Duna

Bright red hair flashes in front of their gazes. It's long—long enough—long enough, right?—and the flicker of it, like some fin from a fish, draws him into depths he shouldn't be jumping into. The image concocts itself within him, stitching and stitching inside his brain, each tug bringing a yank of pain completely worth the sweet whisper of release: long, straight red hair shimmering with orange, down down down to her feet; clay-brown skin; big smile; icy, blue eyes.

It's her! It has to be! Thoughts override and it's all he can think, because there's no way it can't be her. It simply is—it has to be.

"Di-Dino! Y-You are tugging quite violently! What are you—"

The yanks take it across her vision, too, the reddish hair that resembles, just in swatches, a redhead she wishes would leave his tattered mind alone. Her lungs collapse when the sight compels her, but to go speechless is to send him to his death, so she must say something.

Dry tongue and dry whispers dart along for him. Attempts to bring him back toward her. "Dino." Gentle at first. "Dino... please, Dino. Think about this, please. Assess your possibilities, please. Understand... please, Dino, please." Her stomach clenches from her begging; her blood is ice inside of her, for what if he does not? What if he does not, anyways?

A punch defines her when he drags onward anyways. Blue scales knit together on her temple as she cringes and he pulls, pulls, pulls, only she must not let go, for if she lets go she may lose the boy she so loves. And so she darts along with him, thankful in her heart that at the least he has not gone berserk enough to tear with speed. His fingers, the ones not tied by hers, lash and lash at the air. His breath is frantic and questioning. Eyes wide and asking, please please please please please. Just like her, only his question cannot be granted what he so asks.

When the cruel, cruel girl turns around, a smattering wash of jaded green eyes stab him, and pale skin sets his gaze afire. Duna wants to curl up deep inside her soul and pretend, as she sucks in deep breaths, that his thoughts are not deep but jagged and small and desperate whispers, only wishes that cannot come true. Because if he stakes too much in a futile role for the futile battle of a futile war... she does not want to lose him...

"Dino... I apologize greatly... but..." She tries to be quiet; she tries to be tender. Only in turn he tries to throw her off: grief turned cruel glints as broken glass in his torn eyes. Words will not waken him; he is sleeping in the cemetery, his bed upon her grave. And from this place he cannot be taken until he wishes to open his own eyes from the clouds around him: but they are too torn, too full of tears to see the worth she trusts is standing straight up in front of him.

It is a dance around the mention of her name. It is unfortunate how many moments require "Jkonna" to grace them, until, too late, the sentence comes out awkward and it is obvious what sort of cover is needed. What sort of euphemism must patch up the wound of the loss. But he is not blind to these things, to these things of all.

An irrational wish: if only all of the redheads left would... would... would dye their hair a different color. An irrational wish, if no more irrational than his, may she return. But she cannot return; she is gone; and only if Dino could lower his head from the clouds that taint the world and see the worth that is in front of him, the worth that she wants to be her, Duna.

Clearing her throat. To give in is to give up, and to give up means loss. The futile war will spoil. She does not want to lose him. "Dino, please... if you can, listen. If you can, focus on these words and please at least try to think of them." Duna regrets her inability in this area to sympathize. Personally she cannot comprehend the loss of another being to blind one: they are gone and the wound will eventually close, only give it time. She only sees that loss is messy to many beings; it cracks them, glass on the floor, and the pieces are all gone now.

Hazy eyes unfocus, focus, blink, blink. Does he hear her? The heart in her chest throbs.

Voice softer than it usually is, her lilac whisper seeks him: "Dino... you are a kind boy. I-I understand this. You... are much kinder than me, I would think." She would think: but is she even worth it? Worth it to him? "S-Sometimes, n-no one can deny that you are a fool, a silly fool." Swallow. "But there is nothing wrong with that, as we all have flaws, and yours are very sweet."

Whether or not it is only pure luck, his fingers have gently begun to peel open: petals exposing themselves toward the sunlight. Hurriedly Duna plucks at his hands, squeezes his olive skin unto her blue scales, wishing and wishing for him to hear her. She wants to protect his precious heart, his precious flowering—dying—heart, if at all she can. Because he is nice. He is too nice for this. His niceness warms her but he can not seem to tell.

"An-And you are thoughtful. You like to notice things, e-even if you never truly mention it. You make jokes, and the jokes make people laugh, and the laughter is good for you because then you laugh in turn. And that is a-a-a very good thing. I-I l-l-l..." Head duck. "Lo-Love... your laugh... Dino..."

Duna is the shy one. Her head curls into itself as her body shakes and she cannot help but fall even as Dino stands. She pulls herself over, weight tugging at the boy but not quite bringing him alongside her. And being the shy one, her magenta curls flicker over streaking eyes. Teeth nibble thoughtlessly upon her lip—and it's a cute nibble.

She cries over the stupidest things. It's easy to tip her over into tears, if you know how to tip her. And that's cute, too.

"I-I am sorry!" Sobbing rasps, sobbing gasps. Soft and simple and that lilac whisper, hitched and hitched by her silent screams. "I-I love your laugh, Di-Dino! I re-really do... really do! An-A-And it ma-makes me sa-ad to see it go-gone! I-I-I am sorry, Dino! Please lau-ugh! Ple-ease... Dino... It makes me... sa-s-s-ssad..." Splutter, splutter, sob. "Now that it is go-gone... Please come back again..." She begs quietly for his head to leave the clouds, because she does not want the sun to come out tomorrow, she wants it today. The throbbing in her heart tells more than suggests that she needs it today.

Still, he is a little too deaf to hear it. The rumble of thunder, her voice in the air, is very clear, but until the rain hits, he is senseless.

But there it comes... there it comes...

plip... plip... plip... plip...

Tears... tears dripping like wax from her eyes, down, down to their fingers she grips so tightly to. She can only hear her pathetic sobs, and it scares her, because now she is terrified that she is so pathetic, and her sobs are so pathetic, that now he hates her and will never smile with her around ever. Shivering, shivering, flashes as her eyes alight beneath bangs, sobbing softer now, tears bright droplets she has yet to notice are drowning him in sensation.

It is gentle at first, and she cannot tell, blinded by what she calls her own idiocy. Gentle fingers pressing hers and leaving them by her sides, gentle thumbs brushing to attempt and eventually give up on the fruitless stemming of endless rain.

And finally, hands encircle her sides and lift, softly, lift her so that she lies over his shoulder, tail drooping in the air, sobs cascading down his spine. He carries her from the public, for he does not want to share his little storm with anyone, his precious droplets of tears, the cute Duna sobs that he wants to be his and his alone, and so he hides off behind a building with her crying. He tries to cradle her, but he usually refrains from holding girls, so it is awkward for him.

"I'm sorry," he works up the courage to mumble, "I'm sorry I scared you..." Clearing of throat. "But I'm here... okay?" Deep breaths. Heart spikes.

Gentle fingers encircle her sides, and gentle hands cup and pull her toward the ground again. The cute and sobbing Duna curls up to him, head stuffed into his gray shirt. And perhaps the rain has yet to cease, and the sobbing in her throat has yet to die, but that is not what matters.

For the tiniest rainbow, expanding upside-down from precious little lips, is far more than enough for him. And smiling just a little greedily, he is happy to know that this rainbow is his alone.