Title: At the Stroke of Midnight
By: DarkNightDreamer
A/N: Spur of the moment drabble. Or one-shot. Whatever.
Disclaimer: Do not own. Pooh.
Summary: She slips into his bed every night, at the stroke of midnight. NejiTen.
Every night, at the stroke of midnight, she is a shadow, embroidering pale, slightly peeling wallpaper, and making her way towards his room.
Every night, ten seconds after the stroke of midnight, she slips quietly between his silk sheets, and cuddles as close to him as she dares, and he allows. Never once does he complain or smirk, pulling her closer or push her off of his one-person futon. Then again, never once does she make the initiative either—wriggling closer to his broad shoulders or laying her head across his masculine chest. She just doesn't.
She can feel every movement he makes—his every intake of breath, the ever rapid beating of his never settling heart, every twitch of a muscle, every flutter of an eyelid—and still, she does nothing. She does not react, and neither does he.
At all.
It doesn't stop her from wondering though.
Why? She thinks. Why do you always sleep with your back facing me? Why am I not worthy of your notice? Why?
Her questions remain unanswered, unaccounted for, unacknowledged, and they dispense into the chilly night air. He remains there, with his broad back facing her.
And approximately twenty minutes, every night after the stroke of midnight, she sighs oh so softly, dejected, and shifts quietly on the small futon, slowly turning onto her right side.
They lay there, bare backs facing each other, a pair of silvery moon eyes glowing, chocolate brown ones glazed over, unseeing.
No passion, no kisses, no embracing…
Just tension—never to see the undying love for the other.
Maybe they were never meant to be.
What a perfect picture they make.
Just after the stroke of midnight.
A/N: Er…I think I lost my touch. –weeps- LOL. Yeah yeah…just review please. )
