Title: don't forget to breathe
Genre: Friendship, Romance, Angst, a set of pre-series vignettes
Pairing: Lelouch/Shirley
Rating: K+
Summary: I want to stay like this with you, forever. This is how it starts, before the story even begins.
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Lulu, she says, and he can't help but smile as she claps one hand over her mouth in shock, the curve of her cheek visible to him flushing pink.
As she stammers out a flow of apologies, she didn't mean to butcher his name like that, honestly, his response is instantaneous, unthinkingly swift.
You can call me Lulu if you want.
She falls silent immediately, her eyes wide and questioning. He is momentarily startled by his own words, his mind blank, empty of reasons for his reply (he's lying to himself).
Because he's tired, so tired of being burdened by names and titles and all the expectations that come with them. Because he likes the way she says his name, free and easy and comfortable, natural.
It's…because we're friends. Her tone is tentative, a statement lingering on the precipice of uncertainty.
Yes.
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He opens his mouth, his mind already shaping the words that would roll off his tongue in smooth, reassuring syllables, a repertoire of ready excuses crouching at the edge of his lips to wipe away sins both real and imagined.
He hesitates. His throat is suddenly dry as he lifts his gaze to meet hers.
He cannot bring himself to lie. Not to her, not with those soft green eyes staring straight at him, weighted down with trust and free of deceit.
So he tells her the truth.
Anyways, he finishes flippantly, it's not gambling if I consistently win.
Gambling is gambling, she insists. The frown on her face is still there, although her air of disapproval has lightened by a few degrees. Just…don't risk more than you can lose.
Be careful, he hears.
His lips curve into a smirk as he replies:
I never play to lose.
xxxXXXxxx
Do you know which chess piece has the most power, after the king?
The queen?
No.
A slender finger hovers over the board, taps twice on the head of a soldier in the sea of black.
It's the pawn.
Why?
Because with enough determination, even a pawn can become a queen.
xxxXXXxxx
The world around him shimmers with light and colors that bleed into one another, the fragments of dawn after a nightmare. He is weightless, floating, and blissfully carefree.
When he slowly drifts back into consciousness, the lights burn gold behind eyelids, his chest hurts, his head pounds, and his hair is sopping wet. He decides to keep his eyes closed a moment longer, putting off his eventual awakening and confrontation with the too-bright lights.
It takes him two seconds to become aware of the stifled sobs at his side. He recognizes her voice, as hoarse as it is. A torrent of whispers spill from her lips in ragged stops and starts, punctuated with the odd hiccup in between.
How did he do that, how could he just trip into the school swimming pool and knock himself out, how could he make everyone worry like that, especially Nunnally, did he know, did he know how worried she was, how they all were, wasn't he supposed to be the clever one, didn't he know how dangerous it was to run around in there, especially while carrying something heavy, and she had been scared, so scared for him.
The grip of her hand on his left hand is fiercely tight, as if in an attempt to anchor him to reality. The sound of her crying is slowly subdued to the odd sniffle or two, but he can still sense her body trembling from the effort of holding back her tears.
Don't, he wants to tell her, don't cry, you shouldn't cry, especially not for me. It's all right, I'm still here, so don't cry anymore.
He remains silent.
She drops his hand almost guiltily when he hears the sounds of the sickroom's door opening, and it falls to the side of the bed with a quiet 'thunk' as the chatter of the rest of the Student Council floods into the room. He tells himself the ache in his chest is just a consequence of his near-death experience, nothing more.
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Sometimes, when she sneaks glances at him during a particularly dull class lecture, his gaze is distracted and distant. Her heart clenches with a stab of something like loneliness, and she suddenly feels horribly small and insignificant.
Look at me. Please, look at me.
When he does return her glances, and he sees her busily scribbling down notes, his lips, more often than not, twitch into a smirk, and the fingers of his right hand drum a lazy rhythm on the notebook in front of him, which always lies untouched on his desk after the first ten minutes of class have passed.
You can copy my notes after class during Student Council, Shirley. Why work so hard?
She shakes her head slightly with mock-exasperation in response.
A careless shrug in answer. Your loss then.
She smiles brightly in response, despite his seeming indifference. She knows if she did ask, he would help without hesitation.
Her smile fades though, when he turns around and continues gazing through the window he had been examining earlier, one elbow propped on his desk.
When she watches him, she feels like he was always searching for something beyond the wall, his eyes straining for a glimpse into the distance far past the glass windows and the gardens of the academy, seeking out the horizon where the ocean melts and melds into the blue of the sky.
xxxXXXxxx
Dance with me. His hand is extended gracefully towards her, his lean frame bent in a half-bow.
How could she refuse?
They spin carefully, lightly, around the floor, the sparkling chandeliers above bathing the pair in a gentle glow.
They are close enough that she can see the dark sweep of his eyelashes, feel the lightest heat from his breath skim her forehead. Nevertheless, there is a gap of two inches between them, a maintained space that they do not cross.
She doesn't mind. He's here, with her, one hand resting loosely on her waist, the other curled around her right hand, the cool touch of his fingers interlaced with hers.
She wishes that he would never let go.
xxxXXXxxx
I think I could love you.
He stiffens at this unbidden thought, one hand tightening his grip on the book over his chest, the page grasped between his fingers frozen mid-turn.
His eyes flicker once to the girl dozing besides him, her red hair fanning out in brilliant contrast to the grass beneath. The sunshine filters through the branches of the tree overhead the pair, flickering over the contours of her face, a mosaic of light and shade passing over the curve of her lips upturned into a soft smile.
He shakes his head once, twice, turns the page and continues to read under the embrace of the warm spring afternoon.
xxxXXXxxx
End.
A/N: Reviews are much loved and appreciated.
This fic was a bit of an indulgent experimental-type work. I had a craving for some fic that explored Lelouch's Ashford Academy days, and there weren't too many around, so this was the result of that.