Like Ice Cream
He is not rumbles-and-flashes, and goofy smile and blood-of-his-ancestors. He does not smile much at all, and resembles stinging rain more than the comforting growl of thunder.
He is not blazes and brashness and childhood memories. His movements are calculated and almost frigid, and his childhood more turbulent than she would like to imagine.
He is not mohawk and muscles and endless proclamations of love. He still has yet to cut that waist-length cascade of silver blue, and the last time he felt anything close to romantic towards a girl he sliced off her hair so that she would look more like his dead sister.
He studies too much, is absolutely useless at video games, and frequently refers to her as a primate.
So why the hell is he the one would not leave her thoughts?
He is the one she refuses to want, because he is chocolate that was left too long in the freezer, because he is a rose made of broken glass, and because getting her heart shredded by his Icicle Dance will not be fun at all.
He is the one she refuses to need, because he is the one who forsook them after Heaven or Hell. Because he is the one who needs no one but himself.
Because she knows he is the one who will not give her what she needs.
Because she was rejected once by not-good-enough, and willows, and love-at-first-sight. Because she was rejected once by loyalty, and redemption, and destiny.
He is the one she refuses to love because she will be rejected once again, and she does not think she can live through that. Not again. Not this time.
So as she watches fire and life at their wedding, she refuses to acknowledge her quickened pulse at his presence beside her. She refuses to acknowledge the ache in her chest as he stands to speak to a familiar looking girl, a girl who evokes memories of reflected sound waves and light-speed and an almost-kiss in the arena of the USB III stadium. She keeps her eyes on the happy, fairytale couple twirling on the dance floor and refuses to acknowledge that she wanted that happiness for herself.
So to say that she was surprised when he offered her his hand was putting it lightly. To say that she was shocked when he led her to the dance floor was a severe understatement.
It was as if someone had hit her on the head with a large stick and given her a concussion there and then.
And she found herself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was more like ice cream after all. Cold but sweet.
-Owari-