She loved him, strangely enough, and it showed in the little things.
It could be something small, like a smile during his wild tirades so that it seemed like at least one of the members of their little family was paying attention. Something as public as a kiss on the cheek when they were away from the classroom. Or something private- a tight, comforting embrace when Éclair defied his grandmother's wishes and brought him news of his mother's passing.
He loved her, unsurprisingly, and it showed in the little things.
No matter how many designations he had, her hand was always the first he'd kiss, her eyes the first he'd compare to melted amber, her lips to silk rose petals. She was always the first to receive his attention- fully, freely given, and undivided- even if it was in the moments before the third music room opened its doors and often times against her great protest.
I've watched them, like an unintentional voyeur, catching them in between fleeting flights of romance. Smiles that were too bright, eyes that strayed, touches that lingered, kisses, hugs… and I've looked away torn between jealousy and embarrassment.
And I know that I have no one to blame but myself. I told her to go after him, knowing fully the consequence of my actions. I was too afraid to act, although I am ashamed to admit it. I was too afraid and the cost was too great.
So I accept it, with a smile, because that's the best I can do now. Grin and bare it. I had my chance, and I let it go and now I must deal with the loss.
They're happy together, I tell myself, and that's all that matters. And so I am there for them. A smile, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, a friend. I love them both. I still do. It shows in the little things.
Constructive critism please.