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Nothing should scare Shirafuji. She was cursed to roam the stars, searching for somebody that she left behind all those years. She was a danger to everything, everyone, to even herself. But contrary to what she thought, something - one, she told herself - did scare her.
That someone was currently in a half bow, a hand pressed against her stomach and looking immaculate in a v-cut dress that exposed her breast line, leaving some room for imagination. Her dress exposed her thighs at the side, and heels that glittered under the light of the chandelier. Her lips, pursed, and when Nakayama looked up, the intensity of the gaze, the way she held her own against someone so feared in this universe and the next -
That was what scared Shirafuji.
Nakayama looked up, and she tried not to let her uneasiness shine through. The blonde’s lips curved up at the side, her telltale smirk flitting back on her face. Oh, she knew Shirafuji was nervous. And she was using it.
The purple-haired tried not to show it, though. She could beat her at her own game. Shirafuji bowed back to her, a 45 degree bow, to show the “right” amount of respect. Internally, she wondered what the heck this was about.
“Nakayama. What are we doing here?” The blonde’s smirk grew into a full on-smile. Shirafuji felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Because she stuck out like a sore thumb in the ballroom, full of glittering lights, fancy music, and idle chatter flooding her ears. She even brought her sword. It was still in its sheath, and if need be, would run it through Nakayama if she had something in store.
Knowing her, that was probably the case. Which is why when the woman leaned in closer, lifted her hand - her gloved hand - and pressed a soft kiss to the back, against the leather, something unfamiliar flitted in Shirafuji. A feeling that yearned for more. Nakayama turned that amber stare in her, a familiar fire burning in the depths of that orange she knew all too well. “A dance. A first engagement. Ours.” She whispered, the words barely heard over the music.
And Shirafuji was pulled onto the dance floor before she could even register her words.
They dipped into a waltz, a step, a twirl, a dance move Shirafuji could have described as something Nakayama could have orchestrated. Her hips moved, arms graceful, body spinning from one move to the next effortlessly, while Shirafuji’s armor bumped uselessly against her hips, bulky and tight. Still, Nakayama still fixed her gaze on her, everything fading into nothing as they lost themselves in each other.
“I’m dangerous.” Shirafuji finally managed, her voice choked - the way she never expected it to be. “I know,” Nakayama replied, finally averting her gaze down and away. “But why do you care?”
“…Because everyone I know has died. I will reach Finality before I see the End.” Shirafuji dipped her head, her long purple locks brushing her back and accompanying the movement Nakayama guided her through. “Does that not scare you?”
Nakayama only turned her gaze back, making their gazes meet once more. Oh, that shade of amber. She could get lost in them. Twirling Shirafuji around by the hand, the movement coming as naturally as breathing, she only replied, “Stop worrying about the future. Fuck it. The present is present- it’s now. Future you can worry about future problems.” Her smooth voice - a voice that Shirafuji has grown used to. A baritone deep for a woman as lithe as her.
“Everyone I loved has died. I have seen the end in countless worlds.” Shirafuji licked her lips before finally continuing. “And somehow, you seem to embrace fate by its own cards, then turning your hand to reveal a winning deck. Nakayama, what do you think of fate?”
“Fate is just a word. Your fate is decided by you. So, Galaxy Ranger, Roamer, my friend, what do you decide?”
Indeed, what did Shirafuji want? She pondered this question, as Nakayama dipped her into a complicated dance move that Shirafuji just felt like a puppet being guided around by her strings. Their eyes locked again, and somehow the chatter in the background faded away to nothing, and it was just them and the dance stage.
Nakayama locked eyes with her again. “Not going to answer? That’s unlike you, Shirafuji.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but that feeling of something hot, something desperate and craving, a black hole waiting to swallow something overtook the purple haired woman. Instead of a response, she just pulled the blonde closer, breaking their rhythm to pull her into-
A kiss. A kiss that connected them. A kiss that satisfied both of them, but also not, because both of them were left craving for more, for more contact, because it was never going to be enough. They were going to be each other’s hubris. Downfall. Achilles heel. Underdoing. Did either of them care?
No.
Shirafuji could taste the underlying hint of smoke, of cigarettes. The tinge of cherry flavored lip balm. The way Nakayama parted her lips for them to savor each other’s pain, love, and beauty. The way she drank it all in. The way they wanted to stay like that and never let each other go. “You don’t even know my name. My first name.” She said, rather amused, when Shirafuji leaned back and raised one eyebrow at her. “People that know my first name don’t remember.” Shirafuji doesn't add on the fact that she remembered everybody's names who she met.
“I won’t.” The way Nakayama said it, so simple, so easy, made it seem like a breeze. Like the chains of fate didn’t twist and bind their paths apart. Like she was so sure. Shirafuji admired that. Even if she didn’t want to admit it. “Shirafuji Rui.” Nakayama drank in the name, absorbed it whole. Then she leaned in closer, and Shirafuji felt her nails digging into her back, gentle yet not, the pain a stimulation of what could come next. A chance to soar beyond the skies. “Rui. A pretty name for a pretty face. Suits you.”
“What about yours?”
“...I'll tell you if you kiss me again. Do you thirst for me this much? I can taste it on you.” Nakayama adjusted her grip, so that her hands slithered around Shirafuji's waist and up her spine, and the touch - the touch was dangerous. It was good. She liked it. She adjusted her own hands, which had started to feel cold after laying still for so long, down the nape of her neck, a teasing finger near the slit of her dress, the touch of skin strangely intoxicating and pulled Nakayama closer in. “Accepted, my lady.”
“Tsukasa. Nakayama Tsukasa.” That gaze, filled with so much fire, so intense and stern, gazed into Shirafuji. It looked like she was staring into an abyss, a fire that threatened to consume her whole. And Shirafuji would let her. She would.
Their lips met for the second time, and briefly, Shirafuji wondered who won this game, against the scent of cigarettes and the taste of drunken pleasure, that was known as this blonde.
Maybe they both did. Maybe they both lost.
But Nakayama(Tsukasa)’s lips and touch of her fingers against Shirafuji were a nice little prize.