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DISCLAIMER: Negima is not mine. If it were, Setsuna would suffer from a permanent nosebleed. (and Konoka would give her good reason to... hee.)
PREFACE: Created in response to the angst of Drink Me. I needed to write something a little more light hearted.
Further proof that the world revolves around Setsuna, or at least the part of it that my writing belongs to.
Recommended for older teens, due to a hint of limey-goodness, but I know you young'un's will read it anyway.
Things her classmates will never say.
Petals, and the Sword.
I am before you now. See me. See me well. Or miss this flower that blooms before your eyes...
Your grades are the same as ever, that steadiness that I wish some of my other students could manage.
(he flinches as he thinks it, old fashioned fountain pen flicking ink against his note pad, tik-tik-tiking against the paper, as a red-head’s image rises before him like some wrathful Valkyrie denied Valhalla...
“You little squirt! How dare you say my grades aren’t stable!”
Even in his daydreams, Asuna frightens him.)
You’re not improving. You’re not failing your potential either, so I guess I have no reason to worry for you, but...
You’re not the same, Setsuna-san, even though your grades are.
...I’d like to say I helped you change, even if just a little, but that would be too prideful.
It’s enough seeing you blossom, I guess.
(and he looks up from the reports he’s drafting, over his class, looks up to see that faint, boddhivista smile, and knows her contentedness. Acceptance of herself. His chest swells, just a little. Setsuna rolls her head and fixes him with a lazy eye. She knows. She’s grateful. It’s enough.)
You were ever a sword blade, little birdie, and blade you’ll be, no matter how lofty your aspirations are.
She’ll die before you. She’s human, after all, and all humans die in the end. You’ll live far longer than she ever could, for all the magic in her blood.
Huh. Magic in her blood. There’s something else entirely in yours...
You want to be a flower. Grow, and wind yourself about her, plunge roots into the fertile earth that is her future, spread leaves to shade her, flowers to please her, bear fruit to sustain her and strong wood to carve her a home.
Oh, I see it.
Little bird, little bird-blade, you won’t succeed. I dare say she’ll dwell in your garden for a little while, and those years will be so fulfilling, so... delightful-
(and the word is sardonic, even in her thoughts, for the dark evangel could never, not in a million years, accept another’s happiness, no, not ever, no matter how that sarcastic edge is tinged with just a little sorrow, just a little pity, just a little knowledge of the heartache still to come...)-
You will be happy. You’ll sheathe what you are, hide yourself away in wood and leather, tie yourself up with cords and knots, fold your wings and live.
It will be beautiful. You will be complete.
And when she dies... what then?
Be cautious, birdie-blade. It is never wise to sow all one’s seeds in one furrow, even if all you want to grow is wildflowers.
(and she thinks of him. It hurts, like so few things do, hurts to know that even if he lives –and that fool ‘colonel’ assures her he does- he’ll still die, and she’ll still be here, so long after.
It’s enough to make one want to drive a stake through one’s own heart.
She doesn’t though.
She knows it wouldn’t work.)
No sword ever became a flower, no matter how they dulled their edge.
If you love someone -and I know you love her without even glancing at the book- you should work it out in your own time, your own space.
(she blushes a little. Thinking about love, even other people’s love, does that to her.)
You seem so much happier now. Less scary. Even less frightening than you were on the fieldtrip.
Like I could just walk up to you and say “I know you’re in love. I know what it feels like. I’m happy for you, and good luck.”
I won’t though. You might not be as scary as you were once, but you’re still a little unnerving.
So, I guess, that’s why I kinda... peeked.
I mean, it’s not like I could just go up to you and say it! You’ve still got a... a... edge, like you can cut if you need to, slash and cut and slice until all the bad things are gone.
So I looked.
And, uh... I kinda wish I hadn’t.
Not cause it was bad or anything! But, but, but... well, some things, are... private. Some beautiful things, and I saw the way you thought about her, saw the way you dream.
(an excerpt pops up from the filing cabinet of her mind, and she blushes a little more, feels a little dizzy as the words write themselves across her eyelids:
My lips brush your skin. You’re soft, and warm, and I feel your fingers stroke against my feathers.
You want to say you love me, but I swallow the words, steal them from your tongue and they taste sweeter than anything I’ve ever supped.
You sigh a little, pull me closer.
My hands. Sliding down. Shoulder, breast, stomach, hip... lower.
You gasp, and I like the sound, and want to hear it again.
I nip your shoulder, flick my tongue against your skin, your flesh firm and warm and sweet-tasting. You moan.
I like that sound even better.
Your lips brush my ear. You whisper something. I smile, and I have never felt so... predatory before. So wanton. It feels... good.
I understand your command, ojou-sama. Oh, I understand. And... I’ll obey.)
Haruna would say it was dirty of me, seeing that without you knowing. And, uh, I guess it kinda was.
(her ears are burning, and she squirms a little uncomfortably.
She doesn’t want to even think how she couldn’t stop reading and went even further than those words, ate them up as fast as they appeared, shivering under her blanket, shaking so hard her torch jittered little beams of light on the paper, so scared to wake Haruna and have the girl just know she’d been reading something so, so... oh, she can’t even think about it, her hand shoots up, and she’s running out of class for the toilets before Negi even says yes.
She’s glad she’s left the book in her bag. If she read what she was thinking, what she was really thinking, she’d just die of embarrassment.)
Forgive me, Setsuna-san?
But, well, I know you’re guarding the ojou-sama. Papa told me, and he’d been told by the Dean that you and Mana were to guard her, keep her safe.
I know Konoka, a little. We did swimming classes together, you see? She was a good swimmer, but she got pulled out half-way through stage eight.
I never found out why.
But that’s beside the point.
You’re a little like me. We’re both quiet. We both used to be pretty lonely.
And we both... we both can fly.
I am a good swimmer. I’m not bragging... I just know I am in my belly, can feel it when I’m in the water and the world is quiet and blue and I’m just flying through, like the sky has just wrapped me up and I’m weightless in the cool wonder of it all.
Um. I can be poetic about water.
But you... you can really fly.
(it’s very dark and very late, and she knows she stayed to late at the pool and all the buses have gone, so she’s gotta walk back to the dorm from the gym, but that’s okay, cause the moon is out and the stars are twinkling like little fishes in the sea.
So she looks up, stops for a second, and just listens to the cool, quiet blue of the night sky.
And she sees.
She knows it isn’t a bird, knows the silhouette even with the wings.
She stares, and doesn’t say anything, and watches the figure wheel through the sky, so weightless, like turning a double loop underwater.
It’s somehow sad; like she just knows the figure is lonely. Like her arms should be around someone, hold someone, cradle them to her chest so they know what it’s like to swim in the night air.
That’s why it’s so beautiful.
She watches until the figure is gone, and knows that no one else saw. her phone beeps from her bag, and she knows she's late and can't just stand here, and hurries back quietly to her room.
She dreams of birds, of fish, or stars in the water.)
Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.
I’m good at keeping secrets.
ENDNOTE: if the POV's weren't clear, let me know. I'll edit.
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