KRF Fic: Comfort
Rating: G
Summary: Takes place mid ep-48, post Kengo's death. Tomoko/Ryusei.
Notes: Requested by gottischan from Tumblr!
He offered to take her home that night.
At first, they walked side by side in complete silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Consumed by memories of what had happened in the past few days, most especially today's. Of what ought to be done by the time the sun rose tomorrow.
He hissed suddenly, and painfully sucked in air; such a simple act as walking made him pull something at his side. His body screamed in protest, begged that he stop moving and rest - the enemy had been an absolute animal during their fight, after all. Surely bruises covered most of his skin by now, only his clothes managed to hide the damages he incurred. Yet he kept silent, eyes focused onward, at the task ahead.
Soon they stood in front of her house. He bade her farewell; she was safe and sound for now, after all. That was what mattered, for tonight.
She spoke his name quietly, and he paused to look at her. Her eyes were wide and wet, too big and luminous on her pale face. He thought to ask what was wrong, why was she looking at him like that, why did she call his name, when she took something from her own pocket and stepped closer to him.
Then he felt it. Cotton against the side of his mouth, as she gently wiped the blood off its corners.
He stared at her, swallowed hard, and under the intensity of his scrutiny she averted her eyes before resuming her task. Dabbed at his cheeks, wiping off the soot and dirt and tears that stained it. Moved towards his forehead, where sweat and blood marred it.
Then she took his hand and laid her handkerchief there.
She was about to withdraw her hold on him when he grabbed her hand and held on.
He didn't say anything.
Neither did she.
But suddenly he found it hard to breathe. He felt as though there were hands closing around his throat, threatening to choke him, and then he realized that he was shaking, shaking and--
--he found himself staring into her eyes, realizing suddenly that she had stepped forward, closer to him, that she was reaching up to wipe the tears on his face with her own thumbs. Here, he crumbled, his arms acting on their own as they wound themselves around her form. Tighter and tighter. He rested his forehead on the crook of her neck, and broke. Breathed.
She didn't say anything.
Neither did he.
But they both held on.
Summary: Takes place mid ep-48, post Kengo's death. Tomoko/Ryusei.
Notes: Requested by gottischan from Tumblr!
He offered to take her home that night.
At first, they walked side by side in complete silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Consumed by memories of what had happened in the past few days, most especially today's. Of what ought to be done by the time the sun rose tomorrow.
He hissed suddenly, and painfully sucked in air; such a simple act as walking made him pull something at his side. His body screamed in protest, begged that he stop moving and rest - the enemy had been an absolute animal during their fight, after all. Surely bruises covered most of his skin by now, only his clothes managed to hide the damages he incurred. Yet he kept silent, eyes focused onward, at the task ahead.
Soon they stood in front of her house. He bade her farewell; she was safe and sound for now, after all. That was what mattered, for tonight.
She spoke his name quietly, and he paused to look at her. Her eyes were wide and wet, too big and luminous on her pale face. He thought to ask what was wrong, why was she looking at him like that, why did she call his name, when she took something from her own pocket and stepped closer to him.
Then he felt it. Cotton against the side of his mouth, as she gently wiped the blood off its corners.
He stared at her, swallowed hard, and under the intensity of his scrutiny she averted her eyes before resuming her task. Dabbed at his cheeks, wiping off the soot and dirt and tears that stained it. Moved towards his forehead, where sweat and blood marred it.
Then she took his hand and laid her handkerchief there.
She was about to withdraw her hold on him when he grabbed her hand and held on.
He didn't say anything.
Neither did she.
But suddenly he found it hard to breathe. He felt as though there were hands closing around his throat, threatening to choke him, and then he realized that he was shaking, shaking and--
--he found himself staring into her eyes, realizing suddenly that she had stepped forward, closer to him, that she was reaching up to wipe the tears on his face with her own thumbs. Here, he crumbled, his arms acting on their own as they wound themselves around her form. Tighter and tighter. He rested his forehead on the crook of her neck, and broke. Breathed.
She didn't say anything.
Neither did he.
But they both held on.