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Chapter Text

The castle is beautiful. It’s lit up and bright and the carpet is soft on your feet not-feet. There’s nothing in the sky. When you look out of the window, you see green and green and green. It’s beautiful. It’s far more verdant than snowy Salamand. 

And the voices that you hear aren’t bad to listen to, either. Nothing of yelling. Excited cheers, warm greetings, bubbling from left to right as they pass you. When you turn, there’s nobody there. The castle is worth it, you think. To be in a castle is something out of a dream! 

Out of a dream. Hm. You look at your hands not-hands and as soon as you realize this is a dream you wake up to stare at the ceiling of your room. 

Great. You’re not some royal in a castle, letting servants dote over you like you’ve always wanted. Unfortunately, you’ve always had to work for yourself. Fynn is so far south that their reach doesn’t extend up here - and Salamand is a fine enough place, anyway - but because Salamand has no royal family nor castle to call its own it means your dreams of being in a castle are nothing but dreams. 

To get to the closest castle, you think you might have to go to Palamecia. Not only is it a desert, but it’s a desert where if outsiders are found they’re left to waste away in the sands. It’s not bad, but you know you’d die from the heat or something. Above that is Kashuan, but that’s so far away… Visiting Fynn might be attainable in your life, were it not for the work you must do. 

Work. What a droll. You’ll have to get up and dress warmly and ignore all the fanciful dreams you’ve been having lately about castles and knights and whatnot. You have to shovel the streets of Salamand (a job for those who are fit and able - while there are many of you, this task does take some time. Thankfully, the monotony makes it move quicker) for walkways, then go to the bakery to deliver all of the food to the elderly that can’t handle the cold. They should move away, but it would be difficult for the elderly to do anything but sit and give you tips for your service. 

It’s a fine job. You earn good money doing it. It’s not the worst thing you could be doing. You don’t know why you have to shovel when the snow just piles higher later in the day, but it does help your shoes not turn mucky and gross with all the melted snow getting on them. So, the first part of your day is spent shoveling. Most early-risers have already gotten to the sidewalk and shoveled the snow away. Of course, you don’t complain - it means you can get the rest of your day over with sooner. 

The bakery smells nice. A few regulars are sitting together at the lone table near the corner, speaking over pastries and drinks that they must have bought at the store over (the store you work at only sells an herbal tea that is meant to warm the body - it tastes like feet, and so nobody drinks it). Your boss is sectioning off dough for the loaves. 

“Good morning,” you call, noticing your basket on the counter full of wrapped goods and a list of addresses. “Do you need anything?” 

“Nope,” your boss calls. “I’ve got it. Thanks.” 

“I’ll be back.” Looping the basket around your arm, you pick the hefty thing up and begin to carry your list out and away. So many people who don’t want to brave the cold outdoors - you don’t blame them! 

Deliveries take a long while - sometimes they’ll extend into the late afternoon. It means that you’re going to be traipsing around snowy Salamand because everyone else just pays someone else to deliver them their daily bread. Generally you get better tips. Generally. The innkeeper usually gets two loaves of bread. There’s an elderly couple down the street that pays you good when you deliver their bread. A few alleys down, you have fun cooing at the variety of animals in one patron’s home. Once your basket is empty and your pockets are full, you return to the bakery. 

It’s warm. It’s nice. Your boss likes to hum and he’s good enough at humming that you don’t mind. You help cut up dough and prep for pastries tomorrow. 

“How’s you?” 

“I’m fine,” you answer. And it’s the truth. 

Your boss tilts his head. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Dreams good?” 

Right. The dreams you’ve been having have only increased in amount. There’s some horrible rumor that your dreams are the lives of your soulmate, but that’s total chocobo-dung! Soulmates don’t exist, and your soulmate would certainly not be in a castle.

“Yeah,” you answer. “They’re the usual.” 

“If you need help, you know you can come to me.” That’s all your boss says before he carries a tray away to put up. 

You know you can go to your boss. You could go to any one of your friends and they would help you. Hell, if you told them that you wanted to go to some prissy castle, the entirety of Salamand would probably find a way to scrape up the funds for you to go. For now? Paying for your food and house and clothing is more important than those flights of fancy. 

But in your dreams, you are in a castle. You’re dressed up - you can feel itchy material against your legs, even if you can’t see it. This time, it feels like you’re conscious. Lucid dreaming, right? You can’t recall the term. 

The ballroom is bright, candelabras giving off ample light to even the corners of the hall. People are dancing. It smells like good food. Someone is carrying wine around, but if you look too hard you can see the fuzziness of the dancers and the people and everything. Best to pretend nothing is wrong. You meander around the edges of the ballroom until you come across the set of regal-looking double doors. When you open them, they come to a garden. 

Someone is sitting at the fountain. Either your dream guides you or your body does. The figure is meek and short and wholly uninteresting - but his eyes are wide when he looks up at you. 

“I know you,” he murmurs. “You’re my soulmate.” 

“Soulmates aren’t real,” you reply from your voice. It’s not your own. Maybe it is. The stars buzz. He stares at you. He stares and stares. It makes you nervous. He is real. He knows you, but you cannot place a name to him. 

He stands. “You are. I know you. I’ve been in your dreams before. You live in Salamand,” he says. “My name is Gordon. I’m the second Prince of Kashuan. I- gods, it’s been months. I can’t remember everything I practiced I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so-” 

“-wait, slow down,” you warn but light pours out of your mouth and your hands grow twisted and gnarled until you stare at your not-hands, but the ceiling and the sun in your window. 

Gordon. The second Prince of Kashuan. You didn’t even know there were two. Getting up, you find your notebook and begin to scrawl down that information. Gordon. The second Prince of Kashuan. Ballroom. Castle. It’s not much to go off of, but if you keep having those dreams you might have a lead to meet your hypothetical soulmate. 

That is, if your dream wasn’t lying to you. Maybe it’s some sort of twisted escape where you’re some noble royal who wears things like pantsuits and tiny shoes and whatever those royal people do, like play sports for leisure. It’s too cold to do that in Salamand! But you have a job to do, and you aren’t going to be whisked away to Kashuan Castle anytime soon. Money is important. You need to mend your shoes soon before winter really sets in… hopefully the cobbler will be free to help you once your work is done. 

Your boss is working when you enter the bakery, as per usual. It smells like raspberries - they must have come by today, but the pastries are all sold out. There’s a single blueberry danish left - as much as you’d like something sweet, your boss complains when you eat the food for the customers.

“Good morning,” you call. “Need my help?” 

“Nope. It’s ready for you.” Your boss doesn’t look up from his work. You pick up the basket and the list, saying your goodbyes before being on your merry way. Maybe you’ll come back and get a pastry… fingers crossed! 

Even if you do get a pastry (some sort of raspberry concoction that doesn’t taste like raspberries in the slightest), the only highlight of the day is your dream. You’re back in Kashuan Castle with Gordon. He’s got this goofy getup that seems like it’d make him warm, but he’s shivering under it. 

The castle. It’s in some sort of study. The books smell like bread. Gordon smells like sleep. He’s sitting quietly and sitting quietly and looking at you once you finally situate yourself in the dream. 

“I fell asleep here,” Gordon mumbles. “I think I’m figuring out how this works. Sometimes I’m with you and sometimes you’re with me. We have to be asleep at the same time.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say from your not-real voice but your real voice, apparently. You’re audible to Gordon. 

He’s fidgeting. “You live in Salamand. Tell me more about you. I need to know more about my soulmate.” 

“Soulmates aren’t real,” you argue. “They’re some made-up fantasy. You’re just a part of my subconscious and you’re manifesting as an ideal escape from Salamand. I don’t mind it there.” 

“It’s because we’re soulmates!” Gordon raises his voice and the books scream in protest. He flinches, but you can’t understand why. Nothing happened. “You happened to be paired with me. I’m sorry. I’m not a very good man, but my family is rich. We’ll be well-off… and I’m sure you’d like it.” 

“Soulmates aren’t real,” you say again. You wish you could say something else, but your mouth doesn’t let you. The books smell urgent. “Prince Gordon. I don’t know what you want.” 

“I love you,” he confesses. “I’ve loved you for years. Even though we’ve never met besides in these dreams. I love you so, so much. Please don’t leave me here. Ah- damn it,” he swears, and the books scream again and the candles buzz and you can’t bear to look at Gordon anymore because you are awake. 

What the hell? Light streams through the window. What the hell? 

Before you get dressed, you write Library? down on the paper you’ve been keeping notes on. It’s probably the worst update thus far. You’ll have to concentrate more on your next dream. 

It happens not that night, but the next night. You’re in a bedroom, sitting on a bed. Gordon’s bed. He’s pacing. He looks uncomfortable. Fire echoes in the lamp.

“What’s a prince got to be worried about?” 

“My exams are tomorrow,” Gordon mutters, hardly paying attention to the fact it’s you (you know, the person he professed his love to just two nights ago?) he’s talking to. “I can’t disappoint my family again. I can’t. Scott has everything. He has the swordsman skills and the magic and the charisma I lack. I will be nothing but a failsafe son.” 

“You’re still a prince, aren’t you?” you ask. That’s not what you want to ask. 

Gordon looks up. Fire burns brighter in the lamp. “You don’t know me, my love. I want to give you the world… but I can’t. I am sorry.” 

“Just… be better,” you manage to say, working around your mouth. Why the hell did you say that? You try to will yourself to wake up, wake up, wake up, WAKE UP, but it doesn’t work. Gordon stares and stares. It seems he is the master of these dreams. 

“You won’t understand,” Gordon whispers. “You will never understand. I’m a coward, a horrible son, an even worse brother. I am stupid and I am weak. Kashuan would be better off if I left… I’ll go to Salamand to be with you, my love. We’ll spend the rest of our days together happily.” 

And throw away a life of luxury? Sure, your life isn’t bad - but if you could just have some time to be lazy, you’d rather that than shoveling snow all goddamn morning! “Gordon, you are stupid. How could you even insinuate that? People would kill to have even a fraction of your power. Kashuan is the oldest country in the world! You have that power,” you argue. “If you came to Salamand, I’d laugh at your stupidity.” 

Gordon stares and stares. His eyes grow wider and smaller and he’s shrinking in on himself and sizing up on you. It’s terrifying. You try to say something, but no words come out wake up wake up please wake up please please please. “I could do your job. We would be happy together, my love.” 

“And it’s not like your job is harder,” you manage to say but that’s not what you want to say at all, not like that, not like this. “I could do it, easy.” No, no, wake up wake up wake up

He tilts his head. “Yes. You might. I’ll do your job, then. You’ll do mine. You agree, yes?” 

“Yes,” but you don’t and you don’t want this, but Gordon moves closer and closer and he’s sickeningly scary stop stop stop stop stop- 

-it stops. You wake up. 

This isn’t your bed. This is the bed you were sitting on seconds prior. You freeze, looking at your hands. Once you manage to look at a body part of your own, that’s when your dreams tend to fade. This time? A frail hand, too stubby and too elegant to be your own enters your vision. 

Shit. 

You look down. Shit, you think again, because this isn’t your body. You are Prince Gordon of Kashuan, and you are three seconds away from screaming. 

“Aaaauhgh,” is the noise you make, muffled once you bite your (his?) mouth. Blood wells up in your (his???) cheek, but at least you have not disturbed anyone. 

When you look down at yourself, you snicker. You’ve never been in someone’s body before. Might as well-

-but there’s a knock on your door and the door opens before you can do anything that this humble-looking servant would find uncomfortable. “Good morning, my Prince!” He bows and you can already tell he’s going to be exhausting to deal with. “Are you ready for the day?” 

“I can’t say that I am,” you murmur. You don’t even know this servant’s name! 

Said servant laughs. “You haven’t been looking forward to today, have you? You will complete your written exams first - then, you will have lunch, and then your fencing test will commence. Scott has already expressed his excitement to see how much you have learned.” 

FENCING? You don’t know ANYTHING about fencing! “I-I see,” you manage, wondering if that’s a Gordon-like thing to say. 

“Are you cold, my Prince?” asks the already-overbearing servant. “It has begun to get chillier. We can plan a day to go to the shops to purchase new items for your wardrobe, if you’d like.” 

“I’m okay,” you murmur. You’re not okay. “I am nervous for my tests.” 

“Maths is first. You’ll be happy to know that, yes? Now up you go, Prince Gordon!” 

You pray to whatever higher-power up there that Gordon won’t suffer for your horrible mathematics skills. Or language skills. Or science skills. Or your nonexistent fencing skills, for that matter! Damn it all! 

The servant helps to dress you, which is stupid because it’s putting on shirts and pants and a headband and socks and stuff. You’re warm, which is probably the point. 

“Breakfast today is fresh fish caught from the sea,” the servant says. “I’ll prepare you some tea. What blend would you like today, my Prince?” 

YOU DON’T KNOW! There’s only one tea you drink on the regular and it’s so disgusting you don’t think Kashuan would even let Gordon drink it. “Surprise me,” you reply, and the servant’s eyes go a little wide before he bows. 

“Of course. Scott will be waiting for you to join him to break your fast.” The servant bows and scurries away and you still don’t know where the bathroom is. It would have been embarrassing to ask that, so you suppose you’ll just have to look around… 

The castle is like it is in your dreams: gray with lots of windows to let in lots of light. It’s chilly, even with the extra clothes you are wearing. There are lots of steps, and once you go down the steps there are several hallways to choose from. You pick the center one and walk to find a door… which has a guest room, but not a bathroom. And you walk for a little longer and this time you do find a bathroom, thankfully, and the toilet is the most expensive-looking toilet you’ve ever seen in your life. 

Who would want to give up a life of luxury for working? Not you! Even this toilet costs more than your house in Salamand!

When you look in the mirror, you see Gordon. Your supposed soulmate. You suppose it might be true if you’re acting as him. You look sick. The bandanna around your hair does little to keep it in place, so you fix it and think it looks stupid so you put it back. The mishmash of colors is an eyesore, but at least you’re warm. The dead stare that looks back at you frightens you more than anything else. Gordon looks exhausted. 

You’ll be sure to treat his body well today. If nothing else, you hope you can get him to bed safe and sound and comfortable. Once you use the very expensive bathroom, that is.

Finding the dining room isn’t much trouble because it is very big and there are two more entrances to it you could have utilized should you become lost. No sign of any parents in here - but you notice a blonde that looks literally perfect and you realize that’s his brother. 

Shit. If the servant hasn’t noticed something is up, Gordon’s brother definitely will! He sits down where there is food but no person to sit. It’s right across from his brother. 

“Good morning, Gordon,” Prince Scott of Kashuan greets. He hasn’t touched his food yet. “Are you alright? You look cold.” 

You’re warm in his clothes. They smell nice. “Nervous,” you say instead, wondering if that’s what Gordon would say too. 

Scott chuckles. “Shall we pray? I’ll lead today.” He extends his hands across the table. You grasp them with Gordon’s sweaty palms - if he notices, he says nothing. 

“Thank you for this meal,” he begins. “May our food be blessed, and may Gordon pass his exams, and may Mother and Father’s public speaking go well.”

A pause. You don’t know what to say. 

“Do you have anything else, Brother?” 

No, you don’t! “May our day be a good one,” you mumble. 

Scott lets go of you. “Are you sick? You look positively terrible, Gordon.” 

Before you can respond, two maids come out of one of the doors with a cart. There is a regal-looking teapot and two teacups on it. 

“Kashuanian Forest Blend,” one of the maids says, while the other gets to setting up the tea for the two of you. It’s green, which you expected from the name. It looks unassuming enough. 

“Thank you.” It’s the right thing to say, isn’t it? The maids blush bright when you say those two little words, and hurry off once their job is completed. 

Right… Scott is already eating, so you suppose you might as well. Those prissy royal folks have manners, so you do your best to mimic your posture with Scott’s: sit up straight, no elbows on the table, eating with your knife and fork even if just the fork would be easier to cut the fish with. It’s the best fish you’ve ever had - which isn’t saying much because fish is hard to come by in Salamand. The city runs on game and bread and that’s pretty much it. Fruits and vegetables are insanely expensive, even if they are a necessity. 

It’s the tastiest thing you’ve eaten. Is Gordon living your life? He must be disappointed by your lack of options when eating breakfast. 

“Gordon, you’re more talkative than this,” Scott reminds you that you have to keep up that charade. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You’ve studied plenty for your exams - I have faith you’ll pass them.” 

That only makes you nervous. How does he know you’ll pass Gordon’s exams? You’re not him! Isn’t he a damned adult? Why is he still being SCHOOLED? This is horrible, this is awful, this is the worst day ever but breakfast is delicious at the very least but you don’t like this interrogation. 

“I know. Your advice is reassuring.” Is that a Gordon-like thing to say? Scott seems to slouch a little… maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. You take another bite of your meal. 

Scott doesn’t respond for a moment. Then, another. Then another long, long moment. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, brother.” You take another bite and hope he won’t say another word. You’ll get through this day. Gordon can blame it on malaise tomorrow. If he’s messing up YOUR life, that’s what you’ll blame it on! 

“Adamantoise.” 

What. You glance up, but Scott is staring very seriously at you. What does he mean? Isn’t that some sort of turtle? Is this an insult? 

“Adamantoise,” he repeats again like you didn’t hear him the first time (you did). “Gordon. Do you not remember?” 

“I-I,” you manage, feeling less and less like yourself. “I don’t know.” 

Scott doesn’t move from his seat. He places an elbow on the table, only to reach out for one of your hands. “If you don’t remember what I mean, there is something wrong with you. Tell me. It will stay between us: this, I swear.” 

Are you really so bad at acting like Gordon you’re sussed out immediately? You reach forward to give Gordon’s brother some semblance of solace. “You will not believe me,” you say. 

“I swear on the Sunfire, Gordon,” Scott replies. “What secrets you may harbor will always stay with me and me only.” 

“I’m not Gordon.” 

Scott lets go of your hand, and instead has the damned nerve to look surprised. “Explain.” 

“I’m not Gordon,” you repeat, setting down your utensils. “I’m… what he claims to be his ‘soulmate.’ I hail from Salamand.” 

Instead of reassuring you, Scott pales and claps a hand over his mouth. He leans back and then forward, then back and forward again before removing his hand. “You are? You are not Gordon?” 

You quietly inform him of your real name. “I work at a bakery in Salamand. I’ve been having these strange dreams with Prince Gordon in them… and now I suppose I am him.” 

“You’re the soulmate he has spoken of before,” Scott replies instantly. He seems to be more accepting of it than you imagined. “I had thought his failing grades were due to his laziness - but no! What he spoke of you is true. You are from Salamand! You are his soulmate!” 

“My princes.” 

The two of you stop when a maid peeks her head out of the kitchen door. “Do you need more tea?” 

“No,” Scott answers for the two of you. “This blend is lovely. Thank you.”

The blushing maid returns behind the door. Prince Scott speaks quieter this time, leaning over his breakfast to speak to you. “This is wonderful news. I will have to speak more with Gordon - the true Gordon - on this matter. For now, let us dine.” 

Prince Scott is nice. He’s kind and charismatic and kinder than any man you’ve ever met. Maybe he’s playing it up because you’re some humble villager in his eyes, even if you’re utilizing Gordon’s body instead of your own. You can only hope that Gordon is managing well in your body - that is, if he’s managing your body at all. You’ll do whatever Scott tells you to do and you’ll do it as best as you can and hope Gordon doesn’t suffer the repercussions of that. 

Once breakfast is finished, Scott stands and beckons you to follow. 

“Your teacher is in the study,” Scott explains. “I’ll take you there. Do your best, okay? Gordon… has never excelled in his schooling.” It’s a nice way to say he’s stupid. Ouch. “Not for many of the subjects you’ll be tested on today. Have you ever gone to school?” 

“Of course I have,” you hiss. It’s been a good handful of years since you remember toddling around the schoolyard, but you’ve learned a lot from those days! Like how you never want to work with airships because you think you’ll die. “I’ll do my best but don’t blame me if those grades are bad.” 

“I have a plan,” Scott promises. “Let’s hurry.” 

The study is the same like in your dreams but cleaner than that. A woman is pacing back-and-forth. There are sheets on a clean desk, as well as the fanciest-looking pen you’ve ever seen. “You’re late, Prince Gordon.” 

“It was my fault,” Scott apologizes. “He’s nervous. He doesn’t want to fail you, ma’am.” 

You’ve never seen this woman in your life, but at least she takes to Scott’s words well. “Sit down, Gordon. We should begin soon if you would like to finish by lunch.” 

The squeeze on your shoulder is not reassuring. “Good luck, Gordon.” Nor are Prince Scott’s words as your (Gordon’s) teacher shuts the door and ushers you to sit. 

“Mathematics, first. I won’t be able to help you with any questions.” She takes one packet of paper from the pile, setting it down in front of you. If you pick up the pen, you will break it if you attempt to write with it. It looks so delicate, and even if Gordon can handle this with ease your hands are not gentle enough to hold a pen so elegant! It looks like it is as expensive as the toilet you used this morning. Possibly even more expensive… 

The first question is a damned word problem. If a rectangular prism is filled with water, what will be the volume inside if one spherical object is added? There aren’t any numbers, either! That’s not helpful in the slightest! You take a deep breath, pick up the pen, and begin to bullshit your way through the test.

It's pretty easy when you're having fun with the answers. Gordon will not get a good score, but that's not your problem. You finish the test in what is probably record time because the teacher sounds impressed as she takes it from you. "Language Arts is next. Your test will be to report on a topic of your choosing. Please do not choose the history of the Toad spell again."

The packet is nothing but binded paper with guiding lines for Gordon's scrawl. It's not your own handwriting, but even still you notice when you're in control instead of simply controlling his body. You'll write about the process of bread-making in Salamand. It's actually tough because it's so cold, and the loaves always come out a little strange on the bottom because the only way they're cooked through is if they're placed on a brick surface. It's mind-numbing and boring but you don't know what Gordon would choose to write about so you'll do your best with something you know! 

You write and write and write. The teacher allows you a bathroom break before you continue to write. You get to the last page and have to write tiny to fit all you want to say in your paper. 

"I'm finished." 

"You finished?" your teacher asks in disbelief, plucking the packet. "The Processes of Bread-Making in Salamand?" 

"I read a book on it," you lie. "It was interesting. You might find it interesting, too." 

She looks increasingly suspicious but slides over the final packet. "Science. You'll be finished once you're done with this." 

Geez, Science… you don't remember a whole lot from science because most animals are hard to study and plants are boring. You don't know what a Hill Gigas is, but you just begin to bullshit your answers like last time. Your teacher will be supremely pissed with Gordon, but he can lie tomorrow because you don't want to think of a story he could say. 

That is, if you're back in your respective bodies tomorrow. 

You pray he's not fucking up your own body. Your boss will understand if you don't go into work for one day (and he'd probably believe you that you swapped bodies with your soulmate - romance-chaser that he is). But if Gordon is terrorizing people out in the streets there will be a serious problem. If you're here for longer than a day you don't know if you would still have your job! Please, don't ruin my life…

"You're finished?" Your teacher asks once you are finished. 

"Yes, ma'am." You hand the last packet to her. 

She smiles. "Thank you, Gordon. I must say: your results are seeming to be positive from what I have graded." 

Oh. Your bullshitting was the right thing to do? Not knowing what else to say, you duck your head. "Um, excuse me…" 

"Yes, yes, go meet your brother." She huffs and waves you off. With that permission granted, you leave and take a deep breath and exhale and go to the bathroom. Why does Gordon need to use the restroom all the time? It's getting annoying. 

Okay. It's fine. You've gotten through the first part of the day. Once you find Prince Scott, he'll give you more information for what you might do. You go back up the stairs to Gordon's room, hoping it was the right path. It looks familiar enough. 

There are books on a shelving unit. Plays and encyclopedias and a fiction book that details The Hero of the Magi. You don't know who that is, but once you pull it out you see a giant tower with a serpent in the back. Okay, then.

Gordon's clothes are the most expensive material you have ever touched. His closet is full of mishmashing, garish colors. A red scarf. A blue scarf. A green tunic with white polka dots. Lots of yellow and yellow shades. A nice-looking tunic that must be for fancy dinners and stuff. You hope you won't have to deal with Gordon's wardrobe - you might think you look nice, but what would his family say? 

There's a notebook in the drawer of the desk. When you open it, you find a page dedicated to you. The handwriting is familiar. It's Gordon. 

I have heard stories of a strange phenomenon. Within, the souls of soulmates will switch bodies. Scott believes this to be true. Should this happen, this journal will be a failsafe for my soulmate lest you are confused. 

My name is Gordon. I am the second Prince of Kashuan. Prince Scott is the royal son, and he is planning to wed Princess Hilda of Fynn. Be kind to her! Be kind to EVERYONE! If you are rude I cannot make amends. I beg of you. 

I am sick often. Please dress warmly if you plan to venture outside. Do not shy away from physical touch. Even if there is no fever, I am afflicted with malaise often enough that if you pretend you will be able to get out of most anything. 

When you flip the page, you notice things about yourself. Your name, the city you live in, the job you work at. Likes. Dislikes. Nothing you know about Gordon. He must have been having dreams with you in them for months. You feel bad that you didn't leave him a letter to read, but he seems to know what he must do to live your life. 

"There you are. Gordy." 

You flinch and whirl around, feeling embarrassed. Sure, you weren't snooping but you totally were! Prince Scott smiles at you. "You look a lot better now that those tests are over." 

"I tried my best," you reply, and it's the truth. Scott comes to hug your body and you lean against him. It's the nicest hug you've received in a while. 

"Adamantoise."

"I don't know what you mean."

Scott chuckles. "Just a code word between me and my brother. He'd respond with something else. I think it's an easy way to check if it's my brother or you in that body."

"You seem to have it planned out." 

"I've been thinking about it," he answers easily enough. "Lunch is soon. Princess Hilda is waiting in the parlor for me, but take as long as you need. After lunch, we'll fence." 

"I can't fence."

"Mother and Father will be there to watch us." Scott gently lets go of you. "I wanted to help you claim sickness, but that's not possible when they're there. They'll think I'm standing up for you." 

"I don't know how to fence," you argue. "I don't know what to do!" 

"You'll pick it up," Scott promises. "I have to go. See you soon, Gordy." Just like that, he leaves. Damn it! YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO FENCE! Once you lose you will find a way to apologize to Gordon. He deserves to know what you've done all day. 

For now… for now, what should you do? It seems Scott has managed to give you a bit of grace. You are hungry, but the book might be more important. Flipping through the rest of the pages yields no fruitful responses to help you in these situations. You take a deep breath and exhale and do that a few times. Just get through it. Fake sickness if you have to. With nothing else to do or say, you walk down the stairs and down the hallway to see the dining table much livelier than this morning. 

There are people you recognize that must be Gordon’s parents. They’re speaking to one another while Scott and a fair maiden - Princess Hilda, if you were to guess - laugh about something-or-other. 

“Gordon,” his father greets with a smile. “I haven’t seen you all day. How are you?” 

“I’m okay.” That’s the truth. That’s probably not what Gordon would say. Both his mother and father and Princess Hilda stare at you as you sit down at the empty seat across from Scott. There are many types of food laid out for you to eat, but you don’t have an appetite. 

Gordon’s mother turns to him. “How was your testing?” 

“I don’t think I did well,” you reply. “I was nervous through it.” You weren’t. Gordon will pay the price for your bad grades tomorrow. 

Scott interrupts. “Gordon was beside himself this morning. But I think being nervous simply shows that you care.” 

“It’s admirable,” Princess Hilda agrees. Do all royals have to comment on every little thing? You notice others eating, and so you pick up your fork to eat the rice in your bowl. Eating around others makes you stupendously nervous. Gordon must have been trained in high society and etiquette, but you’re lucky that you don’t kick your feet up when you eat! 

Conversation settles into menial things you don’t care about like the Sunfire, which is some cool thing from Kashuan you read about in a textbook once, and some soiree in a few nights you pay little attention to. Scott keeps kicking you under the table, but you don’t kick back because you’ll cause a scene. Princess Hilda is giggling at the things Scott says, and Gordon’s parents are conversing about… something. It’s the most family you’ve been around in a while. It’s exhausting. 

“Perhaps we’ll invite your soulmate, Gordon. You’ve been having those dreams lately, haven’t you?” 

SHIT. You almost curse, but you manage to hold your fork and swallow your bite calmly. “Yes?” 

They’re all staring at you. It’s nerve wracking. What is this families’ importance on A SOULMATE? They’ve never even met you! 

“Your soulmate is from Salamand, yes?” Gordon’s father asks. “We could easily extend an invitation if you know the name of your loved one.” 

“Um,” your response is as elegant as Gordon’s might be: which is to say not very. “I…” 

“You’ve found your soulmate?” Princess Hilda whispers. “What are they like?” 

Not rich, you think, and definitely shouldn’t be around royal folks. “A hard worker,” you manage to say because if you don’t respond they’ll think something is wrong. (Something is wrong). “In my dreams… All I see is the happiness she has when working.” 

“That’s wonderful, Gordon,” his mother says with a smile. “Not of royal blood, then?” 

“N-no.” You manage to shrink down further. 

“That’s alright, isn’t it?” Gordon’s father says. “Just because they are not of royal blood does not mean we will love your soulmate any less. Your kin may not be able to open the Kashuan Keep, but if Scott and Hilda’s wedding proves fruitful…” 

“You’re embarrassing me,” Scott says but there’s not a hint of embarrassment on him. Hilda is blushing red like the tomatoes in the salad. He continues, “Gordon looks like he’s going to faint.” And then you feel another kick to your shin. Damn it… 

The table erupts into laughter. “Teased you too much, have we?” Gordon’s father places a hand on his back. “Your soulmate will be lucky to have met you. I’ll even arrange a visit with Cid, see if he can make it in time for the soiree.” 

“Yes, Father.” That seems to be the appropriate response.

Princess Hilda leans over the table. “You’ve been practicing your lute, haven’t you? Later tonight, you should play it for us.” 

YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO PLAY THE LUTE, EITHER! Before you can scream, Prince Scott eyes the two of you and grins. “That’s a great idea, Hilda. Gordon’s been practicing day-and-night for weeks. To hear his improvement now would be nice.” 

“After your fencing,” Gordon’s father suggests. “Your mother and I would like to hear it, as well.” 

With nothing else to say, you finally reciprocate what Scott has been doing all this time. With the edge of your boot, you kick him as hard as you can. He winces a little, but shows no other sign on his face. 

At least it’s some semblance of payback. 

Fencing is next. You’ve never fenced in your life. You don’t know the first thing about fencing, but you and Scott leave the table early to go prepare. 

“You don’t know how to fence,” Scott says, after you’ve told him for the millionth time. 

“Yes!” you exclaim. “I don’t know how to fence, and I am going to be making a fool out of myself.” 

“Just match what I do,” Scott replies. “I’ll even let you win. Just match my movements.” 

There is a sword involved, and it is quite pointy when you poke it. You’re forced into this weird uniform that makes you pull your (Gordon’s) hair back and it’s the most uncomfortable you have been all day which is saying something because you’ve been in a totally foreign body all day. 

“How does it feel to be in his body?” 

“I don’t know,” you wail. “I just want to go home. I’m tired of being a Prince.” 

Scott sits down on the bench in the room, patting the seat next to him. With nothing else to do, you sit down next to him. 

“Look,” he says, very seriously. “I don’t know how long you’ll be in his body. I’m trying to help you as best as I can. Just work with me, okay? Work with me.” 

“I’m trying, but it’s difficult when I don’t know anything about being a prissy damned royal!” you exclaim. “I don’t know anything about Kashuan. I don’t know anything about Gordon. I don’t know anything, and it’s frustrating because I’m expected to know all of these things. I don’t.” 

If Scott has a smarmy reply, he doesn’t say anything for a long while. But he does act. 

SLAP!

Pain blooms across your cheek, and you wail this time as it moves inward. How can he have such a strong hand? Before you know it, you’re sobbing into your hands. Princess Hilda is here too - damn it, when did she come in? 

“Gordon?” 

You can’t stop crying. Why can’t you stop? There are some voices you hear to the side, but Scott is the only one you focus on. “He’s beside himself. It’s just fencing, Gordon.” 

YOU HIT ME. What kind of bastard hits his own brother? 

“I remember when I was nervous, too! It’s even worse that people will be watching,” Princess Hilda coos. “Come with me, Gordon, I’ll fetch some water with you.” 

“Actually, my Princess - why don’t you help me warm up? I think Gordon wants to be alone.” 

Oh. So it was a method for you to escape and calm down before you went to ruin Gordon’s life again. Standing up, you scurry away and try to hide your blotchy face from others as you make it to the bathroom.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. You tell yourself that as you rinse your face. Calm down. You’ll have to apologize to Gordon. Being a royal is exhausting. Keeping up with your studies and fencing when all you have in Salamand weapons-wise is axes for wood and bows for huntin’ game and etiquette and everything sucks. Prince Scott is more perfect than Gordon. More perfect than you’ll ever pretend to be. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to yourself. Gordon looks back in the mirror, splotchy and red and snotty. You hope Gordon isn’t ruining your body. Maybe he is. Maybe you’ll be out of a job, but unless you commit a crime or something Prince Gordon will always be Prince Gordon.

“Okay. Fencing.” It’s not that hard. Just swing a sword around and block all of the attacks. Scott says he wanted to warm up, right? You can do some jumping jacks and squats to get your body moving. 

Gordon has never worked out in his life because you’re exhausted by the first rep of squats you do. Ugh. Of course he wouldn’t, he’s got a damned silver spoon in his mouth while you go around town hauling baskets of bread with ease! Damn it all! 

It takes some wandering, but you eventually return to the fencing room. Princess Hilda is there, and Gordon’s parents are talking softly on the bench with her. She’s blushing and talking and they seem to notice you but let you prepare the rest of the way. 

There’s a helmet you have to put on aside from all of the stuff that protects you from the pointy swords. Scott is already standing around, doing stupid stuff with his sword that would cost you a limb. Oh, gods - if you mess up so badly that Gordon loses a finger you will never forgive yourself. 

The helmet lessens your vision. It sucks. You can feel your warm breath in it. Through the mesh, you can see Scott stand properly and do your best to mimic him. 

You’ll do your best. You’ll relax and match whatever Scott does and you’ll do your best because your best is what Gordon’s parents want - not to win, not victory, no - that would be an insult to Scott. 

“En garde.” 

You know enough about fencing that you can tell it means begin. 

The first slash you can block. Scott swipes upward but you leap back just in time to avoid getting nicked. You slash and slash again, walking closer and dodge and block this swing and slash and-

Hilda’s voice rings out. “Point to Gordon.” 

Wait. You won? You step back, and Scott does the same. 

“It’s not over yet, Gordy,” Scott calls. That’s good because you might have walked away. Maybe fencing isn’t so bad after all! You take a deep breath and listen to Hilda’s voice call the next match. 

What happens is that you win. Somehow. You blank out and only register winning because Scott pulls you into a sweaty hug. You realize you’re sweating too, managing to drop your sword and pull off your helmet. 

“I knew you could do it,” Scott whispers to you. “You’re not as bad as you think you are.” 

What happened? You can’t remember. You won, yes, but… how? Burying your face into Scott does little to alleviate the nausea that’s overwhelming you. 

There’s a light applause from the audience - Gordon’s parents and Hilda who is smiling ear-to-ear. “Congratulations, Gordon,” she says once you make eye contact with her. “I knew all of that training would come to fruition. All you needed to do was believe-” 

“-I am going to throw up,” you announce, because if you stay here any longer you will vomit on Scott.

Thankfully, you do not vomit. Scott follows you out, gripping the fencing outfit tightly to keep you from leaving. “I don’t know how to fence,” he mocks. “Liar.” 

“I really don’t. I didn’t… do anything,” you mumble. “I wasn’t trying to win. Honestly.” 

“I don’t know whether to be proud of you or not,” says Scott. “Because you aren’t Gordon. You don’t fight like him. You fight like a winner.” 

Is that a compliment? It might be a compliment. “Gordon doesn’t get out much, does he.” The comment makes you dizzy. “I feel nauseated.” 

“Let’s get you out of this and up to bed. Some sleep may do you good. Maybe you’ll be back in your own body before nightfall.” Scott pulls you along, linking his arm with yours. “You’re probably more fun than my brother is.” Even if his comments aren’t needed, focusing on them helps you to not vomit. “You’re putting up a pretty good charade of him.” 

“I hope so.” It’s the least you can do. “I don’t know how to play the lute, so I hope I can get out of that…” 

“I’ll see what I can do. Just pretend to be sick.” The two of you ascend the stairs to Gordon’s room, where Scott helps you peel out of the stuffy fencing uniform to get back in normal clothes. Scott bids you to rest well and leaves you to your own devices. 

Great. You don’t feel tired - and if you fall asleep when he’s not asleep, you don’t know what would happen. How about… you read a book. A book sounds nice. A book sounds simple. You have such little time to read in Salamand - it’ll be good exercise! Picking up that book you saw on the shelf, you snort at the title: The Hero of the Magi? This is going to be dumb, but at least you’re reading. 

It’s a story about some man who wanted to change the world but he got swallowed by a sea serpent by the name of Leviathan. That’s stupid. You finish the book and feel like it’s the dumbest thing you’ve read in a while. Still, it must be one that Gordon likes if it’s on a shelf in his room. 

You could snoop around a little more, but you’re tired. Being a prince is exhausting! A servant comes to check up on you. 

“Prince Gordon? Prince Scott informed me you were feeling unwell… I have medicine, if you would like to take it.” 

Medicine… it might help Gordon in the morning. “I’ll take it,” you agree. The servant enters your room and - with a spoon and some bottle with a foul-smelling liquid - pours the medicine on the spoon and gives it to you. 

It tastes like chocobo feed. You don’t know why you know that - you’ve never tried their food! “Thank you,” you murmur, handing the spoon back. 

“May I take your temperature?” 

“I-I’m fine.” You lean back before he can touch your forehead. “I’m tired, that's all. There’s no need to worry, but thank you.” 

The humble servant bows, walking out of the room and closing the door. 

Good. You’re exhausted. There’s still some time before you go to sleep normally, but Gordon’s body is making you far more tired than you should be. Resting your head against the fluffiest pillows you ever will get to rest upon, you stare up at the ceiling. 

Prince Gordon is your soulmate. He’s in your body - if your hypothesis is to be believed. He must be struggling with your job as you are with his. It’s hard work to be a prince. It’s hard work to be a baker and run around the coldest city in the world. It’s hard work to do things, just in general! 

Laughter carries up the stairs to your room. You don’t feel hungry. Gordon might be hungry in the morning, but he’s got servants at his beck-and-call. You just hope he didn’t leave your body in a horrible state. If you’re dead, that would suck. 

Nobody comes to visit you before the moon shines over the verdant country of Kashuan. All you can see is fields of green and green and green when you look out of his window. It’s a breathtaking sight. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

When you turn around, you see Gordon. Not Gordon. Maybe Gordon. If you look at your hands you might wake up. 

“It’s you,” you manage to say. Your voice doesn’t sound like you nor Gordon. 

He smiles. “I love you. Knowing the hardships of your day-to-day life has given me a newfound appreciation for my own.” 

“Being a prince sucks,” you agree, even if that’s not what he means. Gordon moves forward to sit with you on his bed. He kisses you. 

It’s sweet. His kiss tastes like a blueberry tart, blueberry and mint because he must have brushed your teeth too. 

“I love you,” Gordon whispers, hands ghosting across your real not-real shoulders. “I want to spend eternity with you.” 

He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t. You may never meet him outside of your dreams. “I love you too,” says your mouth, even if you don’t believe it in the slightest. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. Gordon kisses you again and again. From your lips to your cheek to your neck, pulling up the material of your shirt that is Gordon’s, not yours. If you think about that you might wake up. You don’t want to wake up, not now. He kisses you. Again and again and again and again. 

“There is a soiree later to celebrate the founding of Kashuan,” Gordon sits up suddenly, reaching for your wrist to hold it. If you look at your hands you’ll wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Not yet, not yet. “I will try my hardest to extend an invitation to you. Please come. It would make me and my family happy to know I have met my soulmate.” 

“Scott knows,” you reply. Not what you want to reply with. Gordon tilts his head, but nods. 

“Does anyone else know?”

“I don’t think so.” 

“I want to see you. Personally.” Gordon moves closer and closer. “I want my family to envy us,” he whispers. “You are beautiful. Far prettier than Princess Hilda.” That’s a lie. She’s a princess and you’re some humble villager from the middle of nowhere. “They’ll love you. I’ll love you.” 

“Yes,” you murmur, feeling less and less like yourself. The moon howls. A serpent screeches. Don’t look at your hands. Don’t think about it. Don’t. “I love you.” It’s a lie. 

Gordon smiles and kisses you. He tastes like salt. He tastes like saliva. He tastes like a pillow, and you realize you have awoken in the middle of the night in not your bed but Gordon’s. 

When you look at your hand, you realize you are still in Gordon’s body. 

Shit. 

Chapter Text

The first thing you do in the morning is make a checklist in Gordon’s journal. 

Learn to acclimate. Ask Scott more questions. Find yourself and send an invitation. Then… then you’ll figure out what to do from there. Giving yourself an invitation is, by far, the most important thing you can do. A soiree is a party, right? How hard could it be to bring an invitation to Salamand? 

There’s not a lot of time. You know that. A pretty-faced maid enters Gordon’s room. “Good morning, Prince Gordon! It seems you’re up bright and early.” 

“Yes,” you respond, knowing you can’t think of much else. 

“There’s nothing on your schedule today,” explains the maid as she makes you stand up to dress you properly. “Nothing aside from breakfast, of course. You’re free to do as you please. I spoke to your tutor today, and while she isn’t done grading your work I believe you have done a spectacular job.” 

A spectacular job of bullshitting? That’s surprising. “Oh,” you manage to reply. The maid is going through Gordon’s closet, pulling out some articles of clothing that you would personally never wear. You think Gordon looks nice with the weird patterns and tunics, though - not that you’d tell him. Not that you have a way to tell him. 

The first order of business is to get Gordon - your body - an invitation and a way to Kashuan. You think Gordon’s parents might suspect something is up, but… but, it’ll be okay. 

“What kind of tea do you wish to drink today?” 

“Surprise me,” you reply, and the maid seems flustered with that. Well, whatever. They can make what is easiest and it will be one less stressing factor to worry about. 

The dining hall already has… everyone seated. Princess Hilda is regaling her dreams to Prince Scott while your - Gordon’s - parents listen intently. You take your seat. 

“Shall we pray?” Gordon’s mother asks, extending her hands for her husband and Scott to hold. As everyone gets ready to pray, you hold Princess Hilda’s hand as well as Gordon’s father. King Kashuan. The alliteration makes it a little silly to think about. 

Praying is the same as yesterday. The food is some sort of meat you’ve never had before. It doesn’t taste game-y - it tastes good. The vegetables are fresh and gosh you’ve never had such good food before. Scott isn’t looking at you. He’s making conversation with Princess Hilda. 

Right. You have to tell Gordon’s parents about… yourself. 

“I-I saw my soulmate last night. In my dream.” 

That has the entire table silent. Damn it! You just want to get yourself an invitation! Or… er, get Gordon an invitation! 

“You did?” asks Gordon’s mother. “What was she like?” 

“Very kind,” you lie. “And I told her about the soiree. I want to invite… my soulmate,” You can feel Gordon’s cheeks become red and awkward. It should be easy to talk about yourself but it’s not in the slightest. Scott is staring at you. Hilda is staring at you. The eyes on you make you want to shrink down on yourself and crumple to nonexistence. 

“That’s great, my son,” says his father. “We’ll send out a carrier chocobo today, and contact Cid. He’s been such a helpful man, I don’t doubt he will help transport your soulmate here to celebrate the founding of Kashuan.” 

“Yes, Father,” you mumble. “Thank you.” 

Perfect. You have an invitation for Gordon. As long as it gets to him in time, there should be no reason as to why he can’t come and fix this mess. If you’re with your soulmate, maybe you’ll be able to be yourself again. Preferably, in your own body! 

Breakfast continues. Scott makes a comment about going to the city with Hilda. You’re extended an invitation to come, but you shake your head and say you’ll read instead. Being in public when you aren’t Gordon spells disaster. Scott seems to sag in relief when you say that. Once breakfast is over, though, he pulls you aside to the hallway. 

“Adamantoise.” 

“It’s still me,” you murmur. 

Scott exhales. “I’m sorry. I thought falling asleep might reverse it.” 

“I did, too. But I don’t know what to do.” It’s already stressful being in front of royals. It’s even worse when you have to act a certain way and also, somehow get your real body that is being controlled by Gordon to Kashuan as well. 

If Prince Scott of Kashuan has nothing to say, he certainly shows it by throwing you into an awkward half-hug. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll get you back to your body.” 

Like you’ve been any help. Scott is simultaneously a blessing and a curse. He’s helped where you needed it but also where you didn’t… and you don’t want his help. Your body is exhausted. Resting would be nice. 

“Sco- um?” 

Princess Hilda stands in front of both of them, awfully bashful-looking. “I am sorry. I did not know you were speaking to one another.” 

“Gordon didn’t sleep well last night,” Scott explains. “I was just telling him about our plans, should he wake up during our absence.” 

“Ah.” She doesn’t believe it. You can tell. Nevertheless, Hilda backs down. “I shall go prepare myself, then. I hope you feel better, Prince Gordon.” 

“Thank you.” You don’t need her pity. You want your old body and old life back. This is exhausting. Scott lets go of you and allows you to return to your own activities - namely, finding a way to go back to your own body. The library is a safe space for you to research - and who knows, maybe that teacher will give you good boy points for studying… or something. 

The library is big with many books. It’s good - if Castle Kashuan’s library was small that would be laughably pathetic. Even Salamand has a library! Everything is categorized, so you go to S and skim for Soulmate. There’s some book that looks more like a fable, titled Soulmates and What is Known. There’s a picture of two women on the front holding hands and a castle in the distance. Doves fly around them like they’re straight out of some fairytale. Okay, then. 

You flip around, hoping My Soulmate Is In My Body is a chapter title. To your disappointment, there’s nothing like that: there’s dream sharing, mostly, and some sort of physiological phenomena where the closer you are to your soulmate (distance-wise) the more difficult it is to move away from them. That’s stupid. That’s also not possible. It talks about kissing your soulmate a lot. How it’s the best feeling ever apparently right up there with sex. Yeah, right. Soulmates are stupid. The last thing you want to do is be with Gordon once you’re in your body again. 

That’s assuming you even get anywhere near your body again. Maybe kissing yourself will work. It’s worth a shot, and the plan to send out an invitation is already in motion. Sure, it’d be a little weird to kiss yourself but you think if you have to live like this you’d rather not. 

Okay. Add to the plan. Get Gordon to Kashuan. Get Gordon in your body to Kashuan, specifically. Then, kiss him. Maybe even as a greeting. Maybe later in the night if there’s no opportunity to do so. Everything will be okay after that. You’ll need to apologize to a lot of people… who knows what Gordon is doing in Salamand? Probably freezing his (YOUR) toes off! 

It’ll work out. It’ll be fine. So long as you don’t have to make any public appearances in front of Kashuan anytime soon, it should be fine. Hopefully. 

It is fine. That night, you have the most vivid dream thus far. 

A starlit landscape. It’s Salamand. The mountains are in the distance, snowy and intimidating. Past the mountain range is the Snowscape, too inconvenient for anyone except the brave adventurers in Salamand to venture into. The snow is warm, but crunches when you touch it. Gordon is staring up at the sky, eyes drifting this-way and that. 

“I sent out the invitation,” you tell him, laying down next to him. He’s warm. He smells nice. Now that you notice it, it’s comforting. 

Gordon nods, just a little. “I’m trying my best. It’s hard. I want to see you.” 

“We’ll get our bodies back.” You’re not sure of that, but it’s better to be optimistic. “I was reading about it in your library. I think all we’ll have to do is kiss each other.” 

“Ah.” Gordon flushes at that, bright red against the snow. “Kissing you right now won’t be the same.” 

No. It won’t. You’re hoping for some sort of tangible information that might help you. You could ask a lot of questions. Nothing seems to be appropriate. You settle against Gordon and let the stars stare back at you - it’s better than worrying and fretting over yourself. 

"I love you," he whispers. "Your personality. It draws people to you." 

"People are drawn to me because I deliver food to them." You aren't friendly outside of work unless it's required of you. You see enough people as it is. It's exhausting. "Not for my personality."

"Your boss enjoys your work. He says he misses you because I'm no good at cooking. I've never fended for myself." Gordon is whispering. You can hear the cacophony around you. He is loud. “I’m sorry. Being the son of parents who despise you… it also must be hard for you.” 

They don’t despise Gordon… maybe in secret they would wish he was stronger, but there’s nothing you can do about that. “Two years ago, during the Festival of the Flame,” Gordon begins. “I was following Scott to Kashuan Keep. There were these horrible knights that were scouting the area - they waved no banner, but were hostile. I couldn’t even cast a single spell because I was so scared. What kind of brother am I to not at least attempt to protect him?” 

“That was two years ago, Gordon. You’ve grown and matured, haven’t you?” The stars squeal and the snow scrapes as you move to loom over him. He is sticky with snow. He is staring up at you, stars in his eyes. “You’re not weak if you say you aren’t. If you do it right, you won’t be weak.” 

“I love you,” is his breathless reply. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“That’s not-”

Gordon grips the fabric of your top to yank you down. He kisses you, forcing you down onto his frail body. The snow freezes your fingertips and your arms and your feet and everything. He is an angel, hair and clothes strewn and messy but a halo in the night. The pink adorning his face is bright, bright, bright. 

“We will meet. I swear it. I love you.” 

“Stop, I’m not-” Awake. You’re awake, staring out of Gordon’s bedroom window. How many more nights must it be before the soiree? You’re tired of acting like a prince. You’re tired of the servants who think you don’t have autonomy, you’re tired of Gordon’s stupid brother and his girlfriend that’s staying for a while, apparently (you know it’s for the soiree but still) and of course Gordon’s royal parents you need to contend with as well. 

Sunrise may be soon. You need to leave the castle’s interior - if only for a small while. You stand up and dress warmly before venturing out.

Magic, huh. You’re not a spellcaster by any means - mages take lifetimes to master their spells. You remember learning Fire in school, but that was quickly brought out of the curriculum after one too many evacuations. The exit to Kashuan Castle is small, and you’re able to traverse a pretty-looking bridge to the forest. 

You rub your hands together. Motivation, or maybe working up what little residual magic you have left from that time you tried to be a mage (it didn’t work). Fire. Heat, coals, volcanos, dragons… what else is hot? 

Extending your hands, the magic is a pitiful flicker of light before it snuffs out. Okay, then - it seems Gordon isn’t very good at magic after all. That’s okay. You’ll figure out something. 

You end up wandering the forest through the morning. While it’s not easy to get lost - every time you turn around, you see Kashuan Castle - you can hear voices around you as you traverse deeper. Hopefully they haven’t recognized you, and hopefully they’re docile. It’ll be fine. You didn’t bring anything to defend yourself with, but you suppose you have legs for a reason. Gordon will hate you when he has his body back, but you weren’t expecting an extended stay in his! 

“GORDON!” 

Ah. Damn it. Gordon’s body flinches far harder than you would have, but the sound of a chocobo stomping has you frozen. It’s Scott. He looks breathless. 

“Where have you been?” he barks. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

“In the forest.” Evidently. You look at a tree and then back at Scott to prove your point. Why is he so obsessed with keeping you at the castle? It’s ridiculous - Gordon might not be able to fend for himself, but you can! 

Scott glares at you. “Adamantoise.” 

You’re tired of his checking. “The castle is right behind us! I’m not going to die out here!” 

“But Gordon might!” Scott scowls. “You must be more cautious with his body! You may not care for him, but he is my brother. I do not want to see him harmed any more than he must be.” 

“He’s not some weakling!” you exclaim, but everything you know about him points to the contrary. The only time you think he has ever usurped his brother is during your stay in his body… if he’s constantly sick and unwell, that is his fault and not your own. “Gordon is doing fine in my body. He trusts me to do the same to his. And you have no idea what it’s like, so leave me alone!” 

“You’re returning to the castle. Father’s orders. In Kashuan, one cannot disobey a direct order from the King.” Scott’s chocobo moves closer. “Unless you would like to be put to trial. I thought about that last night - if you commit a crime, you will die but I will never receive my brother again. Or, perhaps the soul dies with the owner’s body. I would like to know the answer to that.”

You don’t want to know. You don’t want to find out. You want to go home. Gordon’s bedroom is the only semblance of safety you have. Gripping Scott’s now-outstretched hand, he pulls you onto his chocobo and flees from the forest. 

With all of your might, you hope Gordon will come in time for the soiree. If you stay another day in his body you think you might harm both him and yourself. 

As soon as you are able to, you retreat up the now-familiar corridors to Gordon’s room. A maid calls for your name, but you lock the door and sit on the floor to wallow. 

You want to go home. You hate this. As soon as you kiss Gordon, you’ll leave. Even if Gordon’s family is excited to see the real you, you want nothing to do with Kashuan. Going home to Salamand sounds nice. Hell, maybe you’ll go south to a place like Gatrea - they won’t find you there! You’ll never have to deal with this soulmate nonsense again. 

But… if the dreams continue, you might have to. The soiree is tomorrow night. Preparations have begun far before you have switched bodies, but now the maids and servants constantly knock on your door to ask for input. You have no preference on what color the damned tablecloths are! (but you said blue would look nice with both gold and red - royal-esque colors, you’d imagine.) 

One more night. Two more, if Gordon cannot arrive in time. This world is big, but it cannot take more than two days to fly across one, perhaps two countries to get to Kashuan. 

That night, you sit in Kashuan Forest. Gordon strums a lute. You watch a fire that’s cold to the touch. He smiles to himself. You watch him pluck the instrument’s strings, making a dissonant harmony that sounds nothing like actual music. 

“When are you coming?” you ask. 

Gordon looks up. He is Fire, trained from the very beginning to grow strong. His eyes blaze of Flare. But he’s stomped out by Silence, isn’t he? “Tomorrow night. I promise. I’ll be there, and we’ll kiss and I will wed you.” 

You don’t want a wedding. Not so soon. Not to Gordon. “I want to go home.” 

“We’ll live together in Salamand,” he whispers. 

“Without you.” 

Gordon sets down his lute. “I love you. Your work ethic is incredible. I have no problem working the job you do. But as a prince, I am nothing more than a failure. I cannot protect my family. I will bring them no honor. I am only a pawn in the politics of chess.” 

Stop it, stop it, stop it. The fire burns ashen gray. Don’t look at your hands. Don’t. “I’m not even on the board!” you exclaim. “You have your entire damned life planned out for you - for the lazy, for the weak that’s something to appreciate! I have to work for my life! You have everything handed to you on a silver platter, damn it!”

“I do not,” Gordon argues. The forest screeches with animals. They crawl forward, eating at dirt and clothes and skin and the sky. “I work just as hard as anyone else does! I am to bring hope to Kashuan!” 

“You get dressed by handmaidens!” The moon burns your skin. The fire shrieks as it bursts. “Don’t you dare tell me your life is hard! You have the wealth people vie for.” 

Gordon is crying. Waves of tears puddle around you. The fire burns them, the moon glows brighter. The trees fizzle in-and-out of nonexistence. The lute sings, horrible whines that burst your ears. When you look at your hands, you’re met with Gordon’s. Not your own. It’s your own. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. 

“Wake up, Prince Gordon! We have a lot to do today!” 

You’re awoken by three handmaidens. Tea is already set out for you on Gordon’s desk. “We’ll have to make you take a bath,” one says. “You’re all sweaty!” 

Another maid pours the liquid from the teapot into the cup. “First, your tea. It is a Fynnian Rose Blend. Princess Hilda requested it today.” 

It tastes like petals. It’s the worst tea you’ve had thus far - and the noxious taste of those bitter herbal teas in Salamand are disgusting as well. It’s… sour. Why is it sour? Tea shouldn’t be sour! You don’t think it should! 

“Now, off to take a bath!” 

“I can do it myself,” you attempt to explain your uncomfortableness, but the maids have no problem with your (Gordon’s?) nudity. You can wash yourself, damn it! It’s not hard to wash yourself! Take the scrubby thing and scrub and make sure you soap up and rinse off in between all of the scrubbing. It’s almost as easy as walking. 

At the end of your bath, your skin is rubbed raw and aching. When you can take a peek into the mirror, Gordon looks like a strawberry. You feel bad for him when the urge to itch and pick at your skin arises - whatever you do, you won’t scratch because you’ll probably ruin his life or something. The maids help (force) you into underclothes and guide you to another room. 

Scott is inside that room. He’s doing his own makeup, pressing some sort of liquid to his lips. You wish you could do that - if you’re going to be forced to do something, being independent for even a second would be nice.

“Ow.” One of the maids yanks at your hair with a brush. Another is speaking to Scott. You want to go home. If you can make it through this, you can go home. You just have to kiss yourself - kiss Gordon - and run away. Maybe you’ll get a chocobo and never return. That sounds like the right thing to do. 

There’s noise in the castle. It’s bustling. It’s bright. It’s exhausting. Inside of you, your heart hammers wildly. It’s Gordon’s heart, technically - but it’s yours right now. That’s what is important, right? You think you might faint. Or die. At least it would get you out of this situation. Your hair is being pulled so hard you think your hair will rip off. The other maid has returned to powder your face with makeup that wants to make you sneeze instead of look pretty. The vanity's mirror shows a very uncomfortable-looking Gordon. That's to be expected. 

You haven't eaten today. Maybe that's the purpose for the shaking? Would the maids stop what they were doing to let you eat, though? They might yell at you for ruining your clothes or something… Gordon can wait to fill his stomach until the soiree. There will probably be food there. What kind of party doesn't have food? That's the most basic of basic things to have, right next to decorations! 

A hideous crash resounds from a floor below you, but all the maids do is giggle. 

"Gordon," Scott calls. "You're meeting your soulmate tonight, aren't you?" 

The maids "ooooooooh" at that question. You think you might actually die. Literally. 

"Yes…" 

"Are you excited?"

"A little." To never be around Prince Scott of Kashuan again, that is. You can see Scott striding around the room with his face all made-up and pretty. He looks like one of those textbook knights - all he needs is a white horse to mount (or maybe a silver chocobo - decidedly rarer). 

"I'm sure you'll get along with your soulmate great," Scott continues. He's smirking into the mirror of the vanity you sit at. "Maybe the two of you are so alike you're practically the same person." 

"Maybe." Not in the slightest! You know well and good you don't want to live in a damn castle. It might be easier, but these maids think you're stupid, don't they? Like you can't tie back your own hair!

It’s fine. You’ll humor Gordon’s stupid brother and humor Gordon for as long as you need to until you can go home. You’ll kiss him, and that will be the end of it. That’s it. That’s all there is to it! Your heart feels like it could burst. Is this because of you, or because of him? You can’t tell. 

There is time for a small lunch, where you shovel food into your mouth in hopes your growling stomach and fast heart rate will both dissipate. Then, it’s right back to pulling Gordon’s tender headed scalp into a nice ponytail (which isn’t even set up high - what’s all the pain for?) and being given items to put on. The pants are poofy and soft. The tunic is less poofy (aside from the sleeves - how can they puff out like that?), but also soft. You look like you have jaundice at the end of it, but one of the maids fastens a sheen purple cape to you and it does nothing at all to enhance the look. 

Gordon looks silly. But when you smile at yourself in the mirror he’s cute enough that you don’t mind. It’s weird to think of Gordon when it’s you who is looking through the reflection, but does it matter? You’ll solve the case of being in his body tonight. You’re forced into boots that make you feel like a leprechaun and a circlet that feels cold against your sweaty head. Gosh, you hope Gordon doesn’t mind you’re probably going to sweat through his tunic. Why can’t your heart slow down? It’s only a party, and it’s only you that you’re going to see. You’re going to kiss yourself and that’s it. There’s nothing more to it. Stop thinking about it; stop panicking. You know you’ll be fine. 

Soon enough, the soiree has started. You have to walk down too many flights of stairs while your heart hammers in your chest. Once you find Gordon, it will be fine. It will be okay. It will be fine. You’ll find Gordon, kiss him, then leave. He might be able to find you easier than you could find yourself. 

There are many people who expect you to know who they are. There’s a fat ugly man with a nice suit. There’s some other man with a nice suit. Princess Hilda is talking to someone old and some other man you’ve never seen before. Everyone shoots you smiles. You smile back and try to hide in your jaundice-colored tunic. Where are you? 

You manage to find Scott, but he’s chatting up some pretty lady that clearly is not Princess Hilda. Betrothed - yeah, right. When you make eye contact with him, he turns away. That’s fine. Fuck him and fuck Kashuan. 

The hall is beautiful, at least. The tablecloths are white with blue edges, there are vases with all sorts of flowers you’ve never seen in Salamand. Candelabras flicker with Fire spells and glassy reflections. People in dresses and suits and all manner of nice outfits invade your vision as you weave around people. It’s too stuffy here. You think you might faint. Finding somewhere lonely to faint will be better than causing a scene in the hall. 

Déjà vu hits you. You’ve seen this in your dream. The swathes of people, the urge to leave. You blindly follow a well-trodden path to the exit, pushing open the doors to find a fountain burbling water and yourself, fidgeting with your nails. 

You look out-of-place in the black garbs you wear - belonging more to a fancy funeral instead of an elegant soiree. “Gordon,” you say. “You’re here and you didn’t tell me?” 

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammers and it sounds exactly like you. “I thought you would be held up talking to the others… I couldn’t intrude.” 

You don’t care. You’re getting your body back. The hideous boots you wear make loud clopping sounds as you stomp on the stone up to the fountain, where you grab yourself by the chin and kiss Gordon not-Gordon with as much passion as you can muster.

He grunts a little, but kisses back in turn. He’s shaking. You’re shaking. It feels right to kiss him, cold but warm and very sweaty. Your heart is still beating a million times a minute. You think Gordon’s might be the same - but when you lean back from the kiss you can’t take a look at him because you lean back too much and fall into the fountain. 

It’s only for a second, but ice-cold water hits the back of your outfit and you hiss - Gordon pulls you up and is staring at you very seriously, eyes-wide. Gordon is staring at you. You’re not staring at yourself! It worked! 

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to make you fall. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s… fine.” It’s not. Your back is wet but at least you’re in your body and you do not have to contend with Gordon’s life any longer. You’re free. “I want to go home. How did you get here?” 

“Cid - he works the only Airship in the world,” he explains. “But, um- you should stay. For the night. Please. I want to kiss you again.” 

That’s an easy thing to do. When you kiss Gordon, he doesn’t shake this time (or maybe it is you who is shivering - but you can’t do much about the cold back you have). But his lips are dry and your lips are dry and it’s wholly uncomfortable but your heart isn’t beating like it might explode so it’s okay and he’s warmer than you are, so when he pulls you up and closer you don’t mind the comfort. 

“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m so happy to have met you.” 

You’ve known him for… ten minutes, maybe. “If you loved me you would get me a change of clothes,” you whisper back. Gordon smiles sweetly, holding your hand tightly as he pulls you away from the fountain and from the cobblestones back into the hall. 

Scott makes eye contact with you, smirks, then lifts his wine glass to take a drink. You glare back at him and let Gordon continue leading you away, ducking into the first hallway and taking a route back upstairs. 

“We’ll be alone,” he mumbles. “I’m happy you’re here. It means my parents won’t come looking for me because they’ll know I’ll be with you.” 

You don’t reply. What can you say? Gordon opens the door to his room, ushering the both of you in before closing it behind him. The ambiance of the party can still be heard from the stairs. They’re playing some sort of waltz, violins echoing through the castle. You can’t pick up most of the melody, but Gordon seems to be familiar with it. He’s humming the tune as he pulls out a tunic and pants from his closet for you to wear. 

“It’s hard to put on your shoes,” Gordon explains as he watches you strip the dress shoes he somehow found for you to wear. “I fell a lot. I’m sorry your knees are all bruised.” 

It’s the least of your worries. You strip from your clothes as Gordon paces the room, folding up your wet ones to put on his clothes. They smell nice. Now that you notice it, he smells nice. Better than his brother - there’s no scent of sweat. Maybe that’s because he bathed earlier, but even still. 

“I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want to go back.” Gordon glances at the door. “I think I might be able to find a chess set. Do you know how to play chess? I can teach you.” 

“I’m okay.” You want to leave more than anything. Or sleep. You’re exhausted. Gordon must be exhausted, too. “Just sit with me.” 

Gordon sits on the floor next to you, sidling up close and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. When you lean on him, you find he’s far more comfortable to lay on than you thought - not that you thought much in the first place. He leans on you as well, staring at the floor of his bedroom. 

He is the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” It’s not. 

“I didn’t know we would… do that. But I’m with you now, so everything worked out in the end. Tomorrow… you can go. You’re not meant for castle life, are you?” 

As much as you’d like to stay, there are too many responsibilities you wouldn’t like. Sure, there are way more benefits - but you don’t want to be in charge of an entire damned kingdom! That’s a little much. You sigh instead of answering him. Gordon sighs back. You sigh again, and Gordon takes a deep breath to make the loudest, most dramatic sigh he can muster. You breathe in deeply to do the same, and he ends up laughing to himself once you sigh. 

The violins shriek. They’re playing some different tune you still don’t know - much more upbeat, judging by the high notes that reverberate into your skull. Gordon fidgets. “Do you know how to dance? I can teach you.” 

Something tells you that Gordon has two left feet. 

So there you are - Gordon’s kicked off his shoes as well - barefoot and attempting to waltz around his bedroom. It doesn’t work too well - Gordon keeps stepping on his feet and yours and you’re astounded that a member of high society can be this bad at dancing! 

“Okay, we’re done.” You let go of Gordon’s hands after he stomped on your foot so hard you’re surprised he hasn’t broken anything. “Let’s just do something else.” 

“...sleep?” Gordon asks, glancing at his bed. 

That sounds nice, actually. 

Gordon’s bed is nice - this you know - but with Gordon in the bed? He’s making it way more comfortable, warm and soft and even if he hasn’t changed out of his spiffy royal tunic it doesn’t matter because it’s nice. The stars are bright tonight - Gordon is looking at you in wonderment. It feels embarrassing. You kiss him to make him stop, and it feels right to do that. 

“I love you,” he whispers. “Good night.” 

You still have a lot of things to think about. If Gordon is your soulmate… you doubt his family will let you leave. Even still, your life is in Salamand. You can’t drop everything and stay here for him. Gordon presses a kiss to your cheek before turning over to get to sleep.

As soft as you can, you whisper, “good night.”

The night sky is bright as the moon glows and the stars shine and underneath your warm body you dream of snow and Salamand and the bakery and finally, a dream where you can be tranquil and peaceful after so many stressful days. You dream of a raspberry tart and you dream of shoveling snow on the sidewalk and you dream of home, deciding that it’s not so bad in Salamand after all.