o9. stillicide
There is a story in the waters of her memory.
"I've told you before. I hate water. I fucking hate water."
The shuriken impales itself onto the sitar and sweeps it out of its owner's arms. Both instruments hurl themselves through the air in a wild dance, a lover's tryst. They tumble onto the moist ground many feet away. Consummated. There are multiple twangs when strings shatter.
She stands his ground. He, his.
And now they're open. Weaponless.
Chainless.
"Be thankful that I respect you, only because you're my enemy."
"Man, that's a queer sort of logic…"
The dancers are still swarming around. Closing in. She feels them but pays no heed. Wishy-washy things as flimsy as a chorus…
"Take me seriously, dammit!"
And, then, as if by magic, the smile is gone from his face.
The last note continues to hang in the air.
She crumples, then:
"I bet… I bet you taste like… fish."
He moves nearer and she shakes (it's cold; it's mid-afternoon and the tide's in and it's cold).
"Try me…"
The minute distance between them untried, inexperienced, like the youth in her limbs.
She's still holding her breath but his is taut and warm and raw upon her chin. His hair's dripping icicles, burning where they land on her left cheek and shoulder.
Instead of breath she strains for his heartbeat -
("Leave Hollow Bastion.")
…there has to be one, because it isn't fair that only hers is doing all the beating and pumping and breaking.
(closing in)
And then suddenly water bursts through her eyes, nose, mouth… Water caving in her lungs. It's her ribs that are screaming as the dancers swoop in, coalescing into a ruthless reverse waterfall that tosses her up and holds her aloft. Then it dissipates and Yuffie is falling.
Fallen.
x
When she finally comes to, there's Sora. There's her shuriken. And Demyx… (ashes and dust.)
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Note: Challenge prompt - Kiss.
