Colours

by agrajagthetesty

He always closes his eyes as they kiss, as if afraid to see her face so close to his own, as if the reality will be lost if he does... A series of AlWin drabbles and short oneshots. Rated T just in case. All released chapters are K rated so far.

4. Bluebell

Bluebell

He tries to count the number of times he's told her he loves her, tallies them up in his mind, and wonders if it could possibly be enough to express the way he feels about her. He says it constantly, asleep or awake, whether shouting it at the top of his lungs from down in the garden as she laughs from the windowsill two stories above, or whispering it into the gentle whorls of her delicate ears, almost talking to himself, dusky and drooping beneath a heavy approaching sleep. But it feels insufficient, as if he must do much more for her, pay her back, satisfy the equivalent exchange of all she has done for him over the years. He worries about it constantly: surely all her kindness and tolerance and patience have given him more that he has paid back with his inadequate words of love.

Head filled with the idea of showing her his gratitude, he slips out of the house early one morning, leaving her asleep in the bedroom, and gathers flowers from all around the house, plucking them from his carefully cultivated plots until his arms flow over with them. He goes into the kitchen and fills countless vessels with water, then sneaks cautiously back upstairs, balancing everything in his arms, to where she sleeps, hair spread like sunlight over the rumpled white sheets. He puts the largest bouquet on the dressing table in a chipped blue vase and fills the room with the rest of the flowers, in jars, pots, mugs and glasses. He places one last flower, a tiny bluebell, on the windowsill where she can see it as she opens her eyes, and at last flees from the room, flying down the stairs breathless with excitement.

She comes into the kitchen where he is sitting a few minutes later, hair tangled and loose over her shoulders, holding the flower between curious, sleep-numbed fingers, and places it on the table in front of him, looking a question at him with her eyes.

He silently picks up the bluebell and tucks it into her ruffled golden hair, just above her ear, in response.

And as the smile dawns across her face, washing warmly over him, and she reaches up to kiss him, he realises that Equivalent Exchange is wrong. There is nothing he can give that will be equal to this.

Author's notes: A bit more plot than the others, but still short and (hopefully) sweet. I do like this one, but I feel that I used a few techniques that are getting a bit worn out.