Grazing The Sky

Even after standing up, his legs continued to shake albeit subtly. No part of him was used to the height of seven-and-a-half feet. But it was alright; all Zidane needed to do was learn to walk, a task that was easy enough to overcome. Because, in the end, anything would be worth it.

His shaking foot lifted in the beginning of a step forward. Yittek's hand pressed onto his shoulder, guiding him to balance as the step completed itself.

"There's no need for rush," Yittek said, pulling his hand away for it to hover behind Zidane again. "We need to make this look believable."

Zidane nodded, stare trained on the foot that had yet to move. In a quick burst, he took another step forward, landing his foot before his body had time to lose balance.

When he straightened himself completely, he repeated the action, the cycle of unbalanced wobbling slowly growing less and less with every attempt. By the time he had finished walking in a small circle a few moments later, Zidane had returned to the bedside, standing with no sign of imbalance.

Yittek's gaze swept over him, the tight focus in between his brows increasing upon reaching Zidane's legs. His arms remained crossed, one hand by his mouth. The stare lingered, growing excruciating and touching discomfort into Zidane.

Suddenly, the expression fled, a smile taking itself place.

"I have no doubt this could be any more perfect," he said, his stare rising to meet Zidane's. "Would you like a mirror?"

Zidane stiffened, a bolt of pain entering him. Forcing himself to recollect, he shook his head. "No, I'm alright," he said before pulling a question out of his mind. "Do you know where Yowlitch is going to be, exactly?"

"No, not precisely," Yittek replied with the hint of apology in his voice. "But I have spent most of this morning periodically filtering through the townsfolk's thoughts, and I've narrowed down the last few towns he will be passing through."

Zidane nodded, his stare breaking from Yittek as his brain ran through anything they might be forgetting.

"Oh!" Yittek looked up from the floor. "Your ears. That's right!" A quick hand waved to the side, and Zidane obliged with a turn of his head.

Yittek's hand swept the hair covering his right ear, tucking the blonde strands behind Zidane's ear. For a moment, Zidane was back in the orphanage, Kazuo attempting to cut his hair. He smiled at the memory, feeling the tip of his ear be pinched with a slight pain.

Yittek must have picked up on his thoughts because the next few words sent a wave of guilt into Zidane.

"I would have liked to have met him."

Zidane nodded softly, unable to say anything. Unable to express how much he agreed, how much they would've gotten along. How Kazuo would've been fascinated, seeing a Razalek.

A burn rose behind his eyes, and Zidane blinked away the feeling of tears. It was then that he noticed Yittek had teleported to the other side of him, the first ear already molded and stretched to the correct length.

Zidane reached up, fingertips running along the blade of his ear. No piercings, which was good. He was only going for the standard coming-of-age ring and a standard marriage ring. With a weight in his gut, he wondered if he could actually lie about being married. To a Razalek.

What would Zooka think, if she knew I was doing this? For her?

He didn't want to imagine the tears, the anger that would instantly be dissolved into sadness.

In the space of a single blink, his other ear finished stretching out, the marriage ring pierced into the space above his lobe.

"You hit another growth spurt or something?"

Zidane turned to the doorway, greeted by Lance's grin. The human continued to lean against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. For the umpteenth time, Zidane noticed the faint purple rings haunting the human's eyes. How his arms were a little bit slimmer than when they'd first met as well.

Zidane forced a smile onto his face, listening as Yittek spoke.

"Is there anything you need before we depart, Lance?"

Lance shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. Know where the food is, so that's all I need."

Yittek smiled. "Very well, then."

Suddenly growing solemn, Lance's eyes dropped to the floor and then shifted to both Zidane and Yittek. The human cleared his throat, shifting his weight and picking himself up away from the frame.

"Good luck."

For a single beat of silence, the words hung in the air before plummeting down on Zidane's shoulders. It was more than a polite wish; it was a plea for success. Lance needed this to work, Zidane realized, a lot more than he did. Because if this didn't work, what hope did they have?

With the weight of it all still pressing, Zidane could only respond with a nod. What could he say? That he'd try his best, but don't count on it—that this could just be the next shortly-awaited f.u.c.k up?

Whether the uncertainty was in his eyes or not, Lance settled back against the doorway, his gaze staying on Zidane as the crossbreed looked to Yittek. Except now he looked totally different. White skin and silver hair pulled back into a short ponytail, four piercings along his ears.

For a moment, Zidane thought of another face, another time, another life. The owner of a satchel shop in Lanquim. A friendly physician in disguise.

Fire surrounded Zidane, pulling him back to reality.

They stood in the middle of a bustling dirt street, chatter surrounding them. Zidane turned to Yittek. It was strange, not having to raise his head at all in order to meet the Razalek's eyes. But the discovery was forgotten as Yittek's stare finished sweeping the bustling street, the bright flame-like eyes meeting Zidane's with a small smile.

"I believe my narrowing of his path has paid off," Yittek said silently. "He should arrive presently. Have your nerves calmed yet?"

Zidane propped an arm up with his other, gently placing a hand on his forehead where a light throb had started. Didn't realize it was that obvious.

A beat passed, and the headache fell away.

"Your state of mind matters as much as the events of our plan, Zidane. You need only relax, and trust this process."

'Trust this process...'

Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, he looked up from the ground, seeing Yittek start down the center of the road. With a few long steps, Zidane caught up and matched the Razalek's casual pace.

For the first time, Zidane let his eyes focus on the pedestrians surrounding him. The thought to pull away, to retreat his eyes back to the ground, was nearly overbearing, but the fact that no one's attention even brushed his way was too fascinating to break from. Was this what it was like, to be normal? Accepted?

"There he is. Ahead."