Disclaimer: still not mine
note: so I'm writing 02-kids in 02-verse (hell has frozen over?) …I guess this is inspired by a bunch of Daisuke-fic I've read lately that showcases the side of him we don't usually see.
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juxtaposition
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She has fallen into a light sleep under the shade of the largest tree in the park. It is in this state that he finds her, and settles himself next to her, leaving a few careful inches between their faces.
It is not the sight of dark lashes against skin tinged with summer heat that makes him smile. Instead, it is the little pink hairclip, dangling precariously over her brow by a loose strand of hair.
The temptation to adjust the rebellious strip of painted plastic lingers momentarily and is then replaced by one much more overpowering.
With a notable amount of will power, he ignores them both, lifts his fingers to extricate the clip as gently as possible (it wouldn't do to wake her up right now), and pockets it.
It's easy enough to believe that a stronger breeze would have come and taken it away anyway. This, he hopes, is the explanation she chooses upon waking.
There, he sighs. No harm done.
No one has to remind him that nothing will become of this, that some things are written, and that none of the Once-upon-a-times and Happily-ever-afters out there had his name next to hers. He knows and accepts the fact (though no one said he had to like it too.)
Every time she looks at the fair-haired boy is reminder enough that Hope and Light just go together, like…like...
He even fails in coming up with an apt metaphor for it, the flawlessness that is the two of them together, the ease with which they belong.
Still.
The thing with wishful thinking is that it is, by nature, wishful.
(He is careful never to use the word "hope".)
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end