Title : Musing
Word Count : 497
Rating : K+, I think
Disclaimer : I do not own the characters herein contained. I only own the text.
I like this drabble gone wild a lot, probably because I love Warren. I think I have a bastard complex. Really cliche and unoriginal, I know. Typical musings. Still tried my hand at it, many months ago. Pretty pleased with the result.
I always wake up before you. I don't know why, maybe because you work harder. Everyone always wants you to save them: the son of Jetstream and the Commander. I rarely get called out on missions—people don't want help from the son of Baron Battle. It used to bother me, but not anymore. I stopped caring, or the insults stopped stinging, and now I don't even notice. Even so, I don't really go out in public very often anyway. I do the grocery shopping when you forget or we absolutely need something, but I don't enjoy a minute of it. You're my buffer, you separate me from them. I think it's funny that I've written several bestsellers and no one knows that it's actually my work. Imagine, the son of the worst villain in memory, actually a talented novelist. It bothers you. 'They should know how great you are,' you argue. I always reply that you know, and that's all I need. You and me, that's all I ever wanted. Now that I have it, I don't really feel like doing anything else. Besides, I tell you, you do enough for the both of us. You're always off doing missions, or teaching classes at Sky High, or going out with all our old friends. I sometimes resent that I have to share you with so many people, but then you come home from a mission and I see your face shining with pride, and I swallow my protests. When you're so selfless, how could I even imagine being selfish enough to keep you to myself? You still come home every night, and even if you sometimes have to leave in the middle of it, you're always back in bed by dawn. I wake up then, and I love to watch you sleep. It's terribly cliché, and if you ever caught me at it, I'm sure you'd laugh and tease me about it. But you don't ever catch me, because I pretend to be reading writing when you wake up. Somehow, when you sleep, you're all mine, and I don't have to share you. And I can't seem to help loving that, loving that you're not thinking about others right then. When you're asleep, it's just a world with me and you in it. Each moment brings with it a sense of contentment that I can't find when you're not there. But I can't explain this to you, because, prize-winning novelist or not, I don't have the words. This morning when you wake up, I'm pretending to be writing. I look over when you stir, as though seconds before I'd been immersed in Tolstoy rather than watching you. It takes my breath away to look in your eyes, because they sparkle. Really, sparkle. And they show me almost as much love as I hope my eyes are showing you. Because when it's just the two of us, who really needs anyone else to make the moments complete?