The insane musings of the authoress: THE LACK OF CAPITAL LETTERS IN THIS PIECE IS INTENTIONAL. Please do not notify me of this – it is an experiment in style.
SPECIAL DEDICATION: This fic is in honour of the third anniversary of the day I signed up here! Yes, I've been a writer here for three years. (The exact date was Oct 20th) I've come a long way in that time. Thank you to everyone who has helped, in any way. I value and love you.
Disclaimer: CCS does not belong to me.
For Lily and Sylphie and everybody. I love you all.
Aesthetics
tomoyo had hands like china, and he longed to tell her so. touch me with those hands, he wanted to say, but the words never came and so she stayed cold and distant and oh so far away.
he likes beautiful things. likes the way they shine, somehow, from deep inside, maybe? he likes to surround himself with beautiful things because he likes the way they make him feel. he likes to own them, to control them, because he's like that. they make him feel better, somehow. they make him feel more…
that's how it all started with kaho. she had hair like flames and he couldn't look away from it; a pair of terracotta eyes blinking slowly, lazily, and he knew he had to have her. she was so beautiful, he couldn't let her slip through his fingers.
…
tomoyo had hair like the fine, expensive silks she liked to work with and he wanted to pass it through his fingers, even just once, like an expert fabric craftsman trying to calculate its value. but he never let himself ask her if he could, and so he could only stare at it with cloudy dark eyes.
i'd like to put you on display, he thinks sometimes when he looks at her. you'd be beautiful in a glass case, wouldn't you? but then maybe it wouldn't be too different from right now – she doesn't notice the gazes of those around her, taking long long looks at her, drinking in her beauty. everybody has an aesthetic sense, even if they don't know it. she sparkles, almost, he muses. she's the fairy off the christmas tree – almost too bright to regard. she's on display and she's the perfect work of art. she's on display and she doesn't know it, but she's perfect at it.
you were born to be on display the words rest on his tongue when she quirks an eyebrow at him. you were born to be looked at. you're so beautiful and you're perfect perfect perfect and can you blame us for wanting to have you? can you blame me, miss tomoyo?
he saw her once, on an autumn afternoon, her hair like dark water against her back. come to me he wanted to say, but instead he asked her how sakura was and she replied with all the vigour of a young woman in love. he could feasibly write poetry about the way she battled against the wind to hold the ribbons of her hair off her face.
i love you he wanted to say, but he nodded politely instead.
and he said a polite goodbye and hurried home because kaho was waiting.
(and he didn't love tomoyo, couldn't love her anyway because it was all her beauty and nothing more)