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Entry tags:
FFVI: Rock Solid
Fandom: Final Fantasy VI
Pairing: Locke/Celes
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Celes tells Locke not to feel guilty. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
esper_cave.
The wind whips at Celes' cloak a little as she walks out to join Locke, but she doesn't seem deterred by the cold -- barely seems to feel it, even, in contrast to his face, reddened by the wind. It just puts a little rose in her cheeks, makes her prettier still, draws his eyes to her ever more inexorably.
"You're upset," she says, with a simple tactlessness that is simply part of the woman she is. This is what it means to love her, he thinks. You love a woman who is also a soldier, who is sometimes uncomfortably masculine in her mannerisms simply from the company she's kept, and sometimes she's so completely feminine it's impossible, and as confusing as hell in both moods.
"I'm overthinking," he corrects her, a hint of laughter forced into his voice with an ease that will always shock him. She shrugs.
"I see."
"What are you doing out here?"
"You didn't fail me, you know," she says, rather more gently. Still bluntly, but more gently. She puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes -- a soldier's sign of affection for those she won't get intimate with, he notices. He hopes that it's simply reflexive, or that she simply fears losing him. He wouldn't like to be rejected by her.
"I did."
She shakes her head insistently, her hand lingering on his shoulder. She doesn't offer reasons. Just a sheer certainty, rock solid intensity, and Locke finds himself nodding. Agreeing.
As if that's all she needed to say, she turns and goes in -- looking relieved at the shelter, despite not really needing it as much as he does. He stays outside for a while, but his thoughts are on more pleasant things, such as how interesting life with her could be.
Pairing: Locke/Celes
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Celes tells Locke not to feel guilty. For
esper_cave.The wind whips at Celes' cloak a little as she walks out to join Locke, but she doesn't seem deterred by the cold -- barely seems to feel it, even, in contrast to his face, reddened by the wind. It just puts a little rose in her cheeks, makes her prettier still, draws his eyes to her ever more inexorably.
"You're upset," she says, with a simple tactlessness that is simply part of the woman she is. This is what it means to love her, he thinks. You love a woman who is also a soldier, who is sometimes uncomfortably masculine in her mannerisms simply from the company she's kept, and sometimes she's so completely feminine it's impossible, and as confusing as hell in both moods.
"I'm overthinking," he corrects her, a hint of laughter forced into his voice with an ease that will always shock him. She shrugs.
"I see."
"What are you doing out here?"
"You didn't fail me, you know," she says, rather more gently. Still bluntly, but more gently. She puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes -- a soldier's sign of affection for those she won't get intimate with, he notices. He hopes that it's simply reflexive, or that she simply fears losing him. He wouldn't like to be rejected by her.
"I did."
She shakes her head insistently, her hand lingering on his shoulder. She doesn't offer reasons. Just a sheer certainty, rock solid intensity, and Locke finds himself nodding. Agreeing.
As if that's all she needed to say, she turns and goes in -- looking relieved at the shelter, despite not really needing it as much as he does. He stays outside for a while, but his thoughts are on more pleasant things, such as how interesting life with her could be.
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I love the mannerisms. I love them. They're so CELES.