Five times five times five times...five?
Ask me for five things about a particular character, and I will respond with a list or ficlet. (You know the drill: "Five times Arthur was rubbish at talking to girls," or "Five parking tickets Christina de Souza got")Fandoms: Naruto, KKM, FFVII, FFXII, Abyss, Symphonia, KH, Ocean's, PW, HP, Hetalia, KHR, Loveless, Shakespeare, anything else I've
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“I love you,” he whispers in Ritsuka’s ear when Ritsuka’s asleep. The fur on the tip of his ear tickles Seimei’s lip, lets him smile. He kisses the tip of Ritsuka’s ear, then sets his teeth in it, lightly, then biting. In the morning, he knows, there will be little flecks of dried blood in the fur, though no one will notice it except Seimei.
he
“Tell me you love me,” Seimei commands Soubi, and Soubi says, “I love you.”
“No,” Seimei says. “You don’t mean that. You,” he presses a finger at the base of Soubi’s neck, where the blood is soaking through bandages, “never sound like you mean it.”
“I love you,” Soubi repeats, his throat moving beneath Seimei’s finger. “I love you, I love you, I love you--”
Seimei digs his fingernail in, catching and pulling bandages and scabs alike, and says with Seimei, “I love you.”
says
He looks through photo albums with Ritsuka on rainy Saturdays, when their mother is running errands. Seimei likes the pictures taken two years ago, when Ritsuka had his arm in a splint, and couldn’t remember who he was. Ritsuka prefers the pictures from when he was a baby, a wrapped up bundle in everyone’s arms.
“This is your baby brother,” his mother had said, and he had looked at the ugly red face, and the squashed head, and had hated it.
“Were you happy?” Ritsuka asks like he always asks, looking at the pictures hungrily. Seimei laughs, and
“I hate it,” he had said when his father had pushed him closer to the baby, and his mother’s face had crumpled.
says, “I’ve always loved you.”
‘my
The old woman he lives with likes to watch him throughout the day, doing little things. Making breakfast, pulling the laundry from the wires, turning of the TV. At first, he thought she was a pervert of some kind, an old woman who liked to watch kids with their ears, and think about taking them.
Then he saw the postcards tacked up on her wall, and when he turned them over, he read, grandma, grandma, we love you, happy birthday, hello from australia, we love you, grandma, and when she watched him pick up the dishes after dinner that night, he smiled at her and she smiled back.
“I love you,” he says now, when he comes and when he leaves, always through the front door with a pause on the threshold.
“I love you,” she always replies, faster than she realizes, and Seimei knows that it’s true.
love’
“Your ears?” Seimei asks, a cold fury in his stomach, and Ritsuka says, “Soubi, of course.”
“Of course,” Seimei repeats, then asks, “of course?”
“Who else,” Rituska says, and he is so stubborn and proud, all of fifteen. Seimei wants to break his arm again, wrap his hands around his neck until Ritsuka’s head is as red and squashed as a baby’s.
“It was supposed to be me,” Seimei snaps, and he twists Ritsuka’s arm tighter, digs his knee into Ritsuka’s back when Rituska makes a noise of pain. “I’m the one who loves you.”
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Anyway I loved and thank you for doing this.
-Annie
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