you are my sunshine
heart stations
-
-
So, there is this particular girl he adores from afar.
Every Friday evening, when he strides in a flowery garden close to his house; when the scent of marigold are evident filling his senses, he would find her. Standing with chin drawn up. Lips curves into a perfect (childish) smile. Arms spread in midair. Soft fabric of pastel spring dress rustling. Big modest summer hat covering the cluster of soft tresses.
Hopeful.
Cheerful.
Dreamy.
Dreamy…
With stray of wind blows soothingly around them, sky layering them as though a huge scarlet parasol; it feels like a dream. Surreal dream.
It feels as if he is floating between the edges of haze reality and blurry delusion, but he couldn't presume where he is actually.
Without another word spoken or gesture, he would usually stand while keeping handful distance between them. Maybe of shyness, he doesn't know. The other thing is, he doesn't understand why, every time he finds her in this garden; he is always frozen in awe. Even when his first intention is merely to take a stroll after such tiring work (as a computer programmer that's it) and it might simply a coincidence but it's still amazing.
Her soft hair that nestled within the hat would usually plunk out some and in that chance he saw it was light pink, if not pastel. He would soon be reminded as how unnatural it is to have a pink hair. Only goddesses that have this kind of hair color, his mother reprimanded. And he couldn't deny that the atmosphere around them is overwhelming. So overwhelming that it's devastating. His body is shaking enormously and tingling sensation jolting on his skin.
But he isn't scared. Altogether.
Instead, his chest is warm and swarming. Ah, is that his heart that pounding so fast? And, is that his stomach that roaming in nervousness?
(Is that how someone in love feels?)
But he doesn't dare to shift forward. He is afraid—even when it's kind of irrational—that she would disappear once she spots him. Like in a fairytale he has read before, when a goddess was bathing in a waterfall and then she discovered that there was a human peeking her, she would hurriedly dash away (1). Therefore, it seems that he is categorizing this girl as a sort of magical creature though he doesn't know the truth… yet. He knows that it is kind of rude to conclude things beforehand but he also knows that he is too afraid to prove his own idea. Over dangerous, his mind told him numerous times.
Also, who would promise that she is completely the same kind as he is—the other humans?
But this time it's different.
He is standing on his ground as always; on this wintry Friday; on this particular evening; on the moment when the sun finally decided to drown. He notices that the weather is slightly withering; the fact that autumn has come in toll. Hence, he blames himself to not bring sweater with him because his body is starting to frost up. The fuzzy dews begin to smear around him and unclear sepia tone accentuates the nature. He assumes that it must be the maple leaves' shades that illuminating this garden.
Now it starts to be a perfect illusion for a dream.
As he comes to adjusting himself with his surround, he sees her. From the corner of his eyes, he studies that she came from another side of garden. Not so goddess alike, he thinks. Usually he comes after her but today apparently he is so early. He never checked when exactly she would come, but the setting of sun practically told him the exact time she would come.
He also notes that her outfits are not so different. As always, a big summer hat from dried straw; a simple, spring dress above knees; and a kind smile that accompanying her wherever she goes to this garden. It is kind of weird, he muses to himself. The climate is cold to the extent of freezing but the material she wears is… unmistakably thin. It is as though she wears wrong costume for carnival but isn't aware so.
Her clothes are always various in colors of course; but still in similar styles. Her sun-hats are always different in its ribbons—whether it would be dotted, simple colors, or warm colors—but to tell apart they are no different style. The same goes to her simple dress that always flutters away once it is swept by wind whistle. Ah, what a beauty.
But in sudden he is frozen. There is this type of dirt that stoppers his nose. And he wants to sneeze. Now. But he couldn't. If he does, this angelic girl would know there is this morose boy who stands in admiration from afar. In which if his idiotic notion is true he would lose this epitome of beauty. Or not really. Probably it would be just his embarrassing record to have her discover his stalking.
Or could it be that she had known all these times but pretending until he is daring enough to unveil his guise?
Ah why that thought does just now cross his mind. Because really, what an insensitive (human) being she is to not knowing there is (another) person here. He heard that mostly girls were alert in feelings—they were called girls in first place for that purpose, after all. Uh but if not, probably she is not a human. Probably that's true that she is a goddess. Or a human. Or not both at all.
He still is trying to stop the sneeze. Wrapping his nose by handkerchief, biting the inside of his mouth, whatever. But it's too tickling and tormenting that he could feel his nose is reddening. And so is his face. Yes, ah damn you mr. mud, he could feel himself mutter bitterly in his heart. He would explode now. Ah this endearingly little muck—
—hatsyi!
Oh a sneeze. And it is not merely a sneeze. It's a hard, painful, hard sneeze
What a (disturbing) sneeze
His head is throbbing. His body is bronzing. Her head revolves so ever sharply towards his side. Oh right. God knows that his world has stopped to moving since then.
Oh God—
—he wants to die right now.
His face is already red, isn't it? How could it get any redder than its state right now? How horrible it is to be discovered by a girl you have stalked for the, let's say, all time beings?
After such a massive shock, he could see that she starts to overcome her current state. Because her wide eyes gently softens into a longing gaze he always secretly loves (even though he doesn't want it for now), and her agape mouth curves smoothly into a perfect smile he always adores (secretly again).
But he could swear his heart starts to thrashing harder than ever as she takes small steps towards him. Oh, even his forehead starts to be warmer than ever. Oh, did he spend time too much outside? Because now, every syndrome of diseases starts to strike him continuously. His stomach is churning in hard turn-upside down motion, until he is queasy due to it. Not to mention how dizzy he is right now and the back of his neck is itching with something icy.
Uh how much he needs painkillers right now
He assumes that it must be the effect of having this girl advancing towards him. Like, he did have no symptoms when he arrived but once she knows he is there, the sicknesses thirstily crawls to him as though they want to cuddle (strangle) him. Every small step she takes, get harder his heart pumping. Oh if only he brings painkillers in his pocket…
When she stops right in front of him, seeming like observing him carefully—from head to toes, that's it—he has been a living corpse. The way she looks to him is like a nurse that tending her patient and ashamedly he truly want to be one (this time he is forgetting that he is inspecting her as a magical being). This time he has being given a chance to take in closure her figure, he blinks his eyes several times. Oh how cute she is actually. The pair of blue crystal eyes that holding no grudge, small pointed nose and thin cherry lips that moving simultaneously in sync, pale cheeks that puffing once in a while, and those other features that he could list on and on without stopping. They all make a perfect frame (at least for him) and finally the thought about she is truly a goddess crosses his mind again.
But she is too close for his liking and what worse; he couldn't bring himself away from her.
Her summer hat stumbling a bit as she shoves her body forward. Hands are clasped behind her back. Head tilts sideways as her tresses sprawls some out. Her dreamy stare turns to a curious one. She shoves her body more and he takes a step back, more again and again.
Shoves.
Step back.
Shoves.
Step back
Shoves.
Step back.
—a sharp halt.
Following in suit pursed lips from her and a blink from him.
"Are you alright?"
Uneasy silence
"It seems that you are afraid of me."
"I'm not, really."
He is surprised when he really, really, really used that stern tone. He even surprised more when he takes a note that his panic doesn't involve much in his speaking. Oh what a relief.
"Then why?" she asks in grief tone, head turns away. If he could eliminate that grim from her voice, he would be very, very, very happy.
"It's just, um," what to put it to words, "I'm kind of too shy."
That probably rings a chime in her ears as shyly (oh he doesn't know that this girl is also shy on some cases) she turns to him with hopeful wide eyes. His heart skips a beat. No, it's a thud. Because he could hear it clearly as though it's a resonance within dark, empty room.
"Really?"
"Really."
He doesn't know that it's that easy to revive a bright smile on her face. Probably it's like a story of a sulking child who smiled again right after he got his candy (but how could he compare this beauty with a hungry child?), but in this case he doesn't mind to give her a candy if that could make her smile. Because um, he likes her smile too much. That's what keeps him in first place to watching her from afar.
Her hand slowly slides to the side of his cheek. A strange jolt of nowhere suddenly detonates within his chest and the tingle on the back of his neck is getting intense. Oh what the hell this is. He swears he should bring painkiller to here.
"You look so pale," she whispers
Bright red tint stings his cheeks. Never is someone tending him like that except his mother of course. But the way she touches him is delicate and her fingertips send a thrill of sensation within his chest. It is a completely different way of his mother did. What a feeling.
"Your cheeks are flaring red." She whispers softer
"Really?" his nervousness mixes up with new built up courage
"Really."
And so, after exchanging names and talking a bit, he knows he is in utter heaven. She is bubbly just like he expected; laughs sweetly just like she would, and walks lightly just like a small girl does.
She is not a goddess, he finally knows. What a goddess to live in orphanage for the time being, has no parents anymore, and everyday is kept under distress? But he also knows that she is outstanding in her own way. She has hard life but to go through it rigidly needs strength. And she does.
She is a goddess in her own way.
But when she has to hurriedly return to her home, he forgets to ask why she always wears a big summer hat and a simple dress. Ah nevermind, he tells himself while shaking head. For onwards, he could meet her freely without have to staring from afar anymore. And he could ask her next time. There's always next time.
He closes his eyes, smiling.
What a nice dream.
Every Friday evening, when he strides in a flowery garden close to his house; when the scent of marigold are evident filling his senses, he would find her. But every Friday evening he meets her, blossoms this nagging feeling. It seems every time they meet, this feeling grows and grows. To the extent he couldn't find any excuse to not meet with her. To the point it becomes an addiction.
But strangely that fascination wouldn't make him die if he couldn't fulfill it (even though he often feels there is this lost piece everytime he couldn't go to see her). He often wonders why but shrugs too quick even to his own liking.
Meets her is an obligation.
He must to.
Or so he thinks.
His mind is too occupied with her. Even when everyday what he does is just typing in front of his computer. Tired, go to sleep. Hungry, search foods. Sweaty, go to bath. Bored, switch on television. Rejuvenated, go work the computer. Again. And again. And again.
He is fed up with his own life actually. Like he is living in a shell but doesn't have any intention to change. Move on. Move on. Move on. But he couldn't. He is bored. But he couldn't move on. Living alone has made him died slowly actually, but he doesn't dare to imagining a diverse future. It is not that he doesn't want to move on. He simply couldn't. He is too afraid to imagine things to change differently. Like, how his twin sister started to date his best friend and how weird it was to see them became so intimately towards each other. Like, how his old computer was conked out and he had to change to the new one, but found out that he even couldn't adapt to the new navigation.
Like, how he has begun to implant some craze towards a certain coral-haired girl—
—but finds out that he is too afraid to admit it
It is a strange feeling actually. Twisted. How a girl could wake up some bizarre sensations within him—cold, warm, hot swirls that mixes together in composition. How a girl could invite him to grow attached to her—until a computer programmer nerd could cast aside some precious moments (heck, he works his bones twenty-four hours to finish his project and Fridays are the only days he could sip his tea) to go meet her. But he finds that he couldn't accept alteration so quickly. It will fritter some moments of his life until he could finally acclimatize to it, actually.
But have her fills every blank in his lonely Fridays is like she's not a stranger.
Her perfect smile, her soft gaze, the flutters of her dress—they are familiar. So painfully familiar
It is not a change then.
Definitely not a change.
Or so he believes
So, there are always hidden words he wants to say to her.
Not everyday he could meet her, only a Friday will do. He finds himself unable to go after her in orphanage, even when he knows exactly where it is. He tells himself numerous times that it is not about shyness. He swears it is not about timidity. For an evident proof, he still dared himself to go to the garden every Friday. And he always talked to her, didn't he?
Oh, it's not about timidity, after all.
Then why?
There is always more overpowering authority beyond you that you couldn't understand why. You always have these questions within your head and when you think that's the precise time to ask, this authority simply proscribes you from saying.
Then why?
It's all this invisible authority doing. And his introverted side. And his lack of interaction course. And his fright of having a change. He is afraid she will have a different thought about him right after he makes what people said as rapid progression
And because she is a goddess, after all
An ordinary human is not permitted to go any nearer to a goddess after all.
Right?
But there is another kind of overpowering authority beyond him that forces him to say something. Say it, say it, say it, it urges. Thus that, it left him confused—oh what a confused boy.
Say it, say it say it, it urges, don't, don't, don't, the other forbids
Oh what to follow? He was left doing nothing in the end.
Who to blame? Those two stupid overpowering authorities of course. Who have made him so utterly confused like now?
But, like a savings account, these hidden words are branching like a thriving tree. First, it rooted into his heart. Two, it grows swiftly. Three, it is watered by his own longing. Four, its growth becomes uncontrollable. Until then five—
—it fruited into thousand times more hidden words
So there are always hidden words he wants to say to her
Probably because he only could meet her on Friday. There are seven days a week but he only could meet her in a day. Partially because his timidity—no, those two stupid overpowering authorities—that he could only meet her on Friday. Each passed day always left him lumped with words. Like, how yearning he is of her, or, how thinking about her make him could pass a day. He could just leave it unsaid actually, but having it that way burdens his chest. Also, he feels that she has a right to know that she is his solace.
A being that could make him feel warm. Someone that supplies quietude. Someone that could keep him smiles all day.
Someone that is his sunshine
She is his sunshine.
"Ne, Kira."
She clasps her hands beneath chin; her dress is fluttered by the hushed wind. He is mesmerized for a second. The autumn scent lingers upon them actually; the hoarfrost starts to creep upon their well beings, but her smile is the opposite. It is warm and delicate; so consuming that he could feel his insides melt willingly.
He notices that her outfits are still the same. And that's when the thought strikes him again. Oh yes. He forgets to ask why she wears that kind of outfits every time they meet. So he asks
"May I ask?"
She blinked, refrains from doing something for a while, then giggles softly, "Why of course you may."
"Why… do you wear spring outfits everytime we meet?"
Pause
"I'm sorry, but it's kind of peculiar. At least for me—that's it."
Another pause
Oh could it be that she is angry or something? Ah hell—he hates a change, seriously
"Oh I'm really sorry, I mean now is autumn, isn't it? You would catch cold in this state—"
"Don't be sorry please."
But in her tone remains sadness. Unbearable sorrow. He couldn't see what is covered beneath her summer hat as she slants her head upward. Her gaze—even though he couldn't see—is distant… and nostalgic.
He stares at her. For a long time. For a very long time.
Until she turns at him, eyes are glistening with unshed tears.
He is fixed in enchantment. So—after all this goddess could cry. Ah, what a stupid boy. Of course she could. Even though she is a goddess, she is a human too.
"I smell warm scent here."
Wind blows. Softly. Really so ever softly. But his heart withers.
She closes her eyes, "When I'm in this garden, I couldn't bring myself to wear anything else."
Stillness
She feels that he is stiffening. But she doesn't understand the reasons. Because her words? Probably. It is kind of a stuff that strangers couldn't understand.
He is a stranger
He never really understands her.
So does she actually—
—or not really
As she opens her eyes, there is this pair of hardening amethyst irises. His brows crease.
"Why?"
But he dares himself to ask—
—and she is thankful for that—
"This garden fits the blooming flowers; not the wilted one." she bends down as her hand plucks some marigold peduncles from the ground.
Her bright eyes turn out to be cold
"I hate to be alone. I don't want anyone leave me alone." she sobs. He winces, "It's painful—"
"—I hate autumns and winters. They remind me of the dead." she sobs harder. He winces harder, "I'm selfish I know—" she dabs her red cheeks with her own hand
"—I try to be cheerful, I try to remain hopeful. I try—" her knees are flaccid in the end
"—but I fail."
He is immobile for some moments. In truth he wants to reach to her and saying it's alright. In truth he wants to hush her down and saying she is not a failure. In truth he wants to hold her secure in his arms and whispering she is his sunshine.
She is his sunshine
Yes she is.
No matter how fake it is.
She is his sunshine
And forever remains to be
His pace is really slow as his legs are strolling, but slowly it accelerates until he is front of her. To strikes her down. To holds her. And whispering those words. It's alright. You're not a failure. You're my sunshine
But he is only jammed standing motionless
—because she doesn't have any courage to explain first in reality
"My family died on the snowy winter." she starts again, voice is hoarse and low, "I don't like deaths. When winter comes everything dies. Trees die. Flowers die—"
"—my family died—"
"—But as spring comes, everything will come to life, isn't it?" he cuts short
She is surprised. Surprised indeed. It is probably because his arms come to gather around her small frame. Or his words. But both are bold of course. Oh how brave this boy. But probably he didn't even thinking when he did. It will take into decade until he does it by his will; but it's alright.
He did the right thing anyway.
"I can't bring your family to live for the second chance. But in springs everything will live again."
He loves her smile. Her perfect smile.
Her head turns at him. Hopeful eyes. Glistening azure eyes.
"When you want to cry; cry with me." He could swear it sounds so mushy and sappy; but for that moment he doesn't care. Or exactly not want to care. He could dip himself deep on his bathtub, blushing the entire day the time he arrives home anyway.
"Really?" her tone really is wavering
Oh yes he forgets, it was him who made her cried in first place. He feels bad.
"Really."
And she cries with him. Arms envelop her figure. But all he could feel is her cold tears. And his rapid heartbeat. And her fabric brushing. And the warmth that emanating. It is unbelievable. It feels like a dream.
With stray of wind blows soothingly around them, sky layering them as though a huge scarlet parasol; it feels like a dream. Surreal dream.
It feels as if he is floating between the edges of haze reality and blurry delusion, but he couldn't presume where he is actually
(Is that how someone in love feels?)
He could not say it. He really, really, really could not say it. Those It's alright. You're not a failure. You're my sunshine. He could not get those words out of his throat at all. It feels as if there is a binding spell that keeps him from saying, and heck, he doesn't have strength to conquer it (it is weird when he could stay alive in front of his computer, solved those complex formula but he couldn't fight back those two stupid overpowering authorities and just spill those unspoken words)
But his system keeps on bugging him. As he sleeps, that nagging feeling emits. As he works, the thought pops in. As he eats, the voice inside his head echoing. As he has nothing to do, he couldn't bear any longer (because those three—the nagging feeling, the thought, and the voice inside his head—annoy him too much). The temptation is too much to bear, he presumes. He feels that once in a while those two stupid overpowering authorities don't intrude him to hell. He feels confident (once in a blue moon lalala)
So, he steps out his warm (yet cold) home to search her
Even though today is not a Friday
But he could not find her
Merely the sounds of children laughter and nuns reprimand them; stronger wind flings and cooler temperature (so, the orphanage in a hill was a chapel too apparently) that accompanying him throughout the afternoon. One of the elder nuns said that Lacus was out to buy some raw foodstuffs for evening. Thus if he didn't mind, he was allowed to wait for her since she would be right back very soon.
Ah—of course he doesn't mind though his stomach is now in some messy turn-up. He swears probably follow that (stupid) overpowering authority is not a bad thing. After all, here he is squirming under his own nervousness and if he follows that maybe he wouldn't be trapped under this uncomfortable feeling.
She will be right back. Oh yes. He just needs to say those and then go home and dip his head in extremely cold water. Isn't it that simple? Uh, no apparently.
He doesn't consider her reaction at all. What if she will get freaked out (and vanish like that old fairytale? She is still a goddess after all.)? And certainly he couldn't just blurt out those words. It needs the correct mood (it makes him regret why in the earlier days he couldn't get those words out when the atmosphere is advocating).
And probably, she could shriek in front of his face Aah, you're pervert! He swallows hard. After all, if she is not harboring the same feeling as him, it would sound so mushy—even for his own good. He also thinks that, it probably needs a (love) declaration as well. Like, throughout all these times I've liked you or I think now I want more than just a mere friendship term—
But ah—those (love) declaration sentences even sound more erotic than unspoken words he wants to say!
His head is swirling. Hence his hand creeps upward and massages circles on his forehead. Oh, if only he doesn't have self-esteem and interaction problem, it would not be this hard. Like that Athrun, his best buddy who successfully snatched his sister' heart. How the hell could he manage to get her anyway? Cagalli is not a gentle Lacus and of course it will be one hell wish to be granted. But probably it's not a one hell wish to be completed anyway if Cagalli truly likes mushiness. Lacus is certainly not. Or actually, he just seeks excuses for his own disability.
He sighs
The door chimes. How grateful he is to know the door has doorbell (he is waiting on the office room anyway). So he is no need to jerk his head up with heart racing everytime there's (strange) person penetrates this small room.
Door creaks, "Good afternoon—"
Cerulean meets amethyst. He is gaping, she is blinking.
Comes this stressful awkwardness
"—u-um, the head nun is not here. She said she had to take care of children." he tries to complete her discontinued sentence.
"Oh, I see." Her tone is formal and polite; but there is this small portion of anxiety slips in between.
Perturbed silence
"Um—" she starts. His head turns at her. Anxious. Anxious. Anxious. Building up. Building up. Building up.
"—Kira, why do you come here?"
A long pause
"I mean. All of sudden." she gets the idea that her shoes are rainbow colored so she thinks that stares at it would be more convenient
He swallows. Here we go. Muster up all your confidence you, easily-get-nervous man!
"I… I want to— talk to you." oh, he almost says meet.
"Oh." She smiles. Her perfect, sweet smile. She finally smiles that smile after used tight smile. He doesn't like her tight smile. He loves her perfect smile.
Your smile is beautiful
But he doesn't say it.
"We could take a brief stroll then."
Probably be with her in a different place instead a garden is… weird.
He doesn't really smell autumn scent on this hilltop (probably since autumn will soon change into a winter but maybe not). Everything on this place is swayed by the strong, yet gentle wind. Every fragrance is easily blown away until nothing is left. Empty. So he feels peace. Flat, warm, and comforting. Yellow grasses are waved. He then realizes that everywhere; anywhere—is covered by those thick grasses. He could only feel grasses. He could only see grasses.
He is in a huge savannah. With her. Without her spring dress. Without her summer hat.
He smiles. She is incredibly beautiful; indeed a natural beauty. In her simpler dress and red scarf around her neck, she still is able to captivate him.
Her pink, long, curly hair is flied on midair. She closes her eyes softly as he is left with nothing to do, but watching. Sun begins to sink by now (he doesn't expect that by the elder nun said that she would return soon was meant three hours later), red flashes an innocent silhouette of blood shed.
Sun is on the edge of horizon as she begins to speak.
"So, what do you want to say earlier?" it comes out brittle, smooth, yet calm
You are my sunshine
He swallows
"N-nothing in particular—" he stutters morosely, "—just… want to talk." heck, before he really doesn't think what the hell he would talk to her beside his egoistical I-have-to-deliver-these-unspoken-words-to-her-right, does he?
But she smiles. Her eyes are opened. He notices that for some reasons, her eyes are bluer, brighter than before.
"We will try to talk everything randomly then." she giggles sweetly, "Do you feel the same as me?"
"..eh?"
"I can't really talk without a subject on conversation, actually." she brings her head skyward
"—so when you want to talk to someone but you don't know how to deliver it; it's really horrible, isn't it?" she laughs smoothly. But in the truth it sounds like a wrecked paper in Kira's ears
"I feel the same." he suddenly pipes in, "I always spend my life seriously. I don't know how to speak things right." he brings his head skyward too. Birds are chirping as they snugly find their homes. In which appears all elegant. And formal. Those birds always form a pattern and they will always follow that pattern. That's why it seems so formal. But because it's formal, it seems elegant. Simple. Just in the same pattern again and again.
But they couldn't. They could not just in the same pattern again and again.
"Either do I," she glances at him, all smiling and he doesn't know why but her smile appears glorious and glowing
"But we could learn bit by bit, couldn't we?"
He nods, "Certainly. I wish we could change. With time."
I wish I could say that I love you.
She suddenly utters his name
"Kira."
He turns at her, "Lacus?" there is a connected dry grasses on both her hands as she shoves it to his face
"I don't really know you, honestly Kira."
"But I want to learn bit by bit."
His heart skips a beat as though there is a drum roll transplanted upon it. Of course, because her declaration almost sounds like; I want to learn to love you or something like that. It is true, she barely knows him (she just knows him in this autumn period) but he has been watching her ever since a very long time ago.
He chuckles and takes the bunch of dry grasses within his grip. He wouldn't let her know that he has been watching her from a very long time ago obviously; it sounds too embarrassing.
"I want to learn to know you bit by bit too." in sudden he stares at her too seriously. Ah, when is he not serious?
His grip transfers into her arm. Not too tight; not too loose. A grip that sets her in comfort. Her lids are suddenly heavy and her skin is burnt
"Lacus," he whispers softly, his breath disaggregates the silky strands that befall her ears, blowing it just a bit, "You always make me happy." Her heartbeats are all too obvious to hide
"I don't know you too well. But I always feel like you are not a stranger." His strong arms start to envelope her in a tight hold, "I'm always bored. My life is always boring. But you—"
"—always make me smile." she starts to feel a swell of emotion engulfing her chest
"So please, let me learn more, learn more about you."
Let me learn more, learn more to love you
She closes her eyes, head buries in the crook of his neck. It feels warm and comforting.
"Probably I'm not good in saying what's on my mind," Yes Kira, it's a correct fact about you. Very much.
"—but—"
"—you don't need to say anything, Kira." she cuts him off softly as they stay on their locked embrace. Somehow her voice is muffled as her head is still resting near his pulse.
"Just know you're here is enough."
You are my everything
He is stunned for some time but shrugs it off too quick.
(Is that how someone in love interact each other?)
"Thank you."
"Thank you very much."
The silence between them is neither terrifying nor awkward. It is a kind of stillness you want to live within, or willing to be trapped into. It is like a swirling cotton candy; soft, pleasing, and sweet. And neither Kira nor Lacus want to shatter this silence. So to maintain a flawless stillness, they don't speak or making ruckus.
But there's something that disturbing Kira's mind. Ah—why the question comes at this moment? Such an intruder—
"Lacus?"
She squeaks a soft moan as she has to bring her head up to meet his eyes. When talks to someone that calling you with such concern, it's not appropriate to turn your head away. So, she looks at his eyes.
"Ah… you know I'm always bad at saying something in my mind—" he stutters. She just keeps on staring with her innocent, beautiful eyes
"—so I ask if by any chance, you understand what's going on my mind?"
She blinks and seconds after her laughter is echoing crisply like a ring
"I'm not a mind-reader Kira, so how could I know your mind?"
She smiles sweetly, he exhales nonchalantly
"But, probably I know though."
He blinks naively. What did she mean by her knowing something?
"Example?"
She giggles softly, "Like, when I'm near you I could feel like, I'm hearing sounds."
He blushes profusely. Don't say she is imagining something as he is nearby? But perhaps it's not a bad thing though: they don't know each other quite well; they can't talk each other without a subject on; he is getting all tense and uneasy as he tries to act all mushy and bold.
Having her know what's going on his mind probably a good thing after all.
So he smiles calmly while shaking his head, "Ah really. That way might make me more comfortable. Perhaps."
She smiles her sweet smile. Oh God, how he is in love with her beautiful smile.
You are my sunshine
Your smile is beautiful
I can't… stop to think about you
So I think I…
I…
I…
I love you.
Could you hear it?
"Thank you Kira."
-
-
fin.
a/n: it's not supposed to turn out the way it is. i mean. six thousand words just for circling around the same track just for… get an expected ending? i mean, really. it's supposed to be a 500-words story but turns out to be a 6000-words story. not to mention in alternate universe. not to mention in a cheesy ending. but whatever. it's my first time writing wishy-washy stuff as New Year celebration what the hell. should delete this later ah what a fail /useless muse. anyway. thank you for reading! eta: Lacus would make a great kobato with those outfits lmao.
disclaimer: never (wanna) never (wanna) owns gundam seed