title:When

 anime:Noir

 author:Immo (pronounced eye-moe)

 E-mail: immo@hamena.org 

 rating:G. Wow, eh? :D

 

 Noir fanfiction again. Mireille and Kirika. Not really yuri, it just

 depends on how you read

 into it. This is after the last episode

 *SPOILER*providingtheysurvived*SPOILER* (not really a

 spoiler, but whatever). Yeah NOIR!!!!

 

 

 "You got a haircut." Dark eyes played across the blonde's features.

 Mireille touched 

 her hair, self-consciously. Strands of silky, spun gold. Just a

 little trim, that was all she

 got. Barely noticeably. But she noticed.

 "It looks nice." Kirika turned away, to look back out the window.

 When did this happen?

 Mireille ducked her face down, to hide a light blush that sprung to

 her cheeks at the

 compliment. When had anyone noticed the slight changes?

 When she changed outfits, Kirika would notice, give that once over

 that was

 altogether exciting, yet dreaded. Exciting because of that little

 thrill of anticipation from

 a little compliment. Dread, that the compliment wouldn't come. When

 had Kirika's opinion

 become so important?

 Mireille pondered, and sat in front her laptop, reviewing the newest

 assignment for

 Noir, yet not really. Kirika was already asleep, and Mireille

 imagined she could hear the

 girl's soft breathing above the hum of the screen in front of her.

 "You should go to sleep soon."

 The voice startled her, yet didn't startle her at all. It was

 comforting, sudden, but

 welcome. It was so long since she had someone care about how late

 she stayed up. And she

 knew, Mireille knew if she stayed up just a bit longer--

 Engrossed in her work, she looked up and saw Kirika standing across

 from her,

 studying the blonde.

 "Mireille,"

 When had anybody been able to do that, to just say her name, and she

 would submit to

 their demands?

 Mireille shut down the laptop, and smiled at Kirika. They slept in

 the same bed,

 Kirika on one side, Mireille on the other. Both of them were awake,

 listening to each other

 breathing in the quiet of the room.

 Sometimes, they would hear a car pass by outside.

 Sometimes, they would hear, somewhere nearby, a dog obeying some

 primal instinct it

 still held after centuries of domestication, howling at the sky.

 Sometimes... all they heard was the sound of each other breathing.

 And when had either of them enjoyed something like that? Enjoyed

 sharing the magical

 silence that the darkness brought? The simple joy of knowing someone

 slept beside you?

 Enjoyed the fact that, waking up would mean waking up to someone...

 In the morning, Mireille would make breakfast, and Kirika would stay

 in bed, awake,

 eyes staring blankly at the plain plaster ceiling.

 Mireille would hum a tune that she had heard the other day, and when

 Kirika finally

 came to the breakfast table, they would find that their tunes

 matched, were in sync.

 When have you sung a song, and found someone singing it with you, at

 the exact same

 time?

 When were words not neccessary to know how each felt about the other?

 When had a feeling of... belonging ensnared the two in its grasp?

 Sometimes... sometimes...

 Merielle would disappear, and Kirika would wait patiently for her to

 come back home.

 Home. Was that was it was? When had the tiny apartment, with the

 green plants kept alive by

 dutiful care, become home? When had that pool table that served as a

 desk become the familiar

 oddity to Kirika?

 And when did it become apparent to the russet-haired girl that the

 rush of...

 something, was relief? The rush of relief, that came up everytime

 Mereille came home. Kirika

 would almost quicken her walk towards Mireille. Stopping abruptly,

 almost too close to

 Mireille, a look of... something in her eyes.

 "Welcome home."

 And Mireille would smile. A tiny smile, just the barest upturning of

 the corners of

 her mouth. A smile, pink and glossy, her eyes showing that, despite

 the small smile, she was

 grinning inside. Beaming. Full-fledged joy.

 "I got you something."

 When had the giving of something involved so much joy?

 Mireille held a paper bag in her arms, and a snow-white kitten,

 batted the edges of

 the bag, stared at Kirika curiously.

 When had gifts like this, meant more than a gift? When had it been

 so important to

 be able to please the other.

 When had things stopped becoming self-centered, and became other-

 centered?

 Mireille took the tiny kitten out of the brown paper bag, cradled

 it, let the bag

 fall to the floor. Holding out the tiny thing to Kirikia, Kirika

 smiled. She took the gift,

 and in that brief instance, their fingertips brushed each others.

 And when had either of them felt a brief, calm pleasure course

 through them? Felt the

 pleasure of knowing that this person who had just touched them, had

 touched them in many more

 ways then before? Touching that exceeded the physical boundaries.

 When had silence been enough to please.

 When did the feelings transcend the reality of the body?

 The looks, every precious few words between them, all treasured and

 placed together

 in a place both of them could reach again and again for reassurance

 when they were lost in

 this world.

 A world full of power-hungry forces that threatened to tear them

 asunder, to rend

 them into memories, and the only ones who would miss them would be

 the kitten, and maybe the

 green plants flourishing by the windowsill.

 Watching Kirika play with the kitten, teasing the small ball of fur

 with a cat toy,

 a little stuffed mouse on string, Mireille watched, contented that

 Kirika was contented.

 Mireille didn't really like cats.

 When had the blonde been able to tolerate felines for Kirika?

 The day passed, dinner was eaten.

 When had dinner become so much less lonely?

 And they slept, while the kitten purred, and slept in between the two.

 When did they stop seeing the world without each other?

 When did Noir, revenge, and convenience, these explanations, been

 thrown out the 

 window as explanations for the two remaining together?

 

 Then, a whispered question, in the still of the night, with just the

 two of them

 breathing. Three now. A purring kitten. Three, then. A question,

 spoken by one, echoed in the

 other's mind.

 "When did you become my world?"

 

 

 Note: Woah, huh? Woah. I dunno. Noir. Cool stuff. I was just

 thinking about it, going through

 some time. My friend's in the hospital, and (knock on wood) I was

 thinking what would happen

 if he never gets better. Scary thought. Then my thoughts drifted to

 my friends, and I don't

 know what I could've done without them, through everything I've been

 through. When had they

 become the things that made up my world? Why can I not imagine me

 without them? :P Sorta

 pathetic, but I dunno. I'm kinda sad.