Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ First Kiss ❯ First Kiss ( Chapter 1 )

This fanfiction is a glimpse into the boyhood of Dryden Fassa through the eyes of Princess Millerna's cousin Indigo Aston. For more about Indigo and her relationship to Dryden, Millerna, and Eries, we invite you to check out the story that this ficlet spun off from, "The D-Files: Dryden's Story."

This story is dedicated to Mystic Wolf, who suggested it. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, and caring so much about our characters.

 

--Ron and his Sakura

 

-=--=-=-=-==-=-=-=-==-

"There you are! I've been looking all over--hey, are you drawing the campus?"

 

"Yes. What do you think?"

 

"It's really good! Wow, you've got the Strangedream Sculpture and the campus fountain in there and everything."

 

"Thank you."

 

"I really like how you've drawn the scalloped tiles on the steeple. But why aren't you using a sketch pad? That bit of paper' s so small."

 

"Because it's going to be a postcard. See?"

 

"Ah. Very clever. Whoever you're sending it to is going to love it. Is it for someone back home in Palas?"

 

"Yes... a friend."

 

Yes. A friend. That's all he is. Just a friend. We're just friends, and the only thing between us is friendship.

 

He's. Just. A. Friend.

 

Right?

 

Right.

 

But if that's the case, why does it feel so awkward now to simply write a message on a postcard to him?

 

Dryden... why did you have to make things so complicated?

 

I groan, setting down the handmade postcard that I've been turning over and over in my hands for what seems like hours now. When I was writing the letters for Father and my cousins, the words seemed to gush from my pen, so eager I was to share with them my new experiences being here in Floresta away from home, at school and actually enjoying my classes. But the words seemed to evaporate as soon as I started his.

 

Part of me would like nothing more than to just forget about it. Not bother writing to him at all and just avoid all contact. But I can't do that. For one, I made him a promise. I promised I'd write to him, and Indigo Aston does not go back on her promises. And... the other thing is that I do want to share all this with him. Dryden, more so than Eries or Father, would really take delight in hearing about what I'm doing. He'd want to know all about snarky Professor Rydell's class, my sassy opera student roommates, the art students' bizarre initiation rites, and the mystery gray pap that passes for food here.

 

But...

 

Every time I think of him, I remember...

 

... his kiss.

 

And all the emotions of that moment come crashing back. Even now, I feel my cheeks flushing crimson.

 

Sighing, I slump over my desk and rest my head on the scuffed wooden surface. I'm so confused.

 

This is not how it was supposed to be. My first kiss was supposed to be magical and special. Something to treasure and revisit again and again in memory with fond nostalgia. It wasn't supposed to leave me in this turmoil of shock, anger, embarrassment, confusion, and a nebulous cloud of other feelings that I have yet to sort out and put a name to.

 

My initial reaction had been immediate retreat. I was so upset that all I wanted to do was get away from him and hide in my room indefinitely. Unfortunately, like many things in life, I didn't have that option just then. I had a farewell dinner to attend, and I couldn't think of a way of getting out of it without raising everyone's curiosity. So I was forced to to pull myself together a scant hour later and go through the motions of being the guest of honor in the Kesters' dining room as if nothing was wrong.

 

My tiny hopes that maybe, maybe that cozy little gathering might take my mind off of--things proved futile. My body was sitting at the dining table and making idle conversation with Lady Kester about the latest opera that had debuted, but my thoughts were distracted.

 

Why? Why did it have to be HIM? Gangly, irritating, smart-mouthed, smart-alecky, cocky, sloppy, unrefined Dryden Fassa is NOT the person I would have chosen to be my first kiss. My first kiss! Such a precious moment in a girl's life, and it was gone-- STOLEN--by him!

 

I remember those thoughts swirling angrily in my head as I did my best to look like I was showing interest in some anecdote that Trevor was sharing. "Why couldn't it have been him instead?" I wondered, gazing wistfully upon Trevor's face.

 

Trevor and his brother are achingly handsome. I know of more than one maiden who swoons at the sight of them. Some girls swoon just hearing their names! And on top of that, they are gallant, courteous, charming, athletic--all the things that Dryden is NOT. In my girlish fantasies, it was Trevor or Haim or other boys like them that were the ones giving me that first kiss. That would have been bliss.

 

At least, that was what I thought.

 

Because of their vigorous schedule at the Squires Academy, it had been a while since Trevor and I had been able to talk at length, and he was especially attentive to me that evening. While I basked under his attentions, something about the situation kept bothering me. It took me a little while to put my finger on it, but then it finally dawned on me.

 

Our conversation was incredibly, incredibly superficial and shallow. Smalltalk, chit-chat, polite conversation-- whatever you call it. But we could spend hours talking like that and leave not knowing an iota more about the other. And it was a farce, all of it. The smile pasted to my face, my carefree manner, my reasons for leaving Palas, everything. It became stifling. I wanted to pour out what I felt inside, but I couldn't. Trevor wouldn't understand. I could tell from the way he looked at and treated me that he saw only the illusion that I cast. For me to suddenly reveal myself to him would be jarring at the very least.

 

Somehow in the course of the night, Father, Haim, Lady and Lord Kester each found excuses to go to other parts of the mansion, and I found myself alone with Trevor. It was just like in a romance novel. Just the two of us, the handsome young squire and the beautiful prince's daughter, on the manor's terrace overlooking a rose garden.

 

And then I knew. Trevor was going to kiss me.

 

I had to fight down a sudden urge to laugh out loud. What was it about girls leaving town that impels boys to abruptly lavish affection on them like this?

 

It was seemingly perfect. All the romantic elements were there, just like in my childish dreams: the twin moons and stars in the sky, a dramatic backdrop, a handsome youth, and flowery words.

 

Exactly as I imagined.

 

But it wasn't what I wanted.

 

I suddenly realized that to share such an intimate moment with someone I could not share my most intimate thoughts with was--wrong.

 

As gracefully, gently, and quickly as I could, I extricated myself out of that situation, and shortly thereafter took my leave of the Kesters. Trevor was disappointed, but I could not be persuaded. The ultimate outcome of starting down that path would have been an utter mess. But sidestepping that didn't do anything to help me with the mess I already had on my hands.

 

Absentmindedly, I run my hand through my hair and gasp, startled, when I inadvertently yank my scalp. My fingers have caught where the strands have snarled into some rather gargantuan knots. Not surprising, really. Since coming to the Art Academy, my idea of hair maintenance has been hurriedly tying my hair back and shoving it under my collar to keep it out of the way. It's a far cry from the one hundred brush strokes that my governess insisted was the absolute minimum for a lady's nightly toilette. If I'm not careful, I'm going to end up with a huge matted mass on my head.

 

Dryden would probably tell me to just revel in my new hairstyle or suggest that I cut my hair and offer to shear the locks himself.

 

Huh?

 

Where did that come from? Why did I just think of him like that just now?

 

My fingertips feel about, searching for knots. As my hands slowly and carefully work out the tangles in my hair, I try to work out of the tangles inside my head.

 

I'm angry, and I'm confused, but... I don't hate him. I can't.

 

If it was an uninvited kiss from anyone else, I would have slapped him instantly. But, with Dryden, I didn't even know how to respond. Because even though I was mad and scared and upset, strangely enough, I also didn't want to hurt him.

 

And I still don't.

 

Why?

 

I close my eyes and sigh. If I had to be completely truthful, I'd have to admit that the actual kiss itself wasn't so horrible. Nothing more than a gentle, featherlight peck, really. It's not like he slobbered all over me or groped me. But it's the implications that trouble me.

 

Something is happening, and I don't know where it's going.

 

Dryden and I were friends. And it was a friendship unlike any I had had before. And I liked the way things were. But now it looks like things have changed for him, and I'm not comfortable with that.

 

I don't want things to change.

 

That's probably ungenerous of me, considering how much I've changed since Lavender's passing and how much that's affected those closest to me.

 

I guess part of the dilemma is that I still look at Dryden as the same horrible boy that did all those awful things to me when we were children. I've lost count of the number of dresses I've ruined and the number of scrapes I've gotten on account of him. He even tricked me into kissing a frog once!

 

But the truth of the matter is he's not that boy any longer. We've both changed and grown since those days. And our relationship has morphed into something I never expected.

 

So what is Dryden to me?

 

We're still friends so... he's a friend. He's a... special friend.

 

I admit I care about him. And I do like him... a lot.

 

But is that all?

 

Maybe... I love him.

 

Did I just think that?

 

No way! I did NOT just think that. Of all people, I DID NOT just think that about Dryden! No way, no how!

 

I'm so flustered that I accidentally tug on a knot with too much force, pulling out several hairs in the process. The sharp sensation is enough to bring tears to my eyes. I'm already agitated enough as it is, and it just pushes me over the edge. Out of sheer frustration, I grab a pillow from my bed and shriek and scream and howl into it.

 

Why is this happening?

 

WHAT is happening?

 

I yell for a full minute, until I'm half suffocated and my throat hurts and my chest is heaving. When my tantrum is finally spent, I throw myself onto my bunk and stare at the slats of the bunk above me. My roommates are all at choir practice tonight, and I'm grateful for the privacy I have right now. It wouldn't do for them to see me in such a state. It would invite too many questions, and questions right now would be troublesome. Things are difficult enough as it is as the only girl in this year's incoming class of fine arts students. My male classmates have already labeled me a kind of freaky anomaly. I don't need the additional complication of having everyone find out that all my personal information is fictitious, and that I am in actually Indigo Arrideah Aston, daughter of Prince Nueva, fifth in line to the Asturian throne.

 

I flop onto my stomach and bury my face into the pillow. However, it is thin and lumpy, quite different compared to what I was used to at home, and I end up effectively banging my nose. With a long-suffering groan, I turn onto my side, drawing my legs up to my chest.

 

For the umpteenth time, I wish that I had someone to talk to. I wonder again if I should tell Eries what happened between me and Dryden. After all, she is one of the few people who knows exactly what is going on with me, and I know I can trust her. Besides, she came to me when she needed to talk about Prince Folken. Shouldn't I be able to approach her about something similar? However, I have been hesitant to do so as we didn't exactly part on the best of terms.

 

My leaving Palas hurt Eries, in more ways than one. The accusing look in her blue eyes told me more clearly than words that she felt I was abandoning her. As our small family has dwindled, Eries clings even tighter to those of us that are left. For me to choose to leave for the reasons I did is like betrayal to her, even if she won't admit it. Also, she was incredibly upset when she found out how long I had kept my aspirations a secret from her. What made it even worse was the fact that Dryden knew all about it before she did. I doubt that the additional knowledge that the boy betrothed to her younger sister is falling for me will do anything to improve the situation.

 

I'm afraid this will put a strain between them with me gone and with Eries feeling the way she does. It worries me but... somehow, I have a feeling that things won't get as bad as I fear. Mainly because Eries and Dryden have their own bonds that tie them.

 

It's strange. Given his carefree and almost careless attitude, Dryden probably would have been the last person Eries and I would have entrusted our deepest personal longings to. Yet, he was the one to stumble upon them one after the other. Both of us thought it was certain disaster when we caught him eavesdropping on our conversation that night in Tanglewood. We were sure he would leak word of Eries' betrothal to Folken and her personal thoughts about the Fanelian prince like a sieve, but he never said a word. Despite his loud and outspoken nature, he is trustworthy, unexpectedly so, but he is. Dryden has the utmost respect for Eries' feelings and her privacy.

 

As he does mine.

 

He keeps my secrets. He knows who I am and wants to see me for who I am. He makes me feel safe. I remember the day I received my acceptance letter from Floresta Academy. There was only one person I wanted to share the news with and who I knew would celebrate with me, and it was Dryden. I remember his spontaneous whoop, exultant and heartfelt, and how it resonated in me. It's funny, I've always despised him as a dance partner because he can't remember steps, he can't lead, he can't stay with the music--quite frankly, he can't dance to save his own life. But when he took my hands to take us flying across the room in that crazy, impromptu, clumsy jig--it was the most joyous, exhilarating, happy, wonderful dance in my life.

 

A thought sparks in my mind, and it jolts me upright.

 

I've trusted him with so much. Things I wouldn't or couldn't share with anyone else. Perhaps... perhaps, he was entrusting me with something, too.

 

Maybe, when he kissed me, he wasn't so much stealing something of mine as he was giving away something of his.

 

His true feelings for me.

 

The look in his eyes, the gentle seriousness in his voice when he confessed what he felt... it was like he was laying bare a part of himself he'd never revealed before.

 

"... what you make me feel is beautiful--even if you don't return it."

 

It feels like he's holding out to me something incredibly precious and fragile. It's something I'm not sure if I want to accept, but will surely shatter if I don't. Dryden isn't oblivious to that. He knows the risks, but he offers it to me anyway.

 

Something twists sharply inside me. How do I respond to that?

 

How can he be so sweet and horrid at the same time?

 

He's left me to come to some sort of conclusion with the unstated understanding that he will accept my answer whatever it is. But the problem is that no matter what my answer, things will never be the same again.

 

Why did he have to change?

 

Or maybe, things have always been changing between us, and it was just a matter of us noticing.

 

Still, I don't know how I feel about you, Dryden.

 

But I will give you an honest answer. I promise that.

 

When I figure it out.

 

Whenever that is.

 

But that doesn't excuse me to ignore him until then.

 

With an effort, I lurch out of bed and plunk myself back at my desk. I have to come up with SOMETHING. Things are awkward and I need the time and distance, but I don't want him to think that I hate him. It's not fair to him. And that means breaking the silence. And I will.

 

Resolving to do so didn't solve the problem of what I'm going to write on the blasted postcard though.

 

Summoning of every bit of creative power within me, I force my brain to come up with some message to write to this person who is as perplexing as he is endearing. An idea materializes to the forefront of my brain, and, grasping my pen, I put it to paper.

 

I hold up the postcard to inspect my message. It consists of a single word:

 

HERE.

 

Here. As in, "_Here_is your letter," "_Here_, I kept my promise," "_Here_is my new place," "_Here_I am," and "_Here_is where you are not."

 

I flex my wrist to fling the postcard atop the pile of letters waiting to be taken to the post in the morning. But instead of tossing it aside, I turn it over to study the drawing on the other side.

 

Floresta is a beautiful place, and this particular view is the first glimpse I had of it. I immediately knew I wanted to draw it and--in almost the same heartbeat--wished I could share it with Dryden, who, despite everything, had been the one to prod and encourage me here. That I would draw it for him wasn't so surprising. It was that much less I'd have to put into words. What was surprising was how he kept invading my thoughts as I drew. He had become such a familiar presence during my creative time that I could almost hear him remarking on the highlights of the landscape, arguing about the type of pen and cardstock I should use, making some sort of outrageous suggestion like designing a papier-mâché diorama of the mountain range in puce.

 

I shake my head and sigh, setting the postcard with the rest of my outgoing mail. Much as I can't figure out what's going on in his heat or what's going on in my own for that matter, as much as he's unsettled me, as much as I'd rather not think about or deal with what has changed between us, I do know one thing.

 

I miss you, Dryden.

 

--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 

Authors' note: this ficlet was an experiment in a number of ways. For one, we've never had an original character as a primary "voice" before. For another, we've never written in present tense--we had a great deal of respect for those of you who use present tense as their verb tense of choice, and our respect has been raised a few notches since the writing of this story. This is also our first one-shot, and apparently it, like all our other writings, bloated beyond our initial estimations. We hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and please leave a review.

 

PS can someone explain to us please what a “plot bunny” is? We've see the term here and there on fanfiction sites and still can't figure what it is.