Title: Eyes of a Flower
Theme: #37. Eyes
Characters: Fakir, Ahiru
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu does not belong to me, obviously. It belongs to someone else. Someone not me. Yeah.

Her eyes radiated innocence.

He wondered if she knew, though knowing her, probably not. Then again, that was normal, for she rarely if ever managed to know what went on around her. She was prone to losing herself within details, never quite noticing the full picture, but rather, concentrating on a small fraction of the whole. He could still remember the day he'd found her crouching on the ground; when he'd peer over her form to see what she'd been gazing at so intently, she'd smiled up at him.

"Look, Fakir, a flower!"

It was a single, vulgar flower; very much like any other he'd seen. There was nothing special about it, nor were it's colors rare. It was probably something akin to a weed. Needless to say, he'd voiced his thoughts at her, scoffing slightly, however, his words never seemed to put her off any more. Instead of her previously distressed reactions, she'd begun to adopt an irritated air when he teased her. She'd grump or reach out with a hand and smack what ever part of him was available for her to touch.

This time, it was his right leg that was within her reach, and so, she reached out and smacked it slightly, frowning up at him, almost as if she couldn't understand why he'd said such things. Tell truth, he knew he could have moved out of the way; he could have avoided any and all contact from her. Had he wanted to... she'd never have been able to touch him, much less hit him. However, despite his asking himself frequently WHY it was he never moved, and WHY it was he always allowed the contact, the answer never came. Instead, he arched a brow at her, attempting to elicit a pout from her through his silence.

"It's not just ANY flower!" she insisted, then stood up, dusting her small skirt off from invisible dust, "Look at it!" which he did, and yet again, all what he saw a normal, random flower. There was nothing special about it at all, however, the way the girl had begun to bite her lip in a small pout, forced his gaze back down on the small weed. Confusion crossed his features as he finally told her the honest truth; he didn't see it. What was so special about it?

She didn't reach out to smack him, but rather, grabbed his arm, placing a small tug on it, then pointing down at the flower, "It's bloomed through the cement! Can't you see? It's grown out of a crack in the walk way!" letting go of his arm, the girl spread her arms, "It's a very persistent, special flower, to have bloomed out in the cement, all alone! Don't you think so?" blinking, he'd taken the chance to look down upon the small weed of a flower, finally noticing she had, indeed, been right; the plant had bloomed through the smallest of cracks, out in the middle of nowhere.

There was a vague similitude between that flower and her, he thought, but he didn't tell her that. He also didn't tell her he finally understood what he saw. Instead, he'd smirked, closed his hand into a fist, and had softly allowed it to drop on top of her head. He'd then walked away from her, he wasn't sure if she saw the way the smirk softened into a smile as he left.

His eyes were scary.

No... that wasn't right. Rather, his eyes had been scary in the past. Now though, they were no longer scary. At least, that's what she thought; instead, they were serious, as if he were concentrating very hard on something only he could see. He did that often, she realized. She had long back wondered if he liked being serious, and had come to think that maybe, he just didn't know how to have fun. Could someone simply not know? Was that possible?

Of course, she'd been probed otherwise as she got to know him better. He could smile, and even laugh at given times, though it was rare. Amusingly enough, she swiftly decided that the fact these times were rare, made them all the more special, for his laughter wasn't given all that freely. It made her long for it all the more, even if she couldn’t quite understand why; but then again, she’d never paused too long to question herself, her actions, or what lead her to believe something was right or wrong. Things were as they were, and life was usually too brief to question and dwell; she had learnt this all too well.

That was probably the reason she followed him that day. Actually, once she paused to ponder, she realized there wasn’t really any specific, given reason for her to follow him, other than the fact she’d wanted to do so. Despite the fact she wasn’t all that good at hiding herself, she had somehow managed to remain concealed, as the boy had walked along the pavement. The stroll came to a short stop soon enough though, and from her location, a small distance away, she saw him crouch down, staring at something on the floor rather intently.

It took her a while to realize he was looking at a flower.

A single flower that sprouted from within a crack in the pavement, the same one she had pointed out at him only days before. The same one he had brushed off as anything but unusual; he was looking down at it as if trying to discern something, figure out a truth. Or perhaps, he wasn’t really looking for any answers, and was, instead, just gazing; she couldn’t tell. She usually couldn’t tell what was going on through his head anyhow; he had the ability to mask off all thoughts, and somehow appear serious even when he was simply gazing off in a daze. Maybe that was why she’d initially thought he had scary eyes.

“You remind me of Ahiru,” his voice drifted to her, jolting the girl out of her thoughts, forcing her gaze back on him. He was still crouching, looking down at the flower, reaching out carefully with one hand, as if to touch it, but stopping only millimeters away from doing so, “You really are like her,” he continued, obviously unaware of his audience, “Like that idiot; stubborn enough to sprout in the middle of nowhere. Where you shouldn’t be. Plain, normal, mundane…” a grump was released by the hiding girl, whom crossed her arms and promised herself to hit his arm later, vexed he would say such things even when he didn’t know she was there.

Still unaware, the boy continued, “Yet somehow, you become special enough to be noteworthy by being so stubborn. Beautiful because you’ve managed to do what others could not; blooming where you shouldn’t have,” this said, he finally extended a single finger and poked the flower, “Idiot,” he told the flower, as if it could truly hear him, or somehow understand him. Then, he straightened up, dusted himself off and prepared to walk away, however, he paused momentarily, and offered the weed a soft smile before leaving.

Suddenly, the girl no longer had the extreme urge to smack him. Instead, she felt a desire to see him smile at her in the same way he’d smiled at the flower. Even though he did not know she was there, and even though he could not see her, there was nothing she could do but smile at his retreating back.