Fandom: Petshop of Horrors
Character/s: D
Words: 342
Notes: For fifteen minute ficlets. Written before I realised that Papa had purple eyes. :D; Thanks again to Telanu for that.
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In the beginning, before he had known of his flaws, he had been proud of his bicoloured eyes; the startling contrast they made with each other, the midnight of his hair and the snow-white of his skin.
The first time Grandfather had told him the history of their people, their people with hair darker than ebony, skin whiter than bone and eyes more vibrant and golden than the element itself could ever hope to achieve, he had been confused.
"But Grandfather, I only have one golden eye."
There had been an awkward pause, the kind Grandfather rarely submitted himself to. And finally he had been forced to admit, avoiding the gaze of the purple and focusing instead on the gold, "That is because of your father, child. Yours was an incomplete birth."
It was not very shocking, but it was enough. Strange, how easily the human insecurities bled in.
There were days when D could not look into mirrors, could not face that shaded violet iris, all the human in him, without wavering and finding somewhere else to be, something else to do.
Distraction. That was the human in him, too. Better to face his imperfection. Yes, imperfection. Count D was imperfect, flawed. Sometimes he doubted his judgements were any more correct than that shaded violet eye.
But there were days when Leon would present him with violet and vanilla-flavoured turkish delight, muttering with embarrassed affection that their lavender and gold had reminded him of something; days when Leon would kiss his neck and his cheeks and his eyelids, equally, never giving preference to one eye nor the other. Leon avoided neither the purple, as his Grandfather had always done, nor the gold, which his customers shied away from.
Leon thought that D was perfect exactly as he was.
And on those days, with the warmth of the Detective fitted about him, beside him, the steady beat of his all-too-human heart and the whispering rhythm of his breath, too fleeting, but lasting reassurance-- D could sometimes believe it, too.
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