Sometimes it takes me three literal years to write, and sometimes I can do it in half an hour. Why.
"A Lesson in Semantics" [Kaoru/Kenshin, canon] [written for RK Week 2015]
"Oro?"
It was the first word he said to her. Actually, the first several, since her angry charge at him left little time to respond to her any other way.
A nonsense word is an odd first impression to make.
It wasn't the oddest thing about him (the redheaded, scarred, patched, haunted, smiling, backwards-sword swordsman with outdated vocabulary and an affinity for cleaning). When she asked about the meaning, he simply repeated it and shrugged. "A habit" was all she could coax out of him.
So she took the 'oro' as part-and-parcel to the strange man she welcomed into her home and tried, really tried, not to wince when he offered the stupid word as answers to her questions.
What happened to my ribbon, Kenshin?
Why isn't dinner ready yet, Kenshin?
Is that all you have to say, Kenshin?!
"Oro?"
It bothered her more when she meant the questions to be serious. But after a while, she began to understand everything he wasn't saying.
He used it as a placeholder, to fill the silence,
When he was confused, or overwhelmed,
When he did his best to appear as non-threatening as possible,
When he understood the question, but couldn't bring himself to answer.
Why is my dojo empty, Kenshin?
Who were those people, Kenshin?
Are you alright, Kenshin?
"Oro?"
I don't want to worry you.
I'm not telling you.
No, I'm not.
She became so used to hearing it that after that warm May night, its absence only further crippled her. That one little word that meant so little, held so much meaning.
Even after picking herself up and chasing him across the country, it took almost a dozen battles, a few explosions, and several breathless weeks for the ridiculous word to make an appearance again.
It was, in her opinion, the best reason to celebrate.
She expected to hear it every day for the rest of her life. When the past caught up with him, it latched onto her and dragged her away. For days as she paced waiting, she was afraid this incident would finally crush him. That her redheaded, scarred, patched, haunted, smiling swordsman wouldn't smile anymore and she'd never hear it again.
So when he fell into her arms on the beach, as scarred and patched and haunted and filthy (but still smiling) as she'd ever seen him, he managed to utter that stupid, stupid word and as they clung to each other, she didn't think she'd ever heard anything more beautiful.
"Oro?"
I'm so glad you're safe.
I missed you.
I love you.