(TRC) And we'll swing up, swing down (13. Friction)
Title:And we'll swing up, swing down (13. Friction)
Pairing: Kurogane/Fai
Fandom: TRC
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 635
Notes: Look at my icon. Sigh.
Summary: Kurogane remembers, Fai forgets.
50 Scenes TABLE
His palm is dry against his own, rough enough to remind Kurogane of sandpaper. Fai says nothing, too absorbed in swinging their intertwined arms to notice Kurogane’s fingers clutching tighter at his hand.
A scarf, the wind and a tree.
Fai swings their arms higher, further up and further out, almost an imitation of an outstretched pair of hands caught up in the twists and turns of a waltz. There is no music, none that Kurogane can hear anyway, but he lets Fai have his way.
“I’m tired,” he says, sounding the exact opposite, and he continues to drag Kurogane on in their walk, arms flying. Up, down, up, down. “Where are we going?”
The words are stuck in Kurogane’s throat, but he shrugs them out. “The supermarket,” he reminds Fai. “You wanted to get something.”
“Oh.” The arms still in mid-air, and Kurogane tenses. “I forgot.” The swinging resumes, and Fai turns to Kurogane, frowning. “What did I want?”
Kurogane wants to roar, I don’t know, you stupid mage, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gently pulls him into the shop, the automatic doors sliding open just as they almost walk past it. There are rows and rows, aisles upon aisles of cans and boxes and little plastic sacks. The supermarket is cold, the air puffing out from vents in cold gasps that curl around Kurogane’s neck and trickle down his back. He feels Fai’s hand twitch in his, trembling a little.
Fai seems to stall a bit, as if overwhelmed by the sight of shelves towering over him, neatly arranged in a metal maze that beckons. Then he cocks his head to one side, and in a voice so normal Kurogane’s heart squeezes in his chest for one hopeful, disbelieving moment, he says, “Oh, sugar. Silly Kuro-pi.”
But then he turns to look up, and Kurogane’s chest expands again, air that tastes of bitter disappointment easily rushing in. Fai is smiling, teasing, but he’s still…not.
He dutifully grimaces, and allows Fai to grab packet after packet of sugar. White, icing and brown. They stack up in his arms, almost like a barricade, or a barrier. He wonders what he’s hiding behind them for, the little sacks heavy in his arms.
The cashier is a tired-looking woman, wrinkled in every sense of the word. She squints at the objects on the counter, the scanner held loosely in her hand, crow’s feet like little creased fans at the corner of her eyes and thin lines carved into her drooping cheeks. She carelessly scans each bag of sugar, the beeps tallying up the cost. “Cash?” She croaks at them, and Kurogane can’t help but relish the first direct question anyone has asked him for a long, long time. He nods the affirmative, the money crumpled in his hand.
Behind him, Fai whistles along to the tinny music playing on the supermarket’s loudspeakers.
They don’t swing arms on the way home. Fai is surprisingly considerate, knowing that Kurogane’s hands are full enough with the plastic bags full of crystallized sweetness. So, he drapes himself around Kurogane’s shoulder instead, stringy arm a vine around his neck. The cold air from the supermarket has condensed on their skin; the crook of Fai’s elbow sticks to Kurogane’s nape and as they walk, the adhered skin twists painfully, rubbing red.
“Kuro?” Fai sounds tiny.
Kurogane “mmphs” in response, waiting. His neck hurts. Fai isn’t heavy, but the sugar weighs down on him.
“I can’t remember what I wanted to make with the sugar.” He sounds apologetic now.
Kurogane breathes in. Fai smells of imminent rain, or maybe of snow. He can’t recall the white slush, doesn’t want to anyway, so he sighs, pushing open their front door. “I do.”
The scarf is in his hand, and everything’s all right now.
Pairing: Kurogane/Fai
Fandom: TRC
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 635
Notes: Look at my icon. Sigh.
Summary: Kurogane remembers, Fai forgets.
50 Scenes TABLE
His palm is dry against his own, rough enough to remind Kurogane of sandpaper. Fai says nothing, too absorbed in swinging their intertwined arms to notice Kurogane’s fingers clutching tighter at his hand.
A scarf, the wind and a tree.
Fai swings their arms higher, further up and further out, almost an imitation of an outstretched pair of hands caught up in the twists and turns of a waltz. There is no music, none that Kurogane can hear anyway, but he lets Fai have his way.
“I’m tired,” he says, sounding the exact opposite, and he continues to drag Kurogane on in their walk, arms flying. Up, down, up, down. “Where are we going?”
The words are stuck in Kurogane’s throat, but he shrugs them out. “The supermarket,” he reminds Fai. “You wanted to get something.”
“Oh.” The arms still in mid-air, and Kurogane tenses. “I forgot.” The swinging resumes, and Fai turns to Kurogane, frowning. “What did I want?”
Kurogane wants to roar, I don’t know, you stupid mage, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gently pulls him into the shop, the automatic doors sliding open just as they almost walk past it. There are rows and rows, aisles upon aisles of cans and boxes and little plastic sacks. The supermarket is cold, the air puffing out from vents in cold gasps that curl around Kurogane’s neck and trickle down his back. He feels Fai’s hand twitch in his, trembling a little.
Fai seems to stall a bit, as if overwhelmed by the sight of shelves towering over him, neatly arranged in a metal maze that beckons. Then he cocks his head to one side, and in a voice so normal Kurogane’s heart squeezes in his chest for one hopeful, disbelieving moment, he says, “Oh, sugar. Silly Kuro-pi.”
But then he turns to look up, and Kurogane’s chest expands again, air that tastes of bitter disappointment easily rushing in. Fai is smiling, teasing, but he’s still…not.
He dutifully grimaces, and allows Fai to grab packet after packet of sugar. White, icing and brown. They stack up in his arms, almost like a barricade, or a barrier. He wonders what he’s hiding behind them for, the little sacks heavy in his arms.
The cashier is a tired-looking woman, wrinkled in every sense of the word. She squints at the objects on the counter, the scanner held loosely in her hand, crow’s feet like little creased fans at the corner of her eyes and thin lines carved into her drooping cheeks. She carelessly scans each bag of sugar, the beeps tallying up the cost. “Cash?” She croaks at them, and Kurogane can’t help but relish the first direct question anyone has asked him for a long, long time. He nods the affirmative, the money crumpled in his hand.
Behind him, Fai whistles along to the tinny music playing on the supermarket’s loudspeakers.
They don’t swing arms on the way home. Fai is surprisingly considerate, knowing that Kurogane’s hands are full enough with the plastic bags full of crystallized sweetness. So, he drapes himself around Kurogane’s shoulder instead, stringy arm a vine around his neck. The cold air from the supermarket has condensed on their skin; the crook of Fai’s elbow sticks to Kurogane’s nape and as they walk, the adhered skin twists painfully, rubbing red.
“Kuro?” Fai sounds tiny.
Kurogane “mmphs” in response, waiting. His neck hurts. Fai isn’t heavy, but the sugar weighs down on him.
“I can’t remember what I wanted to make with the sugar.” He sounds apologetic now.
Kurogane breathes in. Fai smells of imminent rain, or maybe of snow. He can’t recall the white slush, doesn’t want to anyway, so he sighs, pushing open their front door. “I do.”
The scarf is in his hand, and everything’s all right now.