Character/Pairing: Yamamoto Takeshi, Chrome Dokuro.
Annoyed, she swung open the door. A quiet gasp escaped her lips, both hands rising to contain it.
Standing in the doorway, he grinned, a bar of chocolate dangling from his teeth. As this prevented him from speaking, he tipped his wide-tipped fedora hat. His tie was loosened, shirt disheveled and half-untucked from his pants - a flush high on his cheekbones.
She took it all in one glance.
He closed one eye sheepishly.
And was promptly nearly bowled over as she leapt at him in a crushing hug.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she whispered fiercely.
The chocolate slipped. His arms rose to catch her, eyes widening, “W-wait, are you crying?”
Drawing back, she thumped a hand upon his chest. He barely noticed, eyes wide as she continued with uncharacteristic anger, ” How dare you ask that, how do you think I’d feel, you disappearing for half a month or so - and then turning up like - like this!” and she jabbed her tiny hand at him, as if his mere existence was an offence.
Chrome, when mad, didn’t look particularly intimidating with her narrowed one eye and thin pouting lips drawn in a frown - but he knew otherwise. As she drew back fully to cross her arms, eyebrows raised in expectation; all he could say was -
“H-happy Valentine’s Day?”
Characters: Chrome Dokuro, Sasugawa Kyoko, Miura Haru, I-Pin, Bianchi.
The tip of a white shoe stepped out to the room, followed by a flowing trail of silk and lace. She had let down her long purple hair and a simple amethyst tear-shaped pendant hung from her lace collar to dangle between her delicate collarbones, slim shoulders laid bare.
But that was not the reason for the audible gasps that rang through the hallway.
“Chrome-chan!” both her bridemaids rushed up to her, eyes round ; Kyoko and and Haru half-held their mouths in surprise. “Y-your eye!”
The young woman only smiled at them. The third and youngest bridesmaid stepped after her, also smiling - I-pin, the maid-of-honour and only one not asked to step out for just a moment in the midst of her bridal preparations.
Chrome let out a laugh, quiet, serene, the sound of tinkling bells. “It’s only an illusion,” she tapped the side of her face, her eyes crinkling in mirth - both her eyes, two eyes of similar round shape, deepening purple shades and ringed irises. It looked odd, seeing her face so… full after all the years they’d known her with an eyepatch usually dominating the left half of her face.
The for today went unsaid, a single gold band glinting on her finger.
“You look beautiful,” the last member – beautiful, long-haired Bianchi - commented. She stepped off from the wall where she’d been leaning against to observe the action, and striding forward, touched her cheek with fondness.
Coming from the elder woman, whom she’d so admired, Chrome blushed. Her fingers were cool to the touch, in it she read the unspoken
He better be worth it.
It was a threat, it was protectiveness and she appreciated it all the more.
More reassuring than her own returning touch to the arm then were the soft smiles of both bride and groom later as, ceremony finished, they stepped out into the golden sunlight and falling flower-petals.
Hands twined together, there was only sheer bliss writ all over their features.
Pairing:Yamamoto Takeshi/Chrome Dokuro.
“I’m not cool,” the young black-haired man slumped against the sofa, blankets bunched around his waist and body half-hanging precariously from the edge, admitted with a moan.
Chrome, perched upon the armrest of the sofa across him, only lifted an eyebrow. She was clearly not impressed with his antics.
Reaching up to push her hair behind her ear, she dabbed one last time at the dark soda stain upon her pale lace top. Regarding him quietly, she had to let a tiny small cross her lips. “It was a good first date.”
By the way his self-pitying moans had ceased and the stillness of his body, she knew he was listening intently. She exhaled and shook her head, shoulder-length locks swaying about her face. Her smile was tangible in her voice.
“You don’t have to try so hard, Takeshi.”
Character/Pairing: Yamamoto Takeshi, Chrome Dokuro, Gokudera Hayato.
Caramel irises narrowed as his blade slid fluidly through the body of fish, cleanly ridding it off its bony spine. But wide, glittering eyes did not see his assassin-borne grace - but a boy who left a neat little row of sushi rows in his wake.
Finally settling down his knife, the young man straightened up and his long, angular face broke into a wide, sheepish grin as awareness of his audience came to him.
The innumerous crowd of young woman swarmed - as close they could get, short of the counter before them - around him swooned.
Only down the counter, in a corner, one slumped against the tabletop, face turned deliberately away from the spectacle.
Her neighbor snorted. “You can stop pouting now, Chrome.”
The eyepatch-ed young woman resolutely stayed still. One particularly high squeal of “Yamamoto-kun~!” made her fist clench, crushing the plastic straw she’d been holding. But still she said nothing as her boyfriend obliviously pandered the attention of his rabid fangirls.
Gokudera shrugged, and went back to sipping his own drink.
He is used to her coming and going.
The years go by and they have come a long way off from the carefree, immature children they once were. But some things don’t change – like the hand against his chest and the tips of purple strands tickling his face.
He opens his eyes and accepts the kiss, sweet and slow and lingering, and keeps his arm wrapped around her waist even when she pulls away.
Her voice is low, inflections soft – and so he turns his face away the moment he releases her. Her weight lifts from the bed.
She is always too calm and he is too accepting.
He hears the rustle of clothing; sheets pooling to his bare waist as he slowly sits up, staring off to the side.
Outside, the sky is a dark blue fading into light beyond the windows and, in his peripheral view, she is picking up and pulling her stockings back on.
But tomorrow is different.
The bed dips as she leans over him again.
He faces her fully, meets her straight in the eye, one, huge and violet-coloured, face pale and soft and heart-shaped.
His loyalties have been and will always be with Tsuna, with the Vongola.
She must read the sentiments on his own as she abruptly turns away again. His hand trembles but he keeps it clenched into the bedsheets as she swiftly stands up. She does not look back again.
And he has always known where hers lies.
Elastic snaps in her hand, a silver skull dangling from her lithe fingers.
She walks, one step, two.
His name, not quite loud but firm.
He says nothing, eyes lowered to the tendons sticking out in his fists. Never looks up, even as she starts walking again and the door closes behind her and her quiet, padding footsteps slowly fade.
Never realizing before that his spoken name actually meant she’d be back.
“Please, I can’t stand the lies anymore.”
His laughter faded as she approached him.
She pressed a hand to his chest, directly above his beating heart, and his smile faltered.
She searched his eyes, searched his face and he was quiet, the careful pokerface beneath the cheerful exterior breaking in the stretching silence.
There was a reflective sadness in her eyes as she spoke,
“I think I already do enough of that for the both of us.”
There was a pause and he blinked as she flushed lightly.
He tilted his head to one side a little and raised an eyebrow before breaking into a moment of refreshing, surprised laughter.
“Well, this is a first,” he confessed, amused.
“Though men aren’t usually…” he started but then changed his mind, as he reached forward to untangledher hands from clenching into her skirt and intertwined their fingers together, prompting her to look up again, biting her lip.
He grinned, glancing over her knee-length cocktail dress that matched his own pressed suit.
“I was about to say that to you though.”