Author: RandomAznNoobieNeenjazoncrack PM
3Shot.Drabble-ish Fluffy AU. BONUS! Dedicated to a friend. RyomaxOC. OC from Ayumi Nazu. She was the paint and he was the water. On the canvas, the mixture of water and paint blending creates a picture of love. But she hesitates... What will happen now?Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - E. Ryoma - Chapters: 4 - Words: 5,213 - Reviews: 15 - Favs: 30 - Follows: 6 - Updated: 12-27-08 - Published: 10-20-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4607610
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It wasn't opaque, neither was it bright or vibrant. It was soft, subtle; there was a kind of certain gentleness to it like the way the tips of his fingers would brush faintly across her bare skin so carefully as not to bruise the fair peach. A loving caress so delicate and so surreal, it felt like a warm uplifting dream she was savoring and drunk on.
She was the paint, the array of colors that formed a beautiful picture of her wishes and dreams, the things she locked within her heart. She was the shadows and the light existing together in harmony, illuminating a tale of her life through her eyes.
He was the fluid water, revealing slowly to the world the secret emotions she wanted to express to the world and to herself. Passing through numerous obstacles and blending in with the paint, they meld together, balancing the other.
It was seemingly transparent as you mix what little paint with water to simply touch all the shades of a single color. He was beginning to unfold her hidden layers as she had found something to believe in.
A Prince of Tennis One-shot Fanfiction
Written by Kiwi of RANNOC
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis (Theme, Canons, and References) is the work and rightfully belongs to Konomi Takeshi. The plot is an idea from the strange mind of Kiwi of RANNOC. Borrowed Original Character belongs to Ayumi Nazu of RANNOC.
AN: At first, I thought the title "Watercolors" would have been very boring for a one-shot so I decided to find the Japanese Romaji for it, which turned out to be "Suisai Enogu". Italics are tiny flashbacks in the character's memory. This fanfiction is dedicated to a friend you know who you are, unless you somehow have amnesia. Well, hope you all enjoy reading this one-shot! Reviews are welcome!
Fingers combed through her long hair and his eyes were warm as he gazed down at her face, he'd never shown that kind of expression to anyone but her. It was hers, he was hers. He opened his lips and uttered a soft mutter.
The brush flowed along with the deft hand movements she was creating, its tips coated with a green as dark as the night sky. She dabbed water that swirled into the paint making a fairly lighter shade into the color of the spiny leaves of a fir tree.
"The final score is six games to zero, another amazing feat by…" The television screen was on, blasting a cacophony of pandemonium filled with screaming and cheering of voices young and old. The girl placed the brush on the table top, gazing over at the television screen where the camera had zoomed onto a young man with dark green hair and peculiar hazel irises that might have been mistaken for yellow.
His lips against hers felt like soft feathers, it felt like a dream.
Fingers pushed back stray strands of brown from her eyes and the girl sighed, leaning into her seat, her head bent down and a hand was held there on her closed eyes.
He held her close to his chest; she could feel his breath against her neck where he left light butterfly kisses along her flesh. She could feel so much, his arms around her waist, their heartbeats in tuned with the other, his warmth encircling her, she was drowning in it. She felt so safe and secure.
She dropped her arm and stared straight up at the ceiling of the art room she was in.
"So this is your fifth straight win in this competition…" Reporters from different television stations and newspapers questioned the man, there were flashes of light as people took pictures of the young man.
She was waiting for him to speak; she was waiting for his voice. She was waiting for him, just like she'd always had. She looked over at the painting in front of her and sat up straighter, reaching a finger to touch the painting. Her finger traced along the person's face, the paint was fresh so she was careful not to smudge anything for fear of destroying her creation.
"Wow, Nazu-senpai's art is so amazing!!"
"I know! She rocks at it!"
Everything looked the same, but the eyes, his eyes. They were missing something, something important she could tell.
"Nazu-san, why don't you enter the art competition?"
"Yeah, you should, Nazu-senpai!!"
"Sensei, you should get Nazu-san to enter!"
People were making decisions for her just like when she was child, after all this time, she was only growing far more relentless. She hated them, those people; she could just tell by looking at their faces, they scorned her ever since she entered the art school a few years back. Would she ever attain her freedom?
She removed her hand from the painting and stared up at those eyes, studying them closely. She held up the picture, gazing at it intently.
"So why won't you do it?"
"I'm not sure if I should or not."
"You have the talent, why are you hesitating?"
She didn't say anything that time, she knew he was right but she didn't want to say it. The silence was a sufficient enough answer for him.
"Mada Mada Da Ne, Ayumi."
She took the picture and left it on its place on the easel, draping a cloth over the top to hide it from the world. She knew that it was an adequate amount of work for one day.