Battleship
"It's pretty simple, he says, either you hit or miss. Kazuma X Kanami (nothing to do with the game)."
"It's pretty simple," He says, "Either you hit or you miss."
You like that. It keeps things plain and simple and to the point. You think that there might be something lost in so direct a translation, but you've never really liked abstracts anyway. Black and white were always far more appealing. What could and couldn't be done. What was and what wasn't. Thinking about what someone might be able to do and might not be able to do, what might be and what might not be always just gave you headaches.
So you smile and let him form your small hand into a fist, his own closing over yours with a sense of purpose. This is always where he's been the most comfortable; on the battlefield. And you laugh to yourself as you look around the shabby little house and think that it's a pretty calm battlefield, but you refuse to pop his bubble and so you stay silent and interested. He shows the motions and you repeat them a few times on your own.
Then he smiles, a smile that seems to light up his face, and holds up a palm. He hits it once with his own hand, demonstrating, and tells you to try. So you do. Things don't go quite as planned and you're hand's a little farther to the left than you had originally intended. He laughs and corrects you, giving you this tip and that.
"Just hit or miss, right?" You say. He nods solemnly.
Another try goes even farther amiss than the last one, and instead of just missing his palm, you nearly nail his jaw. When the dust clears and you open your tightly closed eyes, he looks rather startled and you decide you really can't blame him. Your punch took you directly into his arms, which have wrapped around you in what you are sure was an instinct to keep you from falling. When you stop noticing the position of his arms, you then realize just how close you two are. Your mouths, you note, are only inches away.
And it's been an awfully long time, you think, since you saw this man last. Five years and no contact does crazy things to people, and even though the fool has been back for a few weeks now, you can't help but notice that you still miss him, even though he's there. You think it's because he's been acting like your china (less and less as he sees more and more, but still) and because it's almost like he's waiting for a sign of your displeasure.
His homecoming had been a bit awkward, with lots of tears and not a few choice words about leaving and staying and responsibility, dammit, but now you think you're okay. Know you're okay. And so when he refuses to unfreeze from his position, you slowly lean forward until you're centimeters apart and then in a sudden, surprising move, he moves the rest of the way.
You're lips stay fused until the need for oxygen becomes much too difficult to ignore, and then you hardly move, still just centimeters away. There's a longing in his movements, and suddenly the air is filled with things unsaid and things almost-said. But for the moment you ignore them and return your lips to his, refusing, now that you've gotten a taste, to release such a rare catch.
There are unresolved issues on both sides, including but not limited to his departure, your being left behind, his temper, your temper and about a thousand other things. There are abstracts to be looked at and debated, theories to study and test, and ultimately, an understanding to be reached.
But you've always liked black and white things more, even if you've always dreamed in color. And because of that, you know that at the moment you're latest try was a hit, and that even if you miss, you've got enough in you to try again.
Cataracta's Notes: Let me know what you think!