A/N: It's a newer pairing I'm exploring here, so bear with me. I was inspired this morning, and it won't stop nagging me. I thought this pairing was cute, and made a good deal of sense. And yes, it is more than within the realm of possibility that Ayame is totally gay, and I know that. But there isn't really any flat-out evidence to say he's not otherwise, and come on now, do you want to base your characters on standard stereotypes. (Okay, I understand that the fact that he's an ultra effeminate man with a love of clothing design, who wears dresses and frequently hits on/flirts with other men makes for a good case, but c'mon, this is fandom!) Please do read and enjoy my latest work. Love!

"Silly Things"

By Toby-Chan

Mine had begun to aqcuire a love of silly things. Her days, which had once been dreary and fitted like clockwork, she learned to pepper with mall frivolities that could only be inspired by one with no creative inhibitions.

Her love of clothes and crafts had once lead her to believe that she might live to work in an impersonal assembly line of a job, or a posh, formal office filled with snooty peers who held their designs and priorities over all others. So it was a great delight, then, when she discovered the small independent fabric store nearby her home, where she'd intended to keep a temporary job until she could enter a visual design school, or get an opportunity to work in the fashion industry, but instead, found a place she would have been happy to remain at for the remainder of her career, due in no small part to one eccentric boss.

On her first day, she had showed up, in a proffesional grey skirt suit, to greet her new boss, who'd she'd been interviewed by over the phone. Her nervousness was piqued by fear, when she showed up to find her employer behind the counter, clad in a brightly purple sequined jacket, trimmed in pink fuzz. He greeted her warmly and overtly dramatically, in a way that initially frightened her, but soon grew to be one of her greatest comforts.

The shyness she had aquired over years of akward childhood melted away under the instruction of her newfound friend, and the defensive wall she'd constructed fell, as she melted into his beautiful, crazy, and jazzy pattern of life.

She noticed the small nuances of things he did every day. He had a tendency to wear layers and coats, even in warm weather, and would always turn back the air conditioning if she made it too cold, even if it were at the expense of customer comfort. Obviously, warmth was of importance to him.

He brought up the subject of his little brother no less than once every hour, and smiled sweetly as he announced the boy's recent accomplishments and downfalls, which she wondered how he'd known, not seeing his brother very often.

He always sipped his tea in small western style cups with handles, and properly sat with his saucer in hand, and a pinky up out of cliched propriety. She began to join him, and they grew a ritual out of having elaborate English style tea parties, dreaming up new designs for costume and decoration each time.

It was a random whim, that they decided to go dancing once, a mere suggestion over Earl Grey tea, but within their unpatterned style, an unplanned frolick was a splendid idea.

The costumes they'd worn were also a random whim. She'd imagined going salsa dancing in a slinky red dress, and stilletto heels, but then wondered what Ayame would then wear, since he rarely wore a costume with pants, and besides, they never were a pair to let standard-ness get the better of them.

So, they closed shop early, and got to work altering. She donned a tuxedo, which she let in to make it fit, and a black hat over her pontyail. And as might be expected out of the daring Ayame, he wore a light pink ball gown, with frills and ribbons that would have given any bo-peep a run for her money.

And so they found a club, a dance area that was part of a fancy restaraunt, and made their grand entrance among the small classical enthusiast crowd, the piano playing lightly in the corner.

All eyes were on them, whether in admiration or disgust, it didn't matter. What mattered was the joyous sensation of frolicking and spinning on that dance floor, a complete declaration of free spiritedness and liberation from everything normal. It didn't matter there, that she might not have made the most money editing for Vogue, or that she wore glasses, or that her boss was both her best friend and a man who could easily have looked better than she in a mini-skirt if he wanted to. It didn't matter that she didn't have a job that could conform into the standard of common normality. It was just a lark, a fun, free and silly thing that she and Ayame decided to do, and she loved it.

They waltzed, with Ayame confusedly leading, never holding her too close than politeness (Or his personal comfort) would allow, and yet their twirling was far more intimate than any close tango could have been. And in spite of their gender flipped attire, which led some people to confusion as to why the white-haired one had been leading, at the end of their dance, Ayame would take upon his air of chivalry, and bend to kiss her hand. It was a silly thing, really. Very silly indeed, but that's what made it all the more beautiful.

Maybe it was that the only thing she loved more than silly things, was the beautiful person who'd inspired her to appreciate them, and they both had a subtle understanding of that.

So when Ayame one day brought bubbles to work, for them to blow around outside the store window, and she smiled and declared, 'I just love silly things like this,' they both knew what she really meant.