An early update because next chapter's going to be long in coming. Patience, please?
Wondering where the paopu fruit and sea-salt ice cream is? I'm betting with myself on how long I'll last without making a single reference to paopu fruit or sea-salt ice cream in this story.
Next chapter's the Fall Formal. It'll have Arc 2's reader & reviewer credits!
I would die of asphyxiation if I had to reiterate how epic you guys (Komuro, riceballare for supporting me. Therefore, I shall give you a mere sample.
YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME—
*faints from lack of oxygen*
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS STORY. If I did, Xion wouldn't have died. Her death pretty much defeated the purpose of her character.
Just this story. Enjoy!
Xxx XXX xxX
"No, Naminé, no! Glide, don't step!"
Naminé took a moment to rub her ankle before continuing. High heels were not only impossible to balance in, but they also had to feel like chisels were cutting into her heels. And the straps were so tight her toes were starting to go numb.
"Sora, can't you loosen these straps a bit," she complained, releasing her foot. "I'm going to get gangrene in my toes!"
The brown-haired boy rolled his eyes. "And you call me a wimp," he muttered, kneeling down to do as he was asked.
Xion and Roxas were sitting on a bench across the gym. They had already learned how to dance to Sora's satisfaction, but Naminé hadn't. She discovered the hard way that she was incredibly clumsy on the dance floor for some reason; it might've been the wax or it might've been her having two right feet or it simply might've been that Sora was taking his frustration with Xion and Roxas's failures out on her.
Whatever the reason was, the blonde would not be wearing high heels to the Formal, no matter how many other girls would. She loathed the damned things.
"Again," Sora sighed, waving Naminé a few steps away to begin. "Xion, music?"
The traceuse jabbed a button on the small cassette player next to her and slow violin music drifted into the cavernous interior of the gym.
"Forward!" Sora called.
They gracefully stepped towards each other, each one grabbing the other's right arm in a smooth motion.
"Good…"
He and she twirled around in a spiral, synchronizing their steps perfectly to each other and the music.
"Good…"
He raised his arm in an arcing curve above her head, and she ducked under it.
That was where she screwed up.
"No, no, no, you don't duck under it!" Sora shouted, clearly exasperated. "You have to slide under my arm, not try to sweep kick me!"
"Well, I'm tired!" Naminé yelled back, sitting down. "We've been doing this the whole damned day and I refuse to move until we can take a break!"
Sora glared at her, but she simply rolled onto her back, completely unfazed by the brunette's anger.
Roxas strode over and kneeled down to his girlfriend. "Please, Naminé?" he murmured. "Think about it—if you get this over with quicker then you'll be out of here quicker."
Naminé just closed her eyes, pretending she had fallen asleep.
"Please? For me?"
The blonde groaned in resistance, but it was a bad habit of hers that she could almost never say no to her boyfriend.
"Fine," she mumbled, sitting up. "I'll do it…"
The traceur smiled and hugged her. "Thank you, Naminé," he whispered into her ear.
When he let go and joined a rather amused Xion on the bench, Naminé stood up, tired, hungry, barely able to keep her eyelids half-open, but still determined to see this through with a shit-eating grin on her face.
"Let's get this over with," she declared, raising a hand as the music resumed. "Forward!"
Xxx XXX xxX
Xion collapsed onto the chair as Naminé flopped onto her bunk. It had taken another two hours to dance to Sora's grueling standards, but the blonde had done it in the end.
Unfortunately, they were going to do this for three hours every single day until the Formal, with an additional six hours before the event itself. 'Ouch' didn't begin to describe it...
"My feet are killing me," Naminé groaned as she massaged her aching feet. Her ankles hurt even more. "Why do we have to take dance lessons from Sora?"
"Because," Xion grumbled, crossing her arms. "Sora's one of the only people in this school who knows how to dance. He took ballet classes in middle school."
"Will we even have to know how to dance at the Formal?"
"Yeah, and don't forget our parents will be watching…"
"Now I hate your parents," Naminé grumbled. She rolled over onto her stomach to face the brunette. "They're the entire reason why I'm crippled for the rest of the day!"
"Pretty much everyone who's met them has come off hating them," Xion replied, gently rubbing her calf muscles. "I'm glad to see you're no different."
"Why's that?" Naminé asked, burying her face in the sheets.
"They're total perfectionists," Xion said sadly. "They want only the best for themselves, only the best in their children, and only the best for the children, although I kind of doubt that last part."
"Do you think they'll approve of me?" Naminé said. "I mean, I don't want them thinking badly of Sora if I'm not up to their standards—"
"Don't worry about it," Xion advised. She smiled. "I highly doubt even my dad is going to find something wrong with you."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm their kid; I know what they like to see."
"Did that include you and Kairi?"
"Nope," Xion grinned. "I kept that entire relationship a secret all through middle school, and I still do."
Naminé nodded in admiration. "Nice work hiding it, then," she replied. "By the way, I've never heard your father's name."
"You just realized I never told you?" Xion chuckled. "Wow…"
"No, I didn't just realize that," Naminé said. "I was only wondering why you didn't want to tell me."
Xion looked down at her feet. "You'll know who they are when we meet them," the girl mumbled. "He's kind of tough to not recognize…"
"He? Don't you mean 'they'?"
"When I don't want to talk about it, I don't, unlike Kairi," Xion snapped. "Yeah, 'he'. Just 'he', no 'she'."
"Sorry," Naminé replied, wincing. She had indeed gone out of bounds; whatever was wrong with Sora and Xion's family was their business, not hers.
The traceuse snorted, getting out of her chair and muscling up to her bunk. "Whatever…"
"No, really I am sorry."
"I know you are," Xion said, audibly exhaling. "It's…it's just a sore topic for me."
The blonde's only response was a sympathetic nod.
Xxx XXX xxX
How long had it been since she had opened the wire-bound pages of the worn sketchbook? Five, six, seven weeks?
The blonde girl sitting against the wall cared only that she had been neglecting her abilities at drawing. Curves and lines that had once been child's play—as reflexive as breathing—she now had to pay attention to in order to correctly illustrate. The power and precision she had gained from parkour helped a bit, but occasionally she was too precise and had to erase something.
She had a quiet laugh at the almost absurd idea—a rivalry between the two disciplines she had grown to equally favor.
The place the artist was at was the same spot where Roxas had saved her from Seifer. She didn't care, though—she was no longer the weak damsel in distress she'd been at the start of the year. Naminé glanced up from her work to catch a flicker of movement—the barest flash of grey cotton T-shirt against a neighboring tower. She smiled, closing the sketchbook, and strode over to the arch of the open-air window.
"Roxas, is that you?" she called, cupping her mouth with one hand.
The traceur was visible as a blur down the tower, until ten minutes later when his spiky hair was poking over the edge of the window. The artist hauled him inside and gave him a quick peck on the end of his near-frozen nose.
"Aren't you cold?" Naminé asked, disapprovingly looking his outfit up and down.
He was shivering in a short-sleeved T-shirt and baggy shorts, neither of which was suitable winter wear. She had on boy's jeans and a blue hooded sweatshirt.
"Kind of," Roxas admitted, rubbing his hands.
She rolled her eyes at the boy's shortsightedness before hugging him, not failing to notice pink flashing up his face. She breathed in his scent, closing her eyes—he smelled of fresh-cut grass and fragrant morning dew.
"But not anymore." When she looked up he was smiling.
"I'm glad to hear that," Naminé replied, resting her head against his toned chest.
But before she could release him, his own arms were circled around her back, squeezing her body against his. Naminé squeaked in surprise and attempted to pull away, to no avail.
"I'm still not warm enough," Roxas smirked. "Yeah, pathetic one-liner, I know…"
She had to roll her eyes again—that line was cheesier than most of the sitcoms her mother loved to watch—and hugged him back.
They stayed like that for a few minutes before breaking apart.
Empty—that was what Naminé felt when the pressure of Roxas's body was lifted from her. She wanted to embrace him again and feel him against her skin.
Instead, she returned to where she had been drawing.
"So how's my favorite artist?" Roxas smiled, sitting down beside her. "Drawing again, I see?"
"I haven't used this thing since September," Naminé grumbled, picking up a pencil from the case beside her.
He looked over her shoulder to see what she was drawing, and nodded in admiration. Naminé normally didn't like people to watch her drawing, but Roxas was a different story altogether.
"The clock tower?" he asked.
She nodded and began to write in Roman numerals along the perimeter of the giant clock face.
"Are you going to actually draw the entire view?" Roxas's tone was one of incredulity.
The artist smirked and prepared a cutting comeback questioning Roxas's work ethic, but before she could answer a soft voice drifted through the still air of the corridor.
"Naminé? Roxas?"
"Kairi?" Naminé said in surprise. She felt Roxas tense behind her, but placed a hand on his arm to stay him.
"I wanted to talk to somebody," the redhead admitted shyly. She looked at feet, long auburn strands of hair framing her face, likely trying to hide the enormous bruise on her face.
The blonde nodded knowingly, patting the carpet next to her. "Come on, sit down," Naminé invited.
"But—"
A poke from Naminé silenced Roxas.
Kairi smiled—a nervous, unsure action—before gently lowering herself down beside the two blondes. The redhead winced as her bottom made contact with the floor.
"What happened to you?" Roxas asked in alarm. "How'd you get that—?"
"Nothing," Kairi interrupted, turning her cheek from the traceur.
Naminé sighed. "Kairi, how long are you going to keep denying that Seifer abuses you?" she said. "No amount of makeup's going to hide that big of a shiner…"
Roxas looked horrified by the revelation. "He—"
All the redhead could do was nod.
"That son of a bitch," he muttered. His fists clenched. "Fucking coward…"
"I don't know what to do," Kairi whispered, leaning her head against the wall.
"Do you even love him?" Naminé asked.
"Of course not," she sniffled. "My body might be with Seifer, but my heart's still with Sora."
To his credit, Roxas was savvy enough not to make what would've been a biting comment about Kairi's honesty. He just smiled and nodded sympathetically.
"I wanted to protect him—I care about him a lot, I really do," Kairi murmured sadly. Tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes, bunching and fusing together. "But I'm just hurting him, aren't I?"
And Naminé made the mistake of saying, "You were…"
Saltwater contained in teardrops began to silently stream down Kairi's face like an apocalyptic flood.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
But no amount of apologies could soothe the hysterical redhead. So Naminé took the only option she really had left.
She hugged Kairi. Her hands gently stroked through the redhead's silky hair and she rested her chin on Kairi's head, pulling the other girl against her in a motherly embrace.
The girl finally seemed to find her voice. "I—I—I'm s-such a bitch!" Kairi cried.
"You're not like that at all," Naminé murmured. "I can't possibly imagine what you had to go through with Seifer—you're a brave, strong person, not a bitch."
Roxas wrapped his long arms around both of them. "Don't worry, Kairi," the traceur said softly. His voice was reassuringly confident. "This'll work out…we—we'll help you. Don't worry."
"But, but, Roxas, Naminé, all those things I said about you..."
"We know you didn't mean it, Kairi. Don't worry." Roxas grinned and winked.
Kairi's smile was so much like Sora's the day he and his sister told Naminé about Fall Formal, the blonde noticed. Hopeful, grateful, believing that things really would work out in the end…
Xxx XXX xxX
Damn you Kairi, you just had to go and ruin a good Namixas fluff.
Yes, Naminé's a bit of a whiny b**** in the beginning, but think about it. Wouldn't you be a bit irritable after nearly a full day of practicing (in high heels, no less) with no breaks whatsoever?
I have no idea how a dance goes. If I'm wrong, sue me, I don't care, but I would appreciate it if you could figure out what the hell kind of dance I was writing (tango, flamenco, etc.) and tell me straight up that I screwed up writing it, AND show me what was wrong. Yes, it was inspired by "Black and White", and apparently I can't remember how the dancing was described. Now that I think about it, I think that "Black and White" also gave me the idea of making Xion Naminé's roommate.
Gah. I thought that was an uncommon idea, but it looks like I was wrong.
Also, you'll find out why Naminé believes in Kairi later—much, much later, that is if you haven't already figured it out.
Until next time! Don't forget to review!