||pentagons and pyramids

||notes :: Omg, canon pairing?

…Read between the lines~

Also, a note for the geometry-impaired (do not fear; I'm among you): pentagons have five sides. Pyramids have five points. …I THINK D8

I could've said 'pentagons and stars'…but, y'know, that screams cliches at me xDD Also, alliteration is sexy.

And I don't know about other cultures, but I know four as an unlucky number. So…keep that in mind for context.

ALSO, sobsobcry, I haven't been able to answer reviews and PMs; busybusybusy (and my internet's been acting weird lately). I'll get to them, guys, eventually. D:

If anyone can name the pairings besides Joe/Chan (my vagueness has been concerning me lately so I tried to make them super-obvious), I'll...uh...make my next drabble have a happy ending! :D

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—pentagons and pyramids

|don't you know that four is an unlucky number?|

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When it's autumn she's at home beneath the gold-tinted skyscrapers and the crimson patches; twilight has never been too dark for her.

She prefers the spindly paths tree branches weave, but there's something nice and solid about the feel of dirt and apple skins beneath her heels. So she walks as slowly as she can, though the flat silhouette glued to her conscience protests at this uncharacteristic lackadaisicalness.

He reaches out and takes her shoulder hesitantly, and she pauses to brush cobwebs off of her aged-yellow sleeves, she smiles (even with kohl seeping through her lowered lashes).

The falling leaves whisper to his better judgment; he still smiles back.

She doesn't let him kiss her that evening. Still, it softens the indirect blow when she looks back over her shoulder while she's chasing the setting sun, flames lining the road to nowhere licking at her feet as she oversteps the pieces of his shattered love worn and torn confidence.

Eventually he must turn away from the blistering spotlight. Her element is too kind to her.

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Curtained by molten falls, supernova embodied is shouting at her (eyes melted red, fangs bared) and she's shouting back - but they're both grinning wildly.

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Their love is built on flash floods, which breaks his heart madly.

He is too susceptible to undercurrents, but she lets them carry her along with ease. It's then he suspects that maybe she's a little too comfortable with her opposing element, and it worries him in the way impish half-grins and dismissive gestures can only hope to.

She's fond of leaning too far over the seawall; kissing the shimmery-painted portraits of marina mermaids on the harbor's glassy surface. Plucked strings dazzle her; lyres are her serenades.

And she starts playing dress-up, remembering the glassy-eyed little girl she never was, exchanging embroidered dragons for ruffles and diamond rings.

When she calls out to him, laughing, that he can choose to sink or swim, his eyes sting and he scrapes sunscreen from beneath his fingernails. He blinks away the sunspots and waves back as she floats over castle moats.

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It's to a backdrop of water veils and harp melodies that she learns what elegance is like.

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But she's mature enough that her tastes have darkened (her cheekbones are too defined and her eyelids are too heavy with regrets to be content with dimpled almonds and melancholy marzipan).

So in the end she makes her wish on a starless night, having swam too far out to be affected by the moon's push and pull of the tides. He should have expected her to turn nocturne; she'd picked her poison in violet masks and pouty lips.

But he didn't even understand her well enough to know—

fire is brightest in the dark.

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She's the ballerina tonight; he's her mirror. Mid-performance, toxic love rains down and she grins up at the matrices in the sky, even while being drenched with peroxide. It burns their skin but the sensation is the best thing she's ever felt.

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"Joe, I love you."

Four words spoken four times are not quite enough.

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