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metamorphosis2016-11-18 11:06 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2016-11-18 11:06 pm
Entry tags:
499;
Title: i'll show you the heart-pounding color of the season
Characters: Leonardo Watch, White, Black
Rating: G
two drabbles; first is au, second is not.
i.
Leo doesn't think he can imagine anything better than this.
Mary's pressed against his side ("For warmth," she said, face red from more than just the chill), and the steam from their hot chocolate dances with the falling snow. It's... picturesque, he decides, and feels the familiar itch for his camera start in his fingers.
He left that back at her house though. Will had wanted to go through the pictures and pick out the best ones for Christmas cards this year ("Since you're really good at shots like that," he said, lips quirking up), so he'd been entrusted with Leo's most precious treasure.
In turn, he guesses, he'd been entrusted with Will's. Mary jabs him with her elbow and he hums inquisitively, turning his face to her; she frowns, evidently having asked him a question, and he winces. She'd be mad if he asked her to repeat it, but she'd be madder if he didn't answer right...
Mary shakes her head when he relents to the former, lips pursed in a pout as she settles against his side again, and Leo scrunches his nose. She was difficult to figure out sometimes, but it wasn't like he hated that—it was irritating, but it was Mary, and she'd usually end up giving in to explaining things as long as he didn't press his ignorance too far. That was the secret Will had told him: let Mary come out with it herself. Leo tilts his head against hers, wishing they had some sort of height difference—it'd be cute to have her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, watching the snow fall around them—and furrows his brow when he feels Mary pull his arm around her anyway.
It's warmer like this. She mutters so too, but Leo gets the feeling it isn't because of the closeness. Or, well, it is, but not like—
"What I was saying before," Mary interrupts his thoughts, louder this time than she'd been before—probably to help with the passive deafening the snow has— "I... was asking if you liked me, Leo."
"Of course I do," Leo replies, aware of the way his voice pitches it into a question at the end. Mary's grip on his wrist tightens and, oh, she meant. She meant like. "Oh."
Nervousness bubbles throughout him, and he wonders if the snow'll melt around them if he gets any hotter. Mary's not looking at him, not directly at least; she glances over every so often, jerking her gaze away when he catches it, and Leo laughs weakly. He takes a deep breath, squeezing her against his side, and swallows hard.
"Of course I do," he repeats, louder this time, and gives her the bravest (timid) smile he can manage when she looks at him again.
ii.
"I'm pretty sure this is what I missed the most," Black sighs, opening the living room window. "Hellsalem's Lot just doesn't—"
A strong sudden suddenly blows most of the falling snow right into their room, and they're both quick to slam it shut; Black's grinning, eyes wide in surprise, and Leo holds back a laugh at the way his glasses start to fog. He takes them off and rubs them gently between his shirt, slipping them back onto Black's face when they're back to normal.
The soft smile he's given in return makes the already warm room unexpectedly toastier. Black turns away from him soon enough again, fingers of his left hand pressed against the cold glass, and Leo slowly lets out the breath he'd been holding.
He draws a smile in the fog left on the glass and shares Black's half-grin.
The snow, Black clarifies when they're settled on the couch together, is what he misses. Not the cold and not the wind—Hellsalem's Lot has both, but it never has what makes winter his favorite season. The fireplace crackles pleasantly behind his words, the weather channel's jaunty music just a step above it, and Leo hums in halfhearted agreement. Shoveling snow back in Oregon was the worst, and Black chuckles at the sentiment when he gives it.
Judging by the way things are looking, it's probably the same here, but Black's soft groan at the realization is more fond than genuinely irritated. There's a sharp crack that stops any teasing before it can begin, and they're suddenly plunged into darkness.
Well, almost. The fireplace cheerfully continues its work, the light casting long shadows from the end of the room, and Leo feels Black sigh beside him. It's a few minutes of winces and a single surprised yelp before lamps are secured, their light pitiful compared to what electricity could do, and without speaking they move the couch's pillows to the fireplace. Black ventures into the darkness with an oil lamp and returns with a quilt Leo remembers had been hanging up on a wall; Black drops it around his shoulders, turning the lamp off, and flashes Leo a grateful smile when he tugs the quilt around his shoulders, too.
There are probably worse people to be stuck with during a power outage during a snowstorm. No, there definitely are, and Leo props his cheek against his fist with a frown. Like Zapp. Even Chain wouldn't be ideal—they got along well-enough, but she'd definitely take the blanket for herself, or just dilute her existence enough to not have to deal with the cold or anything else, and—
Black's shoulder nudging his interrupts his train of thought, and Leo shakes his head. "It's nothing, I was just thinking that there's no one else I'd rather be stuck with in a situation like this."
Black stares at him for a moment, then laughs and hides his face in his corner of the quilt.
"I'd rather not be stuck in a situation like this in the first place," he replies, tone still amused, and glances at Leo with an expression that's hard to read by the fire, "but... I guess I agree."
"You guess," Leo repeats incredulously, shoving him a little harder than necessary, and Black's laughter slips into a squawk as he falls back; Leo unfortunately goes with him, the quilt making sure of that, and braces himself before he can crash completely into his company. The result is being embarrassingly close, his left elbow aching from the hardwood and only enough space to breathe between them. Or there would be, if either of them were breathing.
Black's the first to let his out, the air gently tickling Leo's face and making his nose twitch a little; his follows suit, Black's expression mimicking his, and Leo slowly gets off of him with an apologetic laugh.
Characters: Leonardo Watch, White, Black
Rating: G
two drabbles; first is au, second is not.
i.
Leo doesn't think he can imagine anything better than this.
Mary's pressed against his side ("For warmth," she said, face red from more than just the chill), and the steam from their hot chocolate dances with the falling snow. It's... picturesque, he decides, and feels the familiar itch for his camera start in his fingers.
He left that back at her house though. Will had wanted to go through the pictures and pick out the best ones for Christmas cards this year ("Since you're really good at shots like that," he said, lips quirking up), so he'd been entrusted with Leo's most precious treasure.
In turn, he guesses, he'd been entrusted with Will's. Mary jabs him with her elbow and he hums inquisitively, turning his face to her; she frowns, evidently having asked him a question, and he winces. She'd be mad if he asked her to repeat it, but she'd be madder if he didn't answer right...
Mary shakes her head when he relents to the former, lips pursed in a pout as she settles against his side again, and Leo scrunches his nose. She was difficult to figure out sometimes, but it wasn't like he hated that—it was irritating, but it was Mary, and she'd usually end up giving in to explaining things as long as he didn't press his ignorance too far. That was the secret Will had told him: let Mary come out with it herself. Leo tilts his head against hers, wishing they had some sort of height difference—it'd be cute to have her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, watching the snow fall around them—and furrows his brow when he feels Mary pull his arm around her anyway.
It's warmer like this. She mutters so too, but Leo gets the feeling it isn't because of the closeness. Or, well, it is, but not like—
"What I was saying before," Mary interrupts his thoughts, louder this time than she'd been before—probably to help with the passive deafening the snow has— "I... was asking if you liked me, Leo."
"Of course I do," Leo replies, aware of the way his voice pitches it into a question at the end. Mary's grip on his wrist tightens and, oh, she meant. She meant like. "Oh."
Nervousness bubbles throughout him, and he wonders if the snow'll melt around them if he gets any hotter. Mary's not looking at him, not directly at least; she glances over every so often, jerking her gaze away when he catches it, and Leo laughs weakly. He takes a deep breath, squeezing her against his side, and swallows hard.
"Of course I do," he repeats, louder this time, and gives her the bravest (timid) smile he can manage when she looks at him again.
ii.
"I'm pretty sure this is what I missed the most," Black sighs, opening the living room window. "Hellsalem's Lot just doesn't—"
A strong sudden suddenly blows most of the falling snow right into their room, and they're both quick to slam it shut; Black's grinning, eyes wide in surprise, and Leo holds back a laugh at the way his glasses start to fog. He takes them off and rubs them gently between his shirt, slipping them back onto Black's face when they're back to normal.
The soft smile he's given in return makes the already warm room unexpectedly toastier. Black turns away from him soon enough again, fingers of his left hand pressed against the cold glass, and Leo slowly lets out the breath he'd been holding.
He draws a smile in the fog left on the glass and shares Black's half-grin.
The snow, Black clarifies when they're settled on the couch together, is what he misses. Not the cold and not the wind—Hellsalem's Lot has both, but it never has what makes winter his favorite season. The fireplace crackles pleasantly behind his words, the weather channel's jaunty music just a step above it, and Leo hums in halfhearted agreement. Shoveling snow back in Oregon was the worst, and Black chuckles at the sentiment when he gives it.
Judging by the way things are looking, it's probably the same here, but Black's soft groan at the realization is more fond than genuinely irritated. There's a sharp crack that stops any teasing before it can begin, and they're suddenly plunged into darkness.
Well, almost. The fireplace cheerfully continues its work, the light casting long shadows from the end of the room, and Leo feels Black sigh beside him. It's a few minutes of winces and a single surprised yelp before lamps are secured, their light pitiful compared to what electricity could do, and without speaking they move the couch's pillows to the fireplace. Black ventures into the darkness with an oil lamp and returns with a quilt Leo remembers had been hanging up on a wall; Black drops it around his shoulders, turning the lamp off, and flashes Leo a grateful smile when he tugs the quilt around his shoulders, too.
There are probably worse people to be stuck with during a power outage during a snowstorm. No, there definitely are, and Leo props his cheek against his fist with a frown. Like Zapp. Even Chain wouldn't be ideal—they got along well-enough, but she'd definitely take the blanket for herself, or just dilute her existence enough to not have to deal with the cold or anything else, and—
Black's shoulder nudging his interrupts his train of thought, and Leo shakes his head. "It's nothing, I was just thinking that there's no one else I'd rather be stuck with in a situation like this."
Black stares at him for a moment, then laughs and hides his face in his corner of the quilt.
"I'd rather not be stuck in a situation like this in the first place," he replies, tone still amused, and glances at Leo with an expression that's hard to read by the fire, "but... I guess I agree."
"You guess," Leo repeats incredulously, shoving him a little harder than necessary, and Black's laughter slips into a squawk as he falls back; Leo unfortunately goes with him, the quilt making sure of that, and braces himself before he can crash completely into his company. The result is being embarrassingly close, his left elbow aching from the hardwood and only enough space to breathe between them. Or there would be, if either of them were breathing.
Black's the first to let his out, the air gently tickling Leo's face and making his nose twitch a little; his follows suit, Black's expression mimicking his, and Leo slowly gets off of him with an apologetic laugh.