The Only Kind of Blue
Summary: "All she can think right now is that she must have fallen for those eyes long before she ever saw them." Rude/Elena. Fluff.
Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in this piece are not the creations of the author, who would probably have Rude and Elena doing a lot more…ehem, "pillow-fighting", and have Reno happily exchanging smartass remarks with Yuffie in a bar (or a bed) somewhere for all of eternity.
Notes: This was written for the 30kisses challenge community on Live Journal, for theme #15, "perfect blue". This is also my first shot at writing either Rude or Elena in anything more than a passing mention. All comments are very, very welcome. :)
Sometimes she wonders about the colour of her eyes. Instead of beautiful, vibrant, summer-sky blue to match the straight fine pale blonde hair she keeps carefully trimmed to no longer than chin-length, she ended up with brown. Big dark-brown eyes that look completely out-of-place in her head, totally unlike of the baby-blues she should have had.
People often tell her that her eyes are special, that they stand out; she often tells people that they are full of it.
Even he told her once, in very few words, and after an amount of alcohol that would have floored an army had loosened his tongue a little, that her eyes never let on what she's thinking.
She neglected, however, to tell him that he was full of it.
Because coming from him, that's a hell of a compliment, even though it loses some meaning when she remembers that she never stops saying what she's thinking out loud. She wonders now if he meant it as a really nice, really subtle way of saying shut up.
You're cute when you're quiet – that sort of thing.
She loves the colour of his eyes. Blue, but not the kind of blue she should have had. When she looks at his eyes, when he lets her, she forgets why she liked that blue so much. This dark, endless midnight blue seems like the only kind of blue.
The first time she saw them, when she came to visit him in the hospital and the nurse had put his sunglasses where he couldn't reach them and thus earned his eternal contempt, she had stared until Reno, snickering next to her, had asked if they should check her in while they were here anyway.
The second time she saw them, when giddy exhaustion and alcohol and general stupidity had urged her to snatch his sunglasses away, she told him, half-laughing, that they were almost exactly the colour of the uniform she was still so proud to be wearing.
After that, it was a game. She would make a grab, and he would almost always catch her wrist and move her hand away but not release it for a few seconds and eventually for a few minutes. After both had had enough for now of the novelty of her slim, pale hands with manicured nails but calloused fingers in his; big but still far more deft and meticulous than most people can ever hope to be, smooth and dark. But sometimes she would get them, and as a prize she was allowed to see his eyes until she was distracted enough that he could get his sunglasses back.
This time, number whatever-the-hell-it-is-by-now – and nevermind why it's early morning and their clothes are on her apartment floor and they're both tangled in her sheets and she's snuggling up like a sleepy kitten and he's sort of half-smiling up at her and brushing those long annoying bits of hair that doesn't match her eyes back behind her ears while she kisses his shoulder – she can only think one thing. Maybe it's the pale, warm rays of early-morning sunlight at the window baking her brain, or maybe it's just because she's bad with mornings.
But all she can think right now is that she must have fallen for those eyes long before she ever saw them.
End Notes: So, I hope it wasn't too heinous. If it was, all flames may be left in the review box, which has been prepared with the necessary kindling. :)