Three drabbles; GO, WK, RH+
Three drabbles: Good Omens, Weiss Kreuz 1920s artist AU, RH+
Cold, Remedy
"I do enjoy autumn," Aziraphale said, his cheeks rosy in the sharp air. "Everything's so brisk." He smiled benignly at a passing woman pushing a pram. Beside him, Crowley unobtrusively made an arcane gesture. The woman sneezed, followed by an even louder sneeze from the baby.
"Was that quite necessary?" Aziraphale sighed.
"What? It's the change of seasons. People get colds at the change of seasons. That's scientific knowledge," Crowley said. "If you'll pardon my French," he grinned unrepentantly.
"Anyone would think you had shares in Lemsip," Aziraphale muttered.
"And Beechem's," Crowley said, gesturing again.
All around, people started sneezing.
Green Eye
I am, I find, jealous. It's ridiculous, I think, looking at Silvia Lin's new sketches. A young man offers love to a girl whose slit-pupilled eyes are fixed on the horizon. I examine the youth proffering his heart, the careful details of the shattered ribs, the rough gaping of his chest, the flesh still caught in his own nails. This love will kill him; his slanted smile says he is the winner, not his inamorata. It's stupid to resent him modelling for another. I study the figure of the girl again.
I would not look away from such a gift.
Clear Sight
Michitaka clears his throat, looks aside. It's a sign, Kiyoi knows, that he's been looking too intently, too long, too hungrily.
Douzan said glasses made him look milder. He remembers borrowing Douzan's glasses so they could laugh at the thought of him needing them. He bought a pair a year after Douzan died, still sometimes pretends it's Douzan snatching them back when he takes them off.
He pushes the glasses up his nose. Don't stare, he reminds himself. Remember to blink.
"Kiyoi?"
"It's nothing. Perhaps I need a new prescription."
Douzan would have laughed, Michitaka looks confused. Kiyoi smiles. Mildly.
Cold, Remedy
"I do enjoy autumn," Aziraphale said, his cheeks rosy in the sharp air. "Everything's so brisk." He smiled benignly at a passing woman pushing a pram. Beside him, Crowley unobtrusively made an arcane gesture. The woman sneezed, followed by an even louder sneeze from the baby.
"Was that quite necessary?" Aziraphale sighed.
"What? It's the change of seasons. People get colds at the change of seasons. That's scientific knowledge," Crowley said. "If you'll pardon my French," he grinned unrepentantly.
"Anyone would think you had shares in Lemsip," Aziraphale muttered.
"And Beechem's," Crowley said, gesturing again.
All around, people started sneezing.
Green Eye
I am, I find, jealous. It's ridiculous, I think, looking at Silvia Lin's new sketches. A young man offers love to a girl whose slit-pupilled eyes are fixed on the horizon. I examine the youth proffering his heart, the careful details of the shattered ribs, the rough gaping of his chest, the flesh still caught in his own nails. This love will kill him; his slanted smile says he is the winner, not his inamorata. It's stupid to resent him modelling for another. I study the figure of the girl again.
I would not look away from such a gift.
Clear Sight
Michitaka clears his throat, looks aside. It's a sign, Kiyoi knows, that he's been looking too intently, too long, too hungrily.
Douzan said glasses made him look milder. He remembers borrowing Douzan's glasses so they could laugh at the thought of him needing them. He bought a pair a year after Douzan died, still sometimes pretends it's Douzan snatching them back when he takes them off.
He pushes the glasses up his nose. Don't stare, he reminds himself. Remember to blink.
"Kiyoi?"
"It's nothing. Perhaps I need a new prescription."
Douzan would have laughed, Michitaka looks confused. Kiyoi smiles. Mildly.