[fab five] don't leave me tongue tied. - chapter 3.
Series: Multiple (Final Fantasy 13-2, Kingdom Hearts and Persona 4, in that order).
Word Count: 1,214.
Characters/Pairings: Canon/Fab Five members.
Notes: Third chunk of drabbles.
Summary: five silly girls stuck in situations beyond their control.
1. paint (yuj/sashi)
His hands are miracle workers, your face is a canvas, and with minimal effort he transforms you into some kind of mythical princess. He wears things that fit you, you coordinate your outfits and he always steals a kiss before he paints your lips. He tells you, you look beautiful to him even if you’re just waking up, and you tell him to stop joking. His only response is a small smile. He’s proud of you even if you do nothing. He loves you even when you scream at the sight of a dead jellyfish-IT’S AN ALIEN, JESUS CHRIST-or when you cry and choke and gasp over a kid’s movie. He holds you when you break, helps piece you back together. He paints your face more subtly over time until it’s almost nothing at all. He still flaunts you, and you start to believe him when he says you’re beautiful.
2. haunted (sora/ariel - roxas/ariel)
In him, you look for traces of sarcasm, of temper-brittle and cracking, voice raw. You run your fingers through his hair sometimes, lazily, when he’s napping, looking for the strands of blonde. It’s not that you don’t love him, his smile, his laugh, his awkward hands, but it’s that you-what? You wish they were both here. There is just something he is missing, something you hold so dear, something his perception can’t fix. You smile, and, oh, your cheeks hurt, but you keep smiling and smiling and missing that something he doesn’t have. You long for the small, crooked smile, the silent laughter, his strong sureness under all his uncertainty, that contradiction, and the way he forced himself forward. And yet, you know your own hypocrisy-when he was there, you missed the bubbly laughter and free affection, the scrapes and recklessness, so desperately it hurt. You are selfish, you are human, and you ache. You keep quiet and pray to dream. Someday, something will fall into place. He takes your hand and grins. Your heart clenches with your hand. He’ll never know how much you love both of him-both of them-and you know that it’s better that way.
3. home alone (souji-yu/shii)
You lie on his futon and play with a calico kitten together. The room is quiet, the house even more so, and his hair is almost white in the afternoon sun that streams into his room in dusty slants. The kitten’s tail whips back and forth as it watches the moving toy he holds delicately in his hand before it leaps up and misses, landing back on its butt. You burst into giggles and the kitten meows plaintively. He chuckles and says, I don’t think it appreciates you laughing. The kitten stands up again and wiggles her butt, as if to illustrate a point. She catches the feather bait this time, clenching it between her teeth, savoring her prize. He lets go of the attached stick and watches her go into the opposite corner of the room to sleep, protecting her ‘fresh kill’. Your feet move slowly through the warm air, your face on your folded arms, and your stomach hot on his dark blue blankets. Summer is coming and the air outside is sticky. He stretches his legs in front of him, quiet. Thoughtful. Tomorrow, you will go into the TV again. There lingers the constant possibility of something going wrong. The kitten is purring deeply, barely audible from the other side of the room. He exhales, almost silent, and closes his eyes. His futon is almost unbearably hot, but you really don’t want to move. These moments are escapist, precious, and they’re over all too soon. His hair still looks white, but he looks nothing like an angel. He looks human and tired, the side he only lets you see. You don’t say anything. When he finally moves and lies down on the futon with you again, you roll over and let your stomach breathe. You don’t fit right on the futon like this, shoulder to shoulder, and both of you have a sliver of your bodies on the floor, but neither of you move. The sun is setting and the room is orange. The kitten yawns and pads over, climbs on his stomach and curls up again. You close your eyes and open them to nighttime. The kitten is gone, and the fluorescent lights of his room are on. Tomorrow, you’re going into the TV again. He walks you home and kisses your forehead at the door. It’s a little bit like comfort, giving and taking. You sleep soundly.
Word Count: 1,214.
Characters/Pairings: Canon/Fab Five members.
Notes: Third chunk of drabbles.
Summary: five silly girls stuck in situations beyond their control.
1. paint (yuj/sashi)
His hands are miracle workers, your face is a canvas, and with minimal effort he transforms you into some kind of mythical princess. He wears things that fit you, you coordinate your outfits and he always steals a kiss before he paints your lips. He tells you, you look beautiful to him even if you’re just waking up, and you tell him to stop joking. His only response is a small smile. He’s proud of you even if you do nothing. He loves you even when you scream at the sight of a dead jellyfish-IT’S AN ALIEN, JESUS CHRIST-or when you cry and choke and gasp over a kid’s movie. He holds you when you break, helps piece you back together. He paints your face more subtly over time until it’s almost nothing at all. He still flaunts you, and you start to believe him when he says you’re beautiful.
2. haunted (sora/ariel - roxas/ariel)
In him, you look for traces of sarcasm, of temper-brittle and cracking, voice raw. You run your fingers through his hair sometimes, lazily, when he’s napping, looking for the strands of blonde. It’s not that you don’t love him, his smile, his laugh, his awkward hands, but it’s that you-what? You wish they were both here. There is just something he is missing, something you hold so dear, something his perception can’t fix. You smile, and, oh, your cheeks hurt, but you keep smiling and smiling and missing that something he doesn’t have. You long for the small, crooked smile, the silent laughter, his strong sureness under all his uncertainty, that contradiction, and the way he forced himself forward. And yet, you know your own hypocrisy-when he was there, you missed the bubbly laughter and free affection, the scrapes and recklessness, so desperately it hurt. You are selfish, you are human, and you ache. You keep quiet and pray to dream. Someday, something will fall into place. He takes your hand and grins. Your heart clenches with your hand. He’ll never know how much you love both of him-both of them-and you know that it’s better that way.
3. home alone (souji-yu/shii)
You lie on his futon and play with a calico kitten together. The room is quiet, the house even more so, and his hair is almost white in the afternoon sun that streams into his room in dusty slants. The kitten’s tail whips back and forth as it watches the moving toy he holds delicately in his hand before it leaps up and misses, landing back on its butt. You burst into giggles and the kitten meows plaintively. He chuckles and says, I don’t think it appreciates you laughing. The kitten stands up again and wiggles her butt, as if to illustrate a point. She catches the feather bait this time, clenching it between her teeth, savoring her prize. He lets go of the attached stick and watches her go into the opposite corner of the room to sleep, protecting her ‘fresh kill’. Your feet move slowly through the warm air, your face on your folded arms, and your stomach hot on his dark blue blankets. Summer is coming and the air outside is sticky. He stretches his legs in front of him, quiet. Thoughtful. Tomorrow, you will go into the TV again. There lingers the constant possibility of something going wrong. The kitten is purring deeply, barely audible from the other side of the room. He exhales, almost silent, and closes his eyes. His futon is almost unbearably hot, but you really don’t want to move. These moments are escapist, precious, and they’re over all too soon. His hair still looks white, but he looks nothing like an angel. He looks human and tired, the side he only lets you see. You don’t say anything. When he finally moves and lies down on the futon with you again, you roll over and let your stomach breathe. You don’t fit right on the futon like this, shoulder to shoulder, and both of you have a sliver of your bodies on the floor, but neither of you move. The sun is setting and the room is orange. The kitten yawns and pads over, climbs on his stomach and curls up again. You close your eyes and open them to nighttime. The kitten is gone, and the fluorescent lights of his room are on. Tomorrow, you’re going into the TV again. He walks you home and kisses your forehead at the door. It’s a little bit like comfort, giving and taking. You sleep soundly.