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Fandom: Shane Acker's 9
Rating: G
Focus: 9 and 6, either as friends or romance, take your pick
Summary: Nine didn't want words. He just wanted comfort from a friend.
Notes/Warnings: This is an exercise in flash fiction, and just some fluff between my OTP.
If there truly was a man on the moon, it could be said it was the only one around at that time of night where it could be late or early hours to see a small cloth figure running down the halls of a chapel. The figure slowed, a hand securing itself on the pull of a zipper, then it looked up through the ruined roof long enough for itself and the moon-man to make eye contact. After only a few seconds of observing, the figure went back to its trek through its home, retreating further away so that neither could see each other anymore.
But of course there isn't a man in the moon. If there was, maybe he would have noticed the way the stitching above the figure's glass and metal eyes mimicked human worry. Maybe he would have pondered why this was, if maybe the person below him had too many thoughts in their head, the kind that raced from one to the other and back again just as quickly and unstoppable as a heartbeat.
But it was just the moon. A hunk of rock that could observe but could make no assumptions of what it saw. There wasn't much sense in romanticising it further when there were many more emotions being felt below it.
Nine had nearly reached his destination, taking the less travelled and more troublesome route of the stairs, and then through more corridors. He could have just operated the elevator himself and been up in a few minutes, but all that creaking of rope and old wood was sure to wake everyone, and he didn't want that. Nine didn't want noise tonight. He wanted silence, and not the kind that had invaded his room, turning every shadow and breath of wind into a monster growling at his back. No, he wanted the type of silence that was only interrupted by a faraway chime caught in the breeze, alerting any listener that things are safe for the time being.
Nine scurried through mouse holes and under broken boards until he reached the landmark he'd been looking for. This must be the place, he said to himself, his inner voice even in a whisper. He knew he was overly paranoid, but he still slowly leaned out of the alcove in the wall to check that the room was empty. Yes, One and Eight had left for their separate sleeping quarters long ago, just as he'd been told.
His feet tapped against the floor loudly despite his attempts to move quickly and quietly. He parted the curtain at the edge of the room, hearing paper rustling from behind it. he heard a voice that he had come to associate with comfort within the short time he'd heard. Already quiet and rarely used, Six's voice was further muddled by sleep as he began to ask why Nine was there at such an hour.
But his question was stopped by arms wrapping around his middle, and Nine's head nearly hitting the key around Six's neck in his hurry. Nine had slipped on the papers in the nest, and his face hurt where it came into contact with the hard metal, but none of that mattered. He was finally there.
"Please don't say anything. Please."
It was the only thing Nine could get out before he tightened his hold around Six and buried his face into the striped fabric. He knew Six wanted to ask him questions, he could almost hear the inquiries about to form from his friend's voice box.
But Six had promised. And true to his word, he provided the quiet assurance that Nine was not alone in the world. As Six rubbed his hands gently over the newcomer's back, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind, where there was just raw emotion and thought and no words or logic, that the promise was being returned to him.
During the night Nine made small movements showing he was still alert, despite his silence and tightly shut eyes. An adjustment of his head where it rested on Six's chest, a twitching of his legs as he longed to curl into a protective ball. They were barely noticeable, but brought Six out of his daze. Eventually the grip around Six slackened, and the tired artist stopped caressing Nine's back. Sure that he wouldn't wake his companion, he rested his head against Nine's and drifted into the world of sleep once again.
Nine would be gone in the morning, before any of the others woke. No one would know about it, not even the moon as its rays moved outside their temporary shelter. This moment of peace was theirs and theirs alone.
Rating: G
Focus: 9 and 6, either as friends or romance, take your pick
Summary: Nine didn't want words. He just wanted comfort from a friend.
Notes/Warnings: This is an exercise in flash fiction, and just some fluff between my OTP.
If there truly was a man on the moon, it could be said it was the only one around at that time of night where it could be late or early hours to see a small cloth figure running down the halls of a chapel. The figure slowed, a hand securing itself on the pull of a zipper, then it looked up through the ruined roof long enough for itself and the moon-man to make eye contact. After only a few seconds of observing, the figure went back to its trek through its home, retreating further away so that neither could see each other anymore.
But of course there isn't a man in the moon. If there was, maybe he would have noticed the way the stitching above the figure's glass and metal eyes mimicked human worry. Maybe he would have pondered why this was, if maybe the person below him had too many thoughts in their head, the kind that raced from one to the other and back again just as quickly and unstoppable as a heartbeat.
But it was just the moon. A hunk of rock that could observe but could make no assumptions of what it saw. There wasn't much sense in romanticising it further when there were many more emotions being felt below it.
Nine had nearly reached his destination, taking the less travelled and more troublesome route of the stairs, and then through more corridors. He could have just operated the elevator himself and been up in a few minutes, but all that creaking of rope and old wood was sure to wake everyone, and he didn't want that. Nine didn't want noise tonight. He wanted silence, and not the kind that had invaded his room, turning every shadow and breath of wind into a monster growling at his back. No, he wanted the type of silence that was only interrupted by a faraway chime caught in the breeze, alerting any listener that things are safe for the time being.
Nine scurried through mouse holes and under broken boards until he reached the landmark he'd been looking for. This must be the place, he said to himself, his inner voice even in a whisper. He knew he was overly paranoid, but he still slowly leaned out of the alcove in the wall to check that the room was empty. Yes, One and Eight had left for their separate sleeping quarters long ago, just as he'd been told.
His feet tapped against the floor loudly despite his attempts to move quickly and quietly. He parted the curtain at the edge of the room, hearing paper rustling from behind it. he heard a voice that he had come to associate with comfort within the short time he'd heard. Already quiet and rarely used, Six's voice was further muddled by sleep as he began to ask why Nine was there at such an hour.
But his question was stopped by arms wrapping around his middle, and Nine's head nearly hitting the key around Six's neck in his hurry. Nine had slipped on the papers in the nest, and his face hurt where it came into contact with the hard metal, but none of that mattered. He was finally there.
"Please don't say anything. Please."
It was the only thing Nine could get out before he tightened his hold around Six and buried his face into the striped fabric. He knew Six wanted to ask him questions, he could almost hear the inquiries about to form from his friend's voice box.
But Six had promised. And true to his word, he provided the quiet assurance that Nine was not alone in the world. As Six rubbed his hands gently over the newcomer's back, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind, where there was just raw emotion and thought and no words or logic, that the promise was being returned to him.
During the night Nine made small movements showing he was still alert, despite his silence and tightly shut eyes. An adjustment of his head where it rested on Six's chest, a twitching of his legs as he longed to curl into a protective ball. They were barely noticeable, but brought Six out of his daze. Eventually the grip around Six slackened, and the tired artist stopped caressing Nine's back. Sure that he wouldn't wake his companion, he rested his head against Nine's and drifted into the world of sleep once again.
Nine would be gone in the morning, before any of the others woke. No one would know about it, not even the moon as its rays moved outside their temporary shelter. This moment of peace was theirs and theirs alone.
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