Title: Something Girl
Genre: Romance
Rating: K+ – T
Pairing: Fakir x Ahiru
Spoilers: N/A
Summary: Nobody loves a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or intelligent. We love because we love.
Word Count: 820
Warnings: One-shot collection
Disclaimer: Not mine. Summary belongs to Honore de Balzac
A/N: I love ballet. This anime makes me so sad I didn't start when I was young. Hope I get all the terms correct.
One upon a time, there was a knight who feared death. He was trapped in a story not of his own design, with characters not of his own world, and he feared the outcome of his life. Little did he know that somewhere out there, was a princess who would make him feel alive. Little did he know that there was a girl inside this story would change his life forever.
It was little things at first, so little that even Fakir could not first say when it had began. All he knew was that one day, Ahiru was this annoyingly, flighty little girl, always trailing around Mytho when she shouldn't be, always popping up in the most unexpected and least desired situations and the next day … the next day Fakir was watching her in a line with a dozen other girls, and noticing her.
The epaule derriere was a simple maneuver, one leg extended with a pointed toe on the ground, arms outspread – one to the front, one to the back. It was basic, easy, a beginner's position. But… for some unknown reason, Fakir was fascinated in minute things that he had never seen before.
Though unsteady, there was grace in the arch of Ahiru's pointed toe, in the slender wrists as they extended from her body as elegant as any swan's wings. Though her mouth was set in a concentrated frown and her brow was beaded with sweat, her eyes were bright and glittered with determination. Though much smaller than her classmates, her legs were long, her waist tiny and there were sculpted features hidden behind her rounded child cheeks.
Fakir blinked, forcing himself to slowly let her eyes trail over the other students in the class – unobtrusive, smooth, no one could notice where his thoughts had strayed to.
A commotion drew his eyes back to Ahiru, who was now sprawled across the floor, legs akimbo, rubbing a quickly forming bruise on her forehead. Her teary eyes were downcast, no doubt embarrassed, but even as Fakir watched, those lids lifted, and she glanced from under lowered lashes across the room –
He glanced to the side and frowned.
Mytho was performing his own series of exercises along the adjacent wall, a line of several young men set up to mirror the young women across from them. The prodigy was completely oblivious to Ahiru's plights, only lowering his limbs and tuning in when loud, raucous laughter exploded from several of the students. Even as Fakir watched, Ahiru noticed Mytho turn to see what the class was laughing at, and her face flushed an alarming shade of scarlet, before she shot to her feet, performing her routine set of positions with a speed that was most certainly not productive, exclaiming all the while that she was fine.
Fakir turned away again. No matter. It was of no concern of his.
But that not-concern of his stayed with him, the image appearing at the most inconsistent moments. It was made all the more apparent and irritating by the fact that Ahiru herself was everywhere. She trailed after Mytho obsessively, but would dissolve into a puddle of stammering and blushes the moment the boy returned one of her glances or spoke to her.
It was annoying.
It was annoying because Mytho was meant to be practicing, not because it irritated Fakir that she kept focusing her attention on someone who clearly didn't notice her affections. It was annoying because Fakir like peace and quiet, of which Ahiru was neither, not because after they spoke Fakir couldn't get the sound of her voice out of his head for days. It was annoying because Fakir did not want to waste time on Ahiru, and yet, for some reason he was.
"Fakir! Fakir"
With a disgusted sigh at his luck, Fakir turned and neatly sidestepped Ahiru when she would have run directly into him. "What?"
"Have you seen Mytho today?" Bright eyes stared up at him earnestly.
"I see him every day." She continued staring at him expectantly, but he offered no more information, simply stared at her until she squirmed in discomfort under his gaze. When she reached up to brush the hair out of her face, Fakir noticed with disquiet that her hand was pale and graceful, her hair soft, her skin smooth. He frowned.
"Um, okay." She fidgeted some more. "Well, bye then Fakir!" And she ran off.
With an introspective look in his green eyes, he watched her go.