(no subject)
Characters: Allelujah, Lockon
When: March 3rd, Lockon's birthday~
Location: The kitchen of their farmhouse
Summary: They've been dancing around the issue for months. It's time to finally confront it.
Warnings: None yet.
Pacing back and forth in the bedroom wasn't burning off the nervous energy he had like he hoped it would. Every so often, Allelujah would pause, hit his head lightly against a wall, mutter "what the hell did you just do, you're going to ruin everything," then go right back to pacing. They'd been playing this 'game', as it were, for several months now. The jokes, the embraces, the dancing, the kisses under mistletoe that by all rights should have been taken down over two months ago-- At first, he was grateful for it. Starved for affection, he'd take what he could, even if it wasn't serious after all. He had told himself he could be objective about it, distanced enough to pretend and enjoy but not be hurt when reality set in.
It didn't work like that.
The more time went by, the closer they got, the more unclear Lockon's motivations became... It was driving him all but insane. He hadn't a single clue what was possibly going through Lockon's head with every affectionate gesture between the two of them. Who "platonically" constantly kissed their best friend on the lips under dried out mistletoe, really? But even then, he couldn't make any assumptions, and Lockon never seemed anything past joking when he tried to talk to him about it. Dropping hints here and there didn't seem to be working...until now, where he realized he might have said a little too much. From the sounds of it, the older man was finally putting the puzzle pieces together.
He didn't know how long he was there, but he figured he had better already make his way to the kitchen instead of keeping Lockon waiting. Allelujah took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before beginning to head over, almost amusedly feeling like a prisoner marching to his execution.
When: March 3rd, Lockon's birthday~
Location: The kitchen of their farmhouse
Summary: They've been dancing around the issue for months. It's time to finally confront it.
Warnings: None yet.
Pacing back and forth in the bedroom wasn't burning off the nervous energy he had like he hoped it would. Every so often, Allelujah would pause, hit his head lightly against a wall, mutter "what the hell did you just do, you're going to ruin everything," then go right back to pacing. They'd been playing this 'game', as it were, for several months now. The jokes, the embraces, the dancing, the kisses under mistletoe that by all rights should have been taken down over two months ago-- At first, he was grateful for it. Starved for affection, he'd take what he could, even if it wasn't serious after all. He had told himself he could be objective about it, distanced enough to pretend and enjoy but not be hurt when reality set in.
It didn't work like that.
The more time went by, the closer they got, the more unclear Lockon's motivations became... It was driving him all but insane. He hadn't a single clue what was possibly going through Lockon's head with every affectionate gesture between the two of them. Who "platonically" constantly kissed their best friend on the lips under dried out mistletoe, really? But even then, he couldn't make any assumptions, and Lockon never seemed anything past joking when he tried to talk to him about it. Dropping hints here and there didn't seem to be working...until now, where he realized he might have said a little too much. From the sounds of it, the older man was finally putting the puzzle pieces together.
He didn't know how long he was there, but he figured he had better already make his way to the kitchen instead of keeping Lockon waiting. Allelujah took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before beginning to head over, almost amusedly feeling like a prisoner marching to his execution.