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31_days2005-08-15 12:58 pm
tongari.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-08-15 12:58 pm
[August 15] [Legend of The Galactic Heroes] last summer
Title: last summer
Day/Theme: August 15: Air and stars
Series: Legend of Galactic Heroes
Character/Pairing: Reinhardt/Siegfried
Rating: G
last summer
For all that he says he trusts and loves Kircheis like a part of himself, he only ever lets Siegfried cut his hair once. This is the last summer they spend on solid ground, somewhere in the middle of the two weeks they spend stationed at the ugliest beach in the world (a flat passionless affair between black shingle and grey sea so colourless they can see every strand of yellow hair scattered across the ground until it rains, the day they leave). It is a battle between vanity and common sense; he would never cut his own hair, but it has grown long enough to get in his eyes. "It's blocking out the stars," he says.
*
There are other soldiers out here, strung out along the beach in ones or twos, small and dark from a distance with faint wisps of cigarette smoke rising from them. The first time he sees them he has a good look at them, scouting them out with binoculars and scanners as though they were the enemy. When he and Siegfried confirm they are officers of no great distinction he loses all interest and spends the entire day reading quietly in the shade of the pines. From time to time Siegfried leaves him there and walks away, but never very far; when he looks up he can see Siegfried wandering at the edge of the trees or standing with his back against the hard white wall of the cliff, arms at his sides and palms flat against the rock. It's always quiet, he thinks it's because the boom of the surf on shore scares all other noises that might come into making, and he'll feel that he wants to call Siegfried to come back to his side but somehow it seems that Siegfried belongs wherever he's wandered to and it would be a bad thing to call him away from there. Then his hair will fall into his eyes and he'll get annoyed and at the sound of his annoyance the spell will break and Siegfried will look at him from across the trees, and for that moment before Siegfried's eyes manage to focus they are always guilty.
Well, he thinks, if it's anything I need to know about, Kircheis will tell me, and then he'll do something about it. Like how Siegfried tells him he ought to cut his hair and then cuts it for him then and there, kneeling in the dry wiry grass beside him with a towel wound gently around his shoulders. He shuts his eyes and hears Siegfried apologizing for the harsh rasp of the shaving razor he's using and warning him not to move, not an inch, trust me, and he trusts him and listens to the sound of the sea moving back and forth across the beach like a mother looking for her child. It's a warm day and he can tell Siegfried's progress by the slow gradual coolness on the back of his neck and about his ears and across the top of his browbone, the feathery touches of cropped hair falling on his cheeks and down his shirt and on his bare arms and hands. Two inches of hair all around, probably much more off the back, and Siegfried never actually touches him. Little wet drops on his skin that make him think it's going to rain; Siegfried says, "Sorry," and he opens his eyes in time to see another tear of sweat leaving the underside of Siegfried's chin, twin tracks of moisture running thin and wet down the sharp lines of Siegfried's jaw. Siegfried doesn't tan like him but flushes all over from the heat, like he's blushing, like they're ten again and Annerose has just said she's glad they're both safely back from school.
"Kircheis," he says, and Siegfried says, "Almost done."
The nights are long and black and taste like salt when the wind blows in from the sea. When he can't sleep he lies with his arms folded behind his head and listens to the sound of Siegfried breathing, deep and slow; sometimes, as he is dozing off, it feels like the sound of Siegfried's breathing is fading away and becoming a part of the sea and the whispering pines and the wind stirring his fresh-cut hair around his face. In a week they will be far away from here and he will be leading a fleet of grim and long-nosed battleships to the front lines and he will have forgotten what it felt like to be stranded here with Siegfried at the end of the world.
Years later he will remember how much he wanted that week to be over, how much he wanted to go.
*
Siegfried cuts his hair too short.
"Ah, Kircheis, you're never touching my hair again," he says sadly. Then, in afterthought: "But I can still touch yours."
Day/Theme: August 15: Air and stars
Series: Legend of Galactic Heroes
Character/Pairing: Reinhardt/Siegfried
Rating: G
last summer
For all that he says he trusts and loves Kircheis like a part of himself, he only ever lets Siegfried cut his hair once. This is the last summer they spend on solid ground, somewhere in the middle of the two weeks they spend stationed at the ugliest beach in the world (a flat passionless affair between black shingle and grey sea so colourless they can see every strand of yellow hair scattered across the ground until it rains, the day they leave). It is a battle between vanity and common sense; he would never cut his own hair, but it has grown long enough to get in his eyes. "It's blocking out the stars," he says.
*
There are other soldiers out here, strung out along the beach in ones or twos, small and dark from a distance with faint wisps of cigarette smoke rising from them. The first time he sees them he has a good look at them, scouting them out with binoculars and scanners as though they were the enemy. When he and Siegfried confirm they are officers of no great distinction he loses all interest and spends the entire day reading quietly in the shade of the pines. From time to time Siegfried leaves him there and walks away, but never very far; when he looks up he can see Siegfried wandering at the edge of the trees or standing with his back against the hard white wall of the cliff, arms at his sides and palms flat against the rock. It's always quiet, he thinks it's because the boom of the surf on shore scares all other noises that might come into making, and he'll feel that he wants to call Siegfried to come back to his side but somehow it seems that Siegfried belongs wherever he's wandered to and it would be a bad thing to call him away from there. Then his hair will fall into his eyes and he'll get annoyed and at the sound of his annoyance the spell will break and Siegfried will look at him from across the trees, and for that moment before Siegfried's eyes manage to focus they are always guilty.
Well, he thinks, if it's anything I need to know about, Kircheis will tell me, and then he'll do something about it. Like how Siegfried tells him he ought to cut his hair and then cuts it for him then and there, kneeling in the dry wiry grass beside him with a towel wound gently around his shoulders. He shuts his eyes and hears Siegfried apologizing for the harsh rasp of the shaving razor he's using and warning him not to move, not an inch, trust me, and he trusts him and listens to the sound of the sea moving back and forth across the beach like a mother looking for her child. It's a warm day and he can tell Siegfried's progress by the slow gradual coolness on the back of his neck and about his ears and across the top of his browbone, the feathery touches of cropped hair falling on his cheeks and down his shirt and on his bare arms and hands. Two inches of hair all around, probably much more off the back, and Siegfried never actually touches him. Little wet drops on his skin that make him think it's going to rain; Siegfried says, "Sorry," and he opens his eyes in time to see another tear of sweat leaving the underside of Siegfried's chin, twin tracks of moisture running thin and wet down the sharp lines of Siegfried's jaw. Siegfried doesn't tan like him but flushes all over from the heat, like he's blushing, like they're ten again and Annerose has just said she's glad they're both safely back from school.
"Kircheis," he says, and Siegfried says, "Almost done."
The nights are long and black and taste like salt when the wind blows in from the sea. When he can't sleep he lies with his arms folded behind his head and listens to the sound of Siegfried breathing, deep and slow; sometimes, as he is dozing off, it feels like the sound of Siegfried's breathing is fading away and becoming a part of the sea and the whispering pines and the wind stirring his fresh-cut hair around his face. In a week they will be far away from here and he will be leading a fleet of grim and long-nosed battleships to the front lines and he will have forgotten what it felt like to be stranded here with Siegfried at the end of the world.
Years later he will remember how much he wanted that week to be over, how much he wanted to go.
*
Siegfried cuts his hair too short.
"Ah, Kircheis, you're never touching my hair again," he says sadly. Then, in afterthought: "But I can still touch yours."