Winter
----------
Disclaimers: As much as I would love to, I just don't have time to see to their needs, so I've declined all offers of owning them ^_~
Author: Avium
Website: http://www.limitlessdesire.com
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Sap, angst, waff
Pairings: Aya x Ken
Fic length: One-shot
Timeline: Indefinite
Author's note: Sap, angst, sap, waff, sap… did I mention sap? I'm just on such a roll during the exam period ^_~ I'm doing my first finals in university, and damn if it isn't hard. This fanfic is the result of my mind trying to get away from thoughts of studying as much as possible.
And since I'm just such a huge Ranken fan at heart… ^_^
-@-@-@-@-
Do you know what it is like to get that funny fluttery feeling in your tummy? Not quite an ache, yet not quite a pleasure. Just a tickling sensation that makes you sometimes wonder how it got there in the first place, followed by all too-sharp awareness of its presence?
Ticklish tickle tickle.
It's kind of like your tongue - you are never really aware of the fact that you have a tongue in your mouth until you actually think about it, then you start wondering how you can live with such a warm, wet piece of muscle in you all the time. And it's unnervingly flexible too - touch the roof of your mouth, scrap against your molars, move up and down whenever you chew - always quite forgetting about it until you accidentally chomp down on it and then curse a blue streak over it.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
Close your eyes.
What do you see?
White? Light?
Black? Shadows?
Maybe you see colours; maybe you can manage to see the underside of your eyelids - strange as it sounds.
I see... nothing.
Blank, emptiness, transparent, nothingness.
But when I tune all my other senses to my surroundings, I suddenly realise that I have no more concern for my temporary blindness. I can "see" the world and all its dirtiness still - whites and blacks, lights and shadows. I can feel them soaking into my from all corners - overwhelming and all-consuming.
The weather is colder today than usual. We are nearing the blossoming of winter. More coolness, the last lingering whiff of apples and dried leaves, children's laughter and the final sweet floral blooms before they turn in for the white blanket to cover them, to cover the earth.
The pure white of death
You stand there, laughing and smiling, kicking up the remaining piles of browns and reds, scattering them along the path where you walk.
Rustle rustle.
It's forever summer to you. Sunshine and pollens. Forever bright, always hopefully. Sunlight that gets into your eyes and fills them with the ethereal glow of the heavens. All because you look towards the skies and you smile.
And I... I look towards the cold, dirty pavements and walk with my head hung down. Mesmerised by the clicking of mechanical footsteps on drains and tar. Frost and darkness.
I am the winter, and you are the summer.
A world apart in nature, yet all forming part of a complete circle. A cycle that can never be broken, that can never be separated.
The first gust of winter-chilled air blows past, coyly teasing its way past crimson locks, eager and playful. Like its mother the snow - white goddess of death. Yet it does not result in the upturning of the corner of one's lips - it's like a cruel prank, lashing out from the darkness hoping to create surprise when all it does is stir up fears.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
Like a merry laugh, so elusive and so desired - it touches you briefly, then slips away into oblivion, never to be found again. Like the children that you surround yourself with. Beautiful, joyous laughter - genuine and innocent. No sinister undertones, no lies - children as what they really are - delight and warm beams. A gorgeous ringing jingle that touches you always, that never leaves you even in the darkness hours. It's kind of like the whole tongue concept - you will never realise you are smiling until you actually stop to look at yourself in the mirror or pause from your hectic routine to wonder why you can still grin. It will tickle you always, invoking an involuntary smile when you least expect it.
Unlike winter.
Winter is bleak. It's cold.
I am cold, too.
I see you turning your head towards me, smiling and shouting something.
I hear nothing. I only see your lips move - nothing is registered by my ears.
Because when the eyes see, the other senses feel and know nothing.
Reach out and touch the heavens - what do you catch in your hand?
Dirt, dust, debris. Full of wholesome city-life goodness.
Dark and dirty, empty and hollow.
Like my life, like your life, like our lives... No more hope, no more tomorrow. Living each day like it's our last. Will we survive the night? Will we survive the year? Will we survive these lives?
Have you ever seen the colour of your own blood?
Mine's black.
Like my heart, like my mind, like my future. The irony of the 'Weiß' that we swore to protect. Guardians of the innocent, saviours to the city, and florists arranging bouquets for all seasons and festivals. A mask of white where the black beneath shines through. Glowing, devilish black shadows that seep in and overthrow all defences, that wipes away the final traces of hope and forgiveness.
God help us.
We are the walking dead. Tainted souls, wretched people. One day at a time, one day at a time, one day at a time...
So why is there so much colour in yours? In theirs?
I have only monochromatic dreams to speak of. How do you manage to maintain those vivid, bright splashes of colour - bold in their strokes and loud in their forms?
Hold the mistletoe above your head; the doorbell chimes once, and a soft, sweet kiss. Too quick, too elusive. A bright smile and an innocent giggle, then quick footsteps down the pavement once again. You blush, and put it back down. Maybe Yohji will enjoy putting up the spring of green more than you do.
He laughs; you grin; Omi laughs.
Only a scowl touches my lips.
Cold like ice.
Like the winter breeze - unwelcomed; too cutting, too cold. A chill that touches right into you, that sharpens itself against your bones.
Ice.
Another breath of the white promise.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
Empty lies.
I leave, before they can overthrow my defences - hurry, hurry.
You shout; they shout. I hear nothing. Because my eyes are too busy trying to focus on the grey of the streets.
It's starting to snow.
White purity covering the city, causing people to tuck themselves deeper into their coats. Poodles once on leashes begin to find themselves indignantly shoved into their owners' furs. Some turn to bark at me when I brush past, touching their white fur.
They are warm - like summer. Messy white curls elaborately tangled up to make them look like little snowmen, puffed up like little balls of white.
I raise an eyebrow at the boldest one so far - the one that dared to gnash my sleeve. The lady owner is blushing - warm with embarrassment as she tries to coax her disobedient 'son' into letting go.
I say nothing, because I am cold. Because I feel nothing.
Everywhere is now white. But it's not pure, clean white, because the grim of the city has soaked itself into the blanket. I trod on snow, each footstep resulting in puddles of sludgy grey forming.
Ugly, tainted city.
The park is white too.
The greens are gone - I can only see the faintest traces of growth peeking out from under the benches. And the trees... white giants. Funny how they have not been stained grey like the rest of this unkind town.
Maybe it's because Nature heals itself over time, infinitely, so that no matter how many times man tries to destroy her, she will always rebound. She lives for her children.
We are the forsaken ones.
I dust away the thin coat of white icing on the bench before I place myself down on it, feeling the air leave my lungs in a sigh - warm breath. An indication of life - but just like a machine - moving, refuelling, sensing; never feeling, never realising life as what it really is.
The snow bears down harder now, larger and more insistent flakes that fall cold on my skin. They melt, but oh so slowly.
Because I am cold.
Beading into droplets of moisture and rolling down into my coat.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
Then it happens.
The goddess of winter had enlisted you as her minion, and taking the largest clump of fresh snow available, you shove it all down the back of my collar.
I curse; you laugh.
Standing up to shake away the foreign freezing sensation from my back, I glare hard at you. But do you shiver like you always do when the winter blast cuts you?
No - you just laugh harder.
I close my eyes, flickering my tongue out to run over cold, parched lips. I can hear you moving behind me, leaping over the bench and closing the distance between us with three wide steps.
A light snigger, and a warm breath of air near my back.
"Winter is cold, isn't it?"
I turn my back so that it completely faces you now, but tuning all my senses to the world around me in the meantime - eyes closed as always.
"It's everywhere; it covers everything. But it's beautiful, ne?"
White.
White.
White... lies.
I lean backwards, tilting my head to catch the snowflakes on my face - to chill the warmth of agitation. They fall on me - light and teasing, melting as slowly as ever.
But on you... they melt the instant they touch your skin. Because you are warm, because you are upbeat and cheerful. Like the sun.
"Wanna catch snowflakes with your tongue?"
I'm not going to watch you perform your idiotic antics. In fact, I'm going to step backwards and back onto the bench so no one will think that I know you.
So you stand there, with arms outstretch and head thrown back, your tongue thrust out of your mouth as you runs around wildly trying to catch those six-pointed crystals before they touch the ground. I frown, and close my eyes.
I hear the bawling of a child, and I finally open my eyes to look. He was the target of a snowball assault. You go over to him, only to become the latest target for the barrage of white powder. So what do you do?
You start making snowballs the size of your football and begin hurling them at the older bullies. Five launches later you emerge triumphant, and return to the boy. Squatting down in front of him you wipe away his tears with your sleeve, then before you can do anything else, the bullies are back.
In admiration.
Now you're the leader of their silly snowball assault team.
I am just going to hide my face into my coat while you guys throw snowballs at rich ladies in fur coats then run away laughing, okay?
The game gets boring after a while, and new snow begins falling again. White flakes on warm laughter. You lift the children up one after the other, showing them how to perform your silly snow-catching tricks.
One of them comments that it tastes icky.
You laugh.
I smile into the folds of my coat.
It is getting dark, but it always gets dark early in this season. You bid each of them farewell, giving the smallest boy a fir cone you picked up from a corner of the park. He clutches it to his chest like a precious treasure and runs off home, but not before spinning around to wave goodbye.
You start walking over towards me.
I can feel the cold blast travelling past, stroking clothes and flesh.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
It cools your heated body, it cools my darkness. I rise from my seat and turn to head for home. We walk together in silence, just you and me, summer and winter.
"You know, you should smile more often."
I turn around to face you, expressionless as always.
Under the lighting streetlamps the world begins to take on a warm orange glow - a stark contrast to the white chill that had enveloped it in the meantime. Funny how it no longer seems cold; funny how the greys have melted into pools of gold.
You look up, turquoise ever brilliant under the dim lighting.
"You look good when you smile."
Another cold gust of wind - winter and her wretched army. I now turn to face you, hands tucked into the pockets of my coat. I can feel the warmth radiating from your heated skin - ever so hot even when winter-kissed.
"Will the sun shine tomorrow, Ken?"
You close your eyes, nodding sagely - "It shines everyday, Aya. It's just a matter of if you look skywards or not."
I close my eyes - I can still see the glow from the streetlamps dancing weakly.
"Thank you."
"Hey, no problem."
You know just how to ruin the mood, you know?
I laugh, softly, bringing one hand up automatically to my mouth to conceal the upwards twitching of my lips, but your hand reaches over at once, peeling my hand away from my face.
"You don't have to hide your smiles, Aya."
Your breath is warm - it touches my face, caresses my skin. I can almost taste the coolness of winter from your parted lips, from those poor snowflakes that you have so greedily consumed.
You smile, and close the distance between us slowly and steadily.
I lean downwards.
I can feel your breath, hear your laughter; it overpowers the chill of the bleak winter days.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
That is all that there is to it - just close your eyes and feel.
Winter is only as harsh as you make it out to be.
You giggle into the kiss.
I smile, feeling your warmth enter me, defrosting my insides. It's that strange fluttery feeling you get in your stomach whenever you are shy, the weird sensation when you realise that your tongue is pressing into the roof of another's mouth.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
~ End
Author's note: Awwwww… Geez, that was sappy ^_~ Let me know if I should so such silly fanfics again, will you? *points downwards at review button*
----------
Disclaimers: As much as I would love to, I just don't have time to see to their needs, so I've declined all offers of owning them ^_~
Author: Avium
Website: http://www.limitlessdesire.com
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Sap, angst, waff
Pairings: Aya x Ken
Fic length: One-shot
Timeline: Indefinite
Author's note: Sap, angst, sap, waff, sap… did I mention sap? I'm just on such a roll during the exam period ^_~ I'm doing my first finals in university, and damn if it isn't hard. This fanfic is the result of my mind trying to get away from thoughts of studying as much as possible.
And since I'm just such a huge Ranken fan at heart… ^_^
-@-@-@-@-
Do you know what it is like to get that funny fluttery feeling in your tummy? Not quite an ache, yet not quite a pleasure. Just a tickling sensation that makes you sometimes wonder how it got there in the first place, followed by all too-sharp awareness of its presence?
Ticklish tickle tickle.
It's kind of like your tongue - you are never really aware of the fact that you have a tongue in your mouth until you actually think about it, then you start wondering how you can live with such a warm, wet piece of muscle in you all the time. And it's unnervingly flexible too - touch the roof of your mouth, scrap against your molars, move up and down whenever you chew - always quite forgetting about it until you accidentally chomp down on it and then curse a blue streak over it.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
Close your eyes.
What do you see?
White? Light?
Black? Shadows?
Maybe you see colours; maybe you can manage to see the underside of your eyelids - strange as it sounds.
I see... nothing.
Blank, emptiness, transparent, nothingness.
But when I tune all my other senses to my surroundings, I suddenly realise that I have no more concern for my temporary blindness. I can "see" the world and all its dirtiness still - whites and blacks, lights and shadows. I can feel them soaking into my from all corners - overwhelming and all-consuming.
The weather is colder today than usual. We are nearing the blossoming of winter. More coolness, the last lingering whiff of apples and dried leaves, children's laughter and the final sweet floral blooms before they turn in for the white blanket to cover them, to cover the earth.
The pure white of death
You stand there, laughing and smiling, kicking up the remaining piles of browns and reds, scattering them along the path where you walk.
Rustle rustle.
It's forever summer to you. Sunshine and pollens. Forever bright, always hopefully. Sunlight that gets into your eyes and fills them with the ethereal glow of the heavens. All because you look towards the skies and you smile.
And I... I look towards the cold, dirty pavements and walk with my head hung down. Mesmerised by the clicking of mechanical footsteps on drains and tar. Frost and darkness.
I am the winter, and you are the summer.
A world apart in nature, yet all forming part of a complete circle. A cycle that can never be broken, that can never be separated.
The first gust of winter-chilled air blows past, coyly teasing its way past crimson locks, eager and playful. Like its mother the snow - white goddess of death. Yet it does not result in the upturning of the corner of one's lips - it's like a cruel prank, lashing out from the darkness hoping to create surprise when all it does is stir up fears.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
Like a merry laugh, so elusive and so desired - it touches you briefly, then slips away into oblivion, never to be found again. Like the children that you surround yourself with. Beautiful, joyous laughter - genuine and innocent. No sinister undertones, no lies - children as what they really are - delight and warm beams. A gorgeous ringing jingle that touches you always, that never leaves you even in the darkness hours. It's kind of like the whole tongue concept - you will never realise you are smiling until you actually stop to look at yourself in the mirror or pause from your hectic routine to wonder why you can still grin. It will tickle you always, invoking an involuntary smile when you least expect it.
Unlike winter.
Winter is bleak. It's cold.
I am cold, too.
I see you turning your head towards me, smiling and shouting something.
I hear nothing. I only see your lips move - nothing is registered by my ears.
Because when the eyes see, the other senses feel and know nothing.
Reach out and touch the heavens - what do you catch in your hand?
Dirt, dust, debris. Full of wholesome city-life goodness.
Dark and dirty, empty and hollow.
Like my life, like your life, like our lives... No more hope, no more tomorrow. Living each day like it's our last. Will we survive the night? Will we survive the year? Will we survive these lives?
Have you ever seen the colour of your own blood?
Mine's black.
Like my heart, like my mind, like my future. The irony of the 'Weiß' that we swore to protect. Guardians of the innocent, saviours to the city, and florists arranging bouquets for all seasons and festivals. A mask of white where the black beneath shines through. Glowing, devilish black shadows that seep in and overthrow all defences, that wipes away the final traces of hope and forgiveness.
God help us.
We are the walking dead. Tainted souls, wretched people. One day at a time, one day at a time, one day at a time...
So why is there so much colour in yours? In theirs?
I have only monochromatic dreams to speak of. How do you manage to maintain those vivid, bright splashes of colour - bold in their strokes and loud in their forms?
Hold the mistletoe above your head; the doorbell chimes once, and a soft, sweet kiss. Too quick, too elusive. A bright smile and an innocent giggle, then quick footsteps down the pavement once again. You blush, and put it back down. Maybe Yohji will enjoy putting up the spring of green more than you do.
He laughs; you grin; Omi laughs.
Only a scowl touches my lips.
Cold like ice.
Like the winter breeze - unwelcomed; too cutting, too cold. A chill that touches right into you, that sharpens itself against your bones.
Ice.
Another breath of the white promise.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
Empty lies.
I leave, before they can overthrow my defences - hurry, hurry.
You shout; they shout. I hear nothing. Because my eyes are too busy trying to focus on the grey of the streets.
It's starting to snow.
White purity covering the city, causing people to tuck themselves deeper into their coats. Poodles once on leashes begin to find themselves indignantly shoved into their owners' furs. Some turn to bark at me when I brush past, touching their white fur.
They are warm - like summer. Messy white curls elaborately tangled up to make them look like little snowmen, puffed up like little balls of white.
I raise an eyebrow at the boldest one so far - the one that dared to gnash my sleeve. The lady owner is blushing - warm with embarrassment as she tries to coax her disobedient 'son' into letting go.
I say nothing, because I am cold. Because I feel nothing.
Everywhere is now white. But it's not pure, clean white, because the grim of the city has soaked itself into the blanket. I trod on snow, each footstep resulting in puddles of sludgy grey forming.
Ugly, tainted city.
The park is white too.
The greens are gone - I can only see the faintest traces of growth peeking out from under the benches. And the trees... white giants. Funny how they have not been stained grey like the rest of this unkind town.
Maybe it's because Nature heals itself over time, infinitely, so that no matter how many times man tries to destroy her, she will always rebound. She lives for her children.
We are the forsaken ones.
I dust away the thin coat of white icing on the bench before I place myself down on it, feeling the air leave my lungs in a sigh - warm breath. An indication of life - but just like a machine - moving, refuelling, sensing; never feeling, never realising life as what it really is.
The snow bears down harder now, larger and more insistent flakes that fall cold on my skin. They melt, but oh so slowly.
Because I am cold.
Beading into droplets of moisture and rolling down into my coat.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
Then it happens.
The goddess of winter had enlisted you as her minion, and taking the largest clump of fresh snow available, you shove it all down the back of my collar.
I curse; you laugh.
Standing up to shake away the foreign freezing sensation from my back, I glare hard at you. But do you shiver like you always do when the winter blast cuts you?
No - you just laugh harder.
I close my eyes, flickering my tongue out to run over cold, parched lips. I can hear you moving behind me, leaping over the bench and closing the distance between us with three wide steps.
A light snigger, and a warm breath of air near my back.
"Winter is cold, isn't it?"
I turn my back so that it completely faces you now, but tuning all my senses to the world around me in the meantime - eyes closed as always.
"It's everywhere; it covers everything. But it's beautiful, ne?"
White.
White.
White... lies.
I lean backwards, tilting my head to catch the snowflakes on my face - to chill the warmth of agitation. They fall on me - light and teasing, melting as slowly as ever.
But on you... they melt the instant they touch your skin. Because you are warm, because you are upbeat and cheerful. Like the sun.
"Wanna catch snowflakes with your tongue?"
I'm not going to watch you perform your idiotic antics. In fact, I'm going to step backwards and back onto the bench so no one will think that I know you.
So you stand there, with arms outstretch and head thrown back, your tongue thrust out of your mouth as you runs around wildly trying to catch those six-pointed crystals before they touch the ground. I frown, and close my eyes.
I hear the bawling of a child, and I finally open my eyes to look. He was the target of a snowball assault. You go over to him, only to become the latest target for the barrage of white powder. So what do you do?
You start making snowballs the size of your football and begin hurling them at the older bullies. Five launches later you emerge triumphant, and return to the boy. Squatting down in front of him you wipe away his tears with your sleeve, then before you can do anything else, the bullies are back.
In admiration.
Now you're the leader of their silly snowball assault team.
I am just going to hide my face into my coat while you guys throw snowballs at rich ladies in fur coats then run away laughing, okay?
The game gets boring after a while, and new snow begins falling again. White flakes on warm laughter. You lift the children up one after the other, showing them how to perform your silly snow-catching tricks.
One of them comments that it tastes icky.
You laugh.
I smile into the folds of my coat.
It is getting dark, but it always gets dark early in this season. You bid each of them farewell, giving the smallest boy a fir cone you picked up from a corner of the park. He clutches it to his chest like a precious treasure and runs off home, but not before spinning around to wave goodbye.
You start walking over towards me.
I can feel the cold blast travelling past, stroking clothes and flesh.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
It cools your heated body, it cools my darkness. I rise from my seat and turn to head for home. We walk together in silence, just you and me, summer and winter.
"You know, you should smile more often."
I turn around to face you, expressionless as always.
Under the lighting streetlamps the world begins to take on a warm orange glow - a stark contrast to the white chill that had enveloped it in the meantime. Funny how it no longer seems cold; funny how the greys have melted into pools of gold.
You look up, turquoise ever brilliant under the dim lighting.
"You look good when you smile."
Another cold gust of wind - winter and her wretched army. I now turn to face you, hands tucked into the pockets of my coat. I can feel the warmth radiating from your heated skin - ever so hot even when winter-kissed.
"Will the sun shine tomorrow, Ken?"
You close your eyes, nodding sagely - "It shines everyday, Aya. It's just a matter of if you look skywards or not."
I close my eyes - I can still see the glow from the streetlamps dancing weakly.
"Thank you."
"Hey, no problem."
You know just how to ruin the mood, you know?
I laugh, softly, bringing one hand up automatically to my mouth to conceal the upwards twitching of my lips, but your hand reaches over at once, peeling my hand away from my face.
"You don't have to hide your smiles, Aya."
Your breath is warm - it touches my face, caresses my skin. I can almost taste the coolness of winter from your parted lips, from those poor snowflakes that you have so greedily consumed.
You smile, and close the distance between us slowly and steadily.
I lean downwards.
I can feel your breath, hear your laughter; it overpowers the chill of the bleak winter days.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
That is all that there is to it - just close your eyes and feel.
Winter is only as harsh as you make it out to be.
You giggle into the kiss.
I smile, feeling your warmth enter me, defrosting my insides. It's that strange fluttery feeling you get in your stomach whenever you are shy, the weird sensation when you realise that your tongue is pressing into the roof of another's mouth.
Ticklish tickle tickle.
~ End
Author's note: Awwwww… Geez, that was sappy ^_~ Let me know if I should so such silly fanfics again, will you? *points downwards at review button*