Disclaimer- I don't own Card Captor Sakura.

He's not quite sure when It happened. It was quite unexpected and unwelcome and uncomfortable. It wasn't something he wanted nor cared for.

It of course, being when he managed to fall head-over-heels, punch drunk, completely and utterly hopelessly in love with a slip of a girl.

She was frail and fragile to his eyes, like brittle glass he could shatter with harsh words. She cried and complained. She was weak. She was nothing.

He was strong and harsh with her, believing he could learn to break her and destroy her with words, and claim what he wished. He fought her with angry words that seemed to make her stumble and hurt, confused.

Yet she persevered, continued on and ignored his defensive wrath, and fought him in a gentle, compassionate way that he was unprepared for.

He was used to fighting with cold steel, furious elements and bare souls bent on victory.

She fought with kindness in her eyes, altruism in a smile and love in hand.

He stood no chance against such a powerful attack, and his eyes could barely track her movements, her patterns of slaying him, bit by bit.

She danced around him like her namesake, whipping around him with a kaleidoscope of bright, lovely colors, but unlike, she was eternal, rising with the sun, shining forever.

She was so much more powerful than he.

No one could stop her. There was no chance, no hope, no possibility of ever triumphing against her and her almighty love. She was a juggernaut, tearing down his walls with a shrug of a smile, a gale of a laugh.

The world loved her so, the people loved her so. She was their queen, their goddess.

Where the sky was ugly and gray and hatefully stormy, she was shining and clean and beautiful. Where the shadows coveted and clung with dark malice, she swept them away with sunlight. Where nothing was Good and Right, she took the emptiness and made it whole again.

Where she went, Heaven ruled.

This was why she was so weak and so strong. She could love an enemy into submission, could laugh away the hounds of Hell, could smile at the face of the Devil.

And he could not take his eyes off of her anymore.

Unable to understand, unable to know just why she had to entrance him so, he watched.

He watched her from the corners of his eyes, at the moments when she thought she was unwatched and unnoticed, at the moments she was noticed, at the moments she was sad, the moments she cried, the moments she hurt.

He watched the way she would smile in different shades of loving light, each one for a different person, a different soul, a different love.

He watched the unfailing, unyielding defiance, the unshakable belief in what was good and right, what he had stopped believing in years ago.

He watched something so pure and so good, so warm that it took you in and made everything alright again.

Before he knew it, any attempt at trying to stop watching her, to pull his eyes away before she dragged his heart out of him kicking and screaming was impossible.

There was no fighting her. He had lost a battle he had no chance of winning from the beginning. Piece by piece, he was being driven back, being defeated, being slain by a slip of a girl.

No matter how he fought, no matter how he valiantly tried and struggled and ran, she gained victory after victory, tearing through without a plan or a thought.

His heart was hers, before he realized it had been ripped out of him, betrayed by his very own eyes.

Before he knew it, his air was hers, his breath was hers, his heart was hers.

His eyes, treacherous as they are, continued watching, beginning to covet her every movement, her every smile, her every word. There was nothing he could do about it- she had claimed his heart, and there was no denying her.

He was conquered, beaten down, subdued with a smile and a laugh, reduced to a prisoner of war. Her unintended crusade had ripped him apart and torn him down, making him completely and utterly hers.

And still, he watched.

And slowly, he began to see.

He saw what others saw, what others loved and what others treasured. His watching had turned to seeing, and seeing was turning into wanting.

His mind became filled with her, as she flitted through his thoughts, poisoning them with her purity, tainting his anger with her love. As with his eyes and heart, he could not fight her.

She took his mind, claimed it with a flag of victory and terms of absolute surrender.

She was a disease, infecting his eyes first, moving then to capture his heart, then afflicting and addling his own mind. If he didn't stop her, stop himself, he would gladly give her his life, his soul, his everything if only she would stop this rampant pervasion of him.

And still, he could not stop watching.

He didn't know why he watched and saw, and then cared and even dared to love. He had reached the terminal stage- he was in love with her, and it was incurable.

There was no possible immunity to her, no cure, no protection against what she was.

Everything about her was brutally beautiful and loving and right, pervading into his mind, body, and heart without and with words.

There was no more she could do to him, no more healing ravages on his heart, no way to make herself more alluring to his eyes, no way to make him think of her more than every second of every waking moment. He thought of her in his rising and his setting, in the high noon and the silent midnight.

There was no more he had to give her.

And yet still, she danced on, becoming more and more terribly, awfully wonderful to his heart and eyes.

What, he wanted to scream. What more do you want from me?

His eyes were hers.

His heart was hers.

His mind was hers, for God's sake.

What more could she want?

He didn't know.

But he couldn't stop watching, couldn't stop seeing, couldn't take his eyes off her.