[Fic] an apple a day
Title: an apple a day
Fandom: Crossroads
Characters: Muramatsu Ace, Yomohiro Tomoe | Ace/Tomoe
Word Count: 952
Rating: G?
Warning/s: cheese HAHA
Summary: He misses his classes. | Ace, Tomoe, and an apple a day
Disclaimer: Ace is Drinn's!
Notes: Written for PF2013; in-text note says: "Ace is Drinn's! Here you go bebe, the het sickfic I owe you! Also wtf cheese."
He misses his classes.
It isn't as if she pays attention to his whereabouts, she has a lot of things to do after all -- books to read, club members to scold, notes to send, erotica to peruse -- so it's merely a Passing Thought that he is absent. This Passing Thought is going to stay one, because she honestly could not care less. Honestly.
Really.
But the Passing Thought morphs into a Presiding Thought sometime between the third period and the next, when he still isn't there.
For all she knows he could be out with another woman/man/anything that moves, spending a late morning moving into afternoon, stuck in bed with the sheets tangled around their legs, wrapped up in each other--
The Presiding Thought evolves into a Pornographic Thought AND NO, SHE WILL NOT THINK ABOUT IT ANYMORE, OK.
So she doesn't.
She concentrates on Chemistry and Physics and Math and does not for one moment, think about Muramatsu Ace's whereabouts. She doesn't.
When the Physics professor asks for a volunteer to bring Muramatsu's homework to him she swears her hand raised on its own accord. After all, she is not thinking of him. Not at all.
But she ends up having to, in order to remember the directions to his house.
A classmate's duty, of course. Nothing more than a classmate's duty. While she is aiming for the top position in class, there is no glory in winning over a-- a person who is incapable of fighting back. This is all to level the field, yes. The only probable reason why she is walking to the corner of the street, the only possible explanation as to why she is pressing her finger against the doorbell.
The only rationalization that fits when she waits thirty minutes by the gate, for him to open the door.
And he looks terrible, really, with the bags under his eyes and the mussed state of his hair, a sniffle coming when he greets her with an uncharacteristically reserved "Hey Yoyo-chan."
Either he had one wild night with a bunch of diseased anything-that-moves or he's sick.
She-- believes in giving people the benefit of the doubt.
"You'd do well to move aside," and without waiting for him to reply, she pushes him and steps into his property without so much as a by-your-leave.
He pads after her with a shake of his head.
She places the activity sheets on top of the counter as she moves around the kitchen, looking for teacups and tea leaves. He's alone, she knows, she'd caught a passing mention of it somewhere, somehow, and it's not that she's actively trying to maintain this information in her roster of knowledge. She just has a brain that stores too much data.
Yes.
There's a pack of Oolong tea, nestled between a cactus?? and a...box of condoms and she pointedly ignores the latter as she sets up a kettle for boiling. From the corner of her eye, she can see him take the seat, watching her with red-rimmed eyes.
"Up to your room," She tells him, easing some leaves into a container. "Wait for me there."
"So eager, Yoyo-chan," He gives a weak smile, and this is the major indication that he really is sick because he leaves it at that and walks up the staircase. She isn't worried. That pang in her chest is definitely the smoke she had inhaled from a passing car on the way here.
Why would she be worried anyway, the idea is just preposterous.
He is asleep when she slips into his room.
She crosses the expanse between them in several strides, and places the teacup by his bedside table, making sure to use a coaster so as not to damage the wood. This is the time to leave, really. Let him have his rest, close up behind her when she departs. It isn't as if she has any reason to be here, after all.
But there's her hand again, moving of its own accord, gently laying itself atop his forehead, where it feels too warm. Today is a case of Dr. Strangelove, she tells herself. Her appendages are acquiring lives of their own. And she makes to snatch it back but his hand shoots up and his fingers encircle her wrist, keeping her there.
It's not like-- she has anywhere else to go, anyway.
He blinks bleary eyes at her. "Why are you here?"
I was just bringing your homework, I was just passing by, I'm going to steal all your household supplies and sell them to the black market--
"I wanted to be here." And her hand, that traitor, smooths the fringe from his forehead.
"Stay," He murmurs, leaning into her palm, as his eyes drift shut. This time, that ache in her chest is definitely not from the smoke.
"Only if you'll have me."
"Always and forever." He tells her, as he falls asleep, lulled into repose by fever and fatigue.
Definitely not from the smoke.
She does stay.
She stays until he wakes up. Sees her with her head pillowed by the side of his bed.
She would never know it, but he kisses her then, gently, light as a feather.
But then that's all right. The days stretch out before them, and he thinks he'll find another opportunity when she's conscious.
(He does kiss her again, just a few hours later. And the wait is all the more worth it, when her eyes flutter shut and she leans against him.)
She becomes sick the next day, and it's his turn to take care of her.
He'd do it forever, really, if she lets him.
This entry was originally posted at http://quadrantal.dreamwidth.org/20072.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Crossroads
Characters: Muramatsu Ace, Yomohiro Tomoe | Ace/Tomoe
Word Count: 952
Rating: G?
Warning/s: cheese HAHA
Summary: He misses his classes. | Ace, Tomoe, and an apple a day
Disclaimer: Ace is Drinn's!
Notes: Written for PF2013; in-text note says: "Ace is Drinn's! Here you go bebe, the het sickfic I owe you! Also wtf cheese."
He misses his classes.
It isn't as if she pays attention to his whereabouts, she has a lot of things to do after all -- books to read, club members to scold, notes to send, erotica to peruse -- so it's merely a Passing Thought that he is absent. This Passing Thought is going to stay one, because she honestly could not care less. Honestly.
Really.
But the Passing Thought morphs into a Presiding Thought sometime between the third period and the next, when he still isn't there.
For all she knows he could be out with another woman/man/anything that moves, spending a late morning moving into afternoon, stuck in bed with the sheets tangled around their legs, wrapped up in each other--
The Presiding Thought evolves into a Pornographic Thought AND NO, SHE WILL NOT THINK ABOUT IT ANYMORE, OK.
So she doesn't.
She concentrates on Chemistry and Physics and Math and does not for one moment, think about Muramatsu Ace's whereabouts. She doesn't.
When the Physics professor asks for a volunteer to bring Muramatsu's homework to him she swears her hand raised on its own accord. After all, she is not thinking of him. Not at all.
But she ends up having to, in order to remember the directions to his house.
A classmate's duty, of course. Nothing more than a classmate's duty. While she is aiming for the top position in class, there is no glory in winning over a-- a person who is incapable of fighting back. This is all to level the field, yes. The only probable reason why she is walking to the corner of the street, the only possible explanation as to why she is pressing her finger against the doorbell.
The only rationalization that fits when she waits thirty minutes by the gate, for him to open the door.
And he looks terrible, really, with the bags under his eyes and the mussed state of his hair, a sniffle coming when he greets her with an uncharacteristically reserved "Hey Yoyo-chan."
Either he had one wild night with a bunch of diseased anything-that-moves or he's sick.
She-- believes in giving people the benefit of the doubt.
"You'd do well to move aside," and without waiting for him to reply, she pushes him and steps into his property without so much as a by-your-leave.
He pads after her with a shake of his head.
She places the activity sheets on top of the counter as she moves around the kitchen, looking for teacups and tea leaves. He's alone, she knows, she'd caught a passing mention of it somewhere, somehow, and it's not that she's actively trying to maintain this information in her roster of knowledge. She just has a brain that stores too much data.
Yes.
There's a pack of Oolong tea, nestled between a cactus?? and a...box of condoms and she pointedly ignores the latter as she sets up a kettle for boiling. From the corner of her eye, she can see him take the seat, watching her with red-rimmed eyes.
"Up to your room," She tells him, easing some leaves into a container. "Wait for me there."
"So eager, Yoyo-chan," He gives a weak smile, and this is the major indication that he really is sick because he leaves it at that and walks up the staircase. She isn't worried. That pang in her chest is definitely the smoke she had inhaled from a passing car on the way here.
Why would she be worried anyway, the idea is just preposterous.
He is asleep when she slips into his room.
She crosses the expanse between them in several strides, and places the teacup by his bedside table, making sure to use a coaster so as not to damage the wood. This is the time to leave, really. Let him have his rest, close up behind her when she departs. It isn't as if she has any reason to be here, after all.
But there's her hand again, moving of its own accord, gently laying itself atop his forehead, where it feels too warm. Today is a case of Dr. Strangelove, she tells herself. Her appendages are acquiring lives of their own. And she makes to snatch it back but his hand shoots up and his fingers encircle her wrist, keeping her there.
It's not like-- she has anywhere else to go, anyway.
He blinks bleary eyes at her. "Why are you here?"
I was just bringing your homework, I was just passing by, I'm going to steal all your household supplies and sell them to the black market--
"I wanted to be here." And her hand, that traitor, smooths the fringe from his forehead.
"Stay," He murmurs, leaning into her palm, as his eyes drift shut. This time, that ache in her chest is definitely not from the smoke.
"Only if you'll have me."
"Always and forever." He tells her, as he falls asleep, lulled into repose by fever and fatigue.
Definitely not from the smoke.
She does stay.
She stays until he wakes up. Sees her with her head pillowed by the side of his bed.
She would never know it, but he kisses her then, gently, light as a feather.
But then that's all right. The days stretch out before them, and he thinks he'll find another opportunity when she's conscious.
(He does kiss her again, just a few hours later. And the wait is all the more worth it, when her eyes flutter shut and she leans against him.)
She becomes sick the next day, and it's his turn to take care of her.
He'd do it forever, really, if she lets him.
This entry was originally posted at http://quadrantal.dreamwidth.org/20072.html. Please comment there using OpenID.