Author: Desidera
Title: Dandelion Fluff
Rating: PG
Pairing: Seto/Yami - Prideshipping
Warnings or Spoilers: None
Genre: Angst/Romance – One-Shot
Summary:
Three years, but what a difference they make! Only the dandelion field stays the same, the one place for a desperate lover to seek comfort and solitude.
Disclaimer:
I don't have any claims over the wind, the dandelions, the crickets and the sundown. Nature is too beautiful to be my creation. Same goes for two certain Yugioh characters.
Author's Notes:
I have no idea if there are dandelion fields or crickets in Japan, particularly near Domino. However, I didn't want to make them live in Austria and I don't know about any other country, so I hope you won't mind.
One year ago Domino was the same as it is now. He looked at it looming over the wide lands, the colourful fields of green, brown or even soft yellow, he looked at it and smiled a jubilant smile because he knew it to be the place he had found his love in.
Laughter rose in his throat, spilling over, jumbling out of his mouth when he stretched his arms out as far as they would go, as if he could hug the city. Then he ran into the field, legs moving on their own, feeling so carefree, so infinitely happy.
The field was white with wilting dandelions, and as his running legs brushed against their stems he could hear them crack beneath his feet and his movement as well as the wind ripped the dandelion clock off those stems and whirled it up to float in the air surrounding him as he spun around in circles to the chant of the crickets welcoming the night.
And as he turned to watch the sun begin its descent, his heart contracted painfully for joy at what he knew to be true, to be real.
He loves me. Yes, he does.
Today the field is still the same. Yami lets himself fall to the ground, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The scent of fresh, green grass fills his nostrils, he is turning to lie on his back while he draws air into his lungs like he is starved for it, suffocating, greedy for more. Gradually his breaths are evening out and he feels the earth beneath him, alive, so alive.
He lets himself enjoy the silence for long minutes then he slowly gets up, looking around himself, perceiving the dandelions. There it is again, the worry, the anxiety…
Why can't I just calm down?
To distract himself he grabs the stem of one of the dandelions, breaking it carefully so all of the fragile white dandelion clock will stay on the stem. He pulls off one of the small white seeds.
Damn, they come off in clusters…
He throws the flower away and picks another one. This time he is even more careful, only plucks the seeds out with utter caution, one after the other. A soft whisper follows every white pappus, carried on the same breeze into the rich spring air.
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He….
It is not like Yami believes in this kind of things, it is not like this has any deeper meaning, is it not? How could a little wilting flower determine his fate? And yet, what prediction will the end of his chant offer?
….loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He….
White fluff leaves his fingers as they open their grip to expose their prey to the wind's gentle urging. Helplessly the whiteness is carried away, dancing as if it was the happiest being led and carried, being driven into each and every direction. Is it not free to go with the wind? Wistful crimson eyes are following it before he plucks out the next small white stalk of seed, repeating the process and getting the horrible feeling that part of himself is dancing in the wind, like he always used to, when another part is stuck on a flower. Torn apart, waiting for the wind to come and sweep all of it away.
…loves me not. He loves me. He….
Perhaps the outcome of this will not be relevant. After all you normally use daisies and marguerites for this. Traditions are important and life is built up on rituals. Everyone has rituals to try to give life some order that will make it seem more predictable, that will make human beings feel more in control. Has this ever been in control? If it has every form of control is slipping from his reach now. Does he not want to be free from traditions and the ordinary circle of life? Is this not what he wanted?
There is only a small bunch of seeds left. He does not want to look at the inevitable result, does not want to see how many there are still left, so he averts his eyes, looking after the ones that are drifting away, playthings for the wind. Pappus after pappus is following, carried away. Carefully, delicately, his hand traces the stem it holds, traces the knot on which the white fluff once sat. And then it strikes him. There is only one left.
He loves me.
The words are spoken before he has the chance to think about their meaning. As his eyes are fixing on the stem, his hand automatically lifts to pick the last dandelion seed off and send it flying away, last in the row of travelling bearers of new life.
He loves me.
His grasp goes limp and the pathetic leftovers of the once beautiful flower fall to the ground to lie there forgotten as a choked sob forms in his throat that is tight due to the lump pressing against it from the inside. All control over his body leaves him at that moment and his sight gets blurry while the sob slips past his lips, slicing through the beautiful silence of the sunny spring day. His hands grasp the grass-blades next to his knees and he rips them out, throwing them away, screaming in helpless anger.
He loves me…Why, oh Gods, why?
Panting as he calms down from his fit he sinks back to the ground, shoulders slumping, lifting and falling again in time with his harsh breaths, head bowed. His hands, covered in dirt and earth and wet grass, lie before him on the ground like they do not belong to his body as he lacks the strength to lift them up, to perform even the tiniest of movements.
I should have left him long ago. But how could I leave him when I know it will break him? I can deal with my heartache, but never with his.
The eerie sound of a cricket welcoming the evening rises nearby and is followed by a whole chorus. It is a chorus of thousands, washing over him and through his mind, clearing it of the dizzying fog. Raising his eyes he sees the sky turning rose and red and orange in front of him, shreds of clouds criss-crossing, painting the sky in darkness and light. The dandelions all around him are aglow with the sundown colours, gloriously golden even. He cannot resist picking another one, lightly blowing into the fragile whiteness.
But I wasn't the one threatening to do it first. "I will leave you" That's what he said. "Sooner or later I will leave you."
Yami's eyes harden as he watches the pappus dance, then blows again, harder. The cricket's choir is maddeningly sweet to listen to, numbing him against the world, deafening him to all the words that have been said.
I know he loves me. I always knew. Why then does he want to leave?
He sends the empty stem flying away, watching as it falls to the ground, then breaks a new one, staring at the dandelion clock, bringing it closer to his face, so close that he can admire the small white strings standing up in all directions from each and every little seed, softer than feathers, so similar to the clouds themselves as they glow in the light of the setting sun.
Why does he spend so many nights away? Why does he bring strangers to dinner and kiss them in front of my eyes? Why, why, why?
The dandelion stem swishes through the air, the speed of its movement breaking the long grass-blades and the dandelion clock clings to the broken grass, marking the field of destruction as Yami screams yet again, grabbing his hair and pulling at it out of a fierce desire to destroy more and more.
Why does he leave me in agony like this? Why does he hurt me so? To prove he doesn't need me?
His fist slams down onto the ground. The crickets continue their chant undisturbed as he frantically sucks air into his lungs. The grass is so high that in his kneeling stance it almost hides Domino from his eyes. Yet, the city is there, and the highest tower, the one the sun's last beams are reflecting off, golden as a forbidden treasure, is the office of Kaiba Corporation where he knows him to be sitting in his dark brown leather chair, the colour of which matches his hair so perfectly.
It is too late, Seto Kaiba, to pretend this was a meaningless affair. Affairs do not live in your house and prepare dinner for you, your brother or whoever you choose to bring with you.
His face is grim as he stares at the tower in the distance almost proudly, his wildly coloured hair matching the sky's image so well at that moment. Sundown hair, sticking up like the seeds on the dandelions, whispering just as softly in the evening breeze that arises around him.
Are you afraid? Wanting me to leave because I'm the one to cause this fear?
The wind picks up, carrying the crickets' voices further towards the city. He does not hear them in his tower of glass. He does not see how well the sunlight matches Yami's head. He never wants to accompany Yami when he goes to the dandelion field. Stray seeds are plucked off the stems by the wind that moves those glorious bangs of blonde and red.
You feel you can't accept this, don't you? You think it's wrong to have a relationship like that. Meaningless sex is something altogether different, but a relationship with your rival…
The sun sinks further beyond the horizon and the crickets' sounds seem to increase one last time along with the wind, as Yami struggles to his feet, his face set, his eyes alight with passion and anger.
You won't get away that easily. I should leave you. In fact, I will. But I can never stop loving you, and I will never give up on you. I will come back, no matter what.
White dandelion clock is ripped off the wilting flowers and swept into the air. The wind sets them dancing all around Yami as he leaves with slow but determined steps in the afterglow of the sundown.
You love me, Seto Kaiba. You will see that there is no denying it when the time has come.
One year after Domino will be the same as it is now. He will look at it looming over the wide lands, the colourful fields of green, brown or even soft yellow, he will look at it and smile a wistful smile because he will know it to be the place he has found his love in.
Slowly, he will walk into the field, taking one step at a time as if they were new to him or very familiar. He will savour each step until he will stand in the middle of the meadow. Then he will sink down to his knees carefully and run his fingers over one of the dandelion's heads, his skin marvelling and quivering at its softness.
When he will decide to raise his eyes, they will widen slightly at the sight of a tall figure standing at the rim of the dandelion field. It will be many steps to meet the intruder, and he will not take them yet, instead watch in mild surprise. He will not be too far away to see the other bend down and pick a dandelion stem, softly, carefully blowing into the whiteness and spreading it into the air, blue eyes never losing contact with his. The wind will carry the dandelion clock towards him and the crickets will chant like there is no tomorrow.
And as he will turn to watch the sun begin its descent, his heart will contract painfully for sorrow at what he will know to be true, to be real.
He loves me. Yes, he does.