Tides of Longing (Bendy and the Ink Machine)

2- Found

Author's Notes: This chapter's art is by AceofIntuition on Tumblr.

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"...But whoever listens to me will dwell secure and will be at ease, without dread of disaster." – Proverbs 1:33

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On a shore of wood with waves lapping black stood not one pair of shoes but two. Her set stayed dry while facing those which opposed her, the ink washing around his soles and then pulling back, dancing and tickling immortality at his toes; it seemed to mirror something- unsteady breathing, a racing heart...and the washing in and out of these extreme emotions with each passing second.

Who knew that a peaceful conclusion could still be so utterly dreadful.

This discomfort only grew and grew until it was like the pipes were humming with the vibration of upset, of change, of destiny thrown upside down.

Finally, after basking in each other's absurd splendor, someone had to do something.

That someone was Francine, and that thing was a simple step forward.

It came at him like a tidal wave.

Almost simultaneously, the man flinched back, hand curled at his chest and its elbow thrown behind him. Francine's reaching hand pulled back the smallest fraction, surprised and unsure as she witnessed his fear, his shoulders raise up and down in heavy anxiety and complete and absolute terror wiping across his face until the expression upon it seemed to shake.

Her brow furrowed as she looked upon the being she had finally found, after fighting so hard to finally confront him one way or another.

But the shattering of a spell still breaks it nonetheless.

"Y...you're Joey...!" It was such a bizarre mixture of both stating the obvious and reciting the impossible. It made her feel weightless inside, as if releasing a secret locked deep in her soul so that it could spread through the air for only two to hear and know.

Again, this gentle exhalation seemed to whip back at him. The old man blinked furiously, eyes darting back and forth, mouth gaping with neither breath nor words.

She was uttering something totally magical, and they both had very, very different understandings of what this magic could mean. It was like watching someone carefully, reverently wipe the dirt and grime off an ancient tome; he knew what she had uncovered.

And as each second passed, the man seemed to begin to grasp where he was and the fact that he was, indeed, talking to another person.

"...That I am," Mr. Drew admitted after an eternity of ponderance.

And an equally awkward, stunned huff of a laugh came from her throat. It was ridiculous how mundane this dialog was on the surface- hardly a step above "how are you?" "I am fine." And yet...

And yet such mere words were so, so much, as if their simplicity also meant purity of meaning and purpose.

It was the most human conversation possible. And that's what they were.

...Human.

So impossibly human to one another.

And that's why even though she had so much to say, so much to ask, there was one thing above all else that seemed to be a courtesy hard-earned:

"...I'm Francine."

His weary, wide-eyed gaze lingered up to meet hers, having looked desperately anywhere else up until this. And suddenly...he shifted.