Static [Maru/Moro; Watanuki, Yuuko] [xxxHOLiC]
Title :: Static
Themes :: “First kiss,” “Fairy Tale,” “Change,” “Secret,” “Pink.” [hitsuzen_100]
Pairing/Characters :: Maru/Moro; Watanuki, Yuuko.
Rating :: G
Wordcount :: 100 apiece; 500 collectively.
Summary :: Some would call it impossible, for created beings to dream.
[first kiss]
Their priorities go like this:
One - their mistress.
Two - maintaining the shop for their mistress.
Three - helping their mistress tease the boy who works in said shop.
(They think each other goes without saying.)
So when they hear their mistress taunting the boy about something he is failing to do outside the shop, something called a first kiss, they decide to try it themselves and join in.
They’re giggling far too hard and trying to chirp in unison even through it, but Yuuko still pronounces them “more experienced” than Watanuki, and his flustered shrieking is the best part of all.
[fairy tale]
“Stories! Stories!”
Little fingers latch onto flailing limbs, and they hop cheerfully up and down to keep pace with the wild gesticulations. “Mistress wants us to go to sleep while she’s away, and for you to help out around the shop! So tell us bedtime stories, stories! Lullabies!”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH ELSE I HAVE TO DO-”
Hanging off his arms is like their own personal amusement park ride, and their giggling is almost enough to drown out his yells.
But his voice involuntarily softens, later, even despite the pursing of his lips:
“Once upon a time…”
[change]
“It’s fine like this,” Yuuko soothes the agitated boy, his limbs akimbo and glasses askew (and he knows she’s probably just doing it so he’ll stop before he knocks over her sake, but he still listens anyway). “They wouldn’t want to change.”
(“Change, change!”)
“But if they can never age-”
Yuuko gestures with a flick of delicate fingers, and Watanuki looks, sees interlaced arms and the way heads tilt together, and finally shuts his mouth into a smile.
He’d miss seeing moments like this too, after all.
(And at least this way they can’t grow up to be like Yuuko.)
[secret]
Watanuki asks them, once, when Yuuko is away, where exactly it is they came from.
Maru tilts her head. Moro tilts hers in the opposite direction at the exact same time, so the locks of their hair brush.
“From the shop, from the shop!”
“No, no, no!” The flapping of his hands makes their hair flutter, and they clasp hands with a giggle at the way it tickles their noses. “Before then!”
Maru blinks, as if the answer is obvious, and Moro follows suit.
“I’m here-”
“-because she is here!”
And Watanuki heaves a world-weary sigh and returns to cleaning.
[pink]
Some would call it impossible, for created beings to dream, but that makes little difference to her, in the end. Just as it makes little difference that they cannot leave the very shop they sustain, that they can mimic children in every way except for how they are confined.
The lack of freedom is irrelevant against the irresistible tug of tiny clinging fingers, and dreaming is as meaningless. (And if Maru could, she’d always sleep with one eye half-open, because she could imagine nothing better than the way they’re curled so close that pink hair brushes against her own skin.)
Themes :: “First kiss,” “Fairy Tale,” “Change,” “Secret,” “Pink.” [hitsuzen_100]
Pairing/Characters :: Maru/Moro; Watanuki, Yuuko.
Rating :: G
Wordcount :: 100 apiece; 500 collectively.
Summary :: Some would call it impossible, for created beings to dream.
[first kiss]
Their priorities go like this:
One - their mistress.
Two - maintaining the shop for their mistress.
Three - helping their mistress tease the boy who works in said shop.
(They think each other goes without saying.)
So when they hear their mistress taunting the boy about something he is failing to do outside the shop, something called a first kiss, they decide to try it themselves and join in.
They’re giggling far too hard and trying to chirp in unison even through it, but Yuuko still pronounces them “more experienced” than Watanuki, and his flustered shrieking is the best part of all.
[fairy tale]
“Stories! Stories!”
Little fingers latch onto flailing limbs, and they hop cheerfully up and down to keep pace with the wild gesticulations. “Mistress wants us to go to sleep while she’s away, and for you to help out around the shop! So tell us bedtime stories, stories! Lullabies!”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH ELSE I HAVE TO DO-”
Hanging off his arms is like their own personal amusement park ride, and their giggling is almost enough to drown out his yells.
But his voice involuntarily softens, later, even despite the pursing of his lips:
“Once upon a time…”
[change]
“It’s fine like this,” Yuuko soothes the agitated boy, his limbs akimbo and glasses askew (and he knows she’s probably just doing it so he’ll stop before he knocks over her sake, but he still listens anyway). “They wouldn’t want to change.”
(“Change, change!”)
“But if they can never age-”
Yuuko gestures with a flick of delicate fingers, and Watanuki looks, sees interlaced arms and the way heads tilt together, and finally shuts his mouth into a smile.
He’d miss seeing moments like this too, after all.
(And at least this way they can’t grow up to be like Yuuko.)
[secret]
Watanuki asks them, once, when Yuuko is away, where exactly it is they came from.
Maru tilts her head. Moro tilts hers in the opposite direction at the exact same time, so the locks of their hair brush.
“From the shop, from the shop!”
“No, no, no!” The flapping of his hands makes their hair flutter, and they clasp hands with a giggle at the way it tickles their noses. “Before then!”
Maru blinks, as if the answer is obvious, and Moro follows suit.
“I’m here-”
“-because she is here!”
And Watanuki heaves a world-weary sigh and returns to cleaning.
[pink]
Some would call it impossible, for created beings to dream, but that makes little difference to her, in the end. Just as it makes little difference that they cannot leave the very shop they sustain, that they can mimic children in every way except for how they are confined.
The lack of freedom is irrelevant against the irresistible tug of tiny clinging fingers, and dreaming is as meaningless. (And if Maru could, she’d always sleep with one eye half-open, because she could imagine nothing better than the way they’re curled so close that pink hair brushes against her own skin.)