Unrequited

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy: Unlimited, nor do I own Aoi Ame, who belongs to fellow authoress Jessica Wolfe. I just borrow this stuff to bring a little bit of life to the FF:U section, okay? Don't sue me.

Genre: Angsty unrequited romance; see title.

Rating: K+ to be safe

Warnings: Original character; yaoi at a distance; and one sappy, angsty emo lament of a monologue. Hey, this is Feral Phoenix you're talking to!

Pairings: Cloudshipping, one-sided Kiri/OC

I watch you from a distance and know that it's a lost cause.

Still, who can help what they feel? I certainly can't.

Not after all the good things I've experienced, because I met you.

The first time I saw you, I was eight years old, and I'd snuck out to watch the swordsmen-in-training as they fought. I'd already told my parents that I wanted to be a healer, wanted to make use of the natural gift of my Mist that had always been able to relieve the pain of the injured souls around me. Still, I was curious about the way that other people of our race would be taught, and so I'd snuck away from my lessons on the way home to take a quick peek.

It was a practice battle, I guess, between the students, but I didn't know and didn't care—all I knew was that I couldn't take my eyes off you. Even so young, just four years older than me, your skills were already incredible; you finished off your opponents with ease. I didn't recognize you at first—I'd never seen you before, after all. But as I continued to watch you, I began to understand.

I'd become entranced with the child of the man and woman who were as close to leaders as our tight-knit community had, as close to rulers as our faith in the Way would allow. I was fascinated with the boy whom several of my own relatives sardonically called our "princeling", and the hope for our people—Akai Kiri, the boy Madoushi.

I followed you. I had to find out more about you.

You were brash, and charismatic, with a charming, heart-stealing smile that won over the people around you even though you didn't seem to realize it. You were so caring towards your shy and fragile baby brother—so much so that perhaps I should've realized far sooner than we all did—and the way you helped him practice basic swordsmanship in secret, against the wishes of your parents, touched my heart.

Even then, I found myself a victim to that peculiar aura you always carried, the one that magnetized people to you with or without your wanting them there.

In time, I came to know you, just as I came to know your brother. Sadly enough, even now I have to admit that I'm closer to Kumo than I've ever been to you, between the closeness of our ages and my assistance to the various healers who have treated him in his periodic relapses into near-deathly illness. He's such a kind and altruistic soul, even if he is a bit naïve. But he and I are the same—though we're both believers and fight for the good of our world, you are the altar at which we worship.

You are the one we both adore.

I can't follow you in your swordsmanship or your summoning, but I've always held my shrine to you within my heart, making my soul sing with the knowledge that I can help you and everyone else in ways that are just as important. In the poetry I write as part of my classes, I send you secret messages that never leave the walls of our home. "My heart is a flower that blooms in your presence, basking in the warmth and light from the sun that is your soul." It's romanticized, I know—the silly passions of a young girl who's hopelessly in love, and indubitably tongue-tied about it.

But the day came when you turned sixteen, when you were to finally announce your choice from amongst your friends—the one you would someday marry.

I should have known better, and yet I still hoped.

Hoshi and Arashi were already planning to exchange their vows—so why wouldn't I have hoped? I was too blinded by love to see the signs, after all…

Your choice shocked our city, when your parents announced it, as well as their acceptance.

Perversion, some called it—including those same relatives who always sneered at your position. Others got over their surprise with grace, shrugging it off and saying simply that a rare thing had happened, and all of us would most likely accept it in time.

I sometimes wonder to myself if I ever had a chance with you, the same endless days and nights when I wonder how many times you've taken him to your bed already, what with all the opportunities you've had over the years. When I wonder with a bitter heart how ready he is to spread his legs for you, and writhe with you in black sin through the nights.

But then the guilt eats at me, as I remember the earnest love Kumo has always had for you. Unusual though it may be, he has just as much right as I to want all of you, your body as well as your heart.

And I hate myself for being so jealous of someone I still consider to be one of my closest friends.

After all, it isn't as though there's anything I can do about it. It has been declared, and so it shall be on Kumo's eighteenth birthday: Red Mist and White Cloud shall be made as one in the eyes of our people, and your happiness will be complete.

Besides… even if I cannot have you for myself, I do want you to be happy.

That's what I console myself with, when I look into the mirror and wonder why I was never good enough for you. My hair is as silken as it is unruly, and long, pulled into two plaits that rest along my chest, a deep oceanic blue just a few shades lighter than the healer's garb in which I clothe myself. No swordbelt do I wear, although the belt that holds the Mist bottles I call my guardian Ittouju with is slung along my hips at the same angle yours is. Lace encircles my throat in the softest baby blues, delicate and feminine. My eyes are blue as well, but the blue of the endless sky above us, the blue of the hope I used to hold for us. I am tall, and slender, barely half an inch below Kumo's height, though it seems like his growth is slowing down at last. My skin is pale from the long hours spent indoors, practicing my healing arts; my face is soft, with full, unpainted lips and a dreamer's heavily lashes.

I wonder if it's my femininity itself that turned you away from me; if in fact you have no attraction for my sex at all. It could be possible; I will never know, since I don't have nearly enough courage to ask.

Still, you smile at me when we pass each other in the streets. It's the smile of a friend, but it's a smile, and as it's all I have, I treasure it.

When you are injured, when you suffer, I will be there, carrying the silver staff that holds the crystal of my soul, ready to do my best to heal your wounds.

When you falter in the heat of battle, I will be there, ready to call an Ittouju that will shield you from harm, protect you until you're ready to take up your sword once again.

I love you, though you will never know it.

And I will carry my silent secret through my heart, and keep the rain of my tears—the rain for which I was named—hidden from your view, until the day I die.

Kumo is your light, your sun, the entirety of your world, and the focus of your existence.

So I shall make myself into your moon, the night sky that watches over you when you aren't aware of it, the healing darkness that will support you even as your brother—your lover—continues to light your way.

My love may be unrequited, but it will always be there.

And I, in turn, will always be there for you.

No matter what, I will always be there.

-owari-