yousei-san (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flair) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
metamorphosis2011-08-21 09:50 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2011-08-21 09:50 pm
Entry tags:
256;
Title: presently plethora
Characters: Spada Belforma and Luca Milda
Rating: PG-13
A foreword for Jac: We've known each other for a year to this day. And over this past year, you have become someone who is extremely important to me. You are one of the people I treasure the most, and you are one of the people short of my family who I would cry and grieve for if misfortune befell you. You are the sun to my flower-- the Spada to my Luca, if we get to go by characters now! Whatever you see in me, I'm glad for, because without it, I don't know that we would've become as tight as we are. You're my brolove, my best bro, and someone who makes me smile regardless of circumstances. Thank you for being you, with all your flaws and imperfections. The pros will always outweigh whatever cons there are about you, in my mind, forever and always.
And every word is spoken from the heart.
Sincerely yours,
Bella
P.S. Happy first, and hopefully not last, broversary!
001. Sleep.
He's restless in his bed, tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable, wrapping the blanket around himself tighter and tighter like a cocoon. Across the room Spada sleeps soundly, a soft snore rising from the rise and fall of sheets, and Luca envies him for his ability to sleep so calmly and smoothly and without fear of being caught. They're wanted – all of them are, on the run from the Compulsory Rehabilitation Program and the army and everyone – but he's the only on who tries to curl up in the sheets and disappear. He does just that, or at least mimics the motions and starts wishing it'd work, and freezes in his murmuring when the bed shifts and he feels an arm lay across his shoulders, a hand clasping the far-end with a firm grip. It's suddenly warm, really warm, an he frees his head from the suddenly hostile, coarse blanket and turns his face to stare at Spada through his bang. Spada's frowning slightly at first (it immediately makes Luca lock up, defensively and defiantly staring at his best friend) before he sighs and shakes him a little, mutters something about you turn too much, man and settles comfortably with him, chin on top of his head. Luca purses his lips for just a moment, awkward bubbling up from his toes and spreading like wildfire through his body, before he closes his eyes and tries to adjust comfortably against the warm body beside him.
002. Love.
He can't believe what he's hearing (won't believe it, shouldn't) but Luca's standing there, twisting a daisy between his fingers and confessing, a blush rising past his collar and spreading up to the roots of his hair. Spada doesn't know what he should do; unconsciously, his fingers dance around his thighs and drum against them, searching for a reason how (why) Luca would ever feel the way he does and he doesn't notice that Luca's stopped until he hears the quiet sniffles that begin to permeate the tense air and he still doesn't know what to do (what to say) but he loops an arm around Luca's neck and grins, boisterous and hardly reassuring, deciding to work on this delicate sort of situation later.
003. Pain.
It's sharp and it stings, cold and ruthless, and he feels it when he walks or stretches to reach something on a shelf far too high for him to even begin grasping the bottoms of jars and cars. He winces whenever he feels it throb in his abdomen, remembers the sound of blade through clothing and flesh (how easily it had torn – how easily, like a hot knife through butter, and it had felt that way, too) and he pretends he doesn't feel it after the first wince because after the first wince, Spada always strolls in (as if he knew) and lounges on the counter, content to watch Luca struggle to grab soups and thickeners instead of helping him. Luca always gives him an annoyed look when he finally manages to slide one close enough to the edge to grab it, and while he murmurs and swears Spada won't get a lick of dinner tonight he makes enough for two and ends up sharing anyways, leaning against the doorway of the study with a bowl and watching the floor. And there's a different kind of pain that time (not in his side, which still drums out aches like a drummer boy at war) and it's in his chest, and it twists and burns when Spada grins knowingly and brushes their fingers together as he takes the bowl, tip to tip.
004. Sand.
They build sandcastles on the beach – big, tall ones, grandiose and lined with seashells and seaweed. Driftwood makes up the doors, proud and rotten, and Luca carefully shapes the last tower while Spada secures the doors to the whole thing. Luca sits back on his hands and sighs, wipes the sweat from his brow and smooths his bangs back from his face, feeling them plaster with a salty wetness against the top of his head. They share a quick, excited look and Luca steps into the fortified castle's courtyard, settling down amongst the sand statuettes, decorated and dressed with tiny bits of shell and seaweed. He smiles – and it flies off his face faster than anything else when Spada starts to tear down the walls as the tide rushes in, sweeping their hard work away. Luca's about to fuss at him (it took so long, why would he--) and gets silenced by a sandy, salty kiss instead. He can't move, then, shaking and wide-eyed and Spada breaks it, laughs at his face and flops beside him, crushing the little statues of gods and goddesses underneath his shoulder blades, closing his eyes against the stretching, setting sky and doesn't make a move as Luca huffs, evidently irritated, and begins to pack sand around him.
005. Glass.
It's only for a second that he leans and presses his lips against the window, feeling his face heat up when Spada mimics him and presses his tongue against it, too, grinning and making fun of him; Luca jerks away immediately and bangs his fist against the thick pane and Spada jerks away and laughs, even though Luca can't hear it. He slips his hand up the glass, then, and spreads his fingers and Luca hesitates, but mimics the motion, tilting his head to see the difference in size (there isn't much, but the way Spada's hands are carved are vastly different than his and he marvels at that, for a second, the same way Spada marvels at how quick Luca can flash from a heated embarrassment to a warm, wondering stare).
006. Church.
There's something funny about seeing Spada in his Sunday best (a black suit, hat out of sight and green hair slicked back with obvious haste) and Luca can't help but giggle through the services; neither of them are here by free will, and while Luca has at least tried to look as if he wanted to be, Spada hasn't and it's so noticeable that even the priest commanding at the front gives him looks during the sermon (especially the parts about sin and attending and saving souls). His mother gives him little nudges to stop his fits, and his father glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, but Luca can't help it. He gets to excuse himself not long after, ducking between people to grab Spada's hand and drag him out (just as he was about to do the same to Luca, would you look at that--) and burst into laughter, shaking uncontrollably and holding onto Spada's arm as he does so, heaving great breaths as Spada scowls and tells him that yeah, keep laughin', Luca, keep laughin'. He gets paid back in full for his laughter when Spada drenches him in holy water and successfully doesn't laugh one bit the rest of the sermon, while Luca stands (soaked to the bone in the freezing church air) between his parents.
007. Moonlight.
The soft light of the waxing quarter moon is the only thing that guides their way as they sneak through the streets of Regnum. Spada's dragging Luca along, like in most nighttime ventures of theirs, and Luca only starts to get nervous about the operation they're about to pull as they close in on the target house. The operation being, naturally, to sneak in and perform a good, old-fashioned panty raid. It's a comin' of age ceremony for all boys, Spada had excused it; you don't wanna be a little boy forever, do you?
Faced with the dresser pulled partially open, though, with one of his female classmate's panties all neatly lined and waiting morning wearage, Luca thinks he'd really like to stay one.
008. Happiness.
It's nights like these when Luca feels his happiest – the nights where he's beside Spada, fingers threaded sleepily together and he knows he'll never find a best friend like the youngest Belforma son in the world, he knows that Spada's the only one he'll ever have and he's content with that. He's content to have someone like Spada (who pushes him to make him stronger, who devotedly rests his hands on his swords and would jump in the line of fire if given the chance, who lets him lay beside him and lock their fingers together and never pulls them away, even as Luca falls closer and closer to sleep) as his best friend, and he would never change that (he'd never risk it, either).
009. Tears.
Spada has never cried a day in his life (not even as a kid, not even when his brothers put glass in his food, not even) but he comes pretty damn close to it when Luca stumbles in the door after Iria, bruised and bloodied but smiling, a touch of worry between his eyebrows. Worried, as if he'd been the one watching out the window; worried, as if he hadn't been the one left in a falling castle. Luca's worried about all the wrong things, as usual, and it chokes him up (admittedly) to see him there, instead of under rubble and stone, and for the first time, he controls himself. He doesn't jump over the table like he wants to; he doesn't hug him and squeeze the life out of him, like after Kelm Volcano. He doesn't cry, because Belformas don't cry. He rubs his eyes, though, just a little, passing off the irritation as dust in the wind (they're in the middle of a desert, it's a perfectly legit excuse) and grins when Luca's eyes finally rise, shy and hesitant (and afraid) from the floor to meet his.
010. Writer's Choice.
It's the beginning of a long day when Luca settles down in front of his desk, immaculate and new, with a spiral notebook and a pen. He thumbs through the pages (notes, reading lists, letters that weren't and never would be sent) until he settles, at last, on a clean page. He licks his lips and thinks about what he wants to write (especially since this is one he'll send, one he'll make sure is sent) and sighs, scratching the pen in the corner of the paper to get it working and stretching, getting comfortable enough to write. He wants to divulge all his feelings (the nuances, the secrets, the things he hasn't had the chance or will to say) and wonders if beginning small is a better way to go; beginning small and building up, until all he can think about are the feelings waiting to burst from his chest and onto the page and he figures, maybe, that it'd be a better time to start writing than to keep thinking about it.
We've known each other for a year to this day. And over this past year, you have become someone who is extremely important to me...
Characters: Spada Belforma and Luca Milda
Rating: PG-13
A foreword for Jac: We've known each other for a year to this day. And over this past year, you have become someone who is extremely important to me. You are one of the people I treasure the most, and you are one of the people short of my family who I would cry and grieve for if misfortune befell you. You are the sun to my flower-- the Spada to my Luca, if we get to go by characters now! Whatever you see in me, I'm glad for, because without it, I don't know that we would've become as tight as we are. You're my brolove, my best bro, and someone who makes me smile regardless of circumstances. Thank you for being you, with all your flaws and imperfections. The pros will always outweigh whatever cons there are about you, in my mind, forever and always.
And every word is spoken from the heart.
Sincerely yours,
Bella
P.S. Happy first, and hopefully not last, broversary!
001. Sleep.
He's restless in his bed, tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable, wrapping the blanket around himself tighter and tighter like a cocoon. Across the room Spada sleeps soundly, a soft snore rising from the rise and fall of sheets, and Luca envies him for his ability to sleep so calmly and smoothly and without fear of being caught. They're wanted – all of them are, on the run from the Compulsory Rehabilitation Program and the army and everyone – but he's the only on who tries to curl up in the sheets and disappear. He does just that, or at least mimics the motions and starts wishing it'd work, and freezes in his murmuring when the bed shifts and he feels an arm lay across his shoulders, a hand clasping the far-end with a firm grip. It's suddenly warm, really warm, an he frees his head from the suddenly hostile, coarse blanket and turns his face to stare at Spada through his bang. Spada's frowning slightly at first (it immediately makes Luca lock up, defensively and defiantly staring at his best friend) before he sighs and shakes him a little, mutters something about you turn too much, man and settles comfortably with him, chin on top of his head. Luca purses his lips for just a moment, awkward bubbling up from his toes and spreading like wildfire through his body, before he closes his eyes and tries to adjust comfortably against the warm body beside him.
002. Love.
He can't believe what he's hearing (won't believe it, shouldn't) but Luca's standing there, twisting a daisy between his fingers and confessing, a blush rising past his collar and spreading up to the roots of his hair. Spada doesn't know what he should do; unconsciously, his fingers dance around his thighs and drum against them, searching for a reason how (why) Luca would ever feel the way he does and he doesn't notice that Luca's stopped until he hears the quiet sniffles that begin to permeate the tense air and he still doesn't know what to do (what to say) but he loops an arm around Luca's neck and grins, boisterous and hardly reassuring, deciding to work on this delicate sort of situation later.
003. Pain.
It's sharp and it stings, cold and ruthless, and he feels it when he walks or stretches to reach something on a shelf far too high for him to even begin grasping the bottoms of jars and cars. He winces whenever he feels it throb in his abdomen, remembers the sound of blade through clothing and flesh (how easily it had torn – how easily, like a hot knife through butter, and it had felt that way, too) and he pretends he doesn't feel it after the first wince because after the first wince, Spada always strolls in (as if he knew) and lounges on the counter, content to watch Luca struggle to grab soups and thickeners instead of helping him. Luca always gives him an annoyed look when he finally manages to slide one close enough to the edge to grab it, and while he murmurs and swears Spada won't get a lick of dinner tonight he makes enough for two and ends up sharing anyways, leaning against the doorway of the study with a bowl and watching the floor. And there's a different kind of pain that time (not in his side, which still drums out aches like a drummer boy at war) and it's in his chest, and it twists and burns when Spada grins knowingly and brushes their fingers together as he takes the bowl, tip to tip.
004. Sand.
They build sandcastles on the beach – big, tall ones, grandiose and lined with seashells and seaweed. Driftwood makes up the doors, proud and rotten, and Luca carefully shapes the last tower while Spada secures the doors to the whole thing. Luca sits back on his hands and sighs, wipes the sweat from his brow and smooths his bangs back from his face, feeling them plaster with a salty wetness against the top of his head. They share a quick, excited look and Luca steps into the fortified castle's courtyard, settling down amongst the sand statuettes, decorated and dressed with tiny bits of shell and seaweed. He smiles – and it flies off his face faster than anything else when Spada starts to tear down the walls as the tide rushes in, sweeping their hard work away. Luca's about to fuss at him (it took so long, why would he--) and gets silenced by a sandy, salty kiss instead. He can't move, then, shaking and wide-eyed and Spada breaks it, laughs at his face and flops beside him, crushing the little statues of gods and goddesses underneath his shoulder blades, closing his eyes against the stretching, setting sky and doesn't make a move as Luca huffs, evidently irritated, and begins to pack sand around him.
005. Glass.
It's only for a second that he leans and presses his lips against the window, feeling his face heat up when Spada mimics him and presses his tongue against it, too, grinning and making fun of him; Luca jerks away immediately and bangs his fist against the thick pane and Spada jerks away and laughs, even though Luca can't hear it. He slips his hand up the glass, then, and spreads his fingers and Luca hesitates, but mimics the motion, tilting his head to see the difference in size (there isn't much, but the way Spada's hands are carved are vastly different than his and he marvels at that, for a second, the same way Spada marvels at how quick Luca can flash from a heated embarrassment to a warm, wondering stare).
006. Church.
There's something funny about seeing Spada in his Sunday best (a black suit, hat out of sight and green hair slicked back with obvious haste) and Luca can't help but giggle through the services; neither of them are here by free will, and while Luca has at least tried to look as if he wanted to be, Spada hasn't and it's so noticeable that even the priest commanding at the front gives him looks during the sermon (especially the parts about sin and attending and saving souls). His mother gives him little nudges to stop his fits, and his father glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, but Luca can't help it. He gets to excuse himself not long after, ducking between people to grab Spada's hand and drag him out (just as he was about to do the same to Luca, would you look at that--) and burst into laughter, shaking uncontrollably and holding onto Spada's arm as he does so, heaving great breaths as Spada scowls and tells him that yeah, keep laughin', Luca, keep laughin'. He gets paid back in full for his laughter when Spada drenches him in holy water and successfully doesn't laugh one bit the rest of the sermon, while Luca stands (soaked to the bone in the freezing church air) between his parents.
007. Moonlight.
The soft light of the waxing quarter moon is the only thing that guides their way as they sneak through the streets of Regnum. Spada's dragging Luca along, like in most nighttime ventures of theirs, and Luca only starts to get nervous about the operation they're about to pull as they close in on the target house. The operation being, naturally, to sneak in and perform a good, old-fashioned panty raid. It's a comin' of age ceremony for all boys, Spada had excused it; you don't wanna be a little boy forever, do you?
Faced with the dresser pulled partially open, though, with one of his female classmate's panties all neatly lined and waiting morning wearage, Luca thinks he'd really like to stay one.
008. Happiness.
It's nights like these when Luca feels his happiest – the nights where he's beside Spada, fingers threaded sleepily together and he knows he'll never find a best friend like the youngest Belforma son in the world, he knows that Spada's the only one he'll ever have and he's content with that. He's content to have someone like Spada (who pushes him to make him stronger, who devotedly rests his hands on his swords and would jump in the line of fire if given the chance, who lets him lay beside him and lock their fingers together and never pulls them away, even as Luca falls closer and closer to sleep) as his best friend, and he would never change that (he'd never risk it, either).
009. Tears.
Spada has never cried a day in his life (not even as a kid, not even when his brothers put glass in his food, not even) but he comes pretty damn close to it when Luca stumbles in the door after Iria, bruised and bloodied but smiling, a touch of worry between his eyebrows. Worried, as if he'd been the one watching out the window; worried, as if he hadn't been the one left in a falling castle. Luca's worried about all the wrong things, as usual, and it chokes him up (admittedly) to see him there, instead of under rubble and stone, and for the first time, he controls himself. He doesn't jump over the table like he wants to; he doesn't hug him and squeeze the life out of him, like after Kelm Volcano. He doesn't cry, because Belformas don't cry. He rubs his eyes, though, just a little, passing off the irritation as dust in the wind (they're in the middle of a desert, it's a perfectly legit excuse) and grins when Luca's eyes finally rise, shy and hesitant (and afraid) from the floor to meet his.
010. Writer's Choice.
It's the beginning of a long day when Luca settles down in front of his desk, immaculate and new, with a spiral notebook and a pen. He thumbs through the pages (notes, reading lists, letters that weren't and never would be sent) until he settles, at last, on a clean page. He licks his lips and thinks about what he wants to write (especially since this is one he'll send, one he'll make sure is sent) and sighs, scratching the pen in the corner of the paper to get it working and stretching, getting comfortable enough to write. He wants to divulge all his feelings (the nuances, the secrets, the things he hasn't had the chance or will to say) and wonders if beginning small is a better way to go; beginning small and building up, until all he can think about are the feelings waiting to burst from his chest and onto the page and he figures, maybe, that it'd be a better time to start writing than to keep thinking about it.
We've known each other for a year to this day. And over this past year, you have become someone who is extremely important to me...