Pink Roses

Sei/Youko

Rated PG-15

As requested by Korwell

She doesn't love you.

Or so you continue to repeat to yourself as she shuts the door behind her. You try so hard no to look as she swaggers over to her favorite window and the sunshine catches blonde hair.

The difference between you and her is stunning but nonexistent.

She doesn't love you.

Keep telling yourself that as she turns to you and grins mischievously and you can't possibly look away.

"What is it Youko?"

But she knows what it is and you know she knows what it is. Her shoulder hits the wall as she smirks at you.

"Something wrong?"

You attempt a suicidal smile and turn back to your tea and it kills you to disengage from her.

She doesn't love you.

Steps are taken and soon her hand is cupping your chin forcing you deep into dark cobalt eyes. Your gaze falters and falls on the salmon pink roses that bare witness to the exchange, you doubt they'll tell anyone.

She doesn't love you.

The purity of the roses mock you as she undoes you collar, purity you couldn't bear to keep. Purity you decided to let her steal.

Broken Roses.

You close your eyes, swallow, she doesn't even hesitate to pull off your shirt. For a second you hope she locked the door but you doubt the possibility knowing the closeness to being caught enthralls her, makes her human. Like her hands on your skin.

You're tired of being a rose, you crave humanity, impurity.

The roses tell you it's wrong as she pushes you onto the table, they are amused by your weakness, your human weakness.

With a swipe of your hand the roses lay on the floor wrapped in half-hearted shards of their broken protector of a vase. She pauses as the glass shatters and she feels you shatter beneath her. Your not strong enough for this, you never were.

"Youko?"

Your own tears feel like rose petals as they fall softly down your cheeks, you want to turn them into tears of hatred, make them feel like fire, needles, anything but roses. Examining you, she is worried, you can see it reflected in metal eyes that never had innocence. She takes you in her arms, holds you gently, like she;s holding broken roses.

And you think for just a second:

Maybe she loves me.