Disclaimers: The song ‘Eyes On Me’, sung by Faye Wong, is the theme song for Final Fantasy VIII and owned by it’s copyrighter, not me. Also, these lyrics are a variation of the real ones, because I had to listen to the song to write them down, and then, when I finally found a real copy of the lyrics somewhere on the net, I realized some of mine weren’t quite right, but I had already started writing and changing them would’ve changed the fic too much. Got it? ^_^

You never sang my songs
on this date, on my own,
You never said my words,
wishing they would be heard.

I just want your approval.

We’re walking back to the flower shop, the four of us, after a difficult mission. The stench of blood swirls faintly around us, like the red ghost of a viper, but none of us are badly injured. A scratch here and there, and that is fortunately all. But it’s the cast of the blood that makes the night darker, the smell of the blood of those that were our targets.

We’re all clearly tired, but we did well, and, in spite of our weariness, we all feel a common sense of accomplishment.

There you are; you’re walking next to me on the thinly cracked sidewalk, and I turn my gaze in your direction, deep, brown eyes gathering the light as I peer towards you, brief but intent. You’re expression is completely unreadable; like ice, perfect and painful in it’s flawless elegance. You walk with an unmistakable grace of strength and sensuality.

I catch the glint of light that flashes off your eyes briefly as we pass underneath a flickering, broken street lamp. Priceless amethysts make my breath catch.

But there is still no emotion; you gaze straight ahead, unfaltering, infallible. I bite my lip before tearing my eyes away. But still as we walk, every so often, I cast a glance your way, my gaze silent, imploring, but always unnoticed.

Turn to me, for just a moment, and say I did well. Please...? I just want your approval.

I saw you smiling at me,
was it real, or just my fantasy?
You’ll always be there in the corner
of this tiny little bar.

A slow day at the flower shop... No one has really come in. But we’re still working dutifully, thankful for the often-fleeting peace and quiet.

Peace that I have to break, of course. Leave it to me, clumsy and foolish, anything but graceful.

I was carrying the large bag of potting soil when I just suddenly slipped; I swear the floor jumped out from under me. Next thing I know, I’m on my back, dazed. Yohji and Omi are immediately cracking up, holding their ribs from laughing so hard. I blush furiously, but crawl to a stand good-naturedly.

They don’t see the flash of pain and shame that fleets across my features; I don’t let them. The fall didn’t hurt; the pain is emotional. Why do I have to be so clumsy...? Why, in front of you of all people.

It would be worth it to see you laugh, though; worth it in it’s own way. But you don’t even crack a smile. You’re working in the corner, and you barely glance up. You give a short sound of disgust, and I, hiding my hurt behind a grin at the others, start to turn away.

That’s when I realize my keys dropped out of my pocket, hitting the floor with a dull, metallic clatter when I fell. Pausing, I turn back and bend down for a moment. I glance briefly in your direction, just for an instant. My breath catches.

Was that... a smile?

I could never quiet convince myself otherwise; it had to be a smile. I have too much hope somewhere inside to let me believe otherwise.

Not that it meant anything, my rational side was quick to remind me, as I paused on the floor with my hand around the keys and thoughts leaping through my head. You were just laughing at me, derisive... or perhaps your smile, or your amusement, wasn’t even directed at me at all.

But some part of me will never give up hope.

My last night here with you,
same old songs, just once more;
My last night here with you,
maybe yes, maybe no.

Something about this mission is different. I can feel it. But I don’t know what. Perhaps it’s just my over-imaginative mind.

But it’s just the two of us; I’m giddy, excited, frightened. I don’t want to mess this up... Not for myself, not for the mission, but for you. I want you to be proud.

It’s nice, just the two of us; it’s peaceful. I, of course, don’t say much... I’m intimidated by you, by your very presence. And you... Well, let’s face it, you never talk much. But it’s very tranquil... I wish this night could go on forever.

I wish I could make it go on forever.

I kind of liked it your way,
how you shyly placed your eyes on me;
Did you ever know
that I had mine on you?

I’m getting restless. It’s almost time to go in; Omi set everything up for us to just slip through.

The night is velvety and welcoming; if I wasn’t on a mission, I could easily fall asleep against the tree I’m leaning back against now, my arms folded behind my head. But only if I wasn’t on a mission; for all my clumsiness, I do at least know how to stay awake.

And so we waited in silence, enjoying the symphony of the crickets. And waited some more.

And then you turned around; it was a slow, eternal movement that will forever be captured in the picture frame of my mind; and, although perhaps it was just a trick of the light, I could have sworn a brief look of softness crossed your face when you turned to me.

The moment was perfect, everything about it made that way by you. The look in your eyes... The anger, the anticipation, and the ice that were always present, particularly before missions, were countered by a soft glow. Not quite uncertain, but your usual cold confidence was missing, the mask dropped for a moment.

It made a rush of giddiness overwhelm me. And when you spoke those words I lost myself momentarily in your voice, in the husky whisper I always wanted to be directed at me, only me.

Then we were up and moving; you had said it was time to go, and I was glad to finally be on the move, because a part of me couldn’t bear to be alone with you much longer, couldn’t bear to be with only you, yet still utterly alone.

But as you turned to lead the way, I let my eyes linger on your back, a small smile curving my lips at the look you had cast me, so quick, before it was masked. It’s moments like those that my silence is worth it, that all of my watching from the shadows pays off because of that single glance I glimpse on your face.

Darling, so there you are,
with that look on your face,
As if you never hurt,
as if you never doubt.

The blood was like a rose dying, melting. It’s the last thing that should have happened to you. The last thing I wanted to see happen.

Cursing, I threw myself in your direction, aware that I was leaving myself exposed, but also aware that it did not matter. If something were to happen... If the rose were to fade...

I insisted we go back. But you wouldn’t let us abort the mission. You spoke, in your quiet, low voice, strained with pain, and said to keep moving, that you didn’t want to jeopardize the mission. I protested, of course; I had to. But like the impenetrable wall you masquerade behind, you refused to back down, and finally I acquiesced. We continued.

I wish I had your strength, your courage. I couldn’t have persevered, as you did. Then again, I am not strong, and you are.

I am, of course, keeping a careful watch over you as we finish the assignment, but I will never let you know. It would only injure your icy pride, and I would never desire to hurt you, not in any way. But nevertheless, I am here, a shadow at your back, ready to do anything, voiced or unvoiced, to ensure your safety.

It hurts me to see you thus, makes me ache with feelings I could never hope to understand, emotions that are beyond the comprehension of a mere mortal such as I. I am in pain because you are in pain; I am nearly trembling with fear that this mission would be your last, our last; there resides within my heart a sweet ache the swells simply from bearing witness to your pride and strength.

But if only I could somehow know... how much strength is truly there, how much does it hide? Or is nothing hidden... do you ever hurt, ever doubt?

And if so... will you ever let me know?

Shall I be the one for you,
who pinches you softly, but true?
If a frown is shown, then
I will know that you are now dreaming.

It can’t happen. It won’t happen. It can’t. You’ll be okay.

Won’t you?

My head is pounding, as my heart is pounding; I take a deep breath, slowly but firmly steeling myself. Yohji has assured me that you will be perfectly fine. He insisted that a fever such as this is common after taking such a terrible hit, and that it doesn’t often result in death.

But everything around here, around us, has never been ‘normal’; so what if you don’t follow the supposed odds? What if you are one of those few that don’t fit the record Yohji has proffered?

I close my eyes, letting out a long, soft sigh before allowing my lids to slide open again, to gaze upon your perfectly sculpted face. There is just barely enough light encased in this dark, hushed room for me to see your features. You’re so pale, but still... Still perfect. Still that which you will always be to me, everything that I, as a silent shadow, will desire.

You’ll be okay Aya, right? Can you please, please, give me some sort of sign? Cough. Shift restlessly. Assume your perpetually irritated countenance.

Just grace me with a sign, so that I know you’ll wake up, lay your stern gaze upon me, and everything will return to normal.

So let me come to you,
close as I wanna be;
And close enough for me
to feel your heart, beating fast.

Pain. Agonizing and all-consuming for one eternal instant. Unexpected, as startling and stunning as the shock of ice on hot flesh.

The bullet bit my side. I am falling. My world goes momentarily dark.

There is a dark nothingness.

Then – my name. Your voice. You’re speaking.

And then you’re there, falling to your knees at my side. I blink, slightly incomprehensive, strangely sluggish, uncomfortably weak. I can see the vague outline of you bending over me, see your fiery hair faintly catching the yellow light, your pale skin. Your eyes are piercing and hard like stone, the most solid thing in my vision. I take purchase and don’t let go, holding your eyes with mine.

You pause briefly, and the whisper of something dances across the amethyst depths that are your eyes, something that I cannot read. After all, I was never very good with people like you, and now, rather disconcerted from the shot, I can read you no better. But I swear there was something.

Before I can muse longer, you break the gaze, moving beyond my vision, behind me, your hands closing over my shoulders, your long, slender fingers strong but remarkably gentle as you drag me backwards, towards the shadows, towards safety.

You straighten and shift, and you are again in my vision, near my side and on your knees. I seek your eyes with mine again, because I don’t have the strength to really do much else. The plum depths are flashing with what could only be annoyance.

I feel a brief pang of regret. Not because I’ve complicated the mission, nor because I am in such danger because I have been shot, but because I wanted to make you proud, as I always do. I wanted to persevere, to show you that I was strong, perhaps with strength that could be compared to the courage you so nonchalantly demonstrated on that assignment a month ago.

But the bittersweet tang is brief, fleeting, because I become suddenly aware of how much pain I am in. A shudder steals through my body as I suddenly envision the blood that is seeping from my side, wondering how much crimson has pooled and the floor and feeling suddenly nauseated. Coughs painfully wrack my body.

There is blood on my lips. It is bitter, acrid, but at least it is substantial, unlike the taste of emotions, of which you cannot easily be rid.

At least your hands are on me, though, a part of my mind suddenly registers. It’s then that I feel the warmth of you, closer to me now, one arm at my shoulders, supporting my back slightly, the other hand gently resting on my arm.

Taking my strength from this, I somehow find the courage and tell you to help me stand up. To my surprise, you hesitate; it is only a moment, a moment in which I desperately wish I could’ve seen your expression clearly, and then you obey silently. But I expected no hesitation at all.

Standing, my arm around your shoulders and most of my weight against you, we begin to make our way down the hall. I am fighting unconsciousness every step, unable to take note of much except the pain, to feel fleetingly sorry about giving you so much of my weight to carry –

– and, as I am leaning heavily and unavoidably against your warm side, to cherish the beat of your heart as it echoes in time with my own.

And stay there as I whisper,
how I love your peaceful eyes on me;
Did you ever know
that I had mine on you?

The darkness is oppressive, pressing down around me like giant hands cloaked in black, smothering gloves, unrelenting. I don’t like the darkness. Not this sort of darkness.

Or perhaps it is the drugs that you and Yohji stoically declared I take for the pain. I insisted that it was not that bad, but I was lying, and you both know it. It was a valiant expression of strength, but still a weak one.

I like being drugged even less than I enjoy the darkness; it is simply not right, because I don’t feel like myself. It’s disconcerting.

I suppose, though, that after being shot, it’s not written in stone that you’ll feel exactly the same. Not with the drugs. Not with the darkness.

But I’m alright, thanks for not asking.

Actually, I really don’t mind that you didn’t say anything, because that is not who you are. The fact that you’re even here by my bedside, that you’re real and not a dream, is strange enough in and of itself. I would never have expected that it would be you to come and check on me.

But you did. Clipped words were exchanged, cold and brief. Our eyes met briefly, and that was basically the extent of our time together.

Now you are turning away, and I can only watch helplessly, caught in a rush of emotions that are heightened by the drugs within me. Only watch as you walk silently away, your slender figure sensual and graceful, and walk over the threshold. Watch the door close.

And then whisper one solitary word.

Stay.

Darling, so share with me
your love if you have enough,
Your tears if you’re holding back,
a pain if that’s what it is.

What is pain? What is it really? Is it all in one’s mind? Is the emotional reflection of physical pain the worst it can be? Or is pure emotional pain the most agonizing, because it pierces straight to the heart?

I whispered these words to you, as you started to turn and leave after bringing me a glass of water. Not in this same way that I thought them, but close enough, my voice quiet and slightly hoarse.

You paused, and for a moment, I thoughy you were going to ignore me completely, and walk away without a word. But you didn’t. Instead, you turned slowly, fixed me with a deep gaze of iron, and asked simply, coldly why.

Because you’re the one to ask, I replied, dropping my gaze when I felt my cheeks threaten to flush. Because I am in physical pain, but you seem constantly tormented from inside. And I don’t like seeing others in pain.

Nice, huh? My response, that is; nonchalant, general, something that I’m pretending to not care much about, pretending to just bring up because I hurt and have nothing better to think about.

And your only response was to say that you do not hurt.

But I know it’s not true. That is utterly and ridiculously impossible, and I sit in silence, uncertain how to respond. I don’t understand how you can maintain that you don’t hurt, that you don’t cry. That you are not human.

Because I know that you are human. I’ve seen a flash of caring in your eyes, felt your warmth, felt your heart. So why can’t you believe it?

And why can’t you let me show you...?

Darling, so there you are,
with that look on your face,
As if you never hurt
as if you never doubt

Your face is chiseled of perfect white marble, the essence of beauty that statues strive to achieve. My heart aches in a sweet, throbbing passion to just see your face, though impenetrable it may be. Your expression bodes no entrance, promises that the cold emotion will never change, that you will never allow anyone close enough to see you falter, see you smile.

The slats of the venetian blind are not fully closed; a sliver of moonlight pours through the window, a silver ribbon that glides across your face, falls softly across your smooth skin, poured by the hand of an angel.

An angel that you ignore. An angel that you would undoubtedly voice does not exist, because angels bring joy and happiness, a release from pain.

And you always stand there, looking at me with those eyes so deep, and maintain that you have no pain.

Shall I be the one for you,
who pinches you softly, but true?
If a frown is shown, then
I will know that you are now dreaming.

Deep. Even. Your breathing is soothing. I could remain here forever, just inside your doorway, and let my eyes memorize your face over and over again until I can see nothing else. I could stay here by your side, unnoticed as always, as long as your beauty was never taken away.

And, sadly enough, I reflect, as I gaze upon you, your brow furrowed slightly in an echo of pain, that is basically how I do live. Unnoticed by you, when all I want is approval. Unwanted by you, because I feel so often that I am a burden. Nearly forgotten.

But if I wasn’t here... Who would stand here at night? Who would study your face, and make sure you slept soundly, that your dreams, at least, were safe from the pain you must bear from your past, for your sister?

No one. No one but me.

I let out a long, silent breath, and let the serene calm envelop me, letting my thoughts drift as I only gaze at your face.

You shift, ever so slightly, as if suddenly sensing my presence, and slowly your features soften, the line between your brows disappearing as your countenance relaxes. A soft sigh escapes your lips, like a whisper of things long past, and then you are resting peacefully, lovely in slumber.

A tiny smile softens my face as your nightmares become dreams. If I can bring that comfort, perhaps it is worth it.

So I’ll tell you now, for the first time.

And, perhaps, this doesn’t have to be the last time I say it. Perhaps I’ll find the courage to say it when you are awake, when your violet eyes are fixed solely on me. Perhaps.

Ai shitteru, Aya.

I turn and walk away.