HALLELUJAH!
The hectic portion of my life is gone! Winter sports season is over! I have no sports (well, except select once a week and the occasional tournament) during spring! After school...after school I GO HOME instead of heading to the gym or the study hall room to spend another four hours on campus.
I AM SO HAPPY YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE. THIS PAST WEEK HAS BEEN THE GREATEST WEEK OF MY LIFE.
In another news: FAKIRU FIC.
Title: Eveningland
Author: magicdragonomg
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Rating: PG due to alcohol, intoxication, and nice views if you know what I mean
Characters/Pairings: Fakiru fluff. Mentions of Rue and Mytho.
Summary: The night after Fakir writes Ahiru back into a human, Rue and Mytho take the two out to celebrate. What Fakir doesn't expect is Ahiru getting drunk.
Comments: RLY late birthday fic for gemkazoni. Here it is, by the way. I decided to do a Fakiru fic instead of a YYH fic because the PT Secret Santa put me in a mood to write more Tutu. Plus I know you like Fakiru. c: But umm...I'm really bad at writing romance? And still I had a plot bunny that I wanted to write down.
While considering finishing Ahiru’s story and transforming her back into a human, Fakir had come up with three resulting scenarios.
The first: Ahiru doesn’t even transform. The whole attempt doesn’t even work, and Fakir either has to go back to the old drawing board or give up in earnest. After preparing his writing technique for four years, however, for this one attempt, he’ll be damned if he goes and tries again - at least, not for many, many more years.
The second: the transformation works, but alters her body somehow, from anything to memory to personality to function to appearance. Sometimes he feared his power worked like a genie: your wish had to specify the most crucial elements or else you received what you wanted but for the worst. This was the second-most terrible of the results in that he couldn’t stand to live with the regret and grief of Ahiru in a state more limiting than before.
Last but not least: the third scenario depicted the worst possible outcome he could think of - and he brooded over it every single day since the formation of his plan. What if he really screwed up? What if the past only served to repeat itself? What if his writing only resulted in Ahiru’s death and he couldn’t stop it or bring her back?
The night before the day of Fakir’s greatest challenge, he experienced a nightmare like no other. In it, he dreamed the rendition of his mother’s death, except Ahiru took her place, dancing as she had during the battle against the Monster Raven but unable to warm the hearts of the fearless crows. They attacked her without ceasing, and though the red-haired girl continued to pirouette and bow and mime her love for each and every crow, their attacks were so assured due to Fakir’s pen that they swarmed her. The nightmare had ended in blood and screams, and when Fakir shot awake in bed, fumbling for assurance in the darkness of his bedroom, he vomited. He shivered in cold sweat, fighting to control his nausea, but despite his battles Ahiru awoke in due time: he had made too much noise in losing his dinner.
She noted Fakir’s inner turmoil with ease and glided up to his bedside. She voiced her concern for him in quacks, and though he could no longer comprehend her exact words, her blue eyes told everything. They glimmered with worry and care, but also understanding. From her one raw stare, laying out all her emotion to him, he could see that she believed in him more than anything. To prove her point, she refused to return to sleep, instead staying up beside him until the morning came.
And at the rise of the sun, Fakir stirred awake without as much of a sound. His face had turned emotionless for the task ahead, and after eating a quick breakfast and cleaning his floor, he brought his writing set to the barn adjacent Charon’s house. There he disappeared without even informing Ahiru, for she knew and he knew she knew. That day had been marked as something important to him - maybe just as important as saving Kinkan Town - and those closest to him realized what had to be done. Fakir had to have a suitable space to himself for this task.
Of course, writing her story was easier said than done. He prepared his quill, ink, and paper, but the words would not come - not for a while. He sat at his desk - for he had moved it into the empty barn - and waited, pushing himself to the limit. He summoned up all the will power he could, hacking away for hours at the doubts and innumerable possibilities that could come with his actions. Sighing, the quill would sit poised in his finger, nearing the page, only to be drawn away again at the mental image of an innocent, deserving duck earning a much-needed sleep in his room.
At around one in the afternoon, his stomach ached with dreadful hunger, but he wrote the first words.
The duck, who had once been a girl and had once been Princess Tutu, slept in peaceful dreams.
The next words came in gradual steps that tested his patience while doubt rose again, playing his mind with the idea of failure. He sat still again, struggling to concentrate on the image in his conscious. What did he really want to say?
At last, he started going in a steady rhythm, the words coming faster and faster. Soon, his feelings were being poured out onto paper with unmistakable honesty, weaving the threads of Ahiru’s transformation.
The clock tower at the center of Kinkan struck twelve. Fakir, exhausted and more starving than he had been in his entire life, looked up from the finished story splayed across his desk. Moonlight seeped through the cracks between the boards of the walls, blending into the shadows of the night. He couldn’t bring himself to reread his own writing, so he instead stood up, knocking his chair backwards. He sprinted through the barn, out into the cold, and into the main house. He didn’t stop to light a candle and leapt up the stairs in the dark.
He remembered that his heart had been pounding a mile a minute and his thoughts had been racing on the subject of Ahiru. At the top of the stairs, he burst through the open door of the room and searched with wild eyes the floor, the bed, and the window sill. It took him several moments of back-tracking and stone cold disbelief to realize Ahiru was gone.
“She’s…” He choked on the words, ready to collapse. “She’s…g-gone. Ahiru’s gone…”
“Fakir?”
His eyes bolted up at the feminine voice, scanning again the expanse of his room. “Ahiru?”
The closet door creaked open, and from behind it stepped out a young girl bathed in the faint moonlight. She paused in her stride from around the door, hugging the button-down shirt tighter around her figure. The moment felt so unreal that he wondered if he had caught sight of a phantom.
Then, the moon’s rays gave her irises a sapphire glow, and they turned toward him with heartfelt sincerity. She smiled toothlessly, and there was no mistaking her identity.
“You did it, Fakir,” She had whispered. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
None of his three resulting scenarios happened, rather, everything turned out great. So great, in fact, that Rue and Mytho, upon hearing, offered to take Ahiru and Fakir out to celebrate the following night. Fakir, relieved for his success and just plain damn happy that he could talk to Ahiru again, couldn’t refuse such an offer. They would attend a party hosted by the Diederichs, a noble family who had become great friends with the Prince and Princess over the years.
He pushed open the door of the mansion while balancing her in the hook of his other arm, bumbling the both of them out of the chattering, warm party and into the chilly air of the outdoors. As the entrance swung shut behind them, Fakir dragged his “date” across the lawn with as much resistance not to yell at her as he could muster. Instead, he looked across the grass for a spot to rest, locating a small hill towards the middle of the estate.
Half-way to his destination, he felt Ahiru stir against his arm. “Wait, wait…I can walk,” She managed. Even he could tell she tried not to let slurring words slip in her speech.
For a moment a thought flittered across his face, and then Fakir relaxed his arm to let it dangle at his side. Ahiru, freed, tagged along in an exaggerated hop-step until the both of them reached the hill. Several seconds passed, with Fakir struggling how he wanted to address that they should sit here, until Ahiru plopped down of her own accord because she both had weak knees and an uncanny indecisiveness, Fakir discovered, while in her current state.
He swore she had a flushed face back inside, though now the dim of the night made the color of her cheeks less apparent. Rue, he scolded, his mouth forming into an irritated frown. You were supposed to watch how many glasses she drank!
The once graceful, talented Princess Tutu hiccupped in her dog-drunk condition and giggled at the mere sound. “Ahh,” She sighed, kicking her feet against the ground, “It’s so great to be able to talk again! All of those people are wonderful people, don’t you think, Fakir?”
“Wonderful,” He mumbled, hesitating before crouching down next to her on the lawn. She had lucked out in that he was still in a very good mood.
Ahiru couldn’t help but smile while the autumn wind tossed her hair and the grass tickled the bare skin of her legs. All the tension, all the worries about conversing and not embarrassing herself in front of noble guests melted away with each glass of red wine she took part in…though now she’d forgotten just how many she’d drank. While a part of her felt separated from her own body, like she was watching herself from a window far away, right now she just knew she loved Rue. She loved herself. She loved everybody. Hell, she loved the whole world and everything in it.
She could also say she especially loved the stars. Craning her head back until she had to prop herself up on her elbows, Ahiru gazed up into the heavens and relished in the cosmic sparkles, shining and many like frost against a velvet blanket of midnight purple.
“Aren’t they so beautiful?”
“What?” Fakir asked with a partial dullness in his voice.
“The stars.”
“Oh.”
Her face softened into a dreamy expression. “They look like…” She began.
The ex-knight quirked an eyebrow and stared at her with building impatience.
“They look like…” She started again, only to contort her expression into one of mild dissatisfaction, “…like stars.”
“Of course they do, moron,” He chided, holding his temple at her astute observation. He shifted his head toward her at an angle, watching her out of the corner of her eye. She returned the look, but her eyes were bubbly and distant.
“Hey,” She drawled. “Don’t call me a moron.”
Fakir dared not to admit his curiosity. “Why?” He asked, his tone both soft and dangerous.
“Because…” She paused, and perhaps her ability to rationalize and judge herself had relapsed, “If I was really a moron, you wouldn’t have changed me back into a girl.”
Opportunity flickered in his eye, and Fakir lifted his gaze toward her. He could sense the book opening to him with those words, and he would be damned if he let this chance slide: ever since he finished her story, he wondered how she felt. More than anything, he wanted to know the Ahiru that had emerged from his closet like a precious glass beauty. He had never imagined she could look that way, and the image had lingered in his mind since it happened.
“Maybe you’re right,” He answered. “But whether you are a moron or not, I would’ve changed you back either way. I made a promise.”
Ahiru’s face fixed itself in concentration, her pupils dilating with the memories of long ago. She didn’t need him to explain further: she remembered his vow to her during their pas de deux in the Lake of Despair.
“Fakir…” She began, “I’m not sure I really understand. Why did you have to go through the extra trouble to change me back? You could have fulfilled your promise letting me live as a duck.”
“Don’t worry about why. Just be happy.”
“I am,” Ahiru assured him. A smile tugged at her lips only to disappear again. “I just don’t want to be a burden.”
For a moment, Fakir’s eyes widened. They were filled with concern and kindness, and with their deepness she realized how much he had matured in these past few years - meanwhile, she felt like she hadn’t matured at all. He leaned forward and held her fingers in his hand, thinking that maybe if he stared hard enough, she would understand him. “You’re not a burden,” He said. “Everything’s a burden when I can’t understand what you’re saying and you’re growing up faster than me, but you’re not a burden.”
Ahiru peered down at his hand shifted around hers and couldn’t help but gawk. Her stomach churned, but most of all her brain felt fired with impulses, impulses that seemed very romantic and embarrassing to her even while drunk.
As time went on, however, the churning of her stomach started becoming a little more uncomfortable and queasy. “I wanna go back and see Rue and Mytho some more,” She mumbled.
Fakir almost raised an eyebrow at her mood swings, but nonetheless he nodded. She wants to see more of them before they return to their castle again.
She stood before he got the chance to, and therein passed an uncertain moment where Fakir continued sitting on the grass, looking up at her. While she stayed still, waiting for him but averting her distorted gaze, Fakir studied her movements with a worried expression. He wondered just how much of her self-awareness she had left in her current state.
Just as he had shook his head and moved to his feet, a great thing tackled him in his midsection and caused him to lose his footing. The moment before hitting the ground, his assailant giggled with unmistakable mischief and he caught sight of a blur of red hair. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the time he locked up Mytho inside a library storage room only to turn around and be pummeled by someone who - he thought at the time - was a mere midget.
How many glasses of wine did she have again?
They descended to the ground rolling across the lawn, and to avoid either of their injuries he grabbed hold of either side of the shoulders in front of him. They continued rolling across the gentle slope until gravity’s effect slowed them down, and Fakir found himself landing with a thump onto his side. Ahiru lay on her side opposite him, giggling at his winded breath and his hands on her arms, and there, in that moment, he felt something joyous flutter in his chest despite how much he wanted to ignore the sensation.
While her laughter - loud though he loved it nonetheless - died down on her short breath, she formed her open mouth into a larger, more genuine grin. Blades of grass tickled her rosy cheek, inciting a bigger smile, and Fakir wanted to kiss that cheek for all its freckled worth. Instead, he stiffened, almost bewildered by this entire circumstance, and tried to remember that she was drunk and because of this and other reasons she was an idiot and-
“You know what I can’t wait for, Fakir?” She asked, her voice raised in excitement.
He gulped, trying to fight the heat crawling up his neck. “What?” He murmured, meaning the response to sound firm and uninterested, but instead the word came out quivering.
“The Fire Festival,” She said. “We can dance together all night! And I can wear this dress that Rue lent me again!”
She motioned with two fluid hands to her breast and downward, something she should have not done because his eyes definitely traced the objects of her gesture. He blinked away as soon as he realized what he was doing, but in that span he had understood, first hand, just how much Ahiru had grown over the years.
“T-together?” He stammered, berating himself for that last slip. The back part of his brain - the one that must be swimming in testosterone - argued that the view had been enticingly sweet.
“Together.” Ahiru smirked. Before he could do anything to stop it, his eyes widening to vivid green, Ahiru reached a finger forward and “bopped” the end of the noise. At the area of contact his skin tingled as though sprinkled with frost, and then his cheeks flushed an undeniable red. Heat surged through his body, quickening his heart.
They both lay silent. Though he could smell her rank, alcohol-laden breath, his eyes stared with a measure of disbelief - and daring - at the shape of her lips. He had trouble resisting the temptation in that moment. He imagined how she would react, how she would burn sweetly in his veins, and for several minutes the thought stayed with him, tempting him while her watery blue eyes blinked. The truth was: the slightest nervousness rippled in his stomach, her earlier touch of his nose washing him in boyish embarrassment, though he would never admit it, not even to himself.
The stars reeled above them, reflecting as blurred spots of light in her eyes. He looked at her with seriousness. She looked at him with carefree happiness.
“The Fire Festival, huh?”
“Yup.”
Her expression calmed a little, revealing the loveliness of her face. In the background, he heard the wordless, vague chatter of a group of people exiting the manor, and with the noise something jarred in his face, something reserved. She soon noticed his change of pace, and just as she was about to question what Fakir planned on doing, he stood, brushing off dirt from his suit.
“Let’s make sure we get the apple, then,” He said, offering her a hand.
An Ahiru at any other time would’ve recognized his reply as one of promise or adoration, but, to Fakir’s fortune, she remained oblivious to any hidden meanings. She unfolded her legs from behind her, taking his hand to steady herself as she rose.
“I’ll remember that!” She agreed, and, determined to walk straight, started off across the lawn.
No. No you won’t, Fakir thought, and cringed when he ran after a stumbling Ahiru.
I AM SO HAPPY YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE. THIS PAST WEEK HAS BEEN THE GREATEST WEEK OF MY LIFE.
In another news: FAKIRU FIC.
Title: Eveningland
Author: magicdragonomg
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Rating: PG due to alcohol, intoxication, and nice views if you know what I mean
Characters/Pairings: Fakiru fluff. Mentions of Rue and Mytho.
Summary: The night after Fakir writes Ahiru back into a human, Rue and Mytho take the two out to celebrate. What Fakir doesn't expect is Ahiru getting drunk.
Comments: RLY late birthday fic for gemkazoni. Here it is, by the way. I decided to do a Fakiru fic instead of a YYH fic because the PT Secret Santa put me in a mood to write more Tutu. Plus I know you like Fakiru. c: But umm...I'm really bad at writing romance? And still I had a plot bunny that I wanted to write down.
While considering finishing Ahiru’s story and transforming her back into a human, Fakir had come up with three resulting scenarios.
The first: Ahiru doesn’t even transform. The whole attempt doesn’t even work, and Fakir either has to go back to the old drawing board or give up in earnest. After preparing his writing technique for four years, however, for this one attempt, he’ll be damned if he goes and tries again - at least, not for many, many more years.
The second: the transformation works, but alters her body somehow, from anything to memory to personality to function to appearance. Sometimes he feared his power worked like a genie: your wish had to specify the most crucial elements or else you received what you wanted but for the worst. This was the second-most terrible of the results in that he couldn’t stand to live with the regret and grief of Ahiru in a state more limiting than before.
Last but not least: the third scenario depicted the worst possible outcome he could think of - and he brooded over it every single day since the formation of his plan. What if he really screwed up? What if the past only served to repeat itself? What if his writing only resulted in Ahiru’s death and he couldn’t stop it or bring her back?
The night before the day of Fakir’s greatest challenge, he experienced a nightmare like no other. In it, he dreamed the rendition of his mother’s death, except Ahiru took her place, dancing as she had during the battle against the Monster Raven but unable to warm the hearts of the fearless crows. They attacked her without ceasing, and though the red-haired girl continued to pirouette and bow and mime her love for each and every crow, their attacks were so assured due to Fakir’s pen that they swarmed her. The nightmare had ended in blood and screams, and when Fakir shot awake in bed, fumbling for assurance in the darkness of his bedroom, he vomited. He shivered in cold sweat, fighting to control his nausea, but despite his battles Ahiru awoke in due time: he had made too much noise in losing his dinner.
She noted Fakir’s inner turmoil with ease and glided up to his bedside. She voiced her concern for him in quacks, and though he could no longer comprehend her exact words, her blue eyes told everything. They glimmered with worry and care, but also understanding. From her one raw stare, laying out all her emotion to him, he could see that she believed in him more than anything. To prove her point, she refused to return to sleep, instead staying up beside him until the morning came.
And at the rise of the sun, Fakir stirred awake without as much of a sound. His face had turned emotionless for the task ahead, and after eating a quick breakfast and cleaning his floor, he brought his writing set to the barn adjacent Charon’s house. There he disappeared without even informing Ahiru, for she knew and he knew she knew. That day had been marked as something important to him - maybe just as important as saving Kinkan Town - and those closest to him realized what had to be done. Fakir had to have a suitable space to himself for this task.
Of course, writing her story was easier said than done. He prepared his quill, ink, and paper, but the words would not come - not for a while. He sat at his desk - for he had moved it into the empty barn - and waited, pushing himself to the limit. He summoned up all the will power he could, hacking away for hours at the doubts and innumerable possibilities that could come with his actions. Sighing, the quill would sit poised in his finger, nearing the page, only to be drawn away again at the mental image of an innocent, deserving duck earning a much-needed sleep in his room.
At around one in the afternoon, his stomach ached with dreadful hunger, but he wrote the first words.
The duck, who had once been a girl and had once been Princess Tutu, slept in peaceful dreams.
The next words came in gradual steps that tested his patience while doubt rose again, playing his mind with the idea of failure. He sat still again, struggling to concentrate on the image in his conscious. What did he really want to say?
At last, he started going in a steady rhythm, the words coming faster and faster. Soon, his feelings were being poured out onto paper with unmistakable honesty, weaving the threads of Ahiru’s transformation.
The clock tower at the center of Kinkan struck twelve. Fakir, exhausted and more starving than he had been in his entire life, looked up from the finished story splayed across his desk. Moonlight seeped through the cracks between the boards of the walls, blending into the shadows of the night. He couldn’t bring himself to reread his own writing, so he instead stood up, knocking his chair backwards. He sprinted through the barn, out into the cold, and into the main house. He didn’t stop to light a candle and leapt up the stairs in the dark.
He remembered that his heart had been pounding a mile a minute and his thoughts had been racing on the subject of Ahiru. At the top of the stairs, he burst through the open door of the room and searched with wild eyes the floor, the bed, and the window sill. It took him several moments of back-tracking and stone cold disbelief to realize Ahiru was gone.
“She’s…” He choked on the words, ready to collapse. “She’s…g-gone. Ahiru’s gone…”
“Fakir?”
His eyes bolted up at the feminine voice, scanning again the expanse of his room. “Ahiru?”
The closet door creaked open, and from behind it stepped out a young girl bathed in the faint moonlight. She paused in her stride from around the door, hugging the button-down shirt tighter around her figure. The moment felt so unreal that he wondered if he had caught sight of a phantom.
Then, the moon’s rays gave her irises a sapphire glow, and they turned toward him with heartfelt sincerity. She smiled toothlessly, and there was no mistaking her identity.
“You did it, Fakir,” She had whispered. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
None of his three resulting scenarios happened, rather, everything turned out great. So great, in fact, that Rue and Mytho, upon hearing, offered to take Ahiru and Fakir out to celebrate the following night. Fakir, relieved for his success and just plain damn happy that he could talk to Ahiru again, couldn’t refuse such an offer. They would attend a party hosted by the Diederichs, a noble family who had become great friends with the Prince and Princess over the years.
He pushed open the door of the mansion while balancing her in the hook of his other arm, bumbling the both of them out of the chattering, warm party and into the chilly air of the outdoors. As the entrance swung shut behind them, Fakir dragged his “date” across the lawn with as much resistance not to yell at her as he could muster. Instead, he looked across the grass for a spot to rest, locating a small hill towards the middle of the estate.
Half-way to his destination, he felt Ahiru stir against his arm. “Wait, wait…I can walk,” She managed. Even he could tell she tried not to let slurring words slip in her speech.
For a moment a thought flittered across his face, and then Fakir relaxed his arm to let it dangle at his side. Ahiru, freed, tagged along in an exaggerated hop-step until the both of them reached the hill. Several seconds passed, with Fakir struggling how he wanted to address that they should sit here, until Ahiru plopped down of her own accord because she both had weak knees and an uncanny indecisiveness, Fakir discovered, while in her current state.
He swore she had a flushed face back inside, though now the dim of the night made the color of her cheeks less apparent. Rue, he scolded, his mouth forming into an irritated frown. You were supposed to watch how many glasses she drank!
The once graceful, talented Princess Tutu hiccupped in her dog-drunk condition and giggled at the mere sound. “Ahh,” She sighed, kicking her feet against the ground, “It’s so great to be able to talk again! All of those people are wonderful people, don’t you think, Fakir?”
“Wonderful,” He mumbled, hesitating before crouching down next to her on the lawn. She had lucked out in that he was still in a very good mood.
Ahiru couldn’t help but smile while the autumn wind tossed her hair and the grass tickled the bare skin of her legs. All the tension, all the worries about conversing and not embarrassing herself in front of noble guests melted away with each glass of red wine she took part in…though now she’d forgotten just how many she’d drank. While a part of her felt separated from her own body, like she was watching herself from a window far away, right now she just knew she loved Rue. She loved herself. She loved everybody. Hell, she loved the whole world and everything in it.
She could also say she especially loved the stars. Craning her head back until she had to prop herself up on her elbows, Ahiru gazed up into the heavens and relished in the cosmic sparkles, shining and many like frost against a velvet blanket of midnight purple.
“Aren’t they so beautiful?”
“What?” Fakir asked with a partial dullness in his voice.
“The stars.”
“Oh.”
Her face softened into a dreamy expression. “They look like…” She began.
The ex-knight quirked an eyebrow and stared at her with building impatience.
“They look like…” She started again, only to contort her expression into one of mild dissatisfaction, “…like stars.”
“Of course they do, moron,” He chided, holding his temple at her astute observation. He shifted his head toward her at an angle, watching her out of the corner of her eye. She returned the look, but her eyes were bubbly and distant.
“Hey,” She drawled. “Don’t call me a moron.”
Fakir dared not to admit his curiosity. “Why?” He asked, his tone both soft and dangerous.
“Because…” She paused, and perhaps her ability to rationalize and judge herself had relapsed, “If I was really a moron, you wouldn’t have changed me back into a girl.”
Opportunity flickered in his eye, and Fakir lifted his gaze toward her. He could sense the book opening to him with those words, and he would be damned if he let this chance slide: ever since he finished her story, he wondered how she felt. More than anything, he wanted to know the Ahiru that had emerged from his closet like a precious glass beauty. He had never imagined she could look that way, and the image had lingered in his mind since it happened.
“Maybe you’re right,” He answered. “But whether you are a moron or not, I would’ve changed you back either way. I made a promise.”
Ahiru’s face fixed itself in concentration, her pupils dilating with the memories of long ago. She didn’t need him to explain further: she remembered his vow to her during their pas de deux in the Lake of Despair.
“Fakir…” She began, “I’m not sure I really understand. Why did you have to go through the extra trouble to change me back? You could have fulfilled your promise letting me live as a duck.”
“Don’t worry about why. Just be happy.”
“I am,” Ahiru assured him. A smile tugged at her lips only to disappear again. “I just don’t want to be a burden.”
For a moment, Fakir’s eyes widened. They were filled with concern and kindness, and with their deepness she realized how much he had matured in these past few years - meanwhile, she felt like she hadn’t matured at all. He leaned forward and held her fingers in his hand, thinking that maybe if he stared hard enough, she would understand him. “You’re not a burden,” He said. “Everything’s a burden when I can’t understand what you’re saying and you’re growing up faster than me, but you’re not a burden.”
Ahiru peered down at his hand shifted around hers and couldn’t help but gawk. Her stomach churned, but most of all her brain felt fired with impulses, impulses that seemed very romantic and embarrassing to her even while drunk.
As time went on, however, the churning of her stomach started becoming a little more uncomfortable and queasy. “I wanna go back and see Rue and Mytho some more,” She mumbled.
Fakir almost raised an eyebrow at her mood swings, but nonetheless he nodded. She wants to see more of them before they return to their castle again.
She stood before he got the chance to, and therein passed an uncertain moment where Fakir continued sitting on the grass, looking up at her. While she stayed still, waiting for him but averting her distorted gaze, Fakir studied her movements with a worried expression. He wondered just how much of her self-awareness she had left in her current state.
Just as he had shook his head and moved to his feet, a great thing tackled him in his midsection and caused him to lose his footing. The moment before hitting the ground, his assailant giggled with unmistakable mischief and he caught sight of a blur of red hair. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the time he locked up Mytho inside a library storage room only to turn around and be pummeled by someone who - he thought at the time - was a mere midget.
How many glasses of wine did she have again?
They descended to the ground rolling across the lawn, and to avoid either of their injuries he grabbed hold of either side of the shoulders in front of him. They continued rolling across the gentle slope until gravity’s effect slowed them down, and Fakir found himself landing with a thump onto his side. Ahiru lay on her side opposite him, giggling at his winded breath and his hands on her arms, and there, in that moment, he felt something joyous flutter in his chest despite how much he wanted to ignore the sensation.
While her laughter - loud though he loved it nonetheless - died down on her short breath, she formed her open mouth into a larger, more genuine grin. Blades of grass tickled her rosy cheek, inciting a bigger smile, and Fakir wanted to kiss that cheek for all its freckled worth. Instead, he stiffened, almost bewildered by this entire circumstance, and tried to remember that she was drunk and because of this and other reasons she was an idiot and-
“You know what I can’t wait for, Fakir?” She asked, her voice raised in excitement.
He gulped, trying to fight the heat crawling up his neck. “What?” He murmured, meaning the response to sound firm and uninterested, but instead the word came out quivering.
“The Fire Festival,” She said. “We can dance together all night! And I can wear this dress that Rue lent me again!”
She motioned with two fluid hands to her breast and downward, something she should have not done because his eyes definitely traced the objects of her gesture. He blinked away as soon as he realized what he was doing, but in that span he had understood, first hand, just how much Ahiru had grown over the years.
“T-together?” He stammered, berating himself for that last slip. The back part of his brain - the one that must be swimming in testosterone - argued that the view had been enticingly sweet.
“Together.” Ahiru smirked. Before he could do anything to stop it, his eyes widening to vivid green, Ahiru reached a finger forward and “bopped” the end of the noise. At the area of contact his skin tingled as though sprinkled with frost, and then his cheeks flushed an undeniable red. Heat surged through his body, quickening his heart.
They both lay silent. Though he could smell her rank, alcohol-laden breath, his eyes stared with a measure of disbelief - and daring - at the shape of her lips. He had trouble resisting the temptation in that moment. He imagined how she would react, how she would burn sweetly in his veins, and for several minutes the thought stayed with him, tempting him while her watery blue eyes blinked. The truth was: the slightest nervousness rippled in his stomach, her earlier touch of his nose washing him in boyish embarrassment, though he would never admit it, not even to himself.
The stars reeled above them, reflecting as blurred spots of light in her eyes. He looked at her with seriousness. She looked at him with carefree happiness.
“The Fire Festival, huh?”
“Yup.”
Her expression calmed a little, revealing the loveliness of her face. In the background, he heard the wordless, vague chatter of a group of people exiting the manor, and with the noise something jarred in his face, something reserved. She soon noticed his change of pace, and just as she was about to question what Fakir planned on doing, he stood, brushing off dirt from his suit.
“Let’s make sure we get the apple, then,” He said, offering her a hand.
An Ahiru at any other time would’ve recognized his reply as one of promise or adoration, but, to Fakir’s fortune, she remained oblivious to any hidden meanings. She unfolded her legs from behind her, taking his hand to steady herself as she rose.
“I’ll remember that!” She agreed, and, determined to walk straight, started off across the lawn.
No. No you won’t, Fakir thought, and cringed when he ran after a stumbling Ahiru.