Pairing? Not quite. Implied Yuuri.Wolframi; two different perceptions on life, love and the like
Spoilers? Not really; maybe a bit on how to get engaged in Mazoku tradition. Sorta.
Notes? My contribution. Please share your thoughts. I definitely do not claim ownership to the characters, series etc.; Just this gnawing semi-drabble idea. No true purpose. Possible OOC? You let me know.
Now edited; Thanks ichigo! I, too, don't like that mistake too much. But word assumed that Yuuri was a girl and auto-edited it without a warning. ; (Still, I join you in your quest to eliminate said mistake from existence!)
I sit here, clinging onto a pastel pink rabbit in the crook of my right elbow, just watching Wolfram gnaw on the back of his paintbrush.
I have been sitting here for over an hour, modeling another one of his paintings. Usually, by this time, I'd have snapped a nerve and started a heated battle of taunts and complaints. But, something stops me this time. Maybe it's because I realize all this painstaking modeling is actually improving his painting. Or, it may be because Konrad is sitting on the windowsill, conversing with me every now and then. Perhaps it is because I've discovered that this is a rare activity where Gunter is absolutely forbidden from coming in bodily contact with me, inclusive of all hugging, smothering... pouncing.
Speaking of the devil, I can hear him whine outside the thick mahogany door as Konrad rises and walks over to... well, shut him up -in simple 21st century human speech. Subconsciously, my eyes return to the easel, the painter and the small crowd that has gathered around him.
He places his brush and palette down on a small table and stretches his fingers. Silently, I watch as his green eyes sparkle with every compliment he gets. Although a verbal Thank You is not exchanged, his gratitude shines through in his subtle expressions. After all, he loved the spotlight just about as much as he hated humans. Still, just like his hatred for humans is dissipating ever so slowly, his dire need of attention is also faltering at an equally slow pace.
"You've worked your magic on this country in more than one way." My eyes snap from the blonde and turn to the glass of juice before me.
The hand holding it upright, as well as the ginger voice, belongs to Konrad. So, I accept the tall glass with a smile, still clinging to the soft, pink bunny. "Thank you."
The smile dancing on his lips tells me that he understands my gratitude for not letting Gunter in. The guilt that usually haunted me for pushing the friendly warrior of wind away was no longer present. I eventually came to the conclusion that his time was better spent with Gwendal as it was. Just as mine was with Wolfram.
Turning my head back to the blonde, it dawns on me that he could have anyone he wishes for in this kingdom. He is gorgeous to say the least, extremely loyal, intelligent, and - although I will be ruthlessly murdered if I ever utter this out loud – a complete emotional sweetheart.
Truly, I've never met a guy who loves candy and romantic comedies as much as him, and yet is fully comfortable with himself. He would a role model to every human on earth. He'd be popular enough to spark his own religion.
"You're creating a masterpiece." I hear Konrad's faint voice, and look up to spot him in the crowd around Wolfram, who has resumed gnawing on the back of his paintbrush – in concentration - again.
Failing to spot him the mess of people, I look to the windowsill. There he leans on the elaborate woodworking, smiling down at me. Not Wolfram. Me.
Taking a sip of my drink, I hold the stuffed animal closer to me. My look of sheer happiness reflects in the glass. A sense of accomplishment unwillingly settles in my mind, along with the indirect compliment.
I am usually vehemently opposed to violence. However, there are always exceptions. I did slap Wolfram on that one fateful night.
And – I catch his eye and smile - I have no regrets.
He just sits there, desperately clinging onto the little rabbit in his arms, as if his life is dependant on it.
Although, knowing my spontaneous temper, through his eyes it probably was a matter of life and death. I'm not sure how comfortable I am, knowing that I do intimidate him, if only a little. At least it is an assurance that he takes me seriously... at times.
I am almost done this one, and I'm sure he will be most relieved to hear that. I just need a mouth... and to capture the universally-friendly shimmer that is ever present in his dark ebony eyes; though I'm not quite sure it is feasible for even the most talented of artists, let alone a neophyte like myself.
Gunter's bratty whines outside the bedroom door draw my eyes, more out of fear than curiosity. If he were to enter the room, my painted Yuuri would definitely remain without a mouth... possibly forever. Then again, waiting for the perfect blend of emotion to stay still on his lips long enough to be painted was quite a trying task considering Weller's not so silent presence. Of course, there is no denying that without the swordsman to talk to, Yuuri would've been far more restless.
I can feel some of my tension wear off as Weller takes the tall glass of – presumably – juice from Gunter and passes it onto my fiancé, closing the door firmly behind him. Ready for a short break, I slowly set the brush and palette and flex my fingers a little. I can hear all sorts of compliments being thrown my way and smile with a meager amount of gratitude.
I notice that Yuuri's big black eyes have been glancing in this general direction for a while now. Assuming that they are directed at me is definite wishful thinking; but still, a Mazoku prince can dream.
Getting Yuuri's attention has been my one goal since back when he slapped me in an accidental proposition. To him it will always just be an accident. But somehow, somewhere, by some misfortune I began to tolerate his childish presence... tolerate to the point of being hopelessly in love.
Realistically thinking, I couldn't have done anything stupider in my life. We are opposites, like night and day, dark and light, fire and water... Everyone loves him and his not yet matured demeanor; still he finds the time to sit still for me. In this case, I like to think he's sitting still for me. Just for me. Merely another wishful thought.
I watch, picking up my brush and dipping it in the palest pink paint, jealously creeping though me like a fish through dark waters. Weller had just said something – soft and profound in all probability – to Yuuri, and he beamed in return. I can't help but wonder if he will ever reach a state of such intimate comfort around me. Maybe it'll fade away too, like all my other wishful thinking.
After all, there would be no night without day, or darkness without light. Yuuri always talks about his time – Earth. He speaks of opposites attracting in the latest theatrical performances on Earth. Maybe such a brash idea was not so far from the truth.
Chewing on the back of my paintbrush once more, I imagine forever with Yuuri, waiting for that perfect blend of emotions to settle on his lips. His gaze falls intently upon the swirling juice in the slender glass which he holds. The ends of his unruly charcoal bangs, gingerly swaying in the mild breeze, brush against his nose. In that moment he mirrors the sheer innocence of a child who'd just won a precious trinket from one of the festival games.
As he turns his head towards me, his black eyes fall into my green ones, an almost loving smile spreading across his lips.
And – I smile back – place the pale paint-tipped brush to the canvas in an attempt to immortalize the, no, my perfect smile.