flittering

arata’s dumb ideas: (beach fluff with arata and muraku)

It all started with Arata’s suggestion. But then again, most things did.

Look, Muraku, he said, stretching his arms out against the background of Kamui Island, all this awesome sand and sun and sea and can you believe it, no one in all of Kamui Daimon has bothered to enjoy them? It’s a very Arata-like thing, to notice something like a beach opportunity amidst the hustle and bustle and the occasional chaos of War Time and schoolwork. He’s always had a knack for finding those unexpected but somehow helpful ideas in situations he’s been thrown in.

(It’s very different from his own carefully calculated and strategized actions, and perhaps that’s why he was drawn to him. Opposites attract, or so the old saying goes.)

Arata is already halfway to the water, blazer and jacket thrown carelessly behind him somewhere and trouser cuffs hastily being rolled up as he half-hops, half-runs to the waves. He runs in too deep, misjudging the size and speed of the oncoming waves--soon enough he’s bowled over by the water rushing over his head. Muraku doesn’t worry, though; soon enough (almost as if on cue with his expectations) bright red breaks through the waves and Arata is shaking the salt from his face, laughing and turning to Muraku.

Come in, what are you waiting for? Arata waves to him from the beach, and Muraku can’t help but smile and raise a hand in return. It’s a nice day for a swim, after all, he thinks as he slips off his jacket and folds it to the side, tucking it near his shoes and socks. He arranges his and Arata’s clothes in a pile, and lastly he tugs off his gloves, folding them inside his jacket.

He feels like he can appreciate Kamui’s geography a little more now.

-----------------

poor sick vanessa: (vanessa gets sick, mikhail tries)

“Hmm, 108.6 degrees Fahrenheit; yup, there’s no mistaking it.”

“No! I’m sure that thermometer’s wrong! I’m totally okay!”

Mikhail notices the signs of Vanessa about to lunge for the thermometer and nimbly sidesteps her reach. It’s not all that hard, especially considering 1) he’s fought battles with her for how long now, and 2) her fever made her miss Mikhail’s hand by a foot. He didn’t even have to move to dodge, but he figured teasing her like that would just be adding fuel to the fire--a cranky, sick Vanessa was already a handful, and he wasn’t sure he could handle an angry, cranky, sick Vanessa.

Either way, Mikhail gives her a Look because “Vanessa, this is the fifth thermometer you’ve said was wrong in the past hour.” He shakes his head. “Give it up, you’re sick.”

Vanessa wails. “B-b-but Mikhaaaaaillll--” Oh, dear, she started coughing up a storm. Mikhail patiently waits for it to subside, even though he’s pretty sure she was going to complain about wanting to be in today’s mission.

“--I wanted to take out the Arabista jerks today!” (Yup, right on the money. And next she’ll say something about a missed opportunity--) “And when does a chance to fight the White Fox ever come?” (--should he cut her off or let her go on?) “And Kageto just tuned up my LBX, I’ve been dying to try it out--” (he actually tuned them last Thursday, she hasn’t been dying that much to try it out) “and I’m going to get rusty if I just sit around like this!” (Mikhail feels like he’s the one with a fever now.)

He’s just gonna have to reason with her, even though it means making her angry. He’s weighed the options while Vanessa ranted, and he’s decided that 1) it’s better for Vanessa to sit out for a faster recovery, because 2)--

“Look, Vanessa, you need to rest as much as you can to recover as fast as you can. You want to go back out there soon, I know, but you’re not going to be able to fight your best when you can’t even snatch this thermometer from me.” (He’s gonna get hit for that one, isn’t he--

ouch!

All of a sudden, Vanessa’s aim with a nearby book dramatically increased.)

He rubs his head; this is a small price to pay, he thinks, compared to option 2. “A-anyways, I, or rather, we, would all rather have you get better quickly and join us in peak form.” He hesitates a little.

“...Let me get you something to eat.”

---

Vanessa can’t believe it, holy shit, Mikhail is one hell of a cook.

“Oh my god, you could totally be a housewife or something,” she says, only it comes out more like a slobber because she’s too busy slurping away at the soup Mikhail’s brought over. Mikhail doesn’t even flinch from already being used to her eating habits; she’s pretty thankful that he (and the rest of the platoon) don’t make a fuss about it.

“Man,” she says inbetween spoonfuls, “if being sick means I get to eat your cooking, maybe I should get sick more.” To her surprise Mikhail kind of freezes, looking at her with a weird kind of worried look. Shoot, she was just joking; Mikhail needs to learn to joke more (or else he’ll end up like Kageto, or worse, Muraku--by the way why was no one in this platoon particularly humorous?).

She laughs. “Just kidding, I’d rather fight.” She scrapes the bottom of the bowl for another spoonful. Mikhail’s shoulders seem to relax a little at her appetite, both for fights and food. Good--she can’t keep him worrying about her so much. He’s got enough on his own plate. And seriously, she doesn’t even feel that sick; missing the thermometer was a fluke.

She’s so distracted by scraping the bowl (and feeling not sick) that she’s taken by surprise by a cool touch against her forehead--Mikhail is checking her fever, comparing it with a hand to his own forehead. He peers at her closely.

“Your fever feels like it might’ve gone down a little; maybe the food and rest helped.”

Vanessa practically throws the covers aside--or would have, if Mikhail hadn’t stopped her. Dammit. He knows her too well.

“No, Vanessa, you’re still running a temperature. Just stay in bed for the rest of today, and hopefully you’ll be better by tomorrow morning.” Vanessa tries to protest. “No buts.” Dammit.

She pouts. “Well, I’m gonna be bored sitting here all day. Make up for it.” Treat her like a queen, bring her candy and a Swallow Cafe parfait, or something--she hates being cooped up and told to stay still.

Instead Mikhail brushes her bangs aside and leaves a small kiss on her forehead. “Get better, and we’ll negotiate.” He turns to leave, and Vanessa can swear she sees the tips of his ears turning pink.

...Probably as pink as she’s turning right now. Shit.

---

Mikhail closes the room door gently, leaving Vanessa to rest. He doesn’t particularly enjoy leaving Vanessa rolled up in blankets like that, but it’s the bets thing to do; she needs to get better, and running around outside like she normally does isn’t going to help. And he would 1) much rather endure taking care of an angry, cranky, sick Vanessa than 2) let her fight in War Time in such a condition and…