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rainbowfic2015-06-16 01:51 am
crossfortune) wrote in rainbowfic2015-06-16 01:51 am
Entry tags:
hold onto your heart;
Name: Mischa
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: octarine (I'm on everyone's side. It'd be nice if, just for once, someone was on mine), bistre (Questions are dangerous, for they have answers)
Supplies and Styles: canvas
Word Count: 390
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: N/A, I think
Summary: Mira asks Mikha her opinion on his boyfriend. Mikha being Mikha, she is brutally honest - though Mira isn't likely to listen.
Notes:
“What do you think, Mikha?” Mira finally asks, looking up from the harp in his lap, which he was only pretending to tune. His bangs fall in his eyes, obscuring his expression, only making it harder to read anything but his ever-present smile, and a memory from a lifetime ago creeps up, unbidden.
Sevda, watch out for people like that girl. The ones that smile when it hurts.
Mikha snorts, and continues sharpening her daggers. “About what?” she asks, sharply - she knows, of course, because Mira seldom asks her advice or opinions on anything to do with his personal life. Except that boyfriend of his, and it has to be that because for once they’re between projects, between work. She doesn’t like him - has never made any pretense about exactly where she stands with Ilya - and her advice will never change. She knows what Mira is asking about, but she’s going to make him ask.
“Ilya,” he finally says, and bends his head back to actually tune his harp this time.
“Is he good in bed?” Mikha asks, bluntly, because she can’t imagine why else Ilya is appealing, much less to Mira, who could do so much better. Not that she wants to know whether he actually is or not.
Mira laughs, or something almost like a laugh, though it’s hard to tell if it’s genuine or not - he has many masks, and this is among the most perfect of them. “You don’t actually want to know the answer to that,” he says, lightly, teasing. “And I already know you don’t like him. Why?”
“You could do better,” she folds her arms across her chest. “At least someone who can pretend convincingly like they have an ounce of awareness and emotional competence. That would be nice.” she pauses, after a moment. She isn’t Mira, doesn’t have his silver tongue, and isn’t Rahela, she doesn’t know how to distill her misgivings into words. That someday, someday, Ilya will hurt him deeply, that he’s utterly wrong for him.
That Mira is fragile, despite how he denies it, and she doesn’t trust him with her youngest brother’s heart. “He’ll break your heart,”
Mira shakes his head and smiles, plucking out a soft song on the harp. “He won’t,” he says, quietly, arpeggios beneath his fingers transformed into melody. “He can’t.”
It’s already broken.
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: octarine (I'm on everyone's side. It'd be nice if, just for once, someone was on mine), bistre (Questions are dangerous, for they have answers)
Supplies and Styles: canvas
Word Count: 390
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: N/A, I think
Summary: Mira asks Mikha her opinion on his boyfriend. Mikha being Mikha, she is brutally honest - though Mira isn't likely to listen.
Notes:
“What do you think, Mikha?” Mira finally asks, looking up from the harp in his lap, which he was only pretending to tune. His bangs fall in his eyes, obscuring his expression, only making it harder to read anything but his ever-present smile, and a memory from a lifetime ago creeps up, unbidden.
Sevda, watch out for people like that girl. The ones that smile when it hurts.
Mikha snorts, and continues sharpening her daggers. “About what?” she asks, sharply - she knows, of course, because Mira seldom asks her advice or opinions on anything to do with his personal life. Except that boyfriend of his, and it has to be that because for once they’re between projects, between work. She doesn’t like him - has never made any pretense about exactly where she stands with Ilya - and her advice will never change. She knows what Mira is asking about, but she’s going to make him ask.
“Ilya,” he finally says, and bends his head back to actually tune his harp this time.
“Is he good in bed?” Mikha asks, bluntly, because she can’t imagine why else Ilya is appealing, much less to Mira, who could do so much better. Not that she wants to know whether he actually is or not.
Mira laughs, or something almost like a laugh, though it’s hard to tell if it’s genuine or not - he has many masks, and this is among the most perfect of them. “You don’t actually want to know the answer to that,” he says, lightly, teasing. “And I already know you don’t like him. Why?”
“You could do better,” she folds her arms across her chest. “At least someone who can pretend convincingly like they have an ounce of awareness and emotional competence. That would be nice.” she pauses, after a moment. She isn’t Mira, doesn’t have his silver tongue, and isn’t Rahela, she doesn’t know how to distill her misgivings into words. That someday, someday, Ilya will hurt him deeply, that he’s utterly wrong for him.
That Mira is fragile, despite how he denies it, and she doesn’t trust him with her youngest brother’s heart. “He’ll break your heart,”
Mira shakes his head and smiles, plucking out a soft song on the harp. “He won’t,” he says, quietly, arpeggios beneath his fingers transformed into melody. “He can’t.”
It’s already broken.