She could remember exactly when he had told her he loved her eyes.
It had been their fourth anniversary. They were at a fancy restaurant, drinking expensive wine and sharing a meal. She could recall his ankle pressed against hers under the table, the warmth of his hands in hers and how wonderful his cologne smelt as she leant in to kiss him, and he commented softly.
"I love your eyes."
She never liked her eyes. They were a mangled green-grey, an unattractive, dull color, nothing special, nothing noteworthy. But he loved him - they were full of life and love, he would say, and they showed how kind and pure-hearted she was. She didn't think it was true, as wonderful as it was to hear.
But that was enough to make her start loving her own eyes.
But now, she wondered why they were filled with angry tears.
"Why do you need her? Aren't I enough?" she found herself shrieking, hands curling into fists and shoulders squaring.
He turned to look at her, his normally handsome face twisted into anger and frustration.
"It's not about that, you wouldn't understand," he snapped, and turned, stalking off to their bedroom, moving to shut the door behind him. She caught it angrily, ducking in after him, and shoved his arm.
"What wouldn't I understand, huh?" she shouted, "I wouldn't understand what?"
His face tensed, his jaw set, and he snarled, "That I'd fallen in love with someone else."
Her emotions died - she knew it already, but the confirmation, those eight little words spat in her face - her anger died momentarily as she stared at him, and the tears of pure anger rolled down her cheeks in hot rivers. He looked away.
"Some ONE?" she shrieked hysterically, storming after him again and digging her nails - perfectly manicured in a mature dark red, just how he likes them - into her own palms until she couldn't even feel the sting of the physical pain, despite the skin breaking. "You call it some ONE? It's an it! It isn't even female, it isn't even alive, it's a god damned machine!"
Her husband stared at her with a sick look of truth, and he said, "She's perfect. She doesn't shout, she does all my paperwork, she does everything I say... she's perfect in every way, and..."
She didn't wait to hear it. Letting out a scream of anger and despair, she stormed out of the bedroom, only to face... it.
She was perfect, from the soft pale skin to the flawless features, to the delicate black curls that fell around her face. The feminine, curvy build, the kind and selfless demeanor, the impeccable, unmarred beauty. She was perfection.
Except those eyes. Those cold, lifeless eyes, made of glass, devoid of emotion. Merely a brown screen with a few reflections of light, robotic, cold, despite the warm smile on her face.
"Can I do anything to help you, Miss Takahura?"
Even the voice is beautiful.
And she ran, shoving her way by the machine, brushing tears from her eyes and wrenching the rejection from her heart, knowing she lost to a machine, that she lost to eternal, timeless youth and all its beauty, that she lost to a god damned persocom. Knowing her husband - her best friend, her lover, her everything - chose to adore lifeless electronic eyes over her special eyes of green-grey.
Because no one needs a real human when they have customizable perfection.
Koyomi still runs.
-x-x-
I'd be lying if I said I'd seen all of Chobits. I've seen episodes 1-8, but the plotbunny nagged me, so I wrote it. I'm not sure if it interferes with canon - the characters are random OCs, anyway, so I don't think it should be too dangerous, would it?
Love
,Jenn