She didn't think herself beautiful.
She didn't quite picture herself as ugly, either, just not beautiful. Just a plain Mary-Jane from next door. She'd examine herself in the mirror, and see dull brown hair, dull brown eyes, and a tan face that seemed to cave in. She'd convince herself she was average and make about her day.
"You're beautiful, you know," he would say, metro-casually as he would shut the practice room door behind him, every Tuesday at 4. Ally would chuckle bashfully and pull a strand of hair and twirl it slightly, as if she was going to chew on it. Austin couldn't find it more adorable. His comments became more of a hobby.
She merely followed her routine each time he said it, as if it was a pattern. The word "beautiful" was perhaps said too much, but the value did not decrease any time it was spoken.
And it was always beautiful. Not cute, or gorgeous, or hot.
Beautiful was the only word he could use to describe her.
/
She can't see herself when she's singing.
When her fingers trace across the piano keys, gliding delicately and playing each rhythm precisely. The way her breathing matches with her own rhythm and how everything on her looks so absolutely perfect. She can't see the way her eyes light up whenever she comes up with the perfect lyric, as if she could just melt in her seat.
If she could, he thinks to himself, see how she looks, eyes glowing as she pours her heart out, she would truly see how beautiful she is.
A mirror is not enough to even attempt to capture her beauty, but it's all she has.
He has the fully used privilege of viewing her every single day of his life.
"You're a beautiful singer," he says, clapping as she finishes her song.
He doesn't have to look up to know she's fiddling with that same strand of hair.
/
It may be when she thinks she looks her worst that he favors her the best.
Lazy Saturday mornings, when the store is far from business, and she's got her hair tied in a messy bun, accompanied by sweat pants, his old shirt, and her barely worn converses, she hides her face from anyone at the mall.
Except for him.
He assures her she looks perfect, and that she rocks his shirt better than he ever could, which is an extremely hard feat to accomplish.
But Ally insists that she looks a mess. So he shakes his head and gingerly puts his arm around her, and as she snuggles into his chest, he kisses her temple and mumbles into her ear.
"You look beautiful."
/
Her petite frame was strewn over the mattress, comforters messed up from their sleepover hours ago.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, pulling the blanket over her as she lay, knees curled up and pressed against her chest, which was rising and falling with each breath she took.
She wasn't fully asleep, nor was she awake enough to hear him, so she settled for a light moan in response. He gently positioned himself beside her on the bed, careful not to disturb her.
It's a shame she can't see herself now.
She looks like an angel, something out of a child's entertainment that is both pure and beautiful. And with each breath, he could feel the beat of her heart against the cool mattress.
/
Sometimes, just for fun, he'll watch her when she's in the local book store. He's nearly always asked to accompany her, although he never reads.
She folds herself together in the chairs, curling her legs up to the side as she flips eagerly through the pages.
It's adorable how she looks as if she'll burst with excitement, or how some books have even resulted in a few teary eyes. (Which, he fixed by being the gentleman he is, and bringing her a hot chocolate and tissues.)
She turns each page with anticipation and wonder, as if the book was the most important thing in the world, but at that moment, it was, at least to her. He rises from his chair, passing by her, and dragging just as his feet met her area.
"You look beautiful today," he said, winking, then continuing on to pick up a fresh hot chocolate from the instore Starbucks for her.
She doesn't dare say anything, bookstores and libraries alike, but no words are needed. She just tucks the strand of hair behind her ear, curling it with her finger, as she watches her face turn different shades of red.
/
After a recent sleepover, she'll wake up, engulfed in his arms and wearing his shirt that reaches her midthigh. He'll pretend to be asleep until he hears the bathroom door click twice, meaning she's out.
She'll walk out with his shirt lingering onto her body, her hair brushed through and shining, and a tired, amused grin on her face.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he'll say, as he yawns. They'll have an argument about how beauty is not the same as beautiful, and in the end, he'll smugly win and she'll be left to play with her hair again.
Not that either of them are complaining.
/
He thinks she's beautiful, even when she's crying.
No matter the subject - failed grades, boys, family - she can count on him to hold her until the tears stop.
And he'll call her his beautiful damsel in distress, whereas she'll call him her Prince Charming, one of the few times she doesn't reach for her hair.
But it's all in good roleplay, and as he swoops her from his lap, wiping a few stray tears away, she's back on her feet and good to go.
/
"Why do you always call me beautiful?" Ally ponders, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm just plain old me."
He'll decline her statement, and she'll sigh. "I'm ordinary. I'm nothing beautiful or perfect."
And he'll take the mirror away from her and set it down. In the best way he can, without coming off as crazy, he'll try to explain it to her how she's beautiful.
How the mirror can't truly capture her beauty, when all she's looking for is flaws. How she can't see how perfect she looks when she's reading or singing.
There's no mirror in front of her when she's smiling and laughing, a sparkly sound that rings in his ears.
And even though she's always beautiful, there are certain moments, certain times when she's blissfully living, that she just looks so perfect it's inhumane. The moments when there's no mirror in sight, simply because she thinks no one is watching her.
He has a feeling she would know just how beautiful she was, if she could see the moments he could.
/
A/N: Woo. So, I'm not in the best of moods lately, and I wrote some mid-fluff to try to provoke some happiness. (Which worked, although this is really a piece of crap strewn together at prescisely 12:13 AM in the morning.)
Review? Thanks,
~Rebel