The Cookie Fairy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alcesverdes) wrote2009-06-25 12:05 pm
alcesverdes) wrote2009-06-25 12:05 pm
Entry tags:
MEME
Princess Tutu
Cute Meme
Friendship and/or romance, nothing over a PG rating!
All characters and all pairings allowed (het, slash, femmeslash), just keep it cute!
no subject
(Anonymous) 2009-06-25 05:28 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
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The prince always knew where to find the boy at night. Underneath the sheets and pretending to shut his eyes so Charon rested his nerves, Fakir waited impatiently by the moonlight, as long as a child could under these circumstances.
His nightly visits had become a familiar comfort to him, a bedtime routine; not for what the white haired young man said to him -or rather didn’t say, for his mysterious lack of words- but for his presence, his light almost dreamy atmosphere in his dimly lit bedroom.
For a boy like Fakir, the world of heroism, knights and chivalry, was more than just a childhood fantasy, and he had become well aware of it by the quill and ink in his desk one fateful day. Mytho was an addition to this reality, a character taken out of his head and made to flesh, for Fakir’s own personal fascination.
Perhaps this was why he had learned to love the man that visited his bedroom, to admire and need for him. It was his quiet charming elegance, his regal stance so carefully placed, both natural and trained, like an old family discipline passed down through the ages. Every time Mytho stood near, Fakir was sucked into another one of his stories he would lazily write every cloudy afternoon.
A rustle was heard from his curtains, as a slender pale figure crept over his window frame and stood, a dancer’s pose, from the looks of it.
“Good evening,” he whispered, loud enough for the child to slide out his bed and glance at him, his honeysuckle eyes ever so kind and alluring.
Fakir didn’t say anything, and in return, nodded approvingly, a crooked smile creeping from the side of his mouth and pleasant warmth rising in his stomach. The prince quietly sat in the corner of the bed, and contemplated the pallor of the moon, almost as white as his lovely locks.
The boy had been keeping a gift for him, since that morning when Charon and he had walked to the market in search for food. It wasn’t much, but Fakir had given out more than his own silver coins to purchase a small felt teddy bear, tied with a red ribbon on its neck.
“This is for you,” he said in a small voice. Mytho turned to look at him, and Fakir’s hands rose up, bringing the package to cover his face. The prince gladly took it, and opened it to reveal what was the small stuffed animal.
And in that moment, he placed the bear in his arms, looking more grateful and pure than any angel Fakir could have ever described in his stories.
“Thank you,” was all that he said and it was enough to satisfy the moment.
Fakir had been given an identical one as well from Charon, this one sporting a blue ribbon which was kept inside his drawer. But he was much too shy to let him know that. For now, his head rested steady on his side, his eyes wide open were looking out for any danger, and his hands were softly caressing his arm, never letting go.
He was going to be the knight and comfort his prince, no matter what it took him.