Um, why has no one yelled at me for not writing KiyoYachi yet? Because I should have done this a long time ago.
It's a Sunday evening, a warm breeze blows through, rustling flowers and upsetting painstakingly brushed hair. There's no absence of people. They're on all sides, talking to loved ones or listening to music or simply walking. The sky bleeds into watercolor, red running into orange then yellow then pink. The few clouds remaining are wispy, like thin tufts of cotton that glow with the color surrounding them.
Her hand is clammy, she's sure of it, and the inside of her cheek is bleeding from how much she's chewed on it. But she listens intently, tucking her hair behind her ear with her free hand. She nods, smiles, laughs. Her breathing kicks up, nervous as the people surrounding them slowly disappear.
They continue walking, continue talking, continue smiling.
Kiyoko unlocks the front door, laughing lightly as Yachi tells her a ridiculous joke she'd heard from Hinata earlier that week.
The apartment is pleasant, a bubble glass vase sits on the table, filled to bursting with light pink tulips. More than a few shag rugs cover the hardwood, Yachi's not sure if they look nice or cluttered. There a few picture frames, some of Kiyoko when she was younger, a crooked frame hangs centered on the wall, showing all the third years at graduation. She has one of Yachi as well.
Yachi sits down on the couch while Kiyoko sets up a movie.
It's quiet, the movie is sweet, and Yachi's curled up under a soft green blanket. Kiyoko's right beside her, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose while one of her hands toys with Yachi's hair.
She's not sure exactly when it happens, probably between the dog in the movie coming home and his owner vanishing, but she's nodding off against Kiyoko's shoulder.
It's nice, as far as Sunday evenings go anyways.
I'll write something longer later, I just wanted to try my hand with these two.