Now, Naminé isn't one to go around touching everything. At least, not physically- she's managed to leave marks on every-thing-one already with words and smiles and phantom-tears.
But this time, when the sunset paints her new white prison in blood-red and gold, she tries to thread her fingers through stubbornly blue-slate locks. Tries to catch a touch, even a fleeting one, of cobwebby hair, or a snicker as he drawls (as always) something about disliking contact.
Neither of them happens. Naminé's hand goes almost through Zexion- she's had either the sense to stop or was surprised into inaction.
It isn't at his lack of solidity- he always seemed that way, even when 'alive'.
It's at the almost longing look on his face, sad and more boyish than seems probable.
"I believe I have been proved right", he sighs, and sinks into the sunset with his hand hovering near hers.
A.N. – 'cos I went and just realized that yesterday's drabble was a sort of fusion with this one xD
More thanks to Taliax for being absolutely awesome and leaving another review! I'm beyond honored. And of course, thanks to you readers – fic'ing isn't the same without you guys.
'Till next time!
