Minami Kaido (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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fandomweekly2016-02-17 07:51 pm
curemermaid) wrote in fandomweekly2016-02-17 07:51 pm
Entry tags:
[#003] Falling Petals (Sailor Moon)
Theme Prompt: Domestic Bliss
Title: Falling Petals
Fandom: Sailor Moon
Rating/Warnings: G
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 372
Summary: Some children grow up faster than others.
"There's a guest to see you, Professor."
He puts down his newspaper as his nurse excuses herself. The girl is alone today. Her papa and mama dropped her off, she says, and he's vaguely able to substitute two handsome faces for the names. They tend to keep their distance from him, but this girl still comes to see him. She is his only visitor.
"What did you bring to show me today?" he asks, noticing a bag in the girl's hands. She blushes. "It's not schoolwork like last time," she says - a beautiful painting of lamps and butterflies now hangs in his living room - but she puts the bag on the counter. "A friend taught me to make pineapple upside-down cake. I thought we could eat it together, under your cherry tree."
This suggestion pleases him, and the girl hurries to prepare a picnic blanket. When she returns for his wheelchair, he shakes his head. "Let me try," he says, so she holds his hand as they take step by halting step together.
When he bites into his cake, he makes a face - the girl's hand flies to her mouth, embarrassed. He swallows, puckering, and the girl laughs, the sound rippling through the holes in his memory. "All pineapples are sour!" she says, and pouts. Now it's his turn to laugh.
Walking to the picnic had exhausted him, so the girl fetches his wheelchair and helps him into it. They watch the sunlight dance around the leaves above them; he opens his mouth to invite her to see it when it blooms next year, and a memory, like a falling petal, drifts loose.
"What's your name again?" he asks; from the way the girl's eyebrows tighten, he's asked this before, but the tightness fades. "Hotaru," she replies.
"Hotaru," he repeats, sinking back in his wheelchair. "That's a good name. I have a baby daughter named Hotaru. Do you think she'll grow up to be a happy, healthy girl like you?"
The girl takes his hand and squeezes it. "I'm sure of it," she says, and he relaxes: if this girl thinks so, it must be true.
"That's good," he says. They watch the leaves and the sunlight together. And Tomoe Souichi smiles.
Title: Falling Petals
Fandom: Sailor Moon
Rating/Warnings: G
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 372
Summary: Some children grow up faster than others.
"There's a guest to see you, Professor."
He puts down his newspaper as his nurse excuses herself. The girl is alone today. Her papa and mama dropped her off, she says, and he's vaguely able to substitute two handsome faces for the names. They tend to keep their distance from him, but this girl still comes to see him. She is his only visitor.
"What did you bring to show me today?" he asks, noticing a bag in the girl's hands. She blushes. "It's not schoolwork like last time," she says - a beautiful painting of lamps and butterflies now hangs in his living room - but she puts the bag on the counter. "A friend taught me to make pineapple upside-down cake. I thought we could eat it together, under your cherry tree."
This suggestion pleases him, and the girl hurries to prepare a picnic blanket. When she returns for his wheelchair, he shakes his head. "Let me try," he says, so she holds his hand as they take step by halting step together.
When he bites into his cake, he makes a face - the girl's hand flies to her mouth, embarrassed. He swallows, puckering, and the girl laughs, the sound rippling through the holes in his memory. "All pineapples are sour!" she says, and pouts. Now it's his turn to laugh.
Walking to the picnic had exhausted him, so the girl fetches his wheelchair and helps him into it. They watch the sunlight dance around the leaves above them; he opens his mouth to invite her to see it when it blooms next year, and a memory, like a falling petal, drifts loose.
"What's your name again?" he asks; from the way the girl's eyebrows tighten, he's asked this before, but the tightness fades. "Hotaru," she replies.
"Hotaru," he repeats, sinking back in his wheelchair. "That's a good name. I have a baby daughter named Hotaru. Do you think she'll grow up to be a happy, healthy girl like you?"
The girl takes his hand and squeezes it. "I'm sure of it," she says, and he relaxes: if this girl thinks so, it must be true.
"That's good," he says. They watch the leaves and the sunlight together. And Tomoe Souichi smiles.
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