:D Bringing my first offering of ot3 goodness to this comm. I couldn't decide between the two titles.
title: dearly beloved // with a length of lies
rating: pg
pairing: ot3, obviously
wordcount: 521
disclaimer: not mine.
notes: this is some interesting formatting and writing in general, i'll say. xD it makes me lol a bit.
riku.sora.kairi
i. summer
you were a child of summer, and she the spring maiden and he the winter prince- but winter always yields to spring yields to summer never dies. not here.
--
you found her in summer but you celebrated her in spring, because she liked the flowers and the air that did not hang on her, heavy with water. when she had first looked at you with her soft-blue eyes and wondered what a birthday was, you stared back at her with your voice trapped in your throat.
she started to cry.
--
in a land where summer never dies, only fades and pushes at the edges, winter does not exist. and so his diamond edges and ice-eyes darted from shade to shade but he always let you drag him to the ocean, to her, to you, to the us that waited on the breeze for all of you to grow up.
as his revenge he would beat you at play-fighting even as his pale skin reddened under the summer heat, and you sometimes felt just a little built guilty.
--
but in some places there is only the deafening loneliness of autumn- brown leaves and gray skies and only the faint whisper of blue eyes.
--
your island is the only place where summer is twinned with spring and with winter, and you never let them forget it. even when she lowers her eyes and blushes rose-pink with excuses and worry, even when he turns away , locking himself away in apology and the very same excuses she makes to you only colder.
after all, spring is only a naïve winter; winter only a frightened spring.
--
her kisses are soft and gentle and somehow she feels like a storybook. she tugs you into the waves and you fall into each other, bright and shining against the sun, against the sea, against the fragrant melding of spring into summer.
--
it takes time for the last storm of autumn to subside, and that final breeze leaves the echo of ‘us’ that you had nursed as a child. he watches, colder and sharper and lonelier, more afraid, more brittle than you could ever have thought , she tries to lead him into warmth, into her gentle bloom, and you hesitate.
he is made of ice and summer melts ice, and you fear that he is only ice.
--
his touches are cold and brief, but you lean into them because, like winter, they are rare. underneath the ice is only a heart of dead leaves, burnt and shredded by the trials of autumn,
--
when you say their names they fit perfectly into your mouth, sweet and almost sinful, and melting in the sun like ice cream. riku. kairi. kairiku. rikairi.
you try your own.
sora.
sorikairiku- twisting the sounds and letters until there is only one name. it’s better than way- not him and her and you and all the bitterness and memory that lies unburied between you.
--
here, against the blue of the ocean (her eyes) the white of the sand (his hair), summer never dies.