(fic) fallen stars come to rest (Yamamoto/Chrome)
for khrfest
Prompt: VII - 40. Yamamoto/Chrome - waiting; "I thought you wouldn't be home in time for dinner."
Summary: (TYL) no matter his efforts, it still surprises her.
The door is noiseless as she carefully shuts it and locks it.
She leans against it, sighs a little; a light gust of air through pale parted lips that only emphasizes the exhaustion sunken bone-deep into the creases of her small body.
A hand rests on the wood, fingers splayed, and then she pushes, off of it, using it support her slight frame as she straightens, shoulders set. A light manila folder appears from her sleeve, small, she keeps it clasped to her chest as she slips off her heels at the steps.
Her cheeks are red with the cold she’d just come out from, neck bare and thin arms shaking just a little beneath the jacket she slips off to hang up.
She is quiet as she pads down the wooden-floored halls, pausing once at the living room to deposit the folder onto the piles already there, indifferent to her own solitude as the minute echoes of her own footstep bounce back to greet her.
To her surprise, there is a light in the kitchen, dim yet flaring bright.
She finds him with his arms on the table and head down, eyes closed and lips slightly pursed to accompany his gentle breathing, broad shoulders rising with each breathe.
A meal is laid out in front of him, quite simple in appearance.
She pauses at the doorway, a hand resting against the frame, shoulders fallen ever so slightly.
Her violet-coloured eye is calm, the other hidden beneath a skull-insignia-ed black eyepatch.
But there is a tremble to her petite frame, her hands curl into the woodwork and her chest hitches ever so slightly.
The candle sheds a warm golden glow to his tan features, the meal carefully made and arranged; it’s an unfamiliar image that makes her heart squeeze tight.
Almost afraid to ruin the moment, she hesitantly pads forward, lays her hands very lightly upon his upper arms and leans forward slowly.
She feels him move slightly, in response to her faint butterfly-kiss to his forehead, and quickly moves back to find him moan ever so slightly, eyes cracking open a little and peering up slowly with one as he rises to rub the palm of his hand into the other.
“...Chrome?”
“Sorry...”
She apologizes quietly, hands sliding down his unfolding arms.
“Takeshi. You can go sleep first, OK?”
“Uh uh,” he shakes his head in emphasis, slightly childlike in his fatigue, as he catches her hands before they can fall away and stands up.
"I thought you wouldn't be home in time for dinner."
And yet there was a meal laid out on the table and he’d stayed up so long he fell asleep - evident in the slow languid stretches of his long limbs as he hummed a little, moving around the small kitchen to reheat the food.
He is still in his own work clothes, white shirt and black slacks slightly crumpled; her eye flickers to the creased apron hung up on the peg behind the door.
She couldn’t help but collapse into the nearest - his - seat and pressed her hands hard to her mouth. Calming down enough, she released them to softly breathe.
His easy smile and warm eyes upon her filled her with as much warmth as that first spoonful into her mouth.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
Notes: one day late. i have two prompts left: I think (VI - 22. Ryohei/anyone - restore; sex with the sun guardian = complete healing) can be posted in the next week or so, but (III - 15. Yamamoto - natural; father was a swordsman, mother was a Yakuza princess (art) ) is definitely going to be really quite late - sorry!!
Prompt: VII - 40. Yamamoto/Chrome - waiting; "I thought you wouldn't be home in time for dinner."
Summary: (TYL) no matter his efforts, it still surprises her.
The door is noiseless as she carefully shuts it and locks it.
She leans against it, sighs a little; a light gust of air through pale parted lips that only emphasizes the exhaustion sunken bone-deep into the creases of her small body.
A hand rests on the wood, fingers splayed, and then she pushes, off of it, using it support her slight frame as she straightens, shoulders set. A light manila folder appears from her sleeve, small, she keeps it clasped to her chest as she slips off her heels at the steps.
Her cheeks are red with the cold she’d just come out from, neck bare and thin arms shaking just a little beneath the jacket she slips off to hang up.
She is quiet as she pads down the wooden-floored halls, pausing once at the living room to deposit the folder onto the piles already there, indifferent to her own solitude as the minute echoes of her own footstep bounce back to greet her.
To her surprise, there is a light in the kitchen, dim yet flaring bright.
She finds him with his arms on the table and head down, eyes closed and lips slightly pursed to accompany his gentle breathing, broad shoulders rising with each breathe.
A meal is laid out in front of him, quite simple in appearance.
She pauses at the doorway, a hand resting against the frame, shoulders fallen ever so slightly.
Her violet-coloured eye is calm, the other hidden beneath a skull-insignia-ed black eyepatch.
But there is a tremble to her petite frame, her hands curl into the woodwork and her chest hitches ever so slightly.
The candle sheds a warm golden glow to his tan features, the meal carefully made and arranged; it’s an unfamiliar image that makes her heart squeeze tight.
Almost afraid to ruin the moment, she hesitantly pads forward, lays her hands very lightly upon his upper arms and leans forward slowly.
She feels him move slightly, in response to her faint butterfly-kiss to his forehead, and quickly moves back to find him moan ever so slightly, eyes cracking open a little and peering up slowly with one as he rises to rub the palm of his hand into the other.
“...Chrome?”
“Sorry...”
She apologizes quietly, hands sliding down his unfolding arms.
“Takeshi. You can go sleep first, OK?”
“Uh uh,” he shakes his head in emphasis, slightly childlike in his fatigue, as he catches her hands before they can fall away and stands up.
"I thought you wouldn't be home in time for dinner."
And yet there was a meal laid out on the table and he’d stayed up so long he fell asleep - evident in the slow languid stretches of his long limbs as he hummed a little, moving around the small kitchen to reheat the food.
He is still in his own work clothes, white shirt and black slacks slightly crumpled; her eye flickers to the creased apron hung up on the peg behind the door.
She couldn’t help but collapse into the nearest - his - seat and pressed her hands hard to her mouth. Calming down enough, she released them to softly breathe.
His easy smile and warm eyes upon her filled her with as much warmth as that first spoonful into her mouth.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
Notes: one day late. i have two prompts left: I think (VI - 22. Ryohei/anyone - restore; sex with the sun guardian = complete healing) can be posted in the next week or so, but (III - 15. Yamamoto - natural; father was a swordsman, mother was a Yakuza princess (art) ) is definitely going to be really quite late - sorry!!