Thunderlight

(Cont.) What Do You Want?

What is he going to do? What does he want to do?

What does he want?

"I'm pretty sure Florian would suggest petitioning your father and asking him to accept you back into the family," Torquil states. Mott's heart clenches at the idea. The thought of reuniting with his father when he doesn't even know who he is or what he wants... it's unsettling. "And Florian's the smartest guy I know, so that's probably the best thing to do. But honestly, if I were in your shoes, that's not what I would do at all."

Mott pokes his head up, curious. "What would you do, then?"

Torquil shrugs, a dreamy smile on his face. "I'd do whatever I wanted."

Mott tilts his head in confusion. Torquil notices this, so he continues.

"What I mean is I would do whatever makes me happiest. I've never liked being involved in these aristocratic social spheres. There's too much scheming and backstabbing and sabotage." Pulling his scarf out of his satchel, he gestures to the Douglass family crest. "I wear this old thing around because it makes my dad happy. But when I'm away from home, I hide it. I blend in with the everyday people."

"And that makes you happy?" Mott asks, curious. Torquil nods.

"They treat me just like everyone else," he beams, wistful and giddy. "They bump into me and cuss me out and sing songs with me and swear and drink and laugh. I've gotten into a lot of cool things because of them—did you know that commoners write and produce their own plays, too?"

Mott's eyebrows raise in interest and surprise. "They do?"

"They do! And they're hilarious, and gripping, and heart-wrenching, and so, so real," he gushes, his eyes shining. "But it's their art that really inspires me. I've started picking up painting, recently—wanna see?"

Mott nods, and Torquil eagerly digs into his satchel to pull out some small, hand-sized canvases carefully wrapped for travel. Unwrapping them, he lays them out on the porch to show them off individually.

"This one is a painting of a boat I saw in Cherryroad Town," he proclaims, pointing at the one nearest to Mott. Mott is thankful that he said what it was, because he would've never guessed it was a ship. "This is a pretty flower I saw in Ada's front yard. This is a picture of the sunset."

Mott peruses over all of them, nodding and 'ah'-ing as expected. They're not very good paintings. But Torquil pours over them with such excitement and fervor that Mott can't help but share in his happiness.

"They're terrible," Torquil states, beaming and proud. Before Mott can hastily lie and assure him that they're wonderful, Torquil adds, "They're terrible, but they're mine. And they make me happy. If this is all I ever do for the rest of my life, I'll die content."

Mott always thought of Torquil as the lesser of the three friends. But looking at him now, joyfully surrounded by his piles of awful paintings, Mott is starting to realize he had it all wrong. Out of the three of them, who is the happiest?

It's late at night, and Ada's living room is warmed by the crackling fireplace. Contrary to Florian's temper tantrum earlier, he didn't end up leaving, and now Mott and Torquil have to drink about a million cups of tea each just to finish off all the kettles of tea he made for them in his shitty attempt at apologizing. He's on his third cup and he's had to take, like, ten bathroom breaks. It's starting to get ridiculous.

"Drink them all before you go to sleep," Florian orders, refusing to acknowledge that he's apologizing. His tail swishing in poorly hidden embarrassment, probably over the circus he's created. Meanwhile, Torquil downs his fourth cup with a wide grin on his face. "They'll heal you faster."

A blatant excuse. "Then why does Torquil have to drink them? He's not injured."

Florian flushes. "Because I said so! Now shut up and drink!"

Torquil chuckles. "I'm drinking, I'm drinking..."

Mott grins.

As the night darkens, the three of them settle into the living room. With Lenny recovering in the room Florian and Torquil were staying in, there's no other place for them to sleep. For the first time in a long, long time, Mott is having a sleepover with his childhood friends.

"It's not a sleepover," Florian scoffs as he settles down. "We're adults."

"Yeah. Come on, Mott," Torquil agrees, still drinking tea. "It's obviously a slumber party."

"It's not that either!"

Mott finds himself smiling and laughing again, something he hasn't done in days. It feels good. It releases something inside him that he didn't know he was bottling up. But it also makes him wonder—what would make him happiest?

Torquil has found what makes him happy, and he pursues it. As a result, he enjoys his life more. Florian doesn't chase what he wants; he allows the expectations of his family and other nobles to dictate what he does. And until recently, Mott did the same. He can't deny that his life until then was pretty miserable.

So, what would make him happy?

He thinks back to his happiest moments. Naturally, fond memories of Florian and Torquil in the flower gardens come up, but they're hazy and obscured and fragmented over the years. Also, with everything that's happened between them, all the family politics and betrayals and power plays, they aren't the kids they used to be. The chances of them returning to that are slim. Non-existent, really.

Other memories come up besides those with Florian and Torquil. The inn where he met Hilda, where Lenny made their adventurer bandanas. Moressley Town, where they met Bela and helped the town and celebrated with nothing and everything all at once. Exploring the museum, before it's destruction, and discovering new approaches to Zekrom.

A cramped, dusty cottage built on dead land. A persistent bug that kept tying him to the roof.

It occurs to him, suddenly, that there is one common link between all these happy moments: Lenny. Lenny was there for all of them, integral, in fact. Every smile, laugh, and burst of joy can be traced back to him.

Mott doesn't know what motivates him, anymore. He doesn't know who he is. But he knows Lenny makes him happy. Even if he feels directionless and confused, he wants to stick with Lenny. From now on, wherever Lenny goes, he'll follow.

Soft footsteps patter down the hall. He expects Ada to come out and scold them for being up so late, or even one of the teens to slink out and cause trouble. What he doesn't expect, when all three of them turn their heads to the hall, is to see a heavily bandaged leavanny shuffle out.

Mott's heart stops.

Lenny is covered head to toe in slightly bloodied bandages. The black soot has left his body, leaving behind angry red patches of peeling skin. None of this seems to bother him, though, as he tip-toes out into the room.

"I smelled some oran berry green tea," Lenny explains, hobbling in. "I was gonna come ask if I could have a cup—" He stumbles straight into the table, knocking the kettle onto the floor with a loud CRASH!

Torquil and Florian jump. Mott just stares, frozen, as if he's stuck in a dream. Lenny frowns down at the spilt tea.

Lenny scratches the back of his head, made bashful by his own clumsiness. "Oh, um. Oops?"

Mott wastes no time leaping to his feet and tackling Lenny in a crushing hug, tears and snot at all.