Crypticshipping (Rishid Ishtar/Shadi)
. . .
Rishid liked quiet places; places where he could sit on a bench in the far corner of a park and throw crumbs at pigeons that would gather around his feet under the dappled shade of the trees. Sunlight was nice against his skin, after spending so many years apart from it. He loved parks, with their wide-open spaces and greenery and the soft sounds of people drifting along on the wind, the chirping of birds and the splash of ducks in a faraway pond. He tried to keep to the corners where there were few others, though; there was something about his height and look that seemed to make others nervous, and he didn't really like the way that people sent him varying shades of dirty looks just for sitting quietly at a park bench.
There were a lot of pigeons today, but not a lot of people in this corner of the park. He absently threw a few more crumbs and feathers flurried around the small swarm as they hopped over to peck at the new pile.
He wasn't used to people sitting down at the bench that was right behind him, but he heard the figure's clothing swishing softly, his ears pricking to the sound of footsteps and the creak of the bench as the other sat down. Rishid didn't look, though—he liked his quiet, lonely spot, and he felt even a little irritated at it being intruded upon.
Some of the pigeons scurried under his bench to the other side, and he thought the newcomer must be feeding the pigeons too. Rishid only glanced over his shoulder then, curious at what kind of person would sit right behind a stranger in a lonely part of the park just to feed the pigeons.
He was unused to seeing people wear turbans in this part of Europe, especially not that particular, archaic kind. As his eyes hit on the hoop earrings, it came to him.
"Oh," he said softly. "I know you."
The other figure didn't physically respond to the sentence, throwing another handful of crumbs on the ground. When he spoke, he didn't turn around.
"Yes," he said, softly. "You do."
For a few moments neither of them spoke. There was no sound save for the faint talk of people far away, and the cooing and clucking of the pigeons.
Rishid looked at his hands, pausing in throwing crumbs. A few of the pigeons looked at him judgmentally, waiting for him to do what he was supposed to.
"Are you here for a reason?" Rishid said.
The man called Shadi, a name Rishid had learned by hearsay and not from the man himself, only sighed softly. It took him a long time to respond.
"I'm simply tired," he said. "I came for a breath."
"Near a person who doesn't like you. A strange place for a break."
"The birds like you."
It seemed like a very odd way to justify his choice, but for some reason, Rishid thought he understood.
"Do you think you will ever move on, or will you continue haunting this world forever?"
Shadi didn't respond for a long time, so long, that Rishid thought that perhaps he had vanished. But then he heard a soft sigh, and a rustle of robes as the man stood.
"Would that I knew the answer," he said. He paused, and then, "thank you for sharing your peace for a few moments."
When Rishid looked back over his shoulder again, the man was gone, as though he had never even existed.
. . .
A/N: Sometimes I can sort of feel sorry for Shadi. Sometimes. Next is Crushshipping (Honda x Otogi x Shizuka).
