a/n: hello, dear people! Yes, I should be updating EQ and GB and RGS and OHP but... I told myself I would write Kamila-chan a thank you fic (since she's been awesome with my poor dedication/neglect to my stories). So, for all of you StiCy lovers- here ya go!
this story is a one-shot.
OF YELLOW UMBRELLAS AND ENEMY GANGS
He saw her whenever he saw him.
/
She was always there.
In the corner of his eyes, as he lay defeated, beaten to a pulp.
She was always there.
Standing under the sunshine, her hair brightened by the rays, and her face-he could never see it.
The pain in his dark blue eyes worsened as the seconds passed, and he could hear the rest of his gang standing, all while the triumphant reckless asshole smirked at the ghost that was this girl, and he couldn't help but to wonder who she was that made even this monster smile.
Shaking his head, he recalled all the times he'd seen her-hell, he even recognized her voice!
Every time they fought, every time he lost, he could see her but he also could not because he had two purple eyes blooming, and his ears-they captured the sound of her voice... soft and melodious.
He sometimes liked to think (as his eyes finally closed shut) that someday he would see her-and he would... the day that Dragneel ceased to be his competition.
But then again, maybe that would never happen.
.
.
.
He knew her by what he called her.
/
"Luce!" he said.
"Lucy," sometimes.
Sting had learned that this girl, this mysterious creature that would so easily charm the Salamander-was named Lucy.
.
.
.
He was always defeated when she came around.
/
"Natsu," she would call.
By the easy way the jerk responded, Sting could only guess that she had him wrapped around her little finger.
For the millionth time, he wondered what she looked like.
But he had never caught her face. By the time she arrived his eyes could only decipher shadows and figures, and she always stood in the sun.
"Coming," the hotheaded ass answered.
It was always the same routine.
.
.
.
He grew to learn her shadow.
/
Laying on the ground, waiting for his consciousness to fade from the pain... he waited.
For every millisecond of every second of every minute that she took to arrive.
No matter how long she took, not matter how much it hurt... he waited.
There was an anxiousness in his chest, a pounding that was more than just adrenaline and blood rushing to his ears-it was a hopeful breath as he held onto himself just to be able to see her, or to at least try to see her.
If she came, and once again he could not see her face, he would give in.
But he would not give into the darkness without seeing her.
So every time, for every battle (as he lay broken), he would watch out for her shadow and he would only give in when she stood nearby, when he could see that he could not see her.
.
.
.
He realized that he was captivated by her ghost.
/
Sometimes he would fight the kid just so that he could try to catch as glimpse of her.
They were a pair, these two. An item.
It bothered him to think that he was in love with that-pain-in-the-ass's girl.
He always lied to himself too... saying that he was just curious about her.
But then again, curiosity did not make men masochists to be beaten bloody just to catch a glimpse of a girl that could easily very well be the worst thing he could ever lay eyes on.
Yet-it was already too late.
He was terribly aware of the fact that she could never be his and also horribly horribly horribly too lovesick to care.
.
.
.
He had given up on the idea of seeing her.
/
She was so out of bounds that he had already resigned to the fact that he would not, and would never, see her.
However, one day:
"Natsu!" she sounded angry.
Sting could barely breath today. Out of all the punches and trashes he'd endured... today he could not stop spitting blood. Coiling into himself, he heard her voice shake, her steps hurried-towards him.
"Natsu!" she practically threatened. "You're out of the line!"
He felt soft hands touch his face, pull the sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead... but he was once again in too much pain to see her.
"Lucy," the imbecile warned her. "Leave him."
"No."
He swore his heart stopped beating then.
"He's not worth it!"
"You went too far! Look at him!"
Sting coughed into the ground once again, and then there was a comforting arm around his shoulders.
"I'm tired of your stupid competition! You're always beating him! Why did you have to do this to him?!"
The boy in question snorted. Sting, however, could tell that he was angered.
"Are you alright?" she spoke softly.
He tried to turn. The sun blurred her face, and he was so so close... "I can't..." the rest of the sentence was left unanswered as he tried to raise his hands to the sun.
"You're okay," she said softly.
Then, he had to give in to the blackness.
But that day he didn't care.
He was too fucking happy.
.
.
.
He always thought about her.
/
There wasn't a day when he did not.
It was an obsession... this girl, this person, this figure that soothed him...
He just had to see her. He had to.
So he kept coming back, expecting Natsu and the rest of his Fairy gang to come fight him.
As a member of Sabertooth, being in their territory was prohibited-yet he kept coming back because she was there.
And one day... the pain was more bearable. Because he saw her.
She'd brought a yellow umbrella today. It kept the sun away from her face.
Natsu had yet to attack him, and he could see her. She was there early today.
Melted amber eyes and sun-kissed skin, a dimple in her cheek as she saw him and so slightly and very carefully smiled to kill him, a shy wave of her hand as she told him hello and he could not form one coherent thought, much less repeat the action because he had waited for so long and she was so breathtakingly and heartbreakingly lovely.
He could see her so so beautiful and so so brilliant and so so damn stunning... that he did not see when Natsu stunned him.
He was out cold afterwards.
.
.
.
He was in love with her.
/
He woke to the bright hospital lights.
Only one of his eyes responded well, so he assumed that that bastard had knocked him out with another black eye.
Sighing, he closed his eyes once again and though about her.
He'd seen her. He'd seen her and he was dying to see her again already.
"Sting?"
That voice drew his breath short and he quickly winced when he moved his head too fast, giddy to confirm that that voice belonged to her.
"Be careful," she said softly, and he could hear her standing to make way towards him.
Then, there she was.
She was so much more than he'd imagined, than he'd remembered, and there was not a punch from that asshole that he regretted because now he could see her and she was here. For him.
"Lucy?" he tested.
She smiled.
.
.
.
He remembered everything about her.
/
Every detail of every minute of every hour of every day for every year they spent together.
Sting is a big believer of miracles. (For he is a fool in love).
And now, when the children of their children ask him how they met, he laughs and looks at the picture of a golden girl holding a yellow umbrella.
Then, he replies: "I got in a fight. And then I was in love with her."