fic, Sleeping, Yu Yu Hakusho
Title: Sleeping
Author: Shiegra
Fandom: YYH
Pairing: Keiko/Yusuke
Rating: PG-13
Notes: http://community.livejournal.com/fic_on_demand/728383.html (request by keire_ke)
Her hands were shaking.
Tiny minute trembles running along her fingers as she stared down at them, the tea rippling inside the cup. In the rush of fear and adrenaline reason had fled beneath instinct and impulse had guided her through panic, and the back-shock was hitting her hard.
When panic ruled you it seemed sensible to fly through the streets, shoes slipping and palms scraped where you stumbled, towards the ex-corpse of a boy that mattered more than anything else. You didn’t give yourself time to contemplate how foolish chasing an uncertain fairytale was, because you were too busy, out of breath, flinging yourself to your knees with tears in your eyes and pressing your mouth to warm, still lips.
Her first instinct was to punch him-her second, irrational, to kiss him again. The third, most sensible and well traveled path was to get into an argument.
Halfway through she’d started crying and he’d grimaced and tried to pat her and she really had punched him, and eventually they ended up at the table with tea.
“What happened?” She asked, and as he made a face and opened his mouth she amended, raising a hand-“no need to give the whole story now. Are you-” A frozen pause, absurdly apprehensive of jinxing this new hope. “Home? For good?”
His face relaxed in a slow, warm smile. “Yeah.” He said, and then flashed her that idiotic, cocky smile. “Back in business.”
Later she'll get angry again, maybe. For now, that one sentence fills her world with warmth.
Author: Shiegra
Fandom: YYH
Pairing: Keiko/Yusuke
Rating: PG-13
Notes: http://community.livejournal.com/fic_on_demand/728383.html (request by keire_ke)
Her hands were shaking.
Tiny minute trembles running along her fingers as she stared down at them, the tea rippling inside the cup. In the rush of fear and adrenaline reason had fled beneath instinct and impulse had guided her through panic, and the back-shock was hitting her hard.
When panic ruled you it seemed sensible to fly through the streets, shoes slipping and palms scraped where you stumbled, towards the ex-corpse of a boy that mattered more than anything else. You didn’t give yourself time to contemplate how foolish chasing an uncertain fairytale was, because you were too busy, out of breath, flinging yourself to your knees with tears in your eyes and pressing your mouth to warm, still lips.
Her first instinct was to punch him-her second, irrational, to kiss him again. The third, most sensible and well traveled path was to get into an argument.
Halfway through she’d started crying and he’d grimaced and tried to pat her and she really had punched him, and eventually they ended up at the table with tea.
“What happened?” She asked, and as he made a face and opened his mouth she amended, raising a hand-“no need to give the whole story now. Are you-” A frozen pause, absurdly apprehensive of jinxing this new hope. “Home? For good?”
His face relaxed in a slow, warm smile. “Yeah.” He said, and then flashed her that idiotic, cocky smile. “Back in business.”
Later she'll get angry again, maybe. For now, that one sentence fills her world with warmth.