A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first Gravitation fic, so please be nice :) Mostly, it's just drabble about Tohma and Eiri, with a very vague plot line. I wrote this in Latin class one day, because I was really, really bored, and had nothing better to do. I honestly don't really enjoy Tohma/Eiri parings, but this just wouldn't leave me alone until I posted it. Anyway, Enjoy!

I watched his back as he bounced away, his light, perfect, lilting walk. I knew that on the other side of that perfect blonde hair, his smile would be gone, and his beautiful eyes tearing. Perfect eyes, perfect smile. Empty, empty, perfect.

'He loves me so much, so much. It's such a waste that I hate him. We could have been so happy...'

It's such a brave face that he wears. Never lets me see him cry, never lets me see him hurt. He paints a perfect illusion, a picture of absolute control and perfection. Like a magician, always hiding the truth. Always smiling, always laughing, always shining, always perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect eyes, perfect skin, so soft and rosy, melted under my fingers like frost on a windshield.

It took me so long to get used to his need to be touched constantly, needing hugs and cuddles and ruffled hair ALL DAY LONG. He wasn't shy about it, either, taking the physical attention even if it wasn't offered to him. But never from strangers; he simply couldn't abide being near people he didn't know very well. Countless times, I've watched him stiffen and pull away when a newly-made acquaintance tried to pat him on the back or slip an arm around his shoulders, eyes roving anywhere but their hurt, confused faces.

He's broken more hearts then he'll ever know.

But standing here, watching him walk away, and knowing that no matter how badly I hurt him, he'll always come back tomorrow, I feel the stirrings of pity in my heart. It would be so easy, so easy to make him smile. Just let go of the hate, and call him back, tell him I'm sorry, and didn't mean to make him cry. Again. What was it I said this time? I'm not even sure that it matters.

He slows his bouncing walk ever so slightly as he approaches the street, and I know he is waiting to see if I'll call him back this time, waiting, praying to hear his name. I whisper it, softly hesitantly, and watch him turn, eyes glimmering with tears and hope. In their shining light, I hate myself. So unworthy of such undying affection. Softly, gently, almost unwillingly, I stretch out my hand, as if to pull him back, knowing that I'll regret this, but unable to stop watching the joy light up his face as he fully turns, and links our fingers. I pull him close, and let him tuck his head under my chin, his wet cheek pressed against my throat. His body relaxes into mine in that familiar way as he sighs, a long, drawn-out, broken sound of sadness and peace, and I hold him, gently, gently, unused to being the strong one.

I wait for his body to stiffen and pull away, for his suddenly tearless eyes to look up at me and smile, the illusion back under control. But he doesn't; this time, he stays in my arms, and lets himself be broken.

I sigh as well, and pull him closer, feeling my hatred for everything slip away with his tears. Such a fin line between live and hate; it's hard to despise the man who's crying in my arms, who has ineffably given me control of his life, even if only for a moment. Seeing him broken and hurt and dependant reminds me that he, too, is human, and he, too, needs love.

That's what he's always said that he hates most about his job; he never knows whether people love him, or the connections that he has. His eyes would darken as he'd say this, but he'd smile, and reach out to touch my cheek. 'Thank God I've got you. I know you love me, and that's all I need to be happy.'

How it must have hurt him, knowing that no matter how much he needed me, I didn't rely on him. That I had others that I loved, that he wasn't the only person in my life. It must've broken his heart, to the point where he married my sister to say close to me. I remember that day, standing beside him at the alter as best man, his eyes on me as he said, 'I do.'

Feeling him cry now, sobbing his heart out to me, it reminds me that no one, not even Tohma Seguchi, has everything under control.

Oh, yes, I'll definitely regret this later. He'll get his perfect mask back up in place, and be even harder to get rid of then before. But standing here now, holding the real Tohma, I can believe that if he were this honest about everything, I would never want him to leave.

A/N: Thank you all for reading! Cookies if you review!