A/N: I know it's short, but this is my first fan-fiction. There is probably something that needs improving drastically, so please tell me! Also, do you want to hear the story?
Thanks! - Perfect Thunder/Georgi
Even through the millions of years that Tristan and Yvaine had existed in the sky, they never ran out of conversation. It was indeed a gift, and one so many mortals would kill for. No matter what the day was, where they were, or what the weather appeared to be doing, they talked. Sometimes for days on end non-stop, sometimes just for a few minutes. The best conversations came when they were shining brightly, at their most happy, but they always had something to share, no matter what the significance was. One particular conversation that Tristan always enjoyed recalling was one of their first.
It was a dark gloomy day in the sky, but strangely Yvaine was ecstatic. It had something to do with the fact she was shining very brightly that night, but mainly because it was November 5th, Firework Night. If Yvaine had to be stuck on any night, it would be tonight. The beautiful colours bursting through the sky mesmerised her as nothing else did. The noise, oh, the noise, The delayed bang; the showers of rainbows pouring the air; everyone looking up in absolute awe. Yvaine loved it like she loved nothing else. Excpet Tristan of course!
The conversation that Tristan loved so well had no significance really. The story being told is one that he thinks of at least once a day, usually more. He couldn't escape it, and to be honest, he didn't want to either. He loved it for no particular reason. It had no flaws, a happy ending and the theme of love, adventure and drama. It was the total opposite of what he usually liked, and in fact, he should hate it. But the whole story had the element of mystery. His whole life had the element of mystery, and that's why he loved it. If given three wishes, he would ask for no wishes. He had everything he needed right there with Yvaine. Maybe a haircut. It was growing quite quickly...
Tristan had played it over so many times in his head, he could remember every little detail. From how many knots the wind was blowing, (10, just for reference) what day it was (November 5th, Yvaine's favourite) to how she was wearing her hair (down, with a lilly flower tucked behind her left ear). That's how much he loved it.
"Yes," he replied swiftly.
"Do you want to hear a story?" Yvaine looked at him, and he instinctively knew it would be a good one.
"Why not. What's it about?"
"Naughty," she said, a cheeky smile enveloping her lips. "You'll have to wait and see!"