Pressed Petals
Only a name.
Yun Fang, they say, stay away from her. She's trouble.
Why? she unfailingly asks, staring up at this adult with this sensible advice that speaks of someone with a such strange name. Is she a bad person?
Because.
And always: a ruffle of her hair and a smile; dismissal. It's a question that doesn't answer anything. But adults know everything, and so she decides she will watch out for this person with the strange name.
Yun Fang. She giggles, tasting the unfamiliar words. Fang. Fang.
She likes it, she decides. It reminds her of strong knights she sees in picture books. Knights and princesses. She pulls a book out of the lowest shelf and begins to read.
Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away there lived a princess...
A figure on the ground.
"What are you looking at?"
She tightens the grip on the flowers and refrains from speaking. Her mind wants to run away but her legs tell her to stay.
"Mute, are you?" A snap and a wince, and the girl slumps further into an arc.
"You're hurt," she says. Lips disobeying thought.
The girl stays silent, and she's afraid she has overstepped an intangible boundary. Not meant to see this, she realises, but rivets her gaze at the girl anyway; unable to look away from the snarl and the torn petals falling empty between them.
It's rude to stare.
So pretty, she thinks, and grasps into the air. Her hands return empty.
And ruder still, to cry.
A time when they're nothing.
She takes their advice to heed, carefully slipping away as soon as she catches sight of the billowing fabric and the conceited stride; never more than a word and a step away from an awkward smile and a forced goodbye.
For a long while their relationship remains just so – moving neither closer nor further. It simply is.
Stagnated.
"Why do you hate me?"
"I don't."
A question that doesn't answer anything.
When she thinks she's going to die.
Not her, but her, the girl with the shallow breathing and torn clothes. Her spear flashes, but its dance only reminds Vanille of a hummingbird's flight. Quick and brittle and desperate.
She says her name for the first time. "Fang." And pleads for her to step away, to let go and run.
The only response is a tug and a shove as it charges back at them, claws glinting from the play of light at it brings them down for another swipe. A near miss and a hit.
She tries not to scream as she falls to the ground and sees Fang topple beside her. Even in the incredulity of the moment, she thinks: she can't see me as weak. And then: to die like this. Not by such a ridiculous thing, a bear with its crazed growls and its foaming mouth. She sees the blood that isn't hers, and the finds desire to protect overwhelming.
An aim and a thrust to the throat. She picks up the discarded spear and does exactly that.
And later, when they're alone and recuperated: "You saved me," the girl says. She ruffles her hair and grins. "Good job, Vanille."
"I'm sorry."
She looks up from the flowers thrust upon her. "What for?"
"From before," Fang says. She looks uneasy. "When I made you cry."
"Oh, Fang. But it was a long time ago, and we didn't know each other then." She brings the flowers closer and inhales its scent. Dark crimson roses: a symbolism for mourning. It's so like Fang, to choose something so strange. "Still, I forgive you."
Fang breathes in relief and moves in to give her a hug. "Thank you, Vanille," she says against her hair, then gently kisses her forehead.
Vanille thinks it's odd that her heart should flutter from such a simple gesture.
And that her heart should tear from such simple words.
"I love you."
Vanille snuggles closer to her and lies her head against a shoulder. "Like a sister?" she says, drowsy against the sound of crackling fire and something broken.
"Yep. Like the greatest sister ever."
She hears the lazy grin behind the drawl, and contents herself with watching the flames until she falls asleep. She finds Fang's hand with her own and holds it tightly. "I love you too, Fang."
A promise kept.
"I'll tear down the sky if it'll save you."
It's true.
She does.
The times when she's truly alone.
"What, don't you have someone special to go with?"
"No," she says, thinking of the grin and lazy saunter and the abrupt words. "Not really."
She wills herself to believe Fang dead, even if only for the sake of her sanity.
A brief respite when everything is alright again.
She believes in this moment of eternity, even if it means leaving everything behind. The Palamecia. The Focus. The fal'Cie. But they've had five hundred years of forever, and nothing's changed. It would be simply childish to demand more.
She tries not to cry into the embrace.
It's all she can offer.
A hand on a shoulder and a panicked daze. What use is she when the only thing she can give is a crouch; a touch of sympathy; a supportive pat? A useless sentiment, a decorative figure and nothing else.
It's Lightning who has stepped in front of Fang, after all. It's Lightning who has shielded her from the eidolon's attack. Lightning who has extended her hand towards Fang and saved her from a moment of indecision.
So please...
"Fight with us."
But her eyes say: fight with me.
And Vanille rebukes herself for thinking such petty thoughts. It's not her place anymore. Perhaps it never is.
But perhaps for this once.
She helps Fang up and takes her position besides Lightning and Fang, staff raised. The third wheel.
"Why can't you love me?"
A question left unsaid.
"I love you."
A well-meaning statement with hidden barbs and thorns. Fang's gaze wanders away, but there is no need to follow it. To find the rightful recipient of the words.
It takes everything to keep the smile on her face and the beat in her words. "I love you too, Fang."
A wish that will never come true.
A crackle of fire.
"The princess waited for her knight to come back. She kept waiting – gazing at the stars that reminded her so much of him as company in the silent nights. Waited for the day that would never come; a smile and a baited breath. Forever and after." Hope closes the book with a thud. "This is depressing," he says. "It's not a happy ending, is it?"
"It isn't," she says, running her thumb over the pressed petal in her hand. "It's never supposed to be."
End.
As always, comments and reviews appreciated.
And just imagine Fang running around as a kid with that overly flowy, overly long Sari of hers. Major trippage. Ha! Crack fodder.