I am humbled in this city
There seems to be an endless sea of people like us
Wakeful dreamers, I pass them on the sunlit streets
In our rooms filled with laughter
We make hope from every small disaster.
"Painting by Chagall", The Weepies
Would you rather be deaf or blind?
It's a strange question. A sudden question that comes out of nowhere, from between a bite of a donut and another. Kouya looks up from her homework, forgetting what she was about to answer. Yamato is looking at her with a smile on her lips, one hand holding the side of her face, the other hand holding half a donut. Her lips are still sprinkled with sugar.
"I'm sorry, what?"
If you had to choose. Would you rather be deaf or blind? Yamato almost giggles when she finishes her question and, putting the half donut on her mouth but not quite biting, she reaches for her glasses, taking them from her face, so that everything is a little blurry, a little not there, except that Kouya knows that Yamato is still smiling.
"I don't know. What kind of question is that?"
Kouya, Kouya, it's supposed to be fun! and her laughter this time is just happy. Not half hysterical and half relieved, now how it had been when they said goodbye to Nagisa and Zero and whatever it meant. Now Kouya remembers what it was learning to touch Yamato when she could actually hurt her, learning just how a bruise could differ from painful to arousing. There is so much they've had to learn from each other again. It's a whole new world of experiences that still stretch, wide and endless in front of them, with dates and meetings and no duels, no Words, no Spells, no Names, where strange questions are okay to make since they're not possibilities.
"What would you choose, then?"
That's cheating! Kouya, I asked first. Yamato moves from the table, crawls towards her and leans close, nuzzling against her neck, wrapping her arms around her waist. With the way they are, there's still some space left between them and Kouya suddenly hates that, violently and fervently. They're not a team any more, not a pair, which is scarier than anything Kouya has ever thought except for the possibility of living without Yamato. But they're still them, so she moves, untucks her legs from beneath herself so that she can get Yamato closer, feel the way her breasts press against hers, the way they move until they're as close as they can be.
"But I don't care," she answers, wrapping her arms tight around her neck. "Either. Neither. Both. They're the same. I don't care."
Kouya? And Yamato's voice is softer, curious, perhaps a little bit scared, so Kouya tightens her arms and her legs around her, closes her eyes and just breathes. She thinks about never being able to see Yamato's smile, the way her eyes sometime shine in delight when she's happy, or see the way she bites her lip just before she's about to come. Kouya thinks what it would be never to listen her name in Yamato's voice, never to hear her laughter again, her heartbeat against her ear. She's already holding on tightly, but she turns her face against her shoulder, feeling Yamato there, with her.
"As long as you're always, always here to hold me close."