I don't really know what this is. Just a fluffy oneshot something.

I'm not sure if it's any good. This was a total spur of the moment thingie-ma-bobbie-whosa-ma-whatsit. The things one does on an insomniatic middle of the night bender, am I right?

Sometimes people glanced at him, and he could see what they thought. They made it easy. But he didn't care. He knew she had him wrapped around her little finger, and it couldn't bother him less. Oneshot. Zikki.

"Zane? Wake up," he felt hands grip his shoulder, jostling him into awareness. He swatted at the voice. "Wake up, you dork."

"No, five more—"

He heard the swoosh before he felt the impact, and he was cut off by the rude smack of a pillow before he could finish even one sleep-addled sentence.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing his sides, sore from the attack. "That hurt."

Rikki was grinning at him, unravelling plaits swinging about her face as she alternated between smiling and laughing. "It was a pillow."

"It still hurt."

"You want a bottle, little baby?"

He rolled over, grabbing the offensive pillow and hurling it in her direction. He heard a thump, but her crisp chuckle was good enough alone to tell him he'd missed. "Go away."

"You have to get up," she said, and he felt tugging on his calf as his body slipped from under the sheets.

"Rikki," he moaned, grappling at the blankets. "Don't."

"Then get up!"

"I hate you."

"Of course you do," she said. "Come on. Places to go, people to..."

"See?"

He still couldn't see her, but the air was reverberating with her shrug. "I guess."

"Five more minutes."

"I'm getting annoyed."

"Fine, fine," he sat up, opening his eyes to see her standing there with her hands perched on her hips, glaring down at him with a ferocity he knew no other living being would ever be able to attain. "Anything to be spared your wrath."

She grinned, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Good!" she skipped away from him, the sash of her dressing gown trailing after her.

He shook his head, laughing and listening to her vibrant voice echoing off his apartment walls as she sang. Rather mercilessly, and quite off-tune.

He started tugging on his clothes, and when he was dressed, crossed the hall and rapped on the door to the guest bedroom. "Rikki?"

"I'm not decent,"

"Can I come in?"

There was a crash, from which he could only assume she'd thrown something at the door. "No, you pervert!"

He grinned, but waited for her to come out. The door eventually swung open, revealing her smiling teeth, her curls hanging about her face.

"Morning," he said, coiling an arm around her.

"Creep," she said, accompanied by an eye roll. "And it's been 'morning' for a while now."

He watched her as she tied up her unruly locks. His eyebrows raised as he said, "You know, you sleep here so much, you might as well move in,"

"Ah, no," she said with a laugh. "I like my place just fine, thank you."

He tried to pose it as something casual, and he shrugged as he said, "Or, I could move in with you."

"Zane..." she turned, her brow furrowed, her blue eyes searching him. "Are you serious? Or are you joking?"

His voice caught and his ribcage collapsed on his heart. He watched as her face crumpled, her mouth pulling taut. He could practically see the rebuffs already swirling in her head. He felt his future with her slip away, dribble through is fingers like water—she would say no. And she'd drift away from him. Every conversation would be awkward. He'd want something she wouldn't. She'd eventually leave. It would be over, all because of what he said here, now.

"I'm joking. Of course I'm joking."

Her lips instantly quirked upward, and she leant over, pressing her lips against his. "Oh, okay. I just—" for a moment, he saw something flash across her face, and the smile faded. For a moment. "—it doesn't matter. Let's go."

He felt their relationship reassert itself, and relief bloomed in his chest, as pure and beautiful as the coursing of waves or the fall of a snowflake. Or the way she looked when she smiled at him. Like she was smiling now, face glowing, radiant, as she grabbed his hand.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

She flung open the door, her warm voice leaching into the biting morning air, "Anywhere!"

"Sounds like a plan."

XXX

They ended up on the beach, watching the grey tongue of the waves lick at the shoreline, gradually swallowing the land.

"It's so nice today, isn't it?" she said with a laugh, biting down on a sandwich he'd bought for her at the local café. She jerked her thumb at a young family with a toddling child, watching the little mite run into the waves only to dart out again, squealing and complaining of "da cold,"

"Yes, just wonderful..." he said, playing along with her sarcastic banter, until he heard an ominous rumble overhead. He looked up—menacing storm clouds were gathering, threatening to spoil their afternoon. But he knew they were capable of much more. He leaned over, running his fingers down her arm, the concern in his touch enough to catch her attention, because now she sat there watching him with her inquisitive blue eyes.

"Did you hear that? The weather's turning bad. Maybe we should pack up."

She glanced to the skies, her lips dragging downward, a sigh dancing across them. She stood, brushing off her pants. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Rikki?" he said. She looked at him, eyebrows raised, head cocked in question. "I'm sorry."

She snorted and gave him a hand up. "It isn't your fault. It's the rain's fault," she twirled around, angling her head to the heavens and bellowing, "Curse you, rain!"

A wandering couple shot them looks that rather suggested they belonged in a mental hospital, not there picnicking on the beach, but he just laughed and slipped an arm around her, kissing the side of her head. "You're special, you know that?"

"I suppose."

He shook his head at her coy denial, breathing into her hair and wrapping both arms around her in a warm embrace. "We should get off this beach," he muttered into her curls. He felt her nod against his chest.

But neither of them moved, just stayed there like that, letting the wind and the cold fuse their bodies together. "Rikki," he said, in a small voice. He found himself hoping she hadn't heard it, because he knew almost for certain that what he was about to say would be better left unspoken.

"Yeah?"

"I..." he shuddered, and hoped she just put it down to the battery of the wind. "What I said before, I... I wasn't joking."

"You... weren't?"

He was an idiot. He had been given a chance, a chance to play it off as a tease, something silly designed to trick her. And he'd blown that chance. But he couldn't reverse it now.

"I want you to move in with me, Rikki."

Even with the song of the wind, he heard her breath catch, felt the jolt of her chest.

She didn't say anything.

The only sound was from the gale around them.

"Rikki?"

He felt it, each movement as painful as if she was tearing one of his own limbs off, as she detached from him. She blinked at him, the wind steadying to a breeze, gently dislodging her curls.

"Rikki?"

Her mouth opened and shut, revealing her pearly white teeth, and each time his heart lurched, thinking she would say something—only for her to shut it again.

"Rikki. Talk to me."

She took in a breath, her chest quivering with the magnitude of it. She closed her eyes, and it was a long time before she opened them again. "Are you sure?"

Those were probably the last three words he would have expected her to say. Shock wracked his body, and all he could manage was a choked, "Yes."

"We'd probably kill each other." She said, and the mirror of a smile played across her lips. Faint and fleeting. And wonderful.

Her smart comment seemed to jolt him back to life, and he could feel his lips pulling upward with the same smile, only he was sure it was one million times stupider. "Yes, we probably would."

And then the most beautiful, wondrous five words struck him, infiltrating his heart and rooting there, along with everything else about her—the curl of her hair, the glimmer of her eyes, the way her lips twitched when she was trying hard not to laugh.

"I'm in if you are."

And his lips pressed against hers just as the first raindrops began to fall.

This hasn't been edited, thought through, or anythinged really. I'm not even sure the summary and title make sense. Did you like it? Hate it? If it's the latter, constructive criticism would be highly valued! Or even if it's the first one. I know this has a lot of flaws, and a lot of them will be due to the fact that it's the middle of the night, but I'd still appreciate feedback.

I think they might have been OOC. Oh well. You guys tell me, and I'll think about fixing it.