[Ficlet] VF: Black and White
Title: Black and White
Pairing: Feilong/Mikhail
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: up to present timeline
Warnings: Short
Disclaimer: They belong to Yamane-sensei
A/N: A very short short for oninoshirosaki. I hope you have a very Happy Birthday!
Summary: Feilong's moving on with his life.
Lukewarm water ran over his hands, making him grimace as he rinsed soap and germs away. Restaurant toilets never produced tap water hot enough to suit him. He would have thought that for all the money they charged for wedding receptions they could afford better facilities. He glanced up at his reflection in the gold-framed mirror and paused, his eyes fixed on his hair. Was that a strand of grey?
A flash of white caught his attention. He managed to keep from groaning and turned his head to watch Mikhail Arbatov step up beside him.
"Mirror mirror, Feilong? Don't worry, you're still the fairest." The blue eyes that looked down at him were filled with amusement.
"White again, Mikhail? Why have you insisted upon making that your trademark? Every time my page sees you he wants ice cream."
"That's funny, Feilong. Really. I've never heard that one-- twice from the same person." Mikhail finished washing his hands and turned to face him, leaning his hip against the black marble of the sink as he dried himself. "Tell me, when I caught your eye in my virginal white a moment ago, what was it you thought of?"
"How I could get past you to the door without having a conversation?"
"And yet you stayed. I'm touched." Mikhail leaned forward a little. "But admit it. The white gave me away. You knew it was me, didn't you, and not tall, dark and constipated from further north? That alone is worth all the bad jokes."
Feilong caught the light scent of a citrus aftershave and scrunched up his nose, trying to pretend he didn't find it at all pleasant. "I have no idea to whom you are referring."
"Please. Neither of us is stupid. At least do us both the courtesy of being honest."
"All right. I'll be honest, about two things. First, I don't like you, and I don't like your white suit, like you're some good guy in a cowboy movie riding in for a rescue; I don't need to be rescued. Second, things are different now with me." And he realized to his surprise he was telling the truth. He continued with even more conviction. "I don't think about him anymore, except possibly when chatting with Akihito. And the more I chat with Akihito, the more I've realized how lucky I am to have escaped his fate."
Mikhail's eyes narrowed, examining him. "So when I say the name Ryuichi Asami your heart doesn't go pitter pat?"
Feilong listened to his heart, the rhythm slow and steady, and smiled a little as he reached for a towel. "You're the first one who's dared to say his name to me since that time. And you know what? My heart is just fine."
"You mean that."
"Yes." He finished drying his hands and dropped the cloth in the waste bin. He looked again at himself in the mirror, black suit, black tie, dark hair, and eyes that maybe weren't so dark anymore and met Mikhail's gaze there. Such a contrast between them. A pleasing one, he had to admit, if you ignored his personality.
"Almost perfect," Mikhail stated with a hint of satisfaction, and he reached over and tucked a strand of hair back into place behind Feilong's ear.
He was irritated with himself for the slight pink that appeared on his cheeks, so obvious against the black and white. And he was irritated by the slight smirk that appeared on Mikhail's face.
But he found himself not quite so irritated with Mikhail for once, and found that more than disturbing. He coughed slightly. "If we stay in here much longer, our men will storm the toilets. While I'm sure you would find that entertaining, the wedding party would likely not appreciate it."
Mikhail's smirk turned into a mischievous grin. "But oh, it would make for a memorable night! Their wedding would be talked about for years. Perhaps it would be a bit messy though, with guns and all. We should give them something else to talk about."
"I really don't see-"
"Don't you?" And Mikhail bent down and kissed him, nothing forceful, nothing hesitant and subservient, just a soft kiss that burned white hot where their lips met. It took his breath away.
And then it was over and Mikhail was headed toward the exit with a bit of a bounce in his step and Feilong felt his cheeks burning bright red and his heart, his heart was going pitter pitter pitter pat. He took a deep breath to stop the world from spinning.
It didn't help.
The door closed behind his doom and he leaned back over the sink and ran the thankfully cold water full blast and splashed his face with it, then drying it with a clean towel peeked up over the edges at his reflection to see his now violet eyes laughing at him ruefully.
Of all the people, it had to be him. In white. Like some damned angel. That might be about right. A damned angel was a demon, and they could be exorcised.
But if he'd learned anything from the debacle of the past year, it was that you can't always understand why a heart feels like it does, and you can't change a heart once it's decided its path. So maybe, just maybe, it might be worth following the path he was being tugged along to see what he would see.
Well. No coward, he.
He thought of how easily he'd crossed the floor of the apartment in Taiwan, for very different reasons. There'd been no hesitation that night either. There also hadn't been this incessant drumming in his chest that made him want to find the one at the other end of the red cord that now seemed to stretch outward from just below his scars.
He straightened his tie and brushed imaginary lint off his suit, and taking a deep breath went through the door, his eyes scanning for a glaringly white suit, spotting it easily. He crossed the dance floor, people instinctively moving aside for him until he stood over him at the table, and ignoring everything that was telling him not to, he stuck out his chin a little and held out his hand.
"May I have this dance?"
They had always looked at him with a carefree amusement, those blue eyes. Never the stunned disbelief with which he was being stared at now, disbelief that quickly fell away to reveal pride and hilarity and perhaps something more that Feilong wasn't ready to name. Their color deepened to match the dark of the ocean, inviting him to fall in their depths as their owner rose to meet him with a genuine smile on his face.
The room stilled as they moved out onto the dance floor, hand in hand, black and white, yin finding yang, and they stared their deadliest stares at the orchestra until they hastily began playing again, something slow and sweet that he vaguely recognized as Gershwin.
"Memorable enough for you?" Feilong murmured, as he rested both arms on Mikhail's shoulders.
Mikhail laughed a laugh of pure delight and pulled him closer, and finally, when their bodies met, finally, the emptiness inside starting filling for the first time in years. It was just a trickle. Most people wouldn't even notice such an insignificant thing. But the tight ache in Feilong's chest loosened and he felt an ease he never thought would be his.
"I've never seen an expression like that on you, Feilong," Mikhail said softly. "You look... whole."
Yes, that was it. Mikhail was quite astute. Feilong felt whole, not broken. Cracked maybe, like an old vase, but everything put back in its place and the glue holding, ready for whatever life had to offer. "I think perhaps I am ready for a flower or two." He looked life in the face and smiled so brilliantly Mikhail gasped.
I'm ready, he thought, spinning round with his partner.
Come fill me up.
~End~
Pairing: Feilong/Mikhail
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: up to present timeline
Warnings: Short
Disclaimer: They belong to Yamane-sensei
A/N: A very short short for oninoshirosaki. I hope you have a very Happy Birthday!
Summary: Feilong's moving on with his life.
Lukewarm water ran over his hands, making him grimace as he rinsed soap and germs away. Restaurant toilets never produced tap water hot enough to suit him. He would have thought that for all the money they charged for wedding receptions they could afford better facilities. He glanced up at his reflection in the gold-framed mirror and paused, his eyes fixed on his hair. Was that a strand of grey?
A flash of white caught his attention. He managed to keep from groaning and turned his head to watch Mikhail Arbatov step up beside him.
"Mirror mirror, Feilong? Don't worry, you're still the fairest." The blue eyes that looked down at him were filled with amusement.
"White again, Mikhail? Why have you insisted upon making that your trademark? Every time my page sees you he wants ice cream."
"That's funny, Feilong. Really. I've never heard that one-- twice from the same person." Mikhail finished washing his hands and turned to face him, leaning his hip against the black marble of the sink as he dried himself. "Tell me, when I caught your eye in my virginal white a moment ago, what was it you thought of?"
"How I could get past you to the door without having a conversation?"
"And yet you stayed. I'm touched." Mikhail leaned forward a little. "But admit it. The white gave me away. You knew it was me, didn't you, and not tall, dark and constipated from further north? That alone is worth all the bad jokes."
Feilong caught the light scent of a citrus aftershave and scrunched up his nose, trying to pretend he didn't find it at all pleasant. "I have no idea to whom you are referring."
"Please. Neither of us is stupid. At least do us both the courtesy of being honest."
"All right. I'll be honest, about two things. First, I don't like you, and I don't like your white suit, like you're some good guy in a cowboy movie riding in for a rescue; I don't need to be rescued. Second, things are different now with me." And he realized to his surprise he was telling the truth. He continued with even more conviction. "I don't think about him anymore, except possibly when chatting with Akihito. And the more I chat with Akihito, the more I've realized how lucky I am to have escaped his fate."
Mikhail's eyes narrowed, examining him. "So when I say the name Ryuichi Asami your heart doesn't go pitter pat?"
Feilong listened to his heart, the rhythm slow and steady, and smiled a little as he reached for a towel. "You're the first one who's dared to say his name to me since that time. And you know what? My heart is just fine."
"You mean that."
"Yes." He finished drying his hands and dropped the cloth in the waste bin. He looked again at himself in the mirror, black suit, black tie, dark hair, and eyes that maybe weren't so dark anymore and met Mikhail's gaze there. Such a contrast between them. A pleasing one, he had to admit, if you ignored his personality.
"Almost perfect," Mikhail stated with a hint of satisfaction, and he reached over and tucked a strand of hair back into place behind Feilong's ear.
He was irritated with himself for the slight pink that appeared on his cheeks, so obvious against the black and white. And he was irritated by the slight smirk that appeared on Mikhail's face.
But he found himself not quite so irritated with Mikhail for once, and found that more than disturbing. He coughed slightly. "If we stay in here much longer, our men will storm the toilets. While I'm sure you would find that entertaining, the wedding party would likely not appreciate it."
Mikhail's smirk turned into a mischievous grin. "But oh, it would make for a memorable night! Their wedding would be talked about for years. Perhaps it would be a bit messy though, with guns and all. We should give them something else to talk about."
"I really don't see-"
"Don't you?" And Mikhail bent down and kissed him, nothing forceful, nothing hesitant and subservient, just a soft kiss that burned white hot where their lips met. It took his breath away.
And then it was over and Mikhail was headed toward the exit with a bit of a bounce in his step and Feilong felt his cheeks burning bright red and his heart, his heart was going pitter pitter pitter pat. He took a deep breath to stop the world from spinning.
It didn't help.
The door closed behind his doom and he leaned back over the sink and ran the thankfully cold water full blast and splashed his face with it, then drying it with a clean towel peeked up over the edges at his reflection to see his now violet eyes laughing at him ruefully.
Of all the people, it had to be him. In white. Like some damned angel. That might be about right. A damned angel was a demon, and they could be exorcised.
But if he'd learned anything from the debacle of the past year, it was that you can't always understand why a heart feels like it does, and you can't change a heart once it's decided its path. So maybe, just maybe, it might be worth following the path he was being tugged along to see what he would see.
Well. No coward, he.
He thought of how easily he'd crossed the floor of the apartment in Taiwan, for very different reasons. There'd been no hesitation that night either. There also hadn't been this incessant drumming in his chest that made him want to find the one at the other end of the red cord that now seemed to stretch outward from just below his scars.
He straightened his tie and brushed imaginary lint off his suit, and taking a deep breath went through the door, his eyes scanning for a glaringly white suit, spotting it easily. He crossed the dance floor, people instinctively moving aside for him until he stood over him at the table, and ignoring everything that was telling him not to, he stuck out his chin a little and held out his hand.
"May I have this dance?"
They had always looked at him with a carefree amusement, those blue eyes. Never the stunned disbelief with which he was being stared at now, disbelief that quickly fell away to reveal pride and hilarity and perhaps something more that Feilong wasn't ready to name. Their color deepened to match the dark of the ocean, inviting him to fall in their depths as their owner rose to meet him with a genuine smile on his face.
The room stilled as they moved out onto the dance floor, hand in hand, black and white, yin finding yang, and they stared their deadliest stares at the orchestra until they hastily began playing again, something slow and sweet that he vaguely recognized as Gershwin.
"Memorable enough for you?" Feilong murmured, as he rested both arms on Mikhail's shoulders.
Mikhail laughed a laugh of pure delight and pulled him closer, and finally, when their bodies met, finally, the emptiness inside starting filling for the first time in years. It was just a trickle. Most people wouldn't even notice such an insignificant thing. But the tight ache in Feilong's chest loosened and he felt an ease he never thought would be his.
"I've never seen an expression like that on you, Feilong," Mikhail said softly. "You look... whole."
Yes, that was it. Mikhail was quite astute. Feilong felt whole, not broken. Cracked maybe, like an old vase, but everything put back in its place and the glue holding, ready for whatever life had to offer. "I think perhaps I am ready for a flower or two." He looked life in the face and smiled so brilliantly Mikhail gasped.
I'm ready, he thought, spinning round with his partner.
Come fill me up.
~End~