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"oh i watch you there through the window
and i stare at you-
you wear nothing
but you wear it so well..."
(Dave Matthews ~Crash)
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Somewhere in a whole 'nother universe, there's a room. It's enveloped in
a velvety din, and lit only by a fickle, swaying white taper candle, long and
slim enough to run for ten nights. The scent it gives off- a teasing,
here-and-gone whisper of hot smoke, the essence of melting wax dripping onto
the windowsill below- flits around the room, lighting here and there off the
three objects in it.
There is a second candle at the far edge of the room.
There is a bed.
There is the white skin of you, you have lain upon it, and the coral pink
of your mouth on one pillow.
And you, I watch you from the corner, and you don't know it.
I am on my knees at a low table, the second light at my wrist, and I try
to write, but none of the kanji make sense- it's a big black blot, and I
can't figure it out, 'cause the room's so dark.
You are not asleep, and the edges of your lips curve in the semblance of
a sweetly ironic grin, watching me stab at the paper with my pen gracelessly.
Your long fingers hanging heedlessly over the edge, tiredly, listlessly, and
you are able to make eye contact with me and not realize I am staring.
"Kojiro" you whisper, and your voice is exhausted. Exquisite, you want
nothing more than to sleep, but I have to tuck you in.
Nya-sama has skulked off somewhere, infinitely preferable to the edge of
my sleeping bag on the floor, and the room is still. Silent. It's transient,
hanging full with the movement that was, is to be, because we are hardly ever
so motionless. Barely so quiet- silence could be a thing I'd have to get used
to.
Lovely eyes, such a pretty blue, you know how to get what you want. You
complain in your lilting "chibi" voice that you can't possibly get to sleep
with that candle lit, and pout your lower lips just a bit because you know I
can't help but pay attention to your coaxing.
"Gomen, Musa-chan" I say. "Just a few more seconds."
I tilt my head back down to the characters, the meaningless words I had
planned out, and feel the slow, burning sensation of your gaze on my head.
You, love, I write a letter to *you*, and you just say that we must get
up early tomorrow, surely whatever that is can wait?
In cheap hotels with no electricity, I generally oblige you. I do what
you want. But there is something you don't know.
I make my way through the shadows to your bed, and sit on the edge, and
you roll over, with a small yawn, to your back. Above the thin white sheets
your skin is glowing, white, bare.
If you thought you were being a tease, you likely wouldn't undress and
put clothes on and curl up nude like a painting in front of me like it was no
big deal. Because, as far as you know, it's not.
There is a knot in the back of my throat. I brush a stray strand of
fire-red hair off your cheek, and think about what it must be like to live in
your skin. To be inside there-
Musa-chan, do you burn inside, too?
I don't ask you, but carefully fold up the carelessly shed pieces of your
uniform- a glove here, flung over the edge of the futon, the white miniskirt
that is no wider in breadth than my hand, the silky, black bit of lace and
string over the lamp...
I hold this last one up, bemused and red, and you just loll your head
affectionately-
"Kojiro-chan, that's just my bra" you say in tired exasperation. "You
have probably borrowed it at one point or another."
I blush, and with my back to you, add my shirt to the pile of clothing.
You are watching me undress through between half-lidded eyes.
I undo the buckle on my pants, and just wait, still, for you to say
something, but your idle fingers are reaching, disinterestedly, for the
candle flame just beyond your reach. You pinch the fire out, and suckle your
own stinging fingertips.
"People must think I'm odd" I say, slowly, turning around. "With me
always in women's costume..."
I am hoping for a rebuttal, a swift comeback, but you just roll your
sky-blue eyes languidly, and blink, vaguely touched at my spontaneous
self-analysis.
"You *are* odd, baka" you say mildly, and stretch your arms above your
head. I have just pulled on my pajamas with the Freezer print all over them,
and I just *look* at you. You are there, and you just don't get it.
"You think I'm odd?" I wonder.
You just look back, one brow charmingly askew.
"In a nice way" you yawn sleepily, a smile coming over your face. "You
are a nice kind of odd.."
"Even if I wear dresses sometimes?" I press.
"For Kami's sake, why are you so deep tonight?" you want to know. "My
brain is fried tonight, Kojiro-chan. Don't be so preoccupied."
Sensing my apprehension, you bit your full lower lip, and a quirky smile
is there, even though you are staying up far too late to placate my moods.
"Besides" you conclude. "You look prettier in dresses than I do."
I exhale, and you rest upon one hand.
"I am going to sleep" you announce. "Say goodnight?"
"Goodnight, Musashi" I say, by rote.
"Goodnight, Kojiro" you echo, and tilt your head up.
I place my hand on the side of the bed to get up, and am stopped, whether
it's my gravity- or your hand over mine.
"You know" you whisper. "If you really feel so seriously about this..."
"Silly" I say. "Go to sleep."
On impulse, I lean over, and brush your lips with mine. You close your
eyes and kiss me, sweetly, my partner-friend- not like it's the first time,
not as if it's the last, but like it was one of those things you've been
meaning to do for a while.
I pull back, ashamed.
"Goodnight" I repeat.
And now, you are watching me.
"Go to bed, now" she said. "I'll see you in the morning."
I'll see you in my dreams, Musa-chan.
Maybe tomorrow you can read your love letter, and tell me if you can
decipher it.
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