--
--
She smiles. Subtle, really, small and inconspicuous. But he notices.
She always said he was observant.
The sunlight shines in through the open windows, falling over the
coffee table and the book of scenic landscapes laying open there. Her
eyes are intent on the open plains of Saskatchewan, fields of rich
golden wheat and endless blue skies; her mouth is covered, now, by a
fall of dark hair that makes her skin seem almost translucent. As he
raises his mug to his lips, gaze trained on her face, he realizes that
there is only one thing he really wants to do right now. Only one
fitting response.
It is more a beam than a smile, making full use of his lips and cheeks
and crunching his cobalt-blue eyes to the size of marbles. What she
can still see of them are dancing, laughing at the shock she feels but
will never let show through. She has never seen anyone grin that way
before- blown to such proportions that his face must hurt. In her
world it would be considered inappropriate, rude and presumptuous and
ungainly. She loves it. After a moment it is gone, slipping back to
a sparkle in his eyes, now properly sized again. He knows she is
wondering why he did that, but she won't ask. And he won't tell her.
A car is coming up to the house, climbing slowly along the curved
driveway. He can hear it, and sense also that it is time for him to
go. He puts his mug down, carefully listening for the gentle sound of
contact as the ceramic meets the glass. It is empty, she notices as
she rises to walk him to the door- but she doesn't remember seeing him
drink anything. Not even when he'd picked it up, just before... it.
It's funny, really, how not five minutes later she has already come to
refer to the event in such terms.
"Thank-you, Daidouji. Tea was wonderful." His voice holds laughter,
the source of which she fails to understand. It doesn't really matter,
though, she decides as she watches him walk through the gates. She
doesn't move from the doorway until his figure is out of sight, too
far away for real distinction and shielded by the blinding sunlight.
Then she walks, slowly, up the staircase and to her bedroom.
The easel stands tall in the middle of the floor, a sentinel standing
watch over the neat garden of framed paintings lined around it. She
sits, her hand moving almost involuntarily to the cup sitting along
the ledge of the boarding. As her fingers take hold of the
paintbrush, her eyes close. It takes barely a second to conjure the
image she seeks- already it is emblazoned on her mind. Swift
brushstrokes compose elegant characters at the top of her easel, works
of art in themselves; but it is her intent to make them invisible,
overshadowed and forgotten in light of the masterpiece they entitle.
Nobody will need to see her clarification to know what the painting is
called. Nobody will even wonder. All they will want to know is who
the beautiful boy is- and why he is smiling.
::Published July 25, 2003; 1:37 a.m::
::Dedicated to my muse, who refused me sleep until this was finished::
::Disclaimer- Card Captor Sakura belongs to the geniuses of CLAMP::
--
She smiles. Subtle, really, small and inconspicuous. But he notices.
She always said he was observant.
The sunlight shines in through the open windows, falling over the
coffee table and the book of scenic landscapes laying open there. Her
eyes are intent on the open plains of Saskatchewan, fields of rich
golden wheat and endless blue skies; her mouth is covered, now, by a
fall of dark hair that makes her skin seem almost translucent. As he
raises his mug to his lips, gaze trained on her face, he realizes that
there is only one thing he really wants to do right now. Only one
fitting response.
It is more a beam than a smile, making full use of his lips and cheeks
and crunching his cobalt-blue eyes to the size of marbles. What she
can still see of them are dancing, laughing at the shock she feels but
will never let show through. She has never seen anyone grin that way
before- blown to such proportions that his face must hurt. In her
world it would be considered inappropriate, rude and presumptuous and
ungainly. She loves it. After a moment it is gone, slipping back to
a sparkle in his eyes, now properly sized again. He knows she is
wondering why he did that, but she won't ask. And he won't tell her.
A car is coming up to the house, climbing slowly along the curved
driveway. He can hear it, and sense also that it is time for him to
go. He puts his mug down, carefully listening for the gentle sound of
contact as the ceramic meets the glass. It is empty, she notices as
she rises to walk him to the door- but she doesn't remember seeing him
drink anything. Not even when he'd picked it up, just before... it.
It's funny, really, how not five minutes later she has already come to
refer to the event in such terms.
"Thank-you, Daidouji. Tea was wonderful." His voice holds laughter,
the source of which she fails to understand. It doesn't really matter,
though, she decides as she watches him walk through the gates. She
doesn't move from the doorway until his figure is out of sight, too
far away for real distinction and shielded by the blinding sunlight.
Then she walks, slowly, up the staircase and to her bedroom.
The easel stands tall in the middle of the floor, a sentinel standing
watch over the neat garden of framed paintings lined around it. She
sits, her hand moving almost involuntarily to the cup sitting along
the ledge of the boarding. As her fingers take hold of the
paintbrush, her eyes close. It takes barely a second to conjure the
image she seeks- already it is emblazoned on her mind. Swift
brushstrokes compose elegant characters at the top of her easel, works
of art in themselves; but it is her intent to make them invisible,
overshadowed and forgotten in light of the masterpiece they entitle.
Nobody will need to see her clarification to know what the painting is
called. Nobody will even wonder. All they will want to know is who
the beautiful boy is- and why he is smiling.
::Published July 25, 2003; 1:37 a.m::
::Dedicated to my muse, who refused me sleep until this was finished::
::Disclaimer- Card Captor Sakura belongs to the geniuses of CLAMP::