Chocolate Fic for wintersdancer
To: wintersdancer
From: alienashi
Title: sugar, spice and everything nice
Pairing: Kame/Anne
Rating: G
Summary: He tells her about his dreams in words and she sings it in songs.
A/N: Dear wintersdancer, I hope you like this!
~
He’s lying in bed, telling her of the monochrome dream he had, of the life he could only dream to live. Sometimes he dreams of waking up in Florida, sometimes of falling asleep in Paris, sometimes of standing at the peak of the Great Wall, but always elsewhere. She strums her guitar as she listens, her face fresh and her hair tied into a clumsy braid, more beautiful than ever.
He tells her about his dreams in words and she sings it in songs; it’s yet another morning that he feels like they are perfect for each other.
He says that modern-day romance is nothing but a wish fulfillment: he would fall in love with a beautiful woman, she would be so wonderful he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from her, they would end it sooner than both of them would prefer because he wants nothing but a bond that lasts through lifetimes and romance gives him the temporary comfort that it actually would, though it never does.
She says that romance is how an ordinary person becomes a magician, a mind-controlling wizard, for nothing is greater hypnosis than infatuation.
She’s the brain between them, but it’s him who ends up being the cynic.
He doesn’t give her flowers and chocolates. He doesn’t rush to open the door in front of her, he doesn’t offer to carry her handbag. There’s no sugar, sweet and everything nice.
But he drags her to the grocery to buy vegetables, he lets her read him her latest favourite poem, they debate about history. People call them boring and unpredictable, shouldn’t the man at least give her a bouquet or something?
She says that too many scents and too little sincerity spoil the magic and he asks, what’s sincerity for you?
She gives him a kiss on the cheeks, I don’t know, she says, perhaps sugar, spice and everything nice?
Do you remember how we met, she asks one day.
He cups her face in his hands and says, no, I don’t. He doesn’t remember half of the things they did before they got together. Perhaps it happened like a typical American romance, I loved you before I knew you and I didn’t realise it until your presence left a hole in my existence, perhaps it happened like a Korean drama, we were tied by the red string of fate, or perhaps it was because you’re a girl and I’m a boy and things just happened.
He wraps his arm around her, chin resting on her shoulder and fingers playing with her hair. I’ll tell you how we met, then you sing it back to me, he requests.
He wants to be more than a pretty face, she wants to carry more than her father’s name, they both have their own glass ceilings, and that was how we really met, he says.
When she starts appearing in his peripheral visions, he asks for one tiny wish of his to be fulfilled.
But magic comes with a price, she says, and he agrees, please take whatever you want.
He wishes for a romance that lasts, and she says that it would take away his soul.
He’s a man, she’s a woman, they get spotted together on various locations and their joint answer for the queries that come is that they’re just friends. It’s the 21st century, a man and a woman can be friends-but the truth is that it’s an inside joke between them.
She uses less makeup than he does sometimes, he cooks the best risotto she has ever tasted, it doesn’t even matter if anyone would wear the pants in their relationship because she’s not interested in men as a concept but men as a possibility.
What if I turn out to be a woman, he asks, what if I wasn’t born a man?
She turns towards him and says, what if I turn out to be a man, Kazuko?
There will always be a version of their first meeting that he keeps to himself, a scenario that pans out like a movie scene.
There’s rain, there always has to be rain involved, and there’s him with an umbrella and her without one, and they would bump into each other in the middle of the road. He would see her without an umbrella and he would drag her to the sidewalks where there’s shelter and they would use their existing knowledge of each other as the icebreaker. She’s Anne, used to be known with another name but just Anne for now, the brainy bookworm of a model. He’s Kazuya the baseball ace, the one who is known for his face just as much as he’s known for his love for baseball.
Together they would soon be demons who travel the world with a child, solving crimes and falling in love with all the wrong humans, then after they’re finished with being demons they would go back to being Kazuya and Anne and debating whether romance is magic or wish fulfilment.
He ends up buying her a box of chocolates for Valentine’s day and she crinkles her forehead in amusement. I thought we established that we are not like everyone else, she says, I thought we are not the kind who go for all the sugar, spice and everything nice.
Yes, he says as he takes one for himself, we could start with sugar?
Sometimes the magic of romance is how you can have a dream and eventually sing it with a song, and that’s how his dreams often end up being. He would recall his adventures in those magic carpets and it would later be a tune about lonely people and wondering where they all come from, how waking up in New York becomes a rhythm of desire for adventures, how sleeping in Antarctica morphs into a poem to describe imagination.
Have you gotten your wish fulfilled, she asks one day.
Do I look like I have lost my soul, he asks back.
Truth be told, perhaps he doesn’t want his wish fulfilled, perhaps he doesn’t want the dreams to be over, because perhaps romance is about the magic of wish fulfilment after all, when everything’s about the journey and not about the price to pay.
~
From: alienashi
Title: sugar, spice and everything nice
Pairing: Kame/Anne
Rating: G
Summary: He tells her about his dreams in words and she sings it in songs.
A/N: Dear wintersdancer, I hope you like this!
~
He’s lying in bed, telling her of the monochrome dream he had, of the life he could only dream to live. Sometimes he dreams of waking up in Florida, sometimes of falling asleep in Paris, sometimes of standing at the peak of the Great Wall, but always elsewhere. She strums her guitar as she listens, her face fresh and her hair tied into a clumsy braid, more beautiful than ever.
He tells her about his dreams in words and she sings it in songs; it’s yet another morning that he feels like they are perfect for each other.
He says that modern-day romance is nothing but a wish fulfillment: he would fall in love with a beautiful woman, she would be so wonderful he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from her, they would end it sooner than both of them would prefer because he wants nothing but a bond that lasts through lifetimes and romance gives him the temporary comfort that it actually would, though it never does.
She says that romance is how an ordinary person becomes a magician, a mind-controlling wizard, for nothing is greater hypnosis than infatuation.
She’s the brain between them, but it’s him who ends up being the cynic.
He doesn’t give her flowers and chocolates. He doesn’t rush to open the door in front of her, he doesn’t offer to carry her handbag. There’s no sugar, sweet and everything nice.
But he drags her to the grocery to buy vegetables, he lets her read him her latest favourite poem, they debate about history. People call them boring and unpredictable, shouldn’t the man at least give her a bouquet or something?
She says that too many scents and too little sincerity spoil the magic and he asks, what’s sincerity for you?
She gives him a kiss on the cheeks, I don’t know, she says, perhaps sugar, spice and everything nice?
Do you remember how we met, she asks one day.
He cups her face in his hands and says, no, I don’t. He doesn’t remember half of the things they did before they got together. Perhaps it happened like a typical American romance, I loved you before I knew you and I didn’t realise it until your presence left a hole in my existence, perhaps it happened like a Korean drama, we were tied by the red string of fate, or perhaps it was because you’re a girl and I’m a boy and things just happened.
He wraps his arm around her, chin resting on her shoulder and fingers playing with her hair. I’ll tell you how we met, then you sing it back to me, he requests.
He wants to be more than a pretty face, she wants to carry more than her father’s name, they both have their own glass ceilings, and that was how we really met, he says.
When she starts appearing in his peripheral visions, he asks for one tiny wish of his to be fulfilled.
But magic comes with a price, she says, and he agrees, please take whatever you want.
He wishes for a romance that lasts, and she says that it would take away his soul.
He’s a man, she’s a woman, they get spotted together on various locations and their joint answer for the queries that come is that they’re just friends. It’s the 21st century, a man and a woman can be friends-but the truth is that it’s an inside joke between them.
She uses less makeup than he does sometimes, he cooks the best risotto she has ever tasted, it doesn’t even matter if anyone would wear the pants in their relationship because she’s not interested in men as a concept but men as a possibility.
What if I turn out to be a woman, he asks, what if I wasn’t born a man?
She turns towards him and says, what if I turn out to be a man, Kazuko?
There will always be a version of their first meeting that he keeps to himself, a scenario that pans out like a movie scene.
There’s rain, there always has to be rain involved, and there’s him with an umbrella and her without one, and they would bump into each other in the middle of the road. He would see her without an umbrella and he would drag her to the sidewalks where there’s shelter and they would use their existing knowledge of each other as the icebreaker. She’s Anne, used to be known with another name but just Anne for now, the brainy bookworm of a model. He’s Kazuya the baseball ace, the one who is known for his face just as much as he’s known for his love for baseball.
Together they would soon be demons who travel the world with a child, solving crimes and falling in love with all the wrong humans, then after they’re finished with being demons they would go back to being Kazuya and Anne and debating whether romance is magic or wish fulfilment.
He ends up buying her a box of chocolates for Valentine’s day and she crinkles her forehead in amusement. I thought we established that we are not like everyone else, she says, I thought we are not the kind who go for all the sugar, spice and everything nice.
Yes, he says as he takes one for himself, we could start with sugar?
Sometimes the magic of romance is how you can have a dream and eventually sing it with a song, and that’s how his dreams often end up being. He would recall his adventures in those magic carpets and it would later be a tune about lonely people and wondering where they all come from, how waking up in New York becomes a rhythm of desire for adventures, how sleeping in Antarctica morphs into a poem to describe imagination.
Have you gotten your wish fulfilled, she asks one day.
Do I look like I have lost my soul, he asks back.
Truth be told, perhaps he doesn’t want his wish fulfilled, perhaps he doesn’t want the dreams to be over, because perhaps romance is about the magic of wish fulfilment after all, when everything’s about the journey and not about the price to pay.
~