Battle Scars--"Wishful Thinking"
Title: Battle Scars
Theme+Number: #21, Wishful Thinking
Claim: Irvine/Quistis
Rating: K+
Warnings: None
Summary: He tries to pretend he's not jealous. Crossposted to irishais, fated_children
He’s sitting on the balcony with his guitar, and he can’t think of anything but depressing songs. So he plays those, slowly, and pretends he’s not jealous. He can feel her watching him over his shoulder, leaning against the glass door that separates them with a cup of coffee in her hands. He strikes a wrong chord, curses, tries again.
He doesn’t want to fight with her, which is what’s going to happen if she opens the door, so he doesn’t look back, just tunes one of the strings and keeps playing, hoping she’ll get the hint.
She opens the door anyway, padding out onto the balcony in bare feet. Irvine expects her to say something sharp or vaguely apologetic, but she doesn’t, just slides down the wall until she’s seated next to him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder with a sigh that he can’t define.
He keeps playing, fingers sliding up and down the strings, and keeps pretending he’s not jealous.
Theme+Number: #21, Wishful Thinking
Claim: Irvine/Quistis
Rating: K+
Warnings: None
Summary: He tries to pretend he's not jealous. Crossposted to irishais, fated_children
He’s sitting on the balcony with his guitar, and he can’t think of anything but depressing songs. So he plays those, slowly, and pretends he’s not jealous. He can feel her watching him over his shoulder, leaning against the glass door that separates them with a cup of coffee in her hands. He strikes a wrong chord, curses, tries again.
He doesn’t want to fight with her, which is what’s going to happen if she opens the door, so he doesn’t look back, just tunes one of the strings and keeps playing, hoping she’ll get the hint.
She opens the door anyway, padding out onto the balcony in bare feet. Irvine expects her to say something sharp or vaguely apologetic, but she doesn’t, just slides down the wall until she’s seated next to him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder with a sigh that he can’t define.
He keeps playing, fingers sliding up and down the strings, and keeps pretending he’s not jealous.