A Place Called Home

Sparrow, May I?: V (Fluff)

      "The moon will shine, without your smile, but no longer shall it be, a moon that shines for me. Gone are the days, when you'd just stay; so close, smiling at me." The words fell from your pale pink lips, a memory of something you couldn't quite remember. At the edge of a make-shift camp you sat alone, sketching the rough shape of the Qliphoth branches. The twisted gnarled mass of roots were less intimidating from this distance, but you still felt a wave of anxiety every time your eyes followed them to Urizen's throne chamber.

     "Ya know, if you don't come over soon there won't be any s'mores left," Nero called from behind your back. Tilting your head backwards you spotted him hopping out of the van, a pack of marshmallows and graham crackers tucked under his missing arm.

    "Some of us can live without sugar," you teased, giving him a weak smile.

     Nero rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself," he said, walking toward the small campfire. You pressed your tongue against your teeth, amused at how much he reminded you of Dante. Shaking your head, you turned back to your sketch, smearing a line of charcoal with your pinkie. Only another two branches took shape under your fingertips before you jumped at a soft voice to your right.

     "The moon is cold, so I am told, and winter's here for me. When love is gone, there is no sun, the moon is all I see," the voice murmured with a velvet familiarity. You shifted slightly, craning to peer over your shoulder. His silhouette was just visible among the shadows, his back pressed against the side of the van.

     "V." You inclined your head to him, several strands of hair brushing across your face.

     "Sparrow," he hummed, pushing away from the van. His cane clicked lightly against the ground as he walked toward you. He paused before lowering himself beside you, placing his cane across his lap and crossing his legs at the ankle.

     "How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not a bird," you said, shaking your head.

     V hummed again. "Then why do you always flush such a lovely shade of crimson?" he purred. You opened your mouth, prepared to respond with something witty, but your thoughts failed you. Instead you hunched your shoulders and began shading around the qliphoth, smearing until your pinkie was blackened. "That's a rather good drawing," V said.

     You peeked up at him through your lashes. He leaned toward you, his dark eyes skimming the page with faint amusement. When those green orbs snapped up to yours, you inhaled and stared back down at the page. "Th-thanks," you muttered, swirling your initials at the bottom of the page.

     "Where'd you learn?" he asked.

     "Uhh... my mother, before she died. She didn't really teach me though, just let me experiment on my own. So now I do... this." You lifted the sketchbook an inch or so off your lap.

     "May I?" V asked, holding his hand toward you. Gently you placed the book in his hand, watching as he studied the image before flipping through a couple pages. There were various sketches; of the interior of the van, Dante snoozing behind his desk, Nero flexing one of his attachable arms, Nico letting out a puff of smoke, and many others. "They're very good," V said, extending the book back to you.

     You accepted and closed it, setting it beside your thigh and staring out toward the city. From where you were camped out you could still see the stars, at least in slivers where thick gray clouds didn't obscure them. "So why aren't you at the fire?" you asked, sneaking a peek at V.

     His dark hair was curling around his cheekbone and jaw, his nose protruding in a defined manner. You could even see his emerald irises flashing between stars, before they slid over to you. His lips twisted up on one side in his cheeky grin. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked, raising one of his dark eyebrows.