Hi, everyone! Just to let you know, this is a oneshot. Yeah, I normally don't do oneshots, but I had this idea in my brain for a while now XD. Anyways, I hope you like it! Hugs and kisses to all readers! And special cookies for those who review! *starts baking cookies*

I worked on this in the middle of the night: about 2 in the morning. So if there's any mistakes, then please tell me. Oh, and by the way, this is a oneshot about the manga. Not anime. Manga. Therefore, Chichiri's a blonde :D And I don't own Fushigi Yuugi, or Chichiri. Sadly, only Yuu Watase does... *sighs*

Anyways, on with the story!

~Magic~

I've never believed in magic. Never believed in prince charmings riding off into the sunset on valiant steeds with their princesses in their arms; never believed in lovers crossing time and space to be with the one he, or she, loves. No. None of that was my cup of tea. Until I saw him, in reality.

I loved the way his golden hair danced in the wind; the way his face always smiled that sickeningly cute smile. That sickening masked smile. I've always hated his mask, how it hid his real face from me, how it seemed to be a barrier separating the two of us. But there was such an air of innocence surrounding him, an air of good intentions, that I couldn't make myself angry. And so I just stood beside him -so close, yet so far away- just wishing I could touch him, to hold him, as I'm sure all those accursed princesses wanted to do to their own lovers. I've never hated myself more. But not once did I touch him. I could never touch him.

He is unreachable. There was always this aura around him, an undertone behind that air of innocence. A fine line that put distance between him and others. It was a very fine line, indeed. But it was still there; I could sense it. I could practically touch it, hold it in my hands. It seemed tangible to me, but no one else. I wonder why? Perhaps it is only I that noticed, because only I desire to breach it.

But none of that matters in the long run. It's there, that's all there is to it. Unbreakable, strong, much stronger than I am. All I can do is watch from a distance, as he puts that sickeningly sweet smile on his face as he helps the people in the village. Or walks off to a nearby lake to fish, his bamboo fishing pole slung lazily over his shoulder.

All I can do is watch. That's all I can ever do, anyways, and I'm so sick of it. Sick of him, making me feel this way. Sick of myself, for feeling it. Feeling my own iniquities, and damn failures that always settle on my heart like weights of lead. Why can't I tell him how I feel? Why do I have to be so scared? But he's happy, I'd like to think. Is that all that matters? Am I willing to let myself just sit on the sidelines, never to taste the one thing I desire most: love?

But how can he love me? Me, with all my faults and failures? With my anger, my loneliness, my pain? My tendencies to cling to the things I love, like a child with a blanket, never to relinquish my hold? I know he wouldn't be able to stand me. After all, no one can truly hold the moon in their hands. No one can touch the wind. No one can touch magic. And so, this love was, and is, never meant to be. I hate to say that this fact tears me up inside, and now, as I look at the object of my desire, tears well in my eyes, drizzling down like sweet summer rain. My fists clench together, until my nails threaten to break skin. But I don't care. I don't care.

My shoulders shake with the sobs that escape my lips. They horrify me, with all their weakness and misery, but I can't seem to stop. The weakness spreads throughout my body, and I feel myself falling to my knees, below the window that looked out on the garden where he was. My own body has betrayed me, and I curse it. I curse everything. The man outside my window, who started this tangle of feelings inside of me, that I've never known before. Myself, for feeling them. And most of all, the world; for if it wasn't so cruel to him -to me- we would be able to be together.

I cry. Damn, I hate that word, that action. I hate the saltiness of those thick, wet droplets that course down my cheeks. I hate the way my eyes are rimmed with red, like they are bleeding on the inside. Like I am bleeding on the inside. But, I guess in a way I am. Bleeding with unfulfilled desires; unfulfilled wants and wishes. The only thing that fills me is loneliness. The one thing that I want gone just has to make its home in me, ruining me like rust on metal. I can't stand it. I want to be clean, but no amount of washing can take these stains off of me. I want to be bleached. Bleached a pure white. Maybe then he could see me -the real me.

Here I go, thinking about him again. And here he goes, making the tears come harder, faster, stronger, dripping onto the floor with loud plops that make me want to hurl something at the wall. Loneliness tears through me, desire rips me apart piece by painful piece. Before I know it, I find myself screaming. Profanities slip through my lips, buzzing through the air like stinging hornets.

"I hate you, dammit!" I scream. My fingers find an unlucky jar, and, in an outrage, I fling it at the wall. It crashes, the shards littering the floor, making small tinkling sounds that resemble music. "Why do you do this to me? Isn't my loneliness enough? Damn you!"

"What did I do, no da?"

My screeching stops, as the happy-go-lucky voice of my dreams filter through my ears. My brain struggles to process what exactly is going on in my body, as my cheeks flare up with warmth. I look over my shoulder, to see long blonde bangs and an uncharacteristically frowning masked face.

"Chi…Chichiri," I breathe. I shake my head, turning my back to him again. This is not a good time….

My hands won't stop trembling, and I push them down into my jeans. I clench my eyes shut, hoping that what's happening is just a nightmare; that Chichiri wasn't really behind me, bearing witness to my spurt of rage.

"Are you alright, no da?" he asks, taking a step closer. "I heard something crash…."

My eyes automatically revert to him, following his movements. I see him take a worried glance at the shattered jar, his eyes roaming over its spilled contents. But I don't feel the embarrassment that should have settled into me, for my actions. No. I only feel the need to see him, only him. I feel the need to understand him, to read behind every action he takes, to touch what's in his mind.

What's he thinking?

But of course, I would never know. After all, whatever he's thinking is nestled deep within his head. Untouchable, just like him.

He looks at me, his head cocked to the side in that endearing way of his. I blush, knowing that I've been staring at him for too long. I quickly avert my eyes, letting them settle safely onto my hands.

"You didn't answer my question, no da," he says, an undertone of worry in his voice. "Are you sick, no da?"

Sick? Yeah, you could say that, I think wryly to myself. But out loud, I answer, "I'm fine."

"No you're not," he persisted.

I look up at him, surprised. He usually isn't persistent, when he asks me if I'm alright. He always uses those "no da's" of his except when he's serious.

Is he seriously worried about me?

Warmth floods through me at the thought, and my lips twitch upward. I turn my face away, trying to hide from him; I don't want him reading my expressions. They're just like reading my mind. And I can't have that, can I? But I find myself wanting him to. I want him to know me, the real me. I want him to know all my hopes and dreams, all my secrets. I want to give him the power to break me, and piece me together again. I quickly push this out of my mind as I feel his presence beside me. His clothes rustle as he sits down, cross-legged, next to me.

"It might make you feel better, if you talk about it, no da."

I look at him, watching him watch me. I could feel the familiar churning of my stomach as butterflies flutter throughout my abdomen, landing in my heart. Oh, how I want him. Ever since I came to this God-forsaken world, I've wanted him. That was about a year ago, and I've never let him know. I was always too scared; too scared of rejection, too scared that I wouldn't even know his friendship. But can I risk it all now?

"I…I…" but the words won't come. I try again, but no sound. Ashamed, I look away, feeling the familiar ache in my chest as his image leaves my eyes.

He sighs. The sound is so sweet, like the sound of wind caressing rose petals, lifting them and making them dance. That is how I feel right now; just like that rose. Is that so odd? Being that close to someone that can make me laugh, make me cry, make me smash things in the wall in anger? Are all these fluctuating emotions healthy?

"It's hard to tell someone…" he began, then paused. Curious, I find myself looking at him again. "what's really going on inside of you," he finishes.

My breath catches, and my pulse speeds up. I don't know why, and the fact that I don't seem to know anything anymore scares me. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, licking my dry lips. But I listen as he continues.

"It's hard because… maybe that someone is… someone important to you. And…and you don't know how he…or she…would react."

Chichiri reaches up, taking his mask off of his face. The mask that I've always hated. But at the moment, I couldn't feel hatred for that mask. Not at this moment. Not as he stares deep into my eyes with his dark brown orb. Not as the scar that spanned across the left side of his face haunts me, telling me that life is, was, and most likely will be, a complete and total bitch.

"But…it's always better to talk about it, no da. At least to get it off your chest."

I watch him carefully, suddenly feeling that he was peeking into my soul. I felt exposed. Naked. And right now, I want more than anything to run from him. Run from the gentle understanding in his eye.

No, he can't understand, I think to myself. He just can't. He doesn't know how I feel. He shouldn't. He…

But my thoughts leave me as I continue to stare into his eye. The single eye that seemed to make the whole world spin out of orbit.

How can he do this to me? And so easily?

It takes a tremendous effort, but I manage to look away. I try to put a mental blanket over my exposed soul. My body trembles, slightly shaky from all the emotions that have assaulted my body over the short span of ten minutes.

I try to find something to say, to break this silence between us. I try to find something intelligent, something heartwarming, something that would dazzle him speechless. But my mind doesn't seem to cooperate, right when I need it to the most. It betrayed me, just as my body had done. So I just sit, in complete, stupid silence.

I have to leave. I have to get out of here, out of this room, away from him. Anywhere would be fine, but not here. Not where he can still see the stupid way my body tenses up, the mundane way my eyes look at the ground. This isn't me. Not me, not me, not me. It's amazing how this monk can bring a totally different person out of me. So I stand. Chichiri's eye follows me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I… I can't tell you. You won't under-"

"I do understand," he whispers, suddenly taking my hand.

Sparks jolt through my hand, up my arm, and straight into the pleasure centers of my brain. My breath catches, heat spreading across my cheeks like a wildfire. A gentle tug sends me back to my knees again, next to him. He keeps his eye on me.

"I do understand," he whispers again, moving a little closer. "Tell me what's on your mind. I want…I need to know."

Goosebumps race up my arms, my heart pounding in my head.

"Wh-why?" I stutter, hoping he would give the answer I'm looking for.

But he doesn't.

"Because…you…you're a friend, no da. I'm worried about you."

Friend. Friend. Friend. My heart seems to stop for a split second as the word echoes in my brain. No! I scream mentally. Not friends! Not friends! I don't want to be just friends, you idiot! Why can't you see?

My thoughts must have shown on my face, because he let go of my hand quickly. My eyes stung; his eye widened.

"I'm so-"

"No!" I screech, stumbling to my feet. "Don't you dare say you're sorry! You don't mean it!"

With that, I turn around and flee the room. The tears that stung my eyes once again stream down my face and onto the floor below, creating a trail of tears. My heart pounds in my head as my feet carries me away from Chichiri and out into the garden where he was before this whole episode started.

My feet fly through the garden, mashing the greenery underneath my feet and back into the soil where it sprouted. I don't care. I would smash the plants a hundred times over if it would quell this heartache that's now tearing through me. I don't stop, even for breath, as I run frantically towards nowhere. My vision blurs with fresh tears, my lungs burn for oxygen, my heart beats sporadically, painfully, in my chest as it threatens to escape its bony confinement. But I find that I relish this new pain. It's a distraction from the overwhelming, emotional one.

Crushed peppermint fills the air, combining with the calming aroma of gotu kola. I find myself near the lake, where Chichiri spent so many hours meditating and fishing. I can see why he loves this place: the sun made the water sparkle like diamonds, the air was filled with the scent of the gotu kola surrounding the water, helping to clear the mind.

I find that it works; the throbbing in my head dulls until I can think clearly again. The river of tears slows into a trickling stream, then stops altogether after a few moments. I sit down, underneath the Yulan magnolia tree beside the lake, and brush the tears off of my stained cheeks. I take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of the plants surrounding me. The fresh scent that is so unlike home.

Home. It's been so long since I was home. I wonder, does my family miss me? My mother and father, my sisters and brothers…. Are they looking for me? Crying at night, wondering if I'm alright? I wonder if they're still looking for me, or if they've stopped and gave up on ever finding me.

I miss home. The safety and security. The support. I'll forget all the pressure my parents put onto me: to go to college, to complete school, to get a good job -it was all for my future, I know, but I hated it. "Don't fall in love," they would tell me. "It'll only distract you."

They never did understand me. They never understood the need I felt, to be held, to feel love physically. To feel the warmth of someone's skin. The warmth of someone's heart, as it is put forth on a platter for my eyes only. But I know they were only looking out for me, even if it was in the most heartbreaking way possible. But I would forget it if it only meant I could see them again. If I could be with them again; because their love for me was real. It wasn't some fan-girl, or fan-boy, infatuation. Oh, how stupid I was! To give up my family, my friends, my future; to give it all away in one stupid wish!

I wish to be with Chichiri.

I suddenly remember what my mother used to say. "This manga is taking over your brain," she told me, time and time again as I left my room, blabbering about how much I 'love' Chichiri, a huge grin plastered on my face. "You've got to forget about him. It's unhealthy. He's just a character! He's not real!" And each and every time, I would spout out, "He's real to me!" Then, I would hurry back to my room and shut the door, opening Fushigi Yuugi once again, if only to see his face.

I knew then, as I watched him dance through the pages of my manga, that he was in pain. I watched as he reminisced about his ex-fiancée and best friend, Hikou; I watched as he cried tears of agony as his best friend disappeared from his life for the second time, watched as he put his smiling mask on day after day after day. My heart went out to him each and every time. My arms longed to hold him, to embrace him, and my lips itched to tell him that I was here. That everything would be alright. That I love him, that I won't hurt him, that I won't let anyone else hurt him ever again. Who was I to think that I could take his pain away? That I was able to dry his tears?

It was a childish wish indeed. A childish wish I made on my eighteenth birthday. A wish that I muttered, as I watched the falling snow drift down and settle on the ground, soft and puffy like cotton candy. A wish that I've never believed would come true. But it did. It did, in a bright flash of crimson light.

I remember thinking that maybe, somehow, Suzaku had summoned me. I half-expected to be the next priestess of some unknown country, or have a part to play that had to do with the continuation of the story. But nothing happened. Everything was so peaceful. And I just dropped into the world, practically on top of Chichiri, for practically no reason at all. That's what angered -and thrilled- me the most.

But I would've never guessed that Chichiri's pain ran so deep, that I could feel it emanate from his body that first day we met. Despite the happy façade, I could sense it. I could feel it. During the time we spent together, I tried to cheer him up, for real. Make him really happy. Goof around with him, like two children going to an amusement park, and help him forget his sorrows. My heart fluttered every time I stood beside him, both then and now, a full three hundred and sixty five days later.

I thought, at first, that it was only a slight crush, the kind a fan-girl would have on an imaginary character. And that was what I thought of him, at first. Or what I forced myself to think of him. Just imaginary. Just ink on paper. But over time, he wasn't just a character in a manga anymore. He was real. Tangible. The warmth of his skin; the sweet scent of morning dew that clung to his clothes; the high-pitched melody of his happy-go-lucky voice; the lower, sensual melody of his real voice; they were all there. They were all real. And I found that I loved him for real. And that was when all this pain started, because I wasn't a child anymore. No longer innocent. No longer wanting friendship. I found myself wanting something else entirely.

My head slumps into my hands, my shoulders shaking with repressed sobs. I've cried enough today. No more. No more tears, no more crying. I take a deep, shaky breath, and exhale. I look up, my fingers playing in the grass as I watch the sun shimmer on the surface of the water. My heart slows to a sluggish badump, badump, badump. The wind runs its fingers through my hair, whispering in my ears.

It'll be alright, it seemed to say. Tell him, tell him.

Tell him what? That I love him? That I would die for him? I scoff, and turn my eyes down to the green grass between my fingers. If I tell him, he would turn me away; he would kill me. Not physically, for sure. He was too nice for that. He would torture me with life. He would separate himself from me -even after all the time we spent together- and make that thin line of distance he put around himself thicker, thicker, forcing me out of his life and away from him forever. And he wouldn't have a damn clue that he's killing me on the inside. Too nice indeed.

I suddenly feel disgusted with myself. I'm pathetic. Too full of these stupid emotions that don't do any good to anyone. All they are good for is causing me misery. Oh, what I wouldn't give to find a carving knife and slice them out of my heart, bit by bit, until I'm completely numb! Completely devoid of emotions! Completely without the fear to die! Then, I could be in peace. In a bitter peace that haunts me with only the memory of having this pain. In a bitter peace without him behind my eyelids when I try to sleep. Without him in my heart.

I look out at the blue water, watching as a stray magnolia flower drifted into it, creating gentle ripples along the surface. I try to distract myself with it, with the pure white that dances with the deep blue. But I find that I can't distract myself for long; my brain surges ahead despite my efforts.

Do I really want to be numb? To have no feeling whatsoever? Only full of a suffocating darkness that snuffs out the flame of emotions? Can I really live like that? Fear wells within my heart. Panic surges through my veins. I can't live numb. I can't live without feeling, without touching, without the incentive to survive.

But can I survive this void in my heart? Can I survive in this world without him? Should I somehow go back home, giving up on this chance to fulfill the one dream that I cherished for so long?

I don't know how long I sat there, deep inside my own thoughts. I didn't notice the sun creeping towards the horizon, nor did I notice pink and lavender streak across the sky with the ending of the day. I didn't notice the pretty white flowers of the magnolia tree rain down on me, the thin branches shuddering slightly with the caressing of the wind.

Muffled footsteps drift to my ears. Slowly, hesitantly. As if whoever-it-was thought I was as fragile as glass; that I could break with any loud noise. I don't turn to face him. I already know who it is. The sweet scent of morning dew still clings to him, drifting into the air on butterfly wings. I inhale deeply, relishing this scent, but at the same time wishing that he hadn't come.

I don't want to break down in front of him. Not again. Not again.

"It's getting late. We should head back, no da," came the voice I loved and hated.

"I think I'll just stay out for a little while more," I find myself saying. "I'll be back in a minute."

I hear him slowly turn around, as if he was hesitant in this also, his clothes shuffling with his movements. I clench my eyes shut, three words forming in my brain, echoing throughout my entire body.

Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me.

I hear him stop. For some reason, hope flickers through me. I extinguish it as best I can, knowing that it will only hurt me in the end. I hear movement again, and the little hope that wasn't snuffed out chokes me.

He left me.

"I really hurt you, didn't I?" his voice suddenly comes from my right. "I don't know how, but…."

My eyes pop open, and I look at him. He's still here. Relief floods through me, washing over me, and I soak it up like parched plants soak up rain.

He turns to me, watching me. I realize that I didn't answer, but I no longer wish to. He still doesn't have his mask. He, in all his entirety, is sitting right next to me. I watch as the setting sun washes through his golden hair with its orangey light, settling over his face and casting shadows that made me fear him and love him all the more.

The wind rustles past us again, once again whispering in my ears.

Tell him, tell him, tell him, it says over and over again as it brushes past me.

Should I tell him? My willpower crumbles as the sun sets over the horizon, creating a halo surrounding him.

He's like an angel, I think to myself. An angel from heaven. How can an angel make me cry?

And so, before I could stop my lips from moving, I finally told him what I've harbored deep inside me for so long:

"I love you."

Time stands still for an agonizing second as he doesn't respond. My eyes widen as what I have done finally settles in. My heart clenches as realization dawned on me. I told him my secret. My secret. The one thing that he wasn't ever supposed to find out, until he was ready to love me in return.

No! What have I done?

I quickly stand to my feet. Adrenaline courses through my veins as my heart squeezes agonizingly in my chest.

"I'm sorry!" I whisper, wishing I can take it all back. Take back my mistake of a wish, take back my words, take back my heart. But it's a futile wish. I already love him too much.

I find that I can't move. I just stand there in stupid silence, for the second time today, my feet pinned to the ground. I want more than anything to run again, to run away and go to bed. Close my eyes and let the abyss of sleep settle over me. Maybe, when I wake up, all of this would just be a dream. A sweet nightmare.

I close my eyes, unable to look at him. I can't bear the look of rejection, of repulsion, that I'm so sure I will see on his face. I don't want that. I suddenly wish I could have a mask like his, something that will hide me away from the world. Something that will keep me safe.

Magic can hurt, as well as heal, I find myself thinking in the darkness behind my eyelids, I guess it's the same with love, huh?

My eyes flutter open as the warmth of skin settles onto my hand. I look into Chichiri's eye, his eye swirling with some sort of emotion that I can't quite decipher.

What's he thinking? I find myself wondering for the second time today.

He rises to his full height, his hand never letting go of mine. He doesn't say anything, and worry clings to me with its agonizing weight. My heart seems to have jumped in my throat, strangling any and all attempts of me breathing properly. I feel heat rush to my face, but I can't look away from him.

"I…"

He shushes me with a finger pressed gently to my lips. My blush deepens. He closes his eye, as if in pain, and all hope within me crashes down. My heart suddenly plunges to my stomach, feeling like iron weights were attached to it, dragging me down, down, down.

"I'm sorry…. I'm not sure if…I…" he begins, then hesitates. "But…"

I can't bear to hear him. He sounds so confused, so full of internal conflictions. But what I can't bear the most is the words I'm certain I will hear, if he keeps talking.

But I don't love you that way. Maybe we can still be friends? No da?

Friends, friends, friends. If he says that, I will split in two.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him to me. I don't dare look at him. I don't dare kiss him, although I wish to. I wish to, with all my heart. But he would hate me, I'm sure. So I content myself with just holding him, feeling his heart beat through his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin.

"It's alright. You don't have to," I say, fighting back the tears threatening to trickle from my eyes. "You don't have to…."

He pulls away from me. The sudden lack of warmth leaves me feeling a deep void. An emptiness that felt so similar to complete agony. My expression must have shown it, so I replace it with a smile.

"I guess I'll go back now," I tell him softly.

I turn around, my back to him. At that moment, the tears spilled over and trickled down my face, silently. Satisfied that my shoulders aren't shaking, that my body was still strong despite the waterworks, I begin walking.

A hand grabs my wrist, spinning me around. I find myself inside a pair of arms, the sweet scent of dew filling my nose, as well as a deeper, masculine scent that sent my heart racing.

"I love you, too," Chichiri whispers, holding me tighter, closer to him, as if he was trying to meld us together.

My eyes widen, my heart skipping.

Did he just say…what…I think he said?

He loosens his grip on me, then brings one hand to my chin, tilting it up slightly. He looks deep into my eyes, as if he was trying to see every part of my soul. As if he was trying to read me like a book. His eye softens, and he gently wipes away a stray tear.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "For making you cry, n'da."

The sun completely sets behind us, surrounding us in a halo of light. And with the setting sun, Chichiri leans down and presses his lips to mine.

How can an angel make me cry?

But right now, I feel as if we are both angels. I feel wings on my feet; I feel like I can touch the clouds; I feel that I'm already in heaven. Euphoria floods through me, the river of tears turning to rivers of joy. I press myself closer to him, not able to get enough of his warmth. Not able to get enough of him. My eyes flutter closed as the new, different sensations wash over me: him holding me, his lips pressed to mine, his taste on the tip of my tongue.

We separate, slowly, hesitantly, neither of us wanting to let go of the other. I look up at the now darkened sky, watching the stars twinkle in the carpet of dark blue. A genuine smile forms on Chichiri's face, and he twirls me around playfully. The world spins around us, each blade of grass, each tree, each star blending together as one. Laughter bubbles up in my chest, from the pit of my stomach, and I tilt my head back and let it out, ringing through the crisp night air. Euphoria still courses through my veins, as only one thought settles in my brain.

I've touched magic.