A Love That Is Mine 4

Strike Witches-fanfic. Lynette thinks she might have found love where she least expected it.
Fourth part in a series of short stories.
(Lynette/Perrine with mention of Yoshika)

Read A Love That Is Mine 4

Disclaimer: All things Strike Witches belong to Gonzo and a bunch of others, though I’m sure I’m not hurting anything by borrowing them for a bit.

This is the fourth part in the “A Love That Is Mine”-series.



A Love That Is Mine 4
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson





Were you my first love? Was I yours?

I do not know, I was far too naïve then and it passed me by unawares. Thinking back now though I think there was something between us, something beyond the strong and true friendship that we did and still do share though we are now a world apart, something strangely deeper. A possibility of something that could have been but never was, if that makes any sense.

I suppose we were children still, playing at the beginnings of romance before we even knew it, and by the time we could tell what was possible for us the chance of it, of us, had already become a thing of the past. It is nothing but curiosity coloured by nostalgia now for me, wondering what would have happened if you had ever reached out for me. Would I have accepted? What would we have become together?

The friendship that we share is something I am both happy and content with, and if there was ever the urge to take it further I no longer have it, consciously or otherwise. Although I find myself missing you often, it is my most precious friend that I long for, not a lover I wish had been mine. If I know you even half as well as I think I do, you feel the same.

I could sure have needed to have you around now though, to share these other thoughts and feelings that have preoccupied my mind of late. I wonder what you would think of this situation I find myself in, and what advice, if any, that you might have for me.

The decision was easy, it was as if it had been agreed upon long before in how obvious and clear it was to me that my path was the same as hers. Rebuilding what was lost is both so very needed and a good cause, and it is one that I feel far better suited to than combat. Work might be hard but it also brings me much joy in so many small ways, and I am so glad I can share those moments with her.

There was always something about her that I admired and respected in some small way, and it had nothing to do with her competence in battle though she proved that as well. Strangely now that we spend so much time together, alone, I can truly see how she was held back before, like a flower not allowed enough room or light to grow. Now, here, she reveals her true self, the strength and grace which were overshadowed before and that now sparkles so much it amazes me. I could think of nowhere better to be, nothing more worthwhile for me to do, than to be at her side.

She is also very gentle and caring, particularly with me. I know the others would laugh if they knew that there is no place I feel as safe or as welcome as by her side, but they know only of the old her, not of her as she truly is.

Who would believe me if I tried to describe the childlike joy on her face that comes from the simple act of planting a small sapling? Or the gentle care and immense concern directed at me for even the smallest scrape or tiny splinter? She treats me sometimes as if I was as fragile as glass and infinitely precious, causing my heart to beat just that much faster every time.

Her hands. I am embarrassed to admit it even to myself, but her hands fascinate me. So slender and smooth, yet so strong and sure... always catching me, guiding me, supporting me. Lately my thoughts have strayed even further, and I have caught myself thinking that her hands, slightly cooler to the touch than mine, would feel so soothing against the heated skin of my face, my cheeks, my forehead.

Once I fantasized of other places where her touch would be bliss, and since then I cannot keep myself from blushing when our eyes meet for too long. Now I know why I blush when our gazes meet or my fingers linger a bit longer than they should when we touch by chance, but why does she?

Could it be that this remarkable person sees beyond the friend, student and little sister, and sees in me a woman worth noticing? The mere thought of the possibility of this makes my heart soar every bit as much as I ever did while flying in these endless blue skies. I am left almost giddy and breathless, and have to control myself so that I will not simply rush to her and wrap my arms around her neck, never letting go.

Is this love? The closest I have ever felt to this are the nascent feelings that almost were with you, and this is so infinitely much more.

The next time she takes my hand to guide me over uneven terrain the way she does to keep me from falling on my face, I shall entwine our fingers and see how she reacts. Maybe, if I am really lucky, she will accept my hand and not let me go.

Maybe she will want it too, this unexpected feeling growing between us.

This love that could be just ours.