Days
Marluxia leaves Larxene a flower everyday on her doorstep.
Everyday, Larxene tosses a flower into the trash can.
Weeks
Once a week, Marluxia tells the feisty blonde that he likes her, would love to go on a date with her.
Once a week, Larxene informs the pink haired man that she hates his guts, would never date scum like him.
Months
Every month, without fail, Larxene gets pissed off about something. She punches him with as much strength as she can muster; she tells the flowery man to just give up, because she would never like him. She doesn't mean a thing she says.
Monthly, Marluxia's jaw is bruised. His hopes are crushed with each scathing word from that pretty mouth. It hurts him a lot more than he would care to admit.
Years
Once a year, there is a time when Larxene can't keep up the facade of indifference. She breaks down, lets herself need and want comfort. She goes to Marluxia, loses herself in the warmth of another. She falls asleep to soft touches, whispered sweet nothings, and the scent of flowers and something undeniably Marluxia. She wishes her pride would let her stay.
Every year, there is a morning where Marluxia wakes up, hopeful. Then he discovers that he's alone. He desperately wishes he could wake up to emerald eyes and short blonde hair, wishes she would stay. He's getting tired of trying so hard.
Four Years of This . . .
Four years of unrequited devotion. Marluxia looks at himself in the mirror, swears he's going to give up and move on. He can't manage to give her up, though.
Four years of loving someone, who she knows loves her just as much. But she never does anything about it. She wants to, but her pride won't let her fall so deeply for someone.
Change
Year five, Larxene loses her pride when she almost dies. She walks away, somehow, from a horrible car accident where two people did lose their lives. Marluxia loses his job, can't afford the daily flowers, is occupied with his search for a job.
Year six, the first day of the new year, finds a blonde woman, a bit nervous, on a doorstep, bouquet in hand. The door opens, a head pokes out, and the man grins, happier than he's been in twelve long months.
Year seven finds a happy, if not slightly dysfunctional couple, living their lives with few regrets.