Work Text:
Utena-sama grows sentimental at night.
She rambles about the apartment they will get together after everything, about the smell of fresh croissants in the morning, of waking up to sun beaming into the windows, of midnight walks and morning runs, of matching teacups and kendo tournaments. She paints a picture of laughter and light for Anthy, touches her hand with careless gentleness, and her voice is so tender.
Anthy listens and smiles in the dark, holds onto Utena-sama's sword-calloused fingers. Anthy thinks of the blade, of bright narrow blade, of sharp bright blade she will use, when the time comes.