Inspired by the song 'Meteor Shower' by Owl City.
This little oneshot is only 500 and something words, but with all the Roxas and Namine angst i've been writing lately, I decided to write something that's purely romance.
I'd like to point out now: it's not a lemon. Obviously; It's rated K+
Summary: She doesn't need to dream anymore; Dreams mean nothing compared to reality [A short love story for a beautiful couple] RN
I can finally see
That you're right there beside me
I am not my own
For I have been made new
Please don't let me go
I desperately need you
On late, crisp afternoons, surrounded by the golden air of mid-autumn, she likes to know she can curl against him; She realises then that it's not as cold as it used to be.
October is always cold in Twilight Town, but she's glad that the rain has held off. She doesn't mind the gentle skitter of raindrops when she's sitting in her room, sprawled across the bed with a light smile and the smell of wet air drifting in through the marginal opening of the window. She listens to it then, and she's happy.
But for now, as they lay on the grass beneath a shelter of tawny leaves, she's glad for the silent grey of a parched sky. She knows it lengthens her otherwise limited time with him. Her fingers gently tug at the loose fabric of the sweatshirt protecting her pale skin; It's an old thing, one of his, given to her by him as a way of remembering when they're apart. It's blue, soft, and skims just below her thighs when she stands straight. He teases her when she wears it; Says she looks as though she's drowning. He likes to toy with the frayed hem when she finally shuts him up with her lips.
His hair is hidden beneath a grey beanie hat, bought from a small clothes store in town. He looks somehow younger, with the small tufts of blonde hair poking out from beneath the thick material. But then he watches her with intense blue eyes, and she knows that he isn't a boy anymore. With a thought like this, she retreats further into his arms and sighs. It was a wonderful way to waste the day. Beneath the itchy fabric of an old picnic blanket, his slim fingers mark gentle circles across her back, his familiar touch still able to send tiny electric shocks through her skin, at every point where he touches her. Although she doubts she would even feel such a light touch if it were anyone but him. But then he decides it's far more fun to trace his fingertips over her stomach to lightly tickle the sensitive skin. She shrieks with laughter, and he silences her with soft kisses.
And then he falls asleep, and she's happy to lay and watch him. With his hat abandoned beside them, after a brief struggle to decide who it most suited, she could lace her fingers through the silky strands of his hair. Her touch is ghostly, so gentle that she almost feels she is tracing her hand over the surface of water. She glances over the slight parting of his lips, the steady breaths warming her cheeks, and wonders how it is possible to be so happy, and if it could possibly last.
After a while, she feels herself shivering. She's not sure if it's the cold, but she doesn't want to leave. The overhanging branches of the trees fade into dark purple with the twilight, and then black with the heavy chill of the evening; A fluttering silhouette leaning over them. She smiles and breathes in, the tip of her nose grazing his neck. She doesn't realise, but she's already falling asleep.
But she doesn't need to dream anymore; Dreams mean nothing compared to reality.