Fic: Hesitation
Title: Hesitation
Author: fairymage
Rating: G
Community: 30_kisses
Theme: #5-"Ano sa..."
Fandom: Card Captor Sakura
Pairing: Fujitaka/Nadeshiko
Notes: Hahaha, I go all the way up to SF for Yaoi Con and write het, wtf. Written on the plane, in the room while watching funny English dubs, in the lobby, in the airport when return flight was delayed... so hopefully that explains any oddities.
Despite the way they seemed to naturally fit each other, the way they locked together like two neighboring puzzle pieces, they were far from comfortable that night at the dinner table. Nerves mixed with excitement, and with a dash of guilt and a pinch of shyness-a picture of awkwardness.
Neither of them had meant for it to be that way. They’d wanted to grow into their new… their budding… their what? Perhaps that was why they found it so hard to find the right words, to ask questions that didn’t sound too personal or too flippant, to hit upon a topic of conversation that was both intimate and safe. They didn’t yet know what they were to each other, what sort of relationship was being forged.
She wasn’t made of glass; he should have known, but he tried to pull out her chair for her anyway. An awkward fumbling of hands and confused knocking ensued. There were only two of them, so there was no need to pass the dishes. And yet they did it anyway, trying to serve each other when they were perfectly capable of doing so on their own.
“It’s delicious,” she complimented after a few bites.
“Thank you,” he replied, out of politeness. But really, what was there to say? Nearly everything had been bought pre-made, there was no way he could have ruined anything. Perhaps the noodles, but really, anyone could make those if they only followed the-
He noticed then the silence that had been stretching, and he coughed lightly.
“So-“
“Have you-“
They quickly fell silent, embarrassed at having interrupted the other, staring down at their bowls, fidgeting with their hashi quietly. He looked up over his glasses; she checking to see what he was doing, too.
“You go-“
“Why don’t you-“
They smiled, she laughed a little, and they sat back again. He cleared his throat, and finally managed to get his question in, feeling the entire time as though he were intruding.
“So, what’s your family like? Aside from your cousin; I think I know her far more than she wants me to.” As soon as the question was out of his mouth he regretted it, feeling that it was too personal, asked without tact, and beyond the scope of his rights.
She actually laughed at that one, hesitation and a desire to be fair and politically correct gone. “They’re… well, they’re family.” And she proceeded to explain about them, without seeming to take any offense. She told him about her cousin, her aunt and uncle, her beloved grandparents. He, in turn, told her what he remembered of his family, carefully censoring himself. He didn’t mean to; he was just used to telling a certain story, which gave no regard to who was asking.
Once the question was answered they returned to eating. She wondered how people managed to go on dates at fancy restaurants, eating and laughing over wine and dinner. Because really, if one were going to eat and enjoy the meal, they surely couldn’t converse at the same time! Now it seemed perfectly logical that one couldn’t do both at the same time (she’d just proven it, hadn’t she?), and thus the people who looked as though they could really weren’t enjoying their meal at all.
Which, in her mind, was something of a waste.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, eyes fixed and curious.
Blushing, she covered her mouth with her hand, looking away. She wasn’t sure she wanted to explain. It might sound ungrateful, or simply naïve and foolish. And she certainly didn’t want to appear as either of those to the older man. Her actions, gestures, movements were not generally awkward, she was naturally very comfortable, very amiable, but right now, she felt her body trembling with nervous energy she couldn’t control.
“I-I… I was wondering how people can eat and talk at the same time. Comfortably, I mean.” Why was this question so much harder than the other, which she had answered perfectly well? “It… it just seems like…” She fumbled for the right way to explain.
“It seems too hard to eat and talk, doesn’t it?” he finished casually, ignoring her unusual confusion. “After all, how can one use their mouth to both chew and speak?”
She nodded mutely, though smiling in appreciation and understanding.
The rest of the meal continued in the same manner, questions and answers and some degree of awkwardness. They never did get over that obstacle. They stumbled and tripped and tiptoed around conversation for nearly an hour and a half-long enough for dinner, dessert, and tea.
Predictably, they sat awkwardly afterward at the dining room table, dishes stacked neatly in the sink, table cleared and shining after a brief wipe-down. They wrapped fingers around their teacups, turning them between fingers, studying the swirls on the surface rather than each other. They should have been comfortable, but they weren’t, and that made them feel more awkward than anything else.
After all, they both felt instinctively that this was right, somehow, and that this should work.
“Can… Can I help you with the dishes?” she asked suddenly, surprised with her own perceived boldness.
He looked startled, sitting up, eyes blinking rapidly. “Oh, no, really, that’s not necessary-“ he began. He didn’t want her to feel obligated to help; it was his house, he had made dinner and fed her, and he would accordingly clean up.
“No, of course, I know, I don’t mean to offend you,” she hurriedly explained. “It’s just… I want to do it. With… you?” It sounded like a question, even to her own ears, and she blushed and averted her eyes again.
He made no response, but she heard the scratch of a chair against the wood floor, the sounds of feet padding across the floor. “Come, do you need a pair of gloves?” he asked, and she realized then that he was neither offended nor frightened by her proposal. There was none of the earlier hesitation in his voice or movements.
Finally, they’d found something right. Strange as it was… it was.
“No,” she replied, standing to join him.
Afterward, she had the thought that his kitchen was disgustingly neat and well-organized.
Author: fairymage
Rating: G
Community: 30_kisses
Theme: #5-"Ano sa..."
Fandom: Card Captor Sakura
Pairing: Fujitaka/Nadeshiko
Notes: Hahaha, I go all the way up to SF for Yaoi Con and write het, wtf. Written on the plane, in the room while watching funny English dubs, in the lobby, in the airport when return flight was delayed... so hopefully that explains any oddities.
Despite the way they seemed to naturally fit each other, the way they locked together like two neighboring puzzle pieces, they were far from comfortable that night at the dinner table. Nerves mixed with excitement, and with a dash of guilt and a pinch of shyness-a picture of awkwardness.
Neither of them had meant for it to be that way. They’d wanted to grow into their new… their budding… their what? Perhaps that was why they found it so hard to find the right words, to ask questions that didn’t sound too personal or too flippant, to hit upon a topic of conversation that was both intimate and safe. They didn’t yet know what they were to each other, what sort of relationship was being forged.
She wasn’t made of glass; he should have known, but he tried to pull out her chair for her anyway. An awkward fumbling of hands and confused knocking ensued. There were only two of them, so there was no need to pass the dishes. And yet they did it anyway, trying to serve each other when they were perfectly capable of doing so on their own.
“It’s delicious,” she complimented after a few bites.
“Thank you,” he replied, out of politeness. But really, what was there to say? Nearly everything had been bought pre-made, there was no way he could have ruined anything. Perhaps the noodles, but really, anyone could make those if they only followed the-
He noticed then the silence that had been stretching, and he coughed lightly.
“So-“
“Have you-“
They quickly fell silent, embarrassed at having interrupted the other, staring down at their bowls, fidgeting with their hashi quietly. He looked up over his glasses; she checking to see what he was doing, too.
“You go-“
“Why don’t you-“
They smiled, she laughed a little, and they sat back again. He cleared his throat, and finally managed to get his question in, feeling the entire time as though he were intruding.
“So, what’s your family like? Aside from your cousin; I think I know her far more than she wants me to.” As soon as the question was out of his mouth he regretted it, feeling that it was too personal, asked without tact, and beyond the scope of his rights.
She actually laughed at that one, hesitation and a desire to be fair and politically correct gone. “They’re… well, they’re family.” And she proceeded to explain about them, without seeming to take any offense. She told him about her cousin, her aunt and uncle, her beloved grandparents. He, in turn, told her what he remembered of his family, carefully censoring himself. He didn’t mean to; he was just used to telling a certain story, which gave no regard to who was asking.
Once the question was answered they returned to eating. She wondered how people managed to go on dates at fancy restaurants, eating and laughing over wine and dinner. Because really, if one were going to eat and enjoy the meal, they surely couldn’t converse at the same time! Now it seemed perfectly logical that one couldn’t do both at the same time (she’d just proven it, hadn’t she?), and thus the people who looked as though they could really weren’t enjoying their meal at all.
Which, in her mind, was something of a waste.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, eyes fixed and curious.
Blushing, she covered her mouth with her hand, looking away. She wasn’t sure she wanted to explain. It might sound ungrateful, or simply naïve and foolish. And she certainly didn’t want to appear as either of those to the older man. Her actions, gestures, movements were not generally awkward, she was naturally very comfortable, very amiable, but right now, she felt her body trembling with nervous energy she couldn’t control.
“I-I… I was wondering how people can eat and talk at the same time. Comfortably, I mean.” Why was this question so much harder than the other, which she had answered perfectly well? “It… it just seems like…” She fumbled for the right way to explain.
“It seems too hard to eat and talk, doesn’t it?” he finished casually, ignoring her unusual confusion. “After all, how can one use their mouth to both chew and speak?”
She nodded mutely, though smiling in appreciation and understanding.
The rest of the meal continued in the same manner, questions and answers and some degree of awkwardness. They never did get over that obstacle. They stumbled and tripped and tiptoed around conversation for nearly an hour and a half-long enough for dinner, dessert, and tea.
Predictably, they sat awkwardly afterward at the dining room table, dishes stacked neatly in the sink, table cleared and shining after a brief wipe-down. They wrapped fingers around their teacups, turning them between fingers, studying the swirls on the surface rather than each other. They should have been comfortable, but they weren’t, and that made them feel more awkward than anything else.
After all, they both felt instinctively that this was right, somehow, and that this should work.
“Can… Can I help you with the dishes?” she asked suddenly, surprised with her own perceived boldness.
He looked startled, sitting up, eyes blinking rapidly. “Oh, no, really, that’s not necessary-“ he began. He didn’t want her to feel obligated to help; it was his house, he had made dinner and fed her, and he would accordingly clean up.
“No, of course, I know, I don’t mean to offend you,” she hurriedly explained. “It’s just… I want to do it. With… you?” It sounded like a question, even to her own ears, and she blushed and averted her eyes again.
He made no response, but she heard the scratch of a chair against the wood floor, the sounds of feet padding across the floor. “Come, do you need a pair of gloves?” he asked, and she realized then that he was neither offended nor frightened by her proposal. There was none of the earlier hesitation in his voice or movements.
Finally, they’d found something right. Strange as it was… it was.
“No,” she replied, standing to join him.
Afterward, she had the thought that his kitchen was disgustingly neat and well-organized.