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31_days2006-06-20 03:15 pm
goldberry.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-06-20 03:15 pm
[June 20] [Blood+] Sometimes, Forget
Title: Sometimes, Forget
Day/Theme: June 20th - "Snow and Ink"
Series: Blood+
Pairing: Haji/Saya
Rating: G
Sometimes, Forget
Haji scratches a pen over the wrinkled sheets of paper in his lap, his face impassive as he drips calligraphy onto the pages with a precise grace that makes every note fall where it should. It's late, close to morning, and she can't pretend to sleep so she watches him create in the darkness. The song is hesitant and soft; he plays snatches of it as he goes, black-bellied seeds growing across stark parchment. It sounds nothing like how she thinks of him, firm and unyielding, smooth as a sea at midnight. She shifts a little bit closer to the edge of the bed in curiosity and listens as he pulls a sweet bell tone out of the cello's strings.
Outside, snow is falling on Paris, blanketing everything in heavy silence and the weight of cold lethargy. As she rests, curled into a patchwork of blankets, Haji's song becomes the dance of snow crystals, the backdrop of a dream as her eyes close gently. Her breathing evens but she doesn't sleep, too wrapped in the beauty of his music to do anything but swim slowly through minor keys and one delicate fermata.
When he finally finishes, she gives him the corner of a smile and a low whisper. In return, he lays a bandaged hand on her tousled hair and the comforting touch sends her into that blessed state where she is unaware of everything.
Sometimes, he says, forgetfulness is all he can give her.
And in those times, he carries her burdens for her, alone, written into flats and eighth notes late at night when snow is falling and for no other reason than that she wishes it.
The End.
Day/Theme: June 20th - "Snow and Ink"
Series: Blood+
Pairing: Haji/Saya
Rating: G
Sometimes, Forget
Haji scratches a pen over the wrinkled sheets of paper in his lap, his face impassive as he drips calligraphy onto the pages with a precise grace that makes every note fall where it should. It's late, close to morning, and she can't pretend to sleep so she watches him create in the darkness. The song is hesitant and soft; he plays snatches of it as he goes, black-bellied seeds growing across stark parchment. It sounds nothing like how she thinks of him, firm and unyielding, smooth as a sea at midnight. She shifts a little bit closer to the edge of the bed in curiosity and listens as he pulls a sweet bell tone out of the cello's strings.
Outside, snow is falling on Paris, blanketing everything in heavy silence and the weight of cold lethargy. As she rests, curled into a patchwork of blankets, Haji's song becomes the dance of snow crystals, the backdrop of a dream as her eyes close gently. Her breathing evens but she doesn't sleep, too wrapped in the beauty of his music to do anything but swim slowly through minor keys and one delicate fermata.
When he finally finishes, she gives him the corner of a smile and a low whisper. In return, he lays a bandaged hand on her tousled hair and the comforting touch sends her into that blessed state where she is unaware of everything.
Sometimes, he says, forgetfulness is all he can give her.
And in those times, he carries her burdens for her, alone, written into flats and eighth notes late at night when snow is falling and for no other reason than that she wishes it.
The End.