without poppies
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Genre: Drama
Pairing: Ann/Lau
Rating: G
Summary: A reflection on their relationship.
Notes: Happy severely delayed birthday, Fae. ♥
It started when she realized she was insane.
Sane people don't fixate on the dead like she did, sane people don't see their faces everywhere, sane people don't consider taking a scalpel to their chest, wondering if it would cut out the hurt that pulsed in and out, every day.
Yes, she was insane. She would not say it, though, because if she admitted it, she would admit defeat over herself and this, she would go away, far away, where the images would leave by force, not by choice. Thus, she was quiet.
But she had to escape. Music, books, art, society offered nothing, and in face irritated her beyond any small value they might possess in forgetting. There were other ways she knew of, and she was near desperate enough to go for them, to take them and just leave everything that clutched at the hem of her dress.
She tried. It took several times before she was brave enough to actually go in, to hold her head up and resist fleeing, and ask if it was true, that in this place, she could forget.
The one who met her seemed rather surprised that a lady like her would want such a thing. Yet he was wise. With gentle words, tea from foreign lands, and the sweet smoke from others seeking what she had thought she wanted, he set her at ease. She left without touching the black abyss she had been willing to dive into, where her vision would hide. But it was certainly not the last time they would meet. Simply the first.
She came back, again and again, for the words, the tea, his presence. Slowly, she became addicted to it. This surprising knowledge, these verses from times long ago, they were as thread to stitch by stitch work on her heart and mind. And she began to laugh again, truly, for the first time in an eternity.
He was sanity, she realized. It did not have to come in the form of a doctor's note, cold logic, or anything else that her world deemed such. It could come in the form of a person, kind enough to offer a hand to anchor one down, and mean all of it truly. It came from another world, which she was beginning to realize she wanted to be part of, or perhaps she wanted him in her world, or maybe they should meld. It came in small steps and nights spent awake, just listening to another's voice. It came in the meeting of lips, and with a feeling that it was right for them to be so, after all, they fit together just right.
And when she saw him in the daylight, none of the feelings changed.
She did not have to ask him if he loved her. It was in the way he said her name, the motions he made to stay as close as he could to her until they had to distance themselves, the smile he gave to her. Perhaps a part of it as well was the three words whispered so softly they could have been lost as he held her, always offering her a chance to leave if she wished it, but he would prefer if she stayed.
She always did stay.
It was only for him to know, and him to hold in his heart. The world could mind itself while they remained to themselves. She could forget society crashing in, her mind's fits of fury and the gloves of red that she could never take off. So, by offering nothing more than himself, he had given her what she had asked for when they first met. He asked her for nothing, only seemed to want to stay by her side for as long as she would keep him there.
For such a request, she would not deny him. So he was allowed to stay until the very end.
And after the end, she would wait for him.
Genre: Drama
Pairing: Ann/Lau
Rating: G
Summary: A reflection on their relationship.
Notes: Happy severely delayed birthday, Fae. ♥
It started when she realized she was insane.
Sane people don't fixate on the dead like she did, sane people don't see their faces everywhere, sane people don't consider taking a scalpel to their chest, wondering if it would cut out the hurt that pulsed in and out, every day.
Yes, she was insane. She would not say it, though, because if she admitted it, she would admit defeat over herself and this, she would go away, far away, where the images would leave by force, not by choice. Thus, she was quiet.
But she had to escape. Music, books, art, society offered nothing, and in face irritated her beyond any small value they might possess in forgetting. There were other ways she knew of, and she was near desperate enough to go for them, to take them and just leave everything that clutched at the hem of her dress.
She tried. It took several times before she was brave enough to actually go in, to hold her head up and resist fleeing, and ask if it was true, that in this place, she could forget.
The one who met her seemed rather surprised that a lady like her would want such a thing. Yet he was wise. With gentle words, tea from foreign lands, and the sweet smoke from others seeking what she had thought she wanted, he set her at ease. She left without touching the black abyss she had been willing to dive into, where her vision would hide. But it was certainly not the last time they would meet. Simply the first.
She came back, again and again, for the words, the tea, his presence. Slowly, she became addicted to it. This surprising knowledge, these verses from times long ago, they were as thread to stitch by stitch work on her heart and mind. And she began to laugh again, truly, for the first time in an eternity.
He was sanity, she realized. It did not have to come in the form of a doctor's note, cold logic, or anything else that her world deemed such. It could come in the form of a person, kind enough to offer a hand to anchor one down, and mean all of it truly. It came from another world, which she was beginning to realize she wanted to be part of, or perhaps she wanted him in her world, or maybe they should meld. It came in small steps and nights spent awake, just listening to another's voice. It came in the meeting of lips, and with a feeling that it was right for them to be so, after all, they fit together just right.
And when she saw him in the daylight, none of the feelings changed.
She did not have to ask him if he loved her. It was in the way he said her name, the motions he made to stay as close as he could to her until they had to distance themselves, the smile he gave to her. Perhaps a part of it as well was the three words whispered so softly they could have been lost as he held her, always offering her a chance to leave if she wished it, but he would prefer if she stayed.
She always did stay.
It was only for him to know, and him to hold in his heart. The world could mind itself while they remained to themselves. She could forget society crashing in, her mind's fits of fury and the gloves of red that she could never take off. So, by offering nothing more than himself, he had given her what she had asked for when they first met. He asked her for nothing, only seemed to want to stay by her side for as long as she would keep him there.
For such a request, she would not deny him. So he was allowed to stay until the very end.
And after the end, she would wait for him.