Disclaimer: I don't own Samurai Champloo.
Summary: Fuu contemplates the quiet…and Jin. Vignette.
Quiet
Fuu doesn't like the silence.
She would tolerate it but she didn't welcome it.
It was silent again without Mugen.
And with Jin.
He speaks little, and somewhere deep that infuriates her.
Because she would like to hear the sound of his words more often.
But maybe silence is the language he is best versed in.
Or so she believes. It could be the fact that he dislikes her.
Fuu spies him across the hut, sitting in his meditative pose.
"Jin?"
He lifts an eyelid, revealing a perfect gray pool.
"Do you like me?"
If he is surprised, he does not show it. Instead the eyelid falls shut.
A defeated sigh fills the air.
She does not like the quiet.
But she likes him.
What is silence?
The simple absence of sound or the absence of Mugen?
She thinks both.
The quiet seems to drive her crazy; it reminds her too much of cool indifference. It gives her the sensation of being utterly alone.
Or maybe she was not well versed in the art of quiet.
Maybe silence didn't speak of uncaring. Rather, it may speak of a more powerful rush of emotions that didn't understand the dialect of the tongue.
Perhaps quiet was the language of the heart.
Fuu looks at Jin again. And in three quick strides, she is next to him.
If he noticed, he doesn't care.
And then she hugs him, no words attached.
It does seem that silence speaks louder because no words could ever describe the small smile that spread across Jin's lips.
Only silence could.
She thinks she likes the quiet now.
