Lucky Guess
Okay, so had an idea for a new XIII universe, and... um. Yeah. I really, really like it. We'll see if goes anywhere past this.
Title: Lucky Guess
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII
Characters: Fang, Hope
Rating: G
Word Count: 862
Note: Written for the
no_true_pair prompt: Somehow, Hope feels like Fang is someone he has met before... End-game spoilers because it is set a few hundred years after game.
Summary: Hope meets someone he's (never) met before.
At first, he thinks he’s seeing things. After all, it’s not like pretty girls sitting in a random corner of the library and staring at him is a common occurrence. It happens to other people, but not to him. Hope shifts, uncomfortable, and tries to go back to reading his book. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he glances at her again. A slow lazy smile forms across her face and she winks at him.
He flushes-and hadn’t he been over this whole stuttering school boy thing when he left high school? What happened?
When he turns back to his book, that funny prickling feeling finally goes away. Hope exhales-relief? disappointment?-and then he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jerks and his book lands with a thud on the floor. “I ah-Can I help you?” he asks, already certain he knows who it is.
Her fingers are calloused and warm on his shoulder, and he turns to see her grin. “What’s your name, darlin’?” she asks, her voice an exotic drawl he’s never heard before. “Don’t worry. No need to be jumpy. I don’t bite... Unless you ask me to.”
She winks again, and he averts his eyes. “Hope. Hope Phylo.”
“Really now? That’s interesting. You can call me Fang.”
Fang moves to sit across from him; he swallows. “So uh... Fang,” he clears his throat. “Are you studying here?”
“No,” she replies, and her fingers skim across the table.
Somehow, he knows that if she’s this jittery, there’s something she’s trying to figure out how to say. Somehow, he knows that she won’t tell him unless he asks. “Fang? Is something wrong?”
It makes her laugh-but he can tell it’s fake. It doesn’t have that ring he knows should be there, doesn’t make him smile like he knows it should. “No,” she grins at him, but there’s a look in her eye that he recognizes as loss. “I’m great.”
He has to repress the urge to lean across the table and hug her. It catches him off guard and he averts his gaze. This time her laugh is real. “Do I scare you?” she asks him.
“No. You’ve never scared me,” he says.
There’s a pause. “How...?” he trails off. “How do you know me?”
How do I know you? He wants to ask, but he doesn't want her to think he’s crazy. He doesn’t want to drive her away-because if she leaves, if he never sees her again-
Hope represses the urge to reach out and grab that blue cloth she’s wrapped in (her sari) and cling to her like he hasn’t clung to anyone since his mother left him that first day in kindergarten.
Her face changes, to a serious expression he knows doesn’t belong there. “I don’t. Call it a... lucky guess.”
And it’s a lie. He knows it, like he knows so much about this person he’s never met before. Hope examines her. There's a spear made of red metal on her back and she wearing clothes of a make he's never seen outside of an ancient civilizations class.
“Please,” he chokes, tries to regain composure. “The truth. Please, Fang.”
She flinches.
“What are you studying here?” she asks.
Hope meets her gaze and there’s something like fear in her eyes. “Guess, Fang.”
Her hands clench and unclench and she looks away and then back at him. A breath escapes her-and he’s won. He knows he’s won. “You’re...” she pauses, struggles with herself. “You’re studying to be a healer,” she says finally.
“Doctor, but close enough.”
When he smiles, her face softens. “Glad to hear it.”
Fang stands and he grabs the edge of her sari. “Are you,” he takes a breath, “Are you leaving?”
(Are you leaving me?)
And she falters, looks at him. “Of course not, darlin’. I’ll stick around. Don’t you worry, I’m not abandoning you.”
“Is that a promise?” he asks, cursing himself for sounding like a little kid.
“Yeah,” she says. “It is. Now, love, I need to run. There’s someone waiting for me, but I’ll be back. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
Somehow, he has the impression of red pigtails. Who knows why. All he knows is the idea of Fang never coming back is too horrible to comprehend and despite the fact he’s never met her before now, he knows her. More than he’s ever known anyone in his entire life. Hope stands and enfolds her in a hug and in the back of his mind, he can't help but wonder why he's taller than she is, and it’s only then he realizes he’s shaking with tears, saying over and over and over, don’t leave me again, Fang. Don’t leave me.
And her fingers comb through his hair and she murmurs into his ear until he calms.
I won't, I won't. I promise, Hope. I won't.
Hope pulls away and she winks. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she says. “In the meantime, why not go introduce yourself to that pink-haired girl over there? You might find she’s a pretty neat gal.
Parts Two and Three
Title: Lucky Guess
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII
Characters: Fang, Hope
Rating: G
Word Count: 862
Note: Written for the
no_true_pair prompt: Somehow, Hope feels like Fang is someone he has met before... End-game spoilers because it is set a few hundred years after game.
Summary: Hope meets someone he's (never) met before.
At first, he thinks he’s seeing things. After all, it’s not like pretty girls sitting in a random corner of the library and staring at him is a common occurrence. It happens to other people, but not to him. Hope shifts, uncomfortable, and tries to go back to reading his book. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he glances at her again. A slow lazy smile forms across her face and she winks at him.
He flushes-and hadn’t he been over this whole stuttering school boy thing when he left high school? What happened?
When he turns back to his book, that funny prickling feeling finally goes away. Hope exhales-relief? disappointment?-and then he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jerks and his book lands with a thud on the floor. “I ah-Can I help you?” he asks, already certain he knows who it is.
Her fingers are calloused and warm on his shoulder, and he turns to see her grin. “What’s your name, darlin’?” she asks, her voice an exotic drawl he’s never heard before. “Don’t worry. No need to be jumpy. I don’t bite... Unless you ask me to.”
She winks again, and he averts his eyes. “Hope. Hope Phylo.”
“Really now? That’s interesting. You can call me Fang.”
Fang moves to sit across from him; he swallows. “So uh... Fang,” he clears his throat. “Are you studying here?”
“No,” she replies, and her fingers skim across the table.
Somehow, he knows that if she’s this jittery, there’s something she’s trying to figure out how to say. Somehow, he knows that she won’t tell him unless he asks. “Fang? Is something wrong?”
It makes her laugh-but he can tell it’s fake. It doesn’t have that ring he knows should be there, doesn’t make him smile like he knows it should. “No,” she grins at him, but there’s a look in her eye that he recognizes as loss. “I’m great.”
He has to repress the urge to lean across the table and hug her. It catches him off guard and he averts his gaze. This time her laugh is real. “Do I scare you?” she asks him.
“No. You’ve never scared me,” he says.
There’s a pause. “How...?” he trails off. “How do you know me?”
How do I know you? He wants to ask, but he doesn't want her to think he’s crazy. He doesn’t want to drive her away-because if she leaves, if he never sees her again-
Hope represses the urge to reach out and grab that blue cloth she’s wrapped in (her sari) and cling to her like he hasn’t clung to anyone since his mother left him that first day in kindergarten.
Her face changes, to a serious expression he knows doesn’t belong there. “I don’t. Call it a... lucky guess.”
And it’s a lie. He knows it, like he knows so much about this person he’s never met before. Hope examines her. There's a spear made of red metal on her back and she wearing clothes of a make he's never seen outside of an ancient civilizations class.
“Please,” he chokes, tries to regain composure. “The truth. Please, Fang.”
She flinches.
“What are you studying here?” she asks.
Hope meets her gaze and there’s something like fear in her eyes. “Guess, Fang.”
Her hands clench and unclench and she looks away and then back at him. A breath escapes her-and he’s won. He knows he’s won. “You’re...” she pauses, struggles with herself. “You’re studying to be a healer,” she says finally.
“Doctor, but close enough.”
When he smiles, her face softens. “Glad to hear it.”
Fang stands and he grabs the edge of her sari. “Are you,” he takes a breath, “Are you leaving?”
(Are you leaving me?)
And she falters, looks at him. “Of course not, darlin’. I’ll stick around. Don’t you worry, I’m not abandoning you.”
“Is that a promise?” he asks, cursing himself for sounding like a little kid.
“Yeah,” she says. “It is. Now, love, I need to run. There’s someone waiting for me, but I’ll be back. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
Somehow, he has the impression of red pigtails. Who knows why. All he knows is the idea of Fang never coming back is too horrible to comprehend and despite the fact he’s never met her before now, he knows her. More than he’s ever known anyone in his entire life. Hope stands and enfolds her in a hug and in the back of his mind, he can't help but wonder why he's taller than she is, and it’s only then he realizes he’s shaking with tears, saying over and over and over, don’t leave me again, Fang. Don’t leave me.
And her fingers comb through his hair and she murmurs into his ear until he calms.
I won't, I won't. I promise, Hope. I won't.
Hope pulls away and she winks. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she says. “In the meantime, why not go introduce yourself to that pink-haired girl over there? You might find she’s a pretty neat gal.
Parts Two and Three