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[September 15] [Tales of Legendia] A Kind of Love
Title: A Kind of Love
Day/Theme: September 15 / your secret of a clandestine autumn
Series: Tales of Legendia
Pairing/Character: Senel/Shirley, Senel/Chloe
Rating: PG
There is a kind of love that is in the grand and sweeping gestures: the hopeless stand against the horde of enemies, the embrace that wrenches its recipient back from the darkness. It stops wars, mends hurts, reconciles races. It is timeless, eternal, the stuff of legends. Bards will sing of it, and storytellers will tell of it, hundreds, thousands of years from now.
That is certainly a kind of love.
But there is another kind of love, as well. It is not grand, or great, or worthy of tales; it can only seep into the quiet spaces in-between the legends. It is a boy, and a girl, who fight together, laugh together, live together; a boy and a girl who reach out to each other, because they could depend on each other before they could depend on anyone else.
It is the collection of mundane days and nights; the laughter, the tears, the sweat; the endless, alternating series of Look, can't you see, and Yes, I see--
(--and once, a kiss, rushed, desperate, and longing, in the rain:
"I'm sorry," says Chloe softly. "Coolidge, I--"
Senel gently removes her hand from his shoulder. "You don't have to apologize," he says, and he loves Shirley, loves her more than anyone in the world or life or the world itself, but his hand lingers on Chloe's arm perhaps a bit longer than is necessary.)
It is not grand, or beautiful, and no one would think to sing of it, but it is a kind of love, nonetheless.
Day/Theme: September 15 / your secret of a clandestine autumn
Series: Tales of Legendia
Pairing/Character: Senel/Shirley, Senel/Chloe
Rating: PG
There is a kind of love that is in the grand and sweeping gestures: the hopeless stand against the horde of enemies, the embrace that wrenches its recipient back from the darkness. It stops wars, mends hurts, reconciles races. It is timeless, eternal, the stuff of legends. Bards will sing of it, and storytellers will tell of it, hundreds, thousands of years from now.
That is certainly a kind of love.
But there is another kind of love, as well. It is not grand, or great, or worthy of tales; it can only seep into the quiet spaces in-between the legends. It is a boy, and a girl, who fight together, laugh together, live together; a boy and a girl who reach out to each other, because they could depend on each other before they could depend on anyone else.
It is the collection of mundane days and nights; the laughter, the tears, the sweat; the endless, alternating series of Look, can't you see, and Yes, I see--
(--and once, a kiss, rushed, desperate, and longing, in the rain:
"I'm sorry," says Chloe softly. "Coolidge, I--"
Senel gently removes her hand from his shoulder. "You don't have to apologize," he says, and he loves Shirley, loves her more than anyone in the world or life or the world itself, but his hand lingers on Chloe's arm perhaps a bit longer than is necessary.)
It is not grand, or beautiful, and no one would think to sing of it, but it is a kind of love, nonetheless.