―o13.
Genre: Miscellaneous
Rating: K+
Words: 821
Summary: A series of days, hours, and meetings that never quite made sense. Non-linear.
Notes: Not dead, no but life is busy. I'm still writing but I can't finish anything so I decided I would just complied little snippets of the rimahiko oneshots I probably will never finish. Beware that sometimes the tenses change.
Also I'm really sad to see that the Shugo Chara fandom isn't growing :(
Title: Daze
[001].
(Their tale started with a cup of overly sweet coffee and first-degree burns.)
(She hated every second of it.)
"So... You're a dancer?"
"As a matter of fact, I am."
"What's that got to do with coffee?"
She rolled her eyes. "I can't exactly do handstands after you spill coffee on me."
He looked at her skeptically. "...Right."
She huffed. "You don't even dance, what do you know?"
"I do. I mean, I do dance."
[002].
She doesn't fit in. Nagihiko knew that long ago but he's a bit surprised it applied to her right now, in front of his parents. There are no adoring fanboys or glares from girls, yet the room is irrevocably drawn to her. This, he thinks, could be useful, is useful.
"What do you think?" he asked his mother after she left the room.
"Workable," his mother replied and Nagihiko felt a surge of pride that he shouldn't be feeling because he didn't make her; he didn't create the person she is now. Hell, he never wanted to see her again but he found her waiting out the rain, having nowhere to go just before midnight and now she's here, and his mother needed a model for their new kimono line, because their overpriced tickets for recitals and running a dance school isn't enough anymore.
[003].
She stares at him for a bit too long sometimes and he doesn't seem to ever mind, much to the dismay of his fangirls. But she finds it fitting for him to have fangirls at all because he is a beautiful, beautiful specimen.
And ever since she had met him, her sketchbook has been becoming more filled and filled with drawings ― though, to be specific, they're mostly drawings of him. She doesn't know why her hand wants to draw him — out of all people in the world — but in his presence, her hand twitches and she needs, needs to draw.
Sometimes, he's too beautiful for her and her hand isn't able to render him. Her hand is shaky and while she is drawing his smiling face, he is glowing and she hates herself then, hates herself so much because she cannot capture him on her pages with her pencil.
She erases those drawings so hard that the paper rips.
[004].
"That's one of the things I like about you," he said instead.
She raised her eyebrow. "Oh?"
"That you're your own person," he divulged.
She smirked.
"And your honesty is what I like about you."
They looked at each other, grinned, and closed the space between them and hugged. She always swore she wasn't a hugger, but if she decided spontaneously to act different, he didn't mind. He liked it.
[005].
The last time she listened to Japanese music it reminded her of the things she hated and the things that she loved that were beyond repair. It was pretty terrible.
Pretty terrible to think of purple hair mixed with pink.
[006].
She made a complete three-sixty and when she returned from France, her fanboys had gasped and mourned the loss of their perfect angel and the girls had laughed and said that finally, finally, she looks like the evil devil that she was. She made a complete three-sixty ― she pushed Amu away, who she used to claim to love. She hung around Nagihiko, who she used to claim to hate.
Amu, bless her kind soul, Amu tried to see what was wrong: She coaxed, she cried, she begged, she wanted Rima to go back, go back to the way she was before.
Rima ignored her. Ignored everyone, her friends, her teachers, even Yaya, who never ever failed to gain the attention of anybody.
So Nagihiko thinks he's sort of weird that he likes her like this.
[007].
She never meant to become an artist but it's funny how things work out.
Once, when she was reading one of her gag mangas for the hundredth time, the jokes — gasp — failed to make her laugh, though she enjoyed it nonetheless. She had found something else to focus on rather than the masterfully crafted gags, given that Gag Manga Daioh had reasonably good drawings for a gag manga.
She never meant to become an artist but it's funny how things work out because once, when she was in the bookstore, she found Nagihiko Fujisaki reading her manga.
[008].
He can still her voice, arrogantly whispering with the soft, yet whistling wind. You're mine.
But he's not anymore. Wasn't. Isn't.
He's in front of a barber shop now. He had stopped walking without really comprehending it, but he's here and he runs his hand down his long vibrant violet hair, twisting a silky, blunt end.
He enters and ―
Chop it off, he says. All of it.