A/N: Whee. This one was actually started... erm... back in 10th grade? I've only recently pulled it out, finished it, and polished it up. You can probably still see the traces of my old(er) writing at the beginning. XD
And, if you can't tell who the characters are, shame on you!
Disclaimer: I don't own Golden Sun. Although if they don't come out with a GS3 soon, I'm going to be mad.
---
She was beautiful.
He couldn't help but stare at her as she idly played with the collar of her shirt, the wind whipping her long burgundy-colored hair this way and that. It fit her, he decided, watching her attempt to restrain her hair with a bright-red cloth band. It did very little good, merely coming untied and letting her hair settle over her face and shoulders before blowing around once more.
He didn't know what had happened. One moment, he was looking at her; the next, his heart had decided to fall in love and had forgotten to tell him he'd be along for the ride.
Had she chanced to look in his journal, where he was supposed to have been keeping records of their travels, she would have found pages full of doodles. Some were mere sketches of moments he'd remembered or thought of; some were full-fledged drawings that portrayed her with a master's eye. He had a talent for drawing, and didn't see why he couldn't use it for this.
Even now, as she gave up on the struggle with her hair, one of her tiny Djinn poked its head out of her backpack and picked her head as a resting spot. She laughed delightedly as it perched on top of her, and he caught that laugh, that emotion, and flipped to a blank page of his journal.
Using short, thin strokes, he captured the scene in a quick sketch, remembering little details to fill in later.
With the picture set onto paper, he flipped back through the drawings he'd done recently. An innocent smile as her brother demanded his book back; the threatening look that the mind reader had earned by attempting to hone her Psynergy on the redhead.
He suppressed a grin. He had even caught her in one of her full pyromaniacal rages, chasing the aged scholar around the ship – after she'd caught him sneaking samples of their recovery items for his research – and threatening to roast him alive.
Burning dinner. Burning whoever insulted her cooking, especially said scholar. Running around yelling at the top of her lungs because she was bored. Waltzing around the room with her brother after a successful quest was completed. Pounding on a monster with her sword. Having an eating contest with the other pyromaniac of the group. Laughing, talking, singing, even leaning her head on her brother's shoulder and falling asleep. Whatever it was, he had drawn most of it.
Yes, she had become his obsession.
No, he didn't care.
---
In some ways, he mused, he had to be grateful to the people of Madra. Had they not imprisoned him, he might never have met her. After all, that was where they had first met – albeit it had not been much of a meeting. They had visited the jail for Iris knew what reason, and arrived just in time to see one of the guards fall victim to his long-suppressed anger.
The man had fled screaming, which in itself had been immensely satisfying.
But her eyes -- ! The look she had given him had made him feel dizzy, although he hadn't been sure why. He'd only known that her eyes were the most beautiful he'd ever seen, and he'd seen quite a few. Mostly blue ones, since that seemed to be a Lemurian standard, but not hers.
---
Why did life outside have to be so incredibly complicated, he wondered, filling in a sketch he'd made the night before. It took little effort to finish – he was already almost done. As he set down the last stroke, he looked the picture over, set his quill down, corked the bottle of ink, and hurled the little glass container at the wall with all the strength he could muster, willing either the bottle to shatter or the wall to crack.
Either one would have suited him just fine. At the moment, he was angry enough that he needed to break something. When neither of the above effects actually happened, he rained down Lemurian curses on whatever was in earshot, stalked out of his room, and slammed the door behind him. The desperate need to take out his anger on something filled him until he was nearly blinded by it, and he clutched wildly for anything that remained of his phlegmatic façade.
Why did she have to be in love with someone else? Gods all knew it was hard enough for him to love anyone since his mother had died. And now, he'd found the girl who turned his head and his heart at the same time, only to be warned that she was "taken". Her brother was his best friend, and even he had been deadly serious about not pursuing his sister unless that was what she wanted.
Which it wasn't.
She seemed torn between her two childhood loves, but she never saw him as anything more than a friend. Not that she ignored him, but he could tell that he wasn't even in the running for her affections.
Perhaps it was madness that first introduced the idea to his half-crazed mind.
---
He held the sword in his right hand, feeling the hilt fit his fingers perfectly. Excalibur, forged from the rarest of Weyard's metals, had been designed especially for him, built for his use alone. It was by this blade that he intended to carry out his plans.
He was glad for the cloak of darkness that had settled over the ship, glad that he had taken the watch while they were all asleep. Even in the darkness, he was so accustomed to the ship's workings that he could sense when he was near their door.
Although, he thought with a grim smile, he didn't really need a map. He could have found his way there by following the blonde's snores.
The door slid open effortlessly, having been cleaned and oiled just days before when the Mars Adept had complained of the noise it made.
That complaint had become their downfall. Had they not oiled the hinges, it would have created an infernal din that would awaken every sleeper in the room. Now it was silent and unable to warn anyone of their sudden ending.
He took a moment to survey their surroundings, careful to make note of any weapons that they might be able to grab for and fight with. Anything nearby he pushed out of reach – it had to be clean and fast, and he didn't want a fight on his hands.
The snoring stopped suddenly, and he dropped to the floor like the seasoned soldier he was. Thankfully on his part, the hammocks hung from the wood were set high enough that he was hidden from view. He waited until the snoring resumed, and then stood up and marked out the two sleepers he wanted. The Jupiter Adept would live to see another day.
He raised the sword, preparing for a horizontal slash, then brought it down.
---
A sharp knock on his head brought him to his senses. He was on the floor of his own room, hopelessly tangled in the blankets that had once been on his bed.
No time for that, though. Had what just happened been a dream? There was Excalibur, lying nearby. Unsheathed.
Nearly senseless in his panic, he leapt up, untangled himself from the blankets, and rushed to the room that he could have sworn he was just in.
The door opened effortlessly again, but he cared little this time. He threw it open, lighting a lamp and making it as bright as he could get.
A groan from one of the hammocks startled him out of his panicked reverie. "For the love of Djinni, what are you doing in here at three in the morning!" demanded the Mars Adept angrily, sitting upright and blinking at the sudden light from the lamp.
He paid him no attention, checking wildly around for bloodstains. Upon finding none, he sighed in relief and returned to his room, leaving the three confused teenagers behind.
---
So what if it had all been a dream? The emotions had been so realistic that he himself hadn't been sure what it was. Whatever it was, it had to stop. He couldn't kill his friends, didn't want to hurt the people who had accepted him into their lives.
Even the two who occupied her affections.
He didn't want to risk hurting any of them. No matter how much he loved her, it wasn't worth breaking her heart or harming his friends.
Slowly, painfully, he began to accept the fact that he would always be an observer, never a recipient of her love. He began to demolish the lists of things to say to her that might have caught her attention, began to throw out the mental stacks of paper that had occupied his time for so long.
He didn't want to, but he had to. He had to let go of his obsession for her; let her decide her own way in life. He hated it, much like he hated going to the healer's and getting shots. It was a part of the recovery process – he didn't have to like it.
He picked up the sketchbook, ready to toss it in the fire and be rid of her influence once and for all, but something stayed his hand. He didn't want to forget her completely, even after they finished their quest and parted ways…he didn't want to lose her, even if she'd never have him.
He allowed himself to keep the sketchbook, but opened it to a blank page and began to draw. Slowly, the picture took shape, until a few minutes later when he put down his quill pen and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.
The finished work was one of her between her two best friends, walking away and waving goodbye. He didn't want it to happen...
And yet he knew it would someday.
---
A/N: So yeah. I know, I know. Bad Jenna, go write something cheerful. XD We'll see... I have inspiration to turn out at least one more oneshot before attempting another chapter of Lemurian Cookies...
Hm. I've always been more of a canon pairing supporter (what do they call Isaac x Jenna? Valeshipping?) but I've been trying out different stuff lately, as you can probably see. Even if it's only one-sided. I definitely want to do a duskshipping fic (Felix x Karst, right? Why is that called duskshipping?), but don't hold your breath. XD You know how I update.
Eh well. Review, people! There's that handy little button down there that's calling your name! You don't even have to be signed in to drop me a line! XD (Yes, I'm desperate. How can you tell?)
