pairing: Setsuna/Allelujah
summary: "I thought that maybe I could cause your body to melt away." Setsuna has stuck his head and arms in the fridge to ease Allelujah's fever away.
dedication: piccu, as a belated birthday one-shot
setting: Post first season
Happy rather belated birthday, piccu! x"D I had fun writing the fic, though. Although this one I started from scratch today when the idea hit me yesterday because the other one I was working on fell apart and… 3
But I feel win now! :O I will totally tackle that TieSetsu keffiyeh one-shot for certain someones (the second someone includes me, naturally).
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HEAR NO SEE NO SPEAK NO
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The boy's hand rests on his forehead, frigid.
He finds himself murmuring, "Did you stick your… your… he… head and a…rms in the… fridge?" and attempts a chuckle, before his bedridden figure begins to shudder and wretch.
The searing heat that pulses through his skin has gotten Allelujah to realize how trapped in his own body he truly is, and such an acrimoniously enduring thought is almost more unbearable.
He can see Setsuna, but a haze slips from the focal point to the edges of the boy's features. There's a soft light shone on his current caretaker's face from overhead, and Allelujah observes how his demeanor is still as solemn as ever, even when the boy says:
"I thought that maybe I could cause your body to melt away."
Allelujah's head hurts, but is empty. Empty of a voice, of memories, that used to, not long ago, sieve in unrelentingly.
So he laughs, although it hurts; although the mucus chokes out; although his throat burns and glistens red. He laughs a bit, until his body wracks, and until the boy is holding him down, slipping water through shaky lips watchfully.
Setsuna soon brings his left hand up and spread to settle above that throat, caressing the skin. Allelujah ponders abstractedly on whether or not the boy did stick his head and arms in the fridge.
"You talk funny, Setsuna," he is finally able to grunt.
"You talk funny as well, Allelujah Haptism," Setsuna vaguely points out.
There is awhile that goes by. Then he tries. His voice cracks immediately, despite the hoarse whisper: "N- no- not anymore—" but Setsuna does not allow him to finish.
The boy's frigid hands are on his lips now, smooth and hydrated with the fragrance of herbal soap, and he tells the man evenly, quietly:
"Let me talk funny, Allelujah. … You… just listen."
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END
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