Disclaimer: WK is not mine, they're Koyasu's as is one Seki Tomokazu ^_~
Hee hee.
Warnings: Sap, shonen-ai (RanKen), Valentine's Day references o.O
Dedication: This is for Marty-sama for everything she's ever written and for just being a great friend! Love ya girl! And thank you for being my inspiration. And minna, go out and read her fics. if you like RanKen. hell if you just like Weiss, they're the bomb-diggity, yo!
Paper.
A path of pinks and reds dancing upon the cold tile floor, leading suspiciously to the kitchen catches my eye. Curious, I follow the colors of love in their winding dance toward what had been my destination from the start. It's just more fun to watch the colors and shapes unfold, shimmering in the pale rays of the moon, and leading me there in some unheard story, than to just walk headfirst into our place of eating.
As I continue to follow the paper, my eyes tracing over every soft curve, every gentle line, something in the back my mind clicks and a slight twitch accosts the muscle under one of my amethyst eyes. The paper is pretty, yes, quite in fact, that I've been following it in rapture for the past 2 minutes, but it's also a mess, one I do not look forward to cleaning.
The others call me anal retentive or obsessive compulsive, but in truth I am neither. I am just pragmatic, and living in a house with three other, rather messy men, someone has to watch out for the overall cleanliness. If I didn't clean, then armies of germs and bacteria would spring up and try to claim our lives when we least suspect, and I for one will not succumb to any stupid little speck of dust. Well at least this is what I tell myself every time I find that slight hint of joy from using the vacuum cleaner surge through me.
What? Ok, so the ice man likes to clean. Sorry. Everyone has quirks, right? At least mine isn't sooo bad and just because I pretend the dust mites are little Takatories does not mean I'm obsessed nor does. ahem. I digress.
The kitchen now looms before me and tears me from my mental tirade, for now the perpetrator of the mess will be revealed and I can let out my repressed anger. Believe me, yelling at someone else is so much more enjoyable than yelling at the voices in my head.
Anyway, as I walk into the dim hallow of light given off by one overhead lamp, I can practically feel my eyes widen to the size of Omi's as the real mess bombards me. Holy mother of. it's a friggin' war zone in here!! I don't know what the paper ever did to deserve such a massacre.
Everywhere bits and pieces of red, pink, and white construction paper are flung, lying deathly still. Bits are draped over the counter, the sink, the floor, and even a few hang precariously from the lamp. A piece of white paper catches the light in the corner of my eye near the other door, and I glance over at it, and I almost feel sorry for the poor piece of paper. It was so close, it seemed, to escape, before it was struck down. Poor paper, I knew ye well.
As I turn back to the man wielding the havoc causing scissors, ready to lay into them like I've never laid into anyone before (hey, the desecration to the innocent paper bits really incurred my wrath) I find my resolve instantly crumble, and a softness wells up in a place I thought once was even more dead than the discarded bits of paper.
For there, covered in more scraps than I could count, was one soccer playing fool, Hidaka Ken, holding up a big Valentine card wishing me the happiest Valentine's Day ever.
"Ken." I say, my tone foreign even to me. It's flat but there is a sort of wispy, underlying gentleness that hasn't been there since Aya was alive and well.
"Aya-kun." he croaks out, his arms falling back to the table, Valentine in toe, as he casts what appear to be shimmering brown eyes away from me.
Did I see that wrong, or is he crying? My heart clenches at the possibility as I slowly approach him.
At the sounds of my footfalls, he pulls away even more. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to make you something special." his voice wavers. Ken, you can turn away from me, but you can't hide that shake in your tone. You're upset and it's my fault.
Kneeling down next to him, I reach up and pull a bit of construction paper from his soft, tan cheek, before turning him to look at me. "Don't be sorry." I whisper, again with the foreign tone.
Shimmering chocolate orbs look into mine, confused as I am by my voice, before again turning away. "You just. seem so unhappy Aya-kun. and it's Valentine's Day. I just. everyone deserves to feel loved. and I made a big mess and. it's not good enough. and."
God, I can't take it, my heart breaks with ever hiccupped sob he emits. Grabbing him before he can continue, I plant my mouth firmly upon his. His whole body stops shaking, in fact it seems as if he's stopped breathing, before he suddenly melts out of the chair and into my waiting arms.
"It's perfect Ken.. thank you." I whisper against his lips before placing a kiss on his forehead. Leave it to him to think of something even I hadn't thought of, hadn't even known I'd wanted.
You're right though Ken, everyone does deserved to be loved, even you. especially you! And I think I know someone who might just want to do that, I find myself thinking with a smile as I pick off another piece of pink construction paper and nuzzle his hair.
~*~Owarii~*~
Author's Notes: Dear lord that was sappy and short -_- Hope I didn't kill anyone with like a cavity of doom! Sorry about that!
Warnings: Sap, shonen-ai (RanKen), Valentine's Day references o.O
Dedication: This is for Marty-sama for everything she's ever written and for just being a great friend! Love ya girl! And thank you for being my inspiration. And minna, go out and read her fics. if you like RanKen. hell if you just like Weiss, they're the bomb-diggity, yo!
Paper.
A path of pinks and reds dancing upon the cold tile floor, leading suspiciously to the kitchen catches my eye. Curious, I follow the colors of love in their winding dance toward what had been my destination from the start. It's just more fun to watch the colors and shapes unfold, shimmering in the pale rays of the moon, and leading me there in some unheard story, than to just walk headfirst into our place of eating.
As I continue to follow the paper, my eyes tracing over every soft curve, every gentle line, something in the back my mind clicks and a slight twitch accosts the muscle under one of my amethyst eyes. The paper is pretty, yes, quite in fact, that I've been following it in rapture for the past 2 minutes, but it's also a mess, one I do not look forward to cleaning.
The others call me anal retentive or obsessive compulsive, but in truth I am neither. I am just pragmatic, and living in a house with three other, rather messy men, someone has to watch out for the overall cleanliness. If I didn't clean, then armies of germs and bacteria would spring up and try to claim our lives when we least suspect, and I for one will not succumb to any stupid little speck of dust. Well at least this is what I tell myself every time I find that slight hint of joy from using the vacuum cleaner surge through me.
What? Ok, so the ice man likes to clean. Sorry. Everyone has quirks, right? At least mine isn't sooo bad and just because I pretend the dust mites are little Takatories does not mean I'm obsessed nor does. ahem. I digress.
The kitchen now looms before me and tears me from my mental tirade, for now the perpetrator of the mess will be revealed and I can let out my repressed anger. Believe me, yelling at someone else is so much more enjoyable than yelling at the voices in my head.
Anyway, as I walk into the dim hallow of light given off by one overhead lamp, I can practically feel my eyes widen to the size of Omi's as the real mess bombards me. Holy mother of. it's a friggin' war zone in here!! I don't know what the paper ever did to deserve such a massacre.
Everywhere bits and pieces of red, pink, and white construction paper are flung, lying deathly still. Bits are draped over the counter, the sink, the floor, and even a few hang precariously from the lamp. A piece of white paper catches the light in the corner of my eye near the other door, and I glance over at it, and I almost feel sorry for the poor piece of paper. It was so close, it seemed, to escape, before it was struck down. Poor paper, I knew ye well.
As I turn back to the man wielding the havoc causing scissors, ready to lay into them like I've never laid into anyone before (hey, the desecration to the innocent paper bits really incurred my wrath) I find my resolve instantly crumble, and a softness wells up in a place I thought once was even more dead than the discarded bits of paper.
For there, covered in more scraps than I could count, was one soccer playing fool, Hidaka Ken, holding up a big Valentine card wishing me the happiest Valentine's Day ever.
"Ken." I say, my tone foreign even to me. It's flat but there is a sort of wispy, underlying gentleness that hasn't been there since Aya was alive and well.
"Aya-kun." he croaks out, his arms falling back to the table, Valentine in toe, as he casts what appear to be shimmering brown eyes away from me.
Did I see that wrong, or is he crying? My heart clenches at the possibility as I slowly approach him.
At the sounds of my footfalls, he pulls away even more. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to make you something special." his voice wavers. Ken, you can turn away from me, but you can't hide that shake in your tone. You're upset and it's my fault.
Kneeling down next to him, I reach up and pull a bit of construction paper from his soft, tan cheek, before turning him to look at me. "Don't be sorry." I whisper, again with the foreign tone.
Shimmering chocolate orbs look into mine, confused as I am by my voice, before again turning away. "You just. seem so unhappy Aya-kun. and it's Valentine's Day. I just. everyone deserves to feel loved. and I made a big mess and. it's not good enough. and."
God, I can't take it, my heart breaks with ever hiccupped sob he emits. Grabbing him before he can continue, I plant my mouth firmly upon his. His whole body stops shaking, in fact it seems as if he's stopped breathing, before he suddenly melts out of the chair and into my waiting arms.
"It's perfect Ken.. thank you." I whisper against his lips before placing a kiss on his forehead. Leave it to him to think of something even I hadn't thought of, hadn't even known I'd wanted.
You're right though Ken, everyone does deserved to be loved, even you. especially you! And I think I know someone who might just want to do that, I find myself thinking with a smile as I pick off another piece of pink construction paper and nuzzle his hair.
~*~Owarii~*~
Author's Notes: Dear lord that was sappy and short -_- Hope I didn't kill anyone with like a cavity of doom! Sorry about that!