This fanfic was inspired by these images: http:// i22. photobucket .com /albums /b301 /steshin /3076206jn8 .jpg and http:// i22. photobucket .com /albums /b301 /steshin /as10gn9 .jpg (to view pictures, simply copy and paste the links to your browser and delete the spaces) and of course, by Valentines Day. Happy (very) belated Valentine's Day to everyone! (Really, these were written so long ago but a certain FD was too much of a procrastinator).Story 1
Contributed by: gppr
Alto opened the door slowly and found her very still, facing the window. Surely, she had heard him, yet she did not turn.
"Sheryl," he said softly but she did not acknowledge him. Gods, the woman can be so stubborn... and he was so tired. Tired of war, tired of death, tired of running and, perhaps, tired of life itself.
"Fine," he uttered, after a defeated sigh. "Have it your way," he added and turned to leave. Alto did not know it then, but the small hesitation that followed, that urge to stop and look at her one last time, saved him from a lifetime of thinking what if? That last glance saved them both from falling away from each other. Because then, he noticed it: Sheryl's frame was trembling.
Instead of crossing the threshold of the door, he moved towards her. She seemed to sense him and, as if on cue, a muffled whimper escaped her lips. She tried so hard to keep quiet, but her tears were now within Alto's sight.
"Sheryl..." he said again, this time with concern. She still would not look at him.
"What's wrong," he insisted.
"Stupid Alto!" she said. Sourness descended upon his features. Leave it to the singer to treat him that way when all he did was worry about her. He was about to work himself into one of his famous fits, when unexpectedly, her arms were upon his neck. Alto's anger flew out the window, as did coherent thought. All that remained was sensation. First, there was her body close to him, then her soft hair tickling his face and, let us not forget, her fragrance invading his nose...
He sighed and it was not tiredness this time.