AN: I've never done an A/Z story before... but I did it for Smercy : so yeah. Not to mention, I think this has been written before...or something like that. I don't know, it just kind of came out. I swear. I'm open to any and all criticism for that's how we all improve, right? This is a ONE-SHOT.
Why are you laughing like that when you know I'm not? It doesn't seem quite fair, does it? All I can do is sit here and watch you watch her... watch your emerald eyes dart about her body. Are you undressing her with the eyes that send shivers down my back and whose color I could paint the world with? Is she that deserving; is she that much better than me? I sit here with a margarita for company while a strawberry daiquiri sits on your lips and her hands concern themselves with your hips. It's green, Zoisite; my margarita is like your eyes, those piercing orbs, the gateway to the soul I'm not yet allowed to see.
I want to see your soul, though, Zoisite. I want to watch it swim around in the sea that is your eyes. Is your soul like a fish, eating away at the weeds that try to take over? The weed right now is that girl whose laugh sounds like a crow. Do you want to kiss a girl who laughs like a bird? I don't understand why you do the things you do, but I want to. Why won't you let me, Zoisite? Are you going to let her see you?
All you do is flirt with those girls you call women. The girls with classic hourglass figures and bleached blonde hair are not women, are they? I watch your lips when you talk, try to form the words off your tongue; I want to know what you're talking about...can I be that girl who tips her head back while she laughs at your jokes? I have to wonder, sometimes, are those jokes your own and do you find them funny, or do you just tell them to her because you know she'll laugh like a crow?
Are you like the other guys, Zoisite; do you just want to find yourself in bed with her tonight? I've never thought that was you but I'm sitting right here and I can see what you're doing; licking her lips and caressing her back softly. You're almost as awful as Jadeite, but I don't think that's what you want, is it? Don't you just want to be yourself? I can picture you in the library, sometimes I see you there while I am, but I can imagine you there, with me. We could play chess and read books to each other under the big window on the second floor in the back. You know that place; that's where you always go with the blondes, the little girls who wish they were women.
I wish I could walk up to you and tell you that I'm a woman. I may not be that blonde haired, perfect figured girl that always seems to attach themselves to you like leeches, but I'm still a woman... and I'm just like you. I know you, Zoisite; I watch you. Perhaps not the kind of watching people tend to associate with stalking, but I can see through the things you do.
You're stuck with that girl, aren't you? I know you want to be next to me, sitting in the stool right next to mine that always seems to be empty of your presence. You want my hands to be around your waist and you want to bury your hands into my navy strands. I see the longing in your eyes when you try not to look at me and I see how your mouth trails up like a slow moving snake after you realize what you're trying not to do. That's always before another girl finds you. They always find you, Zoisite, because you're attractive and debonair; your hair is a mane with tresses of strawberry blonde and your face is flawless and full of life. Your eyes are set deep within your skull, as if you want to protect your eyes. They're sometimes behind glasses that love to perch atop your straight nose. It fits perfectly in between your seas and just above the lips I wish were kissing mine. They're perfect and angled, thin and soft; they always create slight dimples in your smooth cheeks when you smile.
Your hand devours the glass as if it was only the size of a dollar but we both know it's much larger, your shoulders are narrow, not wide as if you were some giant, and your legs are thin and long. I know you are perfection; I see you in my dreams, sometimes.
You see, though, in my dreams, we're together. Your hand is always on my hip, as if I can only be yours. That's fine with me, though, because I could never love another after loving you. You're all I know... in my dreams... I know you in my dreams. You're you in my dreams, not some fool whose desires remain with a girl in your bed. You're not pretending in my dreams; you don't pretend not to want me. I wish you'd stop that, Zoisite, because your lies are getting on my last nerve.
Stop letting her kiss you that way and stop touching her like that. It's not fair to you or to me. Why do you do this? Why must you leave me alone and why must I feel this way for you?
You're kissing her lips. Do you even know where they have been? She's breathing heavily and her hands are resting in your hair. I watch you two pull away and she asks why you haven't cut your hair yet. I know you like your hair, Zoisite, and I like it, too. I wish I could touch it... but here she is, touching it and taking the feeling of your long, silk locks and wishing they were different, shorter. I would never do that.
Somewhere, deep inside whatever conscience you may have, I think you know much better than I do that I'm better than each and every girl who may ever sleep in your bed beside your naked form. No matter how many times you may thrust into her, she'll never be me. No matter how many times she calls out your name in ecstasy, she'll never be me, Zoisite, so would you please stop trying to find a replica of me and just have the original?
I forgave you a long time ago, Zoisite, so please stop hurting me... because you think I'm hurting you. I'm not, Zoisite. I would never say no to you and I could never be mad at you. Why can't you realize that? Is there something inside of you that will not let you forget what you've done to me? The way you painfully slammed your five foot long sword into my chest, into my heart, and let it drip with the blood that used to gather into my cheeks at the thought of us together? It hurt me, I know it did, and it hurt you, too; it may have been your body doing it, love, but it wasn't your soul... because when I looked into your eyes, I didn't see you.
Stop hiding behind those girls, stop hiding beneath your covers, and just be you. Forgive yourself. Come back to me... I'm not sure how long I can sit at this bar anymore with this drink as my only company when you should be beside me, watching me as intensely as you wish you could... but you don't want me to know that you remember me, or us, or what you did...
Stop tearing a hole in my heart; don't do it again, Zoisite, because I may not forgive you.