I may act the fool around her. I suppose it's a pretty good sort of façade. I pretend I am infatuated, that I have a childish, effeminate crush on her.

If only it were so simple.

The more I am around her the more I realise that she just doesn't care. For her, gender is rule that can be broken if it needs to be. She's strong, and strength isn't about gender, it is about spirit. She has that.

Sometimes when I'm in the midst of tears it is real, and I'm actually crying. They don't notice, I hide it well. I look into her eyes and I feel myself crumble. She destroys me so completely.

Occasionally I have reason to hope, but her need for me comes more from the fact that I am the one who is there at the time I think. Then again that hardly stops me hoping.

I've always used my petulancy, or semblance of it, to my advantage. My position in the club is about power, and its manipulation. I keep power by playing the fool, by making them think that they are in fact in control. I pander to them. Acting, it's what I do best.

Except with her. She sees right through me. Her annoyance is more at the fact that she knows that I am acting than anything else.

When she calls I'm there, I can't help but be myself, honest with her, and it is superlatively unjust. When do I see her soul? Briefly in these moments I catch a glimpse of her, her soul sparkling like a dazzling light. At once beautiful to look upon and so bright that it is painful to do so.

Yes I love her. More so every day, but how can I know how she feels? What she shows the world says she doesn't, but she is capable of such tenderness.

I love her so much that when I consider the fact that she may never love me, I ache within myself, a pain that only grows with time. That when I am with her my heart pounds so strongly I am certain all the world can hear it. That when I call her name I think I could lose myself in it forever.

She is beautiful, like dew on the petals in the rose gardens of my home. Then again she is herself like the petal of a rose: soft, fragile and yet protected by thorns.

So what if I fantasize? So what if my breath catches in my chest when I see her? Am I not allowed to feel this way? Am I to be forever alone? Why is it that I am mocked for the feelings that burn within me? Why is it that the fools whom I would call my friends can laugh at me when they themselves, though they would deny it, suffer the same pains in their own way?

More importantly. Why is it that I cannot tell her how I feel?

Hi guys this is my first fic so please be gentle. Any reviews gratefully received ! If I get three positive reviews I will update and continue the story. After all, wouldn't you like to know how she really feels about it all?

Hope you enjoyed reading it! Let me know!