Happy New Year
Two more gift-fics done (and two more to go), and erk, I'm so late with these. *is sorry* ;o;
*****
Kitchen Conspiracies
Sibling bonding between Kero-chan and Soel, post Sakura becoming Mistress of the Cards - for Oz
“-And when he leaves the kitchen,” Kero whispered behind a tiny paw, the white Mokona lifting one ear for the minute guardian to confer their secret plan into, “we’ll pounce!”
“Pounce!” Mokona agreed enthusiastically.
Watanuki, icing a recently-made cake on the other side of the kitchen, twitched. “I can hear you two, you know.” Beside him, clad in an apron like his other…other self, stood Syaoran, sweat-dropping a little at the conversation.
“No you can’t,” Mokona insisted staunchly from her perch on the kitchen tabletop. Kero nodded agreement.
“Yes,” Watanuki retorted rather evenly - living in a shop where insanity was a regular thing either fried your nerves or drilled steel through their core -, “I can. And you’re planning to steal my cake.”
“We’re just a figment of Watanuki’s imagination.” Mokona continued, and made a wiggly movement that could have been considered hypnotic on any body shape but that of a fluffy meatbun. “Watanuki is paranoid.”
“Paranoid~!” Maru chirped, popping up behind the two mascots on the table, watching the cake’s progress just as eagerly as Kero and Mokona.
“Paranoid~!” Moro agreed, not far behind her.
Watanuki pointed to the door. “Out.”
As one, two girls, one teddy-bear with wings and one white meatbun whined. “But Watanuki-!”
“Out.”
Reluctantly, the troupe trooped out, Syaoran looking at Watanuki, his face decorated with a mild frown. He wasn’t the only one concerned by the oddly restrained request from Watanuki - Maru and Moro were the last to depart the room, hand-in-hand looking at the master of the shop, before trailing after the dejected Kero and Mokona. Four years and their effect on Watanuki Kimihiro: inwardly, a whole new person, outwardly, exactly the same.
There was the sound of voices from the main lounge so that was where the small group exiled from the kitchen went next, Maru and Moro pulling back the doors so they could all get inside.
“Oi, manjuu - that one was mine. You’ve had your five already.”
“Mokona thinks Big Puppy can’t count - Mokona’s only had four!”
“You’ve had five, you little -”
“Wah, Kuro-mean’s trying to steal Mokona’s share!”
“I am not!”
“The sake is Mokona’s!”
“…Sake?” The bright question from the white Mokona at the door had all three occupants of the room swivelling around to look at the four who’d just arrived: Fai, in the corner, tucked up beside the heater with his share of alcohol around him, nose-deep in a book, and Kurogane and the black Mokona in the middle of the room, apparently having a tug-of-war over the last bottle of sake.
“…No,” said Kurogane succinctly, knowing his bouncing travelling companion far too well, raising his real hand to emphasise his utter refusal to allow the mixing of Mokona and alcohol - only for the manjuu’s darker brother to take the opportunity to snatch the contested sake from the ninja’s hand and bound away with it quickly to the corner (and the relative safety of Fai). “OI!”
“Kuro-chan,” Fai started diplomatically as the man’s scowling shadow loomed over the pages of his book, ushering Mokona behind him with his elbow.
“Mokona!” cried the white Mokona, in what seemed like concern for her brother.
Kero decided that moment was his great chance to shine, and zipped forwards to hover obnoxiously in front of Kurogane’s face. “Leave it to Kero!”
Kurogane was suitably unimpressed. “Oh, great. It’s the flying stomach.”
Kero was not to be dissuaded. “Pick on someone your own size!”
Kurogane was heavily dissuading. “…You?”
“Try it!”
“…You’re tiny.”
Kero scowled, and transformed into his released form (“Who’s little, now?” “Get off of me!”), doing it in just the right place so that his newfound weight pushed Kurogane onto the floor and gave Keroberos himself a comfortable seat sprawled across the ninja. Mokona (the white one) bounced across to curiously poke the enraged Kurogane in the forehead with one paw (Kurogane yelled louder, but Keroberos was heavy and refused to budge), and her brother sat and happily chortled, downing the stolen sake. Maru and Moro decided to link hands and spin around in a circle, and Fai went back to reading, wholly unconcerned with his lover’s valiant efforts to dislodge a magical winged lion from his chest.
After half an hour struggling Kurogane eventually gave up and just flopped back on the floor in defeat. Mokona hopped up to sit beside Keroberos at that point, and had a bright conversation with ‘daddy’:
“Tell the fat cat to get off of me already.” (Kero had fallen asleep, and was snoring by that point.)
Mokona did an approximation of shaking her head. “Mokona can’t do that - Kero was defending Mokona!”
Kurogane frowned at her. “…So what does that make the stuffed animal? Your boyfriend?”
“Kuro-pui,” Fai remarked lazily as Mokona laughed, the mage not even looking up from his book, “I think that counts as incest.”
“You.” Kurogane glared at him. “Shut up.”
(Syaoran carried the cake he’d been icing with Watanuki through a little while later: the Mokona - and Keroberos - had the decency to wait until everyone had been cut a slice before pouncing on the remainder in glee, and then going on to eat Kurogane’s share as well. As a reward for Mokona-defence, the Mokona thoughtfully presented Keroberos with the strawberry they’d thieved off of the ninja.
(Kurogane swore at all three of them, and dumped them outside of the room.))
A/N: I was thinking about this one, and the only time it would work in canon chronology is after the end of Tsubasa. The Mokona went to sleep whilst Clow was still alive, and Sakura only started capturing the cards when Clow was dead. Also, the Tsubasa crew never returned to Yuuko’s shop before everything was ‘concluded’ with Fei Wong Reed, so Soel would’ve had to wait to see her friends again. (Not that Yue would ever admit to liking either of the fuzzballs. X3)
…I don’t really think I did this prompt/request justice; I’m sorry. I can’t write Kero. ;o; *struggled*
*****
Confession
Christmas Syaoron/Yuui (Horitsuba) - for waders
Over the years of his life Li Syaoron had travelled the world with his father and his brother, crossing through and lingering in various countries across the globe in various seasons. He’d seen a diverse array of festivals and holidays, been dressed up in weird costumes, tasted strange foods and drunk some interesting drinks that had made his father baulk when he’d found out about them, and sprawled out contentedly in his bed afterwards, pleased with a good night’s revelling. Still, there was nothing quite like Christmas.
Syaoron kicked at a pile of snow at the edge of the pavement as he made his way through the town outside of the Horitsuba complex, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket’s pockets against the winter cold. School was out for the winter break but he and Syaoran were still in their room - their father was going to be a little late picking them up that year, only coming to spend the few days between Boxing Day and the New Year with his sons. The Kinomotos, at Sakura’s insistence upon discovering the two brothers would be otherwise alone on Christmas Day itself, had flung open their doors - something that was bound to be interesting, with how Sakura and Syaoran blushed red every time they made eye contact, and Sakura’s older brother’s famous sister-complex. (Glaring, blushing and stuttering across the dinner table seemed rather inevitable, really.) Syaoron was looking forward to some good-natured teasing of his darling little brother combined with the infuriation of one Kinomoto Touya - Syaoron could’ve spared himself the older boy’s ire, of course, having made it pretty public knowledge that he had bigger fish to fry (slice, dice, boil, stew or otherwise experiment with in any fashion that ended with him in a certain chef’s kitchen) than pretty Sakura, but he had to defend his brother (in-between making Syaoran go as red as a tomato). Sakura was lovely, really, but much more Syaoran’s type.
Luck, fate, destiny, hitsuzen - something was with Syaoron that evening, granting him a reason for the strange urge that had prompted him out-of-doors as the sun began to set, leaving Syaoran reading a book on his bed. Life was good; life was fine, and sometimes life handed out its blessings when one least expected them - namely, one familiar fair-faced home economics teacher in the crowds not too far ahead clearly struggling with two bags full of shopping, one of them with a broken handle and a growing split down the side. He looked exasperated, his hair - loose that day - getting in his face as he vainly juggled with his load and tried not to drop anything, and, to top it all off, it was beginning to snow again.
Motive, means and opportunity -
“Yuui-sensei!” Yuui Fluorite visibly jolted at the sound of his name, a few of his groceries slipping out of the bag he held awkwardly against his chest and hitting the ground. Syaoron pushed his way through the crowds around him and picked them up, handing them back to his teacher with a charming smile. “Yuui-sensei, would you like a hand?”
“Syaoron-kun,” Yuui smiled at the teenager, and let Syaoron take the bag with its handles still attached from him, freeing up his hand to deal with the broken bag tucked in his other arm, “thank you; it’s very kind of you to offer to help.”
His student shook his head. “It’s nothing, sensei.” He looked up at the adult beside him. “Are you heading back to your home now?” Yuui nodded. “I’ll carry this back for you, then.”
Yuui was adjusting his grip on his broken bag, settling the items Syaoron had picked up for him back into their rightful place before glancing back to the boy. “You needn’t, Syaoron-kun, really. It is very kind of you, but I’m sure you were busy doing something else -” Syaoron shook his head - denial. “Honestly?”
“Honestly,” Syaoron grinned. “I was about to head home myself.” He took a step in the direction of the school complex. “Should we head off then, sensei?”
Yuui nodded again and the two began making their way back to the school, the wind picking up and blowing a flurry of snow about them, whirling eddies that danced the white hither-thither with little sense of purpose or direction. They talked about what had happened since school had officially broken up - Syaoron had heard Fai-sensei and Kurogane-sensei yelling about campus, but Yuui was generally relied on to be a lot quieter, tucked away somewhere out of sight. Kurogane-sensei was apparently evading Yuuko-sensei’s clutches for New Year that year, leaving the city to return back to his parents’ home. Fai was, apparently, distraught about this arrangement - namely, the fact he was being left out of it -, and had demanded Kurogane celebrate a Western-style Christmas with the two brothers to make up for it. (Syaoron didn’t really want to know how Kurogane-sensei had been talked into agreeing to that one.)
In turn, Syaoron told his teacher about what had been going on in his own life, his own plans for the festive season, enjoying the conversation, the chance to have Yuui’s sole attention as they walked back to campus together. Yuui had a nice voice, a pitch lower than his brother’s, a good mind, and a kind manner. He was smart, skilled and attractive, and Syaoron couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander slightly in the blond’s company, liking the way the falling snow clung to Yuui’s fine hair, the touch of pink the cold brought out in pale cheeks.
“Syaoron-kun?” Syaoron came back to himself to find Yuui looking at him rather quizzically, apparently just having said something and received no response. Or maybe he was just wondering why his student was staring at him - either worked, and it didn’t really matter.
“Would you believe me,” Syaoron began, looking up so very seriously into his teacher’s blue eyes, “if I told you you looked like an angel?” The prettiest angels, in nearly all the art he’d seen whilst travelling with his father, always seemed to be blonde.
Yuui coloured, a faint wash of red spreading high across his cheekbones, his grip tightening on the bag he was holding. “Syaoron-kun, where did that come from?”
“I do think you look like an angel right now, Yuui-sensei,” Syaoron returned rather baldly. “You look really good in the snow.”
“…Thank you, Syaoron-kun.” Yuui adjusted the bag in his hold, realising he was clutching it a little too hard, looking away from the youth beside him whilst he did so. “But you shouldn’t really say such things. I’m your teacher, and it’s inappropriate.”
“…I’m sorry, sensei.” Syaoron wasn’t, really. The gates of the school complex were coming into sight. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t -”
Syaoron butted in before Yuui could finish his sentence. “Then, sensei, may I compliment you again?”
Yuui stopped walking. A little surprised Syaoron came to a halt as well, half a step in front of his teacher. He turned around to face his teacher, his back to Horitsuba, his cheeks cold from the wind and snow, fingers a little numb outside his pockets, holding the bag.
“Syaoron-kun,” Yuui’s expression was serious, the wispy hair around his face a different colour in the falling light, “what are you doing?”
His student drew in a deep breath, and let it out in a charming smile. “I’m walking you home, Yuui-sensei.”
“Syaoron-kun.” Evasion wasn’t going to work.
“I like you.” Yuui looked at him, silent. There had been no mistaking which ‘like’ Syaoron had meant. “I really do.” For over a year and a half, since Yuui had first come to the school, Syaoron had liked him, the one to first show the new teacher around the campus before Yuuko-sensei’s little ‘treasure hunt’, pulling Yuui around corners and out of sight of Kurogane and Fai. They had a lot in common; they got along well.
Yuui looked torn. “Syaoron-kun -”
Syaoron moved in and leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to his teacher’s cool cheek, feeling Yuui’s startled breath graze his ear, before just as quickly moving back.
There was a heartbeat’s pause.
“I suppose that was inappropriate too?” Yuui just looked at Syaoron, temporarily speechless. “Sensei should give me detention.”
His teacher’s lips quirked. “…It’s Christmas break, Syaoron-kun.”
“I could cook your turkey.”
Yuui shot him a suspicious look - Syaoron looked back guilelessly, as if the word ‘innuendo’ had never chanced across his mind. “I can cook my own turkey.”
“But wouldn’t you get lonely in the kitchen?”
“I have my turkey to keep me company.” Yuui’s tone was dry.
Syaoron grinned at him. “Could I at least help with the stuffing?” He couldn’t help the strange bubbling feeling in his chest - Yuui was being vague, but he hadn’t said ‘no’ to Syaoron’s declaration; he hadn’t rejected Syaoron outright.
“Not until you’re older.”
Syaoron widened his eyes - the picture of perfect innocence. “There’s an age restriction on turkey-stuffing, sensei?”
“Syaoron-kun, I’m your teacher.” Yuui didn’t even need to start on all the laws, rules and opinions on and against student-teacher relationships on that sort of level.
The snow was coming down a little more thickly, fat flakes that layered the surroundings, blurring them, softening them in cold. Syaoron made sure to hold his teacher’s gaze despite the weather, refusing to let the snow freeze his words. “I graduate soon.”
Yuui looked back at him, apparently deep in thought. “You’d wait that long for an answer?”
“I’ve waited over a year already - a little longer won’t make much difference.” Yuui jolted, struck by the realisation that the boy before him had liked him that long, but Syaoron only smiled. “…Sensei, your shopping is getting soggy from the snow. Shouldn’t we get moving again?”
“…Yes - you’re right.” The home economics teacher took a step forward, at Syaoron’s side again, and the two resumed movement once more, this time silent. Yuui was thinking and Syaoron was hoping, and all too soon they reached the parting of ways - the students lived in a different set of blocks to the teachers, and so Syaoron reluctantly surrendered the bag he’d been carrying.
He bowed his head. “I hope you have a merry Christmas, sensei.” When Yuui didn’t say anything Syaoron turned to go.
“Syaoron-kun -” the boy paused, and looked back over his shoulder at Yuui. “I’ll call you - in a few days.” He needed time to think. “We can meet up and discuss this then.”
“Thank you, Yuui-sensei.” The man looked like he was blushing again, but it could’ve been the cold. “I’ll talk to you then.”
Syaoron turned away again and went back to his room, restraining the urge to glance back and see if his teacher was watching him go. He didn’t want to give himself false hope or disappointment - everything could wait until the time when he met up with Yuui-sensei again, and he heard what the man had to say.
(He couldn’t help but hope it would be something positive.)
A/N: I know you didn’t actually ask for anything, but…you drew me pretty art, and I couldn’t quite resist, especially as I know you like this pairing, and I’ve been wanting to write it for a while. ^^;;
This is quite mild and it’s the first confession of the relationship - although I like Horitsuba ShaoYuui it is important to remember their age difference and the fact they’re student/teacher. Much as I’d like the instant undying declarations of love, it’s not very realistic. Also, my first time writing either Horitsuba or Syaoron - *pokes them*
*****
Kitchen Conspiracies
Sibling bonding between Kero-chan and Soel, post Sakura becoming Mistress of the Cards - for Oz
“-And when he leaves the kitchen,” Kero whispered behind a tiny paw, the white Mokona lifting one ear for the minute guardian to confer their secret plan into, “we’ll pounce!”
“Pounce!” Mokona agreed enthusiastically.
Watanuki, icing a recently-made cake on the other side of the kitchen, twitched. “I can hear you two, you know.” Beside him, clad in an apron like his other…other self, stood Syaoran, sweat-dropping a little at the conversation.
“No you can’t,” Mokona insisted staunchly from her perch on the kitchen tabletop. Kero nodded agreement.
“Yes,” Watanuki retorted rather evenly - living in a shop where insanity was a regular thing either fried your nerves or drilled steel through their core -, “I can. And you’re planning to steal my cake.”
“We’re just a figment of Watanuki’s imagination.” Mokona continued, and made a wiggly movement that could have been considered hypnotic on any body shape but that of a fluffy meatbun. “Watanuki is paranoid.”
“Paranoid~!” Maru chirped, popping up behind the two mascots on the table, watching the cake’s progress just as eagerly as Kero and Mokona.
“Paranoid~!” Moro agreed, not far behind her.
Watanuki pointed to the door. “Out.”
As one, two girls, one teddy-bear with wings and one white meatbun whined. “But Watanuki-!”
“Out.”
Reluctantly, the troupe trooped out, Syaoran looking at Watanuki, his face decorated with a mild frown. He wasn’t the only one concerned by the oddly restrained request from Watanuki - Maru and Moro were the last to depart the room, hand-in-hand looking at the master of the shop, before trailing after the dejected Kero and Mokona. Four years and their effect on Watanuki Kimihiro: inwardly, a whole new person, outwardly, exactly the same.
There was the sound of voices from the main lounge so that was where the small group exiled from the kitchen went next, Maru and Moro pulling back the doors so they could all get inside.
“Oi, manjuu - that one was mine. You’ve had your five already.”
“Mokona thinks Big Puppy can’t count - Mokona’s only had four!”
“You’ve had five, you little -”
“Wah, Kuro-mean’s trying to steal Mokona’s share!”
“I am not!”
“The sake is Mokona’s!”
“…Sake?” The bright question from the white Mokona at the door had all three occupants of the room swivelling around to look at the four who’d just arrived: Fai, in the corner, tucked up beside the heater with his share of alcohol around him, nose-deep in a book, and Kurogane and the black Mokona in the middle of the room, apparently having a tug-of-war over the last bottle of sake.
“…No,” said Kurogane succinctly, knowing his bouncing travelling companion far too well, raising his real hand to emphasise his utter refusal to allow the mixing of Mokona and alcohol - only for the manjuu’s darker brother to take the opportunity to snatch the contested sake from the ninja’s hand and bound away with it quickly to the corner (and the relative safety of Fai). “OI!”
“Kuro-chan,” Fai started diplomatically as the man’s scowling shadow loomed over the pages of his book, ushering Mokona behind him with his elbow.
“Mokona!” cried the white Mokona, in what seemed like concern for her brother.
Kero decided that moment was his great chance to shine, and zipped forwards to hover obnoxiously in front of Kurogane’s face. “Leave it to Kero!”
Kurogane was suitably unimpressed. “Oh, great. It’s the flying stomach.”
Kero was not to be dissuaded. “Pick on someone your own size!”
Kurogane was heavily dissuading. “…You?”
“Try it!”
“…You’re tiny.”
Kero scowled, and transformed into his released form (“Who’s little, now?” “Get off of me!”), doing it in just the right place so that his newfound weight pushed Kurogane onto the floor and gave Keroberos himself a comfortable seat sprawled across the ninja. Mokona (the white one) bounced across to curiously poke the enraged Kurogane in the forehead with one paw (Kurogane yelled louder, but Keroberos was heavy and refused to budge), and her brother sat and happily chortled, downing the stolen sake. Maru and Moro decided to link hands and spin around in a circle, and Fai went back to reading, wholly unconcerned with his lover’s valiant efforts to dislodge a magical winged lion from his chest.
After half an hour struggling Kurogane eventually gave up and just flopped back on the floor in defeat. Mokona hopped up to sit beside Keroberos at that point, and had a bright conversation with ‘daddy’:
“Tell the fat cat to get off of me already.” (Kero had fallen asleep, and was snoring by that point.)
Mokona did an approximation of shaking her head. “Mokona can’t do that - Kero was defending Mokona!”
Kurogane frowned at her. “…So what does that make the stuffed animal? Your boyfriend?”
“Kuro-pui,” Fai remarked lazily as Mokona laughed, the mage not even looking up from his book, “I think that counts as incest.”
“You.” Kurogane glared at him. “Shut up.”
(Syaoran carried the cake he’d been icing with Watanuki through a little while later: the Mokona - and Keroberos - had the decency to wait until everyone had been cut a slice before pouncing on the remainder in glee, and then going on to eat Kurogane’s share as well. As a reward for Mokona-defence, the Mokona thoughtfully presented Keroberos with the strawberry they’d thieved off of the ninja.
(Kurogane swore at all three of them, and dumped them outside of the room.))
A/N: I was thinking about this one, and the only time it would work in canon chronology is after the end of Tsubasa. The Mokona went to sleep whilst Clow was still alive, and Sakura only started capturing the cards when Clow was dead. Also, the Tsubasa crew never returned to Yuuko’s shop before everything was ‘concluded’ with Fei Wong Reed, so Soel would’ve had to wait to see her friends again. (Not that Yue would ever admit to liking either of the fuzzballs. X3)
…I don’t really think I did this prompt/request justice; I’m sorry. I can’t write Kero. ;o; *struggled*
*****
Confession
Christmas Syaoron/Yuui (Horitsuba) - for waders
Over the years of his life Li Syaoron had travelled the world with his father and his brother, crossing through and lingering in various countries across the globe in various seasons. He’d seen a diverse array of festivals and holidays, been dressed up in weird costumes, tasted strange foods and drunk some interesting drinks that had made his father baulk when he’d found out about them, and sprawled out contentedly in his bed afterwards, pleased with a good night’s revelling. Still, there was nothing quite like Christmas.
Syaoron kicked at a pile of snow at the edge of the pavement as he made his way through the town outside of the Horitsuba complex, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket’s pockets against the winter cold. School was out for the winter break but he and Syaoran were still in their room - their father was going to be a little late picking them up that year, only coming to spend the few days between Boxing Day and the New Year with his sons. The Kinomotos, at Sakura’s insistence upon discovering the two brothers would be otherwise alone on Christmas Day itself, had flung open their doors - something that was bound to be interesting, with how Sakura and Syaoran blushed red every time they made eye contact, and Sakura’s older brother’s famous sister-complex. (Glaring, blushing and stuttering across the dinner table seemed rather inevitable, really.) Syaoron was looking forward to some good-natured teasing of his darling little brother combined with the infuriation of one Kinomoto Touya - Syaoron could’ve spared himself the older boy’s ire, of course, having made it pretty public knowledge that he had bigger fish to fry (slice, dice, boil, stew or otherwise experiment with in any fashion that ended with him in a certain chef’s kitchen) than pretty Sakura, but he had to defend his brother (in-between making Syaoran go as red as a tomato). Sakura was lovely, really, but much more Syaoran’s type.
Luck, fate, destiny, hitsuzen - something was with Syaoron that evening, granting him a reason for the strange urge that had prompted him out-of-doors as the sun began to set, leaving Syaoran reading a book on his bed. Life was good; life was fine, and sometimes life handed out its blessings when one least expected them - namely, one familiar fair-faced home economics teacher in the crowds not too far ahead clearly struggling with two bags full of shopping, one of them with a broken handle and a growing split down the side. He looked exasperated, his hair - loose that day - getting in his face as he vainly juggled with his load and tried not to drop anything, and, to top it all off, it was beginning to snow again.
Motive, means and opportunity -
“Yuui-sensei!” Yuui Fluorite visibly jolted at the sound of his name, a few of his groceries slipping out of the bag he held awkwardly against his chest and hitting the ground. Syaoron pushed his way through the crowds around him and picked them up, handing them back to his teacher with a charming smile. “Yuui-sensei, would you like a hand?”
“Syaoron-kun,” Yuui smiled at the teenager, and let Syaoron take the bag with its handles still attached from him, freeing up his hand to deal with the broken bag tucked in his other arm, “thank you; it’s very kind of you to offer to help.”
His student shook his head. “It’s nothing, sensei.” He looked up at the adult beside him. “Are you heading back to your home now?” Yuui nodded. “I’ll carry this back for you, then.”
Yuui was adjusting his grip on his broken bag, settling the items Syaoron had picked up for him back into their rightful place before glancing back to the boy. “You needn’t, Syaoron-kun, really. It is very kind of you, but I’m sure you were busy doing something else -” Syaoron shook his head - denial. “Honestly?”
“Honestly,” Syaoron grinned. “I was about to head home myself.” He took a step in the direction of the school complex. “Should we head off then, sensei?”
Yuui nodded again and the two began making their way back to the school, the wind picking up and blowing a flurry of snow about them, whirling eddies that danced the white hither-thither with little sense of purpose or direction. They talked about what had happened since school had officially broken up - Syaoron had heard Fai-sensei and Kurogane-sensei yelling about campus, but Yuui was generally relied on to be a lot quieter, tucked away somewhere out of sight. Kurogane-sensei was apparently evading Yuuko-sensei’s clutches for New Year that year, leaving the city to return back to his parents’ home. Fai was, apparently, distraught about this arrangement - namely, the fact he was being left out of it -, and had demanded Kurogane celebrate a Western-style Christmas with the two brothers to make up for it. (Syaoron didn’t really want to know how Kurogane-sensei had been talked into agreeing to that one.)
In turn, Syaoron told his teacher about what had been going on in his own life, his own plans for the festive season, enjoying the conversation, the chance to have Yuui’s sole attention as they walked back to campus together. Yuui had a nice voice, a pitch lower than his brother’s, a good mind, and a kind manner. He was smart, skilled and attractive, and Syaoron couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander slightly in the blond’s company, liking the way the falling snow clung to Yuui’s fine hair, the touch of pink the cold brought out in pale cheeks.
“Syaoron-kun?” Syaoron came back to himself to find Yuui looking at him rather quizzically, apparently just having said something and received no response. Or maybe he was just wondering why his student was staring at him - either worked, and it didn’t really matter.
“Would you believe me,” Syaoron began, looking up so very seriously into his teacher’s blue eyes, “if I told you you looked like an angel?” The prettiest angels, in nearly all the art he’d seen whilst travelling with his father, always seemed to be blonde.
Yuui coloured, a faint wash of red spreading high across his cheekbones, his grip tightening on the bag he was holding. “Syaoron-kun, where did that come from?”
“I do think you look like an angel right now, Yuui-sensei,” Syaoron returned rather baldly. “You look really good in the snow.”
“…Thank you, Syaoron-kun.” Yuui adjusted the bag in his hold, realising he was clutching it a little too hard, looking away from the youth beside him whilst he did so. “But you shouldn’t really say such things. I’m your teacher, and it’s inappropriate.”
“…I’m sorry, sensei.” Syaoron wasn’t, really. The gates of the school complex were coming into sight. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t -”
Syaoron butted in before Yuui could finish his sentence. “Then, sensei, may I compliment you again?”
Yuui stopped walking. A little surprised Syaoron came to a halt as well, half a step in front of his teacher. He turned around to face his teacher, his back to Horitsuba, his cheeks cold from the wind and snow, fingers a little numb outside his pockets, holding the bag.
“Syaoron-kun,” Yuui’s expression was serious, the wispy hair around his face a different colour in the falling light, “what are you doing?”
His student drew in a deep breath, and let it out in a charming smile. “I’m walking you home, Yuui-sensei.”
“Syaoron-kun.” Evasion wasn’t going to work.
“I like you.” Yuui looked at him, silent. There had been no mistaking which ‘like’ Syaoron had meant. “I really do.” For over a year and a half, since Yuui had first come to the school, Syaoron had liked him, the one to first show the new teacher around the campus before Yuuko-sensei’s little ‘treasure hunt’, pulling Yuui around corners and out of sight of Kurogane and Fai. They had a lot in common; they got along well.
Yuui looked torn. “Syaoron-kun -”
Syaoron moved in and leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to his teacher’s cool cheek, feeling Yuui’s startled breath graze his ear, before just as quickly moving back.
There was a heartbeat’s pause.
“I suppose that was inappropriate too?” Yuui just looked at Syaoron, temporarily speechless. “Sensei should give me detention.”
His teacher’s lips quirked. “…It’s Christmas break, Syaoron-kun.”
“I could cook your turkey.”
Yuui shot him a suspicious look - Syaoron looked back guilelessly, as if the word ‘innuendo’ had never chanced across his mind. “I can cook my own turkey.”
“But wouldn’t you get lonely in the kitchen?”
“I have my turkey to keep me company.” Yuui’s tone was dry.
Syaoron grinned at him. “Could I at least help with the stuffing?” He couldn’t help the strange bubbling feeling in his chest - Yuui was being vague, but he hadn’t said ‘no’ to Syaoron’s declaration; he hadn’t rejected Syaoron outright.
“Not until you’re older.”
Syaoron widened his eyes - the picture of perfect innocence. “There’s an age restriction on turkey-stuffing, sensei?”
“Syaoron-kun, I’m your teacher.” Yuui didn’t even need to start on all the laws, rules and opinions on and against student-teacher relationships on that sort of level.
The snow was coming down a little more thickly, fat flakes that layered the surroundings, blurring them, softening them in cold. Syaoron made sure to hold his teacher’s gaze despite the weather, refusing to let the snow freeze his words. “I graduate soon.”
Yuui looked back at him, apparently deep in thought. “You’d wait that long for an answer?”
“I’ve waited over a year already - a little longer won’t make much difference.” Yuui jolted, struck by the realisation that the boy before him had liked him that long, but Syaoron only smiled. “…Sensei, your shopping is getting soggy from the snow. Shouldn’t we get moving again?”
“…Yes - you’re right.” The home economics teacher took a step forward, at Syaoron’s side again, and the two resumed movement once more, this time silent. Yuui was thinking and Syaoron was hoping, and all too soon they reached the parting of ways - the students lived in a different set of blocks to the teachers, and so Syaoron reluctantly surrendered the bag he’d been carrying.
He bowed his head. “I hope you have a merry Christmas, sensei.” When Yuui didn’t say anything Syaoron turned to go.
“Syaoron-kun -” the boy paused, and looked back over his shoulder at Yuui. “I’ll call you - in a few days.” He needed time to think. “We can meet up and discuss this then.”
“Thank you, Yuui-sensei.” The man looked like he was blushing again, but it could’ve been the cold. “I’ll talk to you then.”
Syaoron turned away again and went back to his room, restraining the urge to glance back and see if his teacher was watching him go. He didn’t want to give himself false hope or disappointment - everything could wait until the time when he met up with Yuui-sensei again, and he heard what the man had to say.
(He couldn’t help but hope it would be something positive.)
A/N: I know you didn’t actually ask for anything, but…you drew me pretty art, and I couldn’t quite resist, especially as I know you like this pairing, and I’ve been wanting to write it for a while. ^^;;
This is quite mild and it’s the first confession of the relationship - although I like Horitsuba ShaoYuui it is important to remember their age difference and the fact they’re student/teacher. Much as I’d like the instant undying declarations of love, it’s not very realistic. Also, my first time writing either Horitsuba or Syaoron - *pokes them*