[May 8, 2007] [Princess Tutu] Cold

[haleysings.livejournal.com]

Title: Cold
Day/Theme: May 8: sun and ice
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: Hinted Autor/Pique
Rating: PG

“You’re so cold!”

He couldn’t remember exactly how the argument had started. Maybe she had been trying to drag him to some school function. He wasn’t sure.

All he knew was how the argument had ended: with three simple words that had felt like a slap in the face.

You’re so cold.

To say he had taken offense was an understatement. He was not cold. Reserved, maybe. With reason. But not cold. He was perfectly sociable when the occasion called for it.

Of course, when she had said those words, his only response had been to—after a brief, stunned silence—whirl around on his heel and march out the door without a word. As he stormed home, he realized that his response would probably only confirm it in her mind. He also realized that he had left all of his library books sitting on the table in the café, but he wasn’t about to go back and retrieve them. Perhaps Pique would take them home with her and give them back. If not, he could check with the café owner the next day. But he was not going to go back with his tail between his legs. He had his pride, at the very least.

Of course, he was on good terms with the librarians and didn’t want to risk that by losing several books from their collection. Not that it was like they were his friends, exactly, but they were pleasant enough, he supposed.

…He supposed?

By the time he had reached his home, he was in such a foul mood it seemed as though he could wilt flowers with his glare. He unlocked the door and threw it open, reaching around as he entered to pull the door closed with a satisfying slam. He stood still for a moment, scanning the room until his eyes drifted over to his mother’s piano. He walked over and sat down in front of it, beginning to pound out a song. Nothing in particular, just whatever notes came to mind, loud and fast-paced in a minor key. He wasn’t sure if it was a song he had learned long ago or if he was simply improvising. Frankly, it didn’t matter.

He thought to himself, for a moment, that it’d be more productive to practice the pieces he needed to learn for class. But, of course, he had left the scores for them with his books at the café.
The music emanating from his piano grew a little louder as he took his frustration out against the keys.

It was pointless to be bothered by it. Pique could think what she wanted. He wasn’t cold. He was practical, he was intelligent, and people with lesser minds simply couldn’t appreciate it. They were the ones at fault. Not him.

He stopped playing and sat in front of the piano for a moment, silent and still. Was she right? Was it his fault?

No. No, he had never done anything wrong.
…If you didn’t count leaving his books at the café.

He jumped up from his seat, straightened his jacket, and walked back out the door, this time walking in the direction of the Academy, through the gates, and into the girl’s dorm. He ignored the stares and giggles and whispers as he stomped up the stairs (and begged the story to keep any female teachers distracted for the moment—the last thing he needed today was to get in trouble for ‘invading’ the dorms).

Damn it, why did she have to have a room all the way on the top floor? It had seemed like an hour until he finally reached her room and knocked curtly on her door. There was a pause before she opened the door.
“Autor?” she said, her eyes widening in surprise. “What are you doing here?
“Do you have my books?”
“What?”
“My books. I left them at the café.”
“O-oh. Yeah. They’re in here.” She disappeared from the door for a moment, leaving Autor to cross his arms and pretend like he belonged (and to pray to the story that her nosey friend Lilie would not suddenly appear in the adjacent doorway). He was thankful that she only took a moment to return, a large stack of books cradled in her arms and being pushed towards him. “Here,” she said simply as he took them. “Let me know if you’re missing anything.” She took a step back and began to close the door.

The next thing Autor knew, he had jumped forward and stuck out his right leg to keep it from closing. “Wait!”
Pique opened the door a little to look at Autor with a questioning look, glancing down at his foot for a moment as if analyzing how much of it might be in the way in case she decided she needed to slam the door on him. “What?” she asked, still looking down at his foot.
Autor cleared his throat to stall for time. “What you said…at the café. I suppose…that is…I mean…”
He cleared his throat again and shrugged his shoulders, wishing for a moment that his hands  were free enough to adjust his glasses. “I’m sorry.”

Pique’s head snapped up from the floor to look him in the eyes. “Really?”

“Perhaps,” he replied noncommittally, taking a few steps backwards. “I try to be polite, at least.” Even if you still find me ‘cold.’

He turned and began to walk back down the hallway before being stopped by her voice. “I’m sorry, too.”
“For what?”
“For bruising your ego,” she responded with a slightly sarcastic tone, afterwards ducking back into her room and closing the door behind her.

Autor turned and continued back down the stairs and once again walked through the groups of gossiping girls as he made his way towards the exit. This time, however, he made a point of finding a girl that was separating herself from the gossip, and offered her a warm—if small—smile.

The surprised look on her face was worth it.