was so small. Way too young for any of this.

"So yeah," Mungslev said, bringing his hand out. He turned his palm upwards and opened his fingers, revealing a small pile of nuts. "Wasn't bad for your first time."

While he began to eat, Zidane stayed quiet, blankly staring at a spot besides Lance where the alley wall met the ground. His eyes deepened, darkness bleeding and overtaking the blue until there was barely any left. For the first time in what seemed like a long while, he spoke. His voice rang out in the darkness covering them, the whispered words traveling to Lance and hitting something inside him like an earthquake.

"Does it get better?" he asked.

Mungslev's chewing slowed, and then eventually, he shrugged, looking away.

"Not sure, but let me know when you find out."

Another moment of stillness passed before one of them moved; Zidane looked down to the can of peaches, then to Mungslev. Without a word, he extended the can, holding it out in offering. Mungslev glanced between him and the can, seemingly about to reject it until he reached forward, taking it from Zidane's hand.

A smile curved Zidane's lips as Mungslev held the can between his knees, tipping the handful of nuts into his mouth. They didn't speak; Lance could tell they didn't have to. The emotion he had felt at the very beginning of the memory came up again. A peacefulness that made him more aware of the sun, a warmth regardless of whether it was real or not. But it wasn't just a feeling of contentment. It was friendship.

Lance's surroundings faded, becoming nothing but the pure white landscape again. He took a small step back, trying to look around and see something of the next memory. This couldn't be the end... Could it?

Zidane stepped towards him, still in the body of his six-year-old self. He looked up, a little surprised as he stopped a few feet from Lance.

"Oh, this isn't it," the crossbreed said with a smile. "I just... wanted to give you a little more of a transition into the next memory."

The connection clicked. "This is the one, isn't it?" Lance asked. "The one you told me about earlier?"

"The warning, yeah."

Lance heard it in his voice, could tell that whatever was coming up next was something Zidane didn't want to revisit. Lance swallowed, trying to flip the heaviness in his c.h.e.s.t over, make it something lighter.

"Don't think my skin's gotten any thicker."

Zidane pushed a half-smile onto his face.

"Just let me know if it gets to be too much, alright?"

Whatever humor Lance had conjured was gone. He nodded, closing his eyes and trying to prepare himself in the space of a standard blink. When his eyes opened, he was in the weapons room again, the room Zidane and Arzo had been in together, but this was a fact Lance could barely register as Zidane was thrown against the wall. He stayed on the floor, on his side, curled inwards slightly. His closed eyes flinched tighter as Arzo took a step forward, words trembling with anger.