Waking
Eriol's stomach was oddly heavy as he watched her get ready for bed. He slumped into a nearby armchair to stare at her hair as it caught the light; amber and copper and every shade in-between. She unbuttoned her shirt, slipped off her shoes, and shimmied out of her skirt, and he could only stare stupidly at her. He didn't feel a thing for this woman – a woman who he had spent more than ten years with, who had become a part of his family. This, he supposed, was a problem.
This awareness of Eriol's wasn't new by any means; he had begun to question their relationship six or so months ago. He had tried to focus, to make it work, but following their upheaval from London to Japan, somehow they had fallen apart. He was fairly certain she had noticed, or felt the change, but his thoughts were interrupted when she called to him, "Are you all right, darling?"
He shook his head slowly, inky hair falling into darkened eyes. "No," he whispered after a few seconds of silence. He loosened his tie as he stared determinedly at the carpet, but rose to meet her eyes after a moment. "No."
In an instant, she was kneeling at his side and had scooped his hands in hers. "What's the matter, darling? Can I make it better?"
Her eyes shone with concern and he felt his heart go out to her. "I…don't think so, sweetheart."
She drew away from him slightly, and Eriol knew he had hurt her. She cleared her throat and gripped his hands more tightly before pleading, "Don't keep things from me, please."
Eriol pushed himself from the chair and gave her a watery smile as an apology. She looked broken, but not surprised, as he left the room. He knew that when he returned, she, and all her belongings, would be gone.
All he could hear, see, touch was her voice, ebony hair and skin so, so pale. This, he supposed, was the root of the problem.
end
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