Crossways [January 16th] [Watanuki/Himawari] [xxxHOLiC]
Title :: Crossways
Prompt :: January 16th, “burning bridges” [31_days]
Pairing :: Watanuki/Himawari
Rating :: PG
Warnings :: Set during volume ten.
Wordcount :: 255
Summary :: Her fingers tremble as she heads towards the doorway.
Her fingers tremble as she heads towards the doorway.
It’s minute, discreet, controlled, and very nearly concealed by the dark dark fall of her hair, but his eyes have been opened now, and for the first time he can see.
He watches, refuses to turn away, and is momentarily grateful for the fact he cannot move. (He would go to her, he knows, would damn the consequences and stop her with gentle hands and still-warm arms; but he realises now too that she is still too lost in the trappings of herself to find solace in him, and they have both been trying so hard to avoid selfishness.)
Instead, he offers her the only things he can, and prays it will be enough.
(Words have power, too, Yuuko-san had said, and he has learned to believe.)
And he thinks the stiffening arch of her back is beautiful, the way it is softened and veiled by the cascade of her curls; and when she turns to look at him, the butterflies erupt in his gut all over again even despite the strange new set of her lips, despite the words that escape them.
And his own immediate answers are still the truest things he knows.
(She has already proven that she will catch him if he falls, and he trusts her not to burn a bridge when he stands firmly in its centre. The trick is only to keep from moving, and when he sees the slow return of her smile, he knows he never could.)
Prompt :: January 16th, “burning bridges” [31_days]
Pairing :: Watanuki/Himawari
Rating :: PG
Warnings :: Set during volume ten.
Wordcount :: 255
Summary :: Her fingers tremble as she heads towards the doorway.
Her fingers tremble as she heads towards the doorway.
It’s minute, discreet, controlled, and very nearly concealed by the dark dark fall of her hair, but his eyes have been opened now, and for the first time he can see.
He watches, refuses to turn away, and is momentarily grateful for the fact he cannot move. (He would go to her, he knows, would damn the consequences and stop her with gentle hands and still-warm arms; but he realises now too that she is still too lost in the trappings of herself to find solace in him, and they have both been trying so hard to avoid selfishness.)
Instead, he offers her the only things he can, and prays it will be enough.
(Words have power, too, Yuuko-san had said, and he has learned to believe.)
And he thinks the stiffening arch of her back is beautiful, the way it is softened and veiled by the cascade of her curls; and when she turns to look at him, the butterflies erupt in his gut all over again even despite the strange new set of her lips, despite the words that escape them.
And his own immediate answers are still the truest things he knows.
(She has already proven that she will catch him if he falls, and he trusts her not to burn a bridge when he stands firmly in its centre. The trick is only to keep from moving, and when he sees the slow return of her smile, he knows he never could.)