"Is there something you wanted for the holidays?"
THE WORLD, SOCIETY, people she knew—for her, they could only be divided into three divisions:there are those who are acquaintances, the work colleagues, the strangers, theone’s she would not look behind her for a second glance. There are those she considersnecessary evils, those who push ather buttons, those who see her for her delicate features && think her nothing more than that, those who dare underestimate the pandemonium she has learnedto control. Then there are those: those who are posse. Those that inspire herto greater heights, wider possibilities, those that she listens to && who listen to when she speaks. Those she would die for, those she wouldlive for.
She had thought, planned,for her husband to be of the latter division. Someone she knew, who knew her. Cloud Strife, her husband, is… not. Notsomeone she knows, not someone who knows her.
Her husband is a stranger. One she trusts, yes, at theassurance of members of her own posse, who knewher. Why would they recommend a stranger to her, if not for the fact thatthere was something about him that could eventually endear itself to her in theminds of her posse? && soshe trusts, abandoning her doubts, marching towards the arrangement with barelyany hesitation.
Now, it becomes apparent. Though she trusts her posse, && by association him, he is still nothing more than astranger.
Case in point, see ‘Exhibit A’. They donot talk about the holidays priorto the holidays. It comes upon them in a rush of music, carols, sales as far asthe eye can see for days on end; rushing like a tide, chasing the time rightafter their honeymoon. They do nottalk about the holidays because they do not have time, to busy attempting tofigure out how to make their lives fit together. In one moment, she is attempting read, struggling to find out what types of meals she could serve himthat they could both enjoy without offending her own finicky Japanesesensibilities, one that is far too used to certain tastes && flavors that seemed almost foreign to him. In the nextmoment, it is the season.
To be fair, they had not talked about much at all. Her husband is—something. Somethingentirely different, at times causing her to be bemused, at times causing her tolinger a minute more in interest. His words && body language are honest, in a way that most people trynot to be. He is kind in his intentions, careful in his decisions. There is aweight in his gaze, &&sometimes she dreams in the color of his eyes. She finds it to be nothingshort of a miracle when he smiles or laughs at something she says; she wants totreasure the quiet amusement.
Sometimes, she tries to logically determine why exactly hemarried her. Fujin knows her own reasons: her responsibility to her family, toher lineage, to her posse’s confident assurances, to the contract that boundher to the arrangement. But she has never seen herself as one who could haveattracted… him. Why did he agree, after all that time protesting their union? What changed his mind? She knows her ownflaws, the bluntness, the disregard, the occasional emotional disconnect. Wouldn’tthose keep him protesting? How long till this careful compromise ended? Fujin, inthe early mornings, preparing the hot drinks for her and her husband to consume, begins to doubt. Her husband is a stranger,&& she has no idea how toconnect.
It is no surprise that when the holidays come, marked byevery mall she graces having its very own Santa Claus exhibit; he comes to her,with questions on his lips, a careful regard in his gaze. She hears the words,even sees him pronounce them with her own eye, but— – -
There was no discussion about the holidays, and she hadexpected none to come, because she had… assumed. Assumed that what they wouldhave is a quiet dinner, maybe a mulled drink whatever those were, && then they would separateinto their own corners of this home they had made together. Nothing special.Nothing memorable, probably, to him. But she would have enjoyed it, treasuredthat first memory of a silent night. Or maybe not even something as substantialthat; perhaps they would separate before the dinner, her husband leaving to gocelebrate with his friends, && her with her own posse.
He is sincere. She stares up at him, and their slight differencein height is all the more apparent in their closeness. The different tinges ofgolden shine in the strands of his hair, and there is a slight arch even in thecurve of his brow. He is sincere, &&honestly waiting for a reply to sound from her. She is not… used to being askedwhat she wants. No, to rephrase, she is not used to people asking and genuinelylistening for her reply. She has nodoubt that whatever she requests for as a present, he would attempt his best toobtain. There is something about CloudStrife that breeds a sense of trust, something that makes her want to reciprocate.
The question then: what are her expectations? What could shepossibly ask for from her husband? Her culture does not involve the traditionalrites that occur on other’s holidays, the additions both unfamiliar && unappealing to her. She doesnot particularly yearn for an entire roasted turkey, nor the ludicrous amountsof food that would be wasted after the partying ends. These are not things thatshe loves or adores. She thinks back to the times that she has enjoyed herself with her posse, tries to draw theconnections between them. He’s still waiting for an answer, she her voice cando nothing but reply---“Strawberry shortcake,” she says, haltingly, but her eyewidens in something close to mortification at the fact that she just blurted out.
Yes, she does enjoy the sweet treat, would probably enjoy apresent being made out of it. But she does not think that that is wholly whyCloud has asked her what she wanted.Perhaps he is more similar to her than initially realized. Perhaps he does notknow what she wants either. She shakes her head, the silver strands dispersingalmost frantically, an apology in the creases of her forehead. She takes abreath, allowing it to pass calmly through her pale lips, pressed togetherduring the long seconds of consideration. Answers.
“…company.” His company. That’s all.
She will not lie to herself. She does not know her husband,does not understand, cannot comprehend his words && actions at times—but it does not mean that she does notwant to. She wants. There is amoment, where she cannot find the courage to meet his gaze, the flush of redspreading from the high of her cheeks, the way she purses her lips to preventherself from spouting anything more that was even a little bit sentimental. It takes a moment, && then she raises her gazeagain, blinking up at Cloud.
“…and you?” What wouldhe want for the holidays?
⇢ ❝ when two became one. / @dromii.
