Fireflies

Yosuke

PG

Romance/Drama

AN: My first Princess Tutu fic, na no da. The inspiration for this story came from other Tutu fics, I guess, but the name and theme came from my visit to Atlanta, where the fireflies are boundless. I saw one out my window and thought, "I wanna go out and catch some…" But then again, it IS 1:20 in the morning, so I don't think I'll be doing that. Anyway, this is just a cute little one-shot shounen-ai on Fakir and Mytho, so I hope you enjoy it.

Uncomfortable situation of the day: I recently attended a convention where Chris Patton was attending (If you don't know, Chris Patton provides the voice for Fakir in the show) and now I suddenly feel awkward using a character with HIS voice and imagining HIS voice in this story. So very, very awkward…. But not impossible to overcome.

Um…. I've also just read a book of haiku, so I'm feeling rather natural and poetic right now… Pardon the weird phrasing in the story.

Tutu not mine.

He'd never looked beyond the dim halls of the school and its radiant surfaces of white, not to mention its seemingly endless line of happy, prosaic children. There was nothing beyond this school or this town. There didn't need to be. This was home. This was life. This was where he lived, where he learned… This was where Mytho was and would stay, despite the current dangers and constant flirtatious pests that lingered about him. Fakir tired of seeing those dangers and faces… but never tired of standing in front of Mytho to shield him, never tired of extending an arm to keep others away, never tired of protecting him in his weak and utterly oblivious state.

But what an enchantment he was…

Fakir watched with expressionless eyes the moving form of the prince as he danced about the practice room with as much grace as a prince was born to have, or even more than that. The ever-lit windows, standing just short of reaching the ceiling, denied Fakir the enjoyment of seeing Mytho's face, and was left with simply following his empty silhouette, watching the delicate movements that were not so much as careless but unintentionally perfect. That's what Mytho was. Perfect. Perfect… almost…

Fakir denied Mytho his perfection. He never let him have the last piece he needed to make him a real human. He never let him have his heart, therefore keeping him the shiny, pale shell that he was, keeping an eye on him, pulling him out of one dangerous situation after another, teaching him what was good and what was bad through praises and punishments. He was just a pretty shell. He didn't need to be touched. Just leave him in the ocean and look at him as you wade by.

Fakir shifted in his spot on the floor, resting an arm on a bent knee while outstretching the other leg and taking in the sight of Mytho's hollow dancing. Arms reached for the sky, then rested and let a leg swing about as he spun in his spot, slowly, lazily, perfectly. That dark shadow moved across the cold tiles like a fairy, and soon Fakir found himself captivated and fought to deny it. He had been sitting there, watching the boy for nearly an hour as Mytho practiced a routine alone. Class had been released a good long while ago, leaving the two alone in the quiet room. Fakir had thought to put on some music to aide in the prince's art but feared that the sudden break in silence would ruin the perfect moment. Music, even the most beautifully composed piece of the most respected composer, couldn't do the prince justice, couldn't do those fascinating, captivating movements the honor they deserved.

At one point, he felt compelled to join Mytho in his pointless antics to entertain himself but declined and merely sat there, watching. He had told Mytho to practice. He told him he needed it, as an excuse but really there was none. Mytho's routine was already perfect. Fakir had just said it to keep Mytho inside, away from the annoyances of the outside that could've possibly been Rue… or Ahiru… Whichever. They were both troublesome.

But it was the slow dawning of this fact that Fakir suddenly realized… Mytho had been practicing for nearly two hours on end with no break at all. He rose to his feet quickly and approached the lithe shadow.

"Mytho, that's enough for today. Let's go home."

When the silhouette cleared, Mytho let his arms fall to his sides and he stood still, gazing at Fakir with his pretty, golden eyes. "Yes, Fakir."

Fakir winced inwardly at the sight of Mytho's heavy breathing. Mytho couldn't have thought to stop his practicing. He didn't know if he was tired or not. If Fakir hadn't stopped him then, Mytho would've most likely collapsed. He hadn't had much to eat that day, either. Fakir sighed and turned, heading for the locker room. Mytho followed quietly like a puppy.

By the time they were out the building, the skies had already begun to darken as the end of the year tended to deliver quick nights. And, as the end of year gave as well, the temperature was on a steady decline.

Fakir put his hands in his pockets and watched the dimming sky, bored as they walked back to the boys' dorm. Mytho followed silently beside him, staring ahead of him, his body numb to the cold. Fakir glanced over at him and dimly saw the boy begin to shiver. The knight sighed and looked at the sky again, staring in contemplation as the stars fought to break free from the last rays' hold on them. The half moon already faintly showed over in the east. Fakir watched it for a long moment before slumping his shoulders and carefully removing his uniform jacket. It caught Mytho's attention and he looked to see Fakir gently placing the thin coat over his shoulders, then digging his hands back into his pockets.

"I don't want you to get cold," Fakir said quietly, staring at the stone as they passed under his feet. Mytho stared with the same expression as always: blank and empty.

"But I don't feel the cold," he responded, stopping in his tracks. Fakir stopped as well and turned to look at him.

"You may not feel it, but you're shivering and you'll get sick if you stay cold like that. Remember the last time you stayed out in cold weather for a long time?"

"Yes."

"You were stuck in bed, sniffling for days. I won't have that again, okay?" Fakir said with the slightest roughness in his voice. Mytho nodded dumbly and Fakir once again sighed. "Come on. Let's keep going." He slipped his hand over the prince's and gently pulled him forward, resuming their walk. Fakir grimaced mentally. Mytho's hand was ice cold. This was probably the only downside to not having his heart… He could never tell when something hurt, therefore leaving Fakir to guess and seek out all of his pain. It made him feel guilty, honestly. On more than one occasion, Fakir had taken Mytho to class and before he knew it, Mytho was doubled over on the floor, sick to his stomach and unable to tell his protector what was wrong.

They soon crossed the bridge and were heading into the dorm, Fakir still leading Mytho the whole way by his hand. When they made it up to their room, the knight quietly locked the doors, as he always did, then walked over to the window to lock that as well. He didn't like calling it paranoia. He preferred "precautions".

Mytho stood in the middle of the room, hands gripping the sides of the jacket around his shoulders loosely. He watched Fakir uninterestedly, blank and silent. Fakir turned to stare at his roommate, trying to decide what to do next. As he thought to send Mytho to bed, the prince suddenly spoke.

"Fakir, why don't you ever dance with me?"

Fakir seemed surprised at the question.

"Why?"

"Yes." Mytho never moved. "Each time I practice and you watch, you look as if you want to join me. How come you never do?"

The taller boy could only stare at Mytho, searching, trying to think of a suitable answer before scoffing. "What, you watch me when you practice?"

"Always."

Now Fakir seemed genuinely shocked.

"I don't know why… I've just always wanted to know what you thought of me while I danced."

Fakir really didn't know how to answer that. His initial thought was that it seemed odd for Mytho to want something. But thinking further into it… How could he help it when he had Mytho practice so much and every time, Fakir went to watch? Anybody, even someone without the feeling of curiosity, could want to know something like that.

The knight was silent for a long while before shrugging and turning his back to him. "I'm just interested in your practice, is all. You've made great improvements and I'm simply speculating." Another long silence… "And I don't dance with you because it's your routine and I'm not apart of it. It would only ruin it if I joined."

"Then we could dance your routine."

Fakir turned and looked at him.

"Yours requires a partner. We could do that."

"Idiot, you don't know the routine!"

"I've seen it. I know it." Mytho's words seemed to fade near the end, and Fakir suddenly realized that Mytho had been arguing with him. 'Another effect of those damned heart shards…' Fakir cursed silently, hating even the slightest feeling of losing control to his prince.

In the midst of all this thoughts, however, Mytho had stepped forward, hands falling to his sides as he approached Fakir, then extended out a hand to take a hold of his protector's and proceeded in the first movement of Fakir's routine for ballet. The coat gently slipped from his shoulders and landed in a small heap on the floor as Mytho circled around, still holding Fakir's hand.

The knight watched him for a few seconds. "Mytho, just stop. We don't need to dance right now. Maybe later--" He stopped when Mytho came back in front of him and did the most captivating movement with his body that the partner originally selected to perform this piece with him could never even hope to accomplish in the same sense, even for a girl. And then those eyes gazed up at him… and Fakir just felt something drop from his mind. It was strange. Fakir had forced himself to develop a sort of immunity to Mytho's pretty, empty eyes, the ones that girls in their class had forced themselves closer just to get lost in. The dark-haired boy had realized that if he were to continue to get distracted by the small things about Mytho, he'd never be able to protect him to the extent he needed to. But now… It was like watching a sunset. Those eyes shone just like one, and he couldn't turn away because of the sheer beauty of it.

Before Fakir knew it, he had returned the grasp Mytho had on his hand and was leading him about the small area available in their room to the silent song playing in theirs heads and a steady rhythm Fakir couldn't really find but just felt. He could feel Mytho's delicate fingers clutch to the back of his shirt in particular moves, and once again, like many times before, felt amazed at how incredibly light the boy actually was once he lifted the slender figure off of his feet only to be put down swiftly and gracefully. Fakir was impressed at how well Mytho knew the routine. He had never practiced it with him, but then again… he did recall a few times seeing Mytho at the door while he and his female partner went through the dance a few times. Fakir began to think then… Perhaps Mytho subconsciously wanted something. Even though he had no feelings, something in his mind could have been telling him something he obviously craved. Could that possibly have been to dance with Fakir, to take the girl's spot and be the one closest to him?

Fakir shook himself mentally. That was not only jumping to conclusions, but also being haughty.

When the knight next looked at Mytho, his eyes were closed and that white, feathery hair was pressed to his shoulder. Fakir had one arm wrapped around his shoulder while the other took one of Mytho's hands and held it some ways away from them. They remained motionless, a momentary stillness mandatory to the piece. Mytho did everything just right… Fakir was truly impressed and thought to hold onto that stillness a little longer until the smaller boy's legs suddenly collapsed and Mytho fell to his knees. Fakir gasped and kneeled down beside him. "Mytho? What's wrong?" Dumb question.

Mytho's large, sun-colored eyes looked up at him. "I can't move my legs." Fakir noted the boy's arms and how they had started to shake slightly. His breathing had hitched some and perspiration just barely dotted his forehead. The knight shook his head.

"You're tired. Let's just put you in bed," he said quietly and moved to lift the boy up, carrying him to the bed and setting him on it. Idly, his hands worked at removing Mytho's jacket while the prince wordlessly stared at the moving limbs, the perfect expression of pointlessness and dull curiosity adorning his features. Fakir mentally laughed at that. For an empty shell, Mytho sure knew how to be cute.

Once he had removed most of his clothes, Fakir fetched a nightshirt for him and draped it over his shoulders. "Put that on. I'll be right back, I'm going to get you something to eat. You've hardly eaten today, right?"

Mytho nodded, and Fakir silently left while the prince set to work on slipping his arms through the loose, baggy sleeves and buttoning up his shirt.

Fakir stood in the kitchen that belonged to the dorm, eyeing the shelves and cabinets, deciding what would work best for a snack. Most of the doors had been locked so as to fend off the perpetually hungry and selfish. At the most, Mytho would just have to make do with fruit. He grabbed a small carton of milk he'd found in one of the fridges, then once again scanned the counters. All the fruit was either bruised or old… Fakir winced. 'How disgusting…' But, after much searching, he managed to find one good fruit.

Lo and behold, a small, just barely ripe peach.

Fakir shrugged to himself. Not so entirely suitable for Mytho, but it would have to do… He started out of the kitchen and back for the stairs.

Not so entirely suitable for Mytho… For Mytho, or for a prince?

Fakir thought to himself silently on this and realized, with a sudden dramatization, that he was… desperate to please the prince. Desperate to please him… Even after an unfinished story and in this quiet little town that had no purpose other than to hold these characters captive… Fakir was still a loyal subject to him. He worked to make him happy. Even though Mytho himself could not feel this happiness and would never know what his knight did for him, Fakir wanted his approval.

The dark-haired boy suddenly felt ridiculous delivering a peach and some milk to his prince and thought to go back to find something else, but knew nothing else would be more suitable. He sighed to himself. How disgraceful…

The door ghosted open and Fakir stepped in, quietly shutting and locking it behind him. As he entered further, he looked up, that familiar and constant fear that Mytho wasn't there or was in danger curling in his stomach.

When he looked, Mytho was not on the bed as he expected.

Instead, the smaller boy was at the window, the doors open wide and him leaning on his knees to reach a hand out into the darkness while the other grasped the sill. Fakir gasped and raced in, putting the food on the bed. "Mytho, get away from there! It's dangerous!" he shouted to him as if Mytho were no more than a dumb child. But when he neared him more, he saw what it was that had so grandly caught Mytho's attention…

On the prince's outstretched hand, the palm facing up, a firefly had landed on a fingertip, shifting its legs, it's body every now and then becoming enveloped in a soft, yellow light.

Fakir watched the bug for a long time, then looked at Mytho's face. That tiny smile, the one Mytho occasionally wore as a reminder that expressions and a need to satisfy others still existed, played at his mouth. He carefully brought his hand in, the firefly still crawling along the tip, and examined it curiously. He turned his hand over and it crawled onto the back of his palm, abdomen glowing in light. "It's pretty…" he said ever so gently and slowly offered his hand to Fakir, showing him the bug. The knight could only stare at Mytho, captivated by that small, meaningless smile and the interest he showed in his eyes for the creatures around him. When Fakir let his eyes fall to the firefly on Mytho's hand, he remained silent for a moment before shrugging slightly.

"I guess…"

Mytho turned to look back out the window, watching the night and keeping that smile. His hand moved out again, this time letting the firefly take off to join the others. Fakir's eyes widened some when he looked. Fireflies danced around the window, swarming from the bushes below and rising to the sky to make the stars jealous. One in particular flew in slowly and landed idly on Fakir's shirt, crawling up his chest and lighting up now and then. He watched it, seemingly uninterested but unwilling to take away the small ounce of beauty Mytho could seem to notice. Gently, he put a hand to it and guided it off his shirt, releasing it out the window.

"Mytho, come on, let's get you in bed. The weather's too cold for this," Fakir said quickly, pulling the boy away from the window just in time to avoid a breeze that intruded into the room, causing the sides of Mytho's shirt to flap a little. The knight suddenly froze when he looked at Mytho, then sputtered. "Mytho, I told you to put your shirt on! How many people could've seen you like that? Get in here!" Fakir demandingly pulled him to the bed and set him down on it, quickly locking the window shut and moving to button the shirt up. "Dammit, Mytho, you're such a troublesome child!"

"I'm sorry," Mytho gently said, watching the top of Fakir's head. He looked up at the golden eyes and sighed.

"Forget it. Just get in bed," he ordered, watching the smaller boy crawl over to his pillow, then slide under the sheets and wait for Fakir's next command. "Oh, yeah… and here." The knight handed Mytho the snack he had brought with him. "Eat up and go to sleep."

"Yes, Fakir." Mytho started to eat the peach quietly, Fakir watching before turning and heading for the bureau. He dressed himself for bed, tossing his uniform onto the floor carelessly and heading back over to his own bed. Mytho was still eating. He slumped his shoulders and sat on the edge of his bed, watching the floor for a long time.

"Fakir?"

The dark-haired boy shot up, Mytho's voice bringing him out of his daydreams, and looked over at his prince. "What?"

"Good night," he said monotonously and lied down, bringing the sheets up around him. Fakir watched the still form as it breathed in and out slowly, then sighed and stood to walk to his side. He peered down at the mass of white hair against the pillow, Mytho turned away from him to sleep on his side. Fakir found himself reaching to touch the hair, but pulled away and simply stood there, watching him.

Mytho had left the pit and stem of the peach on the bed sheets, alongside the empty carton of milk. Fakir mentally shook his head and reached out to gather up the items and put them on the nightstand until he could get the chance to empty the already-full garbage can. As he did this, however, he noticed something. On the stand, below the items he had put down, rose a firefly, disturbed and wanting to escape the obvious danger. It drifted slowly above Fakir's head.

'It must've gotten in while the window was open…' he thought to himself and reached a hand up to grab it, but it flew away and around, landing on Mytho's hair. He reached for it again, but stopped when it crawled further across the boy's hair to land on a soft spike just above his forehead… and glowed. He gave a soft gasp at the sight. The quaint golden light gave Mytho the most angelic look he had ever seen. It stayed there, fading in and out of a continuous stream of illuminations before crawling off his head and onto the pillow.

Fakir stared down at the sleeping boy, still enthralled by such a simple sight.

"I'll protect you," he whispered, that being his initial thought and suddenly all he wanted, all he ever wanted to do for him. He leaned over the prince and kissed his forehead, almost reverently, then stood and scooped up the firefly into both hands and walked to the window. Opening the doors, he released the bug out into the dark sky and watched it illuminate a path for the other fireflies to follow.

'Mytho always notices the beautiful things… Why don't I?' His gaze fell back on Mytho's sleeping form, huddled under the sheets, and thought to himself, 'I guess our definitions of "beauty" differ somewhat…' He looked back out the window in time to see a firefly land on his face. He shook his head, causing the bug to fly off and land on the sill. While it crawled all along it, Fakir stood in contemplation for a moment before letting his head drop and smiling to himself. "Okay, Mytho, you win." He shut the window and walked to his bed. "Tomorrow, we'll go out and catch fireflies… But just for tomorrow." He slipped into bed and turned out the lamp, knowing Mytho was probably well past sleep and now all that remained was the silence of the room, the crickets outside, and the fireflies tapping against the glass of the window, letting their pretty lights be shone into the dark room to once again draw Mytho's attention. His eyes opened and he looked to the window, that small, empty smile returning at the sight of the small fireflies dancing across the window and at his protector's words.

"…Yes, Fakir."

Ze end.