![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ruxadye posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kingdomheartsTitle: Taken by Sleep
Rating: General
Pairing/Characters: Braig/ApprenticeXehanort
Word Count: 838
Additional Tags: Coffee, Pre-Slash, Mind Games, Canon Compliant
Content Warnings: None
Author's note: Title taken from a lyric from Xemnaspresso, which is itself a parody of Sabrina Carpenter's Espresso. This fic draws loose inspiration from both songs.
Summary:
Xehanort wakes to find a particularly thoughtful gift at his desk, and a particularly provoking visitor in his room uninvited.
There was a clink as of glass meeting oak. The sound roused Xehanort, who was surprised to find he needed rousing at all. Had he fallen asleep, here at his desk? Through slow blinks, his bleary gaze fell upon a small glass cup. It was set upon a saucer, and set upon his desk. A cup of coffee… a gift from someone? It certainly hadn’t been there earlier.
Unfolding himself from where he had made a headrest of his arms, Xehanort sat up. A wisp of steam was lazily drifting in curls above the coffee cup. So it must have been brought to him a moment ago, no later than that. Embarrassed though he was that he had been found asleep at his desk, Xehanort turned to see if whomever had brought him this cup of coffee was still here to thank.
—How suddenly he would have spilled his coffee, had he had the cup in his hand right now!
The contents would have been thrown all over his starch white vestments, and not by choice, but by the suddenness that comes with being startled—which he most certainly was!
For there at Xehanort’s side, close enough to assume the position of Xehanort’s very own shadow, stood the castle guard. Bright and brassy as the buttons on his uniform, the guard’s singular eye glinted almost blindingly in the light of Xehanort’s bedroom (which doubled as his study, as did the bedrooms of all of Ansem the Wise's apprentices).
Xehanort took a moment to compose himself. “…Braig.” He nodded at the castle guard by way of a greeting.
“You’re finally awake. Morning, sunshine.” Shifting, Braig moved to stand with more weight on one foot than on the other. He set a hand on his hip. A casual stance—unusually casual, in fact, for a castle guard such as he.
Yet Xehanort was in no position to judge, considering how his own body was arranged just a moment ago. “My apologies you had to see me in such a state,” he said.
“No biggie,” said Braig. “I don’t blame ya. Anyone’d doze off in no time flat if they had to stay up all night reading these mountains of crap.” In punctuation, Braig slapped one of the stacks of books on Xehanort’s desk.
“Am I correct to assume the cup of coffee is your doing?” asked Xehanort, gingerly moving the stack of books away from Braig’s unwarranted assault.
“Heh, sure you’re correct. When I caught sight of you while I was doing my rounds, I knew I had to get you something to help you through this all-nighter you’ve decided to pull. Hey, I mess around, but I know the work you’re doing’s important.”
“Oh.” Xehanort considered this. “I see. How thoughtful of you.”
As a matter of fact, it seemed uncharacteristically thoughtful of Braig. It was a stark contrast to the strange way the castle guard had first treated Xehanort upon his arrival at Master Ansem’s doorstep: accusing him of joking about his amnesia, calling him by a name that wasn’t his before slinging an arm around him and offering up this… this camaraderie as though he and Braig had a long history between them. And did they? Not one Xehanort could remember, certainly—despite Braig’s initial accusations, Xehanort’s memory loss was very much not a joke.
“Well, thank you,” said Xehanort, conclusively.
“Anything you need, you make sure to let me know, okay?” said Braig. “As I told you, I got your back, Mister Master.”
Why did Braig insist on calling him that? “It’s Xehanort,” he reminded, frowning.
“Yeah, I know, I know. ‘Xehanort’. It’s just…” Braig sighed, his arms and shoulders shrugging helplessly with it. “I wish you could say it with more oomph, you know? As if you really believe it.”
An utter mystery, this man and his words both. Xehanort could only shake his head. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know at all what you’re talking about.”
“You certainly don’t. Well, whatever. I just gotta have faith that he does,” said Braig, stepping toward the door. Xehanort should have been glad to see that Braig was finally going to leave him be, yet—frustratingly, admittedly—he found that a part of him would have liked Braig to stay a little longer. The guard bothered Xehanort, yet he had also piqued Xehanort’s curiosity.
“Drink up while it’s hot, all right?” said Braig, on his way out. “Cold coffee’s about as useful as an old coot who’s gone and lost all his marbles before his turn.”
A bizarrely specific metaphor, however there was some truth in the crux of it. Coffee did taste better when hot, and Braig had gone to such an effort as to brew and pour it for him; Xehanort might as well enjoy it.
Setting his misgivings about Braig aside, Xehanort reached for the saucer once Braig had left. Holding the cup of coffee by its half-a-heart handle, he lifted it to his lips and accepted it, dark and bitter as it was.
Rating: General
Pairing/Characters: Braig/ApprenticeXehanort
Word Count: 838
Additional Tags: Coffee, Pre-Slash, Mind Games, Canon Compliant
Content Warnings: None
Author's note: Title taken from a lyric from Xemnaspresso, which is itself a parody of Sabrina Carpenter's Espresso. This fic draws loose inspiration from both songs.
Summary:
Xehanort wakes to find a particularly thoughtful gift at his desk, and a particularly provoking visitor in his room uninvited.
There was a clink as of glass meeting oak. The sound roused Xehanort, who was surprised to find he needed rousing at all. Had he fallen asleep, here at his desk? Through slow blinks, his bleary gaze fell upon a small glass cup. It was set upon a saucer, and set upon his desk. A cup of coffee… a gift from someone? It certainly hadn’t been there earlier.
Unfolding himself from where he had made a headrest of his arms, Xehanort sat up. A wisp of steam was lazily drifting in curls above the coffee cup. So it must have been brought to him a moment ago, no later than that. Embarrassed though he was that he had been found asleep at his desk, Xehanort turned to see if whomever had brought him this cup of coffee was still here to thank.
—How suddenly he would have spilled his coffee, had he had the cup in his hand right now!
The contents would have been thrown all over his starch white vestments, and not by choice, but by the suddenness that comes with being startled—which he most certainly was!
For there at Xehanort’s side, close enough to assume the position of Xehanort’s very own shadow, stood the castle guard. Bright and brassy as the buttons on his uniform, the guard’s singular eye glinted almost blindingly in the light of Xehanort’s bedroom (which doubled as his study, as did the bedrooms of all of Ansem the Wise's apprentices).
Xehanort took a moment to compose himself. “…Braig.” He nodded at the castle guard by way of a greeting.
“You’re finally awake. Morning, sunshine.” Shifting, Braig moved to stand with more weight on one foot than on the other. He set a hand on his hip. A casual stance—unusually casual, in fact, for a castle guard such as he.
Yet Xehanort was in no position to judge, considering how his own body was arranged just a moment ago. “My apologies you had to see me in such a state,” he said.
“No biggie,” said Braig. “I don’t blame ya. Anyone’d doze off in no time flat if they had to stay up all night reading these mountains of crap.” In punctuation, Braig slapped one of the stacks of books on Xehanort’s desk.
“Am I correct to assume the cup of coffee is your doing?” asked Xehanort, gingerly moving the stack of books away from Braig’s unwarranted assault.
“Heh, sure you’re correct. When I caught sight of you while I was doing my rounds, I knew I had to get you something to help you through this all-nighter you’ve decided to pull. Hey, I mess around, but I know the work you’re doing’s important.”
“Oh.” Xehanort considered this. “I see. How thoughtful of you.”
As a matter of fact, it seemed uncharacteristically thoughtful of Braig. It was a stark contrast to the strange way the castle guard had first treated Xehanort upon his arrival at Master Ansem’s doorstep: accusing him of joking about his amnesia, calling him by a name that wasn’t his before slinging an arm around him and offering up this… this camaraderie as though he and Braig had a long history between them. And did they? Not one Xehanort could remember, certainly—despite Braig’s initial accusations, Xehanort’s memory loss was very much not a joke.
“Well, thank you,” said Xehanort, conclusively.
“Anything you need, you make sure to let me know, okay?” said Braig. “As I told you, I got your back, Mister Master.”
Why did Braig insist on calling him that? “It’s Xehanort,” he reminded, frowning.
“Yeah, I know, I know. ‘Xehanort’. It’s just…” Braig sighed, his arms and shoulders shrugging helplessly with it. “I wish you could say it with more oomph, you know? As if you really believe it.”
An utter mystery, this man and his words both. Xehanort could only shake his head. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know at all what you’re talking about.”
“You certainly don’t. Well, whatever. I just gotta have faith that he does,” said Braig, stepping toward the door. Xehanort should have been glad to see that Braig was finally going to leave him be, yet—frustratingly, admittedly—he found that a part of him would have liked Braig to stay a little longer. The guard bothered Xehanort, yet he had also piqued Xehanort’s curiosity.
“Drink up while it’s hot, all right?” said Braig, on his way out. “Cold coffee’s about as useful as an old coot who’s gone and lost all his marbles before his turn.”
A bizarrely specific metaphor, however there was some truth in the crux of it. Coffee did taste better when hot, and Braig had gone to such an effort as to brew and pour it for him; Xehanort might as well enjoy it.
Setting his misgivings about Braig aside, Xehanort reached for the saucer once Braig had left. Holding the cup of coffee by its half-a-heart handle, he lifted it to his lips and accepted it, dark and bitter as it was.