(no subject)

[hastegas]

Life had long since become cyclical for Tidus.

He wakes up. He eats. He mulls around the house. He goes for a long swim. He comes back in, showers, heads to practice. He comes home. He swims again or practices on his own on the deck of his home by the water. He tucks back into bed again and sleeps.

The only upheavals in his painfully predictable life alone in his home come from games, the occasional night out with his team or an adoring fan and Auron's visits. He looks forward to them, no matter the context, because they tear up the heavy, grey blanket that has long since settled over him and smothered him slowly under its weight. He wants change. He wants a life without sunrises and sunsets he has to count down. Tidus wants tomorrows that come too soon and yesterdays that leave too late. He wants adventure, excitement, something to break this mold he has been shoved into as he cycles through his life in a house of ghosts and silence.

Practice never brings fatigue and coming home in the dimming light of dusk brings little hope of sleep when he hasn't worn out his reserves of energy just yet. It's not that he wants to sleep, that's just boring, but it would at least be a change of pace to get truly worn out and knocked to the ground by his own muscle aches. Nothing in this common rotation brings challenge for him anymore. It's likely why he lives for the thrill of games and the adrenaline that runs through him right before he submerges himself.

He pushes the door open and greets the quiet, emptiness of his house with a loud 'I'm home!' that seems to echo off of nothing and greet him in return. He crinkles his nose and tosses his bag of wet clothes from his practice across the room towards his couch.

"I can't think of a single thing I want to do tonight... No one even wanted to go out this time. This sucks."

Comments

[entrust]

Cyclical doesn't begin to describe Auron's life.

There are two sides to living in Zanarkand. One, the peace he supposes he should be grateful for; and two, his utter detachment from every event that goes on around him. It's what happens when you live in a bubble, the same steps retread in the same small space over and over; all places, no matter how large they seem, become small once you've found each edge of their confines. After traveling from one end of Spira to another, Zanarkand couldn't be anything but claustrophobic with its skyscrapers and its endless ocean.

It's one of many things he didn't consider when he made the journey. Those many things include among them the adjustment it would take to live in a time so removed. It may have existed once, but Jecht's world was a different world.

And Jecht is the one reason he's here. He doesn't even surprise himself anymore when he drifts irrevocably toward the little houseboat tied to the dock. He stands on the deck, back facing the city, looking out to sea. The sun sets slowly. Something about it is different than the sky in Spira, and he's seen so many different skies. Clouds catching fire; pale, canary-yellow suns; ruddy, storm-laden firmament. In Zanarkand the heavens seem just that much further away. The stars are more difficult to make out above the city lights.

Auron leaves his thoughts when he hears the sound of Tidus's voice float up muffled through the floor of the deck, loud and bored. It's been an uncomfortable summer. Air too heavy, too hot. Blitzball is the only respite anyone has in this city, but it means something else to the boy below deck. He can sympathize.

Of course, that doesn't mean he's here to entertain.