summary: it’s the last day of summer.
notes: i think i should do this more often, write for fun and don’t know what to write until it’s flowing out. although it’s probably very crappy. written for the prompt aeroplane at 15_minute_fic.
the sun says goodbye
They sit together by the river’s edge, their bare feet dangling on the water and making happy splashing sounds. Their pants folded up to their knees so that they won’t get wet and their sleeves up to their shoulders so that they will manage to catch what’s left of this warm summer sun that still chases the boring cold away.
When Kai takes a rectangular, white paper sheet from his pocket, Claire can’t help but stare, caught in her movements to put her long hair up so it won’t get too wet. He then folds the paper successively, so in the end, when he flashes her with it, it’s not a paper any longer, but an aeroplane. Claire laughs and kicks the water enthusiastically, not really remembering the last time she’s seen something like it. Probably in her childhood.
The hours pass and they’re magic. The stream still flows, and it will the next day, and so will the chicken be there plucking grains from the earth and the cows and the sheep enjoying the sun away. However, the hours pass, and happy as they may be lying down by the stream, it’s the last day of summer. Tomorrow the sun won’t be there to greet her with a smile and it’s radiant warmth, and Kai won’t be there to help her pass the time and bring a smile to her lips.
Oh well, that’s life.
The sky’s orange and the stream is painted purple, the breeze is no longer a refreshing gush of air to become something cold and hateful. He takes his coat and hangs it on her shoulders carefully. “Hey, look at the sun going down,” he says, and she looks.
The sun goes down and leaves them be and so does summer. They are at the entrance to her house. Tomorrow, he says, Tomorrow I’ll be gone. But you don’t need to worry, okay, Claire? I’ll be back next year.
“You’ll send letters?” She asks, her hands trembling not from the cold, grabbing the hem of his coat.
He laughs and holds her in an embrace. “Yes, I will.” And only then does she begin to reciprocate the embrace. After a minute’s silence, she feels the paper aeroplane in her pocket and looks at him with her big, honest eyes, and mumbles, “Won’t you at least stay the night?”
Kai doesn’t know how to say no to that.