A/N: another experiment. tseng and aerith because I've always perceived him as someone obsessed with perfection.
perfect imperfections
When he first sees her, he knows she's the one for him yet not. She is too perfect to be stained by an imperfection such as him, but it doesn't mean that he can't look or dream.
Her auburn curls are naturally spiraled to perfection, her pale apple cheeks the perfect shade of blush, her emerald eyes perfectly resonating the life and spirit of her soul, her perfect smile illuminating the slums, and her choice of pink adding color and lessening the imperfection of the blacks and grays of the sullen environment.
He wants so much for her to notice him and not that soldier with the gravity defying black hair, Mako blue eyes, and navy soldier uniforms. He wants so much for her permission to become his pleasure and secret desire.
He wants the attention that she gives to each and every one of her brightly colored flowers. He wants to be touched and cared for and loved.
He watches her from afar, and he wonders if she knows. It's not because it is his job. It is because he wants to; it is one of his favorite hobbies besides listening to corrupt politicians and being bathed in blood.
When he interacts with her, there are little to no words because he is afraid to mark her face with a frown, so he is always surprised when he is met with a flash of white bordered by rosy pink.
He wants to bring her above the plate to help her see the sky and hold her hand to extinguish her fears and nightmares even if he's part of them. He wants to bring her above the plate to help her business flourish and see her smile even when she receives a petty 5 gil.
But he doesn't, for he wants no one else to experience his secret source of sunshine and beauty because he's a selfish bastard, and he knows it.
And there's something in his heart that hurts and something in his stomach that churns unpleasantly as he experiences her break down before his eyes. He doesn't like hiding information from her, but it is his job and for her own good. He's simply mad at himself for only being sleek black hair, brown almond eyes, and starched navy suits.
Then he finds out that she's not so perfect.
Her hair isn't as soft and curly as his hands tangles itself into her auburn waterfall. Her cheeks aren't doused in pink but instead flushed in red. Her eyes aren't emerald but darkened, glazed, and dulled. Her mouth isn't in the form of a smile but instead kiss swollen and angry red in the shape of a vulgar o. Her modest outfit isn't so brightly pink and colorful as it is stained by dirt and god knows what.
Their first kiss isn't slow and sweet and full of passion. It is angry and violent and full of teeth and tongue.
The first time their bodies unite isn't full of lovemaking. They're fucking instead.
There is no snuggling or cuddling after wards. There is the sound of people hastily putting on their clothes, ashamed and embarrassed.
There is no declaration of I love you's. The air is sickeningly silent.