Title: Something Girl
Genre: Romance
Rating: K+ – T
Pairing: Fakir x Ahiru
Spoilers: N/A
Summary: Nobody loves a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or intelligent. We love because we love.
Word Count: 788
Warnings: One-shot collection
Disclaimer: Not mine. Summary belongs to Honore de Balzac
A/N: I love ballet. This anime makes me so sad I didn't start when I was young. Hope I get all the terms correct.
It has been weeks – months – and Ahiru is still a duck. But her optimism hasn't wavered, and, at times, Fakir wonders if it is draining to always be so incessantly cheerful, to always be so full of energy. She never seems to have those moments where she isn't sure what will happen – because she knows, she knows, Fakir will return her to human form.
He spends his free time beside her pond, trying to write, or doing classwork. At one time he might have thought it strange that he was actively seeking out Ahiru's company, but, when she isn't being spastic, she isn't bad. She always asks questions, and, for a writer, that sometimes (a lot of times, if he was being honest) helped him knock down his writer's block and finish a story or assignment. And even when she wasn't talking, simply watching her took his mind off his troubles.
"I don't want to be too out of shape when I'm back to normal, Fakir!" He glanced up at her, mouth quirking in a half-smile. "So I make sure to practice everyday!" The tiny smile in the corner of his mouth widened as he watched a duck work its way through the basic ballet positions. "I don't want everyone in class to be ahead of me!"
As Ahiru strove to prove her abilities to Fakir, she slid into a passe, and for the long moment that she managed to hold the position, Fakir felt the smile slip from his face in shock.
Ahiru was a duckling, she was tiny and flighty and graceless with her large head and feet, her too-small-for-her-body wings. But for a moment, Fakir saw something more in her, something that had grown in her without his notice. Her wings were longer – extending out from her body like graceful billowing fabric. The slope of her brow was more refined, more elegant. Her limbs were beginning to fit her body, she seemed more at ease and more natural, more put together now.
Fakir was struck with the question of how long, exactly, did ducks live? If he waited too long to return her to human form, would she age as a duck – and thereby be returned to human form as a middle aged woman? Or as a crone, decades and decades older than her classmates?
"Ah!" He was started from his thoughts at a cry and a splash, and when he glanced up he saw that Ahiru had tumbled into the pond and had emerged from the water a sputtering mess, mud and weeds dripping from her head. Without intending to do so, he began to laugh.
"Fakir!" Ahiru fumbled from the pond in bedraggled indignation. "Don't laugh!"
But he couldn't help it. She looked ridiculous, frowning at him, muck sliding from her beak, face dark with pond scum so the only thing visible were her bright, bright eyes. He set down his pen and notebook as she ruffled her feathers and washed them clean. "I'm sorry, Ahiru." He watched her for another long moment, until she deemed herself clean and situated herself to look up at him. "Come here." She stared at him in distrust. "Come here, I just want to show you what you're doing wrong."
They spent that afternoon, and many like it, in much the same manner. Fakir was much better at ballet than Ahiru had ever been, so he coached her, as much as he could coach a duck. In return, Ahiru talked. She talked about stories she had heard, adventures she had had as Princess Tutu, dreams she had. And Fakir ate them up. With her imagination, and his words, he spilled forth stories like a river spills water into the sea.
Conversations about ballet and writing turned into conversations about their families, their friends, their hopes, their plans. Just conversation. Company that his life had been sorely lacking these past weeks, and, if he was being true to himself, it was a type of company he had never had. Mytho wasn't much for conversation, his head was always somewhere else. But with Ahiru, conversation was as easy as breathing.
He began to look forward to just spending time with her, basking in her company. And the more relaxed he become, the easier the words began to come.