Title: STDs And All Things Merry
Show: Kuragehime
Pairing: Tsukimi/Kuranosuke
Summary: Because the wizard can't become the prince. (Not even Kuranosuke could pull off a dress-change that quickly. Drabble Collection.)
A/N: So. I've found love. As in the I-don't-care-if-that's-all-the-hair-you've-got kind of love. As in the let's-buy-cemetery-plots-together kind of love: I love this manga. I love this pairing. We're running away to Santa Monica together.
A A/N: Probably an opening to a series of drabbles here. Because this show, this manga, this pairing, is sunshine butterdrops. Truly. I can't even.
-x-x-x-
"Huh," he says, because that's all there really is to say.
It was hard growing up popular. No; truly. It was hard. It divulged onto him all kinds of unnecessary knowledge at too young of an age. Too much know-how without actually knowing how to know anything about anything at all. Above all, though, it sheltered him in the worst possible way. Perhaps a little too much; a little too much cowering and comfort, a little too much cushioned heart and head. At the end of the day, he had no idea this kind of pain existed. No one warned him. And at the very very end of the day, he'll end up looking like an ass, clutching at his head and his sides and his stomach and his heart at just a few droplets of what he couldn't handle, what he didn't even know existed. No one warned him.
He thinks Tsukimi is beautiful.
It's a thought that doesn't really fit into a bigger puzzle. Rather, it's just one little puzzle piece entirely on its own, drifting about in his head, determined to be its own story when no one really wants it there. It pops up where it shouldn't, when it shouldn't, how it shouldn't. It's like he's shopping in Dior and all of a sudden there's this great, blundering, globberstick of an elephant at his left shoulder. Watching him. Smiling at him, blithely. He'd like to knock it out of the way in one swift punch – but forgodssake – it's a bloody elephant in the room. And his arms are tiny. Tiny feminine. Femininely tiny.
By and by, it's uncalled for.
He's brushing his teeth, keeping all his million-dollar pearly whites in order, and he's spilt some of the Ultra-Whitening Enhancement Paste all over the front of his new-
Tsukimi is beautiful.
-and he's eating some left over sushi while hiding behind the door of the fridge because everyone knows his older brother is a damn fridge-food-check nazi when it comes to the household stock, which reminds him he really should leave some kind of evidence just to piss the old bugger off-
Tsukimi is beautiful.
-and the silk on this thing is almost like lace that feels like silk, but looks like silk chiffon, but is coloured only in the way velvet can be dyed in those rich-
Tsukimi is beautiful.
-and he's staring down at his calves while Tsukimi rambles on about Clara and all their misadventures (that he doesn't really understand, but the way she's all excited and short of breath easily hold his attention) and staring and staring and staring and wondering if there's some sort of miracle exercise that will quickly muscle them more, make them appear more manly, like that male model-
Tsukimi is beautiful.
-and she glances up at him over her glasses, when a sliver of black hair untangles above her right eyebrow and hangs limply, and he's reminded of the other day; the feeling of running his hands over that black silk sash in Chanel that was on sale-
My God, she's beautiful.
And soon he'll be rolling on the floor, clutching at his sides, at his head, at this stomach, at his heart because no one told him it would be like this. She's the clay and he's the potter, and she evolves and bends to his touch, only there's a tint to her cheeks and a wander to her eyes that tells her she's thinking of his brother. He releases the last curler from her hair, combs it, sprays it, touches it, leaves it, touches it again, and stares at it until he decides he's memorised the angle of the curl after all. Forty degrees. She's going to go on the date. Somehow, by some miracle. It's a revelation. Unthinkable. And yet here he is, making the unthinkable thinkable. The magician of miracles.
Because he's considerate like that. Politely interested in the way the pearls hanging from her dress bump against the back bend of her knees.
Eventually, she leaves.
Little Tsukimi disappears into the sleek, black Benz, as if it swallowed her whole. Engulfed her. How much easier that could have been.
And he realises he needs some kind of plan, some kind of weapon, to fight this bastard of a thing growing inside of him.
-x-x-x-
A/N: So cannon it breaks my little heart.
So, you know, you should probably review. Or something. Next drabble up…soonish.
Stay cool, bras
X Schnook