Chapter Text
“Aren’t you simply melting in this heat, hero? I must say, that black armor looks absolutely stifling.”
He sauntered out of the shadows behind the Warrior of Light, pleased when they whipped their head back at him in annoyance. The dust of the desert quickly caked his boots within seconds, the mild breeze puffing hot air into his face. Lazily, he walked up to their side, making a show out of stretching his arms above his head.
Emet-Selch wouldn’t admit it, but he felt absolutely wretched in this heat, the incessant light only adding to his irritation. He would have been content to observe from the shadows, eagerly watching the Warrior inevitably triumph over all obstacles that stood barring their way. But their sudden bout of melancholy had led them away from their little nagging group, guiding them to the cliffs overlooking the small rundown town. It was an opportunity just too enticing for his traitorous heart to ignore.
He peered down the cliff side, observing the little shapes of people milling about. He noted languidly quite a few huddled around a lone Talos, no doubt fixing what was once broken. There was an air of anticipation caught on the breeze, the scent of hope palpable enough to reach him even up here.
Or perhaps hope just follows them, even in this life.
He cast the Warrior a sidelong look when they didn’t answer his long forgotten question, wondering instead what it was that had brought them away from the town’s excitement. They quirked a sweaty brow, scoffing as they gave him an exaggerated once over.
“I at least have a good excuse, seeing as monsters and sin eaters roam around these sands.” They tapped a gauntleted hand over their chest plate for emphasis. Their tail twitched with amusement, a glint of mischief sparking in their eyes.
“You, on the other hand, look like you got into a fight with that gaudy overcoat and lost, its victorious weight bearing you down more so than usual.”
A bead of sweat dropped down the side of his face, his loathsome body silently agreeing with the Warrior. He gave them a non committal shrug, his smug countenance lessening just a touch. “One must keep up appearances.”
They hummed in response, maintaining their gaze on him. Another bead of sweat ran down his brow, a gloved hand instinctively catching it before it could fall into his eyes. The Warrior tracked the movement, curiousity blooming in those crimson eyes.
Their feet shuffled them closer, pausing about an arms breadth away. He made no move to stop them when they reached for one of his hands, holding perfectly still when they peeled his glove away. His breath caught as they took off a gauntlet, tentatively holding his now bare hand with their own.
It was just a touch smaller than his, rich brown skin full of scars and calluses, strong and assured. Emet-Selch found it all too familiar, painfully so. Involuntarily, his thumb brushed against their scales, a glaring reminder of who this was not. He searched his heart to find that long held disgust, dissatisfied when he was met instead with crushing loneliness. All too soon, that same doubt crept once again into his mind, unsure about his plans, his duty.
“They’re softer than I would have thought.”
It took him a few seconds to realize that the quiet statement was about his hands, so entranced was he by their contact. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady, “it’s not my real body.”
A gentle reminder to himself and the Warrior about the parts they had to play.
His eyes flit to their face, reading undisguised pity and sadness in their expression. His fingers tensed just slightly, mildly insulted that they would look at him with such emotions. They opened their mouth to say something, only to be cut off by someone calling their name.
He gently pried his hand away, going so far to take a step back, but chose not to leave just yet. Light, hurried steps rushed to meet them, words tumbling out in a similar pace, “Urianger wanted me to let you know that the Talos is-oh!”
The little Oracle stopped in her tracks upon seeing him, confusion writ plainly on her face. He gives her a condescending smirk, reveling in her discomfort. She glances at the Warrior for answers, struggling to find the right question to ask.
With a deep exhale, the Warrior blows at their sweaty bangs, kicking up dust as they walk away from him, giving the little Oracle nonsensical assurances as they pass by. He watches their progress until they become obscured by the rocks and boulders on the path, feeling that little ache creep into his chest once again.
“Ummm…”
Annoyed, his eyes flick back towards his unwanted intruder, astonished that she had still lingered. He dips his head slightly, anticipating her next words. Her uncanny blue eyes flit downwards nervously, a tiny flash of white teeth showing as she worried her bottom lip.
“You’re missing one of your gloves…”
Genuine surprise lifts his brows just a little, his focus shifting to his bare hand. He looks back down to the town, searching for a figure garbed in that coveted color of night, still remembering the touch of their hand on his own.
“So it would seem.”