Title: Crimson and Clover
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII Versus.
Rating: T
Warnings: Cursing, and guy love between two guys.
Disclaimer: I don't own Shotgun or Noctis. Just playin' in SE's sandbox.
Notes: My first fanfic. D'8 Oh god, this is nerve wrecking. Don't hurt me please.
It had been months since Noctis had seen him, and when he looked up, he was overcome with panic that he'd see him and become angry, and that he would call him in a rather upset tone. He should've known better; Shotgun would never act that way. So, he slid down in his seat and asked the driver to turn and take him home instead. The car rolled in front of the mansion and he got out. The mansion, which was quiet aside from the quiet whisperings of the servants meandering the halls. Still rattled from seeing his old friend, the unexpectedness of the now fugitive on the streets. Pausing where he now stood, he bit his lip. He was living this luxurious life, while Shotgun was busy trying to keep warm and find something to eat on the streets. The fugitive role didn't suit him very well either. In fact, he wasn't really that much of a badass as the role called for. Mostly, he'd made his escapes narrowly, with hardly any bullets left to spare. Picking up his cell phone, he decided to call him to see if he was alright.
"Hey, hey, Noctie ! Ya need somethin' ?", he asked in his old, cheerful voice. He hadn't changed very much.
". . . Er. . . I was wondering how you were doing. I saw you earlier, on the street.", Noctis murmured anxiously.
"I'm doin' alright. The usual. Livin' the dream, to tell ya the truth. . . . Why didn't ya stop by and say 'hi' ?"
"Well. . .", he sighed heavily.
"I'm doing perfectly fine. Well, I'll call ya later. I've gotta skidaddle. Bye bye, Noctie ~." His heart sank as he saw he'd hung up, but he'd never let him or anyone know that. Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same. Sometimes he'd wished Shotgun would be in his life forever, but he figured this would be impossible.
One thing he learned about Shotgun was that he wasn't one for personal space. In fact, he was constantly talking about highly irrelevant things and invading his space. "Personal space bubble ?", he asked when Noctis told him he shouldn't do so, pouting.
Sighing, Noctis gave him a nod and took a step back. "See, people get annoyed when you touch them too much.", he replied, explaining to him as if he were five.
"Well, that's stupid.", he replied in an annoyed tone.
". . . Shut up. Idiot."
Although Shotgun did most of the poking and prodding, he never had the courage to give him a taste of his own medicine. Noctis always did want to know what it was like to touch him, but it sounded like a forbidden fruit, almost. In fact, when Shotgun was in the room, he found it hard not to stare. Every now and then, he would crack a joke about how he was "staring at his charmin' self".
Out of the two of them, he had always been the fortified one, the functional one, the one who faced up to challenges and overcame them one at a time, while Shotgun had always been the one who followed, because there was no other choice. Or, this was how Noctis used to think. Shotgun was always more cheerful than himself. Even though he lacked the education, he envied him so much. In fact, he'd never seen him cry once. He was almost unsure whether he was ignorant, or thought there was a brighter side to the world that nobody else could see. He wished he could see like Shotgun. He felt so selfish, while Shotgun was selfless. He wanted him to look at him – and only him. He wanted him to smile for only him. And more importantly, he wanted him to be his – and only his.
Quivering slightly as he reminisced, he turned his head slightly toward the door and walked out quickly. He had to do something, at least, to help him. After all, it'd been his fault he was a fugitive in the first place. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut ? He'd told a friend of his about his predicament, his yearning to be loved. This so called "friend" tipped off the council, and thus, Shotgun was sentenced to death for foolishness.
"Hey, there, Princey ~.", Shotgun's cheerful tone rang out and he bowed stupidly before Noctis.
"Stupid, don't do that in public.", he muttered, patting his head as if he were a child.
He decided he'd take him to a normal old ramen place down the road, since he wasn't one for fancy food, and he himself was the worse cook known to man. Perhaps the only thing that Shotgun was necessarily better at than Noctis was cooking. He'd fumbled over the many recipes and measurements, even the heating instructions. Not to mention, he had the strangest combinations ever thought up. Shotgun just knew how to cook really well, and he'd never disliked a single thing he'd cooked before.
Seating themselves at opposite sides of the table, Shotgun snickered childishly at the odd dishes they had been serving and proceeded to talk about how Picasso was completely overrated and mostly scribbles on pieces of paper. He hadn't done anything too worthwhile after he was out of his realism stages.
"I'm worried about you, you know.", Noctis interrupted after a while, causing him to stare in confused fashion.
"I don't need your help, ya know.", he replied, before looking back down at the menu, "Man, everything is so overpriced here. It's just ramen." Maybe that was Shotgun's way of telling him he'd already made things worse than they already were.