A Tiny Sunshine

for courtney

The sun was particularly shy today. It peeked sheepishly through the clouds, like a fawn wondering if it was alright to come out and play. But it didn't play. It stayed behind its delicate, white refuge, refusing to completely show itself. It was having stage fright, and the clouds served as the curtains while the sky portrayed the stage. And all the while it seemed to think, "The show must go on," although all attempts to shift into full view turned futile. No, the show shall have to cease for today. Postponed. On hold. Pushed aside until further notice.

The sun was not alone.

Someone else had stage fright as well. Not necessarily including the reality of spotlights, the audience to woo, or any public viewing for that matter—but this was the stage of her life. Her performance. Her time to decide if the show really must go on… or not. Because she had the butterflies, deep down within the pit of her stomach, rising higher and higher until it reached her cardiac muscles to wrench violently at the heartstrings.

He was the show. Should she allow him to bask in the spotlight of her stage?

He was the decision. Should she allow him to enter her life?

She hadn't exactly thought about it until last night. Because something had happened—something that caused her to yank down the curtains of her stage and turn off the beaming spotlights in order to make everything halt for her; she needed to buy time to think: How did everything lead to this? It began as a tranquil night, full of midnight splendor, graced with the radiant moon, a sky dotted with an endless sea of shifting glitter. She had been gazing at the sky, bathed in the lunar aura, white-gold hair reflecting its soft glow. And oh, how the whispering waves soothed her soul… the quietness of the night had somehow convinced her that she was all alone in her own little wonderland—that is, until she felt someone approach from behind. That was when she turned around and saw him, instantly mesmerized by his intense aquamarine gaze… then one thing led to another before she leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips. She thought he'd kissed her back, too, only she was too distracted to notice as she instantly gasped in shock at her own actions, turned away, grabbed her sketchbook from the sand and sprinted off.

And she decided, the show shall have to cease for today. Postponed. On hold. Pushed aside until further notice.

The sun certainly was not alone.

Someone else had stage fright as well.

She couldn't possibly let him perform upon her stage… could she…? What would a show be without a performer? She had spent fifteen years with an empty stage, audience growing old and weary whilst cobwebs attached to the soles of their polished shoes as they thought: When, exactly, is this girl going to begin the show? When shall this blonde decide whether or not the performance will go on?

Could she spend her life alone forever? Of course she could! …

Funny how she ended up on his doorstep.

xx-xx

"R-Riku, about the other night—sorry for what I did—I didn't mean to kiss—"

"You don't have to apologize, Naminé."

"Wh-what…?"

"I didn't mind. I kind of—enjoyed it."

"Oh… well, that changes everything, then…"

"Hm?"

Naminé cast her gaze against Riku's, shifting from foot to foot on the top step of his old-fashioned porch. Was she considering the performance again? Well. Her answer was finally chosen when she took a single step closer to him, face leveled with his broad chest, though directing a small, genuine smile towards his slightly smirking face. Oh, yes—the audience would absolutely adore this performer.

She shifted her gaze to the left a little, whispering something to herself.

"The show must go on…"

"What did you say?"

Looking at Riku again, Naminé laughed. "Oh, nothing. Let's go to the movies, okay? We'll walk."

"… It's about to rain, Naminé."

Naminé took one, final step towards Riku and gently grabbed both his larger hands in her petite ones. Her smile intensified blissfully as her eyes brightened. She shook her head at him, walking backward as she pulled him down the porch.

"No, don't worry—there's a tiny sunshine left."