Butterfly kisses | Fieldcest
Pairing ◈ Light Field & Clover Field
Word count ◈ 1,878
Info & Warnings ◈ Depictions of disability, fluff, pre-canon (there is implied underage in there)
Author's notes ◈ Wrote this when I was sick with a cold so it's not my best work but it's made with love ok 😭
Read on Ao3
Touch is his sight; his hands are his eyes. He yearns and craves things he cannot have, so instead of kissing her the way he so desires, he presses the softest touch to the corner of her mouth - where his eyes should gaze upon, where his lips should press.
Growing up without sight was difficult in many regards. He had to reacquaint himself with his surroundings, with the way he walked, and went about his daily life.
Given his age when he began learning braille, it soon became second nature to him. And in all their accommodating kindness, his parents got him a label machine, allowing him to print sticky plastic strips he could read with his fingertips on all his favourite books and items. He got a walking cane as well. Though it grew unnecessary in his own home, with how well acquainted he was with everything on a millimetric scale, he still needed to use it outside, much to his embarrassment.
Not everything was as simple, though. As one sense swapped with another, and with the added difficulty of his missing arm, many things remained challenging to get done without someone’s aid. Simple things most people took for granted, like brushing his teeth took months to master. Or eating with a knife and fork like all the other kids did. Dressing himself, though, was a particularly challenging task, no matter how easy it became on a mechanic level. At first he tried to wear things he found cool in his mind, things he’d always liked wearing prior. Patterned shirts, ripped jeans, and the like.He quickly grew despondent though, and gave that effort up entirely. He no longer took any pleasure from seeing himself in outfits he deemed pleasing – not when he couldn’t see himself at all, – so he opted for something simple and comfortable in his everyday life. White t-shirts and blue jeans became his go-to outfit. Something classic that matched no matter what, while still retaining the comfort he needed.
That is, until Clover turned into a teenager herself.
She was lively and demanding, and she grew a keen sense of fashion he wished he could witness in person. She loved enthusiastically describing what she wore every day – white silk, blue cotton, black and yellow wool. Pink denim, fuzzy fuschia, and shimmery poliester. She'd wrap his hand in hers and she'd bring it over her body for him to see the fabric up close with the touch of his fingertips. He always blushed deeply, a nervous smile on his lips as he let himself indulge in the strange, charged tension she lit between the two. Those moments wouldn't last exceptionally long, not with their morning routines being as faced paced as they were, but they were memorable parts of his day regardless. They were moments where she would paint him a word picture of the strange combinations she'd try on and give him a taste of them for himself.
That's how she began to meddle with his own style, insidiously creeping into his closet and raising a critical eyebrow at the plainness of his choices.
She began insisting with their parents to let her pick strange items for him to wear whenever they went shopping. She'd insist on how they were attractive, hip pieces the coolest and most handsome boys always wore, so it was imperative he must wear them too. A disservice, she insisted it was, that her brother's natural charm should be wasted on classical short hair trims and repetitive outfits.
Only after Light agreed did their parents let her have her way.
Over many months she took him through stores, picking clothes she found interesting, letting him feel their texture and having him try them on. They paired items together and formed many outfits, things he could mix and match and always get satisfying and unique results that complimented him and his better attributes. He was lithe and athletic, Clover insisted, she he should let his body talk for him. She wasn’t sure what that meant, too many years without sight to truly know what his own silhouette was meant to look like, but with eager hands down his waist and hips, she did her best to explain.
In the end, Light found himself with a decently sized closet, with hangers labelling every item for him to choose and match on his own. Knowing the compliments he got from his beloved sister, it no longer felt pointless putting in the effort.
"You look like you belong on a catwalk," she said one time as he made toast in the kitchen after school, his hip cocked to the side as he leaned on the counter and spread butter onto the crispy bread slices. "Or better yet, a stage!"
Soon after that, he began letting his hair grow. It was another one of Clover's many suggestions, but he found it quite enjoyable as it posed no impediment to his already ruined sight. He could feel how it fell down in soft waves, layered and now dyed as they pooled over his shoulders.
"It's the funny coloured hair you gave me," he joked in response.
"There's a reason you're so popular now in school and it isn't your grades," she jested. He felt and heard her approach him, standing just before him with an elbow on the counter.
There was another thing that his sight had taken away from him, which he found difficult to replace, and that was his ability to know what his family looked like. He still recalled what his parents looked like when he was a child, even if that image was murky over years of never seeing them again. Still, they’d describe their new wrinkles and thinning, greying hair to him whenever he asked.
His sister though, was a whole other problem. She was barely old enough to remember his accident, barely old enough to have a face he could use as a template for the changes her development could have had on her. No matter how much he asked, no matter how hard she tried, he could never get the picture right.
She said her face was small, with big, round eyes, grey and green, with little flecks of gold around her pupils. She'd bring his larger hands to cup her face so he could feel the fat of her cheeks, the straightness of her small nose, the fullness of her lips. He'd brush his thumbs over her eyebrows, her eyelids and long lashes, and the freckles she described being dotted on her soft cheeks.
That was when a certain habit began to form, a habit Light would resort to almost daily for months and years to come.
His thumb would find her lips, brush over her silky smooth skin, and linger on the corner of her mouth.
A kiss. Or the closest he could find to one, at least.
She always smiled, making his thumb raise, and he'd smile too, fondly, like the wrongness of his growing, sordid yearning wasn't a concern.
That's what he did at that moment, in their kitchen, as she complimented him in the comfort of their home. What he did before they went to bed. What he did when she said a bad joke that had them both laughing regardless. She was his to love and cherish, and he did so, very, very much.
It didn't take long for her to notice his new habit. She was smarter and more attentive than most gave her credit for. They saw a young girl with brightly coloured hair and flashy clothes and took the stupid risk of underestimating her. It was their loss and he never mourned their ignorance as their prejudice eventually kicked them back in the face. But once she began to question him, he felt as though he was the one getting the retribution he didn't expect would come his way.
Clover only asked at first. Sweetly, innocently, in between bashful giggles.
“Why do you do that, Light?”
Embarrassment was his first reaction, quickly followed by shame.
“Does it make you uncomfortable? I apologise.”
But she laughed and brought his retreating hand back to her face and kissed his palm, telling him it was alright.
So he kept doing it.
After that, she began playing along. He'd press his thumb to the corner of her mouth longingly, and she'd turn her head to meet the digit with the centre of her lips. She'd press a kiss, like she couldn't possibly be the sweetest thing there was, and all he could do was nervously laugh it off.
But he kept doing it. And so did she. Like a gentle push and pull. A ritual he'd started as a way to innocently stave off his worst feelings had quickly turned into twice the temptation it once was. He'd find himself licking his lips along with her actions and only stopping himself too late, or blushing under his collar at the way his desires grew.
It was a game of patience and resistance. One day, something had to give.
It came in the form of Clover's gentle voice, wobbly like desperation had gotten the better of her.
His hand had found her face as usual, had found her lips as he pressed his imaginary kiss to its corner. His thumb had gently brushed on the soft skin, feeling how delicate it was, how full and wet it was. By the time he stopped at his destination, Clover grabbed onto the front of his t-shirt, her small hands balled in fists where they rested on his chest.
"Light..." she whimpered, voice trailing off. For a moment, he wondered if she was about to cry, like he'd hurt her in some way, but no. He trailed up to her cheeks, warm and dry, and up to her lashes, long and full. She leaned into his touch, allowing the hand that cradled her face to hold her fully.
There was something precious and unspoken between the air they shared. An anxious feeling, as well as a magnetic one pulling the two together by invisible threads they could only see with their eyes closed shut.
Light obliged her as her pretty lips parted, diving in and fulfilling the desires he'd harboured for years compounded.
She leaned into him fully, sighing and locking her lips to his. She moved like water against him, ever fluid, moulding to his own body so naturally. She belonged there, with him, as her hands wrapped around his middle and settled on his back, as his good arm circled her shoulders and held her by the back of her neck, so close to the roots of her hair. She tasted so sweet, and his heart swole in his chest as the magnitude of their union settled in his core.
His sister wanted him. Clover wanted him. Innocence and temptation tucked into one, small package for him to unwrap with clumsy hands.
As they parted, Light’s eyes searched the darkness for her, his hand tracing her hairline until he reached her jaw. She was still and quiet as he cupped her cheek once more, a stupid grin on his face as his thumb found the smiling corner of her mouth once more.
“I’ve wanted to do this for the longest time,” he said.
She laughed, hands grasping him closer to her.
“Light,” she whispered as she did so, something conspiratorial and euphoric in her tone. “Better keep doing it then, to make up for all that lost time.”
He couldn’t be happier to oblige.
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