OTP Drabbles - Part One
These are some of the drabbles that were requested from my OTP meme challenge...
Three down, Four to go!
For talia-of-eragon
Himura Kenshin/Himura Battousai: mirrors
As a rule, Kenshin tried to avoid mirrors.
He’d turn his gaze away from Tomoe’s handheld one, even as he gifted it to her, and studiously avoided looking at Kaoru’s mother’s, which she kept in her room, when he cleaned.
Whenever he did catch a glimpse of his reflection, in a puddle of water out of the corner of his eye, he would pretend that he didn’t see the flash of amber eyes behind the violet, and worked even harder to avoid seeing it again.
But there was no way to avoid dreaming, though he did try, working himself to the bone just to have the chance that he would wake with no memory of what happened during the hours when the night was still.
It didn’t work.
Laying in bed in a half dozing state, with a pare of sword calloused hands that he knew as well as his own drifting through his hair, he wondered.
Why me?
You’re beautiful.
I’m you.
You’re still beautiful.
Narcissist.
No. I am not beautiful. You are kind, and gentle and determined…Beautiful.
A whisper soft brush of lips, trailing down his neck…
I’m you.
It doesn’t matter.
There are no mirrors in my room…
A bite.
Kenshin woke up.
Later, he tighten his gi up to hide his neck, and avoided mirrors even more strenuously, as he tried to tire himself out enough that he wouldn’t dream.
Tomoe: cold
When she was younger, Tomoe had heard the village housewives murmuring about her. Poor child, they would mutter, so young, to lose her mother, so young to have the responsibility…
As she grew older and blossomed, the murmurs changed, became harsher, stained by jealousy so cold, they would whisper to each other beautiful yes, stunning, but so cold! Like it was something to be ashamed of. She’ll never get a husband…who wants a wife that will lie frozen in your arms? And they would titter, like it was something funny.
They didn’t see the secret emotions she poured into her diary, or feel the flutter in her chest whenever Kiyosato Akira smiled at her, or the sheer incandescent joy that froze her heart and her lungs when he held out the hairpin, and asked her to marry him.
But she couldn’t show it, and she started to worry that the whispers were right.
Then Kiyosato died, and she knew she had had nothing to worry about. She had not been cold before.
She was now.
Her mind, her heart, all frozen.
In the icy storm of her rage and the frozen hatred of her vengeance, Tomoe went to Kyoto, the city of bloody streets where he had died. And she found a name.
Hitokiri Battousai.
And in the midst of her cold, Tomoe smiled.
Kiyosato: death
It wasn’t supposed to be this way…
He coughed out blood, staggering.
He was going to marry her…
He turned around again, meeting the steel cold amber eyes of a monster - the monster that was going to kill him, was going to take him away from her…
He was going to make her happy…make her smile…
In one last, desperate effort, he rushed at the Hitokiri, blood dripping out of fatal wounds onto the cold stones of the alley.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this!
He fell, sword marking the assassin’s cheek.
No…
There was a flower on the ground…she’d always liked flowers…
I will bring you crushed cherries when I return…
He was going to die. Just like Shigekura-san and Ishiji-san…
Will…she…cry for me…
He reached for the flower.
My love…
To…mo...e…
The sword came down - right before his fingers touched the flower.
In Edo, Yukishiro Tomoe dropped her brush, eyes wide, feeling as something had just…died.
Three down, Four to go!
For talia-of-eragon
Himura Kenshin/Himura Battousai: mirrors
As a rule, Kenshin tried to avoid mirrors.
He’d turn his gaze away from Tomoe’s handheld one, even as he gifted it to her, and studiously avoided looking at Kaoru’s mother’s, which she kept in her room, when he cleaned.
Whenever he did catch a glimpse of his reflection, in a puddle of water out of the corner of his eye, he would pretend that he didn’t see the flash of amber eyes behind the violet, and worked even harder to avoid seeing it again.
But there was no way to avoid dreaming, though he did try, working himself to the bone just to have the chance that he would wake with no memory of what happened during the hours when the night was still.
It didn’t work.
Laying in bed in a half dozing state, with a pare of sword calloused hands that he knew as well as his own drifting through his hair, he wondered.
Why me?
You’re beautiful.
I’m you.
You’re still beautiful.
Narcissist.
No. I am not beautiful. You are kind, and gentle and determined…Beautiful.
A whisper soft brush of lips, trailing down his neck…
I’m you.
It doesn’t matter.
There are no mirrors in my room…
A bite.
Kenshin woke up.
Later, he tighten his gi up to hide his neck, and avoided mirrors even more strenuously, as he tried to tire himself out enough that he wouldn’t dream.
Tomoe: cold
When she was younger, Tomoe had heard the village housewives murmuring about her. Poor child, they would mutter, so young, to lose her mother, so young to have the responsibility…
As she grew older and blossomed, the murmurs changed, became harsher, stained by jealousy so cold, they would whisper to each other beautiful yes, stunning, but so cold! Like it was something to be ashamed of. She’ll never get a husband…who wants a wife that will lie frozen in your arms? And they would titter, like it was something funny.
They didn’t see the secret emotions she poured into her diary, or feel the flutter in her chest whenever Kiyosato Akira smiled at her, or the sheer incandescent joy that froze her heart and her lungs when he held out the hairpin, and asked her to marry him.
But she couldn’t show it, and she started to worry that the whispers were right.
Then Kiyosato died, and she knew she had had nothing to worry about. She had not been cold before.
She was now.
Her mind, her heart, all frozen.
In the icy storm of her rage and the frozen hatred of her vengeance, Tomoe went to Kyoto, the city of bloody streets where he had died. And she found a name.
Hitokiri Battousai.
And in the midst of her cold, Tomoe smiled.
Kiyosato: death
It wasn’t supposed to be this way…
He coughed out blood, staggering.
He was going to marry her…
He turned around again, meeting the steel cold amber eyes of a monster - the monster that was going to kill him, was going to take him away from her…
He was going to make her happy…make her smile…
In one last, desperate effort, he rushed at the Hitokiri, blood dripping out of fatal wounds onto the cold stones of the alley.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this!
He fell, sword marking the assassin’s cheek.
No…
There was a flower on the ground…she’d always liked flowers…
I will bring you crushed cherries when I return…
He was going to die. Just like Shigekura-san and Ishiji-san…
Will…she…cry for me…
He reached for the flower.
My love…
To…mo...e…
The sword came down - right before his fingers touched the flower.
In Edo, Yukishiro Tomoe dropped her brush, eyes wide, feeling as something had just…died.